To Pleasure A Duke (The Husband Hunters Club #3)

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

H e went stock-still, and Eugenia wondered if she had gone too far. Suddenly she was embarrassed by her own forwardness but when she tried to remove her hand, Sinclair fumbled for her fingers and clasped them tightly in his.

“Eugenie,” he muttered raggedly into her hair.

She fitted perfectly into his arms, her head beneath his chin, her body curved to his, as if she was meant to be here.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You were touching me and it felt so nice that I thought I’d return the favor. Should I have waited to be asked? The etiquette of pleasure isn’t something I was taught at Miss Debenham’s.”

“You did nothing wrong. It is just that I am trying to keep control and when you touch me I feel as if . . .”

“As if you might ride off with me like the wicked baron?”

His chuckle was husky. “Something like that.”

She sighed. “I suppose you spend your time with blue-blooded ladies who would never dare to—to touch a duke. You forget I am a hoyden, Sinclair.”

“I haven’t forgotten. I’m beginning to think I prefer hoydens.”

She smiled against his neck. “This must stop, Sinclair,” she said, but he seemed to sense her weakness.

“Kiss me, hoyden,” he growled, and she did so, spending a very pleasurable few moments lost in the hard promise of his mouth. Her body was growing more languorous, and she knew it was just a matter of time before she lost all strength to resist him.

This really was becoming extremely perilous.

His tongue tangled with hers, stroking her, and with each stroke the heat inside her body grew hotter. Just a little longer, she told herself. How could it hurt? Just a little bit more.

His hand was cupping her breast, and she felt the jut of her nipple against his palm, the sensation almost painful, but exquisitely so, as he used his thumb to rub against her. Her body jolted, her breath caught in her throat, and she made a sound she had never made before.

He bent his head and she felt the warm, wet cavern of his mouth close over her flesh. He played with her with his tongue. The pleasure was so new and exciting, she didn’t at first realize his hand was on her thigh, beneath her skirt. Her heart began to bump more quickly as his fingers caressed her soft flesh, edging higher, closer to the moist heat she felt throbbing at her center.

And then his forefinger stroked down the swollen flesh between her thighs, bringing to life even more dazzling sensations. “I don’t think you should do—” she managed, but he didn’t give her time to finish her protest, closing his mouth on hers, while his finger stroked again.

Her body seemed to have a will of its own, savoring every instant of pleasure, wishing it could go on forever.

But it couldn’t and if she didn’t stop him now then she would be lost.

With a soft gasp she slipped out of his arms and stood, a little unsteadily, in front of him. He seemed just as reluctant to let her go but he accepted her decision. And then he glanced down at her feet.

“You are barefoot!” he said, shocked.

“Of course I am. I didn’t want to waste time finding my shoes,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I’m not having you catch a cold,” he retorted, and promptly swept her up into his arms.

“Put me down,” she protested, struggling.

He held her fast. “Stop it. I’m being purely selfish. Kissing a woman with a cold is the very devil.”

Irritably she said, “I have gone barefoot before, more times than I wish to remember.”

“Well, when you are mine, Miss Belmont, you will always be shod, whatever the circumstances. You will have shoes for every occasion.”

When you are mine.

The words were sweet, despite the fact that she knew they would never happen. She would never be his. Not in the way he imagined. Nevertheless she stopped struggling.

He was carrying her toward the house. “Speaking of something I want to do . . . I have a request to make of you, Eugenie.”

“Oh?” She looked up at him suspiciously. “What is it?”

He seemed to be carefully considering his words. “I wasn’t always a duke. Once I was young like Annabelle and I thought anything was possible. Lately I’ve been reliving those days, remembering how it was to be so caught up in my dreams that they were more real than this world we inhabit.”

“Everyone should have dreams,” she said quietly. “Just because we grow up doesn’t mean we have to abandon them.”

He gave a grunt of laughter. “You’re an idealist, Eugenie.”

“Am I? I’m not claiming that dreams always come true, you know. Just that there is nothing wrong in having them.”

“I see.”

She watched him, trying to read his mind as he seemed to be able to read hers, wondering what it was he was going to ask her. Something to do with his boyhood, his dreams?

“What did you want to ask me?” she prompted him at last.

He hesitated and then shook his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you next time. You’re tired, Eugenie. You should be in bed.”

His voice had turned suggestive on the last word and she forgot to remind him that there wouldn’t be a next time. Her heart skipped a beat. Her skin was achy and sensitive, and the thought of him touching her again brought out goose bumps. Just for a moment she allowed herself to snuggle closer against him, breathing in his scent, and storing up memories.

When they reached the back door he set her down, steadying her a moment, before lifting her hand to his lips. “Goodnight, Miss Belmont,” he murmured, ever so polite.

But his dark eyes were not polite. They were hungry and intimate, promising her so much. In a moment she’d be kissing him again, caught up in the magic that flared between them, lost to all her good sense.

She began to close the door.

“Will you come to Somerton tomorrow?” he said quickly. “Bring Jack with you.”

She didn’t answer him and then the door was closed. She stood and listened to his steps retreating, telling herself she would not come.

Eugenie was halfway up the staircase when a little voice on the landing made her stop.

“Was that the duke, Genie?”

With a start, Eugenie looked up. “Jack? Whatever are you doing up?”

“I heard voices.”

She reached the landing and took his hand, steering him toward his bedroom. She lowered her voice, not wishing to wake the twins. Terry’s bed, she noticed, was empty.

“It was the duke, but don’t tell anyone. It was a—a secret visit, to invite us to go to see Erik tomorrow.” Eugenie realized too late she had trapped herself again.

“Oh.” His eyes were round. “The horses, too?”

“Of course the horses.”

She finished tucking him in and bent to kiss his cheek. He rubbed off the kiss with his shoulder automatically, as all boys tended to do when they reached a certain age.

“Goodnight, Jack,” she whispered.

His voice drifted after her. “Don’t worry, Genie, I won’t tell.”

Back in her bed, Eugenie stared into the darkness. Jack had reminded her she was playing a dangerous game. If she was caught alone with Sinclair in such circumstances as tonight then her father would certainly create havoc. There would be a scandal and the person to be hurt the most by it would be Eugenie.

* * *

Annabelle giggled as they ran through the garden and into the copse of trees planted by her grandfather when the original wood had been chopped down to make ships for the navy.

“If Mother had caught you she would have exploded,” she added, when they stopped to catch their breath. “Sometimes I am sure she will explode. She sort of puffs herself up.” Her smile faded. “She can be very frightening.”

Terry, watching her face, thought Annabelle truly was afraid of her mother, and yet she was brave, too, and willing to go against her wishes despite the consequences.

“We’ll be safe soon,” he said, trying to sound as if he weren’t a little afraid, too. Although Terry found himself more afraid of Annabelle’s brother than her mother. Something about the look in the Duke of Somerton’s eyes when he settled them on Terry was quite terrifying. Not that he’d ever tell Annabelle so. She thought of him as her brave hero and he fully intended to live up to it.

He realized that until now he’d never imagined someone like Annabelle would have any reason to be miserable with their life. To have money and position and a grand house seemed perfection in itself and that Annabelle should wish for another life would have seemed bizarre to Terry only a short time ago. Now he understood that such a life came with its own form of bars and bolts—its own type of prison—just as his own life did.

He was beginning to feel quite grown up.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll be punished for running away?” he asked suddenly, and then wished he’d bitten his tongue when she gave him a strange look.

“Aren’t you?” she countered.

He shrugged. “I’m nothing. You’re the sister of a duke.”

Annabelle smiled. “Then we must be certain not to let them catch us, mustn’t we?” She clasped his hand in hers and held it tight. “I’m so glad you’re my friend, Terry. I don’t know what I would have done without you to help me.”

A wave of pride swept over him, and with it a kernel of shame. Because the truth was Terry did not think of Annabelle as his friend. Well, not really.

In the beginning he’d thought of her as an opportunity for himself, a pattern of thinking he now realized he’d learned from his father. Then, when he got to know her and understand her, he began to like her for herself and not for who she was. And now, well, he loved her.

Not the sort of lustful love that he’d felt for girls before, a feeling that was more like a physical urge than anything emotional. This was something far more pure. He wanted to help her, save her, make her happy. He wanted to sacrifice himself for her well-being.

He knew he was a bloody idiot. His friends would soon tell him so if he tried to explain to them. But he couldn’t seem to help it.

He wanted to be her hero.

“Lady Annabelle!”

The hero jumped, but Annabelle faced their discoverer with a raised eyebrow and a cool smile.

“Lizzie. I hope you haven’t told Mother I am out here.”

“Of course not,” Lizzie Gamboni retorted.

Terry thought she looked flushed and cross, her fair hair fluffy about her face, the buttons on her pelisse crooked as though she had dressed in the dark in a hurry. And yet there was something oddly endearing about her.

“Well, now you have found me what are you going to do?” Annabelle dared her. “You know how miserable I am. Will you give me up? They will keep me prisoner until the wedding if you do. Lock me into some horrid little room with only bread and water.”

“Annabelle, I won’t give you up,” Lizzie said, and Annabelle’s shrill voice quavered to a stop. “I would never do that. But I do wish you would be careful and—and think before you act.”

Annabelle sighed and took her hand. “You are a true friend, Lizzie.” She turned and smiled back over her shoulder at Terry, reached to claim his hand, too. “You are my only friends in this cruel world.”

Terry found himself looking into Lizzie’s pale eyes. Was there a plea in them? A plea to take care with her charge? Well, there was no need to ask him that. He would never harm Annabelle; he would only ever do what she wished him to.

“We had best go indoors now,” Lizzie said, lowering her gaze and turning away, leaving Terry feeling strangely bereft. “Come, Annabelle.”

Annabelle went without argument, and Terry watched them disappear into the starlit darkness, Annabelle’s hair dark as a raven’s wing, Lizzie’s fair as a dove.