Home > Bringing Down the Duke(62)

Bringing Down the Duke(62)
Author: Evie Dunmore

   Back in her room, she gave the bell pull a tug.

   Her heart was beating a hard, slow rhythm by the time Millie appeared on the doorstep.

   “Take me to His Grace, please.”

   The maid’s eyes swept furtively over her flimsy attire. “His Grace will be in his private chambers at this time, miss.”

   The servants would talk. It mattered not.

   She moved toward the door on bare feet. “I know.”

 

 

Chapter 24

 


   Sebastian was sprawled in his armchair, his hair still curling from his bath, and he was increasingly keen on the idea to go to his club for a round of midnight fencing. The bath had not worked. The book in his hand did not work. Angry, unspent desire was still pulsing through his veins, an aggression without a target. Oh, but he had a target all right. One glance at her, bedraggled and dirty as she was, and he wanted her. Wanted to protect, possess, to be with her. And short of bullying her into it, he could do exactly nothing.

   The logs in the fire popped so softly, so domestically, it stoked his resentment.

   To think this would become one of his greatest challenges yet: to do nothing.

   There was little joy in honor tonight.

   A light knock on the door jolted him from his brooding. No one came to his chambers at this time of the night. He made to rise to investigate when the doorknob turned.

   Somehow, he knew it would be her. He was still unprepared when she appeared.

   For a beat, his mind was a blank.

   Her hair was down, gleaming, glorious hair, streaming to her waist in mahogany rivers. And she was as good as naked.

   Heat swept over him from head to toe.

   A filmy white robe clung to her curves as she drifted toward him. Bare feet slipped from beneath the hem, achingly vulnerable pale feet . . .

   He felt himself swell and stiffen with arousal. With some difficulty, he dragged his gaze back up to her face.

   “Annabelle.” His voice emerged roughly. “Is something the matter?”

   She stepped between his knees and her scent curled around him.

   He actually felt weak, smelling her again.

   “I’m afraid so,” she said.

   Every muscle in his body locked when she gently took the book from his hand and lowered herself onto his thigh.

   “What is it?” he asked thickly. The soft, feminine weight in his lap had him almost painfully hard.

   “I missed you,” she murmured.

   Her eyes were on his throat, his shoulders, his chest, taking a primal inventory, and her fingertips began skating over the V of bare skin exposed by his loosely fastened robe.

   His hands circled her upper arms in an unconsciously rough grip, crushing warm silk between his fingers. “If you are here out of gratitude—”

   Her eyes widened. “No,” she said, “no.”

   Her gaze slid down his torso to the bulge at the front of his robe, and he bit back a groan. She may as well have placed her hand on him.

   She glanced up, a pink flush tingeing her cheekbones. “I want you, Montgomery.”

   I want you, Montgomery.

   His grip on her relented, and she twisted closer and kissed him on the mouth.

   “How I missed you,” she whispered against his lips.

   She slipped from his lap to kneel between his thighs. His breathing turned shallow when her slender fingers began working on the knot of his belt. He clasped her chin and made her look him in the eye. “I cannot offer you any more than I have.”

   Her gaze narrowed slightly. “I know.”

   She spread his robe open.

   For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and crackling fire.

   When she looked back at him, her eyes glittered with emotion.

   She leaned in and touched her lips to his chest, drawing a guttural sound from his throat, and she dragged her open mouth down, down, down the tight planes of his stomach . . . His right hand curved around the back of her head of its own volition.

   She hovered, her warm breath rushing softly over his aching cock.

   “Annabelle—”

   She closed her mouth over him.

   His body bowed up as pleasure hit him like a whip. “God.”

   Wet, soft heat and tenderness. Bliss. He groaned, his fingers flexing in her hair. He would have never asked this of her, but God knew he had imagined it. The dark fantasies paled against the sensations that engulfed him now, streaking like fire through his veins at every touch of her tongue.

   She began sliding her mouth up and down his length, and sweat broke over his skin; he could already feel the pressure building at the base of his spine. With herculean effort, he pulled back and came to his feet and scooped her up into his arms.

 

* * *

 

 

   Montgomery’s gaze was fixed on the large bed that dominated the room, and she clung to him, discomfited and thrilled at being carried off like the prize of a conquest. He set her down onto the edge of the mattress with greatest care, but his eyes burned with the scorching blue hue of the center of a flame.

   She shivered. So that was what it was like to have all his intensity focused on her. Time and conscious thought went up in sparks, leaving only now, him, her, and the need to be close.

   He cupped her face in both hands, his thumbs stroking at the corners of her mouth.

   “How I want you,” he said, and leaned down and kissed her.

   He took it deep on the first stroke, his lips demanding, guiding, giving. He kissed like a man who knew he would not have to stop. He wouldn’t have to stop. A vision of his strong body covering hers pulsed through her in a lazy, molten wave, leaving her boneless and breathless.

   When he broke the kiss, she was panting and on her back, her legs still lolling over the side of the bed. Her robe had been undone and spread open. Montgomery was looming over her, his eyes savoring and lingering on all the delicate places that most intrigued a man.

   She should have clamored to cover her modesty. Alas, there was so little moral fiber in her, hopeless, and so she tipped up her chin and showed him her throat.

   The smile vanished from Montgomery’s face. He stepped back and his robe slid to the floor with a soft swish.

   She swallowed. He could have seduced her with his body alone, all vital confidence and well-honed muscular grace. His skin was fair, the light mat of hair on his chest a sandy color, like the trail running down his flat abdomen to the most male part of him. He was beautiful there, too, heavily erect and straining with want . . .

   He inhaled sharply, and her attention snapped to his face. He was homing in on her knees, his eyes narrowed to slits.

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