A Duke but No Gentleman (13 page)

Norgrave was a cunning bastard.

“You kissed him.”

Tristan wanted to quietly murder his friend for touching her. Nor was he happy with her behavior, though he conceded that the marquess could be quite convincing. If given a choice, Norgrave preferred lies over truth.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later, she and Blackbern had arrived at their destination. She glanced at her dress in dismay. She was properly attired for social visits.

“What are you thinking?” she asked guardedly.

“I am tempted to paddle your backside,” the duke confessed. He disembarked from the carriage and took a few minutes to secure the horses. “Though I am willing to forgive you for a price. A kiss will suffice.”

The man was incorrigible. It was difficult to remain annoyed with him when Blackbern was so determined to tease her out of her foul mood. During the drive, Imogene had already decided to forgive him. She accepted his hand, and mischievously grinned up at him once both shoes were firmly planted on the dirt road. “If you want a kiss, you will have to catch me first!”

She grasped her skirts and rushed toward the lake in the distance. Needless to say, she ignored his command to slow down. In Blackbern's company, she felt her first taste of freedom. He encouraged her spirited nature, and dared her to explore boundaries she had never considered crossing until she had met him. Glancing over her shoulder, she noted the duke had grabbed a blanket and basket before he chased after her. His burdens had not slowed him down because he was quickly catching up to her.

“Keep running, darling,” Blackbern said, his laughter making her shiver with anticipation. “Though I should warn you that I always catch what I pursue.”

She had no doubt he spoke the truth.

Pulling on the ribbons under her chin, she tugged off her bonnet and threw it over her shoulder. The duke swore as he dodged to avoid trampling it. She followed the edge of the small lake, heading for the taller grass where she glimpsed what appeared to be an old red brick folly. It was an impressive three-turret structure with a stone veranda that nature had been slowly claiming.

Before she could reach the folly, strong arms encircled her waist and the landscape tilted and whirled as he spun them about.

“Caught you,” he growled, his lips brushing her ear as he embraced her from the back. “What shall I do with you?”

She noticed the wicker basket and the blanket had been discarded several yards away. “You could always feed me since it appears you have brought me on my second picnic for the day.”

“You should have been waiting for me in your mother's drawing room, not flirting with Lord Asher.” He pulled her closer. “Besides, I hunger, my lady, but not for food.”

Imogene trembled in his embrace. His words did not merely fill her ears. His voice slipped beneath the layers of clothing and caressed her skin like warm smoke. Her nipples tightened in response. She danced out of his arms and turned around to face him once she was beyond his reach.

“Kissing you always leads to trouble, Blackbern,” she teased, even though she was eager for him to kiss her again. “I would not wish to give you the wrong impression.”

The duke casually removed and discarded his coat. “And what impression would that be, my sweet Imogene?” His striped waistcoat landed on his coat.

The only gentleman she had seen without his coat was her father. Her eyes widened as she stared at the white linen stretched across his chest. In the sunlight, the whiteness was almost blinding.

“I would not wish you to think that I will surrender my virtue to you.”

And have you treat me as casually as you did the redhead.

Blackbern stalked toward her. “I like how you flirt with me.”

“You do?” She smiled and moved again, keeping out of his reach.

The duke grinned as they circled around each other. “Indeed.” He feinted left, and she gleefully squealed when his fingers brushed her hip. “You tease me until I would sell my soul for a taste of you.”

Imogene smirked at him. “That does not seem very sporting of me.”

“You are worth the challenge and the torture.”

He abruptly lunged for her. Imogene shrieked and ducked under his outstretched arms. She ran in the direction of the folly, but Blackbern was close on her heels. He easily caught her against him and they tumbled onto the grass. She was breathless from the chase and her side ached from laughing.

Imogene was grateful he had ruined her outing with her friends.

Blackbern rolled onto his side and she reclined on her back. He tenderly smoothed away the strands of hair covering her face.

“I must look frightful,” she said, her discomfort growing at his serious expression.

“Not in the slightest. In the sunlight, the hair curling around your face looks like spun gold and honey. Your eyes remind me of a cloudless sky, and your lips—”

“My lips?” she echoed.

“Forbidden fruit,” he murmured, tracing the contour of her shapely lips with his finger. “Which happens to be my favorite sweet—and the one temptation I cannot resist.”

To prove it, he leaned forward and kissed her. His mouth was gentle and coaxing against hers. She felt his hand on her shoulder, and he pulled her closer so her body molded against his. Blackbern tasted like salt and sunshine, and a flavor that seemed to belong uniquely to him. Her lips parted, and to her delight he took advantage of her silent invitation. His tongue speared into hers and dueled with hers, the soft press of flesh against flesh making her lightheaded.

A wordless sound of disappointment hummed in her throat when he stopped.

“Blanket,” he muttered. He grasped her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Your dress is too lovely to ruin, and I know the perfect place for our picnic.”

“Your Grace,” she said, when he left her to retrieve their basket of food and the blanket.

“Tristan,” he corrected, over his shoulder. “You can call me Blackbern in front of others, but it would please me to hear my name upon your lips.”

His stride was purposeful as he returned to her. His fingers tangled with hers, and he led her to the folly that had intrigued her.

“How old is it?” she asked, squinting against the sunlight.

“The foundation dates back to the sixteen hundreds,” he said, not even glancing up as they climbed the stone steps. “The main structure was built ninety years ago by one of my ancestors. I was told my grandfather used it as a hunting lodge, but it was already in disrepair when I was a young child.”

Imogene stood on the stone terrace, and admired the view. “Perhaps you should be the one to restore it?”

“Perhaps,” he said agreeably. He shook out the blanket and smoothed the fabric with the edge of his boot. “I have other estates that have required more of my attention. Like my father before me, I have been content to rent the house and surrounding lands to tenants.” Once he was satisfied with his efforts he joined her and took a moment to enjoy the lake view. His arm curled around her waist. “I had forgotten the beauty of this old place.”

They stood in comfortable silence, watching as several ducks glided over the mirrored surface of the lake. Imogene was also keenly aware of the duke's closeness. She could feel the heat of his body against her back, the quiet intimacy of his hand on her left arm, and the light caress of his jaw as it brushed the side of her head.

She was wholly aware of him—and the fact that they were alone.

“You have no tenants?” Imogene asked. She had not seen any signs of a family in residence on their arrival.

“The house has been empty since January. The new tenants will be moving in next month,” he said, turning her until she faced him. “Does it concern you that we are alone?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Blackbern frowned at her swift reply. “Maybe it should. Your company inspires some rather wicked thoughts.”

“I trust you, Tristan,” she said coyly.

He groaned in exaggerated despair, as he captured her hand and led her back to the blanket. “What am I to do with you, Imogene? Such blind faith makes me long to prove to you that I am deserving of your high regard.”

“You are an honorable gentleman,” Imogene said, her voice ringing with conviction. “You cannot convince me otherwise.”

It had been Norgrave who had lied to her about the redhead.

“No, I am not,” he countered, dragging her closer. “If you could read my thoughts, you would be demanding that we return to town immediately.”

“If you wish to kiss me again, you have my permission to do so,” she invited, though she refrained from admitting that she was eager for more of his kisses.

“Little innocent,” he said, shaking his head, his expression tender with amusement and affection. “And what if I demanded more?”

He had told her that she had a choice, so she was uncertain of what his current demands would entail. Imogene had not been lying when she had revealed that she trusted him. In spite of his arrogant boast that they would eventually become lovers, Blackbern appeared to be in control of his appetites. He would not press her for more than she would not offer him willingly.

“I fear you might think me wanton if I answer your question truthfully.”

*   *   *

Her innocence would be the death of him. If he had any sense, he would escort Imogene back to the carriage and return her to the safety of her family. She stared up at him, a decadent confection of sweetness and light, and it was all he could do not to drag her to the ground and give her a taste of the pleasure he had promised. He no longer gave a damn about Norgrave or their foolish wager. He simply wanted the lady in his arms.

Though Norgrave intended to have her, too. Otherwise he would not have lied about the redhead.

Even if Tristan sent her away, his friend would laugh at his sentimentality. Nor would it end his pursuit of Imogene. The only way to stop his friend was to claim the lady himself.

Selfishness cloaked in nobility.

Tristan almost snorted at his cleverness. Leave it to him to rationalize that he was more deserving of Imogene than Norgrave—that by winning the wager, he was sparing her the marquess's fickle and not-quite-so-gentle affections.

He cupped the left side of Imogene's face with his hand. “You can be as wanton as you like. Nothing is forbidden.”

“Nothing at all?” she echoed, her expression as transparent as glass as she contemplated such freedoms. In her cherished and protected world, she had no concept of the possibilities or the risks.

“Allow me to show you,” Tristan said, his voice deepening with desire. He bent his head and kissed her, a small test of her commitment.

His initial plan when he had lured her away from her friends was no longer relevant now. The attraction crackling between them like invisible lightning was mutual. As far as he was concerned, he and Imogene were equals as curiosity manifested into something tangible, as intimacy and friendship entwined to create something new for both of them.

Imogene's eyelashes brushed her cheeks as she tentatively parted her lips, another invitation for him to deepen the kiss. When it came to the woman in his arms, he needed little encouragement. His tongue pushed against hers, even while he tugged her close so he could feel her body rub against his. The connection was giving him all kinds of naughty ideas, but her inexperience had him mentally tethering his lust. He desired her, but he had no intention of pouncing on her like a mindless beast.

“More,” she murmured breathlessly against his mouth.

He groaned and pressed his forehead lightly against hers as he prayed for strength. “I am not a saint, Imogene. Push me away or tell me to go to the devil.”

She offered him that shy half-smile that always made his testicles tighten within their sac and his cock harden. If she had more experience, he would have thought she teased him deliberately. “I thought you said that nothing is forbidden.”

Tristan silently bid his good intentions adieu as he used his weight to draw her down with him. “You are truly a very wicked lady,” he said, meaning it as a compliment, as he guided her onto her back. “What am I to do with you?”

Imogene gazed up at him, her cheeks rosy and her eyes bright with anticipation. “Kiss me again, Your Grace.”

She was a delightful imp, he thought, happily rewarding her with another enthusiastic kiss. As he lay stretched out beside her, the hand he had placed on her abdomen slowly moved up her body until he felt the comforting weight of one of her breasts. As Tristan lightly squeezed, he had a liberal glimpse of the soft flesh peeking above her bodice.

“And what do we have here?” he asked, his right brow angling upward.

“What are you—” She gasped as he caressed her breast with his mouth. “Oh my!”

Tristan tasted the soft swell with his tongue. “Mmm … just as I suspected—you taste as good as you look.” His fingers slipped beneath her bodice, peeling back the layers of fabric to reveal more of her flesh.

A rosy nipple, plump and inviting as a berry, popped free.

He felt her hands on his shoulders. “My God, you are so lovely.” Without asking her permission, he lowered his head to suckle the first signs of her arousal.

Imogene dug her fingers into his shoulders. “Your Grace … Tristan. W-what are you doing?” she asked, her voice taut with nerves and uncertainty.

“Worshiping you as you deserve, my golden-haired goddess.” Tristan licked the nub with his tongue, swirling and teasing it until he could suckle the firm flesh. He could feel the tension in her body and her halfhearted protests as he moved to her other breast.

He lifted his head from her damp flesh and met her anxious gaze. Her expression revealed her shock at his intimate ministrations, and her hand reached for her bodice.

He placed his hand over hers to stop her. “Leave it. I am not finished with these lush beauties.”