A Duke but No Gentleman (15 page)

Imogene leaned back against her seat and sighed. She had not removed her black half-mask when they had slipped away from Ranelagh Gardens, and he was content to leave the disguise in place so she would not be recognized when they disembarked from the coach.

He kept his hands to himself until they had reached their destination.

“Where are we?” she asked sleepily.

“A quiet place where no one will try to steal you from me,” he said, his voice gruff as he recalled Norgrave's attempt to pull her into an alcove. He did not want to contemplate what his friend had in mind, when he was filled with his own lusty thoughts.

The coachman opened the door, and he took her hand to help her descend the few steps. Imogene yawned. “Is this your residence?” she asked, squinting at the house that was barely visible in the darkness and lamplight.

“When it suits me,” he said, reluctant to reveal that the house was where he had built his reputation with the notorious balls he had held over the years and the many lovers he had escorted through the front hall and upstairs to one of the bedchambers. “I inherited the house from my mother. Before her, my grandmother used it as her dowager house. It has a rich history.”

Most of it she would never hear from his lips.

Even in the shadows, the colorful patches on her skirt were visible as he escorted her up the walkway to the front door. He paused to remove the key from his waistcoat, and used his fingers to find the keyhole.

“I am surprised you do not rent the house this time of year,” Imogene said, resting her cheek against his arm.

“Over the years, I have considered it,” Tristan admitted. He grunted with satisfaction when the lock yielded. “Most of the furniture belonged to my grandmother. My mother had her bedchamber decorated to her tastes, but she did little else to the house. No one resides here, but the servants visit once a week to keep the floors and furniture clean for when I invite guests.”

Her sudden stillness made him apprehensive. He wondered if she had guessed the reasons why he brought people to this house instead of his private residence. “How often do you entertain guests here?”

Tristan shrugged. “It depends on the year.” He paused. “Norgrave has a key and my blessing to invite whomever he wants.”

“What about you?”

“You are the first guest I have invited here in over a year,” he answered truthfully. “I sometimes come here when I need to think. The quiet is soothing, and no one would think to bother me here.”

She stepped into the house, and wrinkled her nose at the slight staleness scenting the air. “Not very recently.”

“No,” he said, shutting the door and turning the key. “I have been too distracted by an enchanting blonde who knocked me off my feet.”

Imogene's laughter filled the front hall. “How long do you plan to tease me about our first meeting? I cannot believe I was so clumsy!”

Tristan lit a candle behind her before he pulled her into his arms. “You were perfect. I have never been so flattered, even though the dragon caught us together.”

She winced. “You have to cease calling my mother a dragon. She has enough reasons to dislike you.”

“Is it important to you that she likes me?” he asked, untying her half-mask so he could see her face.

“Yes.”

The simplicity of her reply understated how complicated their relationship had become. Nor would it deter him from what he longed to claim.

Picking up the candleholder, he took her hand and led her toward the stairs. “Come with me.”

Hand in hand, they made their way up the stairs. Tristan had lit the candle for her benefit. He had lost count of how many times he had climbed the stairs, only to fall into bed with or without a lover. Abruptly he halted and startled Imogene.

“Is something amiss?” she whispered.

How could he tell her that he had made a mistake? He did not want to lay her on the same mattress where he had bedded so many women in the past.

“For a minute, I lost my way,” he lied. “This way.”

His mother's bedchamber had the newest furniture, but he avoided the room. He released her hand so he could turn the doorknob of one of the spare bedchambers that had been used for guests. If the servants had been shirking in their weekly duties, he would sack them all.

Fortunately the room was free of noticeable dust and the room smelled faintly of freshly laundered linens. He set the candle down on a table beside the bed and he reached for the woman who often invaded his thoughts when he should have been working.

“Come closer, my lovely and impudent Columbine. Your Harlequin has been hungering for a taste of your honeyed lips,” he growled against her mouth.

Playing along, she rubbed her hips against him. “My husband might protest,” she whispered, tilting her head and offering him her neck.

Norgrave had considered dressing up as Columbine's husband, but he disliked the notion of being the cuckolded husband to Tristan's Harlequin. The plotting Pantalone held more appeal, but he had also been deceived.

“If we are careful, no one will ever know about us,” he said, nipping her ear with his teeth. He did not know if he spoke for Harlequin or himself.

Without warning he swept her off her feet and into his arms. Imogen gasped and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. “Harlequin—Tristan!”

“Right on both counts,” he said, teasing her mouth with his. He carried her to the bed and eased her down until her backside settled onto the soft surface. “Do you trust me?”

She nodded.

His hands shook as he removed the red spencer, peeling her slender bared arms from the snug sleeves. Tristan went to work on the buttons of her dress. Proficient at his task, he set about removing layer after layer of clothing and discarding them until she sat in her shift.

Imogene crossed her arms over her breasts, but she had only managed to draw attention to the mounds of flesh. “Are you undressing, too?”

“Aye, my love. Soon,” he promised, lowering himself onto his knees so he was positioned between her legs. His hands slid up her calves to the garters tied above her thighs. He undid the bows, and slowly revealed her pale, shapely legs and bared feet.

Tristan pressed a kiss to the inner portion of her right knee. His mouth lingered and teased, a hint of what he longed to do. “I want to start with the arch of your foot and nibble my way up your body.”

It was obvious she was nervous, and her mouth trembled as she attempted to smile. “Am I allowed to do the same to you?” she asked.

“Only if you wish to see me spill my seed before I have the opportunity to make love to you properly.” Beneath the garish Harlequin costume of triangular patches, his cock had thickened in anticipation. The patterned fabric concealed his arousal, but once he removed it she would be aware of the power she had over him. “You can torture me later.”

Tristan moved closer and gently pried her arms from her chest. Her nipples poked enticingly through the thin linen, begging for his attention. Without asking for her permission, his mouth covered one of her breasts. He suckled her nipple, dampening the fabric while his hands slid higher, lightly caressing her outer thighs until he found her hips.

“Tristan?”

He tugged her closer so he could rub his body against hers. The subtle musk of her arousal was an intoxicating scent that had him salivating for a taste.

“Aye, darling.” The strap slipped free from her shoulder, revealing a glimpse of her rose-colored areola. He nipped and pulled the fabric with his teeth, revealing more until her puckered nipple was exposed.

She started at the initial contact of his tongue curled around the delicate bud and he opened his jaw wider so he could draw more of her flesh into his mouth. Her hands were not gentle when she pulled his head closer, begging him to take more.

Tristan unexpectedly released her breast and bowed his head as he strived for control over his unruly body. Imogene was more responsive than he could have ever anticipated. He covered his cock with his hand. Hard and aching, he squeezed the flesh, knowing the relief he craved could be found within the depths of her body.

He looked up and their gazes locked. “I am trying to be gentle,” he said, already sensing he would have to apologize later because he was impatient and the demands he would make on her were beyond her experience. “You deserve a tender lover.”

Imogene touched his face. “You are everything I want. Everything I need.”

“What do you need, Imogene?”

“You,” she coyly replied.

Tristan felt the invisible tether snap within him as he rose and coaxed her onto her back. His eyes focused on hers, he tore at the fastenings of his costume and hastily shed them and kicked them aside.

Imogene caged him with her legs. Her shift had ridden higher on her thighs with her movements, presenting him with a wanton view. Tristan glimpsed the honeyed curls between her legs and the beckoning dampness. He stroked his cock and shuddered; the rigid length was almost too sensitive to touch. Leaning closer, he used the broad head of his arousal to tease the folds between her legs. Although the lady in his arms was innocent, her body instinctively reacted to his proximity. His teeth clenched as he moved his hips, his cock pressing against the opening of her silky sheath.

His head bowed, he moaned as he mentally separated the sensations threatening to overrule his good intentions. Imogene tensed, feeling the first stirrings of discomfort as his demands manifested in a defining moment when he claimed her maidenhead and filled her.

“Kiss me,” he entreated, straining forward so he could taste her. The subtle adjustment drove his cock deeper and her sharp gasp told him that it would be kinder to be swift. He withdrew just enough to allow him to thrust, the action driving his cock through the fragile resistance of her maidenhead and burying him deeply within her.

She expelled a soft strangling sound that could have been a protest against the unexpected pain, but that part was over.

“You are mine,” he said harshly. It was not the poetic words she deserved but he was beyond words. Need and instinct welled up within him. Her silken sheath resisted his slow retreat and the exquisite sensation threatened to send him over the edge as he thrust fully, grinding his hips against hers. He was a man who prided himself on his control and his ability to prolong his lover's pleasure. With Imogene, he felt as if it was his first time as well. He did not dwell on the meaning, but he was determined to give her a glimpse of the pleasure ahead of them. He slipped his hand between their bodies, blindly seeking the small knot of flesh hidden beneath her intimate folds. She started as his fingers caressed and circled the sensitive nubbin as the hard length of him stroked her from within. The fleshy sac hanging beneath his cock was firm to the touch and primed for his impending release.

Imogene bit her lip. “I feel—I feel … you need to stop,” she said as an unfamiliar tension invaded her body.

Tristan kissed her lower lip, which she was abusing. “You do not really mean it. In fact, you want me to quicken my pace.” He was pushing his control to the very edge, but if Imogene was with him, he would happily fall.

“No … wait!” she pleaded, panic coloring her voice. “W-what are you—” She held her breath and her entire body tensed as she tried to make sense of the unfamiliar flutters of her first release. “Ooph!” she said as she released the air in her lungs.

Tristan wrapped one arm around her as the other sought her hip. Sweat burned his eyes and the steady hammering of his hips faltered and then slowed as the delicate muscles of her sheath rippled and squeezed the full length of his cock. A spark of common sense flickered in his brain and he began to withdraw, but Imogene pressed herself against him. He could not fight both her and his needs. With a strangled growl, he dragged her hips flush against his and surrendered to the release he could not hold back. His teeth snapped together as the force of his seed bursting from the head of his cock was unlike anything he had experienced.

A wave of exhaustion swiftly followed and he collapsed with his cheek resting against her shoulder. Their limbs entwined, neither one of them spoke. If he had not been crushing her into the mattress, he would have been content to fall asleep in her arms.

Tristan clasped her to him and rolled until she reclined on top of him. His cock had softened within her, but he was reluctant to break their connection. He brushed strands of hair from her face, and offered her a tender smile.

“You are a dangerous woman, Lady Imogene,” he teased, feeling too good to regret his loss of control.

“Is that something good or something bad?” she asked, unable to conceal her vulnerability from him.

“Oh, darling, it is something very good,” he drawled, too sated to do little more than place his hand at the back of her neck to draw her close for another bone-melting kiss. “If this was not your first time, I would dedicate the rest of the night proving it to you.”

His cock twitched within her, obviously offering its opinion of his suggestion. It was with some regret that he eased out of her. She winced at his withdrawal, confirming his suspicions.

“What do you intend to do with me?” she asked, her dark blue eyes gleaming like polished stones in the candlelight.

Tristan shifted and tucked her body against his side. She cuddled against him and used his chest as a pillow. She still wore her linen shift. The next time he took her, she would be wearing only him. The carnal thought did nothing to cool his cock's enthusiasm. To conceal the evidence of his arousal, he reached over and pulled a sheet over them.

“Do with you?” he echoed, realizing he had not answered her question. “If you do not mind, I would like to stay like this for a while.”

Imogene sighed. “I would like that.”

His arms tightened around her waist as he considered the consequences of what they had done. He had won the wager. Another spring, a different woman in his arms, he might have pulled out of her, dressed, and sent her home while he sought out Norgrave to gloat about his victory.