At the Duke’s Pleasure (28 page)

Her lips rounded with surprise.

“I’ve sent ahead and the arrangements are already under way,” he continued. “We’ll be married at six this evening and have our wedding supper afterward.” He kissed her temple, his fingers sliding purposefully against her breast. “And then to bed.”

“And what if I would rather wait?” she said, even though she was intrigued with the idea of a hasty ceremony.

He sent her a fixed look. “Then we’ll both look like fools, since I’ve sent word to the family about our nuptials and where we’ll be staying for the next few days. I also sent notices to the papers to announce our marriage. They’ll be on the breakfast tables of everyone in the Ton come morning.”

“Well, you were certainly sure I’d agree,” she retorted.

His features took on a serious mien. “No, I wasn’t. That’s why I didn’t tell you earlier and why we aren’t waiting. Consider yourself kidnapped, madam, since you’re coming with me.”

She softened. “I said yes last night.”

“You said yes weeks ago. I’m just making sure you don’t reverse your decision again.”

“I won’t.”

How could she when she’d lain with him last night? When she’d given him her innocence? How could she when she loved him beyond all reason, so that matters of logic and common sense no longer held any sway?

Laying a palm against her cheek, he kissed her again, his touch coaxing yet uncompromising at the same time. “I’ll give you a grand wedding at Braebourne, if it’s what you want. But know this, Claire, we’re getting married tonight. I’m done waiting for you.”

She curved a hand around his wrist. “Then we shall wed. I don’t care about a big wedding, I never have. A quiet ceremony will be lovely, just us two.”

Relief shone on his face, pleasure gleaming in his midnight blue eyes.

“Although I have to confess that I wish I had something to wear besides this spotted muslin,” she said. “But I suppose it will have to do.”

“Not a bit.” He smiled. “Do you think I wouldn’t arrange for a gown? You’ll look like a bride, don’t worry.”

“Oh, Edward. What did you bring me?”

His gaze twinkled. “You’ll see.”

Then he kissed her again and she forgot about everything but him for the rest of their journey.

E
vening summer sunshine bathed the quaint parish church in a warm golden light, lambent rays shining through rows of leaded glass windows set in the old grey stone walls. A few lighted candles dispelled the remaining shadows in the interior, the scent of beeswax fragrant in the air, the atmosphere still and peaceful.

At the altar, Claire stood with her palm clasped inside Edward’s, listening to the words that would soon join them in holy matrimony.

The kindly eyed, white-haired rector Edward had mentioned was officiating the ceremony. The clergyman’s wife and daughter were acting as witnesses, the two women clearly awestruck at being asked to take a role in the wedding of such illustrious personages as the Duke of Clybourne and his bride—or so Claire had overheard them whisper to each other.

And just as Edward had promised, he’d provided a dress that was more than suitable for the occasion. When they’d arrived earlier at his Oxfordshire estate, her breath had caught as she’d walked into her bedchamber and seen the dress he’d chosen. She remembered her heart beating in heavy strokes, dazed and dazzled as she recognized the outrageously expensive cream sarcenet gown she’d purchased so many weeks ago.

The dress literally sparkled from the diamonds encrusted in the square-cut bodice, and the leaves and flowers sewn into the skirt using real gold thread. He’d even remembered to have her maid pack the matching shoes—cream satin slippers that glittered with gold and diamond buckles.

She’d never worn the ensemble before, finding the dress far too elaborate for an ordinary ball, even one held in London.

But for a wedding…for
her
wedding…well, that was another matter entirely.

In fact, as she’d let a housemaid help her into her finery, she’d known that Edward couldn’t have selected a gift better designed to please her. She’d wiped a tear from her cheek, more touched by his thoughtfulness than she could say.

She had no veil—there hadn’t been time to procure one. But a handful of pink rose buds, freshly picked from the garden, more than ably adorned her short curls.

By the time she descended the stairs to join Edward for the carriage ride to the church, she truly felt like a bride. And when she caught the intense look of heavy-lidded admiration on his face, she knew she was finally ready to become his wife.

For better or for worse…till death us do part.

In his clear, commanding voice, she heard Edward repeat those words, speaking the vows that would bind them forever. He slid a wide gold band onto her finger—more of his amazing last-minute planning—then it was her turn.

Meeting his gaze, she repeated the words, not at all sure how she managed with blood thundering like the sea in her ears and her heart drumming loudly in her chest. He’d arranged for a gold wedding band for himself, and with trembling hands, she fit it onto his finger.

Suddenly the ceremony was over.

Suddenly she was Edward’s wife.

The rector and his family invited them to share a celebratory glass of wine while they signed the register. Edward accepted with gracious aplomb, carrying much of the conversation, since she could no longer seem to find her voice. Then, before she quite realized, she was being led back to the carriage, stepping inside for the first time as the new Duchess of Clybourne.

But Edward didn’t grant her more than a few moments to think, dragging her into his arms to indulge in a ravenous kiss. “I wanted to do this on the altar,” he told her, “but I thought we might shock everyone.”

Claiming her mouth in fervid, passionate draughts, he showed her exactly what he meant. By the time they reached the house, she was breathless and aching, the lovely two-story redbrick manse naught but a blur as he led her inside.

She half expected him to take her straight upstairs to bed, but to her chagrin, they found the small staff of servants assembled in the hall. The servants showered her and Edward with warm, heartfelt congratulations, beaming with pride at being chosen to serve her and the duke on this most special of occasions.

An elaborate wedding supper had been prepared, they were informed, despite the short notice. Cook had even baked a three-tiered cake, frosted with creamy white boiled icing and decorated with sugared fruits.

Not wanting to take the chance of ruining her beautiful gown, Claire reluctantly trailed upstairs to change. She assumed she would return downstairs to eat in the dining room. But once she was dressed in an airy gown of cool, pale blue silk, she was led along the corridor to a room at the end of the hall.

Edward’s bedchamber.

He was waiting inside, looking wickedly debonair stripped down to his shirtsleeves, waistcoat and trousers. “Champagne?” he asked, handing her a glass.

Accepting, she took a long swallow, soothed by the refreshing slide of bubbles that tickled her nose and delighted her tongue.

A wide table was set with china and crystal, and on another an array of appetizingly scented dishes that waited ready beneath their covers.

She and Edward took their seats, with only a single footman to serve. As soon as he’d laid their plates before them, Edward waved the man out, informing him that his services would no longer be required that evening.

Claire’s heart sped faster as the door closed behind him, vibrantly aware of the huge mahogany tester bed that waited on the other side of the spacious room. Part of her wished Edward would just take her there now, lay her down amid the sheets and make love to her.

Instead, he encouraged her to eat and drink, pausing to refill her wineglass whenever the contents dropped more than an inch. She was scarcely aware of what she ate or what she said as the minutes slid past. She only knew that she was carrying on a conversation, since Edward responded in his turn.

Time took on a fluid texture, leaving her uncertain how late the hour had become. Then the meal was finished, except for dessert. Slices of the delicious-looking wedding cake had been cut and waited on a pair of plates.

Edward placed one in front of himself. Reaching over, he drew her out of her seat and across to him, angling his chair to one side, as he pulled her onto his lap. Cradling her close with an arm around her waist, he dropped a pair of heated kisses against her throat.

“I thought we’d share,” he suggested.

She didn’t answer, unsure why she’d become so shy, particularly after last night. Or maybe it was because of last night and all the stunning pleasure she knew awaited her in his arms.

Then she frowned.

What if our passion for each other isn’t the same now that we’re wed? What if Edward doesn’t desire me like he did, knowing the game between us is over and that he’s won?

But then her gaze locked on his and she saw the fierce hunger smoldering in his eyes, and knew she was being foolish. More than foolish, she realized, becoming aware of his iron-hard arousal pressing with insistent demand against her hip in a way that proved his need more fully than words.

Taking a forkful of cake, he raised it to her lips. “Try a bite,” he said on a husky command.

Opening her mouth, she let him slide the tines over her lips, the sugary confection melting against her tongue. She swallowed. “Delicious.”

“You’ve got a bit of icing on your mouth,” he remarked. Before she could attend to the matter, he stopped her. “No. Allow me.”

Using a tantalizing sweep of his tongue, he bathed away the sticky sweetness, pausing afterward to take her mouth in a torrid kiss that left her shaking and hungry for things that had nothing to do with food.

Slowly, he leaned away. “Your turn.” Taking up the fork, he cut a bite of cake. But instead of handing it to her on the utensil, he put the sweet directly into her hand. “Feed me.”

Her nerves leapt. Fingers trembling, she moved to obey.

Holding the offering between her thumb and forefingers, she let him eat the dessert from her hand. Curving his fingers around her wrist, he began licking the crumbs and icing off her skin. Abruptly enslaved, all she could do was whimper against the flood of heat that poured through her limbs as he drew one of her fingers deep into his mouth. With an inventiveness she couldn’t possibly have anticipated, he swirled his tongue around each digit in turn, suckling with a thoroughness that roused an answering moisture from between her thighs. On a moan, her eyelids fell shut, air growing thin and unsteady in her lungs, as he showed her that even hands and fingers could be erotic.

Once he released her, he sought out a single candied cherry from the cake plate. Pressing the sweet to her lips, he rubbed the sugary fruit across her skin. Then he licked her, doing to her lips what he’d just done to her hand. All the sugar gone, he popped the tiny fruit into his mouth and chewed. After swallowing, he captured her mouth, taking her with a raw carnality that sent tremors radiating along her spine. The sweet, tart flavor of cherries suffused her lips and tongue, her toes curling, fingers lifting to spear into his thick soft hair to drag him closer.

Wild need burst inside her, fiery longing that drove her to take more and give more as well, meeting his every demand with a craving of her own. Her thoughts spun in dizzying circles, the alcohol she’d consumed merging with the intoxication of his touch to make her drowsy and dazed.

She sighed as he stood them both on their feet, then bent to sweep her high into his arms. Her head went to his shoulder, her hands to his chest, stroking there as she absently began unfastening the top buttons on his waistcoat.

Laying her on the bed, he kissed her again, crushing her mouth to his with avid and unmistakable possession. His hands roved over her body, stroking and caressing, as he loosened ties and undid buttons in a progression that soon had her bared to the skin. Dress, stays, shift and shoes, everything was stripped away, everything except her stockings and garters—those he left in place.

Kissing his way down her body, he roused her passions higher. She writhed, aching in an agony of need. Reaching her thighs, he stroked the sensitive insides, kissing her there with tormenting slowness before parting her legs to take an even deeper kiss.

Her back arched, nails digging into the sheets, as his mouth closed over her. She thought she might die from the pleasure, each warm, wet swipe of his tongue bringing her closer and closer to what she knew must be nothing less than madness.

Breath panted in labored draws, a keening moan rising in her throat that she was helpless to silence. But he didn’t seem to want her silent. Quite the opposite, forcing her to the brink and beyond until he controlled everything she was, dictated everything she would ever be.

Then she was soaring, dark waves of rapture breaking over her like a storm. Buzzing and blissful, she let herself float, a smile on her mouth that she couldn’t contain. Eyes closed, she felt Edward rise from the bed, heard the soft rustling movements as he yanked off his clothes.

The mattress depressed beneath his knee as he joined her again in the bed. Taking her in his arms, he stroked one of her breasts, playing with the nipple before enfolding his lips around it. He suckled, her hand gliding over his bare shoulders in a long, drowsy caress as he did.

It was a caress that grew drowsier with each passing second, sleep a call she found nearly impossible to resist.

Sliding higher, he kissed her mouth.

“Edward,” she sighed.

“Yes, dear Claire?”

And then, without even knowing, she dozed off.

For long agonizing moments, Edward stared, waiting for a reply that never came. In a futile hope that he might rouse her again, he pressed his lips to hers. But there was no response, her mouth slack and unresponsive beneath his own.

Bloody hell! She’s asleep!

His shaft throbbing with unsatisfied arousal, he groaned, then flopped onto his back.

I should never have given her all that wine.

But in spite of last night’s intimacy, he’d known she was nervous, her fair skin pale with nerves and the surprise of their impromptu wedding. When he’d promised to rush her to the altar, that was exactly what he’d done. He’d thought the wine would relax her. Apparently the liquor had more than done its job.

That and the aftereffects of the climax he’d just given her.

Then too there was the fact that she’d barely managed any sleep last night. His fault again, he supposed, since he’d not only kept her awake making love, but roused her a couple of hours later for another energetic bout.

Groaning, he flung an arm over his eyes and fought his body’s insistent hunger. He could probably wake her again, he realized. A few well-placed touches and he could have her up and begging to be taken. But she was exhausted and clearly in need of rest. Much as it pained him—quite literally—he knew he should, and would, wait.

Rolling onto his side, he watched her sleep. Ever so gently, he brushed a lock of hair from her face, marveling for a moment that she was finally, irrevocably his wife.

Claire
.

The girl he’d known for such a very long time, but whom he hadn’t really known at all.

The woman who drove him to distraction, yet made him want her with an intense, single-minded obsession.

She says she loves me. But how do I feel in return?

He frowned, unsure, having never been the sort to believe in romantic whimsies like love. Such emotions were for those who could afford to be indulgent, who weren’t burdened by duty and responsibility and the need to always do what was right.

Stroking the back of one finger over her cheek, he watched her dream and knew that, for now, this was enough.

Moving closer, he turned her so he could slide up behind, angling them together like spoons. Inserting one of his thighs between hers, he cupped a breast in his hand and tucked her near.

With a contented sigh, she snuggled back.

Groaning, he closed his eyes and prepared for a long, frustrating night.