Compromising Miss Tisdale (25 page)

She shook her head. “Don’t worry about that now. How is your uncle?”

Duncan looked at her curiously. “Um, he is, um . . . ” he stuttered, the pain obvious in both his expression and his voice. “He’s holding on for right now. But we’ve said all that needed to be said.”

“Yes, that is good.”

Duncan nodded slowly. “Ambrosia?”

“Perhaps you can get me a brandy? I’ve had quite the day,” she declared boldly, removing her bonnet and hat pins from her hair.

Duncan finished his walk down the stairs, took her by the elbow, and led her into the parlor close by. He went to the cherry cabinet that stood in the corner, removed the bottle of amber liquid, and proceeded to pour two glasses. He handed her one, still not questioning her request, then took his seat across from her.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the glass, then downing it in one swift motion. She hadn’t any real notion of why she requested brandy. It did seem like the appropriate thing to do at the time, despite the fact that she hadn’t tasted it before. Ambrosia wasn’t certain but thought that perhaps her stomach had suddenly been set on fire. “Oh. My.” She fanned her mouth. “Is there something else I might have to make this awful feeling stop?”

He calmly poured her
another
glass of brandy. She drank it without question and the burning in her stomach was promptly replaced with a euphoric settling. Finally, her nerves were at ease and she felt more like herself again. “Much better, thank you.”

Duncan smiled. “You haven’t answered any of my questions.”

“In all fairness, you really haven’t asked any questions. You’ve stated my name a few times and made some generalized statements, but really not many questions.”

He nodded. “All right, then. Ambrosia, why are you here?”

“Now that is a question.”

He looked at her in a fatherly way. More scolding than caring.

“There is so much to tell you,” she said, her pulse quickening and her breath growing more difficult to gather. “I’m quite unsure where to start.”

“Ambrosia–”

“No,” she interrupted. “Let me finish. I traveled all day and with each mile I became more and more certain of what it was I was traveling toward. I was traveling toward you, Duncan.”

Duncan looked down and swirled the liquid around in his glass, watching its legs work their way up the sides of the glass.

“I want so much to be perfect. And to do that, I’ve tried to control every aspect of my life. I wanted so much to make the perfect match, one rivaling my brother’s, that I almost missed it. I thought I could control that, too, but it turns out that the right match was most unexpected and not at all as I had imagined.” The room suddenly became quite blurry.

Tears. Her eyes were welling with tears.

“I don’t know why we keep bumping into each other, or why I can’t seem to stay out of your arms. None of it makes sense, but that’s really the beauty of love. It’s not supposed to make sense. There is no rhyme or reason. It just happens. I can’t control it.”

Still, he rolled that liquid around, not looking up or anywhere else in the room.

Ambrosia continued. “Neither one of us can afford to live in our brother’s shadows. I have thrown all propriety to the wind so that I may be here with you while your uncle is dying. I do not care what society thinks of me showing up on your doorstep at all hours of the night. I do not care what my mother will say. Because you are so much more important to me than my damn reputation. And contrary to what you claim, I believe you are a good man. You love your uncle dearly, and you’ve been nothing but kind to my family. And surely, no man that makes me feel so much better about life can be anything but good.”

Ambrosia sat, hands folded in her lap, ruddy faced streaked with tears, still beating heart on her sleeve, and her entire soul lying open and vulnerable before him.

Duncan swallowed the entirety of the glass’s contents, then set it down on a neighboring table, his movements exaggerated when layered against the silence. He remained motionless for what seemed to be an eternity. Then he stood, very slowly, from his seat and crossed the Aubusson carpet that separated them—each step slow and deliberate, like he did their first meeting. He stopped directly in front of her, then suddenly collapsed to his knees. He remained kneeling in front of her and laid his head onto her lap, bringing his hands up to caress the sides of her legs through her gown.

Ambrosia took a trembling hand and ran it through his hair, stroking his head.

“I am glad you came,” was all he said.

The two stayed that way for some time. No words, just gentle caresses and comfort beyond speech.

He finally raised his head, reached up and took her face into his hands. He leaned in and began kissing her. The kiss deepened, his tongue invading her mouth, tentative at first, then more decidedly. He explored every corner, every nook, every cranny. They had shared kisses before, but this time there was something more to it—energy in the air around them. Her heart leapt in her chest, filling her head with an almost insurmountable pressure. The build-up was excruciating, each dive of his tongue taking her closer to the place she knew she’d finally allow him to take her.

Duncan’s lips left hers and descended down the outstretched column of her neck. With each kiss, her resolve and body weakened, till she was barely capable of holding up her own head. He must have sensed her debility, for he gathered her legs in the crook of one arm and laid her back against the settee. Duncan continued his southern travel down her neck and onto her chest, gently unbuttoning the bodice of her gown with the patience of Job. His fortitude soon paid off, the gown opening and her breasts strained against the thin, sheer fabric of her chemise.

He took one breast into his hands and massaged, his thumb stroking her nipple to a hard peak. The other breast reacted in a similar manner, her nipples straining against the white fabric. It was not enough. Ambrosia wanted more and even the thinnest of fabrics provided too great a barrier for her at that moment. She sat up.

“Please,” was all she said. She hadn’t the knowledge, nor the words that would take her to that place she so desperately wanted to be. He took each of her arms and positioned them over her head. Duncan then took her dress and allowed the silk fabric to linger slowly over her body as he lifted it over her head. She was dressed in nothing but a chemise, illuminated by just a few candles. He inhaled harshly.

“I can’t do much more, Ambrosia. I won’t be able to stop if we go much further.”

Ambrosia knew all too well the consequences, but before this moment, she couldn’t imagine why any woman would risk so much for pleasure.

Now it was abundantly clear. This was why men fought wars. This was why women gave up promising futures. This was the power of desire and its affects were intoxicating.

“You’ll have to marry me,” he finished, reaching for her leg, letting his hand inch up the silk stocking that dressed it.

The words rung in her ears and she hadn’t quite comprehended their meaning. It was as if he were speaking a foreign language. Then he smiled, and she fully understood their meaning. His confession was not nearly as verbose as hers, but it was poignant none the less.

At that exact moment, his nimble fingers skimmed the top of her stocking and was now drawing circles at the top of her inner thigh. Her breath quickened, the sensation between her legs overwhelming. He allowed his hand to travel even higher, stopping only when he reached the wet curls at her center. Duncan brought his lips to her ear and whispered delightfully wicked sentiments about how soft she felt and how ready she was between licks and nips at her earlobe. His finger found her tiny piece of flesh and at his touch, her entire body clenched.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered in a husky voice that practically took her over the edge of the precipice she found herself dangling upon.

“I’ll die if you do,” she returned, surprised by her ability to speak at all.

Duncan plunged one finger deep inside, her hips instantly bucking. He positioned himself over her, allowing his hand to explore each fold and linger at the places that brought her the most pleasure. The pressure was mounting-her thighs were tightening, and her hips were bucking now at a more consistent pace. But something was missing.

“More,” she uttered in between moans.

He dipped a second finger in and the sensation was enough to throw her over the edge. The pressure inside exploded, drowning out all sound within her head, though she was certain there was screaming. Her hips moved of their own volition and her toes curled so tightly she feared she’d never get them into a slipper again. When the waves of feeling subsided, Ambrosia laid there, panting, and covered in sweat.

She reached down and touched his cock, now straining against his breeches. “I still need more,” she pleaded, still feeling a sense of emptiness despite her climax.

Duncan raised his shirt over his head. The muscles of his chest were tight and strong. She allowed her hands to travel over them, stopping at the nipples and rubbing them as he had done to hers. He swallowed, his muscled throat and shoulders taught as a low groan escaped. His pleasure points were similar to hers. Which meant . . .

Ambrosia slipped her hand into his breeches and touched him. He tightened and as if it were possible, his cock hardened even more. He stood and allowed his pants to drop to the floor, stepping out of them and standing naked before her. She looked up from her position on the settee, at the bronze man before her, and worshipped the strength and beauty of his unclothed body. He reached down and pulled the chemise over her head.

She had thought she would be shy, but she felt no reason to cover herself. Instead, she delighted in the way his eyes perused her, slowly at first, lingering at her breasts and thighs.

“One day,” he said, having to clear his throat before speaking, “I plan on taking an entire day just to stare at you and kiss every part of your body.”

It was a threat and a delicious promise all wrapped up into one. She knew he would make good on it, too.

Duncan crawled on top of her, laying her back against the settee again and positioned himself between her legs. He took one leg and bent it at the knee, which seemed to nestle him even closer to that junction between her legs. Her excitement began to mount at a rapid pace as she felt him at her core, rigid velvet pulsating at her center. She felt first the tip and then he looked into her eyes.

It was almost enough to make her come again.

He took her bent leg and lifted it slightly, and she welcomed a bit more of him. Then he pushed, one sudden movement that broke through her resistance, plunging his entire length into her. He groaned with pleasure and she shouted with pain. He kissed her cheeks, newly wet with tears. As he did, he began gently rocking back and forth, her pain replaced with a devilish sensation. She was no longer in pain and the feeling of emptiness was now replaced with a feeling of completeness. Her hips rose to meet his and their rhythm increased to a frenzy.

“Please,” he pleaded in her ear. She knew he couldn’t enjoy his own pleasure till she had experienced hers, an act so moving that she could no longer hold back. Ambrosia fell over the edge again, this time grabbing onto him as if he were falling with her.

Minutes later, her world finally stopped spinning and she was once again aware of the warm man lying atop her. He propped himself up on his elbow. “Perhaps we should move to the bedroom?” he asked, running his free hand up and down the flat plain of her stomach.

“I should probably be leaving . . . ” she started, his hand awakening the hunger she thought had finally been satiated. She had said the words, but the thought of having to dress and leave the comfort of his arms was almost overwhelming.

He sat up. “Absolutely not. I won’t have it.” Duncan took her chin in his fingers and tilted her head up to meet his gaze. “You will never leave my side again.”

It was a bit possessive, but the sentiment left her dizzy.

“I will have to eventually. I will have to return home and gather my belongings-”

“We will send my valet.”

She smiled. “I will need an escort.”

“I’ll hire one straight away. Or perhaps we could implore Lillian—she’d make an excellent escort.”

Ambrosia balked. “Lillian is perhaps the worst escort to grace a London ballroom. If only you knew the trouble she got in with Lord Colton before they were married.”

“Precisely. She sounds like my kind of escort,” he chided.

They both laughed and he brought her closer against him. “I was quite serious though. I want you to be here . . . with me. At least till my uncle passes.”

Ambrosia brought her hand up and allowed it to rub back and forth against the fine black hair scattered across the top of his chest. “Of course. Perhaps in the morning I can send word to Brightly for my sister. And I can just as easily pick up a few things from our home in Mayfair.”

He took her hand and kissed the pads of her fingers. “Thank you.”

Ambrosia closed her eyes, finally allowing the day, and night’s activities to sink in.

“I love you,” she said.

Duncan let out a little snore—he had fallen asleep again.

Chapter 25

Duncan woke up in his bed. It was well before noon and for a moment he contemplated putting the pillow over his head and trying to go back to sleep. But then he remembered why he awoke.

He had felt her leave his arms. Duncan sat up and peered as far as he could from his limited vantage point in the giant four-poster bed.

“Ambrosia?” he called quietly. He still wasn’t certain he hadn’t dreamt the entire thing and didn’t want to alert the staff by his delusions.

Then he saw her, clad only in his robe, looking at him from around the corner of the dressing screen. It hadn’t been a dream; it had been a bloody miracle. Miss Ambrosia Tisdale was standing in front of him, her thick chestnut tresses down and gleaming over one shoulder, barely covered, and rosy cheeked from a night of unabashed love making. Even her chest was still red from the stubble of his day-old beard rubbing across it as he worshipped her breasts.