“If we keep talking about it, it’s not going to work,” she said.
“What, exactly?”
“Being ravaged,” she whispered against his coat. “Being taken by surprise. As you always do. Only
more
this time. Much more.”
“How much more?”
“As much as there is, Cranleigh,” she said, lifting her face to look up into his eyes, teasing him, provoking him, challenging him.
The look in her eyes, seductive and hesitant, married within him to drive him to distraction.
“Go to the vestibule,” he said in a low voice. “I’ll find you there, and take you.”
“You won’t carry me off from here?” she said, sounding almost disappointed.
“I would, but I don’t think Miss Prestwick would survive it. She’s seems a very conventional girl, very observant of every rule of decorum.”
“Of course she is, Cranleigh. How else is she to win herself a duke?” Amelia said, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “In the stair hall, then. Hurry, will you?”
“Not to worry,” he said, bowing as he left her in the drawing room. He had to find Aldreth first and make certain that all the legal documents were signed before he touched her. Amy might be feeling reckless now, but this was just the sort of thing that a woman used against a man in the future. He had that on good authority, and he didn’t doubt it for a minute.
“I’M relieved that’s done,” Molly, Duchess of Hyde, said under her breath, watching as Amelia wandered past from the drawing room into the stair hall. Cranleigh, nearly on her heels, wandered with rather too much precision for actual wandering into the library. “You don’t think it’s possible for them to mangle it now, do you?”
“I can’t think how,” Hyde said. “The contracts have been agreed to and signed. Aldreth has nothing to kick about. Cranleigh should be delighted.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Molly said, sounding not entirely optimistic. “It has been a coil. I can’t think how we should have managed it without Sophia guiding things. That was a rare bit of luck, Amelia Caversham seeking her out, though it did raise quite a scandal. Still, once the first child comes, no one will remember a thing.”
“Oh, some people remember, Molly,” Hyde said with a rare smile.
Hyde was not given to outward displays, or indeed many inward ones. He was a restful man, something of a safe haven, which she did so like about him. In fact, that quality drew her to him immediately and resolutely.
“Hyde, you know perfectly well that Sophia would never breathe a word. She’s far too discreet.”
“I would have said she’s far too devious,” Hyde said mildly.
Molly laughed. “A woman may be both, dearest Hyde.”
“But not you, dearest Molly,” he said, taking a sip of tea to cover his nearly appalling sentimentality.
“Hyde, do I still turn your head?” she said, smiling up at him. Hyde was very tall and she was very petite; it was an arrangement she enjoyed for a multitude of reasons.
“Would I have ruined you if you did not?” he answered. “How else to make sure your father would agree to the match? I did what was necessary.”
“Being a duke and a general in His Majesty’s army wasn’t enough, you didn’t suppose?”
“I wasn’t going to take the chance, colonials being what they are.”
“And what they are is?”
“Unpredictable,” he answered stoutly.
“Hyde, what a lovely compliment.”
He grunted, grinning.
“After all these years, I can still surprise you?”
He grunted again and sipped his tea.
“Oh, there’s Cranleigh again. Whatever is he doing?” she said, laying her hand on Hyde’s arm and encouraging him to lead her to the doorway to the stair hall. Amelia was there, tucked into a shadow, looking quite animated.
Cranleigh came into the stair hall, saw Amelia, saw his parents, bowed to his father, shrugged, picked Amelia up and threw her over his shoulder, and then proceeded to carry her down the stairs. Her muffled giggles rose up from the shadows.
Hyde and Molly stood silently for a moment, staring down the stairs. Molly then said, “He is
so
like you, Hyde. It does take me back to that autumn day in Concord.”
“Tenth October, 1772,” Hyde said gruffly.
“Hyde! You romantic!” Molly said brightly.
The Duke of Hyde blushed pink.
Twenty-seven
C
RANLEIGH carried her down the stairs to the ground floor, past the servants, past the grooms, and into the mews. Three stableboys stopped raking out the stalls to stare. Cranleigh barked an order and the stableboys, whom she could only identify by their dirty shoes, upside down as she was, were gone. Far gone, she hoped.
Cranleigh slapped her lightly on the arse, hoisted her over his shoulder as she was still squealing in outrage, and dumped her into a pile of fresh hay.
“You wanted danger? How’m I doing?” he said, staring down at her, his hands on his hips. He looked, dare she admit it, like a sailor.
“You didn’t have to strike me!” she said, pulling a piece of hay from her bodice, where it itched.
“Didn’t I? Sorry,” he said, sounding not the least bit sorry. “I was going for danger. I shall just have to keep trying, shan’t I?”
And with that, he knelt in the hay at her feet, lifted her skirts with both hands to her knees before she had a chance to artlessly kick him in the chest. Which she did. Which he ignored.
“Cranleigh! What are you doing?”
“Ravaging you, what did you suppose?” he said. “It goes rather quickly, this ravaging damsels bit. I thought you knew that.”
“Cranleigh, stop! Just . . . stop!” She was holding her hand out, as if to push him away, when of course he couldn’t be pushed, not if he didn’t want to be, and he clearly didn’t.
“No, Amy, I don’t think I will. This idea of yours to ravage you in dangerous fashion has definite appeal. Try to relax and enjoy it. There’s a good girl.”
And before she could say another word of protest, which she was completely certain she would have done, he lay on top of her and kissed her. Of course, none knew better than she that Cranleigh definitely knew how to kiss. He kissed her quite thoroughly, his tongue quite fully engaged in ravaging her mouth, his hands doing things they had never done before.
He seemed to have more hands than two.
He was tugging at her bodice, which collapsed.
He was lifting her skirts, which ripped.
He was holding her face and popping her breasts free and sliding down her garters.
All at once. All, impossibly, at once.
Why, she was helpless to stop him. She could not resist him. He was relentless. Ruthless. Dangerous. And very, very thorough.
This is what all those endless months of kissing had been leading toward, this destination, this explosion of sensation and want and throbbing necessity.
Why was she wearing so many clothes? Why was he? Mountains and mountains of clothing piled up between them.
Her skin tingled and she shivered beneath his touch. Her nipples ached and she arched her back to thrust them into his hands. He caught them, clever boy, and seemed to know exactly what to do with them.
“You seem very experienced at this, Cranleigh,” she said, gasping against his mouth.
“Do I?” he said, grinding his hips into hers, pressing her down into the hay, the scent of it rising in the air around them, golden sparkles in the last light of the day.
“Ravaged many women, have you?” she said.
“You’re my first wife,” he said, tracing a finger against her sex. She moaned and bucked against his hand.
“That sounds rather debauched.”
“Perfect then,” he said under his breath, his mouth at her breast, his hands . . . everywhere.
“Cranleigh,” she gasped, “wait . . . wait.”
“I’m done with waiting, Amy. You’re mine, and you’ll stay mine.”
It was a remark tinged with dangerous overtones. She nearly trembled with delight. In fact, she did tremble.
Cranleigh shifted his knee between her legs, moving upward, forcing her legs apart. His hands were at her breasts, at her belly, at the folds of her sex, at her lips, at her hips, at her . . . at her . . . and at her.
Remarkable bit of work.
She couldn’t think how he did it.
She couldn’t think at all.
“Ravaging,” he whispered, his lips at her breast, his tongue licking a path to whatever destination he chose. “What do you think of it?”
“I think,” she panted, clasping her hands around his shoulders, his muscles bunching beneath her hands, “I think it’s perfectly obvious why it’s such a popular pastime.”
“Thinking of taking it up, are you?” he said, a smile in his voice.
“I may. With you,” she said, reaching down to clasp him on the arse. “Hurry up and ravage me completely, Cranleigh, for then, knowing how, I shall ravage you.”
And with that, he lifted her knees high and wide and plunged into her without another word. Good thing, too, as she had nothing more to say.
Except scream, that is.
THE crowd at the drawing room windows overlooking the Aldreth mews heard a scream, a most feminine scream of a most specific type.
The Duke of Edenham sighed and said, “I didn’t think he had it in him. Twenty pounds, then. Monday next? I’ll send my man around with it.”
Sophia Dalby smiled and said, “I’m to wait more than a week? And then take your money off some grubby messenger? You bring it round yourself, Edenham, and tomorrow, if you please.”
Edenham laughed lightly. “And if I don’t please?”
“Then you shall learn why I can hardly scare up any wager at all anymore. I nearly always win, and I’m quite ruthless about getting paid.”
“Nearly always?”
Sophia shrugged. “I was being polite. I
do
always win. I can’t seem to help it, not that I’d want to. I’ll expect you tomorrow, then? Around six?”
“As long as I’m not to be interviewed, then I shall be there.”
“Oh, that’s long over. Who else would possibly want a duke for a husband?”
Edenham laughed, as did Sophia, as it was a very ridiculous comment to make. At least Penelope Prestwick thought so.
“BLAST, I’ve just lost thirty pounds to Sophia Dalby,” Lord Iveston said quietly.
“You didn’t think they’d marry or that he’d ruin her or that he’d ruin her in a stable?” Lord Ruan asked.
They were both standing staring down at the mews with most of the guests at Aldreth House. It was a complete crush, actually, which was hardly surprising.
“Oh,” Iveston said, ducking his head down and shaking it slightly, “only that I didn’t think Cranleigh would make his move today. He’s been . . .” Iveston let his voice trail off, clearly feeling he was about to betray a confidence.
“Interested?” Ruan supplied diplomatically.
Iveston didn’t so much as nod, but his agreement with the word was implied.
“I thought it would take a bit more prompting, that’s all. I can’t think how it happened so quickly, after such a prolonged period of interest.”
Well, that was diplomatic. Ruan couldn’t confess that he’d been aware of any special interest between Lady Amelia and Lord Cranleigh until the business in the conservatory, but once aware of that, it was more than obvious that something had been going on between the two of them for some time. Things just did not progress that quickly from a dead start. Especially with a virgin. Why, just look at how slowly he was making his way with Sophia, and she was anything but a virgin. He did think he should have got farther along at this point, but she was playing it very coy, a response he couldn’t fathom. He was not completely unattractive. He was experienced. He was young enough to do her some good service.
She was toying with him and he couldn’t think why.
Most peculiar.
He had thought to taunt her with some other woman at his side, but upon further study, he was more than convinced that such a ploy would merely amuse her. Something else must be done. The more she resisted, the more intrigued and determined he became.
Yes, he was very well aware that that was nearly certainly the very reason for her coyness, but he was still intrigued, even against his better judgement, of which he had little at the moment.
Sophia was driving him mad.
He found he didn’t care. He was having too much fun being driven round the bend.
Remarkable woman. He simply had to have her. And he would. He was a patient, thorough man. And even more to the point, he was experienced at more than seduction, which he knew would tantalize her. In fact, he did think in his more cheerful moments that she was nearly tantalized already.
Ruan smiled and kept his gaze out the window and down to the mews. But he was thinking of Sophia, not innocent Amelia, though by that scream she wasn’t innocent anymore.
“THERE goes her innocence,” Mary, Lady Jordan, said on a sigh. “And not to a duke, either. I can’t think how she wandered so far from the path she had determined for herself.”
“Can’t you?” John Grey asked.
They were standing nowhere near the drawing room windows, but at the single library window that overlooked the mews. They were nearly alone in the room. Eleanor was sitting on one of the sofas in the room, talking to John’s sons, or rather trying to get them to talk to her. The Duke and Duchess of Hyde were engaged in a seemingly pleasant conversation with the Duke of Aldreth, all clearly delighted to have their houses joined in marriage. Lord Dalby stood listening politely, his attention drifting.
Mary looked up at John. He still looked so much like the man she had met at Spa more than fifteen years ago. He’d been looking for Sophia. They’d lost each other somehow as children; Mary never had got the details. She’d been too busy trying to seduce him. And she’d succeeded, too. Her marriage had been . . . unpleasant. Her husband nearly dead, hence the trip to Spa, an effort to restore his health that hadn’t worked and that had depleted all their resources.