The Duke and I (38 page)

 Daphne's lower lip caught between her teeth. He was stuttering again. He must be truly upset. She felt her heart breaking for him, for the little boy who'd wanted nothing other than his father's approval.

 Simon cocked his head to the side and regarded her with a surprisingly steady gaze. "He would have approved of you."

 "Oh," Daphne said, not sure how to interpret that.

 "But"—he shrugged and gave her a secret, mischievous smile—"I married you anyway."

 He looked so earnest, so boyishly serious, that it was a hard battle not to throw her arms around him and attempt to

comfort him. But no matter how deep his pain, or how wounded his soul, he was going about this all wrong. The best

revenge against his father would simply be to live a full and happy life, to achieve all those heights and glories his father had been so determined to deny him.

 Daphne swallowed a heavy sob of frustration. She didn't see how he could possibly lead a happy life if all of his choices were based on thwarting the wishes of a dead man.

 But she didn't want to get into all of that just then. She was tired and he was drunk and this just wasn't the right time.

"Let's get you to bed," she finally said.

 He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes filling with an ages-old need for comfort. "Don't leave me," he whispered.

 "Simon," she choked out.

 "Please don't. He left. Everyone left. Then I left." He squeezed her hand. "You stay."

 She nodded shakily and rose to her feet. "You can sleep it off in my bed," she said. "I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning."

 "But you'll stay with me?"

 It was a mistake. She knew it was a mistake, but still she said, "I'll stay with you."

 "Good." He wobbled himself upright. "Because I couldn't—I really—" He sighed and turned anguished eyes to her.

"I need you."

 She led him to her bed, nearly falling over with him when he tumbled onto the mattress. "Hold still," she ordered, kneeling to pull off his boots. She'd done this for her brothers before, so she knew to grab the heel, not the toe, but they were a snug fit, and she went sprawling on the ground when his foot finally slipped out.

 "Good gracious," she muttered, getting up to repeat the aggravating procedure. "And they say women are slaves to fashion."

 Simon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snore.

 "Are you asleep?" Daphne asked incredulously. She yanked at the other boot, which came off with a bit more ease, then

lifted his legs—which felt like deadweights—up onto the bed.

 He looked young and peaceful with his dark lashes resting against his cheeks. Daphne reached out and brushed his hair

off his forehead. "Sleep well, my sweet," she whispered.

 But when she started to move, one of his arms shot out and wrapped around her. "You said you would stay," he said accusingly.

 "I thought you were asleep!"

 "Doesn't give you the right to break your promise." He tugged her at her arm, and Daphne finally gave up resisting and

settled down next to him. He was warm, and he was hers, and even if she had grave fears for their future, at that moment she couldn't resist his gentle embrace.

 *  *  *

 Daphne awoke an hour or so later, surprised that she'd fallen asleep at all. Simon still lay next to her, snoring softly. They were both dressed, he in his whiskey-scented clothes, and she in her nightrobe.

 Gently, she touched his cheek. "What am I to do with you?" she whispered. "I love you, you know. I love you, but I hate what you're doing to yourself." She drew a shaky breath. "And to me. I hate what you're doing to me."

 He shifted sleepily, and for one horrified moment, she was afraid that he'd woken up. "Simon?" she whispered, then let out a relieved exhale when he didn't answer. She knew she shouldn't have spoken words aloud that she wasn't quite ready for him to hear, but he'd looked so innocent against the snowy white pillows. It was far too easy to spill her innermost thoughts when he looked like that.

 "Oh, Simon," she sighed, closing her eyes against the tears that were pooling in her eyes. She should get up. She should absolutely positively get up now and leave him to his rest. She understood why he was so dead set against bringing a child into this world, but she hadn't forgiven him, and she certainly didn't agree with him. If he woke up with her still in his arms, he might think she was willing to settle for his version of a family.

 Slowly, reluctantly, she tried to pull away. But his arms tightened around her, and his sleepy voice mumbled, "No."

 "Simon, I—"

 He pulled her closer, and Daphne realized that he was thoroughly aroused.

 "Simon?" she whispered, her eyes flying open. "Are you even awake?"

 His response was another sleepy mumble, and he made no attempts at seduction, just snuggled her closer.

 Daphne blinked in surprise. She hadn't realized that a man could want a woman in his sleep.

 She pulled her head back so she could see his face, then reached out and touched the line of his jaw. He let out a little groan. The sound was hoarse and deep, and it made her reckless. With slow, tantalizing fingers, she undid the buttons of his shirt, pausing just once to trace the outline of his navel.

 He shifted restlessly, and Daphne felt the strangest, most intoxicating surge of power. He was in her control, she realized. He was asleep, and probably still more than a little bit drunk, and she could do whatever she wanted with him.

 She could
have
whatever she wanted.

 A quick glance at his face told her that he was still sleeping, and she quickly undid his trousers. Underneath, he was hard and needy, and she wrapped her hand around him, feeling his blood leap beneath her fingers.

 "Daphne," he gasped. His eyes fluttered open, and he let out a ragged groan. "Oh, God. That feels so damned good."

 "Shhhh," she crooned, slipping out of her silken robe. "Let me do everything."

 He lay on his back, his hands fisted at his sides as she stroked him. He'd taughther much during their two short weeks of marriage, and soon he was squirming with desire, his breath coming in short pants.

 And God help her, but she wanted him, too. She felt so powerful looming over him. She was in control, and that was the most stunning aphrodisiac she could imagine. She felt a fluttering in her stomach, then a strange sort of quickening, and she knew that she needed him.

 She wanted him inside her, filling her, giving her everything a man was meant to give to a woman.

 "Oh, Daphne," he moaned, his head tossing from side to side. "I need you. I need you
now.
"

 She moved atop him, pressing her hands against his shoulders as she straddled him. Using her hand, she guided him to her entrance, already wet with need.

 Simon arched beneath her, and she slowly slid down his shaft, until he was almost fully within her.

 "More," he gasped. "Now."

 Daphne's head fell back as she moved down that last inch. Her hands clutched at his shoulders as she gasped for breath.

Then he was completely within her, and she thought she would die from the pleasure. Never had she felt so full, nor so completely a woman.

 She keened as she moved above him, her body arching and writhing with delight. Her hands splayed flat against her stomach as she twisted and turned, then slid upward toward her breasts.

 Simon let out a guttural moan as he watched her, his eyes glazing over as his breath came hot and heavy over his parted lips. "Oh, my God," he said in a hoarse, raspy voice: "What are you doing to me? What have you—" Then she touched one of her nipples, and his entire body bucked upwards. "Where did you learn that?"

 She looked down and gave him a bewildered smile. "I don't know."

 "More," he groaned. "I want to watch you."

 Daphne wasn't entirely certain what to do, so she just let instinct take over. She ground her hips against his in a circular

motion as she arched her back, causing her breasts to jut out proudly. She cupped both in her hands, squeezing them softly, rolling the nipples between her fingers, never once taking her eyes off Simon's face.

 His hips started to buck in a frantic, jerky motion, and he grasped desperately at the sheets with his large hands. And Daphne realized that he was almost there. He was always so careful to please her, to make certain that she reached her climax before he allowed himself the same privilege, but this time, he was going to explode first.

 She was close, but not as close as he was.

 "Oh, Christ!" he suddenly burst out, his voice harsh and primitive with need. "I'm going to—I can't—" His eyes pinned upon her with a strange, pleading sort of look, and he made a feeble attempt to pull away.

 Daphne bore down on him with all her might.

 He exploded within her, the force of his climax lifting his hips off the bed, pushing her up along with him. She planted her hands underneath him, using all of her strength to hold him against her. She would not lose him this time. She would not lose this chance.

 Simon's eyes flew open as he came, as he realized too late what he had done. But his body was too far gone; there was no stopping the power of his climax. If he'd been on top, he might have found the strength to pull away, but lying there under

her, watching her tease her own body into a mass of desire, he was helpless against the raging force of his own need.

 As his teeth clenched and his body bucked, he felt her small hands slip underneath him, pressing him more tightly against the cradle of her womb. He saw the expression of pure ecstasy on her face, and then he suddenly realized—she had done this on purpose. She had planned this.

 Daphne had aroused him in his sleep, taken advantage of him while he was still slightly intoxicated, and held him to her while he poured his seed into her.

 His eyes widened and fixed on hers. "How could you?" he whispered.

 She said nothing, but he saw her face change, and he knew she'd heard him.

 Simon pushed her from his body just as he felt her begin to tighten around him, savagely denying her the ecstasy he'd just had for himself. "How could you?" he repeated. "You knew. You
knew
th-that that I-I-I—"

 But she had just curled up in a little ball, her knees tucked against her chest, obviously determined not to lose a single drop of him.

 Simon swore viciously as he yanked himself to his feet. He opened his mouth to pour invective over her, to castigate her for betraying him, for taking advantage of him, but his throat tightened, and his tongue swelled, and he couldn't even begin a word, much less finish one.

 "Y-y-you—" he finally managed.

 Daphne stared at him in horror. "Simon?" she whispered.

 He didn't want this. He didn't want her looking at him like he was some sort of freak. Oh God, oh God, he felt seven years old again. He couldn't speak. He couldn't make his mouth work. He was lost.

 Daphne's face filled with concern. Unwanted, pitying concern. "Are you all right?" she whispered. "Can you breathe?"

 "D-d-d-d-d—" It was a far cry from
don't pity me,
but it was all he could do. He could feel his father's mocking presence, squeezing at his throat, choking his tongue.

 "Simon?" Daphne said, hurrying to his side. Her voice grew panicked. "Simon, say something!"

 She reached out to touch his arm, but he threw her off. "Don't touch me!" he exploded.

 She shrank back. "I guess there are still some things you can say," she said in a small, sad voice.

 Simon hated himself, hated the voice that had forsaken him, and hated his wife because she had the power to reduce his

control to rubble. This complete loss of speech, this choking, strangling feeling—he had worked his entire life to escape it, and now
she
had brought it all back with a vengeance.

 He couldn't let her do this. He couldn't let her make him like he'd once been.

 He tried to say her name, couldn't get anything out.

 He had to leave. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't be with her. He didn't even want to be with himself, but that, unfortunately, was beyond his meager control.

 "D-don't c-come n-near me," he gasped, jabbing his finger at her as he yanked on his trousers. "Y-y-y-you did this!"

 "Did what?" Daphne cried, pulling a sheet around her. "Simon, stop this. What did I do that was so wrong? You wanted me. You know you wanted me."

 "Th-th-this!" he burst out, pointing at his throat. Then he pointed toward her abdomen. "Th-th-that."

 Then, unable to bear the sight of her any longer, he stormed from the room. If only he could escape himself with the same ease.

 Ten hours later Daphne found the following note:

 Pressing business at another of my estates requires my attention . 1 trust you will notify me if your attempts at conception were successful .

 My steward will give you my direction, should you need it .

 Simon