The Grace of a Duke (17 page)

In the dim lamplight of the bedchamber, his eyes were dark, nearly black, but his touches were light as his fingers moved to caress the skin of her thighs. A knuckle moved into the soft, wet folds of her womanhood, moving around the throbbing bud that could send her into ecstasy even before he thrust himself inside her. He watched her face as he circled the nub, gently pressing and rubbing and circling until Jane arced her back and cried out his name. His mouth moved over her other nipple, circling and lathing until she begged for him, her mewling sending him into madness.

He felt her fingers wrap around his hardened manhood, felt her thumb pass over the wet tip and grip him, guiding him to her wet, velvet sheath. And then he was pressing into her, as slowly as he could manage despite the urge to simply thrust his entire length into her at once. He gasped, barely able to prevent his release as he slowly withdrew and then pushed in again. Thinking he should pause to give her time, time to open more fully for him, to simply take in a breath, he was about to do so when her hands gripped his buttocks and pulled him hard against her. He filled her completely, a groan escaping his throat as she closed around him, the pulsating tightness surrounding his cock and threatening to take away his control. He pulled out a bit and pushed into her again, growling when her body bowed against his, deepening his thrust. And then a finger moved to stroke the back of his cock as he attempted to pull out. His body shuddered as he pushed back into her, startling him. He knew he could no longer hold on and simply gave into his body’s demand. The release was startling in its intensity; he was sure he saw stars at the edge of his vision as his entire body seemed to contract in response to the orgasm.
So much more than pleasure
, he thought as he became aware of his name being whispered and her name coming from deep within him and her arms moving around his shoulders to pull him down, his face nestling into the space between her neck and shoulder. The last thing he saw before allowing sleep to take him was her face relaxed and smiling as her heavy-lidded eyes closed.

The last thing he heard was, “I love you.”

Chapter 16

His Grace Visits Lady Charlotte in Her Bedchamber

Despite having lived with the wound on her back for five days, Charlotte still caught herself attempting to do things which caused her a great deal of pain. Her maid, Parma, had helped her undress, carefully undoing the fastenings of her dinner gown and removing petticoats and stockings without requiring her to move her arms too much. The bandage that covered her stitches (and wound about her chest to form a sort of makeshift corset) wouldn’t need to be changed until morning, so she opted to don a satiny nightgown and robe, hoping the thin, slick fabric would provide some comfort while she attempted to sleep on her front. Now she found herself at odds. She’d dismissed Parma and now was ready to brush her hair, a task she did every night prior to bed. But whilst trying to lift the brush to the crown of her head, she felt the stitches pull and stopped the movement, hissing as the sudden pain radiated from between her shoulder blades.

A knock sounded at the door to her bedchamber. “Come,” she called out, thinking that perhaps Parma remembered her stitches and had returned to help with her hair. In the vanity mirror, however, she was stunned to see Joshua’s reflection as he leaned against the already closed door. Rising quickly, she turned and performed a curtsy, the movement causing her robe to open. “Good evening, Wainwright.” The greeting came out a bit breathy, her surprise at seeing him evident.

Joshua gave a leg, his own robe staying closed quite tightly about his middle. He regarded Charlotte for a moment, his breath no longer under his own control as he drank in the sight of her in the shiny cream satin, the fabric clinging to her feminine curves and draping suggestively along her thighs and across the tops of her bare feet. “I thought I might provide some assistance,” he finally said, his suddenly husky voice sounding foreign to his own ears.

Charlotte colored up, her face taking on a pinkish flush in the golden light from the lamp and fireplace. It took all her resolve not to run to him, to wrap her arms around his neck and press the front of her body against what she knew was a hard body of muscle and bone. “How very kind of you, Your Grace,” she replied. When she saw him wince, she realized almost immediately her error in referring to him as ‘Your Grace’ rather than ‘Wainwright.’

“I would prefer you call me Joshua when we are alone,” he stated as he moved toward her.

What happened to ‘Wainwright’?
she found herself wondering.
‘Wainwright’ is only proper. Duchesses call their dukes by their surnames all the time.
“Joshua,” she repeated, as if attempting to say the name for the first time. She watched him approach.
Whatever is he doing in my bedchamber?
she wondered, remembering the doctor’s instructions. He knew she couldn’t lie with him, knew the stitches in her back would be there for nearly a week. “I was ... trying to brush my hair,” she whispered, inhaling sharply as he finally stopped mere inches in front of her.

Joshua allowed his lips to curl up on his good side. “And were you succeeding?” he asked in a whisper, knowing full well that her mass of blonde curls hadn’t yet been combed out. If so, the silky strands would be wavy and appear as spun silk, just like his mother’s. He reached for the hairbrush, his body impossibly close as Charlotte realized what he intended. A frisson passed through her body.

“Not in the least,” she replied, regarding him warily. She lowered herself back into the vanity chair and faced the looking glass, watching Joshua’s reflection in the mirror as he very slowly drew the hairbrush through the lower half of her hair, his hands holding up entire sections so any knots would come out without causing pain. When he started the strokes farther up on her head, Charlotte closed her eyes as the bristles caressed her scalp, the feeling so sensual she nearly moaned. Her body felt boneless as he continued to stroke, slowly pulling the brush from the top of her head through its entire mid-back length.

“How many?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

The question seemed to percolate for several seconds before Charlotte’s eyes cleared. “How many?” she repeated, not sure what he meant given the hypnotic trance she’d been put into by the sensation of the brush.

Joshua had to suppress a grin. “How many strokes do you usually do each evening?” he asked, watching her reflection in the mirror while keeping the masked side of his face from appearing there.

Charlotte’s mouth formed an ‘o’ and she returned his gaze. “One-hundred,” she replied quietly, realizing she hadn’t been keeping track. But his long, even strokes were done with a practiced hand; she could tell from the amount of pressure he applied as well as how careful he was when the brush caught a tangle in her hair. “You’ve done this before,” she added with a sigh, enjoying the feel of the brush against her scalp, of his hands holding and stroking her hair, of his eyes as they watched her reactions in the mirror.

Grinning at the accusation, Joshua nodded. “Only for my sister,” he admitted, the comment causing his throat to suddenly constrict. He schooled his features so as not to show his distress and instead imagined doing it every night for Charlotte.
Could we truly have a life together as a married couple?
he wondered suddenly, his mind grasping at something other than his sister to think about. Would there ever be a time when Charlotte would honor him with affection? Perhaps even ...

Love?

Was she capable of seeing him as just a man instead of a damaged duke to whom she was betrothed? Would she ever be just a woman he loved because of who she was? The only woman for whom he had ever felt ... anything? He stared at her reflection and wondered what their life might be like if they were true partners in marriage, rather than a couple forced to marry out of obligation and duty. They would have children, of course – he must have an heir, he considered. And they could live in the rebuilt Wisborough Oaks in the summers and in London when he had to be there for Parliament, and they could attend all the best balls and host their own soirées for friends and villagers.

And they would spend their nights together in the same bed, enjoying one another’s company as well as the kissing and coupling. He felt his loins stir at the thought of having her body next to his every night. As he did the previous night, he’d keep her close, on his unscarred side, with one arm around her as her head nestled in the small of his shoulder, her breasts pressed against the side of his chest and her legs intertwined with his. Yes, that was how they would sleep together, he surmised.

When his vision cleared, he found himself gazing at her in the mirror. But she had turned to look up at him directly, her expression one of wonder, of puzzlement. “A penny for your thoughts?” she whispered gently, not sure if she wanted to break the spell he seemed to be under. His stare had been filled with ... was that awe? Affection, perhaps?
Could he ever feel love for me?

Joshua swallowed hard before setting the brush on the vanity. “I will help you to sleep this evening,” he stated, not wanting to hear any protests from her. If she could invade his bedchamber in the middle of the night, so could he invade hers and share her bed, too.

Charlotte slowly stood up and turned to face her host, her face coloring up. She could hardly believe her ears. What he was proposing was scandalous. But she wasn’t about to point out issues of propriety with a duke.

Especially not to the one to whom she was betrothed.

“I would like that very much,” she whispered with a nod, realizing she meant what she said. “But I cannot lie on my back ...”

“I only mean to keep you
off
your back.”
For now
, he thought, and then realized that if she could never return the love he felt for her, then he would always keep her off her back.

Because he would see to it that no one else bedded her, either.

“Are you ready to retire now?” he asked, his demeanor one of business, as if sharing a bed with a virgin was something he did every night.
Is she a virgin?
he wondered suddenly, a pang of jealousy catching him unawares as he thought of his brother and the possibility that the rake had already bedded her at some point before his death.

“Yes,” Charlotte whispered, nodding as she felt her face redden again. She thought of the bandage wrapped around her torso. “May I ... may I keep my gown on?” she asked softly, her lower lip trembling. “The bandage is rather ugly ...”
But I am sure the scar is even worse.

Joshua wanted to capture the trembling lip with his own lips, still it and then caress it and suckle it until he owned it, but he reeled at the thought that she was expecting him to take advantage of her, especially given she sported such a fresh wound. He frowned. “Of course,” he responded, “And your dressing gown, as well, if you prefer,” he added for good measure. He turned and led her to the bed. The thought of his brother invaded his thoughts again. “Are you a virgin?” he blurted, more surprised that he actually asked it aloud than she was, given her mild reaction of merely widened eyes.

“My virtue is intact, of course,” Charlotte replied, her head nodding as she shed her dressing gown and then sat on the edge of the bed. “It belongs to you,” she added as she moved to slide her legs under the downturned linens.

Joshua regarded her from the side of the bed, at once relieved at the news but stunned by her statement. And he was even more surprised that she would remove her dressing gown without asking him to turn around. The nightgown she wore was very revealing, it’s fabric tracing every feminine curve of her petite, luscious body, including the two peaks on the tips of her breasts. “My brother? He never ..?” he stuttered, trying to keep his mind on the conversation. John Wainwright II was a rake. To take a woman’s virtue was a sport to him. For him to have allowed Charlotte to retain her maidenhood despite their betrothal was a surprise to Joshua.

Charlotte shook her head. “You are to be thanked for that,” she stated, settling into the mattress on her left side.

Joshua climbed into the bed, his face taking on a look of confusion. “And how did I ... help in that regard?” he asked, bewildered.

“If you would prefer to remove your robe, it is certainly agreeable with me,” Charlotte suggested, not meaning to change the subject but wanting him to know she had no objections before he was settled into the mattress. “And you really should take off your mask, too. The doctor said it would be better for your skin if you did.”

Stunned at her suggestions, Joshua considered how to respond. He leaned over and turned down the lamplight to a dim glow, not wanting Charlotte to see him nude, especially given the swath of scars down his left side.

Had she been aware of his nakedness the night before?

Her initial state of terror suggested she hadn’t noticed, but he remembered the last few moments she’d spent in his bed, her conversation completely coherent and her probing fingers caressing his scars so that, for the one and only time since the night of the fire, he experienced shivers of sensual pleasure radiating from that part of his body. Remembering the sensation, he turned so his left side could not be seen from the bed and quickly doffed his robe.

From her place in the bed, Charlotte watched, careful to keep quiet when her breath caught at the sight of his erection in silhouette. A frisson passed through her belly, and her breasts suddenly felt heavy.

Joshua dove under the covers, careful in where he settled in the mattress. Although Charlotte had given him plenty of room, she wriggled up next to him and placed her head on his shoulder as her satin-sheathed breasts pressed against the unscarred side of his chest. Joshua swallowed in an attempt to retain control of himself. “You didn’t answer my question. And when did you talk to the doctor about me?” he asked, annoyance in his voice as he removed his mask and let it fall haphazardly on the bedside table.

Charlotte considered how to answer both questions. “Do you recall attending the Sothesby’s ball?  About ... three years ago?” she countered, shivering as his right hand, in an effort to find a good place to rest, landed on the swell of her hip. He was about to pull it away when she placed her own hand atop it before she angled her body a bit more against his, causing his hand to trail down around her bottom.

“Yes,” he replied carefully, deciding that having his hand rest on her satin-clad bottom was rather comfortable, and she didn’t seem to mind. “Around your eighteenth birthday, as I recall,” he murmured.

“Yes!” Charlotte agreed. “Your brother talked me into going with him to the library.”

“Oh, God,” Joshua interrupted, suddenly remembering the incident as he was still thinking of where his hand was resting.

“And, although I was agreeable with him stealing a kiss, he was wont to steal more.”

Joshua stayed quiet as he remembered the night of the ball. He’d known his brother would try something with Charlotte that evening. The rake had even taken bets on how long Charlotte’s virtue would remain intact after the first set of dances. So when his brother had ushered her out of the ballroom, presumedly to get some air, Joshua followed. And he watched as John led her to the library and the settee within. When the two did not come out of the library after a few moments, Joshua fumed. He’d been angry with his brother that night, angry and jealous, so when he heard her muted protests coming from inside the library, he opened the door to find Charlotte’s bodice askew and John with a hand on her bared breast. He strode across the room, lifted his brother from the settee with one hand, and pummeled his face with the other. A startled John was left with a bloody nose and a shiner that lasted more than a week. Charlotte disappeared from the room, and queries as to her location indicated she had left the ball complaining of a headache.

“I never did thank you properly for saving me,” she whispered, her right arm snaking across his chest as if to hug him.

Joshua kissed the top of her head, wondering what she had in mind as a ‘thank you’.

“Now, if it had been
you
in that library,” Charlotte suggested quietly, “I do not believe my reaction would have been the same.” She bit her lip, surprised she’d made the comment aloud.
He’ll think me wanton.
It was too soon to admit her feelings for him.
Did he just kiss my head?
She had no idea how he felt about her, if, indeed, he had any feelings for her. And she wasn’t about to declare her love for him if he did not feel some sort of affection for her in return.

Inhaling sharply, Joshua considered what she implied. He’d wanted her, to be sure. Always had, from the time they were old enough to meet at balls and soirées and musicales. But she was to be his brother’s bride – his brother’s countess and eventually his duchess. And he wasn’t about to do something that would embarrass the family. That would jeopardize her standing in the
ton
.