What a Duke Dares (33 page)

“You know, I might have been teasing last night, but that painting would look good in my apartments.”

Behind her, the door closed with a finality that made her wonder whether Cam meant to chastise her for breaking some arcane social rule. Life in Italy had been much simpler.

“Bugger the Titian,” he muttered.

She had a chance to turn with a gasp, then Cam grabbed her arms and his mouth crashed into hers.

Shock held her unmoving. When he raised his head, desperation glittered in his eyes. Heat all but steamed off him.

Oh, she was such a fool. His behavior in the carriage suddenly made sense. Relief flooded her. Relief and excitement.

He wasn’t angry. He wanted her.

Beyond reason, by the look of him. The skin of his face stretched taut and his eyes shimmered with sensual purpose.

“Cam, what—” she managed to say before he swung her around and backed her against a bookcase.

“Don’t stop me, Pen. For pity’s sake, don’t stop me.” The hands on her arms clenched and unclenched in an involuntary caress and he breathed gustily as if he’d climbed a mountain instead of walked through his front door.

“I wasn’t—”

“I’ve burned all night.” His voice was raw and low. “You’re lucky I didn’t haul you into the Matlocks’ garden and ravish you under the laburnum.”

She choked on appalled laughter. “You’d have caused a sensation.”

Cam was beyond amusement. “All day I’ve struggled to
keep my hands to myself. Then seeing you tonight, glittering like a queen, and knowing that you’re mine; it’s too much for mortal man to resist.”

His desire thrilled her. She’d never seen him like this. He’d wanted her before. Of course he had. Even before church and state had blessed their couplings.

But this was a man losing control.

Hope sparked that at last she pierced his defenses, then crumbled to dust just as quickly. Staring into his feverish green eyes, she recognized that despite his agitation, she encroached no further into his soul than she ever had.

Roughly he twined one arm around her waist and jerked her against his hips. Through her skirts, she felt his hard power. This wasn’t seduction. This was conquest.

Swift arousal weighted her belly, made her hot and needy. Her wriggling incited a guttural groan.

“You’re audacious,” he grated out, kissing a searing path up her neck, nipping at the places that he knew drove her to madness.

“I am,” she admitted breathlessly, hooking her hands over his shoulders and feeling the friction of fine wool under her palms. “Shall we go upstairs?”

“No,” he muttered, his breath in her ear stirring a liquid response. Clumsily he hitched up her skirts.

“Cam, we can’t.”

“Pen, we must,” he groaned, and this time when he kissed her she responded, sucking his tongue deep into her mouth.

Demurs vanished under molten pleasure. Vaguely through her thundering heartbeat, she heard material ripping. She hoped it wasn’t the only London dress that she almost liked.

Cam thrust his hand between her legs. When he found her core through the slit in her drawers, she decided that she’d happily sacrifice an entire wardrobe for this bliss.

“This is… revenge for last night, isn’t it?” she choked against his lips.

“Precisely.” His voice was even huskier than hers.

Before she worked out if he was joking, his tongue invaded her mouth and he penetrated her with one long finger. She jolted, bumping the bookcase.

He stroked hard and her muscles contracted. He swore softly, angled her up, and tore her drawers until they sagged in tatters around her ankles. With urgent purpose, he returned to her sleek passage. He found a place that set sensation clanging with the pure note of a hammer on gold.

She cried out in wonder. He kissed her again. Wet, succulent kisses that promised a mating without civilization or restraint.

When he finally lifted his mouth, she struggled to focus. Cam looked ferocious and determined, his jaw as hard as rock. As hard as the part of him pressing into her belly.

His musky scent was so powerful she felt drugged, lost in a narcotic haze of Cam. She sagged against the bookcase, grateful for its support. Her legs threatened to collapse.

“You want me,” he growled.

She didn’t know whether it was question or statement, although he had no reason to question her readiness. The glide of his fingers confirmed that she was primed.

“Yes, I want you,” she forced through a throat that tightened along with the rest of her.

Her breath emerged in rhythmic sighs matching his incursions. Before long she was shaking and whimpering. She was almost there when abruptly he stopped.

“Cam?” she asked uncertainly.

“Hold my shoulders,” he grunted, pinning her to the bookcase. His hands slid between them, releasing his trousers.

Stomach churning with longing, she firmed her grip.
With both hands, he grabbed her hips and lifted. To prevent a fall, her legs circled his thighs.

She released a soft cry of surprise at how defenseless she felt in this position. Then another cry when he shifted until she impaled herself upon him.

He buried his face in her shoulder. Her hands clutched his back, feeling his uneven breathing. His heat surrounded her, filled her. From this angle, she had no control over the depth or speed of his entry. The sensation verged on uncomfortable, however greedily her body clung to his. Another whimper escaped and she jiggled to adjust to the thickness inside her.

He nudged his hips up and the dizzying climb that had started when he’d used his hand flared into blinding light. She convulsed in his arms, digging her fingers into his coat as she sought some anchor in this reeling, brilliant world.

It cost him not to move. Through her peak, she felt his quivering rigidity. His back felt like a steel column, his shoulders like planks of oak.

Drifting down from that astounding climax, she opened her eyes to see deep lines bracketing his lips. He looked furious.

She smiled her satisfaction. She’d learned that look could denote something other than anger.

She let herself dangle in his arms. If he released her, she’d melt into a puddle on the extravagant carpet. She rested her cheek on his coat, hearing the fierce heartbeat under her ear. There was something breathtakingly decadent about the fact that they were both dressed—mostly.

“You’re still fighting me,” he said unsteadily.

She started, trying to force her sluggish brain to make sense of what she heard. Her head was too heavy to lift. Honestly, at this rate, he’d have to carry her upstairs. Or call Thomas to help. Which could be interesting. “What?”

“You’re holding back.” His voice was a bass rumble, vibrating against her cheek. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place.

She muffled a weary laugh. “Don’t be an idiot, Cam. You just sent me to the stars.”

“It’s not enough.” She felt him inhale. What sweet intimacy to be close enough to count his every breath.

“I don’t understand.”

Except she did. Didn’t she feel exactly the same when she stared into his eyes at the peak of intimacy and knew that he held himself separate?

How odd that he too felt the faint distance, minute but unmistakable. The fear of revealing her love always hovered, even when she was lost to pleasure.

“I’m deep inside you, deep enough to touch your heart, and I feel—” He broke off. She could imagine why. He didn’t deal in emotions, especially his own. “I feel like you elude me.”

“I’m right here.” Except they both knew she wasn’t.

“In body.”

“That’s enough.” She shifted to ease the fullness. Her shoulder dislodged a book and sent it tumbling to the carpet with a dull thud.

“It’s not.” He sounded confused. And frustrated.

“Cam, you have me.”

“Not completely,” he said stubbornly and jerked his hips to confirm his claim.

Another cracked laugh. “Cam, you’ve got me against the blasted wall, for heaven’s sake. Anyone who heard you would think you mad.”

Except, most tragically, Penelope Rothermere.

It suddenly struck her that they both wanted the same thing. Access to the other’s soul. Without risking their own vulnerabilities.

“I know what I mean,” he persisted, shifting. Almost unwillingly, her exhausted body adjusted.

She crushed her face into his shirtfront, breathing his rich scent. His lips brushed the crown of her head. After such passion, the unexpected tenderness stabbed like a knife. Before she reminded herself that longing mustn’t infect this moment, she released a soft, unhappy sigh.

The hands under her bottom hardened to bruising. She tightened her legs around his hips, feeling the slide of his trousers against her bare skin. The sensation was wildly erotic. Everything about this encounter was wildly erotic.

“Hold on, Penelope,” he whispered.

He slid from her body, then slammed back. The thrust crashed her into the wall. Three more books toppled. That stretching sensation returned. And to her astonishment, a flicker of arousal.

Cam’s slow withdrawal fired every nerve. He took her again. And again. One final rise and he went taut and still. With a rough groan, he pumped into her.

It turned out that she had more than a flicker left. Caught in the conflagration, all Pen could do was hold him and pray that she’d survive the ride. She felt pummeled by pleasure, stripped to essentials, re-created as Cam’s creature.

She’d had no idea that the physical world encompassed such wonders. Or that the physical body could endure such extremes of delight. If she thought she’d yielded before, this sizzling connection proved that Cam could draw more from her. More reaction. More pleasure. More wildness.

More love.

He staggered and lost hold of her hips. Her feet slipped down and their bodies separated. She grabbed his shoulders. She had no hope of standing on her own.

“I hope Thomas went to bed,” she said shakily, staring
at Cam and seeing what she expected. A man flushed with satisfaction, his gaze lazy, his clothing in disarray.

A man who still concealed his true self behind his eyes.

She still hardly believed what he’d said. They fought the same battle. After tonight, she recognized how cruel that struggle would become. Why was he so set on gaining her surrender? Was it about power? Pride?

Cam laughed softly. “I love to hear you cry out.”

“I love to hear you grunt,” she retorted.

“Come upstairs and I‘ll grunt some more.”

As she straightened, her skirts slithered to her ankles. “I don’t think I can walk.”

Cam held her loosely by the waist. “Catch your breath.”

Despite the declaration of war—for what else had that been?—they stood leaning into one another for a sweet interval. Gradually Pen’s breathing settled, her awareness of something other than physical sensation returned.

“I’ll get you that brandy.” He kissed her briefly on the lips.

To save herself sinking into his arms and revealing exactly how besotted she was, she drew away and bent to collect the books that had cascaded around them at the heights of their passion.

“Cam?” she said in shock.

He turned from the side table where he poured their drinks. “Yes?”

Her voice shook as she extended a book toward him. “I wrote this.”

“You did indeed,” he said as if his ownership of one of her travel memoirs meant nothing. “And very good it was too. If you check the shelves, you’ll see your other books as well.”

Still holding the book, she slumped onto a chair. “I’m… surprised.”

Damn him. What hope did she have of resisting? There was a poignant pleasure in knowing that he’d read and enjoyed words she’d written.

He brought her the brandy. “Let’s drink to your talent.”

He spoke so casually when she felt completely overturned. And not just because of that headlong seduction. It was an effort to keep her voice light. “Which talent in particular?”

His brows arched. “Let’s just say that the last half hour has given me a new appreciation for my library.”

She met eyes alight with humor and found herself laughing with an unfettered amusement that she hadn’t felt since her aunt’s death. Careless of the brandy, Cam drew her up into his arms as he laughed with her.

Briefly, despite this being the depths of night, sunlight warmed her world.

Chapter Thirty-Two

W
hen Harry heard the carriage stop outside Aunt Isabel’s house in a narrow street off Russell Square, his heart threatened to explode with excitement. He drew a deep breath of the dust-laden air and strained to hear Sophie’s steps approaching the door.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The triple knock signaled her arrival. She sounded impatient. Almost as impatient as he.

He flung open the door to see the dark, unmarked carriage and Pen’s anxious face peering out the window. He waved to reassure her, before his attention focused on the veiled woman on the step.

Without speaking, he caught Sophie’s wrist just above her short glove and dragged her into the hall. Under his fingers, her pulse pounded madly.

The slam of the door echoed through the unoccupied house like a gunshot. He tipped back her bonnet and flung away the veils concealing her beautiful face. Then he was kissing her and she was kissing him. The long, lonely weeks suddenly didn’t matter.