A Duke By Any Other Name

Chapter One

“M arry me, my love, marry me today.”

Lady Jane Worthington looked up into Harry’s soft-blue eyes. They brimmed with the love and desire she knew shone from hers.

“Yes.” She brushed her lips over his. They were a little dry from the field; the sun’s rays had been relentless all day as he’d tended the estate’s horses. “Yes, I will. I want nothing more…but…?”

“There are no but s. I have a plan.”

“A plan? A plan to do the impossible?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder, checking that they were still alone in the stable block. He held her tighter, their bodies coming into alignment. “Yes.”

She melted against him. “Are you a wizard?”

“No.”

“It cannot be… You and I… No matter how many times I say yes to your proposal.” She held back a sob. She’d loved Harry for a year and a half, from the moment she’d seen him working with a scared horse, yet the world could not see their love.

If it did, the world would frown, a deep, brow-creasing frown that would set a dank, black cloud over everything. She a nobleman’s daughter, he a lowly stablehand. No. It could never work.

“You do not need to worry about the details, my love. I never want you to worry about anything ever again.” He pressed his mouth down on hers in a fervent, desperate kiss, telling her with his lips how much he loved her and wanted her and always would.

Her heart swelled as she became lost to him. Nothing else existed. His earthy, saddle-leather scent filled her nose and his work-honed muscles surrounded her in a safe grip of strength.

“I’ll never want another,” she said breathily against his lips. “Only you, forever more.”

“Do you promise?”

“Yes. Yes. I promise.”

“I could not bear it if you went with another. If a man other than I held your sweet body, kissed these sweet lips, looked into the depths of your green eyes.”

“That will never happen. I promise. No man other than you could seduce me.”

He half-smiled, a roguish tilt of his lips she adored. “And I have waited too long to seduce you, my dearest Jane. The nights that I have been uncomfortable with longing, restless with desire—they are too many to count. I wish for them no more. This winter coming, we will be warm together in bed, our love staving off the ice and snow and the frost that lines the windowpanes.”

“My father, he will—”

“He will have to accept that God chose me for you. It is His will that we be together.”

“And if my father doesn’t?”

“Then as a man of means, I will still find a way.” His jaw tensed with determination.

“Harry, I love you, you know I do…but…”

“Stop. You are going to say I have not two gold coins to rub together, no noble title, no blue-blooded ancestry, and that is true—your wealth dwarfs mine. But money is not the be-all and end-all, not when it comes to love. When it comes to love, I have means to get what is rightfully mine.” He pressed against her, urging her back against the stable wall. “And that is you, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, yes, of course, and I do love you.” She cupped her hand around his nape and pulled him in for another kiss, lifting her left leg to get closer still to him.

A groan of longing rumbled from his chest and he gripped the back of her thigh over her gown. “You tempt me so.”

“As you tempt me.”

He was exploring, tugging up the material of her petticoats to expose her stocking. His warm palm was on her thigh now.

“Harry,” she moaned, a familiar tug of desire swelling between her legs.

“We are alone,” he murmured, once again looking over his shoulder. “The summer sun has chased everyone indoors for an afternoon rest.”

“Yes.” Her breaths were coming in small pants, her breasts pushing at the lace-edged neckline of her gown. “There was no one to be seen when I came under the clocktower.”

“Then we should make the most of it.”

“Oh!” His fingertips had brushed between her legs, swiping over the small nub that desired his touch so much.

“I wish to pleasure you,” he murmured. “The way I have before, down on my knees, worshipping you.”

“Harry…I…” Oh, dear Lord, the way he had before…with his tongue . It was sensational, forbidden, a pleasure so intense, it curled her toes and left her gasping.

“Say yes .” He squeezed closer.

She was aware of the hard wedge of flesh behind his pants and gripped his linen shirt. Lust was rushing through her veins, the rest of the world fading away. Only Harry and his love existed. “But what about you?” She ran her hand down his arm, then squeezed it between their bodies to cup his erection. “Don’t you wish for pleasure? I could use my mouth on you. You like that.”

He moaned softly and again brushed her cunny with his fingertips. “You have just agreed to marry me, and in doing so made me the happiest man in England. I wish to show you how satisfied and adored I will make you feel for all of eternity.”

It was her turn to look at the door to the stables. Shards of dazzling sunshine poured through it, dust motes dancing in the light. All was still except for two of the horses that were lazily munching hay. The others, like their grooms, were resting, heads low, tails swishing.

Harry didn’t wait for her to acquiesce. He dropped to the straw-strewn floor and pushed her gowns and petticoats up to her waist.

Cool air washed around her thighs. “Oh, Harry…” She grasped the iron hay feeder to her left and set her other hand onto his thick, dark curls.

“Be quick, my love,” he said, urging her legs wider. “We do not have the luxury of our marital bed yet.”

She nodded and bit on her bottom lip. Her cunny was wet for him and her stomach already tight with anticipation. She’d never imagined a man would want to do this to a woman until Harry had that first time. She had certainly never believed it would feel so good… More than good. Incredible.

He didn’t preamble and set to work, stroking through her folds before setting his tongue over her nub.

She moaned softly and let her head fall back. A quiver went up her spine and she tightened her grasp on his hair.

He upped the pace, a sense of urgency seeming to grip him, and laved at her most sensitive spot.

Rocking against him, she clasped her right breast, squeezing it through her gown. Her nipples were tight and tingling and the sensation added to her feverish state of yearning. Her gown and petticoats fell, half-covering his head. Neither of them cared.

What they were doing was forbidden, a sin, yet it felt so good, she had no inclination to stop. Not until she’d claimed her pleasure.

And the first seed of it was there, the promise of a buildup of pressure that would be exquisite when it released and claimed her body.

She lifted her right leg higher, wanting more.

Harry knew her body so well, despite the fact they’d never lain together as man and wife, only enjoyed stolen moments like this. He gave her more, seeking out her entrance and pushing not one, but two fingers into her body.

“Oh…oh…” She closed her eyes and hooked her right leg almost over his shoulder, opening herself to him.

The filling sensation was divine and as he pumped in and out of her and worked her nub, she could feel the climax getting nearer.

She closed in on herself. Her muscles were tense, primed to embrace the orgasm. All that she could concentrate on was Harry’s wicked mouth and probing fingers.

And then it was there. A dense, honeyed pleasure that had to release. She cried out and gripped his hair, dragging on the roots. Her body spasmed. Clenching around his fingers and pulsing against his tongue. She rode onto his face, taking everything she needed, greedy for it, desperate for it.

“Oh…Harry…” She gasped.

His face appeared, lips and chin shiny and his cheeks red. His eyes glinted through the shadows as he stared up at her.

“That was…” she managed as she released his hair from such a tight grip. “Incredible.”

He wriggled his fingers inside of her. “I made it good for you.” He hadn’t said it as a question. He knew damn well he had—his self-satisfied grin made that obvious.

“Always.” She wriggled and tugged at his shirt. “You always do.”

He stood and her petticoats and gown fell back down to her ankles.

She was hot. Her skin prickled with perspiration and her nipples rubbed against the inside of her clothing. “You are a devil sent to lead me to temptation,” she murmured before kissing him.

He returned the kiss. His lips tasted of her arousal and he pulled her close, reminding her of his longing to sink into her, to become as one.

But that would have to wait until they were wed. It was God’s law. But they would be wed soon, and then if she found herself with child, it wouldn’t matter, for Harry would be her husband.

*

“What a wonderful surprise, don’t you agree, Jane? We had no idea Cousin Cohen was joining us for supper.”

“Indeed, Father.” Jane looked from her father, the Marquess of Sandford, to her rangy cousin with his floppy, red hair and splattering of freckles. He’d spent too long in the sun and the skin on the end of his nose was peeling and a rash of red coated his cheeks.

“A pleasure, as always, Cousin Jane.” Cohen took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

She had to stop herself from recoiling. Her memories of Cohen Worthington were not good. On one visit, he’d taken her around the back of the barn and asked her to do something…heinous. When she’d refused, he’d snarled angrily.

If it hadn’t been for the head groom, Mason, taking a barrow to the muckheap and nearly spotting them, Jane had no idea how far it could have gone. Cohen had had the look of Satan, his messy, tousled hair even giving him horns.

She shuddered just thinking about it.

And now here he was, grinning at her with salacious, glinting eyes that quickly dipped to her breasts. His hair was smoothed with pomade, the shiny strands no longer giving the impression of horns, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

“I did agree to call on you this summer,” Cohen said, returning his attention to her father. “You said you had matters of great import to discuss.”

“Great import, yes, yes.” Her father cleared his throat. “And we will do that over a glass of fortified wine in the library.” He set his hand on Cohen’s shoulder and steered him from the room.

Jane was relieved she appeared to have been forgotten by the men, and she tapped her hair, checking that her chignon was still in place. She’d hastily re-pinned it after her visit to the stables with Harry, checking for any wayward straw kernels or dusty cobwebs as she’d peered at her happy, lusty red cheeks and nipples that had still poked at her corset.

A smile tugged her mouth. Memories of Harry always did that. She adored him, loved him, wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. Oh, if only they could be wed, as he’d said, wed and have a family and declare that a lifetime together simply wasn’t long enough.

It could never happen. He was living in a land of fantasy. There was no way she would be his bride, no matter what mad plan he had dreamed up. Her father would be furious; there was no telling what he’d do. And where would they live? What would they do for money?

Emily, Jane’s lady’s maid, entered the parlor in silence, acknowledging Jane with a quick dip of her head and then fussed over a vase of peonies.

“I think I will retire,” Jane said, touching her brow with a kerchief. “The day has been so hot and I am quite exhausted.”

“My lady,” Emily said, straightening. “His lordship has asked that you remain here.”

“He has?”

“Yes, my lady. He wishes to speak to you.”

“About what?”

Emily dipped her head, her eyes casting downward. “I have no idea.”

“I believe you do.” Jane stepped up to the maid she’d known since they had both been children. Back then, Emily had been a housemaid, though she’d elevated in rank at Jane’s firm request. There was no way she’d wanted a stuffy and dour old woman watching over her “In fact, I am quite sure that you do.”

“I…I cannot say.”

“What is it?” She frowned. “Tell me, Emily.”

“I…” Emily opened her mouth to speak, but her words were cut short by the door opening.

Jane frowned.

“Ah, good. You are here. Let us sit.” The marquess strode into the room, his bearing a bluster of self-importance and confidence. He straightened his cravat then nodded to the footman who’d entered the room with him to pour sherry. He then pressed one into Jane’s hand. “For you, my dear.”

“Ah, this room is so beautiful.” Cohen filled the doorframe, his stance wide, his chest puffed up. “As is my cousin standing within it.”

A shot of dread went through Jane. He had a look of a predatory animal that had made his catch after much stalking. The stance of a man who had just been given everything he’d wanted…and more.

Cohen kept his attention on Jane as he marched into the room, his shoes tapping on the polished wood before he reached the red oriental rug. “Yes, you really are looking exceptional. That color makes you positively glow.”

She gritted her teeth, her jaw tensing so much, it hurt. Exactly what matters of great import had been discussed in the library? And it wasn’t the gown that made her glow—it was the post-orgasm satisfaction that had her skin radiant.

“I thank you.” She gripped the stem of her glass. If she’d known he was calling, she’d have changed from the lemon-yellow gown and into something more sage. The deep purple, perhaps, the one she hated because it was so somber and miserable with its high neckline and ruffed wrists.

“I have extended my condolences to your father,” Cohen said. “It has been a full ten years since your mother passed so suddenly.”

Jane tipped her chin. “It has.”

“I miss her too. Aunt Catherine was dear to me.”

Jane said nothing as Emily slipped from the room. When she’d lost her mother, Emily had been the one to comfort her and mourn with her. She knew Emily missed the marchioness too.

Cohen had barely known her. His words were hollow and empty.

Jane took the small seat beside the peonies. It meant Cohen couldn’t sit next to her.

But he didn’t sit at all. Instead, he sipped his sherry and rocked back on his heels, one hand slipping into the pocket of his pants.

“A decision has been made,” her father said, sitting opposite her and taking a sip of his own sherry.

“It has? What about?” Jane asked, her stomach tensing. The realization that a decision had been made about her, her future, dropped onto her like a ton of bricks.

Cohen narrowed his eyes as a smile tugged his mouth.

“You are to wed.” The marquess flicked his finger from Jane to Cohen. “It is time and you are a good match. Cohen is the eldest of my nephews and as such, heir to this estate.”

“What? No… I…” Her eyes widened and her throat seemed to be suddenly clogged with yarn. “I mean… He…”

“ He ,” her father said sternly, “will be the reason I can rest at night knowing you will always be provided for. Cohen has a good business brain, financial acumen. He will run the estate with skill. You will never be hungry or cold.”

“You have never mentioned this before, Father. How could you just spring this on me?” She felt betrayed, owned, a little girl being forced to do something.

“Your mother and I discussed it before her passing. It has always been my intention when you reached twenty-one years of age.”

Jane stared at Cohen. “And you have known of this?”

“I have hoped.” He bit on his bottom lip. “For I have always known what beautiful babies we will make together.”

Jane stood, slammed her drink on the table, and pressed her hands to her hips. “I can’t marry you, I won’t, and I have no intention of having your babies.”

“ Jane !” Her father stood, his voice a bellow. “Apologize at once. This is no way to behave when your future has been mapped out so pleasingly.”

She glared at him, her heart thundering. “‘Pleasingly’? Pleasing to whom?” She stormed from the room. She had to find Harry.