Duke of Lust (Sinful Dukes #3)

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

F rederick awoke with the sunrise, having neglected to draw the curtains in his bedroom last night and surprised for a moment by this unusual failure. Then, with a jolt, the reasons for his distraction last night came back to him, reinforced by the faint scent of a woman’s arousal on the hand beside his head.

Throwing himself out of bed, he washed his hands and face at the wash stand. Last night he had publicly rowed with Annabelle. Then he had kissed her, stripped her naked and reveled in the pleasure of her innocent excitement.

What did you do to me, Frederick?

The memory of the wonder in her bluebell eyes as she spoke those words pierced his conscience to the quick, even while the mental image of those full, rosy-tipped breasts gave him an unwanted surge of renewed lust.

“Christ, what have I done?!” he asked his own reflection in the looking glass of the stand. “What kind of man am I?”

Lady Annabelle Elkins was no seasoned woman of the world, no widow, courtesan or lady adventurer. She was a virgin, a marriageable young lady of good family and the younger sister of a family friend. He might even have felt compelled to call out any other man who had taken half of the liberties Frederick himself had enjoyed.

At least he had exercised some self-control last night and had not claimed her maidenhead. Annabelle was at no risk of getting with child and no one else needed to know what had passed between them.

With a pang of remorse, Frederick thought of his stepmother’s well-intended but dismissed admonitions. She had been right to be concerned. An innocent like Annabelle should never have ended up in the clutches of a man with his reputation. She trusted him completely and he did not deserve such confidence.

At the same time, Frederick had always despised self-pity and the paralysis of useless introspection. To think clearly, he was a man who needed action. There was no question of staying in his bedroom and castigating himself for half the morning. Pulling his riding clothes from the wardrobe, Frederick dressed carelessly and took himself straight out to the stables.

“Annabelle,” Frederick blurted as he entered the breakfast room and found her already sitting there at the table, a piece of fruitcake just about to enter that pink little rosebud mouth of hers. “I did not realize you had risen so early.”

He covered his surprise and excitement at seeing her with politeness and a small bow, conscious too of the footman who had just brought in another jug of steaming coffee.

“I thought you had gone out,” Annabelle said quietly, putting the cake back down on her plate and blushing bright red.

“I only took a ride around the estate. It helps me to clear my head in the mornings,” he said and sat down. “Are you well, Annabelle?”

Shyly, she flicked up her eyes to his face and then looked away again. The action was just as he had taught her but right now seemed an entirely natural response. Of course she was shy after what they had done last night. Any inexperienced young woman would be. She could have no idea what he intended.

Then she smiled at him and it was like the sun coming out.

“Yes, I am very well,” Annabelle said and the radiance of her skin and eyes reinforced her words.

There had been a moment during his ride the morning when it seemed that clouds were gathering thickly and the day ahead might be gray and miserable. But then, as Frederick emerged from woodland, the sun had re-appeared, clouds drifting away on the summer breeze, and leaving the land bathed in golden warmth and Frederick’s heart lifted and hopeful again.

Annabelle’s smile now was like that striking re-appearance of the sun, reassuring him that all was well and as it should be. He had not hurt her or damaged her reputation and her feelings towards him were only positive.

“I am glad to hear that,” he commented, returning her smile and letting his eyes feast for a moment on her loosely bound curls, luminous complexion and fair bosom rising and falling above her pale blue muslin summer dress. “I worried that you might be… indisposed after yesterday.”

She shook her head, her eyes still bright and happy.

“I am not at all indisposed. I feel wonderful today,” she admitted, still a little shyly but with perceptible warmth. “Thank you.”

Those last two words surprised him. Had he expected her to rail at him? To resent the advantage he had taken of her innocence? To castigate herself for some imagined moral failing in indulging the pleasures of the flesh?

Annabelle was not going to do any of these things it seemed. Last night she had wanted him. She had told him that she sought experience and she had been an active participant in achieving and enjoying it. He had not besmirched Annabelle at all. He had only treated her as she wished to be treated – as an attractive adult woman with normal, healthy desires.

Relieved and encouraged by this realization, Frederick laughed a little, and glanced quickly around the room to make sure no servants were present.

“I wonder what you are thanking me for,” he said in a low voice. “I seem to remember enjoying yesterday quite as much as you.”

“Not quite as much, I think,” Annabelle said, her expression delightfully coy. “I believe you were generous.”

Her physical presence and the sound of her voice were both now sending erotic chills through him and Frederick could not deny his pure physical desire for this young woman.

“My enjoyment was different to yours, yes,” he conceded. “Still, it was very real, believe me. I only wish I could…”

He broke off as the door to the breakfast room opened and pulled back the hand that had been about to reach across the table and cover Annabelle’s.

“A letter for you, Your Grace,” said Witmore, presenting the folded note on a silver tray and then withdrawing.

“It’s from Stephen,” Annabelle said with slight apprehension as he opened and unfolded the notepaper. “I recognize the seal and the writing. It is not bad news from Norfolk, I hope?”

Frederick read quickly and then put the letter on the table and slid it over to Annabelle.

“Your father and the rest of your family are well,” he told her immediately, to put her mind at rest, but let her read the rest of the letter herself.

“Stephen is returning to London in two days and will collect me from here. Father is well enough that he can be left with only Mother and the physician. I can see out the rest of the season at home as long as nothing changes.”

“Well, that is good news, isn't it?” said Frederick with a heartiness he did not feel. “About your father, I mean. Norfolk has evidently been a boost to his constitution.”

“Yes, of course,” Annabelle agreed with a conviction just as unconvincing as Frederick’s.

Their eyes rose and locked at the same moment.

“Do you think Stephen knows anything?” she asked him worriedly.

Frederick reflected and then shook his head, not having to ask what Annabelle meant.

“If he did, he would be here to take you away by lunchtime, not in two days time. He would probably have threatened to horsewhip me too, of course.”

Annabelle laughed at this although her hand also flew up to her mouth in horror at Frederick’s jesting words. They were not too far from the truth.

“Why is this wrong, Frederick?” she asked guilelessly. “Why must something that feels so right make Stephen and the rest of the world so angry?”

“Because it can lead to other things, I suppose,” he answered with a long sigh. “Things you have not experienced and should not, for your own good. We must be very careful, Annabelle.”

“I don’t want to go home with Stephen,” she said then, an alarming statement that unsettled Frederick even while the slight pout of her perfect lips aroused him. “I want to stay with you.”

He did not want any kind of row with Lord Emberly and his family any more than he wanted to harm or dishonor Annabelle. For both of their sakes, such sentiments must be quashed.

“Sometimes, we cannot have what we want,” he said levelly. “We must make do with what we have.”

Annabelle looked sad but nodded her understanding of this.

“I must leave with Stephen now, and I must still find a husband this season too. You will still help me with that, won’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Frederick answered with a definitive nod.

With a husband at her side, Annabelle would hopefully be safe from him and his kind forever. This short time at Heartwick Hall was all he could ever have of her.

“Betsy is a reliable mount,” Frederick said, patting the flank of the old gray mare. “Duchess Sarah rides her sometimes.”

“She’s still very big,” Annabelle noted nervously, not being a confident rider.

“No, you’re just rather small,” Frederick teased her. “Now, I shall give you a leg up. One, two, three…”

Without any time to protest, Annabelle found herself boosted up into the side-saddle by Frederick’s strong arms, first only his hands at her feet, but then his arms around her waist and pressing her thigh and hip as he settled her safely.

“Oh,” she gasped, both in reaction to the physical contact and the rush of excitement it prompted in her veins, as much as finding herself now on horseback.

Frederick had dismissed the grooms once they had saddled the two horses and made it clear that he himself would provide the only assistance to Annabelle. He stood presently in his shirt sleeves, having tossed his jacket aside onto a fence. Glancing towards the stables, Annabelle observed the movement of the men and boys going about their work and wondered what they might think.

Well, she was leaving the day after tomorrow and there was no point in worrying about that. She was determined only to enjoy Frederick’s company while she could and had been pleasantly surprised at how easy it had been to persuade him after breakfast that they should spend the day outdoors together on the Heartwick Estate.

“Sit up a little straighter and hold the reins a little tighter. Let Betsy know you’re in charge,” Frederick instructed. “Show me a walk and then a trot around this paddock. If you can do that, I’ll take you out to the woodland paths.”

Annabelle swallowed, still nervous, but not wanting to ruin their little expedition with her childish fears. Betsy whinnied softly and began to walk as Annabelle relayed the appropriate instruction with the reins and the heels of her boots. The unworried sound from the horse was soothing and soon Annabelle began to relax.

“Very good, now trot,” Frederick called to her and Annabelle nudged Betsy again with her heels.

The amenable mare moved to a trotting movement without any fuss. Annabelle laughed joyously as she realized that, perhaps for the first time, she was enjoying herself on horseback. Betsy was indeed a reliable animal, and the bouncing movement of the trot was actually rather pleasant.

“You have progressed!” commented Frederick with a grin. “I’ll never believe you again when you say you’re not a rider.”

“I always wanted to ride but I was too afraid when I was younger. Now, I don’t think I’m scared any more,” she said, more to herself than to the handsome young man watching her intently from the centre of the paddock.

Frederick’s interested gaze made Annabelle smile. The day was sunny, the breeze was warm and she knew that her riding habit became her. It was not a new garment but today was the first time she had worn it with the French stays.

Her own reflection in the looking glass had fascinated her after Myrtle had fastened the habit and stepped back with a rather doubtful expression on her own wrinkled visage.

“Maybe that habit needs some adjustment, My Lady. You don’t ride often and might have grown since it was made."

Annabelle barely heard the elderly woman’s words. She was back again in this room by candlelight with Frederick last night, his voice rough and his handsome face suffused with desire.

…your body is so very, very beautiful, Annabelle…

Frederick had caressed, fondled and kissed her breasts with a passion that leant truth to his words. Perhaps they weren’t too big after all.

“I think this habit is just right,” Annabelle had declared, as Myrtle shook her head with some chagrin.

Now, bouncing rhythmically on the trotting horse in the paddock, the looks she kept catching from Frederick’s eyes only reaffirmed Annabelle’s confidence in her body.

She was beginning to feel rather warm and strange, almost lightheaded but more in her belly and between her thighs. It was a similar feeling to the one when Frederick was first kissing and touching her last night. Blushing, she wondered if she was going to find her private places all soft and slippery again, just as they had been after Frederick’s attentions.

Pulling his jacket back on, Frederick vaulted into the saddle of his own horse and grinned her, preparing to lead them off towards the woodland paths.

“You’re ready,” he declared, his words making her swallow with longing.

When she married, would her husband make her feel like this too? Annabelle ached to be touched again. She was certainly ready, but ready for what?

After Myrtle had put away her clothes and departed that night, Annabelle let herself cry into her pillow. She did not really even know what she was weeping for.

Was it because she was leaving Heartwick Hall? Because Frederick was not there beside her? Or because she was so increasingly confused about what she should seek and expect from a husband?

Despite other calls on his time, Frederick had spent the whole day with Annabelle at Heartwick Hall. As well as a long ride and picnic in the woodlands, they had played on Penelope’s old swing and walked in the orchards.

Several times when they seemed to be alone out on the estate, Frederick had pulled Annabelle into his arms and kissed her, although all too briefly for her frustrated yearning. She longed for him to tumble her to the ground, disorder her clothes and cover her in indecent kisses all over again.

Yet each time Frederick embraced her he pulled back, as though he was fighting some internal battle, unable to entirely resist his own physical urges but nor to indulge them.

The riding habit itself also acted as some restraint and shield to modesty, too tight and complicated to unfasten for Frederick to easily loose her breasts. Annabelle whimpered with frustration as he kissed the upper curve of her breasts, only able to cup them in his hands through the fabric after he had lifted her down from her horse in the middle of the woodland and embraced her.

“I want you, Frederick,” Annabelle told him. “I want you so much.”

“We cannot,” he sighed, pulling back once more, with one more stroke of her hair. “We must not, but you are so very lovely.”

Lying alone in the dark of her bedroom, Annabelle whimpered again as she let her own hands cover her breasts and imagined them as Frederick’s. Moving lower, she stroked her belly and thighs and then the softly furred slit between them, finding that it was just as swollen and slippery through thinking of him as when he had touched her.

“Oh Frederick,” she sighed, letting herself believe that her finger was his tongue and seeking again the pleasure and release he had given her.

As she peaked, Annabelle also felt a moment of clarity in her thoughts. This was what she should be seeking from a husband. She needed a man who would make her feel the same pleasure and longing that Frederick aroused.

For some reason, this thought made her cry again and she wept herself to sleep.