Chapter 17 #2
“So are you.” Cressida tugged at his cravat, making a mess of the elaborate knot.
He caught her hands. “Not yet. Tonight is about you.”
Her heart stuttered against her ribs at that devastatingly soft statement. “Theodore…” she gasped.
“Let me.” He pressed a kiss to her palm, then her wrist, his mouth trailing fire across her skin. “Let me show you what it means when I say you’re mine.”
Cressida nodded, unable to form words as his fingers unfastened the tiny buttons running down her spine with practiced efficiency. The bodice loosened, fell away, and his hands slid inside to find the delicate chemise beneath.
He drew the emerald silk down to her waist, exposing her to his gaze. Moonlight painted across bare skin, and he made a sound of pure male appreciation that sent heat flooding through her.
“You’re exquisite.” His hands spanned her ribcage, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the thin chemise. “Every curve, every line. Perfect.”
He traced her collarbone with his lips, learning the geography of her skin.
Each kiss felt deliberate, purposeful, as though he were memorizing her through touch.
When his mouth found the hollow at the base of her throat where her pulse hammered visibly, he lingered there, his tongue flicking against the rapid beat.
Cressida’s fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as sensation spiraled outward from every point of contact. She felt his teeth graze her skin, felt the rasp of his evening beard, felt the heat of his breath as he moved lower.
His hands pulled the chemise down, baring her completely from the waist up. The cool air made her gasp, made her nipples pebble, and his gaze dropped to the evidence of her arousal with hungry appreciation.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, then lowered his head. His mouth closed around one taut peak, drawing hard.
Cressida’s back arched off the chaise, her mouth falling open in a silent scream.
The sensation was electric, overwhelming, pleasure so acute it bordered on pain.
His tongue circled and flicked while his hand cupped her other breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling and teasing until she couldn’t distinguish between the ministrations.
Everything blurred into pure sensation.
“Quiet,” he murmured against her skin when a moan escaped her lips. “We don’t want to alert the household.”
“Then stop making me—ah!” The words dissolved into a gasp as his teeth grazed sensitive flesh, sending sparks shooting through her.
Theodore chuckled, the vibration shooting straight to her core.
His free hand slid beneath her skirts, bunching the emerald fabric as he traced a deliberate path along her stockinged calf.
He paused at her garter, fingers playing with the ribbon there, before continuing past her knee and along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
Cressida trembled, anticipation coiling tight in her belly. His touch was confident, assured, the touch of a man who knew exactly what he intended to do and how to do it well.
When his fingers finally grazed her center through thin linen, she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. The fabric was already damp with evidence of her desire, and Theodore made a pleased sound as he discovered it.
“So responsive,” he purred against her breast. “I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already—”
“Yes.” She couldn’t bear to hear him describe what she felt, what her body was doing. The mortification would undo her entirely.
His hand stilled. “Yes, what?”
“Just… don’t stop.”
“Ah.” His thumb circled her through the fabric, making her hips jerk. “That I can manage.”
He shifted his attention to her other breast while his fingers worked beneath the linen, finding slick heat and desperate need. The first stroke made her cry out, the sensation so intense it bordered on unbearable.
“Easy.” He pressed a kiss to her sternum. “I’ve got you.”
His fingers moved with maddening skill, circling and stroking, learning what made her gasp, what made her tremble, what made her nails dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks on his coat. When he slipped one finger inside her, she bit down on her lip hard enough to taste copper.
“That’s it.” Theodore’s voice had gone dark and possessive, satisfaction threading through the hunger. “Take what you need.”
He worked her slowly, adding a second finger, stretching her, filling her while his thumb found the small bundle of nerves that made coherent thought impossible.
The combination was devastating, pleasure spiraling higher and higher, building toward something Cressida had never experienced but recognized instinctively.
“Theodore, I can’t—” She could barely breathe.
“Yes, you can.” His mouth found hers, swallowing her moans as his fingers quickened their rhythm, curling inside her in a way that made stars burst behind her eyelids. “Let go, Cressida. Give it to me.”
The world shattered as pleasure crashed through her in waves, her body arching into his hand as she rode out the intensity. Theodore held her through it, his fingers gentling but not stopping, prolonging the sensation until she collapsed against him, boneless and trembling.
He withdrew his hand, the very one he’d used to bring her to completion, and closed his mouth around his fingers, sucking.
Cressida shuddered as she watched him suck her taste off his fingers, his trousers bulging with his desire.
“Theodore…” she moaned, and he groaned in response.
“You taste divine, my Duchess,” he said, pulling his hand away with a mournful expression as if he’d been barred from dessert. She would have laughed if she’d had the strength to.
For a long moment, they simply breathed together, her face pressed against his chest as the aftershocks faded.
She felt his heart racing beneath her cheek, felt the rigid tension in his body that spoke of his unsatisfied desire, felt the tremor in the hand that stroked her hair with unexpected tenderness.
Reality crept back slowly. The muffled sounds of the ball filtered through the walls—music, laughter, the hum of society continuing its elaborate dance mere corridors away. She had just come undone in her husband’s arms while hundreds of London’s finest waltzed and gossiped below.
The scandal of it should have mortified her. Instead, she felt powerful. Claimed. His.
She pushed herself up on shaking arms and reached for the fastenings of his trousers with fingers that trembled from pleasure and determination. “Your turn.”
Theodore caught her wrist, his grip gentle but unyielding. “No.”
“But you’re…” She could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her hip, could see the strain in his expression. “Surely you want—”
“More than my next breath.” His smile was pained. “But that’s enough for one evening.”
Cressida frowned, confusion and frustration warring in her chest. “That hardly seems fair.”
“Fair?” He pressed a reverent kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then her lips—soft, lingering, achingly tender. “You just came apart in my arms, in my aunt’s parlor, while society’s finest dance mere corridors away. I’d say we’ve tempted fate quite sufficiently for tonight.”
“Theodore…” she tried again.
“No.” He drew her chemise and bodice back into place with gentle hands, his fingers working the buttons with the same skill that had undone them.
Each fastening felt like a door closing, like distance being carefully reconstructed between them.
“We’ll have time, Cressida. But not here. Not like this.”
Cressida watched him smooth her skirts and adjust the emerald silk until she looked almost presentable, his expression unreadable in the moonlight.
His own dishevelment remained—hair thoroughly mussed from her fingers, cravat askew, coat wrinkled from her grip.
Visible evidence of what had transpired.
When he finished, Theodore lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles that felt like a vow, like a promise, like everything he couldn’t yet say aloud. His mouth lingered on her skin, warm and reverent.
“You’re mine,” he said quietly, his eyes burning with possessive intensity. “Make no mistake about that. Every breath, every smile, every moment—mine. But I won’t dishonor you further by taking you in a borrowed parlor during a ball.”
“Even though we’re married?” The question emerged smaller than she’d intended, vulnerable in a way that made her feel exposed.
“Especially because we’re married.” He stood, offering his hand to help her up. “You deserve better than a rushed romp in the dark. You deserve silk sheets and candlelight and all the time in the world. You deserve to be worshiped properly.”
The words sent heat flooding through her again, her imagination conjuring images of what that worship might entail.
Cressida took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet. Her legs felt unsteady, her body still humming from what had just happened, every nerve ending alive and sensitized.
She should probably be mortified—the Duchess of Ashmere, debauched in Lady Seymore’s townhouse while guests waltzed downstairs. Her reputation balanced on a knife’s edge already; discovery would mean complete ruin.
Instead, she felt powerful. Desired. Claimed in a way that transcended social contracts and marriage settlements.
Theodore unlocked the door with quiet efficiency, checked the corridor with the careful attention of a man accustomed to strategic thinking, then drew her out into the shadows.
They moved quickly back toward the ballroom, his hand warm and steady on the small of her back—proprietary, possessive, and protective all at once.
At the threshold where light and music spilled from the open doorway, he stopped, turning her to face him. In the shadows, his expression remained partially hidden, but his eyes blazed with barely banked fire.
“Go back to the ball. Find Harriet. Act as though nothing happened.” His thumb brushed across her lower lip, still swollen from his kisses. “Can you do that for me, my Duchess?”
Cressida nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Good.” His smile turned wicked, dangerous, full of dark promise. “Because after this ball, we return to Ashmere. And once we’re home…” He leaned close, his breath hot against her ear. “I intend to finish what we started.”
The words sent a shiver down her spine.
Before she could respond, he stepped back, his expression shifting into the blank courtesy he wore like armor in public.
“And what will you do?” Cressida managed, proud that her voice emerged steady despite the chaos rioting through her.
His smile was pure sin. “I’m going to find the strongest brandy available and try to convince myself that I have an ounce of restraint left where you’re concerned.”
Then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd with the fluid grace of a predator melting into shadows, leaving her standing alone at the threshold between darkness and light.
She touched her fingers to her lips, still able to taste him, still feeling the ghost of his touch between her thighs.
Tomorrow, they would be back to Ashmere. Tomorrow, he had promised, they would finish this.
Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.