Chapter Five
The weather turned over the next few days, and rain swept the country. Gwen sat on the window seat in the library, staring at the streaked windowpane. This was the longest she had spent away from home, and she missed the boys. Her sisters.
Cassandra would have been desperately trying to drag every detail about His Grace from her, comparing everything to a novel. Henry would have wanted to know how best to emulate the duke. Thomas would have demanded to know if they had done anything interesting, like hunting.
All the while, her mother would have scolded her for not marrying the earl, and her father would have smiled at her over his newspaper and told her she had done the best she could. And perhaps he would have been pleased she had not yet married because he would miss her when she did.
Just as she would miss him.
“You are looking pensive,” a voice said from behind her, and Gwen turned to find the duke striding into the room. He had not sought her out over the past few days, and she had told herself she was grateful. Now, however, at the sight of him, she found her heart fluttering into her throat.
Stop that, she told herself.
Men like the duke and the earl never saw her as anything but a plaything, and if Gwen was determined not to be something, it was a rich man’s toy.
“I’m sick of the rain,” she said with a sigh, turning back to the miserable weather. “I want to stretch my legs. Back at home, I used to go walking every day.”
He sank into a chair beside the window and folded his hands across his stomach. “Is that so? For what purpose?”
“Exercise. Fresh air. Are these alien to you?” Despite herself, she glanced back at him, only to find his attention wholly on her. The sight of it made her feel both excited and nervous, though she had no reason to be.
But this was the first time they had been alone since the kiss.
Strictly speaking, they should not have been alone. She had told Aunt Mary she was retiring to lie down for her headache, but she had gotten distracted by the library instead.
The duke appeared to be thinking the same thing.
“I was under the impression you were not feeling well,” he said, holding her gaze.
His eyes were deep and dark, like molten chocolate and utterly delectable.
It was entirely unfair to the rest of mankind that such an exhibit of masculinity existed.
Not just sensual, but steady, almost. He was wild in an utterly predictable way.
She wanted, desperately, to despise him.
Instead, she grasped for something to say so their conversation might not end prematurely. “I wanted some time alone.”
“Should I leave?”
“From my aunt,” she said wryly, and he dropped back into the chair just as he had started to exit it.
“Ah. You have my condolences, then.”
“Why? Is she looking for me?”
“Not yet, but she has been singing your praises to Canterbury.” He went quiet for a moment, eyes distant, and she wondered where he had gone. “She wishes for you to marry him,” he said abruptly. “And I see now that your life will be made difficult if you do not.”
“I have already come to terms with the fact that I will not be leaving here with a husband.”
“What will you do?”
“Go back to my parents when this is over.” She traced her initials in the condensation.
“My mother will be angry that she has to spend money on a London Season, but my father won’t be so disappointed.
I’ll get another autumn with my sisters.
We’ll attend the harvest ball, Cassandra and I, and I’ll have a few more months of being me. ”
“Before you go to London?” he asked softly. “Will that change you so much?”
“Aunt Mary believes I am unlikely to find a husband as I am.”
“Your aunt is a particularly harsh judge.”
“Well, she is unmarried, so I suppose she takes gentlemen’s rejections personally. She’s my mother’s sister, and they were taught by the same governess.”
“Accomplishments are not all a gentleman looks for in a wife.”
“No?” Gwen laughed a little as she glanced back at him, finding his gaze still locked on her. “Then what do they look for?”
“It entirely depends on the gentleman in question. Canterbury, for instance, wants a dowry. Another gentleman may look for familial connections. Others still may look for the power of conversation. Good breeding. An inclination to overlook his faults.” A slight smile touched his mouth as he said that, and her stomach twisted viciously.
“Is that what you are looking for?”
There was no sign of that amber in his gaze now; it was full black.
“When I marry, Miss Summers, it will not be to a woman who will passively accept my faults. My wife, whoever she may be, will challenge me. At times, perhaps, defy me. She will be a lady for whom I will have the utmost respect, and who will, I hope, respect me in turn.”
Gwen’s mouth had gone dry, and her heartbeat pulsed in her throat. She couldn’t look away from his gaze. A fly trapped in a spider’s web. “Does not everyone respect you?”
“No. They respect my title and my position in life, but that is an entirely different affair. A man may be two things: himself, and his occupation. My dukedom is my occupation, but it is merely a facet of who I am.”
“And who are you?” she whispered.
“I am a man. Hot-blooded and selfish.” He rose then, taking two steps toward her. “I have tried to keep my distance from you,” he said, “but I do not have unlimited patience. Tell me you do not want me to kiss you again, Miss Summers, and I will leave.”
She looked up into his face and said the only thing she could under the circumstances. “Gwen.”
“What?”
“If you are going to kiss me, then you should call me Gwen.”
A small smile curved his lips, and he raised a hand, cupping her cheek. His thumb swiped across her cheekbone, and she should not have felt so hot at such a simple gesture, but he had lit a fire in her core and she couldn’t escape its heat now.
“Gwen,” he repeated, her name magical in his gravelly voice, as he bent his head to hers. When his mouth brushed against hers, the pressure was teasing, pressing only for a second before retreating. His breath was hot against her lips. His hand slid into her hair, but he held her gently.
This was an invitation.
Gwen was not an expert in the matter of kissing, but she understood that this man, with all his arrogance and money and influence, was giving her the option of changing her mind. He offered himself to her, and the thought was so intoxicating, she didn’t know how anyone could have resisted.
Perhaps a stronger woman. A more principled one.
She was not—she was flesh and blood and new, unfurling hunger, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her mouth more firmly against his. The kiss was clumsy, but he seemed not to mind; his sharp exhale sent the hunger twisting deeper in the base of her stomach.
The kiss deepened, and she understood for the first time how easy it would be to get carried away. He twisted, bringing her half on top of him as he braced himself against the window seat. One hand slid around her waist, holding her to him.
And Gwen wanted more. She dug her fingers into his hair, marveling at the unexpected silkiness of it.
“Are you going to slap me this time?” he murmured against her jaw.
She laughed, shocked that she could be brought to laugh at such a moment. Yet it felt natural to do so, as though she were not with a dangerous man who could ruin her, but a friend.
Her heart gave a sudden, unsettling flutter.
“Not unless you displease me,” she told him.
“Ah, well. In that case, I’d better not displease you.
” His smile pressed against her skin as he kissed along her jaw to her ear, then down her neck.
Her head spun, and she shifted, trying to get closer.
She brushed against a hard bulge in his breeches, and he released a sharp breath.
Eager, needy, she did it again, and his entire body tensed.
“Careful, lamb,” he murmured. “I am not that much of a gentleman.”
“You are not much of a gentleman at all.” She brought her hand to him again, marveling at the thick ridge under her fingers.
At her touch, it throbbed, and he groaned, picking her up and carrying her to the chair and sitting back down.
She straddled his lap, her legs falling on either side, and the tender flesh between her thighs pressed against that same ridge.
The rush of pleasure made her eyelids flutter, and she pressed closer, feeling as though she had taken a step into thin air and were falling.
Nothing could stop this.
She didn’t want it to.
He hissed a breath against her neck as she braced herself on his shoulders and moved closer, bringing her skirts out of the way.
If anyone found them now, she would be ruined, but she would do anything to chase this pleasure. It was as though her body were not hers.
Time danced out of her command. With every slow roll of her hips, the tension in her core built, and the more ragged the duke’s breath became.
His hands caught her cheeks, bringing her close for another kiss.
Her head spun. Sensation moved through her body, heat gathering and pooling at the base of her stomach.
“You have made me into a madman,” he said, the words splintering.
Gwen felt on the verge of breaking apart. Everything was so bright, so new, so intense, and she would never recover from this pleasure. Her breath came in short spurts. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
His tightened on her waist.
“I—”
He swore under his breath and stiffened, and she felt him pulse against her. The expression of pleasure across his face was enough for her to break, to snap, and she followed him over the edge.
Slowly, twitching, she came back to herself. “Your Grace,” she heard herself say.
“Lucas.”
Lucas. She rolled the name around her mouth, surprised by the way it made her feel. There was something shockingly intimate about using one’s Christian name.
“Did you know you have a freckle behind your ear?” His fingers brushed the tender spot, and she shuddered. There was so much sensation rolling through her body, she didn’t know what to do about it. Her skin felt hot and sensitized under her clothes, and she was more aware of her breasts than ever.
He rested his forehead against hers for a moment, then kissed her again, so fiercely that her heart fluttered in her chest.
What had just happened?
She closed her eyes, trying to find her equilibrium. When she had given him permission to kiss her, she had not thought this would happen.
His hand cupped the back of her head, the tenderness in the gesture doing something to her heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead and lifting her off his lap.
“I should never—” He dragged a hand through his hair, looking almost devastated.
There was a wet patch on his breeches. “I’m sorry,” he repeated as he rose, and then he strode away.
Gwen watched him go, something splitting in her chest. She wasn’t entirely sure what had just occurred between them, but she knew it had been more than a simple kiss.
This had been life-altering.
“Wait,” she said, hurrying after him and catching his arm. “Lucas.”
He looked down at her, his dark eyes so deep, she risked falling in and never finding her way back out.
“Gwen.” His fingers found her jaw, sliding along to her hair.
“You are a young lady on the cusp of your future. And I did not come here to find a wife. When I leave again, people will hate me. You do not want me for a husband.”
And if I do?
But she did not say the words.
One rejection was enough.
This was her fault for kissing him. For touching him. Good, proper young ladies did not do such things. Fifteen minutes in a gentleman’s company, and she had already ruined herself.
He exhaled through his nose and kissed her forehead. “I did not take anything from you,” he said, his voice soft. “No one needs to know. I’m sorry, lamb. I told you—I am not a good man.”
No, but she wanted him, anyway.
She said nothing more to stop him from leaving.