9. Chapter 9
Emma felt rather than saw the duke approach, her senses finely tuned to him.
“Gilchrest, there you are,” Caroline said. “Where have you been?”
Ignoring his sister entirely, he smiled at Emma. “Miss Whittingham, I believe this is my dance.” He winged out his elbow.
Emma smiled in return and let Gilchrest lead her out onto the dance floor.
Facing each other, she placed her right palm against his.
She shouldn’t be here dancing with the duke.
She was a fraud, a thief in lady’s clothing.
But tonight, she felt elegant and beautiful in her shimmering green dress.
He saw her that way. She would hold on to this feeling for as long as it lasted.
The melody began, and turning clockwise, eyes locked, they started to dance.
Gilchrest stiffened suddenly. As they twirled, she caught sight of the man in the chartreuse suit. Harrington. “Do you want to leave the dance floor?” she asked quietly.
His hand tightened on her waist. “And miss having an opportunity to have you in my arms? Absolutely not.”
A blush warmed her cheeks at his comment.
She peeked over his shoulder at Harrington.
He was dancing with a lady in a scandalously low-cut dress of dark blue velvet.
As Harrington laughed at something the lady said, his monocle fell from his eye, disappearing into her ample décolletage.
The lady gasped, but they both continued dancing with the gold chain attached to the monocle like a delicate bridge between them.
Emma burst into laughter over the absurd picture it made.
The duke looked down at her with an eyebrow raised in question.
“Oh dear, that awful Mr. Harrington just lost his ridiculous monocle right down his dance partner’s dress.
” Emma giggled again. “The woman doesn’t want to reach down into her dress on the dance floor to retrieve it, no doubt, so they are just dancing around with the little gold chain from his waistcoat swinging between them.
” She snorted, very unladylike, trying to suppress another laugh.
Gilchrest twirled them in a tight circle so he could try to see what she was describing.
A rumble of laughter erupted from his chest. Hearing it made her laugh even harder, and their chuckling caused many of the couples dancing nearby to look over at them in surprise.
Which only made them laugh even more. Gilchrest maneuvered them to the side of the dance floor, and they stumbled out of the crowd hand in hand.
“Goodness, Andrew! You two are making a scene.”
Emma’s head snapped up. The Duchess of Gilchrest stared at the two of them as if they had grown two heads. Emma sobered. Straightening her shoulders, she put what she hoped was a serene expression on her face. She glanced sideways at Gilchrest, who was also trying to compose himself.
“Ah—ahem.” The duke’s ears reddened. “Sorry, once we got started laughing, it seemed impossible to stop.” He smiled over at Emma, and she couldn’t help but grin back.
The duchess’s eyes twinkled. She gave her son a small pat on the cheek. “Well, it’s certainly nice to see your smile again.”
Later that night, Emma lay in her bed wide awake, her thoughts on the duke.
He’d asked her to call him Andrew. As outrageous as that was, she liked thinking about him as Andrew.
The duke was someone above her station with whom she would never dream of being friends, but Andrew was a man who laughed with her.
He was a man who rescued her from unruly dogs and errant birds.
A man who slept restlessly and battled his own demons just as she did.
Was he truly all right after his encounter with Harrington tonight? Perhaps she should go check on him, just to make sure he wasn’t brooding into a glass of brandy. She sat up in bed and swung her legs over the edge.
No! What was she thinking? She flung herself back onto the mattress. What if he was brooding with a bottle of brandy? Andrew didn’t need her coming in through the window to rescue him. Emma chewed her bottom lip. She did want to see him though.
Ten minutes later, she climbed out of bed, disgusted with her own indecision.
She retrieved her pants, jacket, and man’s shirt from the wardrobe.
Her real life bound her to society’s rules, to her responsibilities to her family.
But the night belonged to her. Within its darkness, she was brave and fearless.
She took what she wanted. And right now, she wanted to see him.
She stayed in the shadows as she passed down the lane behind the houses on Kent Street.
Emma breathed in the crisp night air. A waxing moon in the sky showed only a sliver of light.
She turned the corner to St. Georges Avenue and was soon near Gilchrest House.
A horse whinnied from the mews behind the ducal mansion.
She froze in place, listening for sounds of any stable hands still awake, but the night continued to be silent.
She climbed the wall and leapt to the ground.
As she made her way through the gardens, she ran her fingers over the delicate pink blooms of a bed of camellia, letting loose their delicate fragrance.
Once she stood under his window, she had a moment of indecision. An image of him from earlier tonight rose in her mind—his deep blue eyes filled with guilt and anger, and that damn glass of liquor set in front of him. She began to climb.
Emma slipped into his room, pulling the curtains tightly behind her, shutting out the faint moonlight.
She turned to look toward the bed, letting her eyes adjust. Andrew lay sleeping, his shadowed form motionless on his back.
Letting out a soft sigh of relief, she curled up in a wingback chair close to the door, just wanting to be near him without interrupting his slumber.
“You know, you should really quit before you are discovered.” His deep voice startled her. Good Lord, did the man never sleep?
He sat up with a rustle of linens. “You have made the papers. Tonight, there was talk at the ball about a jewel thief loose in London. Was it you who robbed the Royal Arms Hotel?”
Emma gasped. Had the burglary made the news? With all the talk of the Lansdowne Ball from Lucy over breakfast, she hadn’t even read the paper this morning. Oh dear, the last thing she needed was to garner any attention from the magistrate’s office.
“Why are you here?” His voice growled, rough and demanding. “Do you plan to rob me? Is that what you were doing here the first night I caught you sneaking into my room?”
Too many questions she dared not answer.
She rose, quickly crossed to him, and placed a finger across his lips.
Please stop asking questions I can’t answer, she silently pleaded.
But touching him was a mistake. His lips were warm and soft, his scent a spicy mix of bergamot and cedar.
She knew she shouldn’t be here, but somehow, he had become a beacon in the stormy sea of her life.
The smell and feel of him enticed her to take dangerous risks just to be near him.
“What are you doing here?” Andrew asked again to the dark figure before him.
Damn it, he needed to light a candle! He started to rise, but she pressed her hands on his shoulders, pushing him back onto the mattress.
Then her mouth was on his, hot and demanding.
He snaked an arm around her waist. She wasn’t getting away tonight.
He needn’t have worried. She climbed up into his lap so she sat straddling him, her breasts pressed up against his chest. He wrapped his other arm around her to cradle the back of her head.
When his hand met the band of her cap, he tore it off in one swift move and flung it across the room.
She pulled back in surprise. A long braid tumbled down her back.
He ran his fingers down the length of the silky rope of hair.
She made a small hum in the back of her throat and captured his mouth again.
This time, he would try not to frighten her; he would let her take the lead.
Their tongues clashed again and again, exploring, tasting.
Pushing the jacket off her shoulders, he slowly tugged it down and off.
He broke the kiss to bury his nose at her throat, her fresh, clean scent intoxicating. Was he mad? Who was this siren?
Her hands were busy exploring his shoulders and back, and his erection hardened in response to her attentions. He grabbed hold of her derriere to pull her tighter against him, rubbing her along his length. She gasped. Then she mimicked his movement with her hips, and he lost his mind.
In one quick move, he had her beneath him. Andrew murmured against her mouth, “Is this what you want? Because if not, you need to tell me now before we go any further.” He raised himself up above her, waiting for some response.
She reached up to pull his head down and pressed her soft lips against his.
He would take that as a yes and thank God.
He reached down and pulled her shirt from the waistband of her breeches.
Frantic to touch her, to know what she felt like under his hands, even if he couldn’t see her curves.
In one swift move, he had the shirt off and tossed it to the floor.
He ran a hand down her neck, his fingers trailing down to circle one of her breasts, circling its softness slowly until he reached the tight peak of her nipple.
He bent over and flicked his tongue gently across it.
Receiving a gratifying hum of pleasure from her, he repeated the gesture with the other breast. They were perfect globes of smooth skin and heated flesh.
He lavished them with attention, taking each one in turn into his mouth, sucking and licking.
She writhed underneath him with muffled moans of pleasure.
“Like that, darling? I am determined to make it as difficult as possible for you to stay silent. I want to hear your voice as you scream out in pleasure.”
He moved himself down farther, trailing kisses from her breastbone down to the taut plane of her belly. She giggled. Pausing, he experimentally ran his tongue along her ribcage. She giggled again, and he froze. No…it couldn’t be.
“Ticklish, are we, darling?” He nuzzled the spot under her ribcage once more, running his tongue across her skin until she laughed out loud. He reared up onto his arms above her; his eyes strained against the inky darkness, trying to decipher her features. He definitely recognized that laugh.
Before he could utter another word, she wrapped a leg around his flank and rolled them both again.
Now she sat on top of him. She ruthlessly took his mouth prisoner.
Her tongue dove in, and she ran her hands rampantly over his chest, pinching one of his nipples, and he groaned at the pleasure.
She bent and licked it, her hot tongue searing his skin.
“Yes, that feels just as good for me.” He gripped her thick braid to keep her mouth on him.
Then one inquisitive hand reached down and found his cock. Wrapping her fingers around him, she gave it a squeeze, and he forgot everything but the feel of her body against his.
He unbuttoned her trousers, sliding them down over her hips in a flash.
But they got stuck at the knees, and he had to flip her onto her back once again.
He yanked off her shoes and then grasped the trousers, but in the process of untangling her legs from the wretched garment, her foot came up and whacked him in the side of the head.
He sat back on his haunches, rubbing his temple.
Damn it! He fumbled in the dark to find her ankles, then with one vicious tug, they joined the rest of her clothes on the floor.
As slippery as an eel, she climbed back on top of him, and guiding his cock to her entrance, she sheathed him in one slow stroke.
He threw his head back with a moan of pleasure, digging his fingers into her hips.
God, she was so tight. So wet. He lifted her up a little and then plunged in again.
She moaned and seized his mouth, kissing him with abandon.
He drove himself into her again and again.
She gripped his shoulders for balance. She met each of his thrusts with a roll of her hips.
This woman was a mystery and a revelation.
She would surely incinerate him with the passion she let loose.
But had he ever felt this alive? He wanted to hear her cry out in pleasure, to feel her fall apart in his arms. Seizing her braid, he used it to arch her back so that he could take one pebble-hard nipple into his mouth.
At his slow, hard pull on her breast, she tightened up around him like a vice as she reached her crisis with a soft cry.
He drove his hips in and out, climbing right to the edge of his own orgasm.
Then he pulled out and spilled his seed against her stomach, holding her closely against him as his own orgasm rolled through him in a wave of ecstasy he hadn’t felt in years.
“Who are you?” he murmured into her hair.
In response, she buried her face into his neck, placing a kiss at his racing pulse.
He ran his hand down the long silky braid over and over as he tried to catch his breath.
Then he laid her gently onto the bed, tucking her next to him.
She snuggled against his chest and wrapped one arm and one leg around him.
He yawned, totally content, and closed his eyes.
This woman, whoever she was, felt just right.
Emma glanced over at Andrew as he snored softly.
The soft gray light of predawn seeped in around the curtains while she quietly dressed.
His face looked tranquil in sleep. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest. The last few hours had been amazing.
It certainly had far surpassed her one other adolescent experience with lovemaking.
Her fingers itched to reach out and brush an errant hair from his brow.
Instead, she rested her fingers on her lips.
She dared not come to him at night anymore.
There had been a moment in which she thought she had given herself away.
Too close. She must be practical for her family’s sake.
Quickly scooping up her cap, she bundled her hair into it and pulled it low over her face. It was time for Cinderella to go home.