Desiring The Duke (Strong Women Find True Love 4)

“Is this the sort of reading you quite enjoy, m’lady?” he asked.

“I’m… I read a wide variety of books… histories, novels,” she chattered. “I thought you had wanted to start a fire? I’m still quite cold.”

“’He announced to her his undying need, with fevered and molten whispers upon her ear,’ the duke continued. His voice slowed as he came upon something quite improperly steamy. ‘Skilled fingers worked at her skin and at the warmth between her, making her feel alive…’”

“M’lord! Such things a-are quite… inappropriate, to speak aloud, in the company of a woman of my station, don’t you think?” Anne resorted to the last thing she felt she could appeal to, that conventional sense of social expectation that she would otherwise so despise. She hoped it would work in her favor this time.

“M’lady,

it’s just the words printed in the book,” he added coyly. She blushed. “You said you didn’t enjoy this book?” he drew closer to her. “You didn’t want it to be burned?”

“I… I just… I value all books, is all,” she said, looking away.

“But this book…” his voice grew deeper, that baritone rumbling in his throat.

“Fairy tales written by bored women with wild imaginations,” Anne spat dismissively. “I’ve no use… for…”

“’And he embraced her, but not only in body, but in soul,’” the lord continued reading from the passage as he stepped closer to her. “’He knew her, and she knew him, and they knew one another like none had ever known anyone in the whole existence of the world. For when they embraced, the sun grew jealous, for it knew it would never once in all its endless years of burning know the heat with which their passions for one another burned.’”

“Em… embarrassing,” Anne said, though she felt herself surrendering to the sweet words murmured from the lord’s lips. “Ab… absurd. Such things don’t… exist, such feelings don’t…”

“Art is reflectively of the people who create it, don’t you think, m’lady?” the husky baritone imparted. “That passion… that sense of love, of true devotion to one another…”

“Just silly dr… dreams,” she resisted weakly. “Silly… girl’s dreams…” He came closer, until their lips had nearly met; he sat beside her, the book in his hand, open to that passionate passage. Though her cheeks burned in anxiety and in want, and he drew so close, she couldn’t find anything to say.

“I’m… c-cold,” she blurted weakly. He rose to his feet without another word, and next she knew his heavy coat had fallen from his shoulders; he placed it on the couch next to her, and Anne’s eyes grew wide. She had known the duke to be quite handsome; she had appreciated his piercing gaze, the masculine cut of his jaw, the dark and handsome mystery that whirled around his enticing visage. But she had not seen this part of him; his shirt, soaked by rain, clung tight to his flesh; beneath the damp cloth she could see a body crisscrossed with the chisel of finely-knotted muscle, born no doubt from youthful years of climbing and exploring in happy mirth with his sister. So taken was she by the unexpected sight that her breath nearly got away from her; she gasped softly, her eyes wide and attentive even as the chill numbed her sense of touch.

“M’… m’lord, a… aren’t you… cold as well…?” she asked, seeing the wet clothes pressed against his muscles. He hurried to her side, taking his coat and throwing it across her shoulders. She felt his warmth pass over her, and he loomed close after offering her the gesture. Suddenly, she paid no mind to the rain creeping along her skin, her jaw quivering not from the cold, but from a secreted desire she felt twanging through her very being.

“The rain… my coat should still keep you warm, though riding atop that damned, bouncing beast, it did little to keep my own shirt dry,” he admitted quietly.

“Pl… please, I don’t want you to… to get sick, from the cold,” Anne pleaded, swallowing hard. “You… you should…” He stood without another word. He looked down upon the beautiful woman shivering beneath him, and Anne held her breath as his fingers moved to the buttons along his shirt. He unfastened one, and then another, and with each new button loosed, Anne’s fingers trembled harder; her knees jittered with nervous energy. She had never before felt the touch, either romantic or erotic, of a man; she had dreamed and read of this moment, in so many of the novels arrayed across the cabin, but she had never before imagined herself there, in the middle of that exactly, tense, emotional, body-shaking moment. Lawrence untucked his shirt from his breeches and unfastened the last button; he pulled the garment away to expose his finely-carved frame, like some manner of marbled statue from one of the history books she remembered reading. She had never seen a man so stunning; most nobles carried extra weight, lazed about in their manors and gorged themselves on rancid wine and excessive feast. She admired him, eyes glistening in the glow of raindrops falling across the windowpanes, the sun creeping through the darkness just long enough for its stale light to illuminate the dusty windows and crest across the lord’s strong, broad back. He turned to her, breathing heavily, his eyes so taken with her.

“Lawrence, I…” she stammered. “I… I know it’s silly, to read those books, to think…”

“Nothing you truly desire can be silly,” he hushed her with his simmering baritone, sitting next to her once more, whispering into her ear. “Those stories made you free… they helped make your mind as beautiful as I know it is.”

“My mind… beautiful,” she stammered, having never heard words so bold before from any man, even her father. He wrapped an arm about her shoulder to hold his warm coat tight to her skin; she squirmed in the heat not just of the coat, but of passion burning through her stomach and nethers. Shaking, her fingers found his, intertwining as they shared this delicate moment, the sound of their breaths ringing louder in her ears than the sharp, constant drop of rain overhead.

“I never had any doubt,” Lawrence murmured to her. “No man wants to marry you… because no man deserves to cage a spirit as vibrant as yours. None are worthy of extinguishing that flame in your heart, Anne Hatley,” he reassured her.

“This… this dress, it’s… cold, stifling,” she whispered, her heart throbbing beneath her damp breasts. “I… I want to… t-to take it off,” she whimpered, and all at once that coy and confident woman, bristling with vim and anger at the world, at Lawrence and at her father, fell away; instead she found herself wanting him, wanting him now; not just physically, but his soul; just like that damnable red-bound book she felt so embarrassed by, she truly did want to embrace him - body, and soul.

“Do you want me to help you?” came the lord’s whisper into her ear; she felt his hands massage her shoulders; she dipped her arms, letting the coat fall away, but no more did she fear the cold. His fingers slipped into the sleeves of her dress, and she shuddered, moving sympathetic to his every move. Her shoulders exposed, she cooed; and no longer able to stop herself, she lunged to him, pressing her lips against his, and never had she dreamed that his would be so wanting; so inviting of intrusion. He kissed her back with indulgent fervor, cradling her head, fingers twisting through her wet and matted hair. They kissed, and they kissed, and she did not want to ever dream of letting go. When the kiss passed, their eyes met, and her lips parted.

“Pl… please. Please help me,” she whimpered. She wanted him to save her… in more ways than she could count.

Chapter Ten

She moaned, her voice quivering, quaking uncontrollably as he laid her against the plush cushions of the couch; his jacket upon the floor, he worked impatiently to pull her dress free; her gasps filled the air as he took her so completely. He silenced her sounds by kissing her again, pulling button from button so teasingly and painfully slow; she wanted it faster, because every part of her body screamed out for him as he peeled her sleeves down her quivering arms. He grunted, frustrated to find a sleek white bustier clung to her body beneath her dress; she pressed a coy finger to his lips and grinned devilishly, her wet body warmed by the hungry touch of the man before her as she reached behind her, arching her back away from the couch and grasping the buttons at her back, letting it slide slowly down until the garment felt loose against her petite frame and her pretty young curves. His hands shook and hesitated; he wanted to see her, her milky skin and her pretty face and her flowing hair and everything about her, but a fear struck him, as it did so often when it came to women. Anne reassured Lawrence with a gentle touch to his wrists, guiding his hands along, pulling the bustier away and laying it on the floor beside them, begging him with silence and burning, pretty eyes to continue. Her breasts bared, the pretty pink dollops of each nipple stiffened as she felt him grasp her chest and feel her completely, his eyes filled with a desire she had never seen in him; something savage, but so enticing, just as she looked into his smoky eyes and adored his powerful build. She got a full and free look upon his body, and it only stoked that heat within her higher, as he gave to her the full breadth of his chest, exposing proudly his taut abs and his rock-hard frame.

Ravenous and uncaged he buried his lips into her neck, devouring her with a flurry of starved kisses along her jawline, to her neck, down her chest; he paid attention to every inch of her sweet and sugar-white skin, swirling his tongue hotly across her, lapping up the dew of the rainstorm with each kiss, replacing the soaked droplets with furious kisses and deep, desirous moans against her. He pressed her wrists down beside her, and while she cherished her freedom, the only thing that made her feel those shackles unchained was the sensation of a strong man giving her everything she wanted, even without the need to speak. She gave herself to the pleasure his lips and his tongue rained upon her, each of his kisses carrying him lower, savoring the taste of her milky skin, dampened by rain as it may be. He gripped her wrists tightly and grew ravenous, keeping her pinned as her back pressed so that her body could savor every kiss, her lungs shaking with lusty moans with each inch of her the lord claimed.

“Lawrence, I’ve… I’ve never felt like this, nothing like this, before, with anyone,” she admitted sheepishly, her cheeks a blistering pink-red as she spread her legs, her slippers falling away to the floor. She could see him trembling hard, his hands jittering with all the pent-up emotion, the need, the desire. “I d… don’t, don’t know how to t… tell you, but…” she felt a lump in her throat; his hands rolled comforting along her arms until they came to her shoulders; he massaged them gently and laid close to her, their lips meeting in a twining passion for another long, intense kiss, their tongues dancing together, their eyes meeting, their hearts pounding; he bore down on her, and she felt him throbbing in desire against her thighs, something she savored, showering him with soft and dainty kisses of her own.

“Anything, anything you want to say, anything you want - in all the world, Anne,” he whispered to her, his kisses moving along her cheek and meeting her earlobe. He kissed along her ear, whispering a dozen times to her name, a name he worshiped with every second and every sweet, compassionate murmur.

“I-I’ve never b-been, never been intimate with a man, before,” she admitted, shaking hard beneath him, sinking into the couch, fearful her inexperience would foul the tense desire built between the two of them. She looke