To Desire a Wicked Duke (Courtship Wars 6)

There was a long pause. “Merely edifying?”

He sounded almost disgruntled, which made Tess feel better.

“Actually, it was quite nice—but generally what I expected, given what Fanny has told me.” She let that sink in, then managed a smile. “You were right, Rotham. It did help to soothe my nerves. I find I am rather fatigued after all the strain of the past two days. Perhaps now I can sleep.”

She had the immense satisfaction of seeing a muscle in Rotham’s cheek flex as his jaw clamped shut.

Feeling more like herself for the first time since realizing she had to marry him, Tess rolled over onto her other side. She doubted she would sleep much, but at least Rotham’s slumber would not be very restful either.

There is a reason they call him the Devil Duke.

—Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard

Ian awoke in the gray light of dawn, painfully hard. He lay on his side cradling Tess’s back, his arm around her slender waist, his throbbing erection nestled against the softness of her buttocks.

For a moment he savored the sweet ache. Torment was the word that came to mind. It had been pure torture to sleep beside Tess for an entire night without giving in to his craving for her. Obviously he hadn’t completely succeeded, either. Betrayed by his primal instincts, tempted by the potent sensuality of her body, he’d unconsciously drawn her to him while they slept.

A damn fool thing to do, Ian thought with a silent oath.

Taking care not to wake her, he twisted away from her warmth. Tess shifted in protest and turned toward him, as if seeking his embrace. Ian froze, but she remained slumbering peacefully.

Against his will, he lay there watching her in the faint light of morning. Her hair—a glorious deep sable—tumbled around her face and shoulders in lovely wanton disorder. He’d always wondered about the texture, how it would feel to bury his hands in those rich waves. In truth, he could remember past nights when he’d lain awake wondering what her skin would feel like, how her mouth would taste. He’d also imagined pleasuring her, pictured her beneath him, writhing in the throes of desire he’d awakened in her.…

Now he knew. And that stunning knowledge would make it even more difficult to resist her allure. Touching her, tasting her, had left him burning for Tess with the kind of desperate hunger reserved for green youths.

The irony of it didn’t escape Ian, either. He’d spent the better part of four years learning to subdue his fantasies about Tess, ruthlessly restraining his impulses.

Yet even though he finally had her in his bed, even though he could legally assert all the rights of her husband, he couldn’t satisfy his fierce urges. Not when he’d vowed to delay the consummation until she was eager for it.

His unrelenting desire for Tess still annoyed the devil out of him, Ian acknowledged. At least his lust was understandable, though. What worried him more was the strange stirrings inside his chest.

He shook his head in bemusement. It shocked him that he could feel such bewildering tenderness for any woman. He was supposed to be a coldhearted bastard like his late father.

He didn’t feel at all coldhearted just now, with Tess looking all sleep-tousled and warm.

Ian reached out to touch the vibrant cloud of her hair, feeling the silk of it slide through his fingers. His gaze moved over her face, admiring the elegant sweep of her cheekbones, the heart-shaped fullness of her mouth. That luscious mouth. The taste of her would be forever branded on his memory.

He wanted to taste her again.…

Berating himself, Ian drew back his hand. Forcing himself to leave their marriage bed would require extreme willpower, yet he’d managed to hide his weakness for her all these years. He could continue to do so for a while longer.

It was some consolation that Tess was not as impervious to his lovemaking as she pretended, Ian thought as he eased from the bed. She had professed not to want him, but her body had told him differently. And he was gratified that her innocence and inexperience was no pretense. He’d been afraid Richard had taken their betrothal beyond genteel bounds.

Silently, Ian carried his dinner clothes into the dressing room and donned breeches and boots and riding coat. When he escaped the bedchamber, he descended the stairs and headed directly for the stables. After ordering his favorite mount saddled, he indulged in a long gallop. It was a chill autumn morning, with rolling blue-gray mists covering the verdant hills and dales, but the brisk exercise helped to ease his frustration and restlessness a small measure.

He returned to Bellacourt in a marginally better mood—until he reached the breakfast room and found Tess there before him. Ian halted on the threshold momentarily. He wasn’t accustomed to sharing his breakfast table. In fact, he liked the solitude of his bachelor’s existence.

His solitary habits would have to change, of course. He was a married man now, and he had a wife whose interests he would have to consider in addition to his own.

Tess looked fresh and lovely, a sight to warm any man’s loins. Her feminine figure was garbed in a long-sleeved morning gown of jade green muslin, while her skin had an enchanting flush to it, reminding him of her shuddering climax last night.

The desire to make love to her still stinging his body, Ian made himself enter the room. It was her uncertain smile, however, that seared him. For a suspended moment, his heart beat oddly as their gazes touched.

Ian swore mentally. He wanted to feel detached from her; he didn’t—not in the least. Particularly when he passed her chair and bent to kiss her cheek for the benefit of his servants.

“Good morning, my love,” he said as he took his seat beside her.

Tess murmured “Good morning” in return, but Ian noted the color blooming in her checks.