Disciplining the Duchess

Oh, yes, he thought. Yes, yes, yes. He positioned himself and moved into the tightness of her, through her warmth and heat, dying every moment. “Oh, Harmony,” he said, or perhaps he only growled. He slid a hand beneath her hips and held her so he could thrust deep. There were no gasps or squirms of unease.

“Does that feel good?” he asked. “Better than yesterday?”

“Oh yes.” She sighed, moving against him. “I believe I love this part. I truly do.”

She was a more avid participant this time, meeting him thrust for thrust, giving herself up to the abandoned heat of lovemaking so Court felt free to abandon his inhibitions too. He grunted, he grasped, he wove a hand into her curls and forced her head back for his kiss. He nipped at her neck and her delicate jaw, all the while burying himself inside her with the passion of a love-maddened man.

“Yes, please, more,” she whispered against his lips. “How strong you feel inside me. Court…”

That breathless Court nearly undid him. This luscious, unbridled creature was his very own wife to lie down with whenever he wished. No courtesan had ever pleased him like this, not from the time he’d lost his virginity at the age of fifteen. He urged Harmony on, reveling in her wildness until the intensity took both of them. Her arms tightened around his neck, pulling him down and drowning him in the splendor of her release. He reached fruition to the music of her whimpers and pants, and cradled her like a treasure beneath him. His stones tightened almost painfully, the pulses of his orgasm blurring all thought from his mind.

He collapsed atop her, nestling his rough cheek against her soft one. His entire world in that moment was her scent and the soft tickle of her curls. She trailed lazy fingers at his nape until he collected himself enough to withdraw from her, and settle beside her so she had room to breathe. Again, the bright smile, the gaze that communicated delight rather than disgust.

“How remarkable you are,” he said, stroking her cheek. “How fortunate you make me feel.”

“Fortunate?” Tiny lines, a little frown. “Why?”

“When I imagined how my wife would be, I never imagined someone like you.”

She gave a pleased little laugh. “Shall I take that as a compliment?”

“I wish you would.”

“I thought maybe, last night, that it was one special moment,” she said, gazing up at him. “That it wouldn’t happen again.”

“I have a feeling it will happen every time we are together.”

“That would be wonderful,” she said, snuggling back into his chest.

Wonderful was not a good enough word for it. Not nearly good enough.

Chapter Twelve: Naughty

The Duke of Courtland sat at dinner with his new duchess thinking about sordid, lascivious things. This created a rather uncomfortable situation, since his mother the dowager sat at his other side. He and Harmony had been wed a week now, and still the briefest glance at his wife awakened the savage in him. The smallest movement or casual touch made him want to rip off her clothes and press her back on the table and rut on her wildly. His mother would not have approved.

Court had intentionally limited contact with Harmony in the weeks before their wedding for this reason—she stole his control. Not maliciously, of course. She drew it away from him with glances and stares, with smiles and the charming, exuberant things she said. Their wedding night had nearly killed him. The blood on the sheets might have come from his own uncivilized heart beating so hard for her in his chest. He had sensed, of course, that his Goddess of Chaos would offer him more pleasure than the typical English miss, and she had. More passion, more questions, more uninhibited participation than he could have hoped.

He had lain with her every night since, and burned for her in the daytimes in between. When he came to her at night she professed to long for him, and afterward she clung to his shoulders so he could not leave her bed. His whole life had become those naked hours, her warm, soft body beneath him and beside him. Her kisses, her touches. Her sighs. At some point, he would have to regain control over his behavior. When he grew used to her, perhaps, inured to her charms.

But he had the terrible suspicion he would never get used to her, and never really have enough of what she gave. He had a feeling she was going to move him from lust to veritable voraciousness, and what then? He would behave shamefully, doing things to her no proper man should do to his wife. Worse, she would probably urge him on with her little moans and groans.

Then there was her unconcerned acceptance of his need to spank her, to play with her bottom and wallop it scarlet. All along he had nurtured some desire to spank his future wife, but he’d never believed it might actually happen without Gwen fleeing back to her papa’s arms. Harmony showed no intention to flee. Of course, he had not really punished her yet, aside from the episode in Newcastle which had been an abrupt, flustered kind of session. He wondered how she would react the first time he truly punished her for some offense. He wondered if he would be able to punish her at all.

He fumbled his silverware with a clatter. His mother made a harrumph of a sound as Harmony glanced up at him. He looked back at her, appreciating how much she’d already changed in the short course of their marriage. She was dressed formally for dinner in an ice blue silk gown, the muted hue bringing out the depth of her eyes. His family’s diamonds glittered at her neck. The sparkle forced his gaze down to the tempting expanse of her décolletage before he managed to snap it back up to her pretty face.

Yes, he could. For her benefit, he would punish her if he had to.

His mother’s tsk reminded him he was staring at her like a besotted swain. Harmony cleared her throat and put her hands in her lap.

“Is the dessert not to your liking?” he asked.

She sighed and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I misused the utensils at some point.” She gestured to her setting. “I have nothing left with which to eat.”

Court felt some sympathy for her. Formal dinner involved a boggling array of silverware. He beckoned a footman with a glance and an arched brow.

“Her Grace requires an additional dessert spoon.”

If his servants were at their best, they would have noted her lack of spoon and rectified it silently. He would have to speak to the head butler later, he thought, rubbing his forehead whilst staunchly ignoring his mother’s glare.

“It is of no consequence whatsoever,” he murmured to Harmony as the footman returned with a single silver spoon on a tray. Harmony took it and stabbed at her pudding.

“You needn’t slaughter it,” his mother said. “Just eat it now that you have your spoon. Or leave the table, if you cannot be civil.”

Court held up a silencing hand to the dowager. His wife stared at the pudding, her face like stone as he reached and patted her hand. “If you are finished eating, you may be excused.”

She pushed back and remembered almost too late to turn and wish them good evening. She held her back stiffly as she walked out. As soon as the doors were closed, he turned to his mother.

“I would appreciate it if you would refrain from scolding my wife. She is a duchess, not a child.”

“She was poking at her pudding like an ill-mannered infant.”

“Like a frustrated dinner guest. Must you glare at her and make her feel uncomfortable? This is her home now. Her table. Her family. If you cannot soften your heart toward her then perhaps you should take dinner in your room with Mrs. Lyndon.”

His mother narrowed her eyes. The battle lines had been drawn; this was only another skirmish in the series.

“Perhaps I shall dine in my room,” she sniffed. “She disturbs me so I cannot digest my food properly. And the way she stands up and leaves when she is finished! I cannot imagine how she was raised.”

“She stood up and left because I excused her. She was not feeling well.”

The old woman blanched. “Tell me she is not already increasing. She could not be so gauche.”

Court coughed into his napkin until he

could compose himself, then scowled at his mother. “You’ve begged me to provide an heir for nearly a decade now, and now you complain?”

“If a babe arrives too soon after the wedding there will be talk.”

“There is already talk. There has been talk since the beginning. At any rate, she did not flee the table because she’s increasing. She fled because you persist in being rude to her.”

“I, rude? You will call me rude when you ogle her throughout dinner each and every night? It is sickening to witness, if you must know the truth.”

“Can you not find it in your heart to be happy for us? To be pleased that we suit so well?”

“How can you believe that you suit well?”

“We suit, mother. As much as that galls you, it cannot be changed.”

His mother desisted, stabbing at her pudding in much the manner Harmony had. “I wish I could be happy for you, but all I see is the Courtland name attached to that…that…oddity. I only wonder why you allowed yourself to be trapped by a prospect so far below you.”