To Pleasure a Duke (The Husband Hunters Club 3)

She was quivering with desire, and he could hear her heartbeat thundering in his ear as he held her close. He slid his hands up her thighs, reveling in her warm skin.

“I can’t sleep,” she said, a catch in her voice.

“Nor can I.”

He drew her closer, and she cupped his face with her palms to kiss his mouth, his cheeks, his eyelids, as if she would know each inch of him. His hands closed on her hips, urging her. He was so hard. He knew if she touched him he’d explode and yet he wanted her to touch him.

“If this is really a dream . . .” she began softly. “I can do whatever I want and it won’t matter.”

“Yes.”

She reached to stroke the ridge of him through his breeches.

He groaned, dropping his brow to her shoulder.

“Should I stop?”

“No, don’t stop . . .”

When she undid his fastenings and began to explore he did not demur, giving himself into her power. She stroked the velvet length of him, her fingers curious, eager.

Her breathing was ragged. Touching him was arousing her. He cupped her mound in his palm, feeling the moist heat of her, and then used his fingers to tease her swollen, slick flesh.

It was time.

Slowly, he eased his way inside her. She was so ready there was no resistance, but the sheer joy of being within her, of knowing her desire for him, was urging him to drive wildly into her body and finish it.

He restrained himself with difficulty.

He rose again, until he was almost completely free of her, and then slid down into her. Slowly, with excruciating care. Using his powers to increase her pleasure. And his.

Her passion was building. Soon she was panting, the muscles of her thighs trembling, her breasts rising and falling, as she moved more quickly upon him. He caught her hips in his hands and thrust hard inside her, meeting her, pushing her.

And then it happened, the wild insane moment when their bodies merged and melded. He covered her mouth with his to stop her cries of ecstasy and his own groans.

For a long time they were quiet, allowing their breaths to slow and their hearts to stop racing. The perspiration cooled on their bodies. Then at last Eugenie shivered and sat up. Her white nightgown enclosed her, her hair was loose about her shoulders. She looked virginal, but he knew she was his own personal succubus, who came to him every night in the darkness and tormented him until dawn.

“Sinclair . . .” she began. “We cannot go on like this.”

“I know.”

He kissed her again, tenderly now,

sated, and rose from her bed. The door closed behind him.

Eugenie lay back and closed her eyes. She knew she should be full of anxiety but she couldn’t feel anything but the dull throb of pleasure. If she really did love him then she suspected he was close to loving her. Not that it made any difference to their future.

Half asleep now, she decided on a new epitaph for her gravestone:

Eugenie Belmont, who loved a duke, and died of a broken heart. . .

“They were in Stoke-on-Trent on Monday,” Sinclair announced, looking up with a glitter in his eyes as Eugenie entered the drawing room. “Finally some news.” He paced toward the windows and then back again, too wound up with excitement to stay still.

In the meantime Lord Ridley had risen to his feet and set about making Eugenie comfortable in a green silk-covered chair. “We have heard back from my spies,” he said, with a wink. “The runaway pair has been spotted. They were on the Manchester road.”

“Will we be able to catch them before they reach the border?” she asked anxiously.

“Perhaps you should stay here at Framlingbury,” Lord Ridley said. “Let my nephew chase after them.”