The Last Duke (Thornton 1)

“This from the woman who invaded Benchley, endangered her life and the life of our child, knowing she was pregnant.”

Daphne gave a resigned sigh. “You’re never going to forgive me for that, are you? Even though I’ve told you time and again that, in my heart, I knew no harm could befall me or our child. You wouldn’t allow it.”

Pierce pulled her to him. “Your faith is humbling and frightening. What if—”

“It wouldn’t. You wouldn’t permit it.” Daphne pressed her forehead against the hard wall of Pierce’s chest, warm even through the barrier of his shirt. “At Benchley, you were beside me. The babe and I were safe. ’Tis as simple as that.”

Reflexively, Pierce’s arms tightened about her. “You truly believe that, don’t you?”

“I do.” He swallowed, audibly. “Snow flame, don’t take any more risks, all right? For my sake.”

“Very well.” She kissed his throat. “Although I must say, my reckless husband, that impending fatherhood has rendered you quite boring and stodgy.”

Pierce smiled against her hair. “I heard no complaints last night.”

“True.” Daphne tilted her head back, her eyes alight with laughter. “Perhaps your recently abated sense of adventure will show itself in new and innovative ways.”

“Say the word,” Pierce murmured, his voice husky with sensual promise, “and I’ll keep you abed for a week, demonstrating my ever-thriving inventiveness.”

“We’ve scarcely left our chambers all week.”

“That was a precautionary step.” He brushed her lips with his. “My shoulder needed to heal, so we didn’t have to explain the coincidence between my sudden injury and that of the Tin Cup Bandit who, as the newspapers reported, was shot and wounded upon fleeing Benchley.”

“The staff thinks you were ill.” Daphne shivered as Pierce’s lips found the pulse point in her neck.

“Tell them I had a relapse.”

“Pierce, I can’t.”

“Then tell them nothing.” Releasing his wife, Pierce crossed the room, turning the key in the lock. “Our new schoolroom needs to be initiated.” He pivoted, advancing toward Daphne with a suggestive gleam in his eye. “You choose, Snow flame. The oak desk or the oriental rug.”

Daphne’s eyes widened as she realized what her husband, intended. “Pierce.” She flushed. “You can’t actually mean to—What if someone should—”

“Abated sense of adventure, you said?” Pierce shrugged out of his coat, tossing it to the floor, followed quickly by his shirt and cravat. “Boring? Stodgy?” His arms enveloped Daphne, reaching around to unfasten her buttons in rapid succession. “Am I being innovative enough, my spirited wife?” he breathed just before his mouth closed over hers.

With a soft sound of pleasure, Daphne twined her arms about Pierce’s neck, everything inside her going hot and liquid with longing.

“Choose,” he commanded as her gown and petticoats slid to the floor.

“I—” Daphne couldn’t think, much less choose.

“The rug is softer.” His thumbs caressed her nipples until they strained against her chemise. “But on the desk I can go deeper inside you.”

“Oh God.” Daphne’s knees buckled, and she stepped back, bracing herself against the desk. “Here,” she managed, tugging her chemise over her head.

Pierce’s gaze raked her hungrily. “I applaud your choice, Snow flame.” With undisguised urgency, he dragged off the remainder of his clothing, lifting Daphne onto the edge of the desk. “Let me feel you,” he demanded in an uneven whisper. Still standing, he urged himself between her thighs, leaving her totally open to receive him. “Do you want me, sweetheart?” He took her mouth under his, simultaneously gliding his fingers into her welcoming wetness.

Daphne moaned, clutching him more tightly to her.

“Ah, Daphne.” His lips burned a trail down her neck, her throat. His fingers began an unbearable rhythm that burned through her like a torch. “Yes,” he breathed as her hips undulated in response. “Now lean back on your hands.”

Immediately, Daphne complied, her eyes closing with pleasure as she gave Pierce free access to her body.

He welcomed the gift, lowering his head to her breast, drawing the aching tip into his mouth, relinquishing it only when Daphne cried out, and then, only to lavish her other breast with the same attention.

“Christ, you’re so beautiful,” he muttered, his lips moving restlessly down her body. He paused, laying his palm on her abdomen. “My child is growing inside you. Can you imagine what that knowledge does to me?”

Wetting her lips, Daphne attempted to answer.