One Dance with a Duke
Page 37
Author: Tessa Dare
Once he ceased struggling with the buttons, he grasped her hand in his and pulled it between them, tunneling through all the layers of cloth. He wrapped her fingers around his swollen, rigid length. His skin was hot to the touch, scalding against her palm.
“Show me you want it.” He tightened his fist until she was sure their combined grip must be hurting him. “Guide me in.”
He released her hand, leaving her clutching his manhood between them. He cupped her thighs in his hands and lifted, spreading her legs wide.
Using the hard, pulsing handle he’d provided her, she pulled him closer. Not down between her folds, where she knew he wanted to be, but where she wanted him. She rubbed his engorged crown against the sensitive place at the top of her cleft. Pleasure rolled through her as she massaged the swollen bud with his hardness and heat.
He groaned, and his fingers bit into her thighs as he tilted her pelvis. His hips bucked, and he thrust against her, dragging his full length through the moist folds of her sex. She tightened her grip, pulling him away. He’d given her control, and she wouldn’t relinquish it now. This was what she wanted—to grind against his hard length, to rub his velvety heat against her in just the way she liked. She wouldn’t have dreamed lovemaking could be so good when begun in anger instead of tenderness … but it was. Oh, it was.
Writhing her hips, she worked herself closer and closer to release. As the sweet tension grew, she released her breath in a low, taunting purr.
“Curse you.” His hips jerked again. “Guide me in.”
And she did. Not because he’d told her to, but because it was what she wanted now. To feel him inside her, filling her, thrusting with helpless abandon.
She clutched his neck and stared at the ceiling. He gripped her thighs and pressed his face to her throat. There was no more eye contact, and no more conversation. Just a frantic rhythm and building sensation and a climax so sharp, so stunning, her mouth fell open in a silent scream.
He growled against her shoulder, filling her deep as he reached his own peak.
And in the aftermath, as he slumped breathless and shaking against her—a miracle occurred. Amelia put her hands on his shoulders. And then she pushed him away. The physical bliss of her climax had nearly split her in two, but her anger and confusion remained intact. She had no foolish desire to hold him, to cradle him close and stroke his hair. No deep, secret wish to hear him murmur words of praise and love in her ear. She’d taken what she wanted from him, and she was satisfied.
Finally, she’d reached a position of equality with her husband. She’d learned how to give him her body without risking her heart.
What a cold, bitter triumph it was.
Spent and trembling, Spencer withdrew from his wife’s body. His knees locked as he lowered her to the floor.
She said, “I thought I was promised finesse.”
Spencer winced. He wasn’t especially proud of that performance. It had been brutish, angry, brief … and goddamned amazing, which somehow made it worse. “Do I owe you an apology?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Her eyes were the pale blue of river ice. “We both enjoyed it.”
He turned aside to straighten his garments, needing to escape her gaze. He’d just enjoyed the most intensely pleasurable sexual experience of his life, with the eager participation of his creative, willing lover. And he felt lower than the carpet fringe.
Shaking out her skirts, she said, “When can I have my money?”
“What?” Had she honestly just asked him for money? As if she were a common whore, lifting her skirts in a darkened alley for a tup against the wall? There was angry but amazing, and then there was … coarse.
“As you’ve just reminded me, we had an agreement when we married. I give you children; you give me security. Those were your words, Spencer. Specifically, you promised me twenty thousand pounds. I’d like to know how soon I can have it. If you refuse to let me see my brother, I’ll help him on my own. I’ll … I’ll …” Her words tumbled together, growing increasingly fraught with emotion. “I’ll do something. Perhaps I can send him back to university, or buy him a commission, or just find some place for him away from Town …”
Spencer put a hand to his temple. Her loyalty to Jack was admirable—and the very reason they’d met—but her protective efforts were doing her brother more harm than good. There was no way in hell he was going to hand over thousands of pounds and let her squander it by proxy in London’s seediest brothels and worse. “The money is held in trust. I can’t just give it to you. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I’m certain you could make it work that way, if you wished. You’re quite free with your chequebook when it suits you.” She cast a glance at the wall they’d so recently buttressed. “I’m holding up my end of the bargain.”
Bile rose in his throat, giving his words an acid tinge. “You’re not with child yet. By that logic, I don’t owe you anything until a son is born.”
“Half,” she said numbly. “I want half in advance. Or there’ll be no son at all.”
“What the devil has come over you? Holding your favors for payment, as if you were a harlot? This conversation is beneath you, Amelia. It’s beneath us both.”
“You’ve driven me to it!” A tear streaked down her face. “Don’t you have the slightest capacity for empathy? Leo was attacked while wandering the same neighborhoods Jack’s frequenting. Jack could so easily have been the one who was killed. I can’t just idly sit by and wait for him to come around. By the time he does, it could be too late. Yes, I would barter my body to save him. I would give my life, if that’s what it took.” Turning away, she buried her face in her hands.
A rough sigh deflated his chest. He closed the distance between them and slid an arm around her shoulders. She flinched, but he held her tight. He might not have possessed a natural talent for this hugging business, but he’d always been a quick study. He stroked a hand down her spine. “Jack doesn’t deserve that kind of devotion.”
“Who truly does?” She ceased struggling and buried her face in his waistcoat, and he folded both arms around her. “But you can’t ask me to stop loving him. It isn’t fair.”
He held her as she cried, trying to come to grips with his own painful conclusion—that he couldn’t ask his wife to stop loving her fool of a brother, any more than he could force her to feel the same for him. He let himself imagine, for a treacherous moment, what it would be like to know that Amelia would do anything for him. Give her last worldly possessions, her body … her life if it came to that. If he were ever so fortunate as to be the recipient of such affection, he damned sure wouldn’t be spurning it to chase idle pleasure in gaming halls.
All he need do was throw some money at Jack, and he’d be in her good graces again. But the whole cycle would just repeat. Sooner or later—most likely sooner—Jack would resurface, having squandered it all, promising to reform if only they’d give him a little more. And Spencer would be forced to refuse, and Amelia would cry …
No amount of reasoning or explanation could change her mind right now. She was too compassionate, too tenderhearted to break the pattern. He had no choice but to be the arrogant, unfeeling villain and do it for her.
“Spencer, please. If you could just talk to—”
“No,” he said firmly. “There will be no discussion, Amelia. My decision is made. I cannot, in good sense or good conscience, give your brother any funds. Now that he’s realized that, I think you’ll find Jack will be the one cutting the ties.”
She cried some more. He would have held her longer, but she pulled away. Instead he just stood there awkwardly, watching her weep. It was a miserable way to pass a quarter hour.
“Well?” she said finally, hugging her arms across her chest. “Where do we go from here?”
“We go to Briarbank. As soon as possible.” At least he could offer her that much consolation—a holiday at her cherished cottage. “Now that Leo’s token is in my possession, it won’t help my cause with Bellamy. More than ever, I need to gather him and Ashworth in one place and talk matters through.”
She stared at the carpet, and he sensed two factions warring within her: the wish to see her home again, and the desire to rebel.
Spencer might not yet have the key to her heart, but he did know the five words that would improve her disposition and win her cooperation. The same ones that must have worked for Jack, time and time again. He played that trump card now. “Amelia, I need your help.”
Her shoulders softened instantly. God, it was so easy, he almost felt guilty about it. She lived to be of service to those around her, to the point that she would deny her own happiness to secure others’. It might be low of him to take advantage, but if it was that or lose her completely …
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Didn’t Jack tell you? Briarbank is already let for the summer. You’ll have to rethink your house party plan.”
“No, I won’t.”
Her brow crinkled. “You won’t?”
“I …” He sighed. Brilliant. Now he was lying to her. He abhorred deceit, but if he told her the truth now, she would take it all the wrong way. He’d forfeit whatever remaining grain of esteem she might still have for him. “I’ll make them a better offer. Will you still want riding lessons?”
Will you still want to spend time with me?
She shook her head. “If we’re to leave as soon as possible, I’ll be too busy.” She looked toward the door. “I should go begin writing letters now.”
But she didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at the door, as if waiting for him to say something. It felt like a test, and he’d spent his boyhood living in terror of just such oral exams. He never knew the right thing to say.
“Amelia …” He exhaled slowly. “I still need an heir. But as you ask, I’ll honor our initial agreement. If, once you have borne me a son, you no longer wish to live with me …” He hated the thought of it, but at least he had the better part of a year to change her mind. “I will release the entirety of your trust and provide you with a completely separate home.”
Her lower lip trembled. Then thinned. Then folded under her teeth and all but disappeared.
Wrong thing. Wrong thing to say, completely. Devil, damn, blast.
For midday in summer, the air in the room took on an odd chill.
“Yes,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “That was our agreement, wasn’t it? I should never have expected more.”
“I just …” Damn it, how had this past hour gone so wrong? This morning, they’d been on the cusp of something wonderful. Closeness. Friendship. Intimacy. Now there was a wall between them. “Amelia, I just want you to be happy.”
“Oh, I shall be.” Lifting her chin, she smoothed her palms down her stomach and hips. “I am going to Briarbank, and I have a house party to host. Of course, I will choose to be happy.” Her cheeks tightened with a forced smile as she headed for the door. “Well. Now that’s settled. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to plan.”
Chapter Sixteen
The weeks passed quickly, once Amelia fell into a routine. She spent the majority of her day with Mrs. Bodkin, attending to matters of the household. In the afternoon, she took some time for correspondence, making arrangements for their journey and their stay at Briarbank. Sometimes she found a stray hour or two for a walk through Braxton Hall’s park or gardens.
By night, she went to Spencer’s bed. They did not talk a great deal there, and almost never otherwise. It was all very much as a marriage of convenience should be. There were no more cards, no more discussions of books. No more arguments, and no more dangerous emotions. Just separate days, and temperate bedding, and polite distance. With every day of relative silence that passed, the number of things left unsaid grew—until that heap of unspoken remarks made a formidable wall of protection around Amelia’s heart.
Once he ceased struggling with the buttons, he grasped her hand in his and pulled it between them, tunneling through all the layers of cloth. He wrapped her fingers around his swollen, rigid length. His skin was hot to the touch, scalding against her palm.
“Show me you want it.” He tightened his fist until she was sure their combined grip must be hurting him. “Guide me in.”
He released her hand, leaving her clutching his manhood between them. He cupped her thighs in his hands and lifted, spreading her legs wide.
Using the hard, pulsing handle he’d provided her, she pulled him closer. Not down between her folds, where she knew he wanted to be, but where she wanted him. She rubbed his engorged crown against the sensitive place at the top of her cleft. Pleasure rolled through her as she massaged the swollen bud with his hardness and heat.
He groaned, and his fingers bit into her thighs as he tilted her pelvis. His hips bucked, and he thrust against her, dragging his full length through the moist folds of her sex. She tightened her grip, pulling him away. He’d given her control, and she wouldn’t relinquish it now. This was what she wanted—to grind against his hard length, to rub his velvety heat against her in just the way she liked. She wouldn’t have dreamed lovemaking could be so good when begun in anger instead of tenderness … but it was. Oh, it was.
Writhing her hips, she worked herself closer and closer to release. As the sweet tension grew, she released her breath in a low, taunting purr.
“Curse you.” His hips jerked again. “Guide me in.”
And she did. Not because he’d told her to, but because it was what she wanted now. To feel him inside her, filling her, thrusting with helpless abandon.
She clutched his neck and stared at the ceiling. He gripped her thighs and pressed his face to her throat. There was no more eye contact, and no more conversation. Just a frantic rhythm and building sensation and a climax so sharp, so stunning, her mouth fell open in a silent scream.
He growled against her shoulder, filling her deep as he reached his own peak.
And in the aftermath, as he slumped breathless and shaking against her—a miracle occurred. Amelia put her hands on his shoulders. And then she pushed him away. The physical bliss of her climax had nearly split her in two, but her anger and confusion remained intact. She had no foolish desire to hold him, to cradle him close and stroke his hair. No deep, secret wish to hear him murmur words of praise and love in her ear. She’d taken what she wanted from him, and she was satisfied.
Finally, she’d reached a position of equality with her husband. She’d learned how to give him her body without risking her heart.
What a cold, bitter triumph it was.
Spent and trembling, Spencer withdrew from his wife’s body. His knees locked as he lowered her to the floor.
She said, “I thought I was promised finesse.”
Spencer winced. He wasn’t especially proud of that performance. It had been brutish, angry, brief … and goddamned amazing, which somehow made it worse. “Do I owe you an apology?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Her eyes were the pale blue of river ice. “We both enjoyed it.”
He turned aside to straighten his garments, needing to escape her gaze. He’d just enjoyed the most intensely pleasurable sexual experience of his life, with the eager participation of his creative, willing lover. And he felt lower than the carpet fringe.
Shaking out her skirts, she said, “When can I have my money?”
“What?” Had she honestly just asked him for money? As if she were a common whore, lifting her skirts in a darkened alley for a tup against the wall? There was angry but amazing, and then there was … coarse.
“As you’ve just reminded me, we had an agreement when we married. I give you children; you give me security. Those were your words, Spencer. Specifically, you promised me twenty thousand pounds. I’d like to know how soon I can have it. If you refuse to let me see my brother, I’ll help him on my own. I’ll … I’ll …” Her words tumbled together, growing increasingly fraught with emotion. “I’ll do something. Perhaps I can send him back to university, or buy him a commission, or just find some place for him away from Town …”
Spencer put a hand to his temple. Her loyalty to Jack was admirable—and the very reason they’d met—but her protective efforts were doing her brother more harm than good. There was no way in hell he was going to hand over thousands of pounds and let her squander it by proxy in London’s seediest brothels and worse. “The money is held in trust. I can’t just give it to you. It doesn’t work that way.”
“I’m certain you could make it work that way, if you wished. You’re quite free with your chequebook when it suits you.” She cast a glance at the wall they’d so recently buttressed. “I’m holding up my end of the bargain.”
Bile rose in his throat, giving his words an acid tinge. “You’re not with child yet. By that logic, I don’t owe you anything until a son is born.”
“Half,” she said numbly. “I want half in advance. Or there’ll be no son at all.”
“What the devil has come over you? Holding your favors for payment, as if you were a harlot? This conversation is beneath you, Amelia. It’s beneath us both.”
“You’ve driven me to it!” A tear streaked down her face. “Don’t you have the slightest capacity for empathy? Leo was attacked while wandering the same neighborhoods Jack’s frequenting. Jack could so easily have been the one who was killed. I can’t just idly sit by and wait for him to come around. By the time he does, it could be too late. Yes, I would barter my body to save him. I would give my life, if that’s what it took.” Turning away, she buried her face in her hands.
A rough sigh deflated his chest. He closed the distance between them and slid an arm around her shoulders. She flinched, but he held her tight. He might not have possessed a natural talent for this hugging business, but he’d always been a quick study. He stroked a hand down her spine. “Jack doesn’t deserve that kind of devotion.”
“Who truly does?” She ceased struggling and buried her face in his waistcoat, and he folded both arms around her. “But you can’t ask me to stop loving him. It isn’t fair.”
He held her as she cried, trying to come to grips with his own painful conclusion—that he couldn’t ask his wife to stop loving her fool of a brother, any more than he could force her to feel the same for him. He let himself imagine, for a treacherous moment, what it would be like to know that Amelia would do anything for him. Give her last worldly possessions, her body … her life if it came to that. If he were ever so fortunate as to be the recipient of such affection, he damned sure wouldn’t be spurning it to chase idle pleasure in gaming halls.
All he need do was throw some money at Jack, and he’d be in her good graces again. But the whole cycle would just repeat. Sooner or later—most likely sooner—Jack would resurface, having squandered it all, promising to reform if only they’d give him a little more. And Spencer would be forced to refuse, and Amelia would cry …
No amount of reasoning or explanation could change her mind right now. She was too compassionate, too tenderhearted to break the pattern. He had no choice but to be the arrogant, unfeeling villain and do it for her.
“Spencer, please. If you could just talk to—”
“No,” he said firmly. “There will be no discussion, Amelia. My decision is made. I cannot, in good sense or good conscience, give your brother any funds. Now that he’s realized that, I think you’ll find Jack will be the one cutting the ties.”
She cried some more. He would have held her longer, but she pulled away. Instead he just stood there awkwardly, watching her weep. It was a miserable way to pass a quarter hour.
“Well?” she said finally, hugging her arms across her chest. “Where do we go from here?”
“We go to Briarbank. As soon as possible.” At least he could offer her that much consolation—a holiday at her cherished cottage. “Now that Leo’s token is in my possession, it won’t help my cause with Bellamy. More than ever, I need to gather him and Ashworth in one place and talk matters through.”
She stared at the carpet, and he sensed two factions warring within her: the wish to see her home again, and the desire to rebel.
Spencer might not yet have the key to her heart, but he did know the five words that would improve her disposition and win her cooperation. The same ones that must have worked for Jack, time and time again. He played that trump card now. “Amelia, I need your help.”
Her shoulders softened instantly. God, it was so easy, he almost felt guilty about it. She lived to be of service to those around her, to the point that she would deny her own happiness to secure others’. It might be low of him to take advantage, but if it was that or lose her completely …
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Didn’t Jack tell you? Briarbank is already let for the summer. You’ll have to rethink your house party plan.”
“No, I won’t.”
Her brow crinkled. “You won’t?”
“I …” He sighed. Brilliant. Now he was lying to her. He abhorred deceit, but if he told her the truth now, she would take it all the wrong way. He’d forfeit whatever remaining grain of esteem she might still have for him. “I’ll make them a better offer. Will you still want riding lessons?”
Will you still want to spend time with me?
She shook her head. “If we’re to leave as soon as possible, I’ll be too busy.” She looked toward the door. “I should go begin writing letters now.”
But she didn’t move. She just stood there, staring at the door, as if waiting for him to say something. It felt like a test, and he’d spent his boyhood living in terror of just such oral exams. He never knew the right thing to say.
“Amelia …” He exhaled slowly. “I still need an heir. But as you ask, I’ll honor our initial agreement. If, once you have borne me a son, you no longer wish to live with me …” He hated the thought of it, but at least he had the better part of a year to change her mind. “I will release the entirety of your trust and provide you with a completely separate home.”
Her lower lip trembled. Then thinned. Then folded under her teeth and all but disappeared.
Wrong thing. Wrong thing to say, completely. Devil, damn, blast.
For midday in summer, the air in the room took on an odd chill.
“Yes,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “That was our agreement, wasn’t it? I should never have expected more.”
“I just …” Damn it, how had this past hour gone so wrong? This morning, they’d been on the cusp of something wonderful. Closeness. Friendship. Intimacy. Now there was a wall between them. “Amelia, I just want you to be happy.”
“Oh, I shall be.” Lifting her chin, she smoothed her palms down her stomach and hips. “I am going to Briarbank, and I have a house party to host. Of course, I will choose to be happy.” Her cheeks tightened with a forced smile as she headed for the door. “Well. Now that’s settled. If you’ll excuse me, I have dinner to plan.”
Chapter Sixteen
The weeks passed quickly, once Amelia fell into a routine. She spent the majority of her day with Mrs. Bodkin, attending to matters of the household. In the afternoon, she took some time for correspondence, making arrangements for their journey and their stay at Briarbank. Sometimes she found a stray hour or two for a walk through Braxton Hall’s park or gardens.
By night, she went to Spencer’s bed. They did not talk a great deal there, and almost never otherwise. It was all very much as a marriage of convenience should be. There were no more cards, no more discussions of books. No more arguments, and no more dangerous emotions. Just separate days, and temperate bedding, and polite distance. With every day of relative silence that passed, the number of things left unsaid grew—until that heap of unspoken remarks made a formidable wall of protection around Amelia’s heart.
