The Scoundrel Duke of her Heart by Violet Hamers

Chapter Seventeen

“Nicholas!” she breathed, her heart stuttering in her chest.

He closed the door and locked it before facing her, his expression unreadable. “The old crone is staying the night.”

“Old crone,” she murmured to distract herself from his broad shoulders and strong arms when he crossed them over his chest. He had shed his evening coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “I did not know you had such a moniker for her.”

“It is either that or call her the devil and that would not be nice of me.”

“Is she the reason you are here?” she asked, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“She has decided to spend the night here to make sure we consummate this marriage.”

Jenny drew the covers up to her chin. “Are you…”

“I made you a promise and I have no intention of breaking it.”

His words slapped her. She was being rejected again. And here she’d been, giving him the benefit of the doubt and supposing he was avoiding something and that she was only caught in the crossfire.

“I will have to sleep here, however,” he continued. “It is the only way we can be rid of her. She has no way of proving anything.”

“Very well.” She swallowed the lump of disappointment in her throat. “You can sleep on that chaise.”

He did not move. She proceeded to lie on the bed and turn her back to him, closing her eyes. Several seconds later, the sound of the fire poker stirring the fire met her and she raised her head. He was crouching in front of the fire.

“I cannot sleep when there is noise,” she said. “Please be quiet.”

He rose. “Don’t mind me.”

“I won’t,” she heard herself return and the words were meant to convince herself to not mind him. She closed her eyes again, willing her erstwhile weary body to sleep. His presence had awakened her.

The minutes ticked by and sleep did not come. Instead, she was being gifted with very vivid images of their encounter in the Addbury library that night. The memory of his touch had her biting down on her lower lip to keep from shamelessly calling him to her even though she knew he didn't want her.

Jenny wished she could feel him again. If only things were different. She turned to look at him: He was standing by the window with the edge of the curtain between his fingers as he looked out. “I can’t sleep,” she whispered.

“Hmm?” He turned around. “What did you say?”

“I can’t sleep with you hovering around,” she replied. She had almost asked him to help her sleep.

“Good Lord, woman!” He strode to the chaise and sat down. “I am sitting. Now, sleep.”

“I will.”

A beleaguered sigh reached her, then he said, “Goodnight, Jennifer.” He stretched out on the chaise and closed his eyes, leaving her to feel guilty for her treatment of him.

She tried to tell herself that he deserved it for rejecting her so blatantly but deep within, she knew it was not fair. One must never thrust themselves upon another. He did not want her and she would have to live with it.

Sometime in the night, Jenny stirred, snuggling into the warm hardness behind her. Her hands found something encircling her, something like an arm. Her eyes flew open and she was jolted awake at the realization of the presence in her bed. She made to leave but the strap of her night rail caught on something behind her and she turned to see it caught around her husband’s waistcoat button. He stirred.

“Nicholas, wake up.”

A moaned groggily. “What?”

“What are you doing? You were on the chaise before.”

He drew her closer to him with the arm encircling her, mumbling, “Precaution.”

“What precaution?” she squirmed, alarmed at how her body was already responding to him.

“Persephone could walk in on us.” He yawned. “I don’t want to give her a reason to doubt we consummated the marriage.”

“But the door is locked,” she stated, lifting his arm from around her waist.

He rubbed his face and yawned again. “She is capable of opening it, trust me.”

Her eyes moved over his body. “You are fully clothed. She will not believe anything happened between us.”

When he met her eyes, there was a glint in their depths and his mouth turned up at the corner. “Oh, I do not need to have my clothes off for something to happen.”

The husky rasp of his voice caused the tiny hairs on her skin to stand on end and tightness to begin to form in her core. Uncoiling the strap of her nightrail from around his button was very important now.

She tugged and his hand came up to help her with it. “I am not going to tell you of the effort it took to sleep fully clothed to protect your sensibilities. I usually sleep in my natural form, you see.”

“I did not ask you to sleep here, Nicholas. And my sensibilities are not as delicate as you think.” She realized, too late, that she had not intended to utter the last statement aloud and her cheeks burned for it.

Nicholas’s eyes flared and his hand moved swiftly from his waistcoat button to her chin. “Are you telling me you would not have minded seeing me naked?”

Her lips moved but no sound came from them. She seemed to have lost her voice and her ability to move.

“Jenny,” he whispered, drawing her face close. She closed her eyes in yearning. His finger moved at her back and she felt the strap of her nightrail give way. She was free to leave the bed but she made no move to. She wanted to know what the dark look in his eyes meant. She shivered when his fingers trailed over her upper arm.

“Jenny,” he whispered again, his lips almost touching hers now.

Feeling daring, her tongue darted out to touch his lower lip. That was all the invitation he needed, taking hold of her waist and pulling her atop his such that she was astride him. His fingers sank into her hair as he took her lips.

Mirth bubbled in her chest. Nicholas wanted her. She was certain of it. He might deny it but his body was telling the truth. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she leaned into the kiss, opening her mouth, inviting him. He thrust his tongue deep, a grunt following the movement.

Between them, he grew against her parted legs and she ground against him with abandon, her body controlled only by her growing need. Her nightrail slid from her shoulders, exposing her to him. His mouth slid away from hers, traveling down the column of her neck to her breasts. One hand kneaded one of her breasts while his mouth closed over the other. Soon, the room was filled with her soft mewls.

“What do you want, Jenny?” he rasped against her skin.

“You,” she moaned.

He hiked her nightrail up to her waist before rolling so she was beneath him. He pressed her into the mattress with his weight and she reveled in it. Reaching between their bodies, he found the tender spot at the crest of her thighs and touched her.

Jenny cried out, trembling. He kissed her and returned his hand. “You are going to love this, I promise you.”

She already loved it. She loved everything he was doing to her and craved more. She wanted all of him. Every stroke pushed her toward an unknown precipice until she was teetering on the edge.

“Please,” she cried, long to be pushed over the edge of this sweet torture. “Nicky, please!”

Just as she reached her ecstasy, his hand stopped and she squirmed. But then he began to withdraw it completely. His entire body had gone rigid.

“Forgive me,” he mumbled, lifting himself off her and subsequently leaving the bed. There was a haunted look in his eyes. “Forgive me,” he said again before turning and heading toward the door.

Jenny clutched the sheets and shut her eyes against the stinging in her eyes. He had told her their marriage would be in name only. So, why was she feeling as though he’d just thrown her away like a rag? Why did the feeling that her hopes may have been dashed threaten to overwhelm her?

* * *

He had only ever allowed two people to call him Nicky. Jenny and his mother. When Jenny had called him Nicky just now, she had reminded him that he was not supposed to have her.

Nicholas unlocked the door and left Jenny’s bedchamber, dragging himself across the hall to his own bed chamber. Movement caught his attention from down the hall and he peered into the darkness in time to see someone dashing away. He cursed. It was no doubt one of the servants, obeying his grandmother’s orders to spy on them.

He entered his bedchamber and rang the bell for Ramsay. Then he sat in a chair in front of the fireplace and let his head drop into his hands. She must hate him right now but he could not bring himself to make love to her no matter how much he wanted to.

It did not feel right. She was his Jenny, the little girl he had played with. Certainly, she had the body of a goddess now and consumed his every waking thought but it was not right. She was not his to have.

A knock sounded at the door and he straightened, calling for the person on the other side to enter. “You called, Your Grace.” Ramsay walked in.

“Prepare a cold bath for me,” he instructed.

His valet’s eyes rounded. “With ice?”

“No, with fire!” he snapped.