The Duke and the Lass by Jessie Clever
Chapter 6
She had been surprised by his last kiss because it had been her first, and the newness of what was happening outstripped the physical aspect. But now she was aware of every bit of him. The softness of his lips, the tantalizing scent of sandalwood that seemed to ebb and drift around her as he drew nearer, towering over her as he pulled her into his arms.
She was surrounded by strength and steel, her arms pinned against the wall of his chest, so she felt his heartbeat beneath her palm. He deepened the kiss ever so slightly before pulling back to outline her lips with small, fiery kisses.
His hand traced the line of her cheek again before plunging into her hair, his fingers threading the strands so delicately. Those same hands had lifted her onto a horse in the dead of night, and she marveled at how gentle they could be now when she had witnessed their strength.
With a single thumb under her chin, he tilted her head back, changing the angle of his kiss the smallest of degrees, and yet it was as though he’d changed everything. New sensations flooded her, and she became aware of a pulse growing deep in her belly. For a moment, she feared her nerves would get the better of her, but this wasn’t a nervous ripple. This was something else entirely, and it wasn’t unpleasant. It was just different.
She leaned into it, into him, into their kiss, welcoming more unexplored sensations. He seemed to sense the change because he pried his lips from hers with a groan and trailed kisses along her cheeks to her jaw and down.
The deep pulsing within her suddenly flared to life and heat coiled low in her belly as he moved lower, pushing the bedclothes down and away, his hands sweeping each side of her torso, and she suddenly wanted to be very naked, to have the feel of his rough hands against her soft skin.
“Andrew.” The word came out as not more than a breath, but even she could hear the pleading note in it. She didn’t know what she begged for or how it might come about, but she knew suddenly there was more to this than she had expected.
She had read of love, of course, but the flowery prose found in the pages of a novel were no match for this. This wasn’t flowery at all. This was carnal, full of heat and tension. She didn’t know what it was, but she wanted more of it.
His lips reached the collar of her bodice, and he leaned up, replacing his lips with his fingertips. He skimmed the pale skin there, and she wanted nothing more than to see his hand on her, but she couldn’t lift her head.
“I’ve ruined your gown,” he said, his eyes traveling down the length of it.
“I think it was a joint effort really,” she managed.
Why wasn’t he still kissing her? Why was he wasting precious time on words?
His smile was devilish as he dipped his head and resumed his pleasant torture. His hands cupped her now as he made his way down her body, stroking every curve so she had never felt more precious.
His lips meanwhile moved along the line of her bodice, and her head sank back in the pillows as she lost what little strength she had left.
He shifted, and she lifted her head just enough to watch him make short work of the buttons that marched down the front of her dress. She was grateful for the simple gowns she favored, but she could admit she had never truly understood all of their benefits until just then.
He parted the sides of her bodice, his hands dipping beneath the fabric, and for the tiniest of moments, she froze. She knew what she looked like. She knew she was bigger than what society deemed acceptable. Her stomach didn’t lie flat, and her breasts were not perky. She rather feared she looked not unlike a sow, inert in her sty.
But as soon as the fear gripped her, it released, vanquished by the focused expression on Andrew’s face.
He was enjoying this.
The thought had the breath catching in her throat, and her heart thundered in her chest. He was enjoying making love to her. He hadn’t said that out of pity. He’d meant it. And suddenly, she didn’t feel too big. She felt perfect. She was perfect.
But even though she knew it, it didn’t stop her from sucking in a breath and tightening her stomach when he splayed his hands across it.
“Don’t do that.” His words were a harsh whisper as he looked up, met her gaze. “I want to feel all of you, Della. Just the way you are.” His features softened when he looked at her, and she wondered what he saw on her face.
He ran his hands along the sides of her belly and up, tracing the lines of her corset.
“This is rather a pity though,” he said, the glint in his eye turning sinful. “Your corset appears to be in my way, Your Grace.”
She had often been accused of being in someone’s way but never like that. She warmed at the attention.
“I can take it off.” Her voice didn’t carry the same sultry tone his did, and she wondered if she would ever grow more skilled at lovemaking.
Would she ever master such a decadent tone? Such a playful mien? She doubted it very much, and with the thought, her confidence slipped. But perhaps for now the newness of her would hold his attentions. She could only hope.
The euphoric bubble that had surrounded her since he first touched her shattered at the thought, and doubt flooded her senses. She hadn’t thought of what was to come next when they were well and truly married. She had only thought of her escape.
Did Andrew keep a lover? Was he only using her now to satiate his needs until he returned to his paramour?
Would he still plan to dispose of her at a country home and return to his life in London unfettered?
She remembered how clear he had been that his trip to Scotland would be short. He had obligations in London. That was what he had said, wasn’t it? Obligations. Was that how gentlemen referred to their mistresses?
She swallowed as Andrew leaned over her, coming up on his elbows on either side of her.
“Della, did you know I can tell when you’re worrying?”
She blinked. “You can?”
He placed a single finger between her brows. “You get the most extraordinary divot right here.” He traced a line down her nose. “Pray tell, Your Grace. What has you so confounded? If you are worrying of anything at all, I am not doing my job properly.”
“What job is that?” She was hypnotized by the lovely brown of his eyes, by the way his smile beckoned her, by the way his hair was rumpled about his face from sleep.
“To thoroughly distract you with my masculine prowess.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled to her lips, and he growled before capturing her mouth in a hot, ardent kiss.
His hands were everywhere, and the fire that simmered inside of her flared to new life at just his touch. She wondered if he knew only too well what he did to her, knew exactly how to stoke the flames burning low in her belly.
His lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear just as his hands went to work on lifting her skirts, one aching inch at a time.
“Do you know what I want, Della?”
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“You,” he said. Her skirts moved up another inch. “Every piece of you. Every one of your curves. Every single one of your valleys. I want to see all of you. In my bed, your body touched by the glow of firelight.” Her skirts were above her knees. “That’s what I want, Della. Only you. And that is everything.”
She didn’t know if it were his words or the sudden cool air that touched the bare skin at the top of her stockings, but suddenly the tension grew too great and instinctively she raised her hips off the bed and pressed into him.
He groaned, burying his face in the side of her neck even as he grasped her hips in his hands.
“Oh God, Della, do you have any idea what you do to me?”
She stilled. “Did I do it wrong?”
“No.” The word came quickly as he moved to hover above her. He cupped her face in his hands. “No, darling. You didn’t do anything wrong. You only did it too right.”
She blinked. “Too right?”
He nodded as he pressed his hips into her. Her eyes widened as she felt the bulge pressed against her lower belly. She’d spent enough time in her grandfather’s stables to know what that was, and the idea that she had caused it left her startled.
“Oh,” she whispered.
His smile was soft as he bent to kiss her. “Oh, indeed.”
His hands went back to work on her skirts, and reflexively, her thighs parted for him. He traced the line of her stocking over her knee to where the soft lace lay across the middle of her thigh.
His fingers toyed with the edge of it, dancing between soft flesh and lace. She arched into him again, the pulsing growing urgent within her.
She could feel him smile against her neck where he plied hot kisses, and finally, she let go of the quilt to touch him. She hadn’t dared before as she was too afraid of getting it wrong, of giving him reason to stop. But now she could feel the evidence of his desire, and it made her bold.
She traced the line of biceps up to his shoulders and neck. He was still fully clothed, and she pitied being denied the feel of his skin. She suddenly understood what he meant. The need to see his skin, the desire for such intimacy and closeness was everything just then.
Later, she promised herself. Later she would see and touch and feel all of him. Heavens, she only hoped there was a later. She hoped this wasn’t it. That it wouldn’t be over when he returned to his real life.
His fingers had left the lace of her stocking, trailing heat up the inside of her thigh. He grew dangerously close to the place that ached, and she tilted her hips, beckoning him to touch her.
“So impatient,” he whispered against her neck, and she dug her fingers into the muscles of his shoulders, drawing a strangled moan from him. “Minx,” he whispered now, his fingers climbing higher.
They traced the top of her thigh where it melted into her hip before dipping lower, lower still. He parted her folds with ease, and all at once, she felt the enormity of what was happening. He was touching her in her most intimate place and yet nothing had ever felt so right.
“Andrew, please,” she whispered, her voice dripping with need.
“Do you want me to touch you?”
She didn’t understand the question. He was already touching her, and she didn’t know how that could help the coiling building inside of her when it was serving to make it worse as it was.
“Do you want me to touch you, Della?” he said again and slid one finger between her folds.
Her knees tried to come together, although she didn’t know why.
“Della?” He withdrew the finger.
“Yes,” she all but shouted.
He slipped the finger back into the wet heat of her core, and she shuddered at the intrusion, at the intense wave of desire that rippled through her. His finger moved in and out of her, and although she thought it wasn’t possible, the tension grew, heat building until she thought she couldn’t bear it.
She raised her hips and pressed herself into his hand.
“Andrew, please,” she whimpered now. The pleasure was too intense. Something must be done.
He withdrew his finger and circled the sensitive nub, and the building tension turned to something else, something sharper and refined, and she could feel her body drawing itself together for something. Something she didn’t know what and feared would be too great.
It happened all at once, catching her breath in her throat so she couldn’t even scream. She arched, her back coming off the mattress, and her arms tightened around his shoulders.
“Andrew,” she breathed when she could finally draw air.
Her arms shook, and her legs trembled, and deep within her a spectacular warmth pulsed with waning echoes.
Andrew pulled himself from her arms so hastily, doubt gripped her. She’d done something wrong again.
But no. He was opening the front of his trousers, pushing them down his legs.
He leaned back over her. “Della, I promise you next time will be better. I promise. This might hurt a little, darling.”
Before she could understand his words, there was a new pressure against her core, and then she realized what was to happen. He pressed inside of her in a single fluid motion, and her body expanded for him. It was tight and uncomfortable, but there wasn’t much pain.
Although she rather liked the bit when he touched her better, she wouldn’t tell him so. Perhaps this was the same kind of pleasure for him, and she didn’t want to ruin it for him.
He began to move, sliding deeper as he let out a soft groan.
“Christ, Della, you’re going to be the death of me.”
She’d never held such power over someone, and she doubted how she could now, but his face was a contorted display of concentration. She moved her hips, hoping to help, but when she did that, he ground into her, pinning her to the bed with his hips.
“Jesus, Della, don’t.”
She bit her lower lip, certain now that she’d ruined everything. She wasn’t cut out to be a wife, let alone a duchess, and soon Andrew would realize it. She’d just be another burden in someone’s life.
He pressed his forehead to hers then, his breath ragged. “Della, darling, you feel far too good. I can’t help it.”
Again, his words were cryptic, but she gathered the sense that it wasn’t something she’d done. That it was instead a positive thing. She lifted her hips again.
“God, you minx,” he said, the scolding tone of his voice riddled with desire.
She ran her hands down his back, once more regretting that he still wore his clothing, and grasping his hips, she lifted hers into him.
He didn’t form words that time. He moaned, his head going back as he pumped into her. Unexpectedly the tension returned, growing with a frenzy it hadn’t had before, and she stilled, her legs locking around his as he pounded into her.
Oh God, she was going to—it was going to happen—again.
He reached between them and touched her, and she exploded just as he did and together, they fell through bliss.
* * *
He had justenough strength left to move before he crushed her. He rolled to the side, drawing her with him so she nestled in the circle of his arms. Only then did he allow himself to succumb to the exhaustion that still plagued him and the overwhelming sense of rightness that swept over him with Della in his embrace.
He couldn’t have been asleep for more than several minutes when the banging sounded on the door. He blinked, his senses suddenly alert. Della stirred in his arms, and he pressed a hand to her mouth before she could give them away with a sleepy sound. He shook his head and sprang from the bed at the second round of pounding. He fixed his trousers and ran his hands through his hair before he gained the door.
He retrieved a single boot and slipped it on before setting the same foot just inside the door to keep whoever was on the other side from barging immediately in when he undid the latch. It wouldn’t stop anyone completely, but it would slow him down, and that was all Andrew needed.
He heard Della scramble beneath the bedclothes just as he opened the door.
Aldrich was on the other side, his dress much in the same state of dishabille as if he, too, had been unexpectedly roused from his bed.
“The mail coach has just arrived from Kettleholm, and the driver is going on to anyone who will listen how the MacKenzie’s daughter is missing. We must leave at once.”
A gasp shot through the air behind him, and he turned to take in Della’s wide eyes from just over the edge of the quilt. His chest tightened with some strange feeling, sadness and guilt perhaps, and he returned his attention to Aldrich.
“Have the carriage brought round immediately. There must be a back door somewhere. Find it. I don’t wish to risk someone seeing us leave.”
“St. John is already seeing to it, Your Grace,” Aldrich said with a final nod before he turned to the rear of the inn and vanished down the corridor.
Andrew shut the door and bolted it, drawing one of the chairs to it to wedge it under the doorknob.
Della had already flung back the bedclothes and was setting to work on the buttons of her bodice.
“I’m very sorry for—”
“Don’t.” She held up a single hand as if she were going to slice the air with it. The look she turned on him was one he’d never seen before from her. It was one of impossible strength and unfailing grit. “Do not apologize for him. Just get us out of here.”
He found his coat and shrugged into it, swallowing the last of the wine in his goblet before wrapping the hard biscuits in a napkin and tucking them into his pocket.
“We’re perhaps ten miles from the English border.” He found his other boot. “I’ll feel better once we’re on the other side of it.”
“My father is still a member of the peerage.” She stood and brushed out her skirts, and he became aware of the tattered state of them for the first time. Should anyone see them in the daylight they would know something was afoot. “He’ll have some influence even in England.”
“That might be, but I have powerful allies in England that can provide us protection.”
She cut him a swift glance. “Protection from what?”
“Should your father try to challenge the marriage.”
She sucked in a breath. “Do you think he would do that? I mean, now that…” Her voice faded away as she cast a glance at the bed.
Her meaning was clear, and he felt a wave of remorse that her first time had been so hasty and tinged with ulterior motives.
“Especially now that we’ve consummated it. You forget that I stole his one chance to make a powerful political alliance by marrying you without a negotiated marriage contract,” he said and took her arm to move her to the door. He stopped just inside of it and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Della, I promise you I will do everything I can to protect you. Your father will never have the power to harm you again, do you understand?”
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, but she only gave a single nod that she’d heard him.
Had he realized how blue her eyes were? They were nearly the color of a Yorkshire sky in spring, and all at once he was homesick.
No, that wasn’t quite right. He wasn’t sick for the thought of home, but he was rather overcome by the sudden sense that he wanted to bring her there. He wanted her to see the rolling green fields of Ravenwood Park, the neat line of oak trees his grandfather had planted that now marched to the front door of the estate, and the way the sun lit the early morning fog over the forest.
He couldn’t wait for her to see all of it. But first, he had to get her out of here.
“I promise I will always protect you.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, wanting nothing more than to linger at the softness there, but the urgency of the situation pressed him to pull away and open the door.
The corridor beyond was quiet, and he stepped out into it, pulling Della along behind him. He retreated down the hallway in the direction Aldrich had disappeared and soon found the servants’ stairs at the back of the inn. He made quick work of them and wasn’t surprised when Della never hesitated behind him. Her step was quick and sure, even in the muted light across the worn and warped boards of the staircase.
They were dumped out into the kitchens, which at this time of day were bustling with early morning activity. He stepped in front of Della, attempting to shield her from the servants that lingered there, waiting for trays to take up to guests. He identified an older woman as a cook and three younger women who must serve as maids. Footmen danced in and out carrying shined boots and pails of split wood.
He kept Della behind him as he eased out of the kitchens in what he hoped was the direction of the rear door. A servant living on the meager wages a country inn might provide would be all too quick to offer up information in exchange for a coin. But they reached the back hallway without incident, and he could see a door at the end of the corridor, a small window set high in the edifice flooded with light.
He pushed Della in front of him, keeping one eye over his shoulder to see if anyone followed them. They’d nearly made it to the door when a man stepped into view at the end of the corridor.
“Your Grace!” Stuart called softly, holding a basket in the air. The older gentleman scurried down the hall, his round stomach bouncing against the basket he held between both hands. “Your Grace, I couldn’t see you leave without some kind of sustenance.”
Andrew peered into the basket to find a loaf of bread, a jar of jam, various cheeses, apples, and another bottle of wine. Della’s stomach rumbled so loudly behind him both men turned to eye her. She pressed a hand to said stomach and gave a soft smile and a shrug. He found himself returning her smile before taking the basket from the innkeeper.
“I owe you a great deal, Stuart.”
The innkeeper waved him off. “It’s no such thing.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “My mother didn’t want me to marry me missus either.” He pumped his eyebrows as though he knew what Andrew were about. “Should anyone ask, I promise you no one from this inn will ever let on you’ve been here.”
Andrew reached in his pocket and flipped a guinea to the innkeeper.
“Thank you, my good man,” he said and hustled Della out the rear door.
St. John was waiting with the carriage for them, and Aldrich stood at the door, the step already in place. Andrew handed Della inside before jumping in after her. Aldrich snapped the door shut and the carriage rocked as he gained the box with St. John. They were underway within seconds.
Andrew held Della back from the windows and peered out the one closest to him as the carriage made its way around the inn to the main road. The small hamlet was coming to life with the start of a new day, and tradespeople streamed down the road as shops began to open. The sun had risen enough now to light the storefronts opposite, and the rays reflected back into the carriage enough to have him leaning back.
Della poked the arm he was using to hold her back.
“Kind, sir,” she said, her tone thick with humor. “I know you are acting the knight valiant, but this damsel in distress is rather hungry.” She eyed the basket he had placed on the opposite bench. “Would you mind so terribly much?”
He released his arm immediately. “Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together. “I apologize. I can sometimes get carried away.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Carried away? With saving people?”
“Yes.” He returned his gaze to the window.
“Are you in a position to save people on a regular basis?”
He glanced at her. “When one has four sisters, opportunities abound.”
She wrinkled her nose but didn’t speak as she pulled the basket over to her lap. She rummaged inside of it, the questioning look still on her face even as she didn’t speak.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it?”
She looked up, the loaf of bread between her hands. She split it neatly apart, steam rising from the gooey center. His mouth instantly watered as his stomach rumbled.
She tilted her head but only handed him half of the bread without comment about his body’s treachery.
Instead, she said, “I only wonder how it is that someone would manage to get into so much trouble.” She shrugged. “In the whole of my twenty-one years, this is the first I’ve required rescuing.” She had found a knife buried in the basket and pointed it at him, the jar of jam in the opposite hand. “And if we are being fair, this wasn’t even my fault.”
He extended a hand to open the jam jar for her, but instead she placed the knife in his open palm.
“I haven’t done anything to require the aid of another in all of that time. How is it that your sisters could be so careless?” As she spoke, she pried the wire from the jam jar and broke the lid free of the sealing wax as if it took no effort at all. She extended the jar to him in invitation.
He took the knife still in his hand to pluck a dollop of the sweet-smelling, dark jam and spread it on the hunk of bread she’d handed him.
“You might be surprised at how easily my sisters can find trouble.”
He finished spreading the jam and handed her back the knife. She took it without comment, but there was a deep furrow between her brows.
“What?” he asked plainly.
She shrugged, smearing jam on her own hunk of bread. “It’s only I wonder if you aren’t prone to manufacturing concern where there is none.”
He nearly choked on the bite of bread he swallowed. “Manufacturing concern?”
She finished spreading jam on her bread. “You mentioned your mother passed away when you were young, yes?”
He nodded.
“It only stands to reason that you might be overly protective of your sisters. There wasn’t, after all, a mother figure to look out for them, was there?”
He shook his head.
She nodded as if this supported her conclusion. “I didn’t have my mother for long either, if you recall, and yet I somehow managed.” She placed the jam jar back in the basket before meeting his gaze. “Don’t you think it’s possible that you took the role of older brother rather more seriously than the situation might have called for?”
He chewed for several seconds on his bite of bread before swallowing. “I suppose you can find out for yourself from my youngest sister when you meet her.”
He glanced out the window to find they had left the village proper. A few crofts dotted the hillside that spread out on either side of the road now, and cultivated fields and pasture surrounded them.
“Your sister?” Della’s voice was suddenly not so vibrant.
He studied her. “Yes, Johanna. The Duchess of Raeford. She’s my youngest sister and is in residence at a neighboring estate. You’ll meet her when we arrive at Ravenwood Park.”
She took an unusually large bite of bread and chewed furiously. He watched her as she did it, and he realized he had made her nervous, only this time she didn’t have a tin of shortbread at hand.
“And when will that be?” she asked when she swallowed.
He shrugged. “It’s another two days at best to Yorkshire.”
Della took another enormous bite of bread.