Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke(22)

“Our host appears to be playing some kind of a game,” he said darkly.

“Yes.” She slipped her arm through his, taking him by surprise. “It all seems rather silly. Perhaps he means to tease us, then have our ‘sins’ be particular carnal games we are to play. I took part in an erotic scavenger hunt once. All over London there were clues, and we were dared to do erotic things to get them. Very naughty fun.”

It made sense. But why include Portia?

He was trying to ease his arm free of Clarissa when Sadie sashayed up to him and grabbed hold of his arm on the other side.

“Are you monopolizing our steamy duke, Clarrie?” Sadie demanded as she plastered herself right up against him, squishing her bosom to his biceps.

He tried to peel her off, but it was likely extracting a small boat from a large squid. So he questioned Sadie while he tried to get free of her, and her hand drifted closer and closer to his ballocks.

Sadie hadn’t met the host, Genvere, either. She couldn’t even remember hearing of him in London.

Sin finally growled in Sadie’s ear. “Let go of me now, love, and I’ll reward you later.”

“Coo, all right.” She released him and fluffed her blond curls. She shot a smug look at Clarissa. Then she widened her eyes. “Perhaps Lord Genvere is a deformed recluse,” she said breathlessly. “He is so hideous he cannot go to London’s parties. Even brothels would turn him away.

Clarissa laughed. “You should write Minerva Press novels, darling. How debauched. Do you think he will also chain us up in the dungeon?”

“Perhaps. And perhaps he’ll use his whip and crop.” Sadie ran her tongue around her lips and Sin saw she was looking right at him. “I do love to be punished by a big, strapping gentleman with a huge cock, Your Grace.”

“Good for you,” he muttered. Normally he’d play along. Tonight he was too worried, too frustrated. “Even though neither of you know Genvere, do you know what kind of entertainment he planned here? Anything involving virgins?”

“Virgins?” Clarissa echoed. “Here?”

“Virgins are dead boring,” Sadie declared. “I hope there aren’t virgins here. Men are so fascinated with them. Possibly because men know a girl with her cherry unpopped will have no frame of reference.”

Before Sin could answer, a masculine voice asked, “Sin, what are you doing here?”

The last time he’d heard that voice, he’d been staring down the muzzle of a dueling pistol.

Sin turned and faced Willoughby, his former good friend. The man who had introduced him to London’s vices. Who had ruined his engagement to Portia.

Though that was ultimately his own damn fault.

But still he saw red. Maybe the reason Portia was here was due to a wager amongst his drunken friends—his former drunken friends.

He was about to stalk over to Willoughby to find out if the man had arranged Portia’s kidnapping, when he just about choked.

Portia stood in the doorway. She wore a cloak, with the hood up, so her face was slightly hidden at least, but not much. If Willoughby turned around, damn it, he would see her. Willoughby would remember her.

But what in hell was she thinking?

He stalked past Willoughby, felt his former friend’s stare on him as he did. He moved fast to block Will’s line of sight. Portia’s lips parted as he reached her, but he shook his head, warning her not to speak. He grasped her arm as she started to protest and hauled her away from the drawing room door, out into the corridor.

Several squawks of protest came, but he ignored them. He dragged her into a darkened room he assumed was empty.

When he saw his good friend, the Duke of Saxonby, thrusting into the beautiful widow, Lady Linley, from behind, he knew his assumption had been wrong.

* * *

The most beautiful woman Portia had ever seen leaned over the arm of a sofa, braced on her hands. Her pale gold hair was pinned up in curls, decorated with diamonds, and one loose tendril dangled and bounced by her face. The woman’s face, in profile, was as lovely as an angel’s, even as she cried out, “Oh yes, Sax. Harder!”

Then Portia stopped looking at the woman’s face and realized what the woman was doing.

Her gown of white silk with gauzy gold lace was open at the back and spilling down her arms. Her skirts were thrown up, revealing a naked, heart-shaped bottom. Her bosom was naked too, except a man’s hands were in there, cupping the woman’s breasts from behind....

While he thrust into her from behind with long, powerful strokes. Powerful enough to make the sofa shake and a painting rattle on the wall beside them.

The man had pale blond hair—no, it was silvery blond on top, but black below, where it fell against the nape of his neck. His lashes were long and pure black, his brows dark, which looked striking against his pale and dark hair. He whispered gruffly, “Play with yourself, my angel. Stroke your clit and come for me again.”