Four Nights With the Duke(42)

Mia inhaled sharply. "That's another thing. Charlie can't go to school, certainly not boarding school!"

"Of course he can."

Vander simply didn't understand. He hadn't watched as Charlie grew up,  or seen how cruel other people-including the boy's own mother-had been  to him. She glanced ahead and saw that Chuffy and Charlie had  disappeared around the bend leading to the stables.

"Charlie cannot-" she began.

But she broke off when she met Vander's eyes. They were heavy-lidded, a  devastating knowledge gleaming in their depths. A knowledge of her, of  what they did the night before, of what she felt like, and tasted like,  and sounded like.

The cool control in his eyes was gone, swallowed by an erotic abandon  that she had scarcely learned, although her body responded instantly.

"Charlie will enjoy Eton." He placed his hands on her arms and drew her  to him. "You left my bedchamber without saying good morning."

"You were sleeping," Mia said.

"Next time, wake me." His expression made her weak at the knees. "As I see it, this is still part of my night."

"Your night?"

"My first night."





Chapter Twenty-three




NOTES ON NEAR-DEATH SCENE





~ Flora lies dying amongst the poppies, her yellow hair & etc.  Trembling, pale, her tuneful voice reduced to a prayerful murmur. Has  eaten naught but an egg in the last day. Raw? Ugh. Dove's egg? It's  splattering rain, Angel's Tears.

~ Frederic has searched every lane throughout England. Too much to say that he would not long survive her death? Probably.

~ he gives up only a few paces from her form. White and lean, sorrow  concealed, his easy graceful movements reduced to-to something.

~ Sinks to his knees only a few steps from her prostrate form and prays  that the Almighty will give him the Dearest Hope of his heart: his  Flora. "I was made bewildered and impatient by the strength of my  feelings. Like a base Indian fool, I threw away a pearl worth more than  all my tribe possessions." (Another touch of Shakespeare!)

~ "If you restore her to me, Lord, I will become a humble attendant to  her daily Lesson of Love. No matter what affections Flora awakens in the  breasts of her admirers, I will respect and honor her faithful love."

"You don't understand," Mia said, trying to ignore the coaxing honey in  Vander's voice. She desperately tried to remember the important issues  she had thought to discuss with him.

When her husband looked at her with that expression, all she wanted to  do was answer his craving with a kiss. Hurl herself into his arms and  pull his face down to hers.

Last night, she had felt sensuous, desirable . . . almost beautiful-and  she hadn't felt that way since she was labeled a "charity case" at  fifteen years old.

"We mustn't do this," she whispered, but he pulled her close.

"A mere kiss," he whispered back. At first he didn't even touch his lips  to hers. Instead he opened his mouth against her neck, licking her in a  way that sent her mind reeling.

She meant to turn away. She meant to say no, to break free.

Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and tipped her head back,  delighting in the way he held her up, as if she weighed nothing, as if  she were as delicate as a flower.                       
       
           



       

Suddenly panic bloomed in her stomach. She was behaving like a wanton in  front of the house, where anyone could see. The servants. Gaunt.  "Stop," she gasped. "I must go to the stables. Charlie will be waiting."

"Very well," Vander said easily, his hands slipping away. "If you must  go to the stables, I'll go with you." He took her arm and they began to  walk. "And if you come," he added, "I'll come."

It took a moment, but when she grasped his double entendre Mia felt  color flood into her face. "You can't mean what you just said!"

"Perhaps not in the front drive." His smile acknowledged the desire between them with a frankness she could never have imagined.

Just looking at his lips made her want another kiss. She craved more  than a kiss. She wanted the bliss of last night, the way their limbs had  slid over each other like water, the way his fingers had stroked her  into a mindlessness where she needn't worry about her figure or her  breasts. Or anything else.

She could just be.

They reached the first of the stables, but rather than enter, Vander  steered her around the back. "Where are you taking me?" Mia asked.

When they were around the corner, out of sight of the house, he picked  her up, braced her against the wall, and took her mouth. A craving,  toe-curling hunger vibrated between them.

Vander pulled back just enough to lick her lips, his tongue flickering against hers, driving her into a low moan.

The sound startled her into sanity. "No!"

"No one can hear," he said thickly. "This building is not used as it's too old and unsafe."

She succumbed. They spoke without words, just murmurs of hunger, an emotion as primitive as greed.

As love.

Mia scarcely noticed that Vander was hauling up her skirts; all she  could hear was her own harsh breath and the way her body felt empty,  waiting for him. Every touch of his hands on her legs kindled the fire  in her higher until she couldn't think straight.

The flimsy skirts of her morning gown were no barrier. Vander pulled  back, just enough to meet her eyes. One hand was curled under her  bottom, but he had jerked her legs wide, around his hips.

Mia was stunned into silence by the scalding ache between her legs.  Vander was fumbling at his breeches with his other hand, but it didn't  occur to her to demur. Instead she waited, her heart beating quickly,  yearning for him.

His eyes were fixed on her mouth. "I must have you," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "I need you again."

His face wasn't beautiful now; it was savage, demanding, almost cruel. His fingers stroked her and Mia gave a little cry.

And then he was there.

What had been discomfort the night before was pain now . . . but  exquisite pain. She gave a little gasp, her hands closing on his  shoulders. He stopped instantly, his breath harsh, forehead against  hers.

"I'm sorry," he growled. "Is it too soon?"

Irrationally, the only thing Mia thought was that she didn't want him in  control so that he could think, could talk, could leave her. She leaned  forward and let her tongue slide between his lips as if she'd done it a  hundred times.

At the same time, she curled her legs around his hips and forced his  rigid thick length into her body. A cry burst from her throat and was  swallowed by him . . . he was kissing her, but she hardly knew it. His  weight pushed her legs so wide that as he pressed forward and withdrew,  it sent exquisite sensations through her thighs, a fiery sensation  gathering in her limbs.

She broke the kiss when she threw back her head.

"That's right." His words were more a groan than a growl, the bass note  to the pumping of his hips against her. He was sliding easily now,  driving her higher and higher into incoherence.

She bucked against him when she came, a cry wrenched from her chest and  swallowed by Vander's mouth on hers. Her fingers tightened until she was  clinging to him as if he were a raft in the heart of a storm, her body  jerking uncontrollably, guttural ecstasy escaping her lips.

Vander gasped something in reply, a curse, a blessing, and he began  thrusting even faster, grunting with as little elegance as she had  shown.

Mia could feel him deep and hard inside her, but more than that, she  knew instinctively that he was lost to himself, lost to the pleasure she  was giving him. He was holding her as if he would never let her go. The  thought made her legs clamp around his hips and push back toward him.

A word fell from his lips but she wasn't listening. Their eyes met and  like that, the fire burst up her legs again. She writhed against the  wall, twisting in his fierce grip, her moans fracturing in the air. The  only thing in the world was the fierce weight of his body.                       
       
           



       

The hand Vander had braced on the wall over her head came down and he  pulled her head toward him, taking her mouth with a hot, wet kiss, his  body jerking so hard that her backbone struck the wall.

She'd have a bruise, but she didn't care.

She cared about nothing but the heat searing her body, the mouth slammed  down on hers, the grunt as he pressed home one last time.

Mia opened her eyes, finally, to discover that she was staring up at the  ancient eaves of the roof above her head. Her mind tried to put pieces  of herself, her inner self, back together.

She felt as if the two of them had cracked and flown apart, broken by  pleasure. Last night had been wonderful, but in retrospect, it had been  civilized. This was mating: sweaty, grunting, incomprehensible.