The Duke’s Shotgun Wedding(17)

“Bloody hell,” she whispered against his lips long moments later, her frame still trembling from the mind-numbing pleasure.

“I should have known that cursing was part of your repertoire,” he mumbled with a chuckle.

He rolled with her so that she splayed on top of him. She reared up to look at him, searching his face. She followed the scar that ran from his temple and across his cheeks so savagely. Instead of giving him a grisly mien, it hinted at rakish danger. She smiled at her thoughts.

“Not many see my scar and smile, Duchess.” His voice was still husky from their lovemaking, and an answering thrill surged through her.

“I like it.” When his eyes shuttered, she lowered her face so less than an inch separated their lips, and asked, “Disappointed? Did you expect me to scream or cry?”

A warning growl rumbled from his chest. “I have had young ladies faint at the sight of my visage, Duchess.”

“I find you devastatingly handsome, and I simply don’t believe anyone fainted from this little scratch.” She brushed her lips across his scar, trailing soft kisses over the crescent shape. She halted her movements when she realized how still he had become. The hands that had been loosely wrapped around her waist had tightened painfully. But she did not protest. She raised up, observing his expressionless face. “What?”

“Being hidden away from society, you obviously have not had a chance to look upon many handsome faces to judge accurately, Duchess.”

Even though said with a smile playing at his lips, she had a feeling he was not amused. The curve of his mouth held no warmth, and she could glean nothing from his cool gaze.

“I disagree,” she said quietly.

Suddenly she wished for the privacy of her own chambers, unsure how to deal with her husband’s changeable moods. Especially while splayed over him, naked. Heat rushed through her and her discomfort grew.

“You’re blushing, Duchess. I believe I would give you one of my finest studs for your thoughts right now.”

“Indeed?” She raised skeptical brows. “Many would only offer a penny.”

“I did not think a penny would entice you to reveal the unladylike thoughts that have you blushing so becomingly and averting your eyes from mine.”

She smiled hesitantly, heating even more. “In truth, I was thinking of all the wicked and immoral things we just did.”

Laughter burst from him. “Ah, Duchess, you have much to learn. We have done nothing wicked or immoral. Yet,” he added with a sinful smile.

She sucked in a breath. “Show me.” The words came out as more of a moan than the demand she had meant it to be.

His hands had cupped the curve of her backside and one slipped lower, his fingers teasing her wetness. “My pleasure, my incorrigible duchess. My pleasure.”

…

The early fog that rolled in through the windows Sebastian had opened sometime during the night obscured the soft rays of the rising sun.

He shifted in the bed, the unfamiliar feel of a female body curved so trustingly into his side startling him for a moment. He had bedded many women, but never had he slept through the night with one. Not even Marissa, his only mistress, as she had belonged to another.

His gut tightened as he recalled the many ways Jocelyn had surrendered to him, over and over through the night. She made love as she did everything else, with boldness and fire. If he had not breached her maidenhead himself, he probably would have doubted her innocence. After the first wave of loving, her unguarded responses had almost bewitched him. She was a fast pupil, and at one point he had felt as though he was the student and she the teacher as she licked and caressed him with a natural sensuality that had drowned him in sensations he had never felt before.

A derisive smile curved his lips and he grunted softy. A simple memory of her hot mouth over his cock had him forgetting how perfidious women were. He must take care with this woman. She could so easily make him want to let down his guard.

He gently eased her head from his shoulder, moving silently to stand before the windows. He drew open the drapes that were only slightly parted. The fog rolled over the hills, casting gray shadows over the land. A soft moan came from the bed and he turned to observe her. She wriggled, murmuring in her sleep. His gut clenched when his name whispered from her lips on a loving sigh, then she settled into deeper slumber.

He was annoyed that he wanted to join her. Instead, he forced himself to turn away, and opened the door to his dressing room. He could not admit his valet to dress him—not with his duchess splayed so wantonly on the sheets. He had not given a thought to how tearing down the walls that separated the two master chambers would affect the logistics of daily life. He only knew he’d wanted no closed doors between him and his future wife. His mother had used the connecting doors like an ice fortress his father had been unable to breach. He’d sworn he would never allow himself to be in such a situation if he were to ever marry. A locked bedchamber would not become a weapon between him and his duchess, ever. And if that meant dressing themselves, so be it. He wanted no other eyes but his on Jocelyn in her present state of undress.