The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(8)

Jane didn’t care. If he would teach, she would learn. Never could she allow another man to do this to her, but he was not another man. He was Blixford, whom she loved madly.

One hand moved from her back to her front, deliberately untying the neck of her nightgown and drawing it down, sliding beneath her dressing gown to close over her naked breast. The core of her swelled and demanded she assuage the need.

“So full, so beautiful,” he whispered, dragging his lips away from hers, running them down her throat before closing them around her puckered nipple.

Diving her fingers into his silky hair, she clutched his head and moaned, deep in her throat. Good God, but this was delicious. He raised up and kissed her again, both arms about her, holding her so close, she could feel the beat of his heart against her breast.

Then he did a very odd thing. He dropped one hand and began to gather up the skirt of her dressing gown, bringing the gown along with it, exposing her legs. This he did while still kissing her, and she was barely aware, drowning in sensation. The feel of his breeches against her thighs brought home her nakedness, but she made no move to remove his hand and cover herself.

His fingers tangled in the curls between her thighs and she willed him to continue, to touch her there, where she was hot and needful.

He did.

Oh blessed heaven, how much better than anything her untried mind might have imagined.

“You’re ready for me,” he murmured, sounding surprised.

“I’ve been ready for quite some time,” she replied, inhaling his scent, aware that her own mingled in the air.

“Sweet innocent, you’ve no idea how precarious your situation.”

“You’ve no notion how very much I want you.”

“Is it so important to be a duchess?”

“It is only important I be your duchess. Oh!” She started in his arms. “Your Grace, what are you doing?”

“Ravishing you.” He kissed her again, his hand between her legs, his finger slipping within her, making her quiver and shake. “Now I shall have to marry you.”

“Because you’ve ravished me?”

“Precisely.” His kiss became harder, more insistent. His fingers worked magic, building her desire, even as he whispered fiercely, “Damn you, Jane. Damn your infernal curiosity, your misplaced affection, those yearning eyes.”

Deliriously happy, caught up in him, it took a moment for his words to sink in. Drawing back from his mouth, she looked into the dark shadow of his face, scarcely visible in the dim glow of the smoldering coals in the grate. “You would damn me, sir, in the midst of ravishing me?”

“You’re the very last woman I’d choose. Do you hear me? The very last.” His finger plunged deeper. His thumb ran circles against the most tender of spots. “Give over, Jane. Close your eyes and let yourself go.”

She did as he said, closing her eyes, concentrating on his hand, on her center, on the dizzying kiss he gave her. Her body took on a will of its own, shaking uncontrollably, warmth and powerful contractions radiating from the middle of her. Never in her life had she felt thus, and nothing in life had ever been so enjoyable. Nothing. Ever. When she stopped shaking, when she could breathe normally, she opened her eyes and stared at him. “Your Grace, that was . . . spectacular. Is it always like that?”

“No. It’s not.” He removed his hand and the hem of her dressing gown fell to the floor, once again. Grasping her hand, he laid it across the front of his breeches. He was rock hard, his member impressively large, straining against the black cloth. “It’s something typically only enjoyed by men. Hardly surprising you’d find fulfillment your first time out. You do, I believe, enjoy many pastimes ordinarily dominated by men.”

Frowning, she pulled her hand away and stepped back, until she was once again against the library door. “That was an insult, I’m certain.”

He was angry, but she could not fathom for what reason.

“Of course it’s an insult. You’re halfway to a hoyden, riding faster and harder than most men, taking up pistols for God’s sake, and harboring a very unfeminine interest in farming. You’re too loud, too bold. You even sound like a man on occasion.” He crowded her against the door, his hands in her hair, holding her head while he rained incongruous kisses across her cheeks, her chin, her nose. “Is it any wonder you would climax with scarcely a few minutes of stimulation? You are far too passionate, everything I do not want, but now must have because I couldn’t resist those eyes.”

The full import of his words finally settled into her mind, quickly clearing the haze of desire. Jerking away from him, she moved toward the fireplace, suddenly chilled to the bone.