Dukes to the Left of Me, Princes to the Right

CHAPTER 23

Nicholas pulled Poppy close. The fire was at his back, heating his calves. But he had another fire inside, one that had been banked all night until he could get her alone, and it was now burning high.

He held still a moment and listened for Kettle on the other side of the half-closed library door. The butler was whistling through his teeth at his station near the front door.

Good.

As long as Nicholas knew Kettle’s whereabouts, he could do what he so wanted to do. He leaned down and kissed Poppy’s neck right below her ear.

She let out a sigh.

He kissed her once, a playful, openmouthed kiss that she responded to by melting into him. When he pulled back, he smiled inwardly. She obviously wasn’t as tired as she thought she was. Her eyes flickered and heated with want.

“I need you to trust me,” he said. “Will you?”

She looked at him with wide eyes and nodded.

Silently, he crouched on his haunches and pulled up her gown, exposing her jeweled slippers. He inched the gown’s slithery, beaded smoothness slowly up her legs. All the while, his hands held her close, and he dropped little kisses on her calves, then her knees, and finally her thighs.

Her breathing was jagged, which pleased him. He looked up, hoped his eyes told her he was enjoying himself immensely, and put an index finger to his mouth.

She swallowed, nodded, then bit her lip.

Gently, he pushed her legs farther apart, which—wonder of wonders—exposed her fully to him. Already hardened with desire, his need went up another notch, but he would ignore it.

Tonight was for her alone.

Lost in the sweet scent of her and the soft miracle of her skin, he kissed the insides of her thighs, going slowly higher, until he reached her most tender spot. He nuzzled it—she whimpered—and then he flicked it with his tongue.

She let out a gasp.

He stopped moving.

Kettle was still whistling.

Nicholas pulled back and motioned for Poppy to put her hand over her mouth. With a shaky hand, she did just that, and he went back to what was becoming his greatest delight—pleasuring her.

He blew on her first.

She moaned again. Softly.

And then he probed her with his tongue, going deeper.

And deeper.

Her legs began to buckle, so he stopped, listened for Kettle, who was now whistling a sea ditty, and took the opportunity to stand and move Poppy gently back to the chair. “You’ll need to be very, very quiet,” he whispered to her.

She nodded, and he pushed her legs wide apart.

Her cheeks flushed and her eyes bright, she kept that hand clamped over her mouth.

He couldn’t help grinning at her obedience—she so rarely listened to him. But he had little time to gloat. She chuckled behind her hand.

“Sssh.” He stared sternly at her and she resumed her quiet posture, although her eyes were full of mischief.

The minx.

With only the whisper of the fire, the ticking of the clock on the mantel, and Kettle’s occasional whistling as a backdrop, Nicholas gave the sensual game all he was worth.

Within seconds, Poppy had her free hand in his hair. Thirty more seconds of well-timed teasing with his tongue, and he could only tell he’d brought her to pleasure by the way she arched her back and held herself suspended, which brought her sweetest flesh even closer to his mouth.

He gave one last plunge of his tongue into her womanly depths at the same time she was peaking, and only wished it were the length of him inside her.

But that would come another time. He felt determined it would be so.

She might not think she was marrying him, but blast it, if he had to marry to keep his job, there was only one woman who interested him whatsoever.

Poppy.

He might not love her, but she fascinated him. And he wouldn’t give up trying to win her until he had her lying naked on a rug somewhere in front of a fire and they were coming to completion together.

For now, he’d have to be satisfied with teaching her the art of love without his full participation.

She sank back down and let out one long, slow breath.

Gently, carefully, he pulled down her skirt and stood.

“That, my dear, is thrilled,” he said. “Every time you tell Sergei or his sister you’re thrilled to see them, please remember what thrilled really is, and remember you experienced it with me.”

As he spoke, she stared at him as if she’d never seen him before. She was gorgeous, her lips deep red and her cheeks rosy. He’d satisfied her. He’d removed that awful, bleak look from her eyes, as well as that stiff, worried posture.

He felt good about that.

“I’ll go now,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. “Good night.”

“Good night, Nicholas,” she said softly.

Nicholas, he thought, happy to hear it. Not Drummond.

“Nicholas?” she called after him.

There was a heated silence between them.

“Don’t forget your cane,” she whispered.

“I won’t,” he said, his voice gruff. He was loath to leave her.

If Kettle were the nosy man she’d claimed he was, he would have already found the five-pound note and message Nicholas had left him inside the cane, with strict instructions that if he ever planned on serving as butler when Nicholas was a permanent member of the household, he’d best not question his integrity ever again. Although he could keep checking the cane whenever he felt like it, as it was an amusing temptation that might yield occasional rewards.

At the front door, Kettle handed him his hat, which Nicholas donned.

For a brief second, they both had their hands on the cane. Their eyes met in mutual understanding, and Kettle’s, he noted, even held a smidgeon of respect.

“Thank you, Kettle.” Nicholas slung the cane under his arm.

“Have a good night, Your Grace.”

“I’ll do my best.” It wouldn’t be easy, however. He’d be dreaming about Poppy’s trusting, vulnerable gaze all night.