What a Duke Dares

Chapter Twenty-One

After dinner, Cam accompanied his wife upstairs. For a day and a half, he’d been a married man. The experience bore no resemblance to his expectations. For a start, he’d kept his hands to himself. Being with Pen without touching her—when he had every legal and moral right to roger her from here to China—was a torture he wouldn’t inflict on his worst enemy.

He’d woken with the dawn in his own bed, rigid with longing, miserable, lonely, feeling like a dog someone had kicked into the gutter. And sick with guilt over hurting Pen. At breakfast, to his bewilderment he’d encountered a stranger. This tranquil, restrained woman wasn’t Pen. Pen was impulsive and opinionated and ready to shoot a man if he wronged her. Yet this morning she’d played the perfect duchess. It could have been Lady Marianne facing him over the marmalade.

And Cam had loathed it.

He’d burned to wrench his wife from her chair and muss her neat perfection. Then fling her across the polished table and do things likely to make the butler resign.

But he’d behaved himself, although just being in the same room was torment.

The only logical choice, given his bride’s reluctance for his company, was to devote the day to business that had accumulated during his absence. So why then had he found himself showing Pen every nook and cranny of the vast house? And in return, all she’d expressed was polite interest. Not once had she called him a blockhead or objected to an arrogant remark. He worried if perhaps last night he’d done her brain some injury.

Now, confused, unhappy, and shamingly randy, he trailed after her into the duchess’s cave of a bedroom.

Pen turned with an expression of well-bred surprise that he’d never seen before. “Your Grace, what are you doing?”

Cam glared at her. “Why the hell are you ‘your grace’-ing me? You’ve called me Cam since you were toddling.”

She flushed. “As you wish. But I’d still like to know what you’re doing.”

He shut the door with a sharp click. “I’m coming to bed with my wife.”

Her eyes widened with alarm. “Now?”

He stalked toward her, tugging off his neckcloth and tossing it to the ground. “Now.”

“You said you’d let me think about it.”

Clearly a welcome was too much to expect. He shrugged off his coat and flung it across the room. “Have you?”

She retreated again. “Have I what?”

Impatiently he flicked open the silver buttons on his silk waistcoat. “Have you thought about it?”

She frowned as if questioning his sanity. “Of course I have.”

He let the waistcoat fall where he stood. “Good. No need to call your maid. I’ll undress you.”

At last Pen stood her ground. “Why are you doing this?”

His smile was mocking. “My dear, you might be innocent, but you’re not that innocent.”

She raised her chin and regarded him like he’d crawled out from under a rock. In a sewer. “I’m not ready.”

“It’s like falling off a horse. You need to get straight back on.” He was deliberately crass to provoke a reaction. She’d been a blank slate all day.

“I’m not your horse,” she said cuttingly.

Briefly she disappeared from view as he tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it near the crumpled blue waistcoat. “If we wait too long, you’ll convince yourself that the experience was so awful that you never want to repeat it.”

She arched an eyebrow, although he didn’t miss how her eyes focused on his bare chest. Last night he’d found grounds for hope in the way she’d looked at him. His nakedness had intrigued rather than disgusted her.

“Too long is more than a day?”

“Yes.”

She backed until she bumped into the high bed. “I don’t think so.”

Briefly he considered undoing his trousers, but a glance at her outraged expression told him that might be a step too far. “I do.”

“Hurrah for you,” she said sourly, clasping her hands before her. She breathed unevenly.

Cam suspected that despite her nervousness, she was interested, however reluctantly. But he’d learned to be careful with assumptions about Penelope. “Yesterday you promised to obey me.”

Rebellion darkened her eyes. “Yesterday you said you wanted more than mere duty.”

He was grateful to see a spark of spirit. “I’ve changed my mind. If mere duty is all you’re offering, I’ll take it.”

“You’ll regret this.” She sidled along the bed.

He stepped closer, deliberately crowding her without touching her. “I doubt it.”

If Lady Marianne had given him mere duty, he’d have accepted it. From Pen? Never. Before he’d blasted everything to hell, he’d tasted her passion. He meant to do more than taste her tonight.

“Cam, I don’t want to do this,” she said shakily, still twisting her hands together.

He cupped her jaw. Self-disgust flooded him when she jumped. She’d enjoyed his touch on the yacht. Until he’d been an idiot. She’d enjoyed his touch last night. Until he’d been an idiot.

The lesson for tonight was not to be an idiot.

Cam sucked in a breath, striving to calm his racing heart. He had time. He had patience. He had the skills. And tonight she wouldn’t take him by surprise. The new Duchess of Sedgemoor didn’t know it, but her world was about to change. Forever.

In a subtle caress, he moved his hand against her face. “Courage, Pen.”

She broke the contact. “I’m not feeling brave.”

He reminded himself that coaxing his wife to pleasure wouldn’t be quick or easy. But the reward was worth it. He didn’t do this only for himself. He did it for Pen. Such a sensual woman shouldn’t fear a man’s touch. She should revel in it. He’d make her forget that he’d ever hurt her. “Tonight I’m going to show you paradise.”

That remark elicited a derisive snort, but at least she stopped edging away. He was close enough to see her trembling. “I wasn’t anywhere near paradise last time.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Really? Even before I spoiled everything?”

He was gratified to see her color rise. She avoided his searching regard. Damn it, why hadn’t he had the brains to understand that her shyness signified more than coyness?

“Pen?”

With a flash of temper that pleased him even more than her blush, she jerked her head up. “I’ve forgotten.”

He laughed appreciatively. “Little liar.”

“Stop trying to inveigle your way into my bed.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance.”

She folded her arms and surveyed him without favor. A night of self-castigation and a day of struggling to keep his distance lent him the wisdom to remain silent.

“If I say no?”

He sighed, defeat beating around him like a hundred angry ravens. “I’ll leave you alone.”

“How reassuring,” she said sarcastically. Her arms fell in surrender to her sides. “I’m at your service, Your Grace.”

If anyone but Pen’s husband had asked her to revisit yesterday’s disaster, she’d threaten him with the nearest fire iron.

But she owed Cam more than she’d ever realized. She’d always known that for her sake, he’d relinquished the perfect bride, a big society wedding, a connection with an influential family. She’d had no idea that he had wed a woman whose name was synonymous with sin, however ill-deserved her reputation. This marriage had done Cam a greater wrong than she’d imagined.

She swallowed to moisten a mouth dry with nerves, and told herself she could endure his possession. But dread hollowed her stomach. Along with a roiling soup of other emotions that included unwilling attraction, contrition, resentment—and ineradicable love. When during her sleepless night, she’d resolved to become a proper duchess even if it killed her, she’d known that her proud spirit wouldn’t bow easily. But imagining oneself a conformable wife and playing the part proved very different.

His green eyes were grave. “Trust me.”

“I’ll have to, won’t I?” she said grumpily, before recalling that a conformable wife wouldn’t snipe.

He caught one of her clenched fists. “We’ll go slowly.”

She shivered. Not entirely with fear. “I’d rather get it over with.”

He kissed her knuckles until her fingers relaxed. “You’ll change your mind.”

She didn’t believe him. Her belly lurched as she recalled the dizzying drop from the heights of excitement to the act itself.

He released her. “Turn around.”

“Why?”

His lips twitched. “I’ll help you undress.”

“Is it necessary?” All the same, she turned. It was a relief to escape his glittering gaze. He looked smug, like he knew a great secret. He also looked like he wanted to make a meal of her. Neither quieted her jangling agitation.

He untied the wide olive satin ribbon that cinched the gown so unnaturally high. “Absolutely.”

She caught the gown as it sagged over her bosom. “We need to do something about my clothes.”

Skillfully he unlaced the back. “I am doing something about your clothes.”

She felt no desire to laugh. Her knees trembled as she stepped from the crumpled gown. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I do.” Deft fingers released her corset. “And, yes, I will. But not tonight.”

Her stomach quaked as his hands brushed her bare shoulders. Then quaked again at the salute of his lips on one shoulder blade, then the other.

“No, not tonight.” Her voice was thready. “Shall I… shall I take off my shift?”

“Not yet.”

She couldn’t help noticing how his voice deepened on “yet.”

His fingers slowly sketched a cobweb of heat over her skin. She’d never counted her back or shoulders as erotic zones, but he set her tingling. Under her upswept hair, he massaged her nape. Warmth flooded her right to her toes. Goose bumps broke out and her nipples tightened into aching points.

Surprise held her motionless under his touch. After last night, she’d thought arousal impossible.

Tonight he treated her like the virgin she was no longer. As he stroked her body, pleasure flowed through her like warm honey. She knew this tremulous anticipation led to humiliation, but something stupid and stubborn inside her refused to believe that.

At her sides, her hands closed and released. Her toes curled in his mother’s satin slippers. Her breasts swelled. She’d been jumpy when he’d followed her upstairs, but as he touched her softly and asked no more, she drifted into a glorious dream. On a sigh, she shut her eyes and leaned back against him.

“Ouch!”

Cam’s bite on her shoulder zapped through her like lightning across a summer sky. She stumbled upright.

“Don’t go to sleep.” He nipped at her earlobe. This time when she swayed, he pressed against her back. She stiffened and a whimper escaped. His insistent weight reminded her where this delight headed.

“Shh, Pen,” he whispered.

He treated her like a restive horse. But rebellion sank under a wave of response as he caressed her breasts. His hands abraded her nipples through her shift until she squirmed.

“I love your breasts,” he murmured, rolling the peaks between his fingers. “I love how your nipples harden with desire. I love their taste. I love how you shake when I touch them.”

“Cam—” she choked, not sure whether it was a plea or a protest.

A whisper of fabric as he slipped her shift off. His exhalation expressed delighted surprise. “You’re not wearing drawers.”

Standing half-naked in a man’s arms and squeezing one’s buttocks against his rod should extinguish blushes, but still her face went bright red. “Your mother didn’t own any.”

His laugh cracked, proof of burgeoning hunger. “I wish I’d known at dinner.”

“I’m not trying to titillate you,” she choked out.

“Nevertheless, I’m titillated.” His hips bumped her.

She gasped. She should run shrieking, but pleasure had vanquished fear. His hands traced her sinfully bare stomach and thighs. Her fingers dug into his thighs, crushing his trousers. She thought she’d understood the imperatives of attraction. Tonight’s siege demonstrated that she was a mere novice.

“I won’t stop you now,” she confessed huskily. She waited in suspense for him to push her down onto the bed and thrust inside her.

“There’s no hurry.” He scraped his teeth across a nerve on her neck until she saw stars instead of the duchess’s old-fashioned apartments.

“What do you want?” she asked, bewildered. Holding a conversation while he set fire to her senses tested her.

“You have to desire me.”

“I desire you.” After last night, she’d never thought she’d say that.

“Not enough.”

“Any more and I’ll explode.”

“If you explode, I’ll put you together and begin again.”

“You make me suffer.”

“I’m not taking chances,” he said with a hint of grimness.

With sudden ruthlessness, he cupped her mound. He made a deep sound of masculine gratification and lashed an arm across her middle, holding her hard. His fingers slid between her legs and he brushed a sensitive spot. She shuddered under a flood of reaction.

For what felt like hours, arousal had tangled inside her. Now her response focused. Moaning, she quivered, wanting more delicious pressure.

To her frustration, he withdrew. Behind her, his chest heaved.

“Cam!” she protested. She was slick and ready.

For a breathless moment, he pressed her to him. His breath gusted harsh against her ear.

Then roughly he whirled her around and slammed his mouth into hers.