What a Duke Dares

Chapter Twenty-Seven

As Cam rose to shrug off his coat, he caught the excitement in Pen’s face. And something else that he didn’t understand.

These glimpses of a stranger in her eyes always disoriented him. It was like seeing a ghost standing behind an old friend. Slightly eerie. Fascinating. Irresistibly tempting.

But then, everything about Pen was irresistibly tempting.

This raging hunger was unsettling. He was grimly reminded of the straits his parents and uncle had found themselves in when private feelings overflowed into the public arena.

He tugged his shirt over his head and as he emerged from the folds of white linen, Pen leveled an assessing stare upon him. The way her gaze fed upon his body made his gut knot with anticipation. And more unease. She was definitely up to something.

One slender hand curled in a damned suggestive way around the carved bedpost. Blatantly her gaze dropped to the front of his trousers. This time when she licked her lips, it wasn’t nervousness, but salacious appreciation. Arousal thundered through him, making him deaf to warnings.

“Take off your trousers, Cam.” Her tone was sultry, setting his bones vibrating with desire.

Startled, he paused, shirt dangling from one hand. “What did you say?”

She shrugged, still staring at his crotch. “You told me to be myself.”

“Yes,” he said warily. “In society.”

“Everywhere.” She licked her lips again. Each time she did that, his blood heated another ten degrees.

“Come here and I’ll help you with your nightdress.”

She smiled as if recognizing his offer for the weak foray that it was. “First I want to see you naked.”

She pointed one elegant finger at his stiff cock. Cam, as master of his household, didn’t approve of Pen seizing control like this. His dick, however, thought it was a brilliant idea.

“I didn’t mean that you can order me around,” he protested, even as he unbuttoned the front fall.

That mysterious smile still curved her lips. Seducing Odysseus, Calypso must have worn such a smile. Then Cam realized that this was no sorceress. His bride was named for Odysseus’s faithful and loving wife. If mythical Penelope bore any resemblance to this Penelope, no wonder the wanderer had been desperate to return.

“You complained that I was too amenable. It’s too late to change your mind.”

“Perhaps I miscalculated.”

“Recalculate naked.”

Surprised, excited, delighted, he released a huff of laughter. This was the woman he’d found so endlessly fascinating in Italy. Although in Italy, she’d never have told him to take his clothes off.

Perhaps his marriage progressed better than he’d thought.

“Is there a penalty for noncompliance?”

She shrugged, although the glitter in her black eyes belied nonchalance. “If you don’t play the game, you don’t win the prize.”

“You’ve convinced me.” Hurriedly he tugged off his trousers.

Then because he knew that she tested his commitment to wanting her real self, he stood and let her stare at him. However much a numbskull he felt with his necessaries waving in the wind.

To his chagrin, his cheeks heated under her thorough inspection. “My manly magnificence can’t strike you dumb. It’s not as if you haven’t seen everything before.”

Her attention didn’t waver. He shivered, although the night wasn’t cold and a fire burned in the grate. “You usually don’t give me time to look at you.”

Guilt pinched him. So far in their married life, he’d swept Pen into bed. He’d aroused her, but he’d been ruthless about it.

“Lie down.” At last she raised her eyes. Her eyelids were heavy and her cheeks were flushed. He felt less powerless now that he knew this seduction played on her control too.

He surged forward, taking her arm. As cool lawn bunched beneath his hand, he felt her lithe strength. He hadn’t married a frail lily. He’d married a lioness. “Lie with me.”

“Eventually.” She stepped back, shaking him loose.

“Pen, don’t tease.”

“Teasing does you good. You’ve become odiously imperious in your old age.” Her voice firmed. “Now on the bed, if you please, Your Grace.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Tonight I’ll call you what I wish.” She paused. “Your Grace.”

He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss her insolence away or put her over his knees and spank her. Both. Still, she’d promised him a prize. He shot her a telling glance before stretching across the bed.

In the quiet room, he heard Pen exhale. With relief? With nerves? With anticipation?

He shifted on the sheets. They’d been packed in lavender and the sweet scent tickled his nose. “I feel absurd.”

The silence extended, charged with suspense. Eventually he could bear it no longer. “Pen, for God’s sake, touch me.”

She continued to study him from the base of the bed. “Later.”

“What the devil?” He started to lunge toward her, but she shook her head.

“Stay where you are.”

For a long moment, he met the challenge in her eyes. She wanted him to prove that he couldn’t handle this raw version of Penelope Thorne. Well, bugger that. If breaking through to something real between them required his abasement, he’d damn well accept abasement.

She crossed to the decanters waiting on a gilded table. Cam slumped back with a groan and stared at the intricate plasterwork on the ceiling. The clock downstairs chimed two. They’d been home little more than an hour. He felt like he’d been hard for days.

He heard the clink of glass. “Dutch courage?”

“Need some yourself?”

He was past politeness. His voice emerged rough and urgent. “The only thing I need is you. Wet. Ready. Under me. Moaning.”

He turned his head quickly to catch what would surely be disgust on her lovely face. Instead, she looked intrigued. But not, blast it, intrigued enough to relent.

Pen wandered the room, sipping her claret. She paused in a shadowy corner. “I dislike this picture of Apollo and Daphne. We should replace it.”

Little red hot ringing bells of hell. To think that he’d condemned her docility. She wasn’t driving him insane. He’d been insane when he’d suggested changing the status quo. If she’d remained that compliant cipher, he’d already be plunging between her milky white thighs.

Still, two could play at this game.

He rolled onto his side to study her. In her long white nightdress, she looked like a gorgeous priestess of some exotic religion. “By all means, let’s talk about art. We have until dawn.”

Ha, that surprised her. He plastered an imperturbable expression on his face as she focused a startled gaze upon him. She’d ambushed him with this torture in the guise of seduction. See how the lovely witch liked a dose of her own medicine.

Her eyes narrowed as if she guessed his tactic. “There’s a nice landscape downstairs that would suit.”

“The Turner?” He began to sit up and was pleased to see Pen move to forestall him. “Let’s try it in place.”

She stopped a few feet from the bed. “You can’t run around the house naked.”

He subsided upon the pillows. “It’s my house.”

“The servants won’t like it.”

“They’re asleep. And we must resolve this question of the painting in that corner immediately.”

“I can wait until morning.”

She might be able to. He wasn’t sure he could.

Maintaining his casual manner required a mortifying effort. “Perhaps we should bring some pictures from Fentonwyck. My grandfather’s best acquisitions are in the long gallery there.”

She regarded him suspiciously. “I know. You showed me. Remember?”

“I remember.” After he’d botched his wedding night. She’d jumped every time he’d touched her. Just as she’d jumped tonight when he’d taken her arm at the musicale.

The thought reminded him that he was at least half responsible for their difficulties. Pen had every right to prod and snipe. If it meant an end to the constraint between them, she could take an ax to him. He made himself smile. “I wonder if perhaps the Titian in the library might be better. Do you want to go and look at it?”

She sipped her wine as if considering his question. He had her measure now. Despite desire gnawing like a hungry tiger, he began to enjoy himself.

“Perhaps not immediately,” she said neutrally.

“Then how else shall we pass the time? Do you still play chess?”

A quirk of her lips. She definitely guessed his scheme. “Not recently.”

He nearly laughed. His amiability irked her. Although surely a moment’s glance at his body must reveal that neither art nor chess was uppermost in his priorities. “There’s a board in my room. Shall I fetch it?”

“You want to play chess?”

“You want to discuss art?”

To his relief, she burst out laughing, the sound sweet and silvery. He loved the wholehearted way she surrendered to amusement. If he could only gain her wholehearted participation in the conjugal act, he’d be a happy man.

With a click, she placed the half-full glass on the table and advanced toward the bed, every line of her slender body conveying purpose.

Cam kept his expression quizzical and his posture relaxed while his heart thundered so fast, surely she must hear it. One hint of triumph and she’d retreat.

“You want to play?” She stopped beside the bed and swiftly tugged her nightdress over her head. Before he could mask his shock, she kneeled on the mattress and with a determined gesture, pushed him back. “Let’s play.”