His hand slid down over the front of her sensible dimity gown and tookpossession of her breast. “I can play maid,” he said huskily. “My memoryis recovering remarkably quickly. I remember undressing you many a time,my golden treasure.”
He turned her quickly and began to unfasten all the little buttons downher back, tracing kisses after his fingers.
The duchess came to her senses.“Here,William? We cannot.”
“Here. Now,” he said roughly. His fingers stopped their work and hegripped her, pulling her against his body. “Am I dreaming, Yolande? Ican’t bear it if I’m dreaming.”
She tilted her head back. “No, my love. You aren’t dreaming unless I’mdreaming, too. And I make you a promise, if this is a dream, I’m coming toyour bed as soon as I awake.”
He buried his head in her curls and laughed. “No man deserves to bethis happy.” His hands traveled up and his fingers brushed softly over herbreasts. She trembled at the power of a wave of giddy lust.
“William!” she gasped.
“Yes. But I must be growing old,” he said as he continued the delicatetorment. “Bed does sound like an attractive notion. As I remember, makinglove on the floor can be deuced uncomfortable.”
Reluctantly, the duchess agreed though she didn’t know if her legscould support her to the upper floor, and she did not want to part fromhim. She was terrified this moment would evaporate. But she pulled free ofhis hands and said, “It will take me only a few moments to be ready.”
He pulled her back into his arms. “I go with you,” he said. He tracedher face with unsteady fingers then kissed her hungrily. Then pulledback.
“Thomas!” he shouted and a footman popped into the room. “Go tell myvalet and the duchess’s maid they will not be required.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said the footman, but his eyes bulged at the sightof his disheveled master and mistress entwined together.
As the footman left on his errand, the duchess chuckled and hid herface in the duke’s shoulder. “What will they think?”
“Who cares?” He placed his hands beneath her breasts and pushed theirfullness up, then slowly and deliberately he lowered his lips first to onenipple then the other. As they swelled beneath the cloth he brought histeeth to bear gently so that the duchess moaned and clutched at him.
“I told you my memory was returning,” he said with a grin. “Let’s tobed,reine de mon coeur.”
The marquess returned to Marlborough Square rather early. Tonight hadbeen the farewell party for Con and Dare, but it had also turned into afarewell to his days of bachelor freedom.
It had been pleasant enough, but he’d begun to find the bawdy jokes ofhis friends tiresome and their advice inappropriate to his bedding ofElizabeth Armitage. He’d noticed Nicholas twice turn the conversation whenit became too crude, which he wouldn’t have bothered to do in othercircumstances.
In the end, though, Lucien had slipped away and walked home to clearhis head. It would not be a bad idea anyway to have all his wits about himtomorrow.
It had only occurred to him this evening that he’d never tried to bed awoman without the positive desire to do so. Sometimes it had been only amomentary lust; at other times, as with Blanche, it had been somethingmuch deeper, but the desire had always been strong.
Did he desire Elizabeth Armitage? Not particularly. He admired herspirit and her wit; when animated she became quite pretty, but she stirredno ardent feelings in him, apart from the times she’d roused histemper.
The one time he’d kissed her there’d been something, but he had endedit without regret, except the regret that he had forced on her a kiss shedid not want. What if she resisted consummation? He doubted he could bringhimself to force her.
Even if she was acquiescent there was no guarantee that he would feeldesire. It was going to be damned embarrassing if he couldn’t perform.
He entered the house. “Everyone abed, Thomas?” he inquired of the nightfootman.
“Yes, m’lord. The duke and duchess retired not long ago, m’lord.”
The marquess went up the stairs feeling mildly surprised that thefootman had volunteered that extra sentence. He then became aware it hadbeen said in a strange voice. He looked back at the young man in hislivery and powdered hair. The footman was sitting in the chair provided atnight, upright and alert. Impersonal, as a good servant should be.
He was not to know that the young man was still stunned by the sight ofthose rarefied beings, the Duke and Duchess of Belcraven, making theirway, disheveled and laughing, up the stairs, arms wrapped around eachother. At their age, too.
The marquess thought of going to speak to his mother as she waspresumably still awake. He felt strangely restless and in need ofsomething. At the duchess’s door, however, he heard faint voices anddidn’t knock.
The maid? No, a man’s voice. The marquess did not particularly want tosee the duke. As he turned away, however, he thought he heard a faintshriek. He turned quickly back, but the sound was followed bylaughter.
He stood looking at the mahogany panels with perplexity. If he didn’tknow better, he’d think there was a private orgy going on in there.
His mother and whom, was the disturbing question. A strange thoughtthat was all the fault of Elizabeth Armitage and her dubious, radicalmorals.
