Not that he was much help right now. He was looking down at her with what seemed like fear on his face, the flesh of one hand clamped in his teeth.
Lucy realized she hadn’t properly assessed the taste. This would only be an informative experience if she kept her wits about her! She moved her tongue against his shaft, then his head, and undertook to swallow as best as possible.
She wasn’t sure that she liked the unfamiliar flavor at first, but when he pushed his hips forward as if by instinct, she found that the musky essence was precisely what this moment needed.
“Oh, Miss Ninepence, you are a marvel,” whispered the duke, seemingly fighting tears.
Lucy paused. Was he actually... emotional? She’d expected physical pleasure to manifest as satisfaction, perhaps pride. But he sounded overwhelmed. Almost vulnerable. She feltan unexpected surge of protectiveness toward this difficult, awkward man.
Given the position in which they found themselves, she thought it best to establish a less formal relationship.
Lucy released him briefly, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his cock. “Do call me Lucy,” she said, then took him back in before he could respond.
The duke made a noise that sounded like choking while also crying. Lucy hoped he wasn’t coming down with an ailment; she didn’t particularly care abouthishealth, but she’d rather not get sick.
“Peter,” he whispered.
When Lucy hummed her understanding, she had no way of knowing what it would set off. Had she known, would she have responded differently?
The vibration traveled through her mouth to his cock, and she felt his whole body tense. But what surprised Lucy more was her own response. There was heat between her thighs, tightness in her belly. Lucy had expected intellectual satisfaction. She hadn’t expected desire.
The duke seemed to go rigid in an instant, his cock sliding further forward into Lucy’s mouth. The sudden thrust made her gag, throat contracting around him. She pulled back instinctively, then relaxed her jaw and tried again, finding adepth she could manage. So this was what the books meant by “accommodating him.”
“Miss Ninepence, Lucy, oh no, I—oh, forgive me—” Peter wailed.
And then Lucy experienced something she’d only ever seen described euphemistically: His Grace released spend into her mouth. The taste was strange: salty and bitter. Lucy closed her eyes and sucked, not wanting the man to suffer ill-effects from any pent-up seed he didn’t release. Part of her was still cataloguing sensations like an excellent student. But another part felt oddly proud. She’d done this. She’d brought a duke to completion. The power was intoxicating.
Lucy rather found that she liked this act. Enjoyed causing this stuffy lord to transform simply through the application of her mouth. She should thank him before he executed their plan of forgoing an engagement and marriage.
Peter’s hands had roved through her hair as she worked, pulling pins loose in his pleasure. She didn’t mind; she was too focused on the taste and heat, the sounds he was making.
And then she discovered a problem. When she tried to sit back, a sharp tug at her scalp stopped her. She reached up and felt the issue: in his distraction, Peter had tangled several strands of her hair around the silver buttons on his falls. The loops had tightened as they moved.
Lucy released Lord Cockesbrayne’s manhood from her mouth when she was sure he’d spent his last. “Lord…Peter,” she said,“I’m afraid I ended up snarled. Help me free my hair, won’t you?”
He looked down dazedly and then snapped into action. “Oh dear,” he said, unwinding her hair with far more care than she’d expected of him. “This is rather like a spot of drizzling,” he murmured, carefully separating each strand. “You know,parfilage— removing precious threads from old tapestries. Requires a delicate touch. Mustn’t rush.”
Lucy might have laughed if her mane weren’t attached to his trousers.
“Do you enjoy—“
Before Lucy could confirm that the duke also enjoyed the fiber arts, the door to the sitting room swung open.
“We heard your exclamation of joy, and I hoped we might celebrate your news,” trilled Mrs. Easterling from the door, a phalanx of servants behind her bearing the tea things.
Lucy’s head jerked back instinctively, but some of her locks were still caught on the buttons. Her hair pulled painfully when she and Peter tried to move away from each other, making her whimper. For his part, the duke’s pantaloons were open, his falls down, and his softened cock rested scant inches from Lucy’s mouth. They were well and truly trapped.
One teacup went crashing to the floor as a servant reacted in shock. A footman gasped.
When confronted with this latest scandal, Mrs. Easterling merely slammed the door to the sitting room to limit the number of people who could see Lucy’s disgrace. But the damage was done.
Lucy looked up and met Peter’s eyes. His face had gone pale; his expression stricken. For a moment’s curiosity and pleasure, they’d sealed their fates.
This time, there was simply no way to avoid a trip to the altar.
Chapter 4
Two weeks later
