Darcy sat under a large oak at her friend Fran’s garden party and covertly watched the duke of Athelby. He hadn’t noticed that she was present, as her chair sat under a lovely shady spot, with some of the branches of the tree hanging down and partially hiding her from view.

Darcy shifted her attention to her friend and for the first time, she noticed a small bump behind her friend’s otherwise small waistline. She narrowed her eyes on the little mound. When was Fran going to tell her about that little bundle? Smiling at the thought of her best friend not only marrying for love, but starting a family. Something she’d wanted to do ever since they were at Mrs. Dew’s finishing school for young ladies.

Today the duke wore tan breeches and knee-high boots that were so polished one was sure to see their reflection in them. His bottle green coat hugged him like a second skin, and she flushed, remembering how she’d managed to delve beneath those fine clothes and give him pleasure. Have his large hands entwine in her hair, pulling her, holding her against his member as she pleasured him. Made the demanding, righteous duke of Athelby crumble and come apart in her arms. And how delicious it was having him react so.

She crossed her legs, squeezing her thighs a little in expectation. Should they get an opportunity today she would steal him away, lock him up in a room somewhere in the sprawling mansion behind them and have her way with him.

Maybe even make love to him this time. If he wished it.

A footman came by and offered her ices and she took one gratefully. After her less than garden party thoughts, she needed to cool off a little.

The duke continued to stroll through the guests, talking to those who were game enough to speak to the fierce looking man, before he stopped and quite obviously searched the party. Was he looking for her maybe?

When their gazes locked, his shoulders slumped just a little. In relief at seeing her present, Darcy wasn’t sure, but his determined steps toward her certainly implied he’d captured his quarry.

He came to stand at the end of her chair, towering over her and oh, how she wished he could crawl up the seat to lie atop her, lift her gown and settle between her thighs and take her.

Darcy swallowed, again shifting on her seat as the thought of having him left her needy, a greedy little minx desperate for his touch.

He looked about, not that anyone was nearby, she was the only one lying on the chairs put under the tree to shade guests who wanted to rest for a time. She raised her brow, but didn’t say a word, but neither did he. Athelby simply stared at her, his gaze raking her body and leaving her shivering from the raw need that shimmered in his eyes.

His jaw clamped, and he frowned. “Where can we go?”

Oh my…those words made her gasp a little and make her heart skip a beat. “Do you wish to be alone, your grace?” she asked, playing coy and simply not saying, ‘me too’ as she so wished to.

“I’ve thought of nothing else but what you did to me the other evening, and it’s past time that I returned the favour. It is only right as a gentleman that I do.”

“Of course, and as a man who believes manners are a pinnacle we all must strive toward, I would think less of you should you not have offered,” Darcy said, coming to stand toe to toe with the duke, “to taste me with your mouth as I tasted you. Enjoyed you, your grace.” She ran her finger across his bottom lip.

His nose flared as he seemed to struggle with his emotions. Seeing the duke mad for her left her longing for him again. It was the most intoxicating thing she’d ever seen, and her heart did a little flip of rejoice.

“Somewhere close by. The house is too far away.”

Darcy chuckled. The house wasn’t all that far, although they would have to cross the lawns and weave their way through the multitude of guests who congregated there, only too ready to stop a duke and try and catch his eye for their daughters.

“There is a summer house hidden in the gardens. If you follow the path until it comes to an end and turn left, you’ll see it a little way along. It overlooks the park beyond and the small lake this estate has itself.”

“Perfect.” The duke strode off in the direction she stated.

Amused, Darcy watched him, going to talk to a nearby group of women before she too, strolled to where they would meet.

Trepidation and expectation made her heart thump and her stomach clench in excitement. Would the duke enjoy touching a woman so, kissing her in the most intimate of places? Her husband had only ever performed it on her once, and upon awakening the next morning, he’d proceeded to tell her he’d been so far into his cups that he’d thought her one of his mistresses and that he regretted the action. That he would never do such a thing again.

Before Terrance had said such a thing, Darcy had thought that perhaps their marriage could work, that he did find her attractive and wished to only be with her. How wrong she’d been, such an immature, green fool.

She raised her chin and determinedly continued toward the summer house. The duke was not her deceased spouse. He was a man who desired her, wanted to do all that she wished to do with him. Was passionate and eager to please her, in a sexual regard at least, which was more than her husband had ever been.

Going through a small gate on the path, Darcy pushed it open and stopped to admire the summer house. It was a rectangular stone structure, with two large windows and a double glass door. Steps led up to the door and for decoration, the roof had small castle looking balustrade that ran about its edges. Darcy had always loved the building, and during the time her friend Fran was being courted by the Viscount, they had often spent afternoons here, swimming and enjoying each other’s company, while her friend fell further and further in love.

It had been the best of times, and now hopefully, she will make more, delightful memories.

The duke stood in the doorway to their abode, his cravat, coat, and waistcoat nowhere to be seen. Lounging against the wood, he looked casual and so delectably handsome that heat pooled between her legs.

How she wanted him, all of him.

“Waiting for someone, your grace?”

He laughed a deep, rumble that echoed with determination and need. Shivers slid down her spine and she rushed toward him, eager to have him kiss her, touch her, be with her in any which way he was willing.

The moment they touched, a spark lit a flame within her and she kissed him deep and long. The duke did not hold back and only too willing, met each stroke of her tongue, each clasp of her wandering hands with that of his own.

Her hair tumbled down about her shoulders as his fingers spiked through it. Darcy pulled the duke’s shirt from his breeches and ripped it over his head, leaving his heaving, muscular chest hers to admire.

She stood back a little and admired the view, ran her finger over each ripple of muscle. He skin was sun kissed, and left her wondering what he did that he was able to have such a skin tone. The thought of him working shirtless left her mouth dry.

Instead of asking, not wanting to delay what she longed for him to do to her, she leaned forward and kissed where his heart beat fast. Her hands went about his back as she kissed her way up his neck and found his more than willing mouth.

This time the kiss was slow, languorous, an unhurried seduction that made her ache to have him.

“I want you, Athelby.” Her voice was breathless and full of need, but she did not care that he would hear that. Darcy could no longer pretend that their little liaison was merely that, a temporary fling. For it was not, not for her at least. Not anymore.

He picked her up, kicking the door closed and carried her over to a day bed in the middle of the room. For a moment Darcy hoped that he would strip himself of his breeches, but instead, watching her, he slid her dress up over her legs to pool about her waist. Warm air, fragranced with roses kissed her skin and she bit her lip as he placed large hands on each of her knees and slowly spread them apart.

Oh, dear lord…

His fingers played with the silk stockings still tied against her thighs before his lips skimmed their way up toward her aching mons. For a man that had never done such a thing before, he certainly seemed to know what he was about.

“You’re so beautiful, Darcy.” He paused, placing a small kiss to her very core and making her gasp. “Tell me if I’m not doing this right, or you want more or less of what I do.”

Darcy could only nod, and watch entranced as he lowered his head again and this time, slid his tongue against her sex. She moaned, clasping his head lightly and laying back on the cushions to enjoy his wicked, delightful lips.

His touch was unsure at first, tentative and yet with that, it only made her more frantic, the need coursing through her grew, ebbed and slowed with each of his kisses, the slide of his tongue until she could not hold back her need any longer.

“Cameron,” she gasped. “Touch me with your fingers as well as your mouth. Please,” she moaned as he flicked the little nubbin that gave her pleasure with expert authority.

“Like this,” he said, his words muffled slightly.

Darcy sighed as he slid one finger into her heat, his tongue flicking her toward madness. It was too much and not enough. Unable to help herself she clutched him between her thighs and rode his mouth as he brought her to climax.

Darcy shouted his name as wave upon wave coursed through her body. The pleasure left her lethargic and sated, and she lay there spent for a moment as Cameron came to lay beside her, pulling her into the crook of his arm.

“I fear I shall never grow tired of having you in such a way, Darcy.”

She looked across at him, running her hand over his stubbled jaw. “I fear that I shall never grow tired of you having me in such a way either.”

He came to lay on her and kissed her long and slow, her heart doing a silly little flip, one that could only mean one thing. That not only did Darcy de Wolfe care for the man in her arms, but that she’d possibly grown to love the complicated, opinionated duke of Athelby.