There was only one explanation for the emotion that was coursing through Athelby’s veins right at this moment. Jealousy.

The woman who had pushed his morals to one side and conquered him waltzed about the floor, more than happy by the looks of her smile, and sparkling eyes to be swung about by the blasted Sir Fraser again. Athelby never thought to have such a reaction to seeing Darcy dancing with another, but now, after all they’ve shared these past weeks, she wasn’t meant for anyone else. She was his, and he was hers.

He clenched his jaw. A proposal was all that was required of him. Not a small task considering as much as he longed for her, thought of nothing but the minx and enjoyed her company, she was not the most suitable of women to be his duchess.

Darcy de Wolfe was almost as opinionated as himself, she was a widow and not a woman who allowed anyone to take advantage, certainly not a husband. When she’d married the Earl of Terrance there may have been a time she was green, vulnerable and eager to please, but not anymore. Now Darcy was hard, wore her armour like a shell that protected her from harm and be-damned to anyone who tried to tell her what to do or how to think.

Athelby admired her for it, but when she became his wife, she would have to concede to the rules of his household and society in general. There were expectations and standards that Darcy would need to meet, which he hoped would not be long in coming to fruition.

He just needed to get her to say, yes.

The dance was exceedingly long, and by the time Darcy was deposited back with her friend Lady Oliver, Athelby’s disposition had gone from cool to glacier.

Darcy took a flute of champagne and commenced an animated discussion over something or other. She was utterly beautiful when enthusiastic in such a way and he could only hope he could make her as happy once married.

Another gentleman he wasn’t familiar with bowed before her and soon she was dancing a reel. Was she ignoring his presence, he’d certainly not been able to catch her eye this past hour. What was she about not looking at him, noting his presence. Just as he had noted hers upon arrival.

Annoyance spiked and he left the ballroom, heading toward the card room instead. At least there he would not have to watch her flirting, see her happiness when in another man’s arms.

The thought brought him up short. Why did he care so much as to what she did with the other gentlemen? They were not engaged, had no understanding. As a widow, Darcy was free to do whatever she wished as long as it was done with discretion.

He slumped into a chair, not heeding who he was seated across from and joined in on a game of chance. That he was even in this room, a gambling den where gentlemen threw their living away without a care was telling indeed. He was not himself, had not been thinking clearly for some weeks now and it was all due to the little dark-haired minx waltzing about in the ballroom.

Never did he gamble, or drink, and yet tonight he’d found himself doing both. Wilfully ignoring his morals, all because Darcy was not paying any attention to him. He was in one word, pathetic.

Athelby played several rounds before quitting the game, down a tidy sum due to his distraction. He poured himself a tumbler of whisky, left the room, and wandered the deserted corridors just beyond, before he found a billiards room.

The cold, dark, empty space suited his disposition well.

The door shut behind him and he heard the lock snip. Spinning about, he glared at Darcy as she walked toward him, with the moonlit night, seeing the slight grin on her lips ignited his ire.

“What are you doing here, my lady?” he asked, his tone cold.

“I’ve been waiting for you to end your silly card game. I had thought you’d come back to the ball, but when you did not, I followed you here. Why are you avoiding me, your grace?”

That she used his title was telling. So, she’d picked up on his displeasure perhaps, or she was playing off against him when he too had used her title instead of her given name.

“I’m simply finishing my drink before I was going to call my carriage. The ball has bored me, and I find I no longer wish to be here.”

Hurt flickered in her gaze and he cringed that he’d possibly upset her somewhat with his words. Did he wish to injure her? Maybe, and he hated the fact that it was solely due to jealously. Having to share Darcy with others, when he wanted her only for himself was not something he handled well, it would seem.

“So, you weren’t going to come dance with me? You were going to scuttle away instead?”

“I do not scuttle, madam.” He pushed one of the red balls across the table, completely missing the other balls set out at the other end.

Darcy came toward him, running her hand along the side of the billiards table. “We haven’t seen each other since the summer house. Are you angry with me?”

Yes, damn it, he was angry. Angry that he wanted her so much. Angry that she seemed immune to him. Angry that others claimed her time. He frowned. “It has been a busy couple of days.”

“Of course,” she said, coming closer still. “I’m sure being the duke of Athelby is very demanding.”

Was she teasing him now? “Let me escort you back to the ball, Lady de Wolfe. I’m certain there are many other gentlemen who’re only biting at the bit to dance with you and wondering where you are.”

“I think not.” Darcy came to stand in front of him, and this time her finger ran across the front of his coat, his lapels to then slide about his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I do not care to dance with anyone else but you, duke.”

“It did not look to be the case earlier, my lady.”

She pouted and then chuckled, a seductive sound that went straight to his nether region. “You are displeased with me, and it’s because you’re jealous. Well, well, well, I had not thought I’d ever see the day that the duke of Athelby would be so telling. And in front of a woman as well.”

“I’m not jealous.” Liar. Damn it, he was so jealous he could hardly see straight. The thought of her returning to the ball, dancing with others had him clasping her hips and holding her firmly before him. “I’m not jealous,” he repeated in the hopes it would be true.

“I do not enjoy seeing you dance with others either, Cameron.” Darcy leaned up and kissed him, and unable to deny her anything, he returned in kind and gave himself up to the de Wolfe.

Darcy steadied her heart as Athelby took control of the kiss and turned it from a chaste peck to something so much more. A kiss that was molten, full of need and ownership, his of her and she of him. Through the embrace Darcy came to realize that there was no turning back from the feelings that they both raised in each other. And nor did she wish to.

For weeks now they’d teased, kissed and danced with each other in this game of seduction, but no more. Tonight, right at this moment Darcy wanted Athelby with her whole body and soul, and blast it, she would have him.

He walked her backwards until her bottom hit the edge of the billiards table. Without hesitation, Athelby picked her up and deposited her onto the green, velvety top. The kiss continued, demanding and hot and Darcy fumbled with Athelby’s front falls, wanting to feel him, touch and stroke him, not have any article of clothing impeding her desire.

He gasped through the kiss when finally, she freed his member and with a slow, long caress left heat to pool between her thighs.

“I want you, Darcy. I cannot breathe for want of you.” He fumbled with her dress, any care was long gone as they frantically tried to rid themselves of their clothes so they could both end this torturous game they’d played.

“I too.” Darcy wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him against her. His hard member jutted out, and using her hand, she guided him into her, a long, slow impalement that left her full, heady with need and completeness.

For a moment Athelby didn’t move, his hot breath rasped against her neck making her shiver.

“Ah, Christ, Darcy. You feel like heaven.”

Heaven as well, a torturous, exciting gentleman she couldn’t get enough of. Athelby didn’t move, just remained still and Darcy couldn’t stand a moment longer of the inaction. “Rock into me, Cameron. Please.”

The duke swallowed and meeting her eye he did as she asked, his thrusts slow at first, before becoming long and deep, meaningful and controlled. For a man who’d never had a woman before, he was certainly exceeding all her expectations.

Not only that, but he didn’t seem to be slowing, or showing signs of not being able to last, as her husband was wont to do when they had shared a bed. No, Athelby clasped her bottom, pulled her more solidly into him and took her, pushed her toward a climax that she’d only ever reached by herself, or with this man over the last few weeks.

She clutched at his shoulders. The mural on the ceiling caught her eye, it was of woman and man, laying on a bed of clouds and entwined much like the duke and she was right now. How fitting that they were in a room with such artwork and creating their own masterpiece. He slowed, placing small, delicate kisses up her neck before taking her mouth. “Show me what else we can do. I’m certain this is not the only way.”

Darcy chuckled and disengaged herself from him, before sliding off the table. “Lay down on the settee, and I’ll show you another way.”

He threw her a devilish grin, and pant-less strode with not one iota of care to the settee. Darcy caught glimpses of his tight derriere as his shirt moved as he walked. Possessiveness shot through her that the man before her was hers, no one else’s to ever see in this way, no one else’s to kiss and love.

Cameron was hers.

On the settee, his jutting cock stood upright, ready and willing for more lovemaking. Darcy came to stand beside him, taking in all his glory and wanting to prolong their night for as long as she could.

“Wrap your hand around yourself and stroke. I want to see you do it.”

His eyes widened, but he didn’t deny her request, merely did as she asked, and touched himself.

“Tell me have you ever done this before?”

“No,” he sucked in a breath, his other hand reaching out to wrap about one of her legs, pulling her gently toward him. “But since I’ve had you, from the moment we first kissed, I’ve woken up hard and longing to be with you every day. I’ve wanted to take myself in my hand and pump myself to completion if only to imagine it was you I was losing myself within.”

“You don’t have to imagine any longer.” Darcy leaned down and kissed the tip of his penis. Cameron mumbled something ineligible and just to tease him further, she took him in her mouth, sliding her tongue down his rigid length and tasting them both on her lips.

“You’re killing me,” he said, his hand coming to clasp her hair, making it further unravel.

Not that Darcy cared, she was long past caring if anyone saw or knew what they were about. So long as she had Athelby, the ton could go hang, and after tonight there was no doubt in her mind that he would agree to make her his mistress. For them to have a liaison without any strictures or rules on the other.

The thought of the duke of Athelby being her lover sent a shiver of delight down her spine and unable to deny herself a moment longer, she gathered up her dress about her waist and straddled him.

His gaze turned molten as she lifted herself a little and then took him within her. With each delectable inch, the urge to moan, to cry out with the wonderfulness of it all was hard to deny, and she bit her lip to stop herself.

“Fuck, Darcy. I had no idea of what I denied myself.”

Darcy rode him, supporting herself on his chest as she became the one in control of the speed, the depth, and angle of their lovemaking. It was wholly satisfying and increasingly hard to stop herself from riding him like a wanton. “Had I known the duke of Athelby was a man of many hidden talents, I would have seduced you years ago.”

The pain was real, torturous and so fucking good he wanted to cry out. Having Darcy atop him, riding him, pulling him toward climax while he was fully imbedded in her, her hot heat licking his cock and dragging him along was the best thing he’d ever experienced in his life. All the years he’d denied himself a woman. What had he been thinking? What sort of man lived a half-life due to such a choice.

He’d been bitter for so long, angry and alone, but now, with Darcy, she’d shown him that there was more to life than duty, rules and regulations. Not that he would allow them to stay as they were for much longer.

Oh no. Darcy de Wolfe would be his wife before the season’s end. She would be safely stowed in his life and bed and no one would ever touch her, mistreat her, or dance with her again. She was his, and he was hers.

Wholeheartedly.

I love you.

Never had he ever seen anyone so beautiful, so free and giving themselves with abandonment to him. Wanting to look upon more of her he slipped her bodice down and freed her breasts. They rocked with the force of their lovemaking, and he clasped one, circling her nipple with his finger until it puckered.

“Yes. Touch me,” she begged, laying her hand atop his, clasping her breast.

Darcy leaned back a little and the movement pushed him toward climax. Oh, dear god, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back for much longer.

“Cameron. Yes!” she panted, a light flush crossing her cheeks. Her pleasure brought his forth, and it shot through him like a bullet. He moaned her name, leaning up and kissing her hard as he spilled his seed within her hot, wet core.

His breath was ragged, he watched as slowly they regained their composure, although he was unwilling to move. If he had a choice, he’d never move again, so perfect was their current location.

“I fear Lady de Wolfe that I’m unable to live unless you’re in my life.”

Darcy clasped his cheeks, kissing him slowly and with such perfection that his cock twitched, wanting more of the same. More of her, a delicious morsel that he’d never tire of.

“I fear the very same thing, duke.”

Relief swam in his blood at her words and tomorrow, first thing, he would gain a special marriage licence and make Darcy his bride. There wasn’t a moment to lose.