Chapter Eleven
The following afternoon, Chloe slipped out of the house. She knew Eliza would assume she was going to the orphanage to visit Emily, but Chloe had another destination in mind. She walked a block, then hired a hackney and gave the driver directions to the Duke of Cameron’s residence.
She pulled the hood of her cloak down to shield her face as she took the steps to the front door. The risk that someone was watching and might recognize her in the bright afternoon sunlight was real, but her need to see Michael outweighed the risks.
She reached for the brass knocker. The door swung open and the duke’s butler glared down at her—the same servant who’d thought she was a woman of loose morals who’d visited his master in the middle of the night little more than a week ago.
Before Chloe could speak a word, the butler said in a curt voice, “His Grace is not receiving visitors today.”
Chloe refused to be waylaid. “It’s a matter of utmost importance.”
His lips thinned with irritation. “Perhaps miss did not hear me—”
Chloe pushed past him and stepped into the vestibule.
“Miss!” He shut the door and reached for her arm.
Evading his grasp, she whirled to face him. “I was with the duke last night at Vauxhall Gardens. I know.”
The butler hesitated, and a flicker of uncertainty crossed his rigid features.
Just then a heavyset woman of about fifty, carrying a stack of clean and folded linens, turned a corner and entered the vestibule. From the look of her black dress, with its starched white collar and cuffs, and the thick ring of keys at her waist, Chloe surmised she was the housekeeper.
The woman halted and took one look at Chloe before turning to address the butler. “Is anything amiss, Hodges?”
“Yes, Mrs. Smith. This lady”—a bright mockery invaded the butler’s stare as he emphasized the false title—“insists on seeing His Grace. She claims she was with him at Vauxhall last night.”
Mrs. Smith’s gaze snapped back to Chloe. “Is that so?”
Chloe cleared her throat and raised her chin. “I witnessed two of the duke’s episodes. One at Bullock’s Museum and one last night during the fireworks. I helped him return home, and I assure you that I’m here today out of concern, not curiosity.”
Chloe held her breath as the housekeeper measured her with a keenly observant eye before her expression eased and she nodded once as if making an important decision. Mrs. Smith handed the stack of linens to the butler and took Chloe’s arm. “We are all concerned. His Grace usually has trouble sleeping, sometimes has bouts of melancholy and drinks too much, but he was very bad last night. Even Hodges thought so. Isn’t that right?” She glanced at the butler, who stood frozen, his arms full of snowy linens.
“Where is the duke now?” Chloe asked.
“He’s in the master’s chambers and still abed,” Mrs. Smith said.
Chloe’s gaze flew to the longcase clock in the corner of the vestibule. “But it’s almost three o’clock!”
“We are all worried, miss,” the butler said, his voice low. “But we also know better than to disturb His Grace. On the occasion that any of us has tried, we’ve been very sorry indeed.”
Chloe glanced up at the ornate, gilded balustrade and winding staircase that led to the second floor and the bedchambers. “I will see to him.”
Mrs. Smith’s brow furrowed. “But he’s still abed!”
“His welfare is what concerns me, not propriety.” Chloe ignored the gaping servants and hurried up the staircase. She strode down the hall, her footsteps silent on the plush Brussels runner. Priceless artwork whirled by as she passed door after door until she reached what she suspected was the master’s chambers at the end of the corridor.
She rapped softly and waited. When there was no response, her fingers grazed the handle. She knew entering a man’s bedchamber was recklessly improper, but she thrust the thought aside. She’d seen him last night. He’d clearly suffered from shock when the fireworks had exploded at the end of Madame Saqui’s performance. She’d witnessed the flash of wild grief that had ripped through him…had glimpsed his pain and inner turmoil in the depths of his eyes. In his mind, he’d been transported back to the horrors of battle.
Without further hesitation, she pushed the door open. The room was dim and her eyes took a moment to adjust. A ray of sunlight that penetrated between the nearly closed curtains provided sufficient light to see. It was a purely masculine room with mahogany Chippendale furniture, a plush Oriental carpet, an escritoire in the corner, and a leather chair by the window. But it was the enormous four-poster that dominated the room—a bed large enough to fit a man well over six feet tall—that drew her eye.
The duke lay in the bed, sprawled on his back in a restless sleep. Heart pounding, Chloe tiptoed close and then stopped breathing at the sight of his bare chest. Unable to stop herself, she stared. Ropes of muscle defined his broad shoulders, biceps, and sculpted chest. His skin was bronzed, and she wondered how he exposed himself to the sun. Her knees grew weak as an image of him riding shirtless arose in her mind. A sprinkling of hair trailed down his flat stomach and disappeared beneath the bedclothes that covered the lower half of his body. One long, muscular leg was uncovered where he’d kicked the linens aside. The raw power of his body nearly stole her breath. With a start, she realized that he slept naked and hadn’t bothered with a nightshirt. Had he sent his valet scurrying out of the room last night?
She’d never seen a man’s naked chest before, but she knew without a doubt, that no one else of her acquaintance could ever compare.
Certainly not Henry.
Michael had the body of a soldier. He appeared strong and muscled from hours of disciplined training. He was no dandy or coxcomb or spoiled aristocrat who’d never known physical labor. Her fingers trembled with the need to touch his flesh, to run her fingers down his chest.
Deep lines slashed between his dark brows, and he tossed on the bed. “Gavin…no…no. Look out!”
Chloe’s eyes flew to his face, and a heavy feeling settled low in her stomach at his distress. He was clearly in the throes of a nightmare. Whatever feelings she had for him, desire and anger, her heart ached to see him in pain. She reached out to touch his arm and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Your Grace.”
He moved so fast she didn’t have a second to breathe. Her wrist was caught in a powerful grip and she was pulled down and across his chest. He rolled, taking her with him and pinning her beneath him. Engulfed by his weight, she couldn’t move an inch.
Her heart slammed against her chest. She was aware of every rigid angle, every powerful muscle, and his hardness pressing between her thighs made her inhale sharply at the contact. His dark visage was fierce and unyielding as he hovered above her, and she experienced a trepidation of fear.
He’d reacted instinctively, like an experienced soldier who’d been threatened.
“Your Grace!” She gasped. “It’s Chloe.”
He blinked and focused on her face inches from his. “Chloe?”
“Yes…yes. It’s me.”
His merciless hold on her arms eased. “Why are you here?”
“I…I was worried about you after last night.”
His mouth was set in a grim line, his gaze narrowed and determined. “Christ. I could have killed you. Crushed you as easily as a twig. How the hell did you get into my bedchamber?”
“Your butler and housekeeper told me you were still abed.”
One dark eyebrow shot upward. “I’m surprised either permitted you to enter here.”
“They didn’t. I let myself up here.”
“Why does that not surprise me?”
His voice lowered to an intimate whisper and she became even more aware of his hardness pressed against the apex of her thighs. The coverlet had fallen aside so that a thin sheet and her own clothing were the only barriers between them.
Sweet Lord. His manhood seemed so…large. She should have been more afraid—any proper female would have been—but Chloe had never been proper, had she? Instead her initial fear ebbed as she lay soft and pliant beneath him. The physical contact stoked a gently burning fire, and she was powerless to stop the wicked thoughts that came to mind. She was wildly curious by nature, and the hushed whispers of the servants and her own married sisters when they thought she wasn’t listening had always fascinated her.
She couldn’t stop wondering: what would it be like to know the duke intimately. Would he be gentle or demanding or both?
Their gazes locked, and a corner of his lips turned up in a wicked smile as if he sensed what she was thinking. His pupils expanded, black and gold flecks in his eyes. “I suppose I should be grateful for your impetuous nature which led you here. At last, I have you right where I want you.”
All her senses heightened because of their position and his heated words. “Let me up. This is indecent.” She flattened her ungloved palms against his chest, whether to push him away or to simply touch him, she wasn’t certain. His flesh was hot and enticing, and her fingers curled into his muscles and the light sprinkling of hair.
A sizzling, predatory glimmer sparked in his eyes. “You should have thought of that before you entered a bachelor’s bedroom.”
He shifted, and she felt him even more firmly. Every nerve ending in her body came alive, and liquid warmth surged between her thighs. She struggled to control her raging emotions, the delicious sensations coursing through her veins. “You were having a nightmare. I was merely concerned.”
“Why?”
Because I can’t stand to see you suffering. Because I’ve suffered from bad dreams for years. And because your kisses steal my breath and my body hums when you touch me.
She tried to turn her face away, but he gently held her chin. There was no escaping his probing gaze. She struggled for an answer to his question, something that would pacify him and keep her uncomfortable feelings hidden, but it was too damned difficult with his magnificent body pressed against hers.
“Tell me why?” he insisted once more.
“Because I know that I’m grateful when someone wakes me from a nightmare.”
His brow furrowed. “What do you know about bad dreams?”
“More than you think, Your Grace.”
“I told you to call me Michael.”
“Fine. I entered your chamber because I was worried after last night, Michael. Nothing more.”
She wasn’t ready to admit the truth to him—that she felt for his suffering—connected with his deep-seated pain. She may have never been in battle, never experienced the deafening blast of cannon fire, but she had known the despair of illness and the fear of dying.
He reached up to take a lock of pale hair that had tumbled from her pins. His fingers entwined with the strands, and he caressed it between his thumb and forefinger. She watched, fascinated, and felt the touch like he’d stroked her actual flesh. Her awareness of him escalated. Her eyes dropped to his mouth…to his perfect lips, and she craved his kiss.
“I don’t believe you. I think you knew what would happen as soon as you opened my door, as soon as you touched me. I also think you want it as badly as I do.”
Was it true? Deep down she’d known there was more to their verbal sparring. The air sizzled between them whenever they were close.
Had she come here knowing what would happen?
Despite their differences—he was a duke, a man who knew about her past and who insisted on meddling with her future. She should hate him, despise his interference, but time had changed her opinion. He was loyal to Henry’s father, a deceased man. He didn’t have to honor his promise, no one would know, but he took his responsibility seriously. Even though she was the one he was “protecting” Henry from, she grudgingly admired Michael for upholding his vow. She understood loyalty and would do anything to protect her sisters. Perhaps they were similar souls after all.
And like her, he clearly had his demons.
His reaction to Napoleon’s gilded carriage at the museum was her first clue. Then the fireworks at the gardens affirmed her thoughts. And today, when she came to check on him, he was in the throes of a nightmare. What she’d told him was true. She knew all about bad dreams that left her reeling with shame and guilt and a hopeless despair.
Logic dictated she stay away from the Duke of Cameron. But all reason flew from her head whenever he was near. An undeniable magnetism had been building between them from the first moment they’d met. And when they touched, when he kissed her, she forgot her well-laid plans and could think only of the passionate escape she found in his arms.
“I promise you won’t regret it, Chloe.” He raised her chin with his fingers, allowing her to see the fierce hunger and his raw need. His smoldering gaze lowered to her mouth, and she licked her lips in anticipation of his kiss. Only he didn’t oblige her. He traced her bottom lip with a fingertip, a slow, sensual movement that made her lips part. “I was never able to properly kiss you last night.”
How could she resist him? She’d wanted him to kiss her last evening. She’d hoped it was only the spell cast by the romantic setting of the gardens—the hidden paths and sheltering arbors, the fragrant scent of the flowering bushes, and the soft cast of the lamplight, but the truth was, her need was no different today.
Only now she wanted it more, craved his kiss desperately…
His head lowered, and she met him halfway. His firm lips were caressing and coaxing, generously giving and selfishly taking all at the same time. She sighed into his kiss, gripped his powerful biceps, then wrapped her arms around his back. Smooth muscles rippled beneath her fingers. Her lips parted of their own accord, and she met his tongue in a wild swirl of desire. He tasted of danger and the delicious secrets of mysterious sexual pleasure. A tantalizing combination.
His hand cupped her breasts and her nipples instantly hardened beneath her gown. His lips lowered to graze her neck then trailed down to place heated kisses to her bodice. When he licked the tops of her breasts above her bodice, she arched up to offer herself to his mouth. His fingers dipped into her bodice to graze her nipple, and she moaned. The teasing touch made her wild, made her forget everything but the stroke of his skillful touch.
“From the first time I saw you, I’ve wanted you naked beneath me. I want to bury myself deep inside you. I want to lavish you with pleasure with my hands and mouth. And I want your hands and mouth on me.”
Sweet heaven. Excitement coursed through her veins at his erotic words. He spoke like a soldier, a man in command. But she was far from in control of her own emotions. Her body cried out for his touch, and her resistance dissipated beneath the onslaught of his skillful kisses.
He lifted his head, and a predatory glimmer sparked in his eyes. “I burn to be inside you, but I’d never force you. If you don’t want the same, then you have to leave now. It’s your choice.”
The raw hunger in his eyes sent a burst of warmth through her. Chloe wanted the security of marriage, but she wanted this man even more. Perhaps she was truly wicked and never meant to be a lady. Or perhaps her scandalous past could never be forgotten and had already carved her future in stone. All she knew was that her body ached for everything he’d promised. She wanted him, more than she wanted air to breathe. He was right—she’d known all along that she’d wanted to experience him, hadn’t she? It was as inevitable as the stars and the moon.
Despite a strong impulse to glimpse down at his nakedness, she kept her eyes on his face. Reaching up, she traced his jaw. “I choose to stay.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it was replaced with a look of pure male satisfaction. “I’ll try to go slow, but my desire for you is consuming.”
He swooped down to kiss her. She relished his fierceness, knowing he wanted her so badly. His fingers worked the top fastenings of her gown and pushed the fabric down to reveal her breasts. Her nipples tightened from the cool air.
“My God,” he hissed. “Your skin is so fair.”
His large hands cupped her breast and his hot mouth closed around her nipple. She cried out as deep spirals of pleasure radiated down to her toes. He tasted her with long, leisurely licks. Her body arched wantonly toward his mouth, and her fingers buried in the thick strands of his dark hair. She drowned in sensations as he sucked and kneaded one breast, then moved to the other. He drove her wild, and she’d never imagined her breasts could be so sensitive to another’s touch.
He raised the hem of her skirt, his fingers trailing up her silk stockings and halting where her garter met skin. Her clothing was bunched at her waist. She tensed in anticipation of his calloused hand on her flesh, then he touched her there.
Chloe moaned. His skillful fingers aroused her and built her excitement slowly. Then he slipped a finger inside her. She felt her wetness bloom and nothing could have stopped her hips from meeting the slow, rhythmic strokes of his finger. When he stroked against the sensitive nub at the apex of her thighs, her head fell back and she cried out.
He lowered his lips to the shell of her ear. “I want to erase the memory of all your prior lovers.”
Her mind struggled to comprehend, but the tip of his finger circled her woman’s flesh and all thoughts shattered beneath an unimaginable pleasure. He dipped a finger inside, then withdrew to stroke and tease until she was writhing beneath his hand. The pleasure built to a fevered pitch. She needed a release that she knew only he could provide.
He ravished her lips, then trailed his mouth down the column of her throat. He kissed and licked her flesh like it was forever.
Impossible. He didn’t want her forever, and she didn’t expect it. One afternoon of heated pleasure would have to last her a lifetime.
He shifted and tugged, and the sheet slid to the floor. She caught a glimpse of his manhood—thick, long, and hard. She felt him then, all of him, pressed against her sensitive flesh. She barely had time to wonder before he thrust deep inside her. She cried out at the invading sharp pain.
He froze, his body rigid, his muscles tensing above her. “My God,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You can’t be a virgin.”
She shook her head from side to side on the pillow. “It doesn’t matter. Please don’t stop.”
Something shifted in him and he tensed. She sensed a battle of restraint in every hard muscle. Her body began to ache for the erotic pleasure he’d promised her. Desperate for release, she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed her inner muscles.
“Damn,” he hissed. “You’re so tight.”
At last he began to move, slow rhythmic thrusts until her body accepted his fullness. A burning, then aching sensation leaped to life within her. Soon the hot sliding friction aroused her to a fevered pitch. She relished the weight of his body, his muscular chest brushing against her own sensitive breasts, the scent of his skin, and the pulsing fullness of him inside her. She ran her hands up his muscular arms and buried her fingers in his hair.
He took her mouth as he increased the tempo of his thrusts. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful in the throes of passion as you.”
The pleasure built and built. Her hips arched off the mattress to meet his thrusts. Then he reached between their bodies to stroke her flesh. She cried out as she was hurled beyond and her body exploded in a fiery climax.
“Chloe!” With a hoarse groan, he threw his head back and withdrew from her body. He shook, his face softening with an unexpected vulnerability, as he reached his own climax and his seed spurt across the linens.
He rolled to the side and pulled her into his arms. Chloe lay pressed against him, breathing heavily. She wanted to close her eyes and rest her head on his chest. He was a man who made her feel deliciously ravished, yet protected and safe at the same time.
Then he rose on an elbow and glared down at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a virgin?”