Chapter 3
What was Wolferton up to now? Bea fretted as she watched him surreptitiously from behind the fan she was using to cool herself in the warmth of the room.
The duke was currently standing on the other side of the drawing room in conversation with the portly Sir Edwin Greaves, the local squire and magistrate, rather than participating in the game of charades with the guests who had remained downstairs. The older gentleman was obviously somewhat in awe of the illustrious company in which he found himself as he listened to the duke intently.
After Wolferton’s behavior this evening, Bea trusted his presence here even less than she had his arrival this afternoon. Nor did she believe he had followed her to Bedfordshire for the purpose of seduction. The whole idea of that was preposterous.
Which begged the question, what other reason could he have for being here?
His friendship with the Prince Regent was well known, so could he perhaps be here on some errand for the prince? An errand which involved becoming closer to her? Bea could think of only one reason for that, and the thought someone might have somehow discovered her secret caused a nauseating knot of tension in her stomach.
The duke’s claim he was here because his friends were “busy doing other things” did not sit well with her either. Wolferton must have received dozens of invitations to attend parties this summer, and from members of Society of much higher social standing than her. Indeed, another one of the things she had heard about the duke was that he did not attend any summer parties, but preferred to spend his time on his own country estate in Warwickshire.
He— Oh dear God, the squire and his wife were now approaching her and about to make their excuses before leaving, the former having a somewhat hounded expression.
What was Wolferton saying or doing to her guests to make them desert her in this way?
Whatever it was, Bea did not intend to let this continue. She would very soon have no guests left at all if Wolferton continued to frighten them away in this manner.
“You have retired very early this evening.” A slightly flustered Quinlan rushed into Darius’s candlelit bedchamber shortly after midnight.
“I am not retired at all.” Darius was fully dressed as he lay on top of the bedclothes, both arms raised and supporting the back of his head as he rested against the pillows, his booted feet crossed at the ankles.
His valet appeared puzzled by the reply. “Then what are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“Might I ask for what?”
Darius gave a pointed glance at the door that adjoined his bedchamber to Bea’s.
Quinlan’s brows rose. “Is that not rather a premature assumption to have made?”
“We shall have to wait and see, shall we not,” Darius mused before sobering. “Have you had opportunity as yet to question any of the household staff further about Lady Hanwell?” Darius knew the quickest and easiest way to garner information about anyone in Society was through their servants. They always saw all, and would often tell all for a monetary exchange. Quinlan’s complete trustworthiness in regard to Darius’s private life was an exception and not the usual way of things.
His valet nodded. “Discreetly, of course.”
“Of course.”
The other man ignored his sarcasm. “Her maid, Jane, would not be drawn on her mistress other than to confirm the adjoining bedchamber as being hers. But another source assures me that Lady Hanwell is not a woman who becomes involved in affairs of the heart or of the body.”
A mocking smile tilted Darius’s lips. “Would this ‘source’ happen to be a young and pretty butler by the name of Kilby? I could not help but notice him as he served dinner,” Darius supplied as his valet’s cheeks began to redden. “I also observed he seemed rather…distracted as he did so. I instantly thought of you,” he added dryly.
“You notice far too much,” Quinlan snapped, but he did not deny the suggestion of his interest in the young butler.
Darius sighed dramatically. “It is a burden in life I have to bear.”
“I have noticed how much you suffer,” the other man said without any attempt to hide his sarcasm.
Darius gave a throaty chuckle as he moved to sit on the side of the bed. “Help me off with my boots, and then you may consider yourself dismissed for the rest of the night, and so free to pursue any more opinions your source might care to give.”
Quinlan moved down onto his knees and began to pull off Darius’s boots. “Jerem— Kilby,” he corrected firmly, his head lowered as he concentrated on the difficult task of removing a boot specifically tailored to Darius. “The butler has nothing but praise for his employer. He was also quite specific as to Lady Hanwell’s private life consisting only of charitable acts and calls upon the families in the village, as well as friends and acquaintances, when she is here.”
“Those things might keep her occupied during the day, but what of her nights?”
“Always spent alone since her husband died.”
“Good God, you cannot possibly be saying she has not had a single liaison with a gentleman in the past two years?” Darius did not care to go two weeks without some form of sexual release.
Besides, he had felt Bea’s arousal earlier in the trembling of her hand on his arm as he had taken her in to dinner. Had seen it in her dilated pupils. Breathed in that heady combination of flowers and musk between her thighs.
“I believe that to be the case, yes.” Quinlan rose to his feet once the second boot had been removed.
“I find that improbable,” Darius dismissed.
“But not impossible if her marriage to Lord Hanwell was not a particularly happy one.”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you saying it was not?”
“Apparently not.”
“Then it would seem it is as well I am here to bring some relief to her mundane existence.”
“I have long admired your lack of an ego, Your Grace.”
“Bastard,” Darius returned good-naturedly.
“And if you discover Lady Hanwell is not the lady you are looking for?”
“Then I still intend to give her, and consequently myself, the benefit of sexual relief.”
“Is that not rather harsh?”
“It would seem you are becoming soft in your old age.” Darius rose abruptly to his feet. “Or have you forgotten the seriousness of the allegations against the lady?”
“Of course I have not.”
“Then perhaps this uncharacteristic concern for her has something to do with the fact the man currently taking your fancy is also the lady’s butler?”
Quinlan winced. “Do you have to be such a calculating bastard all the time?”
He shrugged. “Why bother to change the habit of a lifetime?”
“Because this time, you just might be wrong in your assumption—” Quinlan broke off his protest as a knock sounded softly on the door between the two bedchambers, followed by the turning of the key in the lock on the other side of that door. “I withdraw my earlier comments, as it would seem you are once again proven correct.”
Darius gave a humorless grin at the acknowledgment. He was not as pleased as he should have been by this confirmation.
Having been surprised by his own sexual interest in Bea, he would have preferred she not be Napoleon’s spy. Not because Darius had any interest in pursuing anything longer than a weeklong affair with her or any woman—God forbid he ever should!—but because he would have enjoyed their sexual encounters more if he did not have to choose his every action and word with care so as not to alert her too soon to his real reason for being there.
“I usually am,” he answered Quinlan evenly.
The other man snorted his opinion of that. “Nevertheless, I cannot express strongly enough that the lady’s household staff are devoted and very protective of her.” He collected up the boots ready for taking them away to be polished. “Or that they can as easily take note of and discuss your own behavior. Especially if you are…spending time with their mistress.”
“Then it is as well you intend to keep Jeremy occupied for the rest of the night, is it not?”
“Bastard,” Quinlan repeated under his breath as he left the bedchamber.
Darius’s attempt at humor departed with the other man. He had no doubt Bea had come to rebuke him for the disarray in which her dinner guests had departed this evening, either to return to their local homes or their bedchambers here in the house, as all became visibly discomforted by his chilling and brooding presence in their midst. Only Landbourne had stuck it out for the duration, and even he had eventually slunk off to his bed—wherever that might now be—shortly before midnight.
Darius had fully expected to receive this reprimand from Bea at some time, but the fact she was doing it now, and through the access of the door adjoining their two bedchambers, seemed to him to have been a little too easily achieved.
Was it possible she was the one guilty of treason, and consequently knew of his real reason for being here and had decided to play him at his own game?
When Bea finally retired to her bedchamber, she did so not knowing whether she wanted to sit down and cry or throw back her head and laugh.
To cry at the dismal failure of an evening she had hoped would be one of laughter and fun.
Or laugh at the manner in which all her guests had scuttled away like frightened rabbits in response to the cold and silent presence of the autocratic Duke of Wolferton.
That he had frightened them off on purpose, she had no doubt. It was the fact they had allowed him to do so that she found so incredulous and…yes, amusing.
Even so, he might be a duke, but he still deserved a set-down for behaving so badly. At the same time, Bea could not help but admire his accomplishment in having cleared her salon of all guests in a matter of two hours. And, as far as she could tell, by doing nothing more than staring at them all with cold disdain.
At least she had her answer now as to how he must have behaved at afternoon tea, and why his end of the dining table had quickly lapsed into tense silence.
His end of the dining table?
Bea’s anger returned. It was all her table, damn it, and one of the benefits of widowhood was that she could choose who could and would sit at it.
She dismissed Jane, her maid, for the night, and Bea’s second knock on the adjoining door was louder and firmer. The first had remained unanswered, despite the fact she had heard two male voices in conversation in that bedchamber only seconds ago.
She gave a gasp as the door was flung open almost the moment she had removed her knuckles. “You startled me!” she accused with a frown.
Wolferton raised his brows. “When you knock on a door, it is usual to expect it will be opened.”
Yes, it was, and Bea had been determined the duke would do so. But she now found herself completely disconcerted as she took in his appearance. His hair was even more disheveled than it had been earlier, as if he had been running his fingers through it. He had unfastened yet more buttons on his black shirt, revealing inches more of that bared and muscular chest covered in that dusting of dark hair. He had also removed his boots.
Bea acknowledged there was something strangely…intimate about conversing with a man who was in his stocking feet.
She bristled with indignation. “I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave Hanwell Manor.”
He raised mocking brows. “Now?”
A blush warmed her cheeks. “In the morning will do.”
“Why?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know very well why. Your behavior this evening was…well, I am sorry to say it was rude and unsociable.”
“Wishing all the other guests gone so that I might be alone with you is unsociable?”
Bea could only stare at him in consternation as her next reproof died unspoken on her lips. Was it possible… Had he truly…
No, she would not allow herself to be seduced by his man’s overt flattery.
The Duke of Wolferton, as all of Society knew, was not known for his flattery, overt or otherwise.
Bloody-minded arrogance, yes. Cold disdain and haughtiness, also yes. But flattery? No, Bea was sure he had never been accused of that particular nicety. His coldness this evening toward everyone but her would explain the reason why he had not.
She sighed deeply. “You are ruining my summer party with your cold and standoffish behavior.”
He tilted his head. “And it was my intention to rescue you from a week of boredom.”
“You—”
“Come in, and we will discuss the matter further. Or I will come into your bedchamber,” he added dryly as Bea stepped back in alarm, “if that is your preference?”
Of course it was not preferable to her. Indeed, now that Bea considered her actions, she realized she should not have dismissed her maid or knocked upon and unlocked this adjoining door between the two bedchambers. She would never have considered doing such a thing if Landbourne still occupied this room.
Did that mean she was attracted to Wolferton?
Well, of course she was attracted to him. She might never intend remarrying, but she was still a woman, and the duke was a legendary lover, his prowess in the bedchamber having been discussed by the ladies behind many a fluttering fan. Bea defied any woman to resist feeling flattered by having such blatant interest shown toward her by Darius Strong.
Bea was usually sensible enough to realize how ridiculous such an attraction was, on either side.
Unfortunately, when she was with Wolferton, she was aware she did not feel in the least sensible.
Perhaps having her hair loose about her shoulders and wearing the daring red gown and black corset were having a strange effect upon her? She had never allowed her head to be turned by a handsome face before this. Had certainly never seen the point of allowing herself to be attracted to a man like Wolferton, when she knew that interest would never be returned.
Bea now considered the duke between narrowed lids. “I insist you tell me why you are behaving in this way.”
“Being rude to your guests?”
“No,” she snapped.
“Then I can only assume you must be referring to my inviting you to join me in my bedchamber.” He shrugged. “I thought I had made my intentions clear earlier.”
“You’ve made several outrageous statements since your arrival, yes,” Bea reproved. “Obviously, you do not know me very well if you think I can be seduced with insincere flattery.”
“I am never insincere, nor do I flatter. And I do not know you at all,” Wolferton murmured softly, those gray eyes no longer cold as his gaze swept over her in slow appreciation. “But it is certainly my intention to do so. Every single inch of you,” he added so there could be no misunderstanding as to his meaning.
That fluttery sensation had started up in Bea’s chest again. And her breasts, pushed upward and unconfined beneath the bodice of the red gown, were actually aching. The nipples had firmed and were sensitive, and the split gusset of her drawers was drenched with the same lubrication as earlier, simply from talking to this man.
She felt hot down there too, and uncomfortably swollen. To complete her confusion, she was also aware of a heady aroma, not unlike flowers and yet spicier. A perfume she was very much afraid was coming from that dampness between her thighs.
Darius could see the pained confusion in Bea’s expression. Her eyes were huge in her heart-shaped face, her cheeks flushed, and her lips a deep rose color, the top one swollen as if it was bee stung. Her engorged nipples were clearly visible pressing against the soft material of her gown. The perfume of her arousal was even more intoxicating than the two glasses of brandy he had drunk after dinner.
Her bewilderment in regard to the responses of her own body, and Quinlan’s earlier comments, would seem to indicate she had no idea what they meant, leading Darius to assume Hanwell must have been one of those husbands who had no regard for his wife’s pleasure, only his own. Many men in Society held with the same practice, which was why so many of their wives chose to look elsewhere for their pleasure. Bea had obviously not been one of those wives, or as a widow, apparently, and now had no idea of her own arousal or her need for physical release to alleviate that discomfort.
This naiveté could all be a ruse, of course, a veneer in keeping with her life as a respectable widow and also a way of hiding her role as a spy for Napoleon.
Only time would tell whether or not that was the case.
“Come in here.” Darius’s hand was gentle as he took hold of Bea’s arm and pulled her into his bedchamber before closing the door behind her. “No, do not speak.” He placed his fingertips against her lips, immediately aware of how soft they were, increasing his need to taste them. He held her dark gaze with his as he cradled each side of her face before lowering his head to claim her lips with his own.
Bea’s slightly parted lips were deliciously soft and welcoming as Darius sipped and tasted them, leading him to question whether those lips between her thighs would be equally as soft and welcoming to his attentions.
Darius intended to take his fill of these lips before venturing lower.
Bea had ceased breathing the moment Darius’s lips touched her own. Charles had not liked to kiss. In fact, he had considered it unsanitary, preferring to kiss her on the cheek, if at all. Consequently, despite having been a wife and now a widow, this was the first time Bea had truly been kissed.
It was totally exhilarating and caused her heart to pound and the blood to race through her veins, making her feel slightly light-headed and giddy with pleasure.
She moved her hands up to grasp Darius’s wrists, instantly able to feel the strength he was holding in check as his lips moved to her cheek and then explored her earlobe and the length of her throat.
Bea was filled with a physical longing to touch the glimpses of bared chest she had seen earlier. To know if the silky dark hair growing there was really as soft as it appeared. To feel if Darius’s arms and chest were as hard and muscular as they seemed.
For the first time in her life, Bea knew a burning curiosity to discover exactly how a man’s body looked and felt.
Why shouldn’t she, as a widow, give in to that temptation?
No one need ever know. She had entered through the adjoining door, and there was no one here but Darius and herself. She very much doubted he was a man who ever felt the need to boast of his conquests, and she certainly had no intention of ever telling anyone what transpired between the two of them. It was not as if she was a virgin or need worry about her future marriage prospects. Landbourne might hint all he chose, but she had no intention of ever remarrying and giving up the freedom of will that had been given to her by widowhood.
Which meant she was perfectly at liberty to take a lover.
To take Wolferton as her lover, if she so wished.
Dare she do that?
Could she allow herself this one opportunity to explore and learn all the dips and hollows that made up a man’s body? That made up Darius Strong’s lean and muscular body? To allow him to explore and learn her own body in the same—
That thought brought her quickly to her senses, and she turned her head away to evade Wolferton’s second kiss. What was she thinking? Wolferton could not be allowed to explore her body, because if he did—
Oh dear God…
She had been so totally lost to the pleasure of Wolferton’s lips, she had not realized one of his hands was now beneath the skirt of her gown. But she was totally aware now as his fingers breached the slit in her drawers and commenced stroking along the swollen lips at the entrance of her channel, gathering up her lubrication on his fingers before moving higher.
She let out a keening cry, clinging to the support of Darius’s muscular shoulders as those fingers stroked the swollen flesh nestled among her curls, sending hot waves of unfamiliar and glorious pleasure coursing through her body. Only seconds and several strokes later, she was consumed in a burst of ecstasy so intense, her knees actually buckled beneath her.
Darius was astounded by the speed of Bea’s arousal and release, and the response that followed. He had not expected to have to catch her as she almost fainted away with pleasure.
But he could not doubt her climax was genuine. He had felt the pulsing of her clit against his fingers and the gush of her release.
He bent slightly to place an arm beneath her knees and about her shoulders before lifting Bea in his arms, carrying her over to place her on top of the bedclothes before lying down beside her. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed, those delicious lips slightly moist and parted, and her breasts quickly rising and falling.
He could not resist pushing down the bodice of her gown to bare her breasts to the stroke of his hand. As he had surmised, they fit perfectly in his palms, the nipples engorged and the same tempting rose color as her lips. “More?” He breathed hotly against one of those pouting nipples.
“More.” Her eyes remained closed, lashes long and thick against her flushed cheeks, her hands tightly gripping the bedcover beneath her. Her back arched off the bed the moment Darius took one of her nipples into the heat of his mouth. “Do not stop,” she pleaded, her hands lifting and her fingers becoming entangled in his hair, holding Darius close against her as he suckled and then laved her nipple with the moist rasp of his tongue.
Her thighs felt silky soft beneath his hand as he caressed his way back to the slit in her drawers. His intention was to give Bea as many orgasms as she could take until she begged him to stop. When or if she begged him to stop, which he hoped would not be for some time yet.
His hand entered that slit in her drawers as he turned the attention of his mouth to her other nipple. He was ready when she arched off the bed this time, his hand moving to cup and squeeze the cheek of her bottom, causing her to squirm and writhe against him as he allowed his fingers to explore the crease between her cheeks already dampened by the juices dripping from her pussy.
“What—”
Darius’s mouth claimed hers, her surprised reaction telling him he needed to save that particular intimacy until she knew him better. Was more familiar with him and the ways he wished to make love to her.
His fingers stroked along the heat and wetness on her vulva, spreading that moisture over and around those swollen lips and up to her clit. He groaned his own pleasure as that knot of nerves engorged and pulsed in response to the stroke and press of his thumb. He pushed a finger slowly inside the heat of her pussy to the first knuckle, anticipating the pulsing heat of her clit precipitating her second orgasm. He stroked and swirled that pulsing nubbin, able to prolong her release when he curled his finger upward to touch the corresponding knot of nerves inside her.
Darius could see Bea was boneless with that euphoria as he moved down the bed to kneel between her parted legs and throw up the skirt of her gown so that he might remove her drawers completely.
“Darius…?”
He glanced up to see her lids were now open and her eyes were wide with apprehension. “You will let me, Bea,” he instructed softly.
Her gaze moved down to where the bulge of his aroused cock was clearly pressing against his pantaloons. She moistened her lips. “We cannot—”
“We will not make love fully tonight, if that is your wish,” he assured her. “Tonight, we will concentrate on your pleasure.” His eyes felt fevered as he looked down at her pussy.
The blonde curls did not hide the fact the lips were swollen and suffused with rosy color, the glossy folds glistening and so very wet. Darius’s mouth filled with moisture at the mere thought of tasting those hot and spicy juices. The hood above was pushed back completely, revealing her swollen and engorged clit.
“What are you doing?”
He lifted his head to look up at her from between her thighs, groaning his disappointment as he realized the delay in his mouth taking possession of those silky folds had given more time for Bea’s euphoria to fade and she was now completely back to her senses.
The paling of her cheeks and the hurried pushing down of the skirt of her gown to cover her nakedness also told him this encounter was over.