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December 23, 1810
Middle of the night
Deborah, please don’t go!
Brook came awake with a racing heart and a sense of unfathomable loss and loneliness. He shoved a hand through his hair then wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow. As he’d done with fair regularity since his wife had died, he’d dreamed of her again. The images had been so vivid, so real, and in this dream, he’d been kissing her, only the embrace didn’t have the familiar feel it once did.
There had been an excitement there, a heat that was the same only different, and the scent of violets had haunted those dreams. Which had been odd.
Then the dream had shifted, and instead of Deborah beckoning him to be with her in the world beyond, she smiled at him and nodded, waved him away. What the hell did that mean?
Still, his heart ached, and he missed her to the point that he cried silently to himself in the dark. After a bit, his tears stopped, and he wiped the moisture from his cheeks. Pull yourself together, Denton. It has been over two years. While his mind knew this, his heart had trouble accepting the reality at times. As his heartbeat settled into a more normal rhythm, he watched the shadows play across the ceiling. The flying snow made interesting and eerie patterns on the window glass, for neither he nor Hope had closed the drapes.
Though the wind had slacked, flakes of snow floated across the glass. He turned his head to regard the woman sleeping next to him. During the night, she’d flopped onto her back with one arm flung over her shoulder on the pillow. The sound of her even breathing somehow brought him a queer sense of comfort to chase away the lingering anxiety and some of the grief the dreams had wrought.
After her request that he kiss her when they’d laid down for sleep, and she’d revealed more about her past with a heavy blush in her cheeks, he’d thought over her words with all seriousness. There was no denying there was a current of attraction bouncing between them, and though she had only wished for kissing, he was more experienced in such matters. Rarely did two people ever stop with that.
Yet, he had with Hope. It didn’t matter that each time he was in close proximity with her—especially with their necessary sleeping arrangements—his shaft was all too interested in her. Knowing all of this, he’d kissed her anyway, and it had been such a wonderful experience that he’d willingly spent the next hour doing much of the same. He hadn’t touched her in an overt, sexual manner, hadn’t let the embrace go further than the kisses she’d asked for, but damn he’d wanted to explore her heated, rounded body that had been intimately pressed against his.
But would he betray Deborah’s memory if he did?
“Brook?” Hope awakened, her voice rough with sleep. “Is something wrong?”
That inquiry of caring in the dark was both eerie and thrilling. It had been a long time indeed since a woman had done so, and damn if his shaft didn’t harden. “All is well.” His whisper sounded overly loud in the winter’s silence.
“I thought I heard you crying.” When he didn’t answer, she rolled onto her side to face him, and the warmth of her was all too tempting. “Why are you upset?”
“Honestly, I don’t wish to talk about it.” For that would only make him want to bury himself into her honeyed heat if only to forget for a moment that he was alone.
“Come now, Your Grace.” Hope wriggled closer. She laid a palm on his chest, and he gasped from the unexpected delight of that touch. “You have made me talk about things I didn’t wish to. Now I shall listen to you. Perhaps then you won’t suffer so acutely once night falls.”
“I have a tendency to dream about my wife,” he said in a low voice but doubted that talking about Deborah would have any sort of affect except making his grief flare.
“Perhaps that is the only way you know how to work through your feelings, but surely you must know she would understand if you wished to move past them.”
Did he want to? Would that mean she would disappear from his mind? There were no easy answers, but since both he and Hope were awake, where was the harm in talking about some of what troubled him. “I never thought I would adore being married, but I did.”
“That is so lovely to hear a man say. Usually, they complain about the wedded state or would rather brag on the mistresses they took.” The respect in her voice was obvious and made him grin slightly.
“Well, I did, and I never took a mistress. Deborah was enough.”
She drifted her hand down his bare arm, leaving awareness tingling in her wake. “How long were you with her?”
“Married? Nearly six years, but I had courted her for six months and we enjoyed an engagement of another six months.”
“Ah.” The almost rhythmic stroking of her fingers made him relax by increments. “Then can I assume she was young when you met?”
He chuckled into the darkness. Not able to see her expression or the emotions in her eyes all that clearly due to the gloom, Brook concentrated on the outline of her form. “To be honest, my family and hers had been around each other since I was in the cradle. I was just a lad when Deborah was born; the first child of an earl. Their properties bordered ours.”
“Did your fathers expect you would marry?”
“I suppose so, but I’d violently opposed that idea, for being a boy, I wanted nothing to do with all of that.” He shrugged. “However, as the years marched on and I went away to school, I’d forgotten all about her. After my Grand Tour, I came back to London to see about amassing a fortune of my own without my father’s help, and I met Deborah again at a ball. She was eighteen and clearly a Diamond of the First Water in her Come Out year.”
“It was her first Season?”
“Quite, and she was the typical girl straight out of the schoolroom.” Another chuckle escaped him. “I was immediately enamored of her, smitten from the first.”
“She didn’t mind the age gap?”
“Of course not. Such things don’t matter within the beau monde.”
Hope snickered. “Careful, Your Grace. Your privilege is showing.”
He rather liked the fact this bit of womanhood acted as a moral compass at times. “Yes, well, it is difficult to remember. Suffice it to say, I married Deborah, and we began our lives together in short order.” Words tumbled through his mind, falling over each other, all clamoring to be heard. “She had been everything proper a woman raised in the ton and the daughter of an earl could be—demure, unexcitable, perfect in every way. She was proficient in needlework, watercolor painting, and the pianoforte.”
A huff escaped Hope, and the warmth of it skated across his throat. “That only means she was like every other lady in society. What did you like about her alone?”
No one had asked that before, and he’d never needed to examine the subject. Heat crept up the back of his neck. “I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know. I admired all of those things about her, and she was beautiful besides. I guess I assumed that was what I should have looked for in a wife.” Perhaps that had been wrong, for when he compared Deborah to Hope, they were as different as night and day. He rather doubted Hope was the demure and retiring sort, and she was certainly outspoken and daring. All things Deborah never was. “We were from the same world with the same viewpoints, and we were both excited to start a nursery.”
As if that were an excuse.
“That is to be expected from a couple in love.” She glided her fingers over his chest, down his ribcage, then over his hip in an enticing, meandering path that served as both a distraction and ushered in heightened awareness until his shaft throbbed with need. “Obviously, the two of you were compatible in every way, since you miss her so fiercely.”
“Perhaps.” While he’d enjoyed bedding Deborah, it had become a bit of a chore, for she wasn’t one to initiate couplings and neither was she adventurous. She was... proper even in that. Had the whole of his life been based in the wrong things? He had followed all the rules, done what was expected of a man in his position, went according to a plan. “I, uh, hadn’t been a duke yet, so we were afforded a bit more freedom.”
“What? No scandals to be had?” The teasing in her voice went straight to his stones.
“Perish the thought.” Unlike his sudden relationship with Hope, which had been nothing but scandal from the first. His chuckle sounded all too forced even to his ears. “Five years into my marriage, I was handed the dukedom.” Need shivered down his spine, for all he could concentrate on was the caress of her fingers over his skin. What would it feel like if she were to curl those digits around his shaft? Oh, God! Stop thinking, Denton! “Father died of an aggressive cancer of some sort. It took him quickly. We were all stunned by the illness.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. When my parents died, I was lost and inconsolable for months following the event.”
Which he would ask her about at a later time. “I didn’t have much time to mourn. Mother died shortly after of what I suspect was a broken heart. Then Deborah told me she was increasing. I thought my life had turned and that fortune was with me.” Knowing he would soon be a father himself had taken some of the sting from losing his parents and having to square with the responsibilities of being a duke. Memories of that time crashed into each other to form a veritable storm in his chest, full of all that pain and sorrow of the time.
“You have had quite the time of it.” Her whisper soothed the worst of the anguish, and he marveled at that fact. “What happened to the pregnancy?”
He swallowed hard past the lump of emotion in his throat. “The babe came too soon. Two months early, in fact. Neither of us knew what to do, and time was of the essence. There were complications with the birth I have long forgotten the explanations of.” His words came too fast; grief graveled his voice. “There was so much blood, Hope.” He found her gaze in the darkness, willed her to understand. “By the time a midwife came to the house, it was much too late to save either Deborah or the babe.” With a tightness in his chest and grief exploding around him, Brook slipped an arm about Hope’s waist and drew her closer to his body.
Was it odd that being with her made him feel less alone or without purpose?
“That must have been a terrible time for you.” She stilled her fingers on his shoulder. The glitter of her eyes in the darkness comforted him. “Will you marry again?”
“For the responsibilities to my title? Probably.”
“No, Brook, that is not what I meant.” Hope brushed the hair from his forehead with an angel-like touch. “I mean for you. Would you let yourself fall in love again?”
Of course, there was a difference. Why hadn’t he seen it before? “I don’t know. It is much to ask of my heart and my head. There are times when I can barely withstand the grief now, and it’s been over two years. Love hurts too much for me to consider it again.”
Was that true, though?
“Because you won’t give yourself room to grow or consider the possibility that you can have happiness again, but your reticence is understandable.” She briefly cupped his cheek before gliding her hand back to his shoulder. “Begging your pardon, but I believe such thinking is flawed.”
“What do you mean?”
“When someone’s heart is broken, they always say that love hurts-, but I stand by my argument. Based on my own experience and from what I’ve seen of the world, that is.”
He frowned. “Please explain.” There was something about this woman who encouraged him to look at everything differently. She shattered his preconceived notions, and he was beginning to crave that more and more.
“Well, consider this. Loneliness hurts. Rejection hurts. Loss hurts. Envy hurts. As does jealousy. Perhaps many people confuse all of those emotions with love, but truly, love is the only thing in this confusing world that blankets the pain and makes a person feel... wonderful.” She shrugged and her fingers stilled. “And that is why I believe, deep down in my soul, love is the only thing we as humans should chase. The rest of those feelings don’t matter. They don’t heal as love does.”
“You are a marvel, do you know that? Even as hurt as you have been, you can manage to offer a philosophical insight that completely changes everything I’ve ever known about myself or the world.” She didn’t answer, and he didn’t push. For long moments, he held her close, borrowed from her strength, basked in the warmth of her. There wasn’t the feeling of being so scattered or tangled now he’d talked about his history, and he marveled over that. Would she let him to do the same for her? “Thank you for tonight. It has helped, this not being alone, this beginning to let go of those memories and give them to someone else so I don’t need to carry them alone.”
“You are welcome.” He felt her smile more than saw it. “For the first time in many months, I’m glad to be of use to someone. It is much different than being used by someone.”
“I suppose it is.” Was that how she’d seen her life up until this point? How terribly sad. Hope was a wonderful, caring person who didn’t deserve to be treated with less than respect.
“May I tell you a secret?”
“Of course.” Brook slipped a hand down her back and paused at the dip at the base of her spine. Oh, she felt so good in his arms!
“I detest being in mourning. It is quite dull.”
“On that, I agree with you.” They shared a chuckle, and in that moment, the air between them became charged again. In talking with her, he’d temporarily forgotten the raw lust and desire that had steadily grown between them. Now it came roaring back, demanded attention. Beyond that, the woman he held was a breath of fresh air he didn’t realize he’d needed. “Ah, Hope, I am exceedingly glad to have been stranded in a storm with you. It has made such a difference.” Then, before he could change his mind, he sought out her lips, ultimately claimed them in a gentle kiss that left him craving so much more.
“Brook, I...” For whatever reason, she didn’t finish her thought, but her lips brushed his with both of those words.
“Shh.” How much did he want this woman? It was insanity, though, and he refused to take advantage, for she was no doubt an innocent and didn’t deserve such depraved treatment that meant absolutely nothing except relieving frustrated sexual tension. Again, he kissed her, wished that would be enough.
But the unrelenting drive to join with her wouldn’t fade.
“I have always wanted to know what being appreciated felt like. Now I know. It is much better than being rejected for my looks.” There was such wonder in her tone that his chest tightened for a completely different reason.
“It is, of course, gammon as I’ve said before.” Daring much, he took her hand and put it against his erection with a groan. “If ever you assume you are not a woman who can inspire a man to passion, remember what this feels like. And this has nothing to do with your looks.”
“That is quite an impression, Your Grace, and it leaves me in awe. And it demands attention.” Before he could form words—for merely having her hand against his member taxed his control—Hope plucked the buttons of his frontfalls from their holes. One by one, and then she drew the panel of his breeches open, and his engorged length sprang free.
“What are you doing? Need graveled his voice. Surely this was wrong.
“Giving you comfort and a distraction from grief.” She found his gaze in the dark, and when he attempted to swat her hand away, she giggled. “In this, I know what to do.”
“But—”
“Shh. You gave me the same earlier tonight by indulging my fantasy for kissing.” When she drew a fingertip up and down his straining shaft, he nearly jumped off the bed. “Let me do the same for you. Because I can. Because you need the release.”
He tried once more. “It is not proper.” Brook tugged her hand away even though the whole of his being wanted to feel her fingers on him, needed that carnal connection.
“As you told me when we came to bed tonight, nothing we have done this trip has been proper.” She giggled and the lighthearted sound went straight to his stones. “Consider it a gift, Mr. Gerard.”
Bloody hell. What a coil.
Apparently, she took his silence for acquiescence, for she sat up and threw off the bedclothes. With what he assumed was the devil’s own grin, the woman kneeled at his side, wrapped her delicate fingers around his shaft and then began to stroke her hand up and down.
“Dear God.” The touch was both heaven and hell. Naturally, he spread his legs even as his mind screamed a warning, told him to dissuade her.
“My fiancé taught me how to pleasure him with my mouth, and I hope I do this correctly on you.” She rested her free hand on his abdomen, and the muscles in his stomach clenched. “If so, it was only thing of value he ever gave me.” Faint bitterness had entered her voice. “For it certainly wasn’t his heart or his name.”
There would be time enough to delve into her secrets, but for now, the only thing his mind could comprehend was the squeeze and release of her hand on his shaft.
Did she realize she hummed a tuneless song as she worked? It was both curious and arousing. His member tightened further until his could hardly withstand the urge to throw her backward onto the bed for no other purpose except to bury himself deep.
“No wonder your wife was so satisfied by you,” she whispered as she drew her curled fingers up and down. Then she twisted and began the torture all over again. “Any woman would be.” As he fisted the bedclothes in a hand, Hope caressed her fingers along the inside of his thighs, but the relief of having her leave off his member was short-lived, for she gently cupped his stones, giggling when he sucked in a shocked breath.
“Deborah considered it the height of scandal to manipulate my equipage,” he managed to gasp out and renewed his grip on the sheet.
“I’m sorry to hear that. She missed out on a lovely way to bring her husband pleasure that didn’t involve being bedded.” When he thought she might have finished her exquisite torture, she managed to shock him again by bending over him. One second her lips hovered over the head of his shaft, her breath warming the tip, and the next, she took that point between those two pieces of flesh and lightly suckled.
“Damn!” The hiss sounded overly loud in the silence of the room.
Hope’s only response was a chuckle moments before she went down and took most of his erection into the warm cavern of her mouth. With a hand still resting on his abdomen and her other continuing to stroke the base of his shaft or lightly squeeze his stones, she bobbed up and down. When she wasn’t eating the length of him, she nibbled and licked every centimeter of its surface, and apparently enjoyed the act. With each varied movement, the need to spend grew more urgent.
He gritted his teeth. Heaven and hell, night and day. The woman bringing him to the brink of pleasure was as different from his wife as that, and it was a startling change. Eventually, she found a rhythm she enjoyed, and there was nothing to do but revel in the hot glide of her lips and tongue along his member. Both wanting the erotic torture to end and have it never finish, Brook put a hand to her head, wrapped her brown braid around his palm in order to guide her attentions to where he needed her to be.
Not able to withstand the sensations crashing over him, he thrust upward into the bliss that was her mouth, going as deep as he dared until his tip hit the back of her throat. A murmured sound escaped her, but as he watched, she didn’t act as if she protested, so he withdrew slightly only to stroke into her mouth again. Each time he did, she squeezed his stones, but the moment she stroked two fingers over the sensitive skin between them and his arse, a rush of pure, raw pleasure slammed into him and sent him hurtling toward that glimmering edge.
“Hope! Dear God, what are you doing to me?” Nothing like this had ever happened between him and Deborah, and though he’d taken himself in hand more than a few times since his wife had died, the end result was nothing like this.
The very wickedness, the feeling of wonder, of belonging that pulsed through his body took him by surprise and threw him well past the point of no return.
“I cannot hold back.” Refusing to spend down her throat, for that was a vulgar display at best, Brook uttered a strangled cry that the neighbor who shared a wall no doubt heard. He’d barely urged her off him and swung his legs over the side of the bed before an incredible pulse of release roared through his shaft. He came hard and with such force it splattered onto the floor and against the wall. “Damnation, woman, that was incredible.” The manhood in his hand continued to jerk and pulse, and by the time he was empty, exhaustion crept in around the edges.
“Isn’t that the point of such exercise?” she asked softly as the bedclothes rustled.
For long moments, Brook willed his breathing to return to normal. “That wasn’t well done of me, and a rather ugly display no lady should have to see.” Heat crept up the back of his neck, for it was rare he lost control as he’d done just now.
Her giggle was much like a balm to his ragged nerves. “We all have needs and feelings.” She touched a hand to his back, and damn if his fickle shaft didn’t twitch with a modicum of renewed interest. “That is how we know we’re still alive.”
“Perhaps.” Daring to glance over his shoulder as she came near on her knees, he shivered. “Thank you all the same.”
“You are quite welcome.” As she bussed his cheek, her breast brushed against his arm, and there was no mistaking the hardened tip of her nipple. Had the act aroused her as well? “Now you won’t see being with another woman as a hurdle to overcome. It should be easier for you to court a lady.”
“I wonder.”
She patted his shoulder. “Goodnight, Brook. I hope you suffer no further nightmares.”
“So do I.” As she nestled into the bed and brought the counterpane over her body, he stood, rooted about the contents of his trunk for a clean handkerchief, and then began the task of cleaning up the mess the best he could.
One thing was certain. Looking at her over the breakfast table in the morning would be the height of awkward. Was there a certain protocol for interacting with a woman after she’d sucked him off? To say nothing of how that innocent kiss to his cheek had made him feel beyond comforted.
What the devil am I to do now?
