All Thaddeus wanted to do was spread her legs and push inside her, thrust rapidly until he reached his climax.
But that was the Thaddeus who didn’t care about her pleasure. And he found now that he cared very much indeed—he wanted to make her climax, wanted her to shudder and call his name as she came.
Which meant he had to take his time.
Anything worth doing is worth doing well. A long-forgotten reminder from a past captain whose meticulous attention to detail made him an aggravating, if educational, leader.
And she was well worth doing.
Captain Hastings would be proud of him.
Thaddeus turned onto his side so he was facing her. The sheet was pulled up over her shoulders, and he put his fingers to it, resting them there as he met her gaze. The candles were lit on either side of the bed so he could see her face. She was smiling as if in delight, that intoxicating sparkling gleam in her eye letting him know she wanted this nearly as much as he did.
Nearly.
But if he took the time, if he did the job well, she would want it more.
Dear God, he wanted her to want it more.
“Can I—?” he asked, gesturing to the sheet.
She nodded, biting her lip. “Please.”
He drew the fabric down slowly, his fingertips trailing on her soft skin. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and then she swallowed.
He brought the sheet to her waist, revealing her upper body—those breasts that tormented him every evening in her low-cut gowns, her soft belly, the gentle curves of her neck.
He wanted to kiss every inch of her. Take his time as his mouth got to know the map of her skin.
“What are you thinking?” She spoke in a low, husky voice. He met her gaze, noting the stain of color on her cheeks, how her lip was swollen from where she’d been biting it.
“I’m thinking about how beautiful you are,” he replied, his voice rough with honesty.
She gave a shy smile, and then put her hand on his shoulder, cupping it with her palm. “I could say the same about you.”
He felt his eyebrows rise. “Me? Beautiful?” He shook his head. “I’ve been called many things, but beautiful is not one of them.”
She chuckled as she brought her face closer to his. “Let me guess some of what you have been called.” She put her mouth to his neck, sucking it gently. “Arrogant,” she said, accompanying her words with a light kiss to the same spot, “determined,” she continued, licking a bit higher, “stern,” she said with a laugh as she pressed a kiss to his jaw just below his ear, “and extremely efficient.” The last few words were punctuated by kisses moving along his jawline, until her lips were poised above his. “And of course breathtakingly handsome.”
And then she lowered her mouth to his, claiming it with as much determination as he had earlier. Opening her lips and thrusting her tongue inside his mouth, her fingers tightening on his shoulder, running down his arm, then over onto his chest. Her fingers spread out to caress the planes of his upper body as she kissed him with all the passion he could hope for.
His fingers were on her breast, kneading it, rubbing the nipple under his palm, feeling it harden. He caressed the soft, round flesh, felt how she responded to his touch even as she continued to kiss him with abandon.
This was what he had hoped for. Or no, actually—this was beyond what he had hoped for, to find a woman who was giving, enthusiastic, and sensual. A woman who didn’t seem ashamed of anything to do with what they did at night.
He was very lucky.
His hand gave her breast one last squeeze, then he moved his hand down lower, slowly, running his palm against the soft skin of her belly to just above her mound. His fingers tentatively stroking the soft curls there, circling the spot he wanted to touch.
“Please,” she pleaded, breaking the kiss for a moment as she took hold of his hand and placed it right there, right where she wanted it, and right where he wanted to be.
He felt the tiny nubbin of flesh with his index finger and began to rub lightly, his middle finger sliding farther down to find her wetness.
And then he pressed his palm against her clitoris as he slid one finger, and then two, inside her.
So wet.
She moaned low in her throat, and he broke their kiss, pressing his face to her shoulder as he worked for her pleasure.
Her fingers continued to grip him, so hard he knew he might have bruises. He craved the bruises as tangible proof of her passion. Her head was thrown back as he felt her neck muscles strain with tension. And then she started to shake, and he didn’t stop what he was doing, just kept up the pressure and the sliding in and out of her soft wetness, until he felt her inner muscles grip his fingers and she cried out as she climaxed, her hand keeping him in place for what seemed like forever, but couldn’t have been more than a minute.
And then she was gasping as her head dropped forward and he slowed his movement, then stopped it, waiting for her to recover.
His cock was iron-hard, and he didn’t think he had ever seen anything as beautiful as Lavinia when she came.
He wanted to make her come again and again, keep her in that constant state of bliss.
“So you do know where the clitoris is,” she murmured, startling him so he snapped his head up.
Her expression was mischievous, and he blinked at her, his brain processing what she had said. His wife had said all of those words.
He’d never imagined he’d be married to a lady who spoke so boldly, and he couldn’t help but admit he liked it.
But none of this was in service of bearing a son.
Don’t get too attached. She’ll be leaving you.
He couldn’t help but emit a quickly smothered groan.
“WHAT IS IT?” Lavinia asked. His expression had changed, his jaw clenching, the lines around his nose revealing he was breathing hard, and not in a passionate way.
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She arched a brow, but didn’t contradict him. Of course it was something; one moment he had been clearly reveling in her bliss, and the next he had shut down.
Her husband was closed away from his emotions, so closed he likely didn’t know he had them. The first time she met him she’d been drawn to what she perceived as his sensual nature, but then had realized he didn’t know he had one.
But, she thought as she smiled to herself in postorgasmic happiness, he clearly did.
So she’d have to show him how to release his feelings. And she was fairly certain she knew how.
She began to kiss his neck again, as she had before, sliding her tongue over his skin and biting gently. Sucking his skin into her mouth as she explored his neck, his collarbones, the length of his shoulders. She put her hand at his waist, spreading her fingers wide as she moved lower down, now flicking her tongue over his hard nipple as he shifted beside her.
She bit him there, too, and he groaned, his breathing getting deeper. Good. His chest was a work of art—broad with muscle and a light sprinkling of hair that trailed down into the thatch of curls surrounding his penis.
She kept her fingers flat against his belly, feeling the indents of his musculature there also. Places she didn’t even realize had muscle.
And then she moved slowly down, as he had before, her hand coming to grip the top of his shaft.
“Lavinia,” he said in a hoarse tone.
She tightened her grip. “Do you want me to stop?”
He shook his head vigorously. “Fuck, no.”
She stifled a giggle at hearing her buttoned-up husband use language he would likely be appalled at using in other circumstances. She slid her hand down his penis, then up again, curling around the top, and then back down.
He thrust himself into her hand and she kept hold of him as she lowered her head, kissing his belly, then the junction of his torso and his leg, and then moved to where her hand held him.
His body was still, taut with something.
“Do you want me to take you in my mouth?” she asked, her tongue darting out to lick the top of him. She’d read the act described, multiple times, and it seemed as though it would have quite an effect on him.
“Yes,” he groaned, and that was all she needed to hear.
She opened her mouth wide, as wide as she could, and drew him in, licking the top of his penis as though it was a delicious treat.
Which it was. He tasted salty and musky, and she was surrounded by his scent, his warmth, and how his body was tense, his gorgeous thigh muscles flexing as he shifted.
She put her hand on him, covering the place below her mouth and slid it down, following with her mouth, then up again.
“God, just like that,” he said. His voice was ragged and pleading, and she felt triumphant she had brought him to this state.
She kept moving up and down his shaft, licking and sucking as she went, breathing in his musky scent, her hair falling forward onto his lower belly.
And then she felt his hands at her hair, pushing it back over her shoulder. “I need to see you,” he said. “See you taking me in your mouth, God, Lavinia, it feels incredible.”
She could say the same thing—feeling this power, to have him so close to mindlessness, him who was so controlled, so controlling, not in charge now.
It felt intoxicating.
She kept up the rhythm, following his unspoken cues for how fast, how hard, how long to go.
And then she felt him tense even more, and then he shifted, withdrawing suddenly from her mouth, moving her so she was facedown on the bed. His strong hand cradling her belly, pulling her up onto her knees as he got behind her.
He slid his hand lower to where she was wet, dipping his fingers in as he groaned. “Is this for me?” he asked, rubbing that spot where she ached.
“Yes,” she said, pushing back so her arse was against those thighs. His penis was hard against her, and she wriggled, wanting all the contact he could give.
And then he took his hand away and she felt his penis nudging at her entrance, his hand on her hip holding her steady for him.
It felt amazingly savage, as though she was his for the taking. And she wanted to be taken, wanted to be filled up with that throbbing penis she’d just had in her mouth.
He pushed in slowly as she shifted back to take more of him inside. This position was different from the other they’d done, with her on her back and him on top of her. Where he was inside her hit her differently, made her want to take all of him, as much as she could, and more.
“Yes,” she murmured as he began to thrust. His movements were slow at first, his breathing labored. She had brought him to this point. She had made him turn into this sexual beast, brought out what she’d seen the first time she’d met him.
It felt glorious.
And then his movements increased, and his thrusts became more intense, and she pushed back to meet him, feeling completely filled and delicious and nearly as mindless as he must have been.
His fingers came back to her clitoris and began to rub, and then she felt it start, her climax, and she moaned as he stroked and petted her, giving her just enough pressure there. Coming so soon again felt amazing, and she had a moment of smugness knowing he likely could not do the same thing.
“Don’t stop,” she said through gritted teeth.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied, lowering his head to bite her shoulder.
His other hand was still on her hip, gripping her tightly as he began to move faster. “Are you close, Lavinia?” he asked, murmuring his words into her back.
“Yes,” she replied, biting her lip as his fingers increased the pressure on her. “Just like that,” she said. “So close,” she added, feeling the orgasm building until it was inevitable—that blissful moment just before when she knew she was going to come, when there was nothing that would stop it, and the pleasure flooded her senses, made her moan louder until she was gasping.
And then it felt as though she exploded, her orgasm blasting through her whole body.
He kept his fingers there but then began to move much faster, much stronger, until it felt as though he was pistoning into her. And that felt marvelous too, especially in the aftermath of her orgasm, since she knew he was on his way as well.
And then he pushed all the way inside her and froze there as he groaned, and she felt the warmth of his ejaculate in her body.
And then he curled his arm around her body and dropped to the bed, turning her so they were back against front on the bed. Both of them breathing hard, his penis still inside her, his strong forearm against her chest.
“That was amazing,” he said at last.
“It was,” she replied, putting her hand on top of his arm. “And now I am so sleepy,” she said through a yawn.
“I’ll go then,” he said, moving as he spoke.
She felt the absence of his warmth right away, and felt a pang of something as he shifted off the bed, picking up his dressing gown.
She watched as he put it on. “You could sleep here,” she said in a tentative tone of voice. “I wouldn’t mind.”
More than that, she would like it. But she didn’t want to tell him that for fear he was thinking she was growing attached to him. That she wouldn’t want to live up to her side of the bargain when it was time.
It was a good thing she wasn’t growing fond of him at all, she thought ruefully. Fond of his small kindnesses, how he always strove to do the right thing, how he was awkward in social situations, how he was trying to listen to her even though his first impulse was just to tell her to do something.
Good thing.
“No, I don’t wish to disturb you.” He sounded stiff, not at all like the man who’d just been groaning in her bed.
She watched him walk toward the door, heard it close softly behind him as he left, and then curled up into a ball, suddenly very sad despite what had just happened between them.
Because of what had happened between them.
Damn it. She was starting to fall in love with him.
THADDEUS WAS JUST beginning to anticipate what was to happen between them when she addressed one of the footmen.
“Smith, could you fetch my and the duke’s cloaks? We are going out. Oh, and ask Fletchfield to order the carriage.”
Thaddeus stared at her in surprise. “Did I forget an engagement?”
Lavinia’s expression was mischievous, and he felt something unfamiliar spark in his chest. A feeling that he wasn’t completely in control of the situation, and also the feeling that he was . . . fine with that.
Not something he had ever felt before.
“When we first met, you mentioned wanting to hear music.” She shrugged. “I knew you wouldn’t allow yourself a night off from work, so I spoke with Melmsford and he assured me you would not be neglecting anything if you took one night for yourself.”
“So we are going out?” he asked.
They were alone in the dining room, all the footmen having rushed out presumably to gather their things and request the coach.
“We are.” She spoke as though there was no possibility of his denying her.
And, honestly, there wasn’t.
“ISN’T THIS WONDERFUL?” she asked, holding on to his arm as they entered the venue.
They were in the lobby leading to what Thaddeus could see was a grand open room, wooden chairs such as might be around a person’s kitchen table lining the walls. There was enough light to see the dance floor and that there were people gathered inside, but not much else.
“Wonderful,” he repeated.
“Don’t be such a grump,” she said, squeezing his arm.
They walked through the door into the hall, and now Thaddeus could see the musicians clustered together at the far corner of the room. All of them appeared as though they’d spent the day working, then gathered their instruments and come here. They were disparate in clothing, age, and gender; all they had in common, it seemed, was that they could play something.
Though that remained to be seen.
The music struck up, and she turned to him, a wide smile on her face. “Would you care to dance, Your Grace?”
Before he could answer, she had swept him up and onto the floor, laughing at his presumably dismayed expression.
But only a minute into the music, something changed. He found himself looking into her blue eyes, feeling the way they moved together in sync, nearly as perfectly as those other times when they were physical.
The music was good as well; she hadn’t misrepresented that either.
And it felt wonderful, for once, to just do something without it being in pursuit of a goal—even their sexual relations were in pursuit of an heir, no matter how pleasurable he found the process.
But this? This was just for its own sake. Something he could lose himself in.
“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” Her tone was confident, but not smug; it was as though she had been worried he would not have fun, and found joy in his reaction.
She was so kind, he thought. Even though they were not supposed to have anything more than a transactional relationship, she’d remembered what he’d said when they’d met, and she’d done something to respond to that—something that didn’t require that he do any work. Just that he go along with it.
As she did often in bed, as well. Something he also appreciated.
They danced for over half an hour, Thaddeus growing increasingly warm until he finally had to pause.
“Can we get a beverage and rest a bit?” he asked.
She looked up at him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were as sparkling as he’d ever seen them. “Can’t keep up, Your Grace?”
He hooked her arm through his and led her toward where he’d seen a woman selling something liquid. “You know I can, Lavinia,” he said in a low voice.
He felt her shiver. And he knew she was not cold.
SHE’D WORRIED AT first that he’d be so nonplussed at being forced out of his usual routine, made to do something fun, for God’s sake, that he wouldn’t enjoy himself at all. Or worse yet, refuse to go entirely.
But she had spoken to his secretary, Melmsford, who’d encouraged her plans, saying he too thought the duke needed a bit of a respite from all his work. And then Melmsford had ensured that all the possibly pressing things the duke might claim needed his attention were taken care of prior to that evening.
The duke had seemed skeptical at first—the music hall certainly wasn’t grand in appearance—and he had made it clear he did not waste time on frivolous things like books and art.
But then the music had begun, and she had bolstered her courage and dragged him out onto the dance floor. Where he had begun to loosen up, and she knew he was having fun and enjoying himself, even though he might not admit it.
He’d relaxed enough to exchange a few sexually-tinged remarks to her, remarks that made her feel as though they were in a real marriage with desire and companionship and, yes, love.
He purchased two cups of wine for them and they sat down on two of the wooden chairs at the edge of the room, as far away from the musicians as possible.
“It is lovely, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a sip of the wine. And then grimacing.
“I don’t think you mean the wine,” he said, taking his own sip, then shaking his head. “Not up to my usual ducal standard,” he said, making himself sound like the worst kind of snob.
“But better than we ever had out on the battlefield,” he added in his own voice, taking another big drink.
“And the music is quite good, I think. Percy and I went to a few music halls before finding this one. This has the best music, even if it is the least well-appointed.”
He glanced at her, his eyebrows raised. “A few music halls? With your brother?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s not as though this is the first time you’ve realized I’ve got a scandalously wicked streak, Precious.”
He gave an unexpected laugh, and she felt an answering warmth low in her belly. One that was different from the desire she felt when they were in bed. This was much more dangerous because it was so insidious—there almost without her realizing it, but if it left, she would mourn its absence.
“My parents never took me out to anything like this,” he continued, gesturing to the room. “Of course they wouldn’t have, this isn’t something for their Society, but I mean they never even took me to events where it would be entirely proper for me to go listen to music.”
He’d mentioned his parents before, and she’d gotten the distinct impression they hadn’t been very loving toward him. Was that what was causing his loneliness? His inability to find the words to connect to people other than his two best friends and his cousin?
“What did they do with you?”
He shrugged as he finished his wine, then took her glass. “Not much. I had a tutor until I was sent to school, and it was understood I was to go into the military because my father had, prior to his inheriting. Unusual for a family like ours”—because most only sons would have been trained up to be the heir and eventual titleholder, not risked at battle—“but that was the way of my father’s branch of the family.”
He exhaled, and to her it seemed as though he was releasing something he’d kept hold of forever. As though he was trusting her with something. “Until I met you, I didn’t realize family could be something other than duty and responsibility and coldness.”
“What about those duke friends of yours?”
“I feel responsible for them as well, even though there are other emotions at play, of course. But I wouldn’t have begun to care for them without my first having assumed that their problems were mine, and I had to solve them.”
“Like you solved your needing an heir,” she said in a soft voice.
“And now I realize family can be more than that.” He reached over and took her hand in his. “Thank you, Lavinia. This has changed me in ways I didn’t expect.”
Her breathing faltered, and she had to resist the urge to fling her arms around his neck and kiss him. Tell him all about how her family, her true family of Jane and Percy, supported her in her own personal passion, her writing. How their time together was inspiring her to do her best work. But he didn’t want that—he didn’t want any reminder that they might be more tied together than he allowed. He didn’t want love. He might be unexpectedly grateful for what she had showed him, and what they did together, but he didn’t want her.
So she stayed silent, watching the dancers on the dance floor, feeling as though it must be her imagination that the music had turned slightly mournful.