Chapter Seventeen

Thane’s eyes tracked the delicate swallow of Astrid’s throat and every muscle in his body locked to the point of torture. Christ, she made even the act of drinking seem like a seduction, innocent though it was. There was nothing innocent, however, about the way her tongue darted out to lick a bead of brandy from her upper lip. His groin tightened to excruciating hardness when her translucent eyes, gleaming in the dim moonlight, met his and those wet lips parted in shock.

He wanted to kiss her senseless.

And to think he almost hadn’t come.

Earlier that evening, the thought of Astrid at the Featheringstoke ball had nearly been more than he could handle. She’d looked so beautiful. A goddess just out of his reach.

“If I may, Your Grace?” Fletcher had murmured as Thane had watched her getting dressed and limned in candlelight in her bedroom window from the darkness of the terrace.

“You’ve never skimped on words, Fletcher, so why stop now?”

“You are a fool, sir.”

He’d huffed a laugh. That he was. There was no greater fool than he. “I never should have married her.”

“The marriage is done. You need to move forward.”

Thane had swallowed, the imprint of his wife’s luscious figure branded onto his brain. “You’re right, Fletcher. I do. I need to put her out of my mind.”

She deserved more than him.

She deserved a man who was normal.

She deserved a partner and husband she could be proud of.

His body had ached, but it’d been a different kind of ache from the ones that usually plagued him. This one had radiated from inside—an emptiness that had felt like a bucket of rocks pressing into his chest. Thane had hoped that some time at the gaming tables in The Silver Scythe would help as a distraction, and then he would stop obsessing about his delectable wife dressed in nothing but a few strips of gossamer.

And so there he’d gone at first.

But the familiar scents of incense and smoke had done nothing to soothe his agitated spirits. A drink, he’d decided, was in order. A few drinks. He’d passed the next two hours at the gaming tables, wagering a small fortune and consuming enough liquor to fell an elephant, all in the interest of distracting himself.

It hadn’t worked. None of it had worked.

“Settle my accounts,” he told the owner.

“Leaving us so soon?” the man asked.

“I forgot I have a prior engagement,” he said and pointed to a particularly daunting mask hanging on a hook. “Might I borrow that?”

“Of course.”

Climbing into his waiting coach, he’d given the coachman the address for the Featheringstoke ball. For the first time in hours, the pressure in his chest had eased, and when he’d stood on the threshold to the ballroom and seen his wife, the space there was filled with something other than rocks.

He’d felt it the moment she saw him—that raw pulse of connection across the room. And he’d held her stare hungrily. A faint blush bloomed across her cheekbones, but his fairy queen didn’t drop her eyes at his bold appraisal. In fact, her eyebrow tented in aristocratic disdain before she dismissed him completely with a regal sweep of her chin.

Astrid had not recognized him.

She still hadn’t, even standing a mere foot away, not behind the formidable mask he’d borrowed. Her eyes narrowed in scrutiny, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in concentration. Lust tore through him, and the desire to kiss her increased tenfold. As if she could sense his wicked intentions, she took a step in reverse, her gaze fairly sparking with warning.

God above, she was splendid.

And she was his.

…

Hades was enormous, Astrid thought. And he smelled of woodsmoke and whiskey. She could feel his eyes upon her from behind his mask like hot coals.

“While I thank you for your assistance, we have not been introduced, sir,” she said primly, resisting the urge to flee. She peered at him, curiosity winning out over propriety. “Who are you?”

His answer was to lean toward her, and she shifted out of the way, her heart in her throat. She’d fought off many overzealous men in her life. He wouldn’t be the first, though he was certainly the largest, and she did not want to be trapped against the stone railing.

Astrid whirled to leave. “You are too forward, sir. I am a married woman.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

The familiar smoky rasp curled around her, and she pivoted on her heel, disbelief making her clumsy as her brain took in his familiar height and the distinct shape of his shoulders. She’d been so fixated on the chilling mask that she hadn’t spared a thought to the man underneath. “Thane?”

“At your service.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My wife demanded my presence.” Astrid felt his smile, though she could not see it. “You are exquisite tonight, my dear.”

Pleasure at his words flooded her, but she was still in shock. “Isobel is here. And Beaumont. And my aunt and uncle.”

“I saw. She’s the belle of the ball, except for Queen Titania, of course.” He canted his head. “No dancing for the queen of the fairies?”

She smiled. “Not without risking the wrath of Oberon.” Her gaze swept him from head to toe. “Though my fairy king appears to have transformed into Hades.”

“Perhaps he has devilish intentions.”

God help her, every supporting bone in her body dissolved at the husky notes of his voice. “Are you going to lead me astray, Your Grace?”

“Only if that is your wish.”

She could merely nod her assent as his gaze burned into hers from the depths of his mask. “Take that thing off,” she said. “I want to see your eyes.”

“Not here,” he said. “Shall we take a turn in the garden, Your Majesty?”

Astrid glanced back at the ballroom, but it was such a crush that her sister wasn’t visible. “What about Isobel?”

“She only just arrived. She will have to make the rounds before she can find you without drawing notice to herself.” He reached out a hand. “Come.”

In a daze, Astrid slipped her hand in his and followed him off the terrace. Other couples had the same idea, as she guessed from the sounds of muted laughter filling the air. Her body felt on edge, simmering with sensation. A quick look over her shoulder showed that they were already some distance from the house, and the sound of voices had faded to silence. Her husband led her into an arbor where a narrow stone bench built inside a miniature marble folly surrounded a fountain that featured a handful of frolicking fairies.

Thane chuckled, the sound doing odd things to her confused senses. “Appropriate, no?”

She released his hand and went to examine the fountain. It was skillfully carved, the expressions of the fairies mischievous and bright, as if they’d only just been ensnared in stone. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.” But he was looking at her when he said it.

Astrid turned toward him, her stomach a coil of nerves, and blurted out the question on the tip of her tongue. “Why did you come, Thane? What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

His reply was uncertain and it was honest. Much like how she felt. She didn’t know who she was when she was around him. He confused her, muddled her senses. Made her feel like flying and weeping in the same breath. Being with Thane was like being caught at the center of a hurricane while in a tiny skiff. She lost her bearings with one look. And those feelings didn’t make her feel weak. How did surrendering to someone make one feel powerful?

Thane hadn’t moved from where he stood, watching her through the eye slits in his mask. Astrid moved toward him, standing until they were chest to chest, and reached her arms up to loosen the ties that held it in place. He inhaled audibly as the plaster mold came away in her hand, revealing his face. Those angular cheekbones, his finely molded lips, and that smoldering golden gaze that burned away every ounce of her resistance.

“There you are,” she whispered.

“I’m not certain that what’s underneath isn’t more monstrous than the mask.”

“Don’t do that,” she said, her fingers dropping the mask and returning to cup his jaw. “You’re…you.”

Maybe it was the moon or the stars twinkling above or the fairies cavorting in whimsical abandon behind her, but Astrid felt bold. The duke made no move to hold her, and she remembered what he’d said. She blushed, also recalling what she had said…that she wouldn’t ask him to kiss her if he was the last man in England.

He was the only man she wanted to kiss her.

She didn’t care about terms. She didn’t care about tomorrow. The only thing that mattered was this moment. And the two of them in this moment.

Astrid traced her fingers over his firm lips and licked hers. The gold in his eyes darkened to the color of whiskey. “Thane?”

“Yes, my queen?”

“Kiss me.”

…

Thane didn’t know what he would have done if she hadn’t asked. Dropped to his knees and begged, perhaps. “Are you certain?”

Because once we do this, there’s no going back.

His wife nodded, her slender throat working. “Yes.”

Thane stared down at the silver dust coating her eyelashes, making her eyes look like pools of starlight. She was ethereal and lovely, and she was his. He removed his gloves and tucked them into his pocket—when he touched her, he only wanted bare skin between them. And then he gathered her close, softly, softly. Allowing her time to pull away if she chose to. But she didn’t. Thane lifted a knuckle and traced the skin of her cheekbone.

“So smooth,” he murmured. “I’ve never felt skin like yours.”

She leaned into his caress as his hand drifted down her cheek to the straight slope of her jaw and her stubborn chin. He traced the lush bottom curve of her lip and the arched bow of the top. Her lips parted on a hushed sigh, but he continued his exploration up her slim nose to her smooth brow. Silvery light glistened on her hair, the thick mass of curls cascading over porcelain shoulders. He drank her in, her beauty transcendent in the moonlight. She was something else—truly a fairy queen come to steal the hearts of mere mortals.

“You dazzle me,” he said.

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Yes. I should stay away from you.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

“Because you deserve more.”

Cradling her jaw in two hands, he ended the conversation when he leaned down and drew his mouth over hers, back and forth, savoring the shape and texture of her. She tasted of brandy and magic, of beauty and secrets, and he wanted to know them all. Unable to help himself, Thane’s tongue flicked along the crease, coaxing her lips to part, and then he licked deep.

With a soft cry, Astrid wrapped her arms around his neck, plastering her entire body to his. And the kiss ignited. Her mouth was hot and wet and open on his, her tongue circling, teasing, and retreating. Thane groaned and sank his fingers into her hair. She was passion embodied, meeting him thrust for thrust and lick for lick. Astrid threw herself wholly into the kiss, holding back nothing. And neither did he.

It was the single most erotic kiss of his life.

As evidenced by the ax handle in his trousers. He canted his hips backward, not wanting to scare her, but she would have none of it, her hips following his until she was arched like a bow in his arms, her body glued to his. He tore his mouth from hers to kiss the long length of her throat, nuzzling into the hollow of her collarbone. She smelled like fresh grass with a hint of rosewater. Essence of a summer thunderstorm in a wildflower garden.

“Christ, you are delicious,” he murmured, his tongue darting out to sample her hot skin.

With another breathy sigh, her knees buckled slightly, her fingers clutching at his coat. Thane lifted her easily, sweeping one hand beneath her knees, without breaking the kiss and walked them to the stone bench of the folly. He settled her in his lap. Her plump lips were deliciously swollen, her ice-blue irises nearly swallowed up by the black of her pupils.

“Shall we stop?” he asked huskily, a finger tracing the edge of her bodice.

“God, no.”

Thane laughed at her enthusiastic denial. “Good, because I’ve wanted to do this for days. That first time has been imprinted on my brain.”

He pulled her bodice low, exposing her breasts to the moonlight and his ravenous gaze. He full-body shuddered, rocked by a bolt of lust so sharp that it dazed him. That teasing glimpse in the bath hadn’t done her justice. The pale, creamy globes spilled into his hand, their peach-tipped dusky peaks tightening into mouth-watering knots. She sucked in a ragged breath as his thumb brushed over her nipple, her back arching into his supporting arm. God, she was magnificent. His pulse thrummed with want.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Like a cat finding a bowl of cream, Thane lowered his head.

“Wait, what are you doing?” she mumbled, eyes wide and dilated with desire.

“Kissing you,” he said. “I’m only fulfilling my wife’s demands.”

A smile drifted over her lips, and her eyelashes lowered. “Then, by all means, proceed.”

And he did, touching his tongue to the sweet peak of her breast, lavishing his attention and adoring the husky moans falling from her lips. He licked into her cleavage and moved to the other breast, feasting on her like a man starved. It astounded him how passionate she was in her response, as if she wanted him with the same fervor as he wanted her. She writhed her bottom into his straining erection, making him gasp.

“Thane,” she begged. “I want…I need…”

“I know, sweetheart. I feel it, too.”

That consuming, inexorable need that wouldn’t relent until it was satisfied. He took her lips in an untamed kiss, his tongue tangling with hers in blatant simulation of the act they were both beginning to crave. She gave as much as he, licking, sucking, nipping, until they clung to each other, panting. Thane reached beneath her flimsy skirts, sliding up a warm stockinged ankle and then a rounded calf. He skimmed the indent at the back of her knee, climbed past her garter to one silken thigh, the softness pared down from years of riding astride.

He blinked, his knuckles brushing soft maidenhair and bare skin. “You’re not wearing any drawers.”

“Undergarments wouldn’t work with the design of the gown,” his vixen of a wife responded, blushing furiously before tucking her head into his neck. “You don’t like it.”

With a growl, he ground his hips upward. “Does it feel like I don’t like it?”

He cupped her sex boldly, one finger sliding between her slick folds. God, she was already damp. She was wet for him. Everything male in him crowed like a rooster in a henhouse, satisfaction curling through his lust-hazed mind. He stroked again, and her thighs clamped around his hand, holding him there and rocking gently. The erotic feel of it and the thought of her gripping his cock with those lean muscles made him wild.

As if reading his thoughts, Astrid levered herself into a sitting position and shifted her skirts to the side as she twisted, flinging one knee over his legs, to straddle him. His erection strained against the placket of his breeches, pressed against her hot, bare center as he was. She fumbled at the fall of his pants. He stalled her hand with his.

“Astrid. Not here. Not like this.”

He wouldn’t take her in a garden, like some shameful, furtive coupling.

She faltered, her lovely eyes meeting his. “Why?”

“Because you’re my wife, not some tart.”

She grinned at him, though her expression was marred by a touch of shame. “And what if I wish to play the tart, Your Grace? I’ve been accused of that and more, you know.”

Thane blinked, but his surprise gave way to resolve. He wanted to wipe that spark of shame away. Whatever had happened in her past did not define her, did not mar how beautiful she was inside and out. She was a warrior. His goddess.

“If you’re a tart,” he whispered, “then what does that make me?”

Her lip curled at the corner. “It’s different for a man. You’re expected to sow your wild oats, while women are expected to stay at home and cook them.”

Thane nibbled at her neck. “That does seem unfair, doesn’t it?”

“Why do men have to hold all the power? Is it so hard to want equal footing? To be judged on the same merits and by the same standards?”

He traced her lower lip with his tongue, delving in sweetly, just once. “Tell you what—I won’t judge you if you don’t judge me. We’ll go into this…er…” His mind blanked. Tupping? Lovemaking?

“Sexual congress,” she supplied helpfully.

Thank God for smart women with fertile vocabularies.

“Yes, that,” he agreed. “As equal partners. And if you require more, I will happily hand over all my power to you, Queen Titania, as the matriarch, if you will.”

“As provocative an offer as that is, I prefer equals.”

Her smile was radiant, and Thane wanted her so badly, it was agony. Worse than any pain he’d ever endured. He meant it, though—in this moment, he existed only for her. He thrust his hips hard, making her eyes widen as an indecent shock of pleasure shot through them both. Astrid bolted into action, nimble fingers releasing him from his breeches and shoving her skirts out of the way to position her body. Her eyes met his, and she worked her tight passage down to the hilt.

Fucking hell.

Thane nearly spent himself then and there.

Hubris and the patriarchy were grossly overrated.