Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

C hauncy didn't question Lady Boothe's arrival in his bed. What had she invited him to call her?

Anna. That's right.

It wasn't unusual for beautiful women to throw themselves at him.

And this one was particularly intriguing.

Her honesty was refreshing. And she was undeniably lovely. The line of her nose was charming, as was the curl of her chestnut hair and the sweep of her neck to that luscious bosom he was now enjoying. Pert but still soft and full, it was just the kind of bosom—like the rest of her—that drove him wild.

She'd obviously been obedient enough—for long enough—to have been granted a reprieve.

And she'd taken a great risk to be here. He would never forget that his beloved cousin Gwyneth, with whom he'd grown up and whose capacity for devilish plans had awed him as a child, had met her premature death by climbing out of a window.

But Gwyneth had been trying to escape the man her father had insisted she wed.

Anna had been escaping her husband to come to the man who fired her senses.

Yes, Anna had been hiding beneath his bed, waiting to seduce him.

But should Chauncy take advantage of her desire? Of her impulsiveness in throwing herself at him?

Edward Boothe was not the kind to run him through with a rapier, but he was painting his likeness. Chauncy relied upon him more than he would ever know. It would be disastrous—and idiocy—for Chauncy to lose the man's expertise merely because Chauncy had been unable to resist the tasty morsel in his arms right now.

Boothe's wife.

"Tell me why I shouldn't send you right back to your own bedchamber? The bedchamber you share with your husband?" He stiffened with resolve and shifted as he tried to temper his lascivious desires with a more temperate approach. "I think I should."

She shrugged as she ran her hands up and down his flanks, skimming his buttocks with her soft, elegant hands.

He swallowed again.

Cupping his manhood, making him groan once more, she whispered, "My husband hasn't shared my bed in years. Right now, he is sleeping in the dressing room. Edward has no interest in the wife he took six years ago. And I am lonely. That is why I am here." She arched against him, exhaling on a soft, ecstatic sigh as his fingers tickled the top of her thighs before plunging, gently, deeply inside her.

For as her hands had gently squeezed his shaft once more, any good intentions he'd had finally dissolved.

"Oh, yes!" she whispered, opening up to him. "That is exactly why I am here. Because it has been years since my husband made any attempt to make me feel a woman." She shivered as his fingers began to stroke the nub of her desire, then whispered, "I do like that. Please don't stop."

Chauncy didn't need to be invited twice.

"If you promise not to stop what you are doing," he managed. "Then I think, madam, we have a bargain."

He moved to cage her body, staring down at her lovely face, all light and shadows in the flickering candlelight. She looked like an elfin creature with her hair framing her pale skin, her eyes luminous as they gazed up at him. The desire in their depths hit a chord, and he responded with a surge of longing.

He wanted a woman whose actions came unfiltered from the heart. This woman's reputation was tainted because she didn't conform to society's requirement that she conduct herself with ladylike restraint.

But if that lack of restraint was the reason she was in Chauncy's bed, then that was exactly why he wanted her.

And it was why he wanted to extend her pleasure rather than taking his own pleasure right now.

Shifting down the bed, he took her right nipple in his mouth, grinning up at her as she squeaked with surprise, though she clearly enjoyed the sensation.

"Your Grace?—!"

"I can stop any time you wish."

"Oh, please don't."

Chauncy chuckled, as he trailed kisses down her smooth, soft belly, delighted by the response, as if he were the first to introduce her to such sensations.

He was glad that the breeze from the window had failed to extinguish the flickering candlelight.

He wanted to see every part of this lovely woman.

Of course, it was one thing to enjoy a night of stolen passion. That had been deeply satisfying, and Selina regretted nothing.

She had been careful, mitigating the risks of a child just as she had done during her years as Samuel's wife. Having realised she'd made an error of judgement in her choice of husband, and not wanting his children when he'd slid so quickly into vice and profligacy, Selina had consulted a wise woman on the subject.

She knew what herbs and other precautions to take.

And now, not only was Selina's body thrumming from satisfaction thanks to Lord Chauncy's expert lovemaking, that gorgeous gentleman had slipped into a deep sleep, affording her the opportunity to do exactly what she'd come here to do.

Draw his handsome visage.

Beneath the bed was paper and a pencil, while through the curtains streamed just enough moonlight which, in addition to the flickering candlelight, allowed Selina to do her work.

It took only a few moments. During their energetic lovemaking, Selina had traced the contours of his face, giving her an advantage she'd not realized would be so beneficial when it came to communicating his features to the page.

As Selina looked from her handiwork to the handsome, sleeping duke, her nipples and her fingers tingling, she'd never felt more satisfied.