Chapter 12

It had beenthe way Thorne’s eyes had gleamed when he’d watched Kit unbutton her waistcoat; that had been what had caused her heart to speed up. Admittedly, she’d been teasing him slightly, her weight in his lap, the way she slowly pulled her necktie away from her throat…

But by the time her lips claimed his, she was ready for him.

You have me.

Do I?

Always.

If someone had asked her, ten minutes ago, why she was doing her best to ensure Thorne was feeling good, she would have said it was because she was the man’s personal companion. That was the role of a valet. It was her job to make him feel better, if he was hurting in any way.

But that would only be true if this hypothetical person hadn’t been standing in the study with her; hadn’t heard the way Thorne’s voice had cracked slightly when he’d told her of the horrors he’d committed in the name of his country, only to learn he’d been working for a traitor.

Because at that moment, when Kit had fully understood what he was confessing to her and her entire body had frozen, mind frantically whirling…at that moment, Kit knew this wasn’t between a duke and his valet. This was Thorne, telling Kit, and it mattered.

By God, it mattered.

So she’d taken him in her arms and forced him to look in her eyes when she told him the truth. He didn’t have to do this alone. He had friends, and he had her.

She’d move heaven and earth to keep him safe, she was now realizing.

You have me.

Do I?

Always.

So yes, the kiss was rather emotional, all things considered.

And then her hands were fumbling for his necktie, which was silly, considering she helped dress and undress this man every day. Thorne was on his feet now, and with one step, pressed her back against the desk.

Yes.

She could feel the hardness of his erection grinding against her pelvis. She stretched on her toes so that pressure was firmly where she wanted it, atop her clitoris, and didn’t bother hiding her groan.

He caught it and echoed it, then his hands were on her hips and he was lifting.

Her arse landed on the desk and her legs opened enough for him to step between them.

Thorne’s lips found her jaw, and she tipped her head back so he could nibble his way to her throat. “Kit…” His teeth closed around her earlobe, and she gasped before he released her. “Have I told ye how much I adore yer hair down?”

Her heels hooked around the back of his knees, pulling him closer. “I think I can feel how much.”

Thorne flexed his hips forward. “Och, this? Nay, this is because I have the most delectable morsal spread in front of me, like a banquet.”

“I’ll wager,” she gasped, her own lips finding his throat as she tugged off his stupid necktie, “you—you say that to—oh God, Thorne.”

Somehow his hands had found their way inside her shirt, and now he rolled her nipples. When she moaned and scrambled to bring him closer, he chuckled slightly.

“Love, I have a confession.”

“Yes?” she gasped, lost in the sensations of his fingers.

“I want, I need to be inside ye, and I cannae wait to get ye upstairs.”

She froze, considering the implications. The door was closed, the butler always knocked. It really didn’t take her too long to come to a decision, as she was fairly certain her smalls were soaked already.

When her hands dropped to the buttons of her trousers, Thorne joined her.

He was the one to snap her braces off so she wouldn’t need to shrug out of the waistcoat completely, then lift her bodily from the desk so she could slide her trousers and smalls down.

As he placed her back down, her bare arse hit one of the careful stacks of paper she’d arranged earlier, and a curse hissed from her lips.

Now Thorne was dropping to his knees and Kit kicked at her shoes, trying to help him. He pulled first one off, then the other, but didn’t bother with her stockings.

Oh.

Oh, no he didn’t.

Thorne kissed the inside of her knee. Instinctively, she jerked away from his gentle touch, but by the time she did, his lips had already moved higher, and Kit sucked in a breath when she realized his intent.

The Invasion of Brussels, page seventy-nine in The Harlot’s Guide to the Forbidden and Delightful Arts.

She’d stared at that particular page for a while, before sneaking it back into the library shelf where Thorne had hidden it. In the last few days of pleasure with him, Thorne hadn’t suggested—

Oh.

When his mouth found her wet cleft, she stopped thinking, stopped worrying. Thoughts and worries were impossible.

As his tongue slid along her core, Thorne made the most depraved noise, sounding like a starving man feasting. What had he called her? A delectable morsel?

Dio Benedetto, yes!

She was unused to the sensations, and realized she was trying to squeeze her thighs together, trapping him. Hell, that would be embarrassing, would it not? Imagine the headlines!

Duke of Stroken died today when his valet-slash-mistress asphyxiated him with her cunny. He died doing what he loved. Coming and going, as it were.

Oh Lord, she was getting light-headed. Breathe!

One of Thorne’s fingers joined his tongue, then a second. Her hands dropped to his head, fingers curling through his too-long hair to hold him in place. Yes. Yes!

It was strange and new and so-oh-so-perfect she couldn’t believe it. Had it been anyone else kneeling between her legs as her feet dangled over carpet worth more than she’d make in a decade, Kit would have squeezed his head with her thighs, in an effort to pop it.

But Thorne…

She trusted Thorne, and he clearly knew what he was doing. The sensations caused her to squirm against the leather of the desktop, and it was a testament to how distracted she was that Kit was able to ignore the fact she was likely ruining said leather.

One of his fingers slid inside her and Kit whimpered, rocking her pelvis forward as if to present him with better access. She could swear the little noise he made was a laugh, but he obliged her by joining the first finger with a second.

His digits weren’t as good as his cock, but his mouth made up for it, licking and stroking the parts of her which had only been touched by fingers before.

No man had ever paid this much attention to her. Oh, she’d found pleasure in the sexual act before—why else would she do it? But those men had been mere shadows compared to Thorne. They’d used her the same way she’d used them.

But Thorne…Thorne cared about her pleasure. He worshiped her body as if she were important, special.

He’d called her love.

Kit’s fingers tightened their hold as her pleasure built. Part of her wanted to release him, to reach between her legs herself and press her fingers to the nub where she needed the pressure, but the rest was delighting in this sweet, sweet torture.

His fingers began to move, hooking forward once inside her to hit a secret spot that made her gasp. “Oh God, Thorne, yes,” she hissed. “You’re so good at this. Oh my God, you’re perfect.”

He was. He was perfect.

And then his mouth closed around her pearl, his teeth scraping it even as his tongue pressed roughly. It was exactly what she needed and Kit sucked in a breath, ready to explode.

Thorne surprised her. He pulled his fingers from her and thrust himself to his feet. Before she could understand what was happening—had he denied her an orgasm?—he stepped closer, moving between her thighs…and slid his cock into her slick opening.

It was all she needed.

Kit groaned as she came and Thorne caught the sound in a kiss, taking her pleasure and returning it tenfold. His thrusts were deliberate, torturous, dragging out her pleasure in the most delicious way.

As she slowly—so slowly—came down to earth, Thorne’s breathing increased. Kit wrapped her arms around his middle, pressed her ear against his chest, and whispered, “Come for me, Thorne. Now.”

He thrust once, twice, three more times. Then, with a growl, he pulled away, reached between their bodies, and grabbed his cock. Breathless, flushed, Kit peered downward in fascination as the throbbing head of his hard member spat a string of thick white seed over her curls.

Another stroke, and his cock shot another strand, until Kit realized she was leaning back to watch in fascination. It was remarkably erotic, the way his spend mixed with her curls. She wanted to reach down, to comb it through her hair and across her body and between her lips.

The sensation of him rubbing his cock along her swollen core spiked her pleasure again, and she realized she was rocking in time, trying to capture that remarkable bliss.

But when she met his gaze, Thorne’s eyes were full of…wonder? Something beautiful. Something which told her this was about more than pleasure.

With a wordless little murmur, she wrapped her arms around his middle again and pulled him closer. Of course, this essentially just scooted her arse even closer to the edge of the desk, but she could lean her weight against him and he’d hold her up.

He always did.

To her surprise, Thorne pulled his hand from between them and threw his arms around her. This meant his now-softening cock nestled against her sticky curls, a sensation which made her smile against his chest.

He was still fully clothed, wasn’t he? All his buttons still done up primly, except for those on his fly. It made Kit wonder how many other assignations he’d had like this. How used was he to taking his lovers on desks and tables? Licking their cunnies until they exploded, then merely pulling out his cock and sliding into position.

He’d known exactly what she’d needed. What she wanted.

Thorne buried his face in the crook between her shoulder and her neck. With her fingers spread across his back, she could feel his ragged breathing, and realized this…this wasn’t normal. Not for him.

No matter how many liaisons he’d had in the past, this had been special for him.

Likely because it’s the first time he’d had to undress another man on his own.

The thought—along with the joy still flooding her veins after that amazing ecstasy, caused laughter to bubble in Kit’s chest. She tried to tamp it down, knowing Thorne wouldn’t understand.

By God, she felt full of energy now. She wanted to rush across the room, scoop up her violin, and play something joyous and exciting and energetic. She wanted to spin in circles, open her arms to the world, throw back her head and laugh.

She wanted to stay right where she was, holding Thorne.

“Kit, I…” The words were muffled against her skin, and when he trailed off, she understood the truth.

No matter how she was feeling right now, she needed to think of his feelings. He’d done something truly remarkable for her, pleasured her in a way no one had ever thought to do before.

He didn’t need her laughter, her energy.

He needed her gentle touches, her soft words.

So she stroked his back. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That was…lovely.”

He stirred against her, but didn’t straighten, and she had the impression he was waiting for more.

“Um… You were great?”

“Is that a question?” he mumbled against her collar.

“No, no. You were definitely—that was wonderful. Thank you.” Hell. This wasn’t enough. Her hands worked their way under his waistcoat and pressed against his back, his warmth potent. “I loved…everything about it. About you.”

Finally he stirred, slowly straightening.

Double hell. How did the words come so easily when he was inside her, but now, nothing? His brow was cocked skeptically as Thorne peered down at her.

“That was really quite fun and I’d like to do it again with you sometime. Soon. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Now his brows drew down, but he didn’t release her. “Ye’re shite at romance, Kit.”

“I know! I’m trying!” The words burst from her in exasperation.

His gaze softened as his shoulders relaxed, and he lifted one hand to trace the hair at her temple. “Try something like…” He tucked the hair behind her ear and his gaze settled there, while his touch moved to the sensitive outer rim of her ear. “That was remarkable. I think being with you might be the single most amazing experience of my life. The stars in the sky are the only beings in the universe which know this lightness, this strength. Your body makes mine sing.”

She gaped at him.

Thorne quirked a brow in question, and she nodded awkwardly. “Uh. Yes. Yes, all that. Singing body. Shining stars. Amazing.”

Something which looked a little like disappointment flashed in his blue eyes before it was shuttled away with wry humor. Hell, she really was shite when it came to romance, wasn’t she?

“I’m sorry, Thorne. I’m trying. It really did feel special.”

“Special,” he repeated softly, his fingers now stroking the skin of her neck beneath her ears. “Aye, it was—it is.”

Between them, his cock had softened, and she was afraid they might be accidentally glued together. She shifted on the desktop, her naked arse sticking to the leather. Hell, she might be glued here as well.

The thought caused the laughter to threaten again. That, and the idea that Titsworth, or one of the maids, would have to be the one to come in here and clean up after this little adventure.

Kit pressed her lips together to keep her laughter contained.

“What’s yer name?” Thorne suddenly whispered, surprising her. “Yer true name. Yer mother didn’t name ye Kit Pastorino, did she?”

Mother hadn’t named her Pastorino at all, but had given her Father’s last name. But after years of being ignored by the man, with the exception of the quarterly hush money bribes, Kit had long ago denied the name.

“K—” The word stuck in her throat, and she had to swallow the laughter to get it said. “Katherine. Katherine Ann.”

“Katherine Ann,” he repeated in a reverent whisper, his gaze on where his fingers caressed her skin. “Kitty Ann. Kat.”

“I’ve—I’ve always been Kit. Since I was born.”

“Kit,” he repeated softly.

Then Thorne took a deep breath, his shoulders expanding as his gaze moved directly back to hers. “Katherine Ann Pastorino, known as Kit. I’ve already been on my knees once today, and I’m enjoying holding ye in this position too much to disengage, so I hope ye’ll forgive me.” He cleared his throat. “Would ye do me the greatest of honors and become my wife?”

And that moment was likely the worst time in the history of terrible timing for Kit to burst into laughter.

But that’s what happened.

The laughter she’d been hiding—mainly because of the joy burbling through her, which had just turned to disbelieving shock—burst from her lips. As Thorne reared back, she tried to do several things at once:

Hold him plastered against her, trying to show him with her body that she wasn’t rejecting him.

Stop the damned laughter.

Explain she wasn’t laughing at him, just the preposterousness of the situation.

Also, breathe.

What ended up happening was she sputtered a few times, which turned into a coughing fit, as Thorne untangled himself completely. Stepping away from her.

“Thorne—no—”

He held up his hand, turning his face away so she couldn’t see his expression. “It’s fine, Kit. I thought—”

“No.” She lunged for him, which caused her to slide from the desk. Her stockinged feet hit the floor and she reached for his cheek, cupping his jaw and turning it back to her. Standing there, bare-arse in his study, she whispered, “Thank you.” These words came easier. More sincerely. “Thank you, Thorne, and I’m sorry.”

He winced, but didn’t turn away. “I’ve never proposed marriage before. I’m no’ certain what’s customary.”

“Not laughing,” she agreed ruefully. “I’m sorry. It surprised me, and I couldn’t believe…”

“That ye’d marry?”

“No! I…” In truth, she’d never considered marriage before. It hadn’t been part of her expectations in life, and she’d never seen a need for the institution. “Thorne,” she tried more gently. “You’re a duke. I’m just a bastard.”

His hands closed around her upper arms. “Ye’re the daughter of a lord.”

“The bastard daughter of a lord and an opera singer. I’m the least suitable person to marry a duke.”

“Well, no’ the least suitable.” His lips twitched. “The male valet I was considering wooing might be less suitable.”

“Aright, yes,” Kit agreed, pleased he saw the humor in the situation, although there was still sadness lurking in his eyes. She stroked his jaw. “Thorne, you’re a very special person, you deserve all the best things in life. You will find the right wife for you. The wife you dream of, the lady who can stand beside you in Society, who will bring honor to your title, who will give you…give you everything I cannot.”

His hands rose now, to cup the sides of her neck. “I dinnae care about honor or titles, Kit. I just want love. I want to love my wife and ken she loves me. That’s what matters to me.”

I love ye, Kit. Nae matter what.

She swallowed, her breathing suddenly shallow.

Oh shite. He’d said those words days ago, before they’d even slept together.

Had they been true? Was it possible this man—this wonderful, remarkable, powerful man—could love her?

Kit was already shaking her head, her instincts taking over. “I’m no one,” she whispered. “I’m just a bastard, a bastard who’s been masquerading as a man, as your valet. You cannot want to marry me, Thorne. You cannot marry me.”

I won’t allow you to do that to yourself, not when you deserve so much better. You deserve someone who can say the sweet words you need to hear.

His eyes swam with sadness as he lowered his lips to hers. This kiss was soft and slow and she tasted tears—although she wasn’t certain if they were his or hers.

Just because she couldn’t say the sweet words Thorne needed to hear didn’t mean she wasn’t thinking them.

Oh, hell. It was true. She’d gone and fallen in love with him, hadn’t she?

I love you, Thorne Cumming, and it’s best you never know.