Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

H eavens, does he watch the stage at all?

Celia sat at the edge of her box. She was the closest one to the door, as the rest of her party were on her right, all avidly watching the performance.

Miriam was quite the star of the show, performing a perfect aria, her voice hitting the rafters. Celia did her best to focus on her friend, to praise her in her mind as she so often did, though at this point, it was proving difficult.

His gaze burns…

Out of the corner of her eye, she stole another glance at him, hoping the dimmed lanterns in the auditorium meant he couldn’t see her sneaking a peak.

The Duke of Hardbridge sat beside his mother and another group in the box opposite Celia’s, and he was not paying attention to the performance at all. In fact, his head was turned fully to face her. He made no pretense to be looking anywhere else, and the intensity of his gaze left her rather bewildered.

What does he want from me?

She swallowed, having a feeling she knew exactly what he wanted. In the days since he had been in her bed, her longing for him had grown tenfold. She wished to feel his touch again, to feel his hands on her… Could it be the same for him? Was this distance making that passion burn stronger in him too?

Don’t do it.

Celia scowled. She’d leave the moment she could. The opera had not long since started, but judging by the way the Duke of Hardbridge was looking at her, he intended to come and find her at the intermission.

I cannot take that risk.

She waited until Miriam bellowed a high note. Everyone was completely distracted, in awe of her soaring voice. Even the Duke of Hardbridge looked away from Celia, at last.

Now!

She took the opportunity and crept out of the box. Fortunately, no one in her party noticed her absence. It left her free to creep into the corridors. Guiding herself with the sconces on the walls, she headed far away from the foyer and toward the back rooms of the theatre.

A sound behind her just as she reached the stage door made her halt. She glanced back, but there was no one there.

“It’s my imagination,” she muttered. “That’s all it is, my imagination.”

She pushed the door open, hurrying through a path she knew well.

She passed two young ladies who were dressed and ready for their parts. Celia had been here so often that they didn’t even bat an eyelid at her presence. Instead, they carried on toward the stage, leaving Celia free to find Miriam’s dressing room.

She knocked on the door lightly, but no one answered. Taking hold of the handle, she opened the door wide and crept inside. Then she closed it and leaned against it, sighing.

Miriam had once told her she could escape here any time she wanted to. She rarely spent time in this dressing room once the show had begun, for she had so many quick changes which all had to take place at the side of the stage. This room was saved for when she came back at the end of the night, as somewhere to relax.

Along one edge of the room was a chaise longue peppered with cushions. Beside it, there was a table and a decanter of wine, with one lonely glass. The other side of the room was decked with a vanity table covered with so many hairpins and cosmetics that it was almost impossible to see the surface of the wood.

Celia reached for the candle resting on the nearby table and lit a second candlestick, brightening the room. She had made up her mind. She would stay here until the end of the intermission, then creep back out to join the others. It would mean the Duke of Hardbridge would have no chance of cornering her and forcing her into conversation.

Besides, she had a feeling that conversing wasn’t exactly what he wanted to do, and she knew very well that she didn’t want it either. Her dreams had driven her so mad over the last few days that one kiss from him, one touch, maybe even just one look, and she might well give him anything he asked for.

What happened to my backbone, I wonder? When did it vanish?

There was a knock at the door. Celia looked toward it with curiosity. When she made no sound, the knock sounded again.

They’ll go away. When Miriam doesn’t answer, they’ll go away.

Yet, she was wrong. The handle turned, and the door swung open.

“What in…” She jumped back from the table bearing the two candles as she eyed the Duke of Hardbridge in the doorway. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“It wasn’t exactly difficult to follow ye.” He closed the door behind him.

She stepped back, cursing both the fact that she had been right when she’d heard a sound in the corridor and that her intention to avoid him had led to them being alone together.

“This is not a good idea?—”

“Why did ye leave like that?” He turned to face her, shrugging off his tailcoat.

“What are you doing?” She waved at the tailcoat.

“I hate that thing.” He threw it over the back of the chair, but to her relief, he made no other move to undress. If he did, it would be her undoing.

His expression hardened, those gray eyes not leaving her face as he took a step forward. She took another step back.

“Why did ye leave like that?” he asked again.

“To avoid you.”

“All I did was look at ye.”

“You didn’t look anywhere else,” she snapped, waving her hand at him. “You shouldn’t be looking at your matchmaker. You should save such looks for the woman you are to marry, and I am proud of the match I made.”

The lie was heavy on her tongue. Even the Duke of Hardbridge didn’t look convinced, his eyebrows shooting up so high that his brow wrinkled.

“I’m sure Lady Alicia will make you a beautiful duchess. She might even be the demure and obedient woman you were looking for.”

He cursed under his breath so strongly that she looked at him in amazement. He really wasn’t like any other gentleman she had ever met, but as he had reminded her countless times, he had been a Scottish warrior laird before he had ever been a duke in England.

“Why do ye think I’m in here, sweetheart?” he goaded her, slipping his hands in his pockets. It was a show of ease, though it only made Celia’s mouth turn dry.

We are alone… completely alone without the chance of being disturbed.

She nearly told him to lock the door, but fortunately, other words escaped her mouth instead.

“You have your match,” she reminded him coolly. “You cannot keep compromising me by sneaking into chambers alone with me.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” His voice had deepened.

“You don’t intend to marry me, so yes, compromising me is exactly what you are doing.”

“Ah, lass.” He took another step forward. This time, her body defied her. She didn’t move away. “Ye don’t want to marry me. Trust me.” He leaned toward her a little, his expression deathly in its seriousness.

“And how could you know what I want?” she asked sharply. “Don’t presume to know my mind.”

“I know yer mind. I know one thing that is on yer mind.” He held up a single finger. “It’s why ye were so keen on saying goodbye in the most argumentative way possible. Why ye are running away from me and seeking an argument now.”

He moved nearer.

“Don’t say it,” she ordered.

“I know what ye want.” He practically growled out the words as he moved until he was standing right in front of her. “Ye want me, and because ye are scared to know what it is like… ye are running away.”

“You do not know me at all.”

“No?” He tilted his head to the side. “Then tell me, sweetheart.” His hand snaked around her waist. She inhaled sharply, feeling excitement coil in her lower belly. “If ye don’t want me, then why haven’t ye run from this room yet?”

She had no answer. He had her. She’d had every opportunity to sprint from this room, and yet she could not do it.

“Lock the door,” she ordered.

In one swift movement, he released her. He marched toward the door, turned the lock, and then hastened back toward her. He took hold of his tie as he moved and tugged it off his neck. That flash of skin was her final undoing as he moved to claim her lips.

She stumbled against him as his arms came up around her waist. One of her hands tangled in his dark hair, her fingers sinking further and further down so she could explore that bared skin. His tongue didn’t hesitate in claiming her own. There was no preamble, nothing beyond pushing her backward until they were in danger of tumbling down onto that chaise longue together.

His fingers splayed across her waist. That touch made her feel dominated, at his mercy and under his control. She wanted him to whisper more orders. When she nipped his lip, he laughed. Those deep vibrations reverberated through her.

“Ye have no idea how much ye have been driving me mad at night.”

“Me?” she spluttered, aware as they leaned away from each other that he was already working on her clothes, pulling at the ties that held her gown together and tugging it down her shoulders.

“Shoes off.”

“I’m the one who hasn’t been able to get any sleep.”

“Ye will soon, lass. Leave the stockings on.” He flashed her a mischievous smile.

“Oh,” she gasped in surprise as he turned her around, kicking her gown aside. She was now just in her chemise and her stays.

He pulled at her chemise, dragging it up around her hips as he urged her forward so that her palms fell on the seat of the chaise longue.

The sound of tearing cloth echoed through the room.

“What…” she trailed off as he tore the skirt of her chemise.

She was left only in the top part of her chemise and her stays, which accentuated the swell of her breasts and her narrow waist.

“You really do just take what you want, don’t you?” she huffed.

“What we want, sweetheart,” he reminded her, tossing the chemise to the side.

She was still looking for where it landed when she felt his touch. His fingers reached down between her legs and entered her in one swift movement. He didn’t tease her as he had done with his tongue the first time, but entered her at once, claiming her.

She moaned, the sound breathy as she rocked back against him.

“Still hate me?” he whispered tauntingly, his hands running down the curve of her back, pulling at her stays.

“You have no idea how much.”

She had a feeling she would hate herself far more for this in the morning, but it didn’t seem to matter anymore.

The Duke of Hardbridge made her want to forget every vow she had ever taken not to explore pleasure. With him, she wanted to discover it all.

He parted his fingers ever so slightly as he slid them in and out of her, setting up a fast rhythm. Stunned at the pleasure now rocketing through her lower abdomen, she gave up on words as he continued to explore her.

He tapped her rear again, one of those light slaps that made everything tingle.

“Ye want me to stop?” he teased her, moving his fingers faster. “Say the word… and I will.”

“You know very well I don’t want you to stop,” she snapped over her shoulder.

He chuckled, releasing her.

“No!” she complained, but it was too late. He had taken her hip and flipped her onto her back on the chaise longue.

Without hesitation, he bent over her, curling one of her legs over his wide shoulders.

She sat up, staring down as his dark head moved toward her sex. His lips found her center, and her head fell back. He was clearly experienced in what to do with that tongue of his, and she loved the fact that he knew what to do. He seemed to rub every pleasure point there was outside of her as his hands reached up and cupped her rear, pulling her up toward him.

She was jittery again, shuddering, on the verge of release, when he once more pulled away.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she muttered in frustration.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart.” He knelt up on the chaise longue.

She saw her chance. There was something Miriam and the painter had told her, a way to pleasure a man. She had never been interested in the idea before, but with the Duke of Hardbridge, the idea was very alluring indeed.

Testing out what she knew, she reached for his trousers and began to undo the flap.

He stiffened, not pulling back this time but watching exactly what she was doing. She reached beneath his trousers, doing her best not to let her fingers tremble. Once he was free, she reached forward, exploring him.

The moment her fingers curled around his length, he growled. He leaned down over her, his hands moving back to her.

Their mutual exploration began in earnest. Every time she tried something new, she watched for his reaction, loving the way his chiseled cheeks pinkened a little and he became breathless. His fingers entered her, matching the rhythm of her hands.

They didn’t once take their eyes off each other as they explored. It made each moan louder, each flicker of pleasure all the greater.

“Yer nights had been sleepless, sweetheart?” he whispered, his voice so deep now that she wondered how it was possible not to be seduced by that depth alone. “Sleepless because ye’ve been thinking of this?”

“Haven’t you already teased me enough?” she countered.

She knew she couldn’t have more, that if they crossed any more boundaries, she would be a truly scandalized woman, but she at least wanted her release. She wanted to shudder with him.

“Nearly,” he promised and bent down, kissing her deeply. His fingers stalled a little, but not for long, then he removed his hand from her core.

“But—”

“It’s still yer turn. I’m not taking my release yet.”

Then he bent down again and put his lips on her sex. As she sank back, ready to enjoy the pleasure, she was not prepared for the way two of his fingers entered her as he continued to lick and kiss her. The dual pleasure was completely overwhelming.

She clutched one of his biceps, the only one she could reach, marveling at how it felt through his shirt sleeve as he pumped his fingers inside her. That thrill was growing, making her body tighten, as the truth of what they were doing became clear in her mind.

She couldn’t stay away from him. It didn’t matter how wrong this was—she couldn’t stay away. She was willing to risk ruin, willing to risk anything, just to feel the Duke of Hardbridge’s touch again.

Then his fingers pushed deeper. She was tipped over the edge of that cascading pleasure, holding on to the chaise longue and his bicep as tightly as she could as he rocked her body. She didn’t want to stop watching what he was doing to her, but dazed, she saw stars from the sheer power of it.

She was still panting, unable to catch her breath as she became aware of him kneeling above her once again. She didn’t know what to say as she came down from her high. Her body was still tightly wound and very satisfied from what they had just done, but the way he was looking at her with such heat surely meant it could all happen again.

If he touched her again, she knew she would not say no.

“Your Grace?—”

“Keith,” he suddenly said. “My name, sweetheart, is Keith.”

It was so personal to use his Christian name, but that meant everything they had just shared was even more powerful. She was no longer transgressing with the Duke of Hardbridge, but with Keith, a man she could simply not stay away from.

He bent toward her, molding his lips to her own. She clung to his back, keeping him there for as long as she could. She could even feel his hard length near her. She shuddered, tempted to ask him to take her completely.

She felt his hardness closer now, near her entrance, as she wrapped her leg around his hip. They both gasped, breaking the kiss. If he pushed his hips forward now, they would be ruined.

“We shouldn’t…” she whispered.

“I know.” He sighed and then moved back. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”

“It also means,” she said firmly, watching as he rose from the chaise longue and tucked himself in his trousers, “this is the last time you may touch me.”