On a Wild Duke Chase: The Wayward Woodvilles Book 2 Page 7

  She knew he was smiling. She could feel it, and yet he did not say a word for a moment. "Are you jealous if another lady was waiting for me?"

  Isla rolled her eyes. The man was insufferable. "If I have not said this already, let me say it again, Lord Leigh. I dislike you. You are everything a well-bred young lady dislikes in a man. A rake to his very core and a fortune hunter too. Not much to admire, I think you would agree."

  "And I dislike you, Miss Woodville, and your lofty, judgemental opinions."

  She pushed at his chest, little good it did her, for he did not shift. "You are so rude. I do not know why I stay and listen to you."

  "And I do not know why it is that I keep finding you in odd places about the estate."

  "Are you accusing me of untoward activities?" she gasped, outraged. Being in a cupboard under the stairs was untoward, but it was not planned. Though, in truth, she enjoyed arguing with him. It was amusing to get under his skin. If she succeeded, she might give him a conscience. "If I were doing anything inappropriate, I can assure you it would not be with you."

  He laughed, not caring who heard him. "You have already been such with me, Miss Woodville, or have you forgotten my kiss so easily."

  "What kiss?" she retorted. "Is that what your attempt in the pavilion outside was? I had thought you were merely trying to drown me with your tongue."

  He took a long, slow breath. "Well, I never," he stuttered, stepping up against her. She shifted away and came up hard against the wall. "Are you lying to me? I did not know you as a woman with such a devious tongue."

  "I never lie. I always tell the absolute truth," she answered.

  "You frustrating minx. You will not relent, will you?"

  "No," she said, lifting her chin even though she knew he could not see her. "Not for you in any case."

  Duke growled, his body alight with need, with frustration and annoyance at the chit before him. How dare she say he almost drowned her with his tongue. The kiss they shared outside had left him reeling for hours.

  Even now, all he could think of was doing it again.

  He slammed his mouth against hers, ignoring the startled gasp he drew from her. He expected her to slap his face. To push against his chest, to scratch his cheeks, but she did none of that. Instead, she clasped his jaw, holding him against her, thrusting her tongue into his mouth with an expertise that left him reeling.

  He groaned, taking the opportunity to press his body fully against hers. She met him halfway. Her sweet, womanly curves his to enjoy. He clasped her arse, squeezing the soft flesh in his hand. She was delicious.

  His cock, as hard as a rock, pressed against his breeches, and he pushed against her. She moaned, nipping at his lip through the kiss, and he almost spent in his pants. "Damn it, Miss Woodville."

  "Isla," she breathed against his lips, her hands splaying about his neck. He hoisted her against the wall, settling her legs about his waist, and teased them both with what they wanted.

  "I want to do untoward things with you, Isla," he teased, kissing her cheeks, her chin, her pretty, soft neck.

  "Yes," she agreed, rubbing against him like a cat. His mind reeled, and he fought to control himself. She was not a woman he could ruin. Not a woman he could marry. He should not be here, taunting her, all but moments from screwing her, but nor could he break from her touch.

  He set her down and worked her shift up to gather at her waist. Stop, Duke, this is wrong. He dipped his hand between her legs. So wet and warm, the scent of sex mixed with her sweet perfume muddled his mind further.

  He slid his hand over her mons, pressing between the lips of her sex. "I want to make you shatter in my arms, Isla. Do you understand what I'm saying?" He rolled his finger over her engorged nubbin, eliciting a startled gasp from her.

  He felt her shake her head. "No, but I'm certain you're about to tell me."

  Duke narrowed his eyes on her, defiant to the very end. She would be the end of him, the little minx. "You're wet and ready, aching for me. Admit that my touch makes you feel wicked."

  Her hand fisted in his hair, pulling him close. "Just because I enjoy your petting does not mean that I like you any more than I did before," she gasped when he delved farther along her sex, teasing her core and where he wanted to be right now more than anywhere else in the world.

  Duke closed his eyes, reveling in the feel of her, the wetness that taunted him to taste and kiss her to climax. He rolled his finger about her opening, and she moaned against his lips. Their tongues tangled, mating in their mouths. He fingered her, seizing her in the way he wished his cock was right at this moment.

  So damn good. He sucked in a startled breath. So tight and wet as she clamped around his finger. Fantasies overtook his mind—ripping his front falls open, hoisting her onto his cock, and fucking her until they were both a pool of satisfaction.

  He adjusted his finger, pressing against her in a way he knew the ladies enjoyed. Her startled intake of breath, the undulation of her hips as he fucked her with his hand was too much.

  "Lord Leigh," she panted, her hands clutching at him as if to keep her rooted to the spot. "I want," she stammered. "I want…"

  "I know what you want," he said, pressing down on her clitoris while he fingered her. Tremors engulfed his hand, and she moaned his name, the sound bliss to his ears. He took her lips, silencing her cries, and let her ride his hand as the last of her convulsions rocked through her.

  They stood there a moment, both catching their breaths before Duke lifted his hand from her sex and settled her shift back to rights. He could feel her glaring at him, and although he knew he had given her pleasure, he was not fool enough not to know she would be mad about that now. She did not like him, and she certainly did not appreciate that she liked what he did to her.

  She pushed at his chest, and this time he moved away. "Thank you for whatever it was that just happened, but know this, Lord Leigh, it will not happen again."

  He bit back a grin as she opened the understairs door, a slither of light illuminating the space. Duke sucked in a breath at the sight of her. Her nipples were taut and beaded through her shift and night rail. Her hair was mussed as if she had been thoroughly bedded.

  A fragment of pride and possession ran through him that he had made her lose control. That he had brought her to her first orgasm. The thought of her being so in another's arms made his jaw clench. He did not like the emotion that rose within him, knowing that one day she would belong to another. Another man who was not him.

  "Pleasant dreams, Isla," he said, enjoying the inhale of air his words brought forth in her. Still, she was affected by him, and God knows he was affected by her. His cock stood to attention, begging for her touch. She closed the door, leaving him in darkness, and he chuckled. Minx to the very end. However was he to keep his hands off her when all he wanted was to chase her pretty skirts, kiss, and make love to her whenever they desired?

  He must. That was all there was to it, he reminded himself, knowing deep down he wouldn't follow his own decree. Not a chance in hell.

  Chapter

  Eleven

  Isla could not leave her room the following morning until the blush that had plagued her all night, and each time she thought about what Lord Leigh had done to her beneath the stairs eased. His touch sent goosebumps to rise on her skin. Her body ached in places she had never known before. She’d never felt so wanton.

  She never reacted to men the way she had with Lord Leigh. That it was the very man she had agreed to loathe for all eternity was not to be borne. She didn't want to react to a man who hankered for women only with the means to save him from debtor's prison. Not that she knew his financial strains were as severe as all that, but they were obviously not good. Not that he had divulged such secrets to her last night.

  Oh no, instead, he had distracted her with his clever hands and mouth. Well, not again. She had to keep those who would fall for his charms safe from his fortune-hunting claws.

  "Isla, whatever are you doing?
You'll wear out the carpet if you keep pacing the way you are."

  The sight of Harlow at the threshold of her door pulled her up short, and she sighed, knowing she had to tell her. Had to tell someone what she was doing before she expired with pent-up frustration.

  "Shut the door, Harlow. I need to speak to you."

  Her friend did as she asked, a worried frown appearing on her brow as she quickly came to her. "Whatever is it? You look upset."

  Isla threw up her hands in despair. "I am upset. I'm mad at myself and Lord Leigh for being a proficient rake." She chewed her lip, meeting her friend's startled eyes. "He cornered me last evening. I was, I grant you, snooping on another couple whom I just happened to come across, and he pulled me into a closet so we would not be seen."

  "A closet?" Harlow sounded all too calm, and Isla regarded her a moment, wondering how she could remain so unruffled with such an admission.

  "Under the stairs. At first, it was to keep us from being caught not only together but to not let the other couple know we had heard them. We argued, not for the first time since the man is a terrible bore, as you well know, but then he kissed me again and I—"

  "Again!" Harlow clasped her shoulders, shaking her a little. "How many times has Lord Leigh kissed you, Isla? And you never thought to tell me?"

  "I did not want you to think badly of me. You know what I feel about him."

  "Well, are you sure you do not feel more for him other than annoyance? Kissing the man tells me that you like him and that perhaps your anger at his lordship stems from jealousy."

  Isla gaped at her friend, pulling out of her hold to start pacing once more. "Of course, it does not." And yet, a little niggling tidbit of doubt crept into her voice. She had liked Lord Leigh before overhearing his conversation with his friends. She had hoped that maybe there may be a friendship that would grow into more. But his cold, calculated words toward marrying a woman with money soon changed all that. No, she was no longer jealous. Of course she was not.

  "I think we need to leave the house party. I cannot keep running into him, for when I do, I forget all my scruples and principles and keep allowing the rogue to kiss me. Which, I might add," she said, holding up a finger, "he does very well, but that is beside the point. We ought to go home, prepare for the Season and leave all these title-chasing and inheritance-hunting aristocrats to their own devices."

  "We only have a week left, Isla. I'm certain we can stay, and you can keep your distance from Lord Leigh. If you want to, of course," her friend suggested, a teasing note in her tone.

  Isla gaped, unsure she had heard Harlow correctly. "You think I cannot keep away from him? Of course, I can," she declared, certain she could and would do as she stated. She would not let the lure of Lord Leigh's kisses get to her again and make her resolve to hate him for all eternity ease.

  "Very good then," Harlow said, starting for the door. "So let us go downstairs. I’ve come to collect you as we're having a picnic down by the lake today. The servants are setting up the tables and food as we speak."

  Isla took a deep, calming breath, reaching for her bonnet and stepping before the looking glass to check that her gown was in order. Her light-blue muslin dress was pretty and perhaps not as fancy as the other ladies present, but she did not care about that. They were not raised to care about the materialistic things in life, how large their dowries were, none of that had ever mattered, and she wasn't about to wear silks and diamonds and all but announce to rogues like Lord Leigh that she too was an heiress.

  They made their way into the drawing room and found that the party was already outdoors and moving toward the lake. Isla and Harlow followed at a relaxed pace. She pulled her bonnet on, tying the blue ribbons about her chin, and studied the group ahead of them.

  Lord Kempt and Lady Hirch, the Earl of Hirch's widow, were walking separate from the others, and Isla wondered if they had been the couple she had heard last night before being accosted by Lord Leigh.

  The thought of his lordship, of being stuck in the closet with him, his eager lips and fingers that did delicious, wicked things to her bombarded her mind. Heat kissed her entire body, and she fanned her face as they made it to the tables covered with white linen and the finest chin

  a for their picnic.

  She sat and adjusted her seat, settling her skirts about her legs, and looked up and met the heavy-lidded, hungry gaze of Lord Leigh several paces away. Her stomach twisted and flipped, her breathing hitched. Somehow with just a glance, she knew what he was thinking, what he was remembering, and if she was so bold to assume, what he wanted to do again if the ravenous look in his eye was any indication.

  "Oh dear," Harlow said at her side, clearing her throat.

  Isla tore her gaze away from Lord Leigh to her friend. "What is wrong?" she asked her.

  Harlow chuckled, sipping a glass of lemonade. "I fear that your determination to keep away from Lord Leigh will be disputed by the lordship himself. He seems quite fixated on you if I'm any judge of character."

  A pleasant warmness flowed through her blood at her friend's words before she thrust the reaction aside. What was she doing! She did not like the man or what he stood for. She had to be strong in her judgment of him. How dare he marry women under false pretenses, even if he promised to keep them well pleased. She doubted they would be well pleased when he fornicated outside of the marriage bed and gave them the pox.

  "I shall ignore the man, just as I promised to do. His kisses have no effect on me whatsoever," she said, shifting her attention to the other tables. "Have you noticed that no one has sat with us?" Isla remarked. "That is very odd, is it not? Have we done something to offend the other ladies, do you think? I thought we were becoming close friends."

  "Maybe," Harlow said, a mischievous light in her eyes. "They have noticed Lord Leigh's preoccupation with you and do not welcome it."

  That was the last thing Isla wanted. She wanted only to help the ladies keep well clear of men such as Lord Leigh. But mayhap, his lordship was right. Maybe the ladies present did not care that he was seeking a fortune, as they were indeed seeking a title.

  Her sheltered life at Grafton had not allowed her to see much workings of the ton, but she had heard it was fickle and cruel at times. Were all the rumors true? Were the women just as scandalous and malevolent as the men?

  Lord Billington called out to anyone who wished to fish, and Harlow almost tipped over her chair in her haste to stand. "Oh, I must try fishing. I have never been before," she said, smiling from ear to ear as she started toward his lordship. Isla noted she was the only woman at the picnic who did.

  Out of her peripheral vision, she noticed Lord Leigh excuse himself from his conversation and start toward her. She steeled herself to be cold and unaffected by his presence. An unlikely aspiration when her body went against her wishes and all but swooned with the notion of him being near her.

  Damn it all to hell. How was she ever to maintain her distance from the man?

  She kept watching Harlow as she took the fishing rod from Lord Billington, an eager student as he explained the parts. Lord Leigh sat beside her, shuffling his chair closer to hers. She cast him a displeased glance, and his knowing grin made her want to bare her teeth at him or kiss him merely to wipe that obnoxious look off his face.

  "Pleased to see me, Isla?" he asked her, one brow raised in question. "Your blue gown is very fetching but not as nice as your shift. I think I shall forever hold a soft spot for your unmentionables."

  "You cad," she whispered furiously. "Do you have any scruples?"

  He scoffed. "Not really. Not when I'm around you, at least. You make me want to do bad things."

  She swallowed, lifting her chin, refusing to melt into a pool of desire at his feet. That's what he wanted, of course, or to send her fleeing to the house like some green debutante. Which, of course, she was. Not that she could claim such a title anymore. Not with Lord Leigh cornering her in cupboards and tempting her to do things no lady of class ever would do. br />
  Lady Susan sauntered over to them, sitting at their table. She smiled at Isla, but something about the lady's eyes put her on guard. Maybe the ladies were angry with her? And she knew exactly who to blame. The lump of delicious, annoying flesh beside her.

  "Lord Leigh, Miss Woodville, is there room for one more at your table?" she asked sweetly, giving his lordship a coquettish glance.

  Lord Leigh leaned forward, reaching for the jug of lemonade before pouring Lady Susan a glass and refilling Isla's. "Of course, Lady Susan. The more, the merrier," he answered. A sweet gesture, all told, but the feeling of his hand against her leg pulled her from her more considerate thoughts toward the man.

  She met his gaze, a warning light in his eyes telling her to not say a word along with the banked-up need she had often caught him watching her with. Her stomach twisted into knots at the feel of his touch. She reached for her drink, downing a good portion of it before reaching down and pushing his hand away to no avail.

  He pouted, and she shook her head, not quite believing he would try such a scandalous thing right before Lady Susan.

  "Thirsty, Miss Woodville?" Lady Susan said, her tinkling laugh a pitch too high to be genuine. "But then you have been busy at this house party. Enough so that anyone would be parched with thirst, I would think."

  Lord Leigh's hand stilled on her leg, and the look he threw Lady Susan was ice.

  "The house party has been eventful and full of activities. Lord Billington could certainly not be accused of hosting a dreary party, that is for sure," she answered, not rising to Lady Susan's bait if it was indeed intended to be so.

  "Absolutely," Lady Susan stated, her tone reeking of distaste. "Although I did think there would be an announcement or two of understandings between the guests. To have none at all is a little surprising."