Julienne’s mouth hung open for a moment, and then she fell over laughing. “Oh, heavens, Lucien. That’s ridiculous.”
She saw the heartbreaking tenderness in his gaze, which was all the more poignant blended with the devilish curve of his smile.
“Feel better now?” he asked gently.
And then she understood. “You were teasing me,” she accused without heat, her heart racing madly that this resplendently wicked man was now hers. Forever.
“Relaxing you a bit,” he corrected. “You looked tense when I came in.” Lucien strolled toward the bed, untying his cravat. The rest of his clothing was hastily discarded. Then he was pressing her into the bed, his body hard and beautifully built.
“We must set some ground rules here, my lady.” His kissed the tip of her nose. “First of all, I do all of the touching.” He covered her protest with his hand. “I’ve needed you too long; I won’t last if you touch me. For the rest of our lives, you can touch me all you want, whenever you want, but not this first time.”
He waited until she nodded her acquiesce and then removed his hand, sliding it downward between her breasts, before letting it come to rest on her hip. “Second, it may be painful. You’re very small, and I’m fairly large.” He bit back a smile at her choked laugh. “But I’ll pleasure you, my love. I promise you that.”
“I know you will,” she said, loving him even more for his reverent approach to her first time.
“And last but not least, I love you, my wife.” He rested his forehead against hers. “With every fiber of my being, I adore you. I intend to cherish you and worship you forever.” He brushed kisses against her mouth. Slow, sweet kisses that skillfully stoked her ardor. “I thank you for becoming my wife.”
“Oh, Lucien,” she sighed, and tugged his mouth back down to hers.
With a chastising murmur Lucien disengaged her hands from behind his neck and laced their fingers together. He concentrated long moments on exploring her mouth, his kisses lazy and drugging, until she writhed against him, begging for his touch.
“Please . . .”
He smiled, and her heart stopped.
His mouth moved to the slim column of her throat, licking and nipping the sensitive skin. He began to undulate his body against hers, slow, sinuous movements of his powerful frame, awakening every nerve, making her moan with the torment. Lucien made love to her with his mouth, with his hands, with the gentle friction of his body, murmuring praise and encouragement so sweet she wanted to cry.
“These, my love, are perfection.” He lavished long licks of his tongue across her nipples and then blew on them, grinning as they puckered. “There is no greater pleasure than having these in my mouth.” Bending his head, he suckled her, the rhythmic tugging pulling at places deep inside, driving her to madness. She began to writhe, yanking at his hands, needing to touch him. Burning, aching, her skin was too hot . . . too tight . . .
“Darling,” she pleaded. But he wouldn’t cease, wouldn’t release her.
Julienne could feel the pull of his mouth everywhere, the sensation making her squirm as her arousal pooled between her legs. She begged him to hurry, desperate to hold him, kiss him, but Lucien paid her no heed as his mouth teased across her stomach with wet, openmouthed kisses. Moving lower, he spread her thighs wide with the broad expanse of his shoulders. She moaned in relief as his tongue finally delved between her legs.
“Yes,” she cried hoarsely, her hips lifting, pressing into his mouth, as her nails dug into the backs of his hands.
“You taste so sweet,” he murmured passionately, before he thrust his tongue into her, groaning his pleasure. Julienne moved with him, arching and twisting. He worked urgently, building her desire quickly, brutally, until finally she felt the first clenches of her orgasm. Her back arched, her body tensed . . .
Lucien pulled away quickly.
“Damn you!” she cried, her eyes squeezed shut as her body trembled with the force of her need.
He laughed softly. “Now is that any way to speak to your husband?”
She opened her eyes as he covered her with his body. “I need you badly,” she whispered. “I’ll die if you don’t take me.” Her entire body shuddered, poised on the brink of release and denied.
“I love you,” he breathed. And then he was there, the hot tip of him just inside her, stretching her, warning her of what was to come.
Julienne opened her legs wide, her hips arching impatiently, and without further ado he thrust inside, deep and deeper still, until there was no farther he could go. Then he clenched his buttocks and went farther still, filling her, until there was no doubt she belonged to him.
Her breath held in wonder, she felt little of the pain she expected. She merely felt full and hot, her skin covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, her body throbbing around the hard cock that filled her.
Sweat dripped from his brow onto her breasts. Lucien clenched his teeth as he pulled out, despite her protests, and pressed forward again. He rocked his hips against her thighs, slowly working in and out, loosening her.
“Jesus, Julienne,” he gasped. “You feel so good . . .”
She shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, and he cursed. Startled, she stilled, and he positioned her as he wanted, lifting her leg, opening her, and then he withdrew, only to return with a powerful lunge that made her cry out.
There was no more gentleness after that; Lucien simply wasn’t capable of it. As he pounded into her, pinning her hips when she struggled beneath him, Julienne realized why he’d taken such care to arouse her. He’d known, as only an expert lover could, that he would not be able to coddle her through this. He needed her too desperately, had reined in his appetites for too long. Moaning, sobbing, she could only follow his lead, holding still for his pleasure as he stroked his cock deeply within her, almost animalistic in his frenzy.
And it felt so good, she thought she would die of it.
“You’re mine,” Lucien growled, and he gloried in the knowledge. From the moment he’d first seen her, he’d wanted her just like this. Beneath him, filled with him, completely his in every way.
He plunged into her, gritting his teeth at the overwhelming pleasure of it. She was so hot, so tight, writhing beneath him, mewling, and sobbing his name in a way that made it impossible to slow down or show her a moment’s consideration. But she wasn’t frightened or timid. Not his sweet Julienne. Her hips met him thrust for thrust, her cream so plentiful his cock was bathed in it, scalded by it.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, in a voice he barely recognized as his own. He thrust faster, harder, until he was pistoning into her, shoving her up the bed.
And then she tensed, her back bowing beneath him, her cunt gripping him so tightly it slowed his fevered pace. Her eyes flew open and locked with his. “I love you!” she gasped, and then she came, her orgasm milking his cock, luring his seed, until he spilled into her, flooding her, branding her in a way far more primitive than the ring she wore. He threw back his head and growled her name, certain he had never felt such joy in his life.
When he could move again, Lucien rolled, taking his wife with him, draping her limp, sated form over his body. His hands stroked her back, stilling her trembling. He murmured his love, his longing, told her all the things he’d never thought he’d have the opportunity to say. How he loved the smell of her hair and the beauty of her smiles. How he’d dreamed of her and wanted her with a soul-deep desire. How he’d give her the world, because she gave up the one she knew to be with him . . .
“Darling?” Her voice was a breathless whisper that made his cock swell, the sound of a woman well-pleasured.
Lucien smiled at her endearment, pure contentment pumping through his veins. Had he almost given this up? He thought of the infernal list of marriage prospects and acknowledged what a fool he was. Thank God, Julienne had never given up on him. “Yes, my love?”
He was hard again, the sensual heat of her body over his making him lustful. But Julienne w
as likely sore and tired. He could wait. She belonged to him now. He had a lifetime ahead with her. A lifetime to love her.
She raised her head from his chest, and her mouth curved seductively. “You’re so sweet, my love, with your beautiful words. I would never have guessed you could be so romantic.” Her hand brushed his sweat-dampened hair away from his forehead. “But if you don’t mind, could you tell me how much you love me later, and just show me instead?”
With a delighted laugh, Lucien did not hesitate to oblige her.
Her Mad Grace
Chapter One
Derbyshire, December 1814
Rotting.
To Hugh La Coeur’s mind, that was the most apt description for the moldering mansion on the hill. Usually the bright white of newly fallen snow brought a peaceful serenity to the landscape. Not so with this property. Even the pristine beauty of winter could not hide the neglect apparent in everything about the place.
He hesitated for a moment, taking in the view with a disgusted snort. Ominous clouds roiled above him, but the sky was darkening for another reason—the day was ending. Thoughts of returning the way he’d come, through the snow and without light, forced Hugh to proceed. If his need were less dire, he’d ride on in search of a more hospitable-looking home. But he was desperate, and the curling smoke rising from the manor’s chimneys told him the place was inhabited. Help was at hand, and he couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much he desired to.
He tied his mount, one of his prized carriage bays, to the metal ring protruding from a nearby stone pillar. At one time the pillar had held up the park gate, but not any longer. One side of the gate remained upright, while the other leaned precariously atop the frozen ground.
“Atrocious,” Hugh muttered to his horse, as he edged his way through the opening and started the long walk up the drive to the main house.
He glanced around with morbid fascination. It was easy to imagine how beautiful the property must have been once, a source of pride for its noble occupants. But fate had dealt a cruel blow to the peer and family who owned the place. It had obviously gone without maintenance for many years. Vines, long dead, crawled over the brick exterior. Places where paint had once brightened the façade now peeled and warped from lack of care.
The wind picked up, and soft, powdery snow began to swirl around Hugh’s polished Hessians. His hair blew across his forehead, his hat long lost in a ditch. The storm would be upon them soon. His legs lengthened their strides. He would have to hurry.
Reaching the door, Hugh banged the tarnished lion-head knocker. The sound echoed eerily, and he shook off the shivers. He was an earl, for Christ’s sake! The esteemed, if slightly scandalous, Earl of Montrose, an ancient title that carried a wealth of prestige. His station should place him above such childish fears. But frankly, the place looked haunted, and the forgotten air that surrounded the hall filled him with foreboding.
He almost fled, blizzard be damned, when the door creaked open with torturous slowness. A stooped butler, as decrepit as the manse in which he worked, stood in the doorway.
“Aye?” the old man queried in a gravelly voice.
Hugh handed over his card. “Is the lord of the manor at home?”
The butler squinted at the lettering. He lifted the card to an oddly protruding eye and then dropped his hand with a grunt. The servant gestured wildly behind him. “You’ll find ’im in the cemetery out back.”
Before Hugh could blink, the door was swinging with lightning speed toward his face. Moving with a pugilist’s quick ease, he slipped into the hall before the door slammed shut. The butler turned, bumped into his chest, and shrieked in terror.
Rolling his eyes, Hugh steadied the frail man. “Listen, old chap. My desire to be here is far less than your desire to have me here. I require some assistance. If you provide it, I can be on my way.”
The butler studied him closely with his oversized blue eye. “Wot ye be needin’, gov’na?”
“You may address me as ‘my lord,’ ” Hugh corrected, with a pointed look at his calling card, presently being crushed in the butler’s hand. “What is your name?”
The servant sniffled. “Artemis.”
“Very well, Artemis. Are there any other men about the place?” Hugh glanced around. “Men preferably capable of physical exertion.”
Artemis studied him with blatant suspicion. “’Enry. ’E’s a strapping lad wot runs the stables. And Tom, ’e ’elps Cook wiv the vittles.”
“Excellent.” Hugh released a sigh of relief. “Would it be possible to find decent horseflesh around here?” Even as he asked, he knew it was asking too much, given the sight of the place.
“O’ course!” the old man cried, affronted. “’er Grace ’as the finest ’orses you’ll ever see!”
Hugh stilled, his mind rapidly disseminating the information he’d gathered so far. His Grace lay in the cemetery, which left Her Grace widowed. There weren’t many duchesses, hardly any that were widowed, and only one of whom he was aware who would claim ownership to a sorry place such as this—
“‘Her Mad Grace’?” Of all the damnable luck!
“’ere now!” Artemis complained. “We don’t take kindly to that nonsense ’round ’ere!”
Hugh cleared his throat. He was leaving. Now. “Well, I’m certain Her Grace wouldn’t mind at all if I borrowed her—”
“You can’t just barge in ’ere and run off wiv ’er Grace’s ’orses.” The old man straightened as best he could. “You’ll ’ave to ask ’er first!”
“Ask her? Good God, she’s in residence here?” The place wasn’t fit for man or beast, let alone for a duchess.
“O’ course. Where else would she be?” Artemis snorted.
Hugh arched a brow. “Where else indeed?”
“Come along, then, gov’na.” The servant shuffled away, stopping only to grasp the candelabra off the console. “You can wait in the parlor while I tell ’er Grace yer ’ere.” Shoving open a set of double doors on the right, Artemis gestured impatiently for him to go inside, shoving the candelabra at him as he passed.
Hugh moved into the room and then spun about as the door slammed shut behind him. “Abominable service,” he muttered, glancing around.
No other candles were lit, and the grate was cold. Every bit of furniture was draped and covered with thick dust. Even the portrait over the fireplace was hidden from view. Depositing his meager source of light on a cloth-covered table, he set to work building a fire.
Grumbling under his breath, Hugh inspected the coal bucket, surprised to discover it did indeed have coal inside it. Within moments he’d started a fire. He stood and used a nearby dusty sheet to wipe his hands.
Of all the confounded places for his wheel to break, why did it have to be here?
Hugh rubbed the space between his brows, trying to remember everything he’d heard about the dowager Lady Glenmoore. The elderly duke had shocked the ton a few years past with a rushed elopement with his second wife. Then His Grace had gone on to compound the astonishment by passing away within scant weeks of his marriage.
It was widely speculated that the new duchess had helped her husband to his final reward. The succeeding Duke of Glenmoore had distanced himself from his stepmother in short order, banishing her to a remote holding, where it was rumored she passed the time scaring the wits out of hapless passersby such as Hugh. The duchess’s weird behavior had earned her the moniker ‘Her Mad Grace.’
A bizarre noise caught his ear, pulling him from his thoughts, and Hugh held his breath as it drew closer and increased in volume.
The door opened, the squeaking of the unoiled hinges accompanied by the cacophony of rattling china. His eyes widened as he found himself dumbfounded by the vision that greeted him.
A young woman entered, her slim arms weighted with an ancient tea service. The entire arrangement wobbled horrendously, and he gaped at the bouncing, clattering items on the tray. He’d never seen anything like it in his life, and he waited breathlessl
y for the moment when everything would crash to the floor.
She whimpered suddenly, and the sound galvanized him into action. Hugh closed the space between them, plucked the service from her hands, and set it down. Turning to face the maid, he saw that her entire body shook as if she stood in the back of a cart traveling a very bumpy lane. Pretty, in a plain sort of way, with flyaway brown hair and pale blue eyes, she offered a smile as shaky as the rest of her.
Hiding his reaction with practiced ease, Hugh realized the young woman suffered from a pitiable nervous affliction of some sort, not surprising considering the residence in which she lived and made her livelihood.
She stammered something unintelligible, dipped an odd, crooked curtsy, and fled the room, as if he posed some grave threat to her person.
Hugh shook his head in wonder. Were all the servants plagued with some ailment or another?
Glancing at the service, he was relieved to see the tea had already been prepared. He poured and drank, appreciating the warmth, which chased away his chill. So much time passed while he waited, he nearly finished the pot before the door creaked open again.
Hugh turned to face the newest arrival. He was so amazed at the graceful glide with which the figure entered, he forgot to set his cup and saucer down and merely stared.
Black-clad from head to toe, her face veiled with lace, the duchess swept in with haste and halted just as quickly. She stood a few feet away, her figure short and petite. Because the darkness of her gown blended with the shadows, he could see very little of her, but something about her gave him pause. His body tensed, turning hard all over, and his fingers held the delicate china saucer far too tightly. Sweat misted his brow despite the cold. It wasn’t nerves or apprehension that held his attention so completely. No, it was far worse than that . . .
Good God, he was becoming aroused!
Shooting a horrified glance at the tea in his hand, he quickly deduced that the infamous madness must spread through the water. Hugh dropped the cup and saucer on the table with such haste, the remaining liquid splashed over the rim and stained the dusty cloth below.