While the Duke Was Sleeping Page 20

  She pulled free of the duchess’s embrace. “Excuse me,” she murmured. “I need a moment . . .”

  The trail of her words was hardly noticed. Lady Autenberry turned to the rest of her family to celebrate the return of their loved one.

  For a moment, Poppy stood there, feeling once again every inch on the outside. Now more than ever. Even though her sister was in the room, as well, clinging happily and obliviously to the new best friend she found in Clara, Poppy was achingly aware of how very alone she was. She didn’t belong here and soon all of these kind people would know that within minutes.

  The sting in her eyes returned with a vengeance and she turned, slipping from the room without a backward glance, determined no one see her cry.

  Chapter 24

  He watched her go amid the happy and noisy exchange. No one else seemed to notice but he did. He was attuned to her every movement.

  His skin felt too tight, like it didn’t fit his body anymore. Autenberry was awake.

  He’d lost her.

  A muffled curse burned on his lips. She was never yours.

  It went without saying that Struan would be leaving soon. His half brother would never tolerate his presence. He would have to say farewell to the family he had come to know and, admittedly, come to care for.

  He’d have to say farewell to Poppy.

  Whatever he had been doing with the girl would come to an end now. Hard to seduce a female when she was no longer in such easy proximity.

  Seduction. It didn’t ring right. The word made what they were doing sound tawdry and dirty. Somewhere along the way their trysts had come to mean more than that to him. She had come to mean more.

  With one last glance at the preoccupied family, he slipped from the drawing room. His steps thudded over the parquet floor as he moved across the foyer and down corridors. Somehow he knew where she would go. Ever since they arrived she took many a morning stroll in the conservatory’s orchard. He wound down the stairs to the bottom floor. The corridor that led to the conservatory stretched long and hollow as he walked its length.

  When the double doors came into view he spotted the green leaves of the lemon trees pressing against the glass.

  He opened the door and stepped inside its balmy warmth. He closed the door softly behind him, cocking his head slightly. He thought he heard a slight snuffle from somewhere deep within the enclosure. He stepped off the pebbled path, his boots sinking into the lush carpet of grass.

  He walked through the gloom, through a warren of hedges and trees and shrubs, past flowers of incomprehensible colors. The only reason he could see at all was due to the paltry red light emitting from strategically placed coal-burning grates. It might be winter outside but in here plants and vegetation thrived.

  He found her near an orange tree, her back to him. The moon gleamed down through the glass ceiling. It did not feel like winter. In this conservatory, it felt as though they were trapped in their own private bubble of spring.

  He watched her in silence for a long moment, the squeeze he had felt in his chest ever since the maid burst into the drawing room coiling ever tighter.

  “It must be difficult for you to wait here instead of rushing to see your duke right now.”

  She stiffened, her shoulders pulling back. He studied the enticing fall of her hair. It was pinned up at the sides, leaving the rest to fall in artfully arranged waves down the center of her back. His palms itched to touch it and gather the mass up into his hands.

  Without turning around, she demanded, “Do you mock me? Please do not. For the life of me, I cannot endure it. Not tonight.”

  He flinched at her husky plea. He had bred such distrust in her. “No. I’m not.”

  He moved closer, drawn to her as if an invisible thread pulled him in. His boot steps struck the ground silently.

  He stopped behind her, leaving space between them. He studied the back of her hair, the loose arrangement of waves. He wanted to touch that hair a final time, lose his fingers in the soft strands.

  “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I know.” Now more than ever he knew.

  “Why are you?”

  “Isn’t it clear? I’m here because you’re here.” Because he wanted to see her one more time before he left.

  “So you’ll still continue this game with me, shall you?”

  “And what game is that?”

  “Hunting me.”

  “No.” He almost smiled. Hunting her. Yes, he couldn’t deny that he had done that. Except it wasn’t a game for him. Perhaps it had started that way, but no longer. “I’m leaving.”

  “You won’t stay to see Autenberry?”

  Staring at the back of her, a groan of frustration welled up inside him. He swallowed it back. It was easier as long as he didn’t see her face. Her eyes. Her mouth. He could do this. Leave without touching her.

  “You and I both know he won’t want to see me. Now that he’s awake, his hospitality toward me comes to an end.”

  “A great many things come to an end tonight.”

  “That is true.” He turned and started walking, putting some much needed distance between them.

  “Struan!” The desperate cry warbled on the air.

  Don’t turn around. Don’t look at her.

  Stopping, he held himself motionless. He never should have gone after her.

  “Struan,” she said again, this time her voice demanding, pleading.

  He had to turn. Had to look. His hands opened and closed at his sides, groping for control. Just walk out and don’t look back. He’d be glad later. Glad he was free of her and this place.

  Glad he hadn’t been a prize idiot and looked at her a final time.

  Slowly, he turned and faced her. “Poppy . . .” He put a wealth of meaning into her name. It was a warning and a plea.

  Her face was ravaged. Her big eyes glistened with tears. Wet tracts lined her cheeks proving she had already been crying. The sight broke something loose inside him.

  Damnation. It wouldn’t be the first time he acted like a prize idiot.

  It took three long strides for him to reach her.

  After that, there was no going back.

  She should have let him go. He had tried to leave. She didn’t know why he had followed her in the first place. Perhaps to say good-bye in his own way. It didn’t matter. He was here, standing before her, and he would know everything soon enough.

  He’d know she was a liar. A fraud. He would hate her. Whatever he saw in her now . . . the way his eyes turned warm and molten. That would be over. Done. Gone forever.

  His hand reached up to cup her face. His thumb grazed her cheek, catching on a tear. “Are these tears for him? Tears of joy and relief?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know . . .”

  “I hate it.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “The way you weep for him.”

  She knew he only cared because of this petty rivalry between him and Marcus. “Would you rather I weep for you?”

  “No,” he growled, his hand reaching out, curling around her neck and hauling her closer until his mouth ghosted over her own. “I’d rather you scream for me.”

  Her heart took off, wild as a bird set loose from inside her too-tight chest. His eyes, bright and dark, fastened on her.

  Everything slowed. Blood rushed, a dull roar in her ears. She imagined she could hear the muffled thump of her own heart.

  Then everything leapt to action. They moved in unison, coming together. Their mouths fused, lips breaking only for the time it took them to tug their clothes free in a blur of motion. Everything was frantic. Desperate. Violent in its fierceness.

  They kissed and kissed and kissed.

  Hot and feverish, tongues and clanging teeth. It was fierce and wild. There was nothing smooth or civilized about it, but it shattered her completely.

  His free hand tugged down her bodice until there was just her corset-covered breasts. He pushed the low-cut edge of her corset d
own with a savage yank until both breasts spilled over the top. She gasped at the brush of air on her exposed flesh. His hands grazed over the crests, rough palms abrading the tender skin as his mouth ravaged hers. He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t treat her like some fragile piece of crystal.

  His hand settled on her right breast, closing over the small mound and squeezing, making her feel voluptuous and beautiful.

  “You’re wearing entirely too many clothes,” he muttered, his hands untying the laces at the front. Then she was free. Her loose chemise gaped open, exposing her breasts. His head dipped, taking her into his mouth. She cried out, her fingers latching on to his head.

  They sank to the base of the tree, the carpet of grass the softest of beds as his hardness fell over her. He pulled back, looking down at her, his hand skimming her face, hard fingers burying into her hair, scattering pins. He gripped her scalp as his hot mouth crashed over hers, consuming.

  Her hands dove for the front of his trousers, eagerly unbuttoning the falls of his breeches to free him. He pulled back to shuck off his jacket and shove his trousers down his hips.

  She watched, devouring the sight of him. They came together again, bare skin sliding sinuously against each other. He shoved the skirts of her gown to her waist and settled between her thighs and it felt so right, like two puzzle pieces locking together.

  He kissed her breasts again and she whimpered, arching her spine, wanting more. His mouth closed around one nipple, pulling deep, and she moaned, her fingers clenching in his strong biceps. He shifted his weight and brought his manhood directly against her opening.

  She panted, her fingers moving to clutch the back of his neck, clinging, straining against him, pulling him closer as she rotated her hips, needing him inside her like a body needs air.

  “Poppy? Are you certain?”

  Yes, yes, yes. This would be all she would have of him before he learned the truth. Before she was cast out from his life.

  Gasping, she shifted her hips and pushed up against him. “I want this. I want you, Struan.”

  His eyes gleamed fiercely as he wedged himself between her parted thighs. She looked down between them, watching as he took himself in hand, gripping his hard member and guiding it toward her. Her mouth parted in a small O, fascinated and aroused at the sight.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and hauled her closer, holding her steady as he began to sink inside her. His eyes locked with hers.

  It was a dreamlike moment, staring into the depths of his eyes, feeling his body joining with hers, stretching and filling her with a burn that wasn’t entirely comfortable.

  Her body stretched to accommodate him. Gasping little breaths escaped her as she molded to fit him.

  “You’re so bloody tight, Poppy,” he hissed.

  Her eyes flared wide, and she whimpered as he pushed inside another fraction.

  He stilled, his biceps tensing, muscles bunching tightly. “Am I hurting you?”

  Just when she thought he was done, he pushed in deeper and she cried out, partly in pain and partly in relief to have him buried so deep—an answer at last to the clenching ache.

  He froze again. Her grip tightened on him. “Don’t stop!”

  The arm at her waist pulled her closer, mashing her breasts to his chest as he thrust himself fully inside, finally seating himself and wrenching a sharp gasp from her.

  “Oh, my,” she choked.

  “Poppy?” he growled, his voice bewildered. “Are you . . . have you done this before?”

  She met his gaze and gave a swift shake of her head. “No.”

  He stilled, his manhood lodged deep, pulsing inside her. Myriad emotions flickered across his face. “Why didn’t you—”

  “I never said I wasn’t a virgin.”

  He shook his head, his eyes anguished. “But you let me think . . . I called you—”

  She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pressed her mouth to his and kissed him for all she was worth, silencing what she knew he wanted to say. He felt remorse for judging her, for assuming she was something other than what she said. Given the lie she had been perpetrating, he’d reached only reasonable conclusions.

  But this wasn’t supposed to be about revelations. Soon enough he would discover that he had not been wrong about her. She was a deceiver.

  For now, in this moment, she would have this. Hunger. Raw desire. Struan.

  She wiggled beneath him, gasping into his mouth as shards of pleasure spiked out from where they were joined.

  “Keep going,” she commanded, her nails scoring his back through his shirt.

  He rocked his hips against her in reflex and she cried out, arching against him.

  “Oh, hell, Poppy, you feel good.” He withdrew and drove back inside her. “I’m sorry. It will feel better next time.”

  It felt amazing now. An aching pressure built inside her as he moved faster, increasing the delicious friction and tightening that invisible coil low in her belly. It was like before, when he made her fly apart just by using his hand and mouth. Only better. Everything more intense.

  She writhed against him, desperate to reach that climax. He hooked a hand under her knee and wrapped her leg around his waist, angling her for deeper penetration.

  The next thrust shattered her and she cried out hoarsely. She never felt anything so amazing. So good. Her vision blurred as he pumped inside her again. He continued to move against her, working a steady pace. She dragged her nails through his hair, loving the absolute freedom to touch him, to love him with her hands. His name ripped from her lips.

  “Poppy,” he growled in her ear. “Let me hear you scream again.”

  She was almost there. Shudders shook through her.

  Her head nestled in the warm nook of his neck, muffling her moans. His hand rooted in her hair, pulling her head back to look at him. He held her there, watching, peering into her eyes as he moved inside her, and it felt like he was looking into her soul right then. “I want to see you.”

  She nodded jerkily. The familiar burning ache seized her, tightening, bigger, deeper. It made her arch up against him. “Ohh!”

  “That’s it, Poppy.” He drove harder into her and she cried out, every nerve ending sizzling and then bursting. She went limp.

  He came over her, his lips seizing hers. She groaned into his mouth, feeling his own release follow and shudder through him.

  They collapsed down to earth together, his weight on top of her. As heavy as he was, she didn’t want him to ever move. She could stay like this forever.

  Chapter 25

  After they set their clothes to rights, Struan helped her to her feet. She wobbled a little, clearly unsteady. He grasped her elbow to steady her. She pulled away, putting a circumspect step between them. It almost made him laugh. A little late for propriety.

  He should feel bad . . . ashamed even. He’d taken her maidenhood on the ground of the conservatory like any well-used tart.

  “Why did you let . . .” His voice faded. He didn’t know what he wanted her to say. What he wanted her to hear from him. Despite everything, he didn’t regret it. He couldn’t.

  She shook her head and averted her gaze.

  “Poppy?” He took her chin and forced her to look at him.

  She moistened her lips. “I wanted it to be you.”

  Something unfurled inside him. She’d chosen him. She didn’t have to. She had Autenberry, but she chose him. He waited, hoping she would say more. Hoping she would say that this changed things for them.

  “Why?” he demanded. Autenberry was awake now, and yet she gave herself to him. It could mean only one thing. She had to see that. “I’ll tell you why,” he snapped when she didn’t respond. She eyed him warily, but said nothing. “You don’t love him as you think you do.”

  She inhaled a deep breath. “Struan, I can’t do this right now. Soon it will all make sense and then you’ll . . .” Her voice faded and bleakness flashed across her face.

  “I’ll what
?” he pressed.

  She closed her eyes in a tight blink. “You’ll understand.”

  “I understand you, Poppy. I see you,” he whispered, desperate for her to hear him, to believe. She had to know that this had meant something to him—that she did.

  Poppy stopped abruptly and turned to face him.

  His heart hammered a wild drum as she gazed up at him.

  “No.” She shook her head and tore her stare away as though his eyes, his face, were too much.

  “I see the real you. You’re kind and selfless. You put others first before yourself—”

  She shook her head. “Stop. No.”

  He continued, “You don’t like attention. You don’t want the light to shine on you, but I see you.”

  “No.” She pressed a hand to her stomach almost as though his words made her sick. “You don’t see me. You can’t. You think you do, but you’re wrong.”

  The sharp edge of something sliced through his chest.

  Lifting her skirts, she headed across the grass toward the path leading out of the conservatory.

  He fell into step beside her. Something ugly started brewing inside him, threatening to boil over. He had just come as close as he ever had to laying himself bare for a woman. And she was walking away from him.

  She glanced at him. “We should not emerge together.”

  “Yes. Mustn’t besmirch your reputation. Your duke wouldn’t like that. Tell me, how will he feel when he finds out he didn’t have you first? Will you tell him it was me? Perhaps I should be the one to tell him that.”

  She stopped and faced him, her expression stricken. “Is that what this was about for you? Beating your brother?”

  He glared at her, the blood rushing in his ears. He longed to say yes. He wanted to fling that lie at her so she could feel as miserable as he did. “No,” he managed to get out. “I can promise you that Autenberry was the last person I was thinking about while shagging you.”

  She flinched, her eyes wounded as she held his gaze. Turning, she moved swiftly from him, disappearing amid the hedges.

  This time he did not go after her.