Page 20 of A Most Improper Duchess
There were a hundred ways to admit that he was lost, and maybe with his cock still buried in her was the crassest form of realisation, but surely…
Surely, there was no better way to…
Dare he say it…?
To fall in love?
Chapter Ten
WhenVivianneopenedhereyes as the last blissful shudder ebbed from her body, the first thing to come into focus was her white knuckles still wrapped around the bed post. She’d lost control. Been so flooded with desire she’d demanded he fuck her.
And how he had. Every stroke of his cock had been heaven, every kiss, every lick, every touch focused on her, and her body, and she’d forgotten that just like a dance, fucking was a performance.
No one had ever kissed her between her thighs before, caressed her skin, savoured her lips, cared what she felt, and with the newness of the feeling, she’d lost herself. Andmon Dieu, he’d finished inside her.
She’d given him control.
Vivianne never lost control. Never allowed her own pleasure to dictate her actions with a man. It was too dangerous. They already had all the power, and to give them her desire was a pathway into jealousy, pathetic obsession, and eventually being discarded. No man kept a woman once she adored him. She clutched for her familiar anger or exasperation to level at him, or at herself, but with the lusciousness of her orgasm still trailing over her skin, like a hush of velvet, she could not rouse the emotion. She grasped for something else, to find a feeling to use as a shield, but all she found was the weakness of happiness. An empty ache blanketed as she spiralled into his spell, and a cold rush of fear chilled her.
Arley, still inside her, gave a satisfied sigh. He ran his palm down her back, and his light, feathering stroke sent a quiver along her spine. He brushed the hair from her neck and curved to kiss her nape. Thin tickles erupted, and she had to stifle a giggle. Chiding herself, she pushed it down.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that,’ he said. ‘Never enjoyed it so much. I—’
‘Don’t spoil it with words,’ Vivianne snapped as she twisted away. He fell back against the mattress and opened his arms in invitation, a stupid, satisfied smile on his beautiful face. She should slide off the bed and dress, race home to wash, but instead, she crawled along his length and collapsed against his side. He gathered her in his arms and she settled against his chest. The rhythm of his breathlessness matched hers with gasping synchroneity.
Arley stroked her hip, then pressed a kiss to her temple. Her racing heart stumbled.
Non, non, non. She would not. She could not let herself feel anything for this man. She had to choke down the feeling in her chest. Had to snuff it out before it starved her.
She’d woken with the thought to seduce him. He may not be as rich as a patron, or have influence, but he wore nice shirts, had steady employment and with the duke, probably had good connections. And he liked her, that was abundantly obvious. And when she watched him as he slept, she had confessed to herself that she was not ready to let him go. So she’d thought to show him the pleasure she could give. Make a new arrangement. Renegotiate their deal.
Perhaps she could salvage her plan.
Vivianne twisted in his arms and rested her chin on his chest. Everything about him felt so uncomplicated and easy. So gloriously simple.
‘Monsieur—’
‘Arley.’ He nudged her, a slight grin giving light to his sleepy, half-closed eyes. ‘Why so formal? Especially afterthat.’
She would not be drawn into that look. She drew little circles on his chest. ‘You are leaving soon, yes?’
‘Now that I have my list, maybe tomorrow.’
‘Do you think your business will bring you back to Paris? Perhaps often enough that you might need to keep a small apartment? Something simple for your convenience?’
‘Vivianne…’ His tone had that preparation for dismissal, and it hurt more than any other rejection she had received, even more than failing her auditions. But unlike those times when she bowed her head and walked off stage, this time, she would not allow herself to be set aside so easily.
‘At least think on it. Just a little? Because I am tired. Tired of Paris and the games she plays. I am almost too old for the ballet, and I will die before I go back to thegrisettes. I know the promise of a courtesan means little, but I give you my word that I will keep your bed warm only for you.’
‘This journey was an exception. My work is in London. I will not need to come back here often at all.’
Vivianne squirmed, desperate to put some distance between herself and his body.
Arley gripped her and held her in place. ‘You did not let me finish.’ He took hold of her hand and brought it to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm. ‘All my life I’ve been what I was told to be. With you, for the first time, I feel free. Like a person I do not know. I don’t want you in Paris, I want you to come home with me. But not as my mistress. I want you to be my wife.’
‘Marriage?’ The word made her dizzy. Not since she’d been a naive girl leaving her village had she felt like that was a path for her.
‘Would you like me on one knee?’ he asked, and before she could reply, he pushed himself up, slid over the side of the bed and crouched on the floor, both ridiculous and stunning in his nakedness. ‘Or on two knees, begging like the fool I am. Or perhaps I should lie prostrate, like the courtiers of old before their queen.’
