Page 51 of The Wayward Duke
Julian’s teeth grazed the tender skin of her neck. “You’ve been imagining this all night, haven’t you? Pretending to be proper while picturing my cock inside you, pleasuring you where anyone might find us?”
Oh, God.“Yes,” she gasped.
The admission drew a rough, desperate sound from his throat. Caroline heard the rustle of fabric behind her as Julian freed himself one-handed. And then he thrust into her in a ruthless stroke that stole the breath from her lungs.
His hand clamped over her mouth at her sharp cry. “Hush now. Wouldn’t want anyone hearing you beg for this, would we?”
The vulgar words sent heat spiking through her. All thought scattered, her world reduced to white-hot ecstasy. The obscene slap of skin, his breath rough in her ear, restraints of propriety stripped away until only raw need remained.
Caroline let him manoeuvre her wrists behind her back, pinned tight in his bruising grip – the restraint only heightened her arousal. Each powerful stroke built the pressure higher. Rational thought fractured to pure sensation.
When he laughed, it was a low, dark sound. “I love seeing you like this. This is what you wanted from me, isn’t it?”
Caroline bit down on his palm. He played the perfect aristocrat, but this was the truth between them. Here, away from prying eyes, there were no rules. No restraints to bind them.
“Julian—” She broke off on a shattered gasp as he quickened his pace again.
Nothing existed but Julian surrounding her. Possessing her. As her climax crashed through her, she muffled her noises against his hand. He followed seconds later, cursing rough and low against her throat, his fingers digging bruises into her hips.
Caroline felt untethered. Remade. As though he had reached beneath her ribs to touch some secret, vulnerable part of her.
Julian gently turned her in his arms, then opened the door a crack to allow in the light. His burning gaze took in her dishevelled appearance, something close to awe in his eyes.
“Here. Let me help set you to rights.” He smoothed his hands over her tousled hair and rumpled skirts. When she was passably tidy, that devastating little smile curled his lips again. “One might accuse you of making me behave like a barbarian.”
“One might accuse you of enjoying it.” Caroline smoothed her gown, ensuring she looked presentable once more. Then she leaned to whisper, “I certainly do.”
20
The humid summer air pressed down on Julian as he prowled the train platform, cataloguing each face, only to dismiss them just as quickly. Families bid farewell to loved ones, gentlemen hurried to board with tickets clutched in gloved hands, and ladies fluttered lace fans to combat the sweltering heat. None posed an overt threat. But Julian knew better than to take comfort in the mundane normality surrounding him.
Wentworth checked his watch for the third time. “Boarding should commence shortly.”
“You’ll snap your timepiece in half if you keep clutching it so tightly,” Julian murmured dryly, despite the apprehension singing through his veins. “Those things are delicate.”
Wentworth shot him an impatient look. “I wasn’t aware you’d developed a passion for horology.”
Julian’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t want you to lose it during a time-sensitive operation. Though at the rate your jaw is clenched, you may crack a molar soon,” he replied, forcing calm into his voice even as his eyes tracked each passerby. Hunting anomalies. Seeking irregularities amid the mundane.
Wentworth did the same, assessing the steady trickle of travellers heading for the platform and mentally cataloguing potential suspects. But Julian’s focus bent towards a different quarry.
Edgar Kellerman.
Wentworth remained ignorant of Julian’s suspicions, and it was safer to keep it so until irrefutable proof came to light. But the pieces fitted too neatly for coincidence. Kellerman’s dubious investment scheme gave him access to the aristocracy and their travel habits. And complex linguistic puzzles like the coded threats would be easy for an educated man like him to create.
Now Julian need only supply the evidence to hang the bastard.
He took stock of the train. Seven passenger cars, one luggage, three cargo. Numerous sinister possibilities for stowing an explosive device, poison, anything.
Wentworth’s features turned grim, as if he read Julian’s thoughts. “Any theories on the target, or shall we begin investigating every nook and cranny?”
“No theories yet. Your men are stationed nearby? I assume they’re checking any aristocrats who board?”
A brusque nod. “Plainclothes. They boarded with the other passengers to keep watch.”
Julian’s gaze tracked a mother shepherding three children towards the platform. The young ones skipped and laughed, unaware of the danger.
“And the conductor has been advised to delay departure?”
