Page 16 of House of Thorns
Nicholas yawned. “Bed.”
Her trademark sultry smile played over her lips.
He followed her up the stairs, dimly aware of her sashaying hips preceding him. She was trying to tease him, of course, but he had other concerns. He planned on visiting Olivia first thing in the morning. After all, he could scarcely show up at the Duke’s residence, querying about the matter of Deborah’s pregnancy. Real or not, it wouldn’t matter. The Duke, her grandfather, would behead him first and ask questions later.
Afterwards, he’d pay a visit to his mother. Doubtless, she’d know the identity of the mysterious beauty he’d kissed in the garden. The corner of his lip lifted in a smile as he felt himself harden. Thinking of her, even nearly two weeks later, sent a shiver of arousal coursing through him. Clearly, he was smitten. They reached the room.
“My lord,” Demelza turned on him, reaching for his trousers.
He inhaled and yawned, then brushed her probing hands away with an irritated sweep of his hand, stalked to the bed and fell across the counterpane, face down.
“My lord?” Demelza queried.
The mattress dipped as she joined him.
She pulled at his shoulders until he obligingly rolled onto his back. She’d let her gown fall to her waist, but the sight of her naked breasts did little to excite him. Puckering her lips in a pout, she ran her hands over his chest.
“What’s this?” she asked, drawing out Olivia’s letter from his inner waistcoat pocket.
He grunted. “A lie.”
“A lie?” she asked, arching a finely plucked brow.
Unbidden, she opened the parchment and read aloud.
Honorable Sir,
It is my duty to inform you of a matter you must immediately set to rights. My cousin, Deborah Hay, has informed me of a delicate matter that you must address with the utmost urgency, and in order to assure there are no misunderstandings, I must come, at once and with unnatural candor, to the point.
Deborah is expecting your child. You must discharge your duty and…
“Argh,” Nicholas growled, swatting the letter from her hand.
“Is it true, then?” Demelza asked, running her fingers over his body.
“Nay,” he grunted. “Not a word of it.”
“Oh?” Demelza tilted her head to the side. “You’ve been so distracted of late. Quite unlike yourself.”
So, she’d noticed. He shrugged and yawned. “I’m tired.”
“Men do not come here to sleep, my lord,” she teased, sliding her fingers into his trousers.
He lay still, again experiencing a decided lack of interest to the painted woman trying her best to arouse him. It was clear enough that his body had decided to mutiny at the prospect of Demelza’s charms for even a night. He’d obviously outgrown his fascination with her.
In the morning, he’d have to find a hotel. Perhaps, they’d finished building that new one by the river…his horse would appreciate the stables there, far more than the brothel’s cramped accommodations. No doubt, they’d employ better stable hands, as well. He’d ridden his finest red roan from Culzean Castle. Such a horse needed daily exercise, a proper stretching of the legs.
Dimly, he noted that Demelza had increased her vigor, trying her best to spark his interest.
He yawned. He could always return to the King’s Arms, a rather quaint establishment that housed the Hunter’s Club, his favorite card room in Glasgow—not that he’d been particularly interested in cards, of late, either.
He winced at Demelza’s ministrations. By George, she would bloody soon rub him raw if he didn’t put them both out their misery. Closing his eyes, he summoned again the image of the mysterious, auburn-haired lass. His cock obliged, lifting at once.
Demelza moaned in relief.
Caught in his fantasy, he thrust his cock gently between her lips until he’d hardened enough. Without bothering to undress further, he took her quickly, his mind still dwelling on quite another shapely form. To his surprise, he spilled his seed in less than a dozen strokes.
As usual, Demelza faked her pleasure, one perfectly timed to coincide with his. Only gold or silver baubles or a five-pound note could elicit a true response.
