Page 109 of The Duke's Dream
With a heaving breath, she slumped over his chest. "I can't find it. I—"
"Easy, Little One. We will get there. Together." William pulled away from her and lay her on her back.
He touched her briefly, reverently, her chin, her neck, the sides of her breasts, her calves. Kissing and licking, not wanting to spare the tiniest part, William loved all her body. The underside of her arm that framed her face when she danced, the ticklish part behind her knees, the curvature of her stomach that shook when she laughed—he loved all.
He whispered his devotion to her inner thighs and lapped a lullaby on the lips of her sex. He played a sweet ballad, drawing the notes with his tongue, flicking her bud like a harp, and then closing his teeth around it, sucking gently.
When her belly quivered and her breathing changed, William kissed her ankles.
"I love your ballerina’s legs," he said, "and if you ask me to give my pledge to a single part, I might take a decisive pledge…" He kissed her ticklish knees. "A very serious pledge…" he moved further up her body and licked her navel. "A wicked, passionate one…" He kissed the underside of her breast. Agonizingly slowly, he entered her and gazed into her fathomless eyes. "To your brilliant mind. La Sylphide haunts my dreams, but Helene consumes my every waking hour."
When her release came, she mouthed his name, and tears poured from her eyes. It was shattering like the breaking out of a fever. William caught her in his arms, cradling her like a child.
Brushing his lips on her forehead, he rocked her to sleep.
"Rest, Little One. While you dream, I will make everything right."
WhenWilliamalightedat37 St James's Street, White's facade loomed ahead, its windows casting a hazy glow in the dank street.
The porter opened the door, bowing. "Good evening, Your Grace."
"Which member of the committee is in attendance tonight?"
"The Duke of Devonshire has arrived this afternoon, Your Grace."
William gave a curt nod. "Tell him I require a word. I shall be waiting in the library."
The club buzzed with the rustle of cards, the clink of crystal, and the murmur of voices. William strode toward the main staircase, energy thrumming through him like the charged stillness before battle. As soon as Devonshire appeared, William would demand the withdrawal of the bet and a written promise from the committee forbidding more slandering words. Then he would procure a special license and marry Helene.
The door clicked behind him. About time.
Instead of Devonshire, Thornley shadowed the entrance, followed by Cavendish. Curse his friend and his meddling.
"I hear you were distressed, son. What is the matter?" Thornley frowned, his brows meeting above his aquiline nose. He moved to the sidebar and poured a drink, his movements deliberate and slow. "Here, have a brandy."
Cavendish cleared his throat, his hands slipping into his pockets, his expression sheepish, almost apologetic. William's glare darkened as he eyed his friend. If Cavendish thought that an intervention by Thornley would change his mind, he was gravely mistaken.
“I’m not distressed. In fact, I’ve never seen more clearly in my life.” William kept his voice steady.
Thornley sighed, extending a glass. "Then indulge your family's oldest friend?"
William shook his head. Where the hell was Devonshire? If a committee member didn't appear, he would remove the bet with his own hands.
"As your father's best friend, I must speak my mind. I'm concerned to see you so... distracted. You were absent from the funerals of Captain Montague and Major Henry Barrington, two war heroes. You missed four sessions of Parliament this past fortnight. Meanwhile, Wellington is waging the offensive of our lives, Napoleon is raising a monstrous army to invade Russia, and we are no closer to gaining a majority of the MPs to raise the war budget than we were at the beginning of the season."
William crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "I've done my duty."
"Is it courting a dancer called duty these days?"
William's hands fisted by his sides, and his voice lowered to a dangerous growl. "You won't speak ill of my future duchess."
Color drained from Thornley's face, and he drew in a wheezing breath. "Marriage is a solemn social arrangement. It should not be decided in haste. What is happening, son? You have always been the epitome of control—"
"I'm not here to discuss my personal life." William paced away from Thornley.
"Why are you here, then? To ruin the Albemarle name?" Thornley followed him, his voice rising. "This infatuation will be your undoing. Imagine the scandal. Can you afford to be seen as a man ruled by passion rather than reason? Your legacy, your influence—compromised for a fleeting romance."
William splayed his hands over the mantelpiece, as Thornley's words struck him like shrapnel.
