Page 45 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
“I was in a haze of sleep when we started, with no strength to resist you.”
“Now you can resist me? Growing bored with me already?”
His mouth formed a wicked grin. “Not at all.” His hold on her tightened. “We’ll have it your way. Breakfast later.”
They made love slowly, tenderly. While she experienced some discomfort, it wasn’t enough to make her want to give this up. She loved the weight of his body over hers, the fullness of him filling her. She loved the sensations. She loved the sunlight for its gift of letting her see him clearly as he rode her, as he rode passion.
When they lay sated and content, she wrapped herself around him, held him near. Yes, she was going to have regrets when she left him, but they were the sort that in later years would make her smile with fondness. She should hate him for the bargain he insisted they strike. But then he should hate her for the advantage she’d taken of his generosity.
They were each getting what they wanted. Strange to realize that she needed something else entirely.
“Will you give me a tour of your residence?” Rose asked, wrapped in his silk dressing gown, her back against a mound of pillows at the headboard. Over her lap, a tray held an assortment of dishes and delicacies.
A small army of servants had delivered an abundance of food, setting it all on a long table against a wall. He and Rose could stay in this room for a week and not go hungry. She was torn between expressing amazement at the lavishness and anger for all the times she’d gone hungry while those with wealth let so much go to waste.
Stretched across the foot of the bed, wearing nothing except trousers and a loose shirt, he finished chewing the tiniest pie she’d ever seen. “If you like.”
“Does it have a name?” The posh always named their residences.
“Buckland Palace, after my family name.”
“So you’re Benjamin Palace?”
“Buckland, you little witch, as you well know.”
She loved teasing him, loved the twinkle in his eyes. He didn’t smile enough for her tastes—not a true, genuine smile. He had his devilish smiles, his wicked ones, his caustic ones. But the ones that originated in the center of his soul were rare.
“I’ve never been in a palace before,” she said, popping a grape into her mouth.
“I’m not sure this truly qualifies as such. People call their residences whatever they like.”
To her itwaswithout doubt a palace, she mused as they walked through it after they’d finished breakfast. She was still wearing his dressing gown. She suspected they’d have another romp in the bed before she left for the afternoon. He’d taken her through all the bedchambers in the section where his was. There was another section on the far side of the house where guests stayed. He’d shown her the formal dining room that she thought could accommodate the House of Lords, a smaller dining room, a breakfast one, a smaller one still where intimate dinners were held. She was familiar with his library. He’d walked her through the duchess’s library, even though presently there was no duchess. All the books. So many. Even the rooms that weren’t designated as libraries contained shelves housing books. Harry would love it here.
Now they were strolling through a portrait gallery. A house with a room designed specifically to display portraits. It seemed at once opulent and again, wasteful. Small sitting areas dotted here and there, but the paintings dominated. She could see shadows of him in each of the males.
Throughout the entire tour he often caressed her lightly—the small of her back, her shoulder, her hip—as though he could not stand the thought of going too long without some contact with her. She relished it, knowing that this time next week she would never know his touch again.
She came to a stop beside a gigantic portrait hanging over the fireplace. “Your father. I take it.”
“Yes.” His hand came to rest just above her backside.
“I can see you in his features, but he contains a hardness that you lack.”
“If you believe that then you don’t know me well at all.”
Jerking her head around, she moved beyond his reach. “I think you’re angry about something, something more than my deceptions. I noticed it that first night, seething beneath the surface. It gave me pause. But I found you too handsome to resist.”
He barked out his laughter. “Did you? I think you thought,Here is a man with heavy pockets I would like to lighten.”
“That came later, after I made some inquiries.”
He sobered. “Should probably send word to Beckwith to cease his efforts on your behalf.”
She sighed. “Yes, I’ll see to it on my way to my residence this afternoon.”
“I’ll take care of it. He’s likely to be more forgiving if it comes from me.” He arched a dark brow. “Besides, I have to pay him for his services rendered anyway.”
With a smile, she strolled over to the next portrait. The woman had soulful brown eyes and mahogany hair. “Your mother?”
