Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(14)

“Meg,” he said, laughing a little, though she thought it might be a bit nervous of a laugh. “Until you are safe, I’m going to stay wet. And I’m cold. So for my sake, stop arguing and get undressed.”

She worried her lip a bit and then nodded. “All right.” She turned away from his touch and moved toward the bedroom in the back of the cottage. As she touched the dusty handle, she turned back toward him. “Simon?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone filled with frustration that told her she wasn’t moving fast enough.

“I’m—I’m sorry.”

He stared at her a long moment, then motioned to the door. “Go on. We’ll have plenty of time to talk once we’re both warm.”

She left him, her hands shaking, not just from the cold but from the notion that within moments she would be naked with him. Naked with the man she loved more than anything in this world.

And she had no idea what would happen next.





Simon stood in front of the fire that now glowed hot and bright in the main room of the cottage. It helped a little, but he was still wet to the bone and cold. Of course, he also had a cockstand that rubbed painfully against the front of his soaked trousers.

“That’s a first,” he muttered.

Cold and wet normally weren’t normally conducive to such a thing, but here he was. Hard as steel, listening to Meg get undressed through the thin wooden door. Just a tiny barrier between him and smooth skin, long legs, open arms that he could...

“No,” he managed to remind himself through clenched teeth. “No.”

The door behind him opened at last and he forced himself to turn and look as Meg exited the bedroom. His mouth instantly went dry. She was wrapped in a thin gray blanket, in a rather poor toga style. Her hair was half down, tendrils of it teasing beneath the edge of the covering and pressing wet curls against all the skin that was exposed to him.

And there was so much skin. Most of her shoulders were bare, her back was bare, her neck was bare, as were the swell of her breasts that peeked up over the edge of the blanket. And then there was leg. So much smooth, glorious leg. The blanket only reached to just above her knee and he stared at those legs.

“Simon?” she said, her voice tense.

He forced his gaze back to her face. “Yes. Good.”

She wrinkled her brow at his response and came farther into the room, toward the warmth of the fire. Toward him and his raging cockstand, which was now even worse, if that were to be believed.

“I-I left another blanket on the bed for you,” she said.

He nodded and stepped back from her. His tone was sharp as he repeated, “Good.”

He walked away without saying anything else, only pausing to grab the stack of wood he’d placed near the bedroom door so he could build a fire in there, as well.

He shut the door behind him, shut himself into almost pitch darkness and leaned back against it with a ragged sigh. There were tests in a man’s life. He knew that, he’d encountered many. This was one, wasn’t it? A test of control. Of loyalty.

He had to pass, that was all there was to it.

He set the logs down and went about making a quick fire. Once it had begun to glow, he stood before it, undressing. His hands kept brushing that unwanted erection and he grunted at the sensation.

He let his trousers fall, tugged his sopping wet shirt over his head and then took himself firmly in hand. The only way to make this better was to slake the need. So he stroked once, twice, leaning one hand against the mantel as he pictured going back into the main room, pressing Meg against the wall and lifting her onto him. Taking her with long, steady strokes until she shattered around him, whispering his name into his shoulder.

He came in pearly spurts, biting his lip to keep from crying out at the pleasure that coursed through his body. Once he was spent, he pressed his other hand to the mantel and leaned there with his full weight.

“Get yourself together,” he cursed, hating himself for what he’d just done. What he still wanted to do.

He picked up all their wet clothes, rung them in the cracked washbasin near the door and began to hang them. His went first, then her dress. His breath caught as he lifted her chemise. It was see-through thanks to the wetness. He shut his eyes as he draped it on the back of a chair and turned it to face the fire. Her stockings, silky and fine, went next to it, and then he wiped off his hands and gathered up the blanket.

It wasn’t going to cover much, but he did his best, wrapping it around his waist like it was a kilt before he drew a long breath. He had to go back out there. He had to face Meg. He had to face his fantasies.

Right now.

He pushed the door open and caught his breath. She was bent over the fire, putting another log in to feed the massive flame. Her blanket had dipped in the process and he caught a glimpse of the side of her full, lush breast.

She straightened and turned as if sensing him there. Her breath caught and her gaze slipped down from his face to his bare chest. She just stood there, staring at him like he was staring at her, and everything in his world grew tight and focused.

Meg wanted him. He’d seen that before, but now it rose up, rushing toward him like an out of control phaeton. She wanted him and they were alone and no one would ever have to know.

“Graham,” he muttered under his breath, trying hard to think of the man who he’d considered one of his best friends for so long.