Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(18)

His mouth was rough on hers, opening so his tongue could push inside her. She allowed it, meeting the kiss with her own, unpracticed, yes, but just as passionate. He stroked her tongue, seeming to taste every inch of her as his weight pushed her into the pillows. She was beginning to understand and did the same to him, eliciting another soft groan from him.

His hands moved, too, sliding down her bare sides, gripping her hips in the darkness beneath the blankets and pushing himself against her. She lifted to his weight, gasping when the hard cock she’d seen earlier thrust against her lower belly, insistent and hot.

“Simon,” she gasped into his mouth, overwhelmed by pleasure and need all at once. It was all so heady and dangerous and wanton and wonderful.

He froze at the sound of his name, his hands stilling, his mouth stopping. Then he released her in an instant and jumped off of her as quickly as he could. He caught the blanket on top and wrapped it around himself as he paced away to the fire.

“No!” he shouted, loud enough that the room almost shook. She thought that the exclamation was as much to himself as to her, and she winced at the pain in that one little word.

“No,” he repeated, and there was even more pain in the softer admonishment.

He moved toward the door and she sat up, the blankets sliding from her breasts as she did so, but she didn’t care.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “Please, Simon.”

“I can’t, Meg,” he said, spinning to face her. He stared, and she blushed before she covered herself. “I can’t, don’t you see? No matter how I want to, no matter how I need to. He is one of my closest friends. Practically a brother when I had no one else in the world. They both are. I’m sleeping on the floor. I should have done so to begin with.”

Her lips parted. “But the cold—”

“Then I’ll freeze,” he snapped, exiting the room and slamming the door behind himself.

She flopped back on the bed, covering her face with her forearm as the tears began to fall.





Chapter Six





Simon shifted and grunted as pain shot up his arm. Every part of his body felt stiff and bruised. He remained with his eyes closed, caught between restless sleep and wakefulness, and tried to remember exactly why everything felt so awful.

And then he heard the voices. Distant, through glass and wood, but there. He recognized those voices. James saying, “—one of the few people to know where this place is.”

Then Graham, his tone angry. “—at least it would protect her.”

Simon shot to his feet, all the memories of last night coming cascading down on him. He and Meg caught in the storm. He and Meg, lying in that bed together. Kissing Meg and having it be so much better than anything he’d ever dreamed.

And so much worse.

He’d had every intention of waking her early, of them being fully dressed before dawn. But thanks to that searing kiss, he’d hardly slept, probably less than an hour, and clearly most of that hour had been recent.

Now Graham and James and…there was another voice, one he didn’t recognize. Well, they were here. And he was naked except for a blanket, and all his clothes were in a bedroom with Meg, equally naked.

“Shit!” he burst out, tucking the blanket around himself just as the door began to open.

“It’s unlocked!” he heard James say, relief in his voice as the door swung fully open and revealed James, Graham and the Viscount Baxton, a distant friend of their group. Also one of the most gossipy gentleman in Society. All three of them stopped and stared as they saw Simon standing in his little blanket and nothing else.

Graham’s eyes narrowed and Lord Baxton’s widened. James stepped forward, his expression uncertain. “Thank God, Simon. We were worried sick. Is Meg with you?”

“Yes,” Simon said slowly. “We were caught out in the storm. I had to bring her here, she was soaked to the bone and—”

Before he could finish, the bedroom door opened and all the men pivoted to face it as Meg stepped into the main hall. Simon’s eyes fluttered shut. She was still wearing only the blanket and her hair was mussed from sleep. She looked gorgeous as ever, but she also looked…well-loved.

She caught her breath, tugging her blanket up higher, and her gaze flickered to Simon.

There was a beat of a moment where everyone was silent, staring at each other, the meaning of all this sinking in for each person.

Then Graham lunged forward. “You son of a bitch!” he bellowed before he swung and punched Simon square in the nose.





Meg screamed as Simon staggered beneath the force of Graham’s blow, nearly falling onto the settee. Blood began to trickle from his nose, but Graham didn’t look finished either as he took a long step forward.

She didn’t think. She just moved, rushing to lodge herself between the men. “No, stop! Please, Graham, stop!” she said, blocking Simon as she clutched at her blanket with one hand and pushed Graham back with the other.

He stared down at her, his gaze suddenly very focused. And very angry. She’d never seen him so angry, or so anything emotional, in all the time they had been engaged.

“What is this, Margaret?” Graham hissed, his gaze holding hers, forcing her not to look away, telling her everything he thought of her. “This is what you’re doing?”