Her Favorite Duke (The 1797 Club #2)(38)

All his fault. He couldn’t pretend this wasn’t his fault. Or that the consequences weren’t real and powerful. When he came near her, he hurt her. That was just a fact, even if he didn’t want it to be true.

“Simon,” she said, turning toward him.

He shook his head. He loved her. He had always loved her. But James had been right in choosing someone else for her. Simon had never been good enough for her, and he still wasn’t.

“Excuse me, Meg. I must go,” he said, then turned away from her and left the ballroom as quickly as he could.





Meg stared as Simon left not just her side, but maneuvered his way toward the exit of the ballroom. When they’d danced, she’d felt a connection to him. It hadn’t just been that renewal of their friendship that had occurred when she told him her riddle, but something more. He’d stared down into her face and she’d seen his heart in his eyes. She’d seen something deeper than friendship, more potent even than desire.

He’d let the connection stand, she’d felt him lean into it and into her. And then the crowd had whispered and he flinched away.

She clenched her fists and stepped forward, knowing that everyone in the room was watching and not giving a damn about it. She followed him, ten steps behind as he departed the ballroom. She followed him up the stairs. She followed him to his chamber.

He was so distracted that he clearly had no idea she was behind him. He was shutting the door to his chamber when she reached out and caught it, pushing in behind him before closing the door. She reached back and locked it as he turned and stared at her, eyes wide. But also filled with wanting.

Her body responded to that wanting and her hands began to shake at her sides.

“You should not be here,” he whispered, his voice rough and husky.

She lifted her chin. His desire for her was the only weakness he allowed himself. The only way they could be close without him putting up barriers created by his guilt. Perhaps one day making love to her would allow him to feel something deeper for her.

It might be her only path to the future she so wanted.

She moved forward and wound her arms around his neck, lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him. He muttered a curse against her mouth, but then drove his tongue deep inside, pushing her back against the door with all his weight and pinning her there as he ravished her with deep, desperate kisses.

“You should not be here,” he panted again, but his hands bunched her gown, lifting it inch by inch as he slid his mouth down the side of her neck.

She pushed at his jacket, tossing it on the ground behind him before she lifted her hands to the complicated knot of his cravat. His fingers grazed her bare thigh and she gasped with the sensation of his warm hands on her naked skin.

He froze at the sound, staring down at her with war in his eyes. Then he stepped away and her heart sank.

“You should not be here,” he said for a third time, this time his voice quiet and low. She expected him to force her out, to turn away.

Instead, he unbuttoned his shirt and cast it away with his jacket. Then he reached out and stripped open the buttons on her gown with just a flick of his wrist. He tugged her dress and chemise down together, and suddenly she stood before him in naught but her stockings and slippers.

He shook his head slowly as he looked her up and down, leaving her wondering how he judged what he saw. This man who could have and had had anything he wanted from women. Was she good enough? Desirable enough?

The answer came when he unfastened his trousers and revealed the hard length of his erection. He kicked away his trousers and leaned in, caging her against the door and brushing his lips back and forth against hers.

He drew a breath as if to speak again, and she lifted her hand to cover his lips. “But I am here, Simon.”

“Yes, you are,” he whispered, then caught her hips in both hands and lifted her.

She latched her legs around his waist, clinging to his shoulders to regain her balance. He smiled as he pushed her hard against the door and then thrust, sliding inside of her with one smooth motion.

She gasped at the invasion, so different from the last time when there had been pain. Tonight there was only pleasure, intense and instant. She ground her hips out of instinct, and that pleasure multiplied.

His eyes shut and he let out a long breath before he began to pulse into her. Deep thrusts that always ended with a perfect circle of his hips so he hit her clitoris on each movement.

“Oh God,” she murmured, her vision beginning to blur as everything in her world became focused on the place where they were joined.

He pressed harder, faster, watching her face with intensity, changing his rhythm when her expression changed, keeping her ever on the edge of release but never letting her fall completely over. This was pleasure, but it somehow also felt like punishment. As if he were showing her how he could give or take away, how he could make her want to beg for him.

If it was meant to make her question her decision to come to him, it didn’t work. She lifted into him, rubbing her bare breasts against his chest as she drove her tongue into his mouth. She tasted mint, whiskey, some other sweet essence that was just Simon and nothing else. She was drunk with it all, and that was when he let her fall.

Three perfectly timed thrusts and her body erupted with the pleasure she’d been seeking. Her hips jolted against his, her inner muscles rippling against his hardness.

“Christ, you test me,” he murmured, setting her down at last and separating their bodies.