The Dukes' Christmas Abductions Page 3

  There wasn’t.

  He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Your husband.”

  His wife stared at him, and then began to laugh.

  The laugh got louder, shriller, and became hysterical.

  “Now I know you’re delusional.” She shook her head and her long brunette curls spun around her face like a whirling, dancing mass. “I don’t have a husband.”

  Could his day get any worse?

  ****

  Daniel paused mid swatting the delectable arse in front of him to rub, what must be a considerable ache by now, away. His quarry had stopped screaming for this Vicky, at last, and unless his senses were completely off, she was starting to enjoy his attention. Certainly her breaths were coming in short gasps, and instead of struggling, she was raising her bottom into every carefully placed swat of his hand.

  The evening was definitely looking up. As was his cock, which was in danger of splitting his evening breeches.

  There was one way to find out for sure. Daniel slipped his fingers under the hideous undergarments, and smirked at the all over body shiver his girl gave. Satisfied with not only her reaction but also by the wet, hair-free cunt he found, he let his digits linger.

  “Oh, god.”

  Her breathless moan spurred him on, and he grinned when he found her hidden pearl. She shivered again when he circled the tight nub, and Daniel set up lazy circles, designed to drive any woman wild. This chit proved no exception. The air grew heavy with the musk of aroused woman, and Daniel inhaled deeply, before he stopped the movement.

  A strangled groan escaped his girl, and he tapped her arse again, when she tried to rub her cunt on his fingers.

  “Oh, no, you don’t. I want the truth, starting with your name, and maybe then I’ll let you find release. Only on my say so, though, are we clear here, girl?”

  “Fuck, yes … ow.”

  Her arse cheeks wobbled most satisfactorily, when he yanked that odd fabric down to her knees, and delivered a few more swats to her delectable arse. The woman had a derriere made for fucking, hips to grab onto while he sunk his cock into her body and claimed what was his. That thought made his head come up. His? He had no business having proprietary thoughts toward a servant like that.

  “Fuck, we most certainly will, but not without you telling me who you are, so…” He delivered another open handed swat across both of her arse cheeks this time, and her answering deep throated moan made him go so hard it was a wonder he hadn’t spilled in his breeches yet.

  “Clara, Sir. My name is Clara.”

  Daniel slid his fingers through her sodden slit, and flicked her nub once, causing her to give another one of those cock hardening moans.

  “Very nice, but the correct address would be my lord, chit, would it not?”

  A strangled groan was his response this time, and when he withdrew his fingers again, she slumped.

  “Sorry, My Lord.”

  The girl, Clara, he mentally amended, had fire, that was for sure, if the intonation she gave his title was anything to go by. A certain amount of boldness was something Daniel certainly appreciated in his bed partners. If Clara was a lady’s maid, she was wasted in that position. As his mistress, however… His mood improved dramatically as that thought took hold.

  It was Christmas, time to be charitable and all that went with such bounty, and what could be better than elevating this lovely creature from her status of mere servant to his mistress.

  Mind thus made up, it was time to taste her nectar and to see if what he was suspecting would be true. That Clara and he would mesh perfectly in the bedroom, and he could let his darker desires shine through.

  He indulged himself by sliding several digits through her wet cunt, lubricating them with her juices, before he slipped one finger into her tight channel, and brought his thumb to press against the puckered hole, guarding that entrance.

  Clara stiffened slightly, but she didn’t voice any protest, and when he started to thrust the finger in her cunt slowly in and out of her, she gasped. Her hips rose in involuntary jerks, which told him how close she already was to exploding under his ministrations. Her untutored responses made him want to hurry this along, but Daniel was never an inconsiderate lover. He would give her several releases before he claimed his own.

  “Good girl, and who do you work for?”

  Clara moaned and writhed against him, her internal muscles fluttering around his fingers in rippling moves, which signaled her impending orgasm as clearly as the rosy flush spreading across her skin. So beautifully responsive. She jerked when he tapped her nub, and then withdrew his hand.

  “Faversham Estate. Oh god, please, My Lord … I.” The rest of her pretty little plea was lost in a screech as he swung her off his lap and onto his bed. Her breasts bounced most satisfactorily, and her lovely almond shaped green eyes widened further when he crawled onto the bed with her, and straddled her midriff. Daniel grasped her arms and brought them high above her head. The action made her breasts rise up in silent offering, and Daniel smirked.

  “Hmm, that would mean you work for me. How delightful. Whatever position you hold here, I much prefer you in this one, unable to move and at my mercy. I’m going to tie your wrists together and tether you to one of the posts, sweet Clara. Is that acceptable to you?”

  Her breathing hitched and her pupils dilated to such a degree that only a small area of moss like color remained around the outer ring. Her breasts quivered with the force of her breathing, and the scent of her nectar increased. No doubt she would be leaving a wet spot on his covers by now, and wasn’t that a delightful thought.

  He still needed to hear her say the words, though. His employee she might be, but he would not force his attentions where they weren’t wanted. Not that it had ever been a problem. As the heir apparent to Faversham Estate, and the Duke of Hockwell, he was one of the most eligible bachelors of the ton, and well used to ducking meddling mamas and enticing widows, alike, bent on leg shackling him.

  If and when he selected a bride it would be someone of his choosing and more than willing and able to accommodate his somewhat unusual needs.

  Not for the first time, Daniel mused how lucky it was that both he and his cousin had similar tastes and were able to confide in each other. Not only that, at times they had worked together to ensure they had all they wanted.

  “I asked you a question, girl.”

  “Yes, My Lord, but…”

  An unwanted and surprising wave of affection gripped him when he looked down to see Clara bite her lip, and blush crimson. It was endearing the way she wore her feelings on her sleeve, and a refreshing change from the artifice of the usual women in his acquaintance.

  Transferring both her wrists into one of his large hands he reached across to the nightstand to retrieve his cravat. He had to grin at the way her eyes followed his every movement, and a little whimper escaped her throat when he ran the ends of the silken material across her nipples in slow circles.

  “You have an objection, my dear?” he asked, and she shook her head.

  “Not exactly, but don’t I get a safeword or something? At least that what happens in the books, and—” She slammed her lips shut and looked anywhere but him, when Daniel burst out laughing.

  “Books, you say? I shall have to read these books you refer to. No young lady, servant or not, ought to be reading books like that.” He reined in his amusement when she frowned at him. Fire flashed in her expressive eyes, and he dipped his head.

  “Forgive me. I do not know what you mean by such a word, but I assume it to mean you want to use a word that makes you feel safe?”

  At her nod, he dropped a kiss on her nose which made her go a little cross eyed, and made his chest feel tight. What was it about this chit that drew him like a beacon, and made him act quite so out of character? It wasn’t just her looks, though had she been a lady of the ton, those alone, coupled with her fabulous curves would have drawn his attention like bee to the honey. Exce
pt the freckles!

  Something else was at play here. Something indecipherable, which tugged at his heartstrings and made him want to protect her.

  “Yes, because I’ve never done this before.”

  Her whispered confession should have been the equivalent of a cold dousing of water straight from the well. Daniel wasn’t in the habit of deflowering virgins. They tended to get over emotional, and doing so to a member of the ton was unpardonable. He had no wish to get snared into marriage like that, and a fair few had tried in the past. It had made him even more cynical of the fairer sex and their machinations on the whole.

  Delivered in Clara’s throaty whisper however, the confession—one that she hadn’t needed to make after all—made his prick jerk against his restraints. Daniel released his hold on Clara’s wrists, lest he hurt her in his agitation, and getting off her, swung his legs over the side of the bed to give himself some breathing space.

  Just to be clear he had heard her right, he had to ask.

  “Never as in never having been tied up, or never as in you’re virgo intacta?”

  He inwardly grimaced at the haughty way in which those words came out of his throat, which seemed clogged with emotion. Kit would have a right laugh at him if he saw him now, that’s for sure. A ripe, wet woman at his disposal and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her.

  The bedcovers rustled as though she had moved, and seconds later tentative fingertips brushed over his shoulders. Innocent as the contact was it nonetheless shot darts of awareness of the woman behind him straight to his cock, and he groaned under his breath.

  “The latter,” she said, and Daniel shook his head, and bounded off the bed and out of her reach.

  “I see.” Clara frowned at him, as he dropped his voice on purpose to test her reaction. “So that was your plan, was it? Sneak up and get yourself deflowered by a duke, and then what… Cry rape? Get me to marry you, what? It won’t work, you know.”

  Daniel knew he was being the biggest cad imaginable right now, but he had to be sure.

  The most un-lady like string of inventive swear words that came out Clara’s mouth were as unexpected as they were delightful.

  They were followed by a barrage of cushions, one of which hit him straight in the face, “Marry you? Who on earth do you think you are? This is the twenty first century you bloody fool, not…”

  Daniel didn’t hear the rest of the shouted words, as the ground shook with another almighty flash of thunder and lightning. The candles went out, and the room filled with enough light to blind a man.

  What in deuce was going on?

  Chapter Four

  Faversham House, December 1815

  “Contrary to what you assume, my dear, you do have a spouse. To wit, me.” That hallucination of a drop dead gorgeous bloke folded his arms, to all intents and purposes a man without a care in the world, except to hear what she had to say. She’d tell him.

  “Hold on. Humor me please.” Vicky wriggled until she was almost flat on the bed with only her head propped on the covers. He followed her actions with narrowed eyes but didn’t speak. “Shut up and listen up.”

  Vicky gathered her thoughts as the feather mattress cocooned her. The sheer comfort was enough to make her want to sigh in contentment. If she hadn’t been so determined to get to the bottom of what was going on, she’d have said sod it and enjoyed a nap. However.

  “Right, I might sound like a tape on loop, not that I’d even know how to do that let alone get hold of one.” Shut up Vic you sound like a moron.

  He frowned.

  “Yes I’m babbling again, sorry. Right.” She forced her shoulders down and tried to relax. It was hard when she was so churned up. “Please just tell me what happened to get me tied down, naked, in your bed. Straightforward and with no embellishments.”

  He did that one raised eyebrow thing that sent her pussy into spasms. Bloody hell, at this rate the sheet would be two toned and she’d be damp and uncomfortable.

  Damn him.

  “Our bed, and sadly, not what would usually happens when you’re fastened, naked there.”

  That sentence spoken in that voice was hard not to respond to by a fast move from the bed, onto the floor and on her knees in front of him.

  She also could do the one eyebrow thing, sadly not with as much style and panache as the man who now very slowly unwrapped his yard long cravat from his neck and ran it through his fingers. Her gesture seemed lost on him as he held the cravat in the air and chuckled. “This would usually be used somehow. When allowed, you can be most inventive.”

  Allowed? Vicky decided that if she wanted to ever find out what was going on she’d better let that outrageous comment pass unremarked.

  He put the cravat onto the back of a chair and turned to the cuffs of his shirt. It looked as if she might be about to see the guy in a much more natural light. Would it be cool to punch the air and shout yee haa?

  Maybe not.

  Instead she waited until he’d pulled the shirt over his head and prompted him. “So?”

  So.” He wandered, bare-chested, over to one corner of the room and used a bootjack to pull off his gleaming hessians. The firelight emphasized the play of his muscles as he moved and the tight breeches showed his buttocks off to perfection.

  Vicky watched him, dry mouthed as he bent over to stand his boots outside the door, and turned back to look at her as he closed the door and locked it.

  “We don’t need servants interrupting us.”

  Well, no, but who on earth were the servants? As far as Vicky knew only Clara and the caretaker husband and wife team were permanent staff and no way were they classified as servants.

  The guy … her husband—allegedly—walked back to the bed and sat on the edge. She looked pointedly at his groin where his cock was outlined long and hard under the creamy-colored material that hid it from view. He followed her gaze and smiled ruefully.

  “A permanent state of affairs around you, my heart.”

  “Maybe it needs air? You know instead of being confined under those.” She waved her hand in the direction of his prick. “I don’t mind.”

  He laughed. “Nor would my pego.”

  Pego? I thought that was only used in books. I use it in mine, but by god he’s taking this dress in Regency costumes a bit too far isn’t he? Talking in it as well. Ah well as long as I find out what’s going on and where Clo… hell, I’d forgotten Clara.

  “Clara?” she blurted out. “Is she okay?”

  He stayed his fingers as they opened the placket on his breeches and blinked. “Who?”

  “The girl I was with and… oh look just tell me everything, then you can answer my questions.”

  “Ma petite.”

  The warning tone in his voice made her shiver with an ohh what next thought. However…

  “Look, sorry or whatever but I’m sort of worried here,” she said placatingly. A thought struck her. “Do you know where my ba…reticule is.” At least she could use the correct name for the pretty drawstring bag that matched the dress she’d worn.

  He bent down to the base of the cabinet by the bed. The one she thought might contain a commode. It didn’t, but that thought made her want to use one.

  As he straightened and handed her the reticule Vicky wondered just what was more important. Finding out what was happening, going to the bathroom, or checking the contents of her bag were still intact. Her bladder decided for her.

  “Um where’s the loo please?” At his blank look she mentally rolled her eyes. Asshole.

  “Excuse me, I need the…” The what? “The facilities,” she finished finally. “The withdrawing room.” Her skin heated and she wanted to slide under the covers. Why was it that to ask where the loo was didn’t faze her but asking in such an antiquated manner made her blush?

  He pointed to one side of the room. Only the twinkle in his eyes showed how amused he was by her reaction. “Through that door. Where there is also a bath, and a ewer and warm water. I hesitate
to say it’s hot as I brought it up earlier, but at least it won’t be freezing.”

  Vicky nodded. “Thank you.” Now if only she had something to wrap herself in. His expression showed her he damn well knew what was going through her mind and expected her to ask for a robe. Well, sod it, she went naked at home, she could do it here. She’d just ignore him.

  That of course was easier said than done.

  With an insouciance she certainly didn’t feel, Vicky threw the cover back and stood up. He, damn him, didn’t take his eyes off her. Now she knew how a bug pinned out for inspection felt.

  He grinned and flicked his finger over her denuded pussy.

  “Nice to see your cunt without a covering of hair.”

  “Too personal, mate.” Vicky turned her back on him. “Watch it.”

  The swat to her ass was unexpected and stung. She swung round again. “What the fuck was that for?”

  “Brass is not accepted.”

  Vicky thought fast. She thought he’d used brass to mean impudence not outrageous.

  “You mean I’m bratty? I know that. Sass is my middle name.”

  “No, your middle name is Sarah.”

  ****

  Kit watched as she wrinkled her nose. He had no idea what bratty or sass meant but he’d guess she meant she answered a question with another and took nothing for granted without querying it first. If that was, what did she say, sass, he liked it.

  “Sarah?” she said finally. “How do you know that?”

  “Wedding vows. I, Victoria Sarah do marry, and so on.”

  “Yeah, well about that marriage malarkey … hold on, look I really do need to go.” She turned on her heel and left the room at a run.

  Kit watched and knew he had a smile on his face. His Victoria might have woken up with some strange ideas in her head but she still did everything at top speed. He stripped his stockings and breeches down his legs and, as naked as she, stretched out on the bed. Used to the temperature he didn’t bother going under the covers. It might be only a little above the temperature needed to put ice on his drinking water, but it didn’t bother him or his cock. He was pleasantly warm and his cock, heated by their exchange, was as stiff as it ever became.