Page 42 of Disciplined by the Duke
He pressed a kiss to her brow. “Shh, little bird. Let it happen.”
Her hand fisted in his neckcloth, pulling the linen tight around his throat. “But . . .”
He flicked his thumb over the pink nub and she was gone. A cry tore from her throat as she convulsed around his fingers, her body jackknifing up and her thighs clamping around his hand. He kept rubbing and thrusting, extending her first orgasm out as long as he could.
When the last shudder left her body, she sagged against him, spent. He gathered her close, burrowing his nose in her hair and smelling her sweet scent. Raised to be a duke, Marcus wasn’t short on self-esteem, but never had he felt more powerful than he did right now. Watching her break apart in his arms, from his hand, was almost enough to satisfy his own desire.
Almost. He could take her to his rooms right now, show her even more of what a man could do to please a woman. Remembering her body’s violent reaction, he smiled. He would have to hold this woman down so she didn’t come off the bed at her crisis. Or tie her down. Both ideas made his cock throb so hard it hurt. He could . . .
He could do nothing more. He’d done all that he would allow himself. He would probably still burn in hell for the liberties he’d taken with this innocent, but at least he’d limited himself to his stated purpose. He’d shown her what her body was capable of, let her explore some of her desires in a safe environment. The rest of her sexual awakening would be up to her.
Reaching down, he pulled up her undergarments. “Lift your hips.” She obeyed without question, and he arranged her drawers and retied the little knot to secure them. Smoothing down her skirts, he dragged in one more deep breath, his nose nestled behind her ear. So sweet. “Can you stand?”
She drew back her shoulders. “Of course. That was . . . wonderful, but not so tremendous as to remove my abilities.” Putting words to action, she slid off his lap and shook her skirts to fall loosely around her ankles.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. His head knew better, but his body took that as a dare. It wanted nothing more than to prove her wrong. Fuck her so hard she wouldn’t be able to walk straight for a se’nnight. But she wasn’t a challenge. She was his maid.
He eyed her closely. “Are you all right?”
She rubbed her palms against her skirts. “Yes. As I said, that was lovely. Thank you.” She bit her bottom lip. “Is that common? Do most women experience that same . . . release?”
“If the man is doing his job right,” he said. “There are many pleasures to be found. For someone like you they will be found in the marriage bed.”
A flush crept up her throat. “The marriage bed, yes.”
Marcus rose to his feet and tipped her chin up. “You have nothing to be ashamed of for what happened here. Nothing occurred that would ruin your chances for a match.” His gut clenched. She would make some other man a lovely wife. One of his footmen perhaps, or a country squire.
She nodded. “I should go.” Her tremulous voice made the words a question.
He slid his fingers off her soft skin, clenched his fists by his sides. “Yes. Go to your room and rest.” She backed away, her dark eyes running over him as if trying to memorize all his details. Her back bumped into the door and she grasped for the latch. “And Miss Smith.” She paused halfway out the door. “You will not miss any more meals.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” She lowered her eyes and dropped a curtsy, once more the perfect servant. He watched her leave and his shoulders sagged. For the first time in his life he hated his nobility.
Chapter Thirteen
The air was stifling, the sun’s rays beating down upon her, but Liz hardly noticed the sweat coursing down her back. She, Molly, and two other maids were on outside window duty, a task Molly had rolled her eyes at when they’d been assigned it that morning by Mr. Todd. With no shade on the west side patio, and windows that stretched as high as ten feet off the ground, it was the bimonthly chore that all the maids dreaded.
Plunging her rag back into her bucket, she barely noticed the sting of the vinegar on her scraped hands. Across the manicured lawn in front of the stable, the duke sat astride a large sorrel mare, walking the horse forward, then backwards. The horse’s steps were faltering, uncertain, but she responded to the duke’s commands.
A stable boy stood ten feet away with a mastiff sitting silently at his side. Montague urged the horse towards the pair, but before they reached them the horse skittered sideways, yanking her head at the reins.
The edges of Liz’s lips curled up. The dog was big; there was no doubt about that. But the horse probably outweighed the animal ten times over. Unreasonable as it was, the mare was scared of the dog, and all the gentle prodding by the duke didn’t seem to be changing her mind.
“You left a big streak there.” Molly stepped next to Liz, cutting off her view of the duke. She pointed to the window Liz was working on. “Todd will notice that. You need to clean it again.”
“Of course.” Liz kneaded her lower back. The window tax hadn’t induced the Duke of Montague to brick up any of his windows, a fact Liz sorely regretted at the moment. Looking at the size of the estate before her, she estimated that Montague probably paid more in taxes each year than her father had earned in income his entire life. The wealth of the duke was staggering.
Taking her wet rag, she climbed up the ladder and peeked over towards the stable again. The duke gripped the large horse between strong thighs, his trousers pulled tight against his flexing muscles. He rode the horse like he was a part of her. They moved as one. The tails of Montague’s coat fluttered after him as he drew the mare into a gallop. Liz swallowed, trying to bring moisture back into her mouth.
Man and beast were a beautiful sight.
“That streak isn’t going to disappear by wishing it away,” Molly hollered up to her.
With a sigh, Liz turned to the window. Stretching up, she passed her damp rag over the smudge. The ladder wobbled, and Liz clutched the top with a gasp.
“Careful!” Molly held the legs of the ladder. “Those dang footmen, taking the good ladders for the chandeliers and leaving us this rickety pile of wood.”
Sally, the youngest maid in the duke’s service, piped up. “I saw one of them nice sturdy ten-foot ladders stored in the stable. Maybe we could get a groom to bring it over for us.”