Page 52 of Disciplined by the Duke
He lowered his face towards hers, his breath caressing her lips. “You, my chambermaid, believe me to be an inattentive landlord? You think I am deficient in my duties as duke and steward of this land?”
His nostrils flared, and Liz took a hasty step back. He followed. Her heart leaped to her throat, but she forced herself to stop her retreat and stand her ground. The past year had taught her the perils of showing fear.
She’d also learned that once she started a bluff it was best to continue. “I didn’t say ‘deficient,’ Your Grace, but it is without question that many of your tenants relied on that charity and face difficult times now in its absence.”
“A fortnight of service here and you have become an authority on the needs of my tenants?” His voice might have been ice, but the heat in his eyes scorched her. “How fortuitous for me. For the price of one chambermaid, I can now rid myself of my steward and use you for both positions.”
Her back pressed against the door. She hadn’t realized she’d continued to stumble backwards. She lifted her chin. “Obviously the position of steward is not sufficient. Mr. Todd has not addressed the situation, is probably not even aware of it. By not replacing the housekeeper, you may have overloaded the poor man with his duties and made it impossible for him to take care of everything that needs seeing to.”
Both of his broad hands landed flat against the wall, bracketing her head. “And now you presume to tell me that my managerial skills are lacking. This is a position that I have been trained for since birth.”
Liz sucked in a deep breath, the duke so close his scent of bay rum enveloped her, the need it created making her dizzy. The duke. The eighth Duke of Montague and Marquis of Harrington, Earl of Berring, and Baron Hawkridge of Stoven. Thirteenth in line to the crown. Whom she was berating like a schoolchild. Her knees sagged, and he caught her shoulders, pressing her back against the wood.
“I presume nothing, Your Grace. I am merely telling you what I know from personal knowledge. People could use your help.”
He moved in closer, his face inches from her own. “What personal knowledge?” When she hesitated, he said, “Answer me,” the command clear in his voice.
“When I visited Mr. and Mrs. Blackmun in the village, I learned of their troubles. Their nephew, Bob, used to bring them some food.”
His brow furrowed. “Bob? Bob Blackmun, my footman?”
She nodded, the door behind her pulling at the hairs in her chignon as it scraped up and down the wood. “Yes, I wanted to learn if they’ve heard from him since he left your service.”
“Why?” His fingers tightened around her shoulders. “What does Bob Blackmun mean to you?”
“Mean to me?” How could she explain why his disappearance concerned her? She licked her lips. Her mind raced among possible explanations. Montague’s flinty gaze drilled into her, the lie she had prepared evaporating. It was like he could see into her mind. He broke past all her barriers.
He pressed his body against hers, each hard muscle fitting against her softness from chest to thigh. “Was he a beau?” he asked, voice as rough as crushed gravel.
She shook her head, tried to fill her lungs. If he hadn’t been holding her up she would have slipped to the ground, boneless. Wrapping her fingers in the lapels of his coat, she held on tight.
“No?” He lowered his head, brushing her smooth cheek with the slight bristle of his. The low rumble of his voice sent a shiver arcing from her eardrum to her lower abdomen. “Young Bob never put his hands on you?” He swept his own down from her shoulders to her hips, yanked her flush to his body. He settled more fully against her, a distinct hardness pushing into the cradle of her thighs. “Never made you tremble under his touch?”
“No,” she whispered.
“No?” Rubbing his nose along hers, he rocked his hips into her center.
She gasped, wanting him to do that again. She dug her fingers under his coat, loving the feel of his corded chest as she searched for more purchase. Her right hand brushed against parchment, and she stilled.
Marcus circled his hands around to her bottom, pulling the material of her skirts tight against her hips.
Amanda. Her eyes fluttered shut and images of Newgate Prison skated across the inside of her lids. Her body cooled with the knowledge of what she must do. She couldn’t afford to be mindless, no matter how much his touch whispered to her to let go. She threaded her left hand into his silky hair while wrapping one leg around his, opening her center to him. The next time he thrust his cock against her, she met him head-on, using her new position to rub herself wantonly against him.
They groaned together.
Forcing her right hand to move, she brushed lightly over his shirt until her fingers found the edge of a letter.Theletter, she hoped. She tried to ignore the fire that he so easily reignited. It was her turn to seduce. She wouldn’t let her body betray her mission.
She gently kissed the corner of his lips, amazed that she could be so bold. She wanted to taste him, let him taste her. She inched out the parchment, waiting to see if he heard a rustle of paper, not able to hear anything herself over the pounding of blood through her veins. She pulled again, a sliver more of the letter exposed to her grasp.
Montague cursed, and she froze. But instead of grabbing her wrist, calling her out for her deception, he turned his face towards hers and took her mouth like a man starved for contact. His lips pressed against hers so hard it almost hurt. When his tongue pressed between the seams, she suckled at it, loving the sound of his groan, knowing he enjoyed her touch as much as she did his. She clenched her fingers, and the edge of paper against her fingertips revived her senses.
She rocked her hips into his and tugged at the letter. Rock and tug. Those were the only two things in the universe she could focus on. She gave up trying to match his kiss. She let him control it, let him plunder her mouth. All she could do was savor it. He pressed harder into her, pinning her in place. Her hip movements became jerky, frantic, as her body searched for its own release, leaving her mind behind. Her leg tightened around his, her entire body feeling as though a giant fist squeezed it tight.
The letter was halfway out.
She was so close. So close to obtaining her sister’s freedom. So close to collapsing in that dizzying spiral Montague had introduced her to. The need for both those things consumed her. She dragged her mouth from his, light-headed from lack of air and gasping for breath.
Please, Montague, don’t stop. I need you so badly.Did she think those words or say them out loud? She didn’t know, no longer cared.
