The Widow and Her Duke: The Grand Hotel: Book One Read online

  ‘And yet, I wanted the other vintage.’ Serafine slowly, deliberately turned back to the newspaper on her desk, pretending to read an article as she tried to quell the fire within her. ‘You’ll have to go back to the kitchens.’

  She didn’t know why it excited her so, treating him like this. Was it the claiming of authority—the feigning of a confidence she had never truly possessed? Or was it the answering thrill she heard in his voice, saw in his face, when he knew that he had been truly bested?

  ‘The night is young, but we don’t have that much time. You’ll have to drink inferior claret in superior company.’

  ‘Isn’t there a maid that you could be chasing?’

  ‘I don’t like maids, and I don’t like chasing. I prefer dancing.’ Richard stepped forward, the wicked glitter in his eyes accentuated by the candlelight. ‘Especially when the lady knows her steps.’

  She didn’t know her steps. Serafine tried to keep her expression impassive, even as her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She knew her steps when it came to other gentlemen, older gentlemen, professional gentlemen… gentlemen that didn’t make her core quiver with pleasure whenever they looked at her. But with Richard Oaks, the arrogant young duke, she was as tongue-tied as any green girl from the countryside.

  ‘Would you care to dance, my lady?’

  ‘There’s no music.’ Serafine looked down at her dress. ‘And this is hardly the most splendid of my gowns.’

  ‘What a cunning way of making me compliment your gown.’

  ‘You know full well that isn’t what I meant.’

  ‘Whatever you meant, you look exquisite. Truly.’ Richard grew closer, his voice acquiring a new seriousness. ‘And I’d like to see how the gown looks as you move.’

  At least that comment could be easily batted away. ‘Do you expect me to dance for you, your Grace? I don’t think the Grand Hotel is that sort of establishment.’

  Richard didn’t turn a hair. ‘Do you wish to dance for me?’

  ‘If we are going to dance, we dance together.’

  ‘You speak as if this is a foregone conclusion. You can always refuse.’

  ‘I know.’ Serafine took a deep breath, summoning her courage. ‘But I’m not refusing.’

  A flash of Richard’s eyes betrayed his pleasure at her words. How strange that she could give this handsome, splendid man the same sensation she felt in her own breast as she looked at him.

  This was ill-judged, ill-advised, wrong… but oh, it was undeniable.

  She had come here for pleasure. For a secret, sordid encounter that would let the hidden, craven parts of herself flower into life. What would be so very wrong in conducting such an exploration with a gentleman of the ton, rather than an anonymous rake?

  Everything. But she was already moving towards him. She was already holding back a sigh of pure sensation as Richard’s palm pressed against hers, his body now little more than a heartbeat away.

  ‘There.’ Richard’s voice had a new huskiness to it. Serafina held her breath as his other hand settled on the curve of her waist. ‘A waltz, I think.’

  ‘Such a modern gentleman.’

  ‘It’s the only dance that lets me touch you.’

  ‘We are alone in my private rooms, your Grace. I consider that assertion a demonstration of your lack of creativity.’

  ‘Oh, you.’ Richard’s smile promised multitudes. ‘You think so little of me.’

  ‘I don’t hear any music yet.’

  ‘Close your eyes.’ Richard lightly stroked his thumb along the curve of her waist. Serafine bit her lip as she obeyed; her body was responding to his touch with a ferocity that startled her. She prayed he wouldn’t feel her nipples hardening beneath her gown–that he wouldn’t feel the heat between her thighs, the desire that lay there. ‘That’s right. Now follow my lead.’

  At first, there was nothing. Complete stillness. Serafine couldn’t escape the sensation that Richard was looking at her, that his gaze was lingering on her face and body that would have been unacceptable in any public space. Then, with a low hum from Richard’s throat that made her heart skip a beat, they began to move.

  It was a perfect waltz. Serafine knew it from the very first steps. Richard moved as if he were born to it; he turned her masterfully, holding her as if she were unutterably precious. It was only after a long, rapt moment of pleasure that Serafine realised she still had her eyes closed; she didn’t open them, preferring the lightness and splendour of being at Richard’s mercy. One turn, then another, then another–oh, Lord, a spin, a spin that made her laugh as her cheeks flushed with delight…

  ‘How well you dance.’ She couldn’t let his talent go without remark.

  ‘I’m glad I please you.’ Another spin came, one that made Serafine feel as light as thistledown. ‘Very glad.’

  ‘You–you never dance like this in a ballroom.’

  ‘Ah. So you do look at me in ballrooms.’

  Damn. There was no adequate way to recover. ‘But the point stands.’

  ‘Of course I don’t dance like this in ballrooms. I’ve never danced with you in public–you insist on denying me that pleasure.’ A slower spin this time, one that made Serafine deliciously dizzy. ‘You force me to dream of you with another woman in my arms.’

  ‘No-one forces you to dream, your Grace. And don’t pretend you dream of me.’

  ‘I don’t pretend. I tease, I provoke–but I feign nothing.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ It was so easy to laugh. So easy to treat him like an intimate companion that she’d never managed to find. ‘You should watch your tongue, your Grace. Too many falsehoods.’

  ‘No falsehoods.’ Richard paused. ‘And I don’t watch my tongue when I wish others to watch it for me.’

  ‘Your tongue needs far more than mere watching.’

  ‘You enjoy provoking me, don’t you?’

  ‘You take far more pleasure in provoking me.’

  ‘I think we both take equal pleasure in provoking one another. ‘That’s a very rare quality.’

  ‘It’s hardly rare to find provocation in one another’s company. Many people are irritated by other people every day.’

  ‘Irritation, provocation… hunger.’ Richard’s hands lingered at her waist; oh, what a shower of sparks his touch conjured. ‘Hunger is another word for it.’

  ‘Not a word that either of us can—can reasonably say.’

  ‘There’s an alchemy between us, Serafine, as much as you wish to call it irritation or provocation. Any word other than desire. It’s desire I feel in you–the hunger for all the hidden, carnal pleasures that we could take in one another. Every look is a touch, every word is a kiss… I know you burn, just as I do.’ Richard pulled her close; they were still now, delightfully still, his mouth so close to hers that she could feel his breath against her cheek. ‘I feel it in you.’

  ‘You know nothing about me.’

  ‘I know that I could give you a far better night than any of the rakes who make this place their home.’ Richard’s lips brushed oh-so-gently against her neck; Serafine couldn’t resist a deep shiver as sparks flew through her. ‘Let me try. Put me to the test.’

  ‘I am meant to find a nameless man. A man whose face I don’t know.’

  ‘All men can be nameless in the dark.’ There was a tiny, near-imperceptible hint of vulnerability in the man’s voice. Impossible—this had to be a practised speech. ‘All you have to do is blow the candles out.’

  ‘And—and then?’

  Another touch of his lips to her neck. Deeper this time, more self-assured—oh, how divine it felt! ‘Blow the candles out, and see.’

  The candelabra stood a little to Serafine’s left, the guttering candles giving up the last of their light. All it would take was a single exhalation, but that would mean leaving Richard’s arms. She didn’t want to do that–Lord, no. She couldn’t.

  ‘What are you waiting for, Serafine?’

  ‘I… I don’t want to move.’

  ‘You’r
e frightened?’

  ‘No. I–I’m too happy here and now, in this precise moment.’ She couldn’t look at him as she spoke, embarrassment making her heart flutter. ‘If I move, it could all vanish.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.’

  A rake’s promise, but one she trusted despite a complete lack of evidence. Closing her eyes, pulling away from Richard, Serafine leaned over and blew out the candles.

  For a moment, there was nothing but warm darkness. Then, with a swift potency that made her gasp, she was back in Richard’s arms–and his lips, impossibly, were on hers.

  What a kiss. A deep, swoon-inducing kiss that took hold of every particle of tension in her body, replacing it with a desire so ardent that it shocked her. A thirsty, desperate kiss that put every spiky conversation, every past look or smirk, into an entirely different category. His hands cupped her face with infinite gentleness, the lightness of his fingers tempering the harsh, hungry power of his lips as he took possession of her, starting fires within her that she didn’t know how to extinguish.

  When he finally pulled away from her, she felt dizzy. She clung to him, a trailing sigh of frustration caught in her throat as Richard spoke. ‘Thank God.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I’ve dreamed of kissing you for years. I want to kiss you every time your damned lips move.’

  ‘Years?’

  ‘Yes. Your lips moved again—I have to kiss you again.’ Another kiss came, briefer, even more savagely potent than the first. ‘You see?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Now you’re just teasing me.’

  ‘I’ll have to keep speaking.’

  ‘You can try.’ Richard stroked his hand along her throat, moving up to her hair as he tangled her curls in his fist. ‘But by the time we’re done, you won’t remember how.’

  Lord, he was sure of himself. Smug enough to beat the devil. But with the kiss that came next, deep and deliciously wicked, Serafine couldn’t help but believe every single word he said. ‘You are far too arrogant.’

  ‘I’m surprised you still have breath enough to form the words. You kiss as fiercely as I do. And how do you know I’m being arrogant about my skill?’

  ‘Because you’re arrogant about everything else.’

  ‘And that arrogance has to come from somewhere.’ Richard gently pulled her hair; Serafine winced with sharp, unexpected pleasure. ‘Now you’re going to find out where.’

  Play the rake. Richard tried to keep his mind on those words as he pulled Serafine closer to him, his hands threatening to shake as he tugged at the bodice of her dress. He couldn’t take his time as he normally would, making a performance of it with a woman he cared less for; he had to have her, had to see her in all her undressed glory as soon as possible. As he pulled her flimsy sleeves over her shoulder, her bodice slowly slipping away from her body, he bit back a gasp as he finally caught sight of Serafine’s unencumbered breasts.

  She was perfect. No scrawny maidens here; her body sang with pleasure, screamed it from the daring curve of her waist to the stiff, swollen points of her wine-dark nipples. Before he could ruin the moment with a mistimed joke, or a coarse appreciation more suited to a brothel, Richard bent his head to Serafine’s breasts with a sigh of pure gratitude.

  Her high, shocked cry as he drew a nipple into his mouth almost stilled his tongue. He didn’t wish to hurt her, or push her beyond a comfortable limit. But just as he was about to pull away, Serafine gripped his hair and drew him closer still.

  ‘Don’t stop.’ Her voice, full of throaty command, had Richard’s cock straining against his breeches. ‘Do that again. Please.’

  Something in her tone made Richard pull away again. ‘Has no-one ever done this for you?’

  ‘No. I’m aware that I’ve been poorly treated in this respect.’ There was a bitter note of humour in Serafine’s voice. ‘So I suggest, your Grace, that you make up for lost time.’

  Richard didn’t need telling twice. He bent his head to her breasts once more, taking his fill of her, licking and sucking with focused, pleasurable abandon as his hand made his way along Serafine’s thigh.

  God, he’d dreamed of this nightly. Pictured the feel of her, the taste of her, with more intensity than he’d thought of any other woman. Now that it was actually happening, his frequent fantasies of Serafine were shown for what they truly were–crude, poor representations of the real thing.

  She was more than he had ever dreamed of. More eager, more lustful, more abundant in every sense of the word. A blazing, full-colour spectacle compared to the ridiculous shadow-play of his imagination… and God help him, he’d never wanted anything more.

  All he had to do was keep feigning arrogance. To keep pretending that this was just another encounter. Damn it, he had been sure it was just another encounter until she was finally in his arms–only now did it seem like something very, very different.

  No. He couldn’t give into the softer part of himself. She wanted pleasure, damn it—he had to hurry up and give it to her, or she would grow bored of him. She would waste all this glorious, effervescent beauty on a flashy rake who didn’t deserve an ounce of it.

  They couldn’t do everything he dreamed of doing. Her reputation came before his lust, as blinding as it was… but he could do more than this.

  He moved his hand upward, finding the soft tangle of curls at the meeting of her thighs, stroking her with light, teasing ardency as Serafine shivered against his fingers.

  ‘That…’ Serafine’s murmur was full of awe. ‘That feels wonderful.’

  ‘Oh, my lady.’ Richard smiled as he kissed her skin. ‘You haven’t felt anything yet.’

  When morning came, it came with kisses. Soft, light kisses on her cheeks and forehead, so insubstantial that Serafine half-wondered if she was dreaming them. She sighed, stretching in a languorous fashion beneath the blankets, wondering why she felt vastly more at peace than she normally did.

  When she remembered, she opened her eyes with a start. For a clear, shining instant she saw Richard Oaks staring at her, his face indefinably serious, before the full force of what last night meant settled upon her shoulders.

  She had certainly done something scandalous. She had stuck to the vague outline of her plan, if not the exact letter of it. But the important changes to her resolution–the selection of, or rather surrender to, the man currently in her bed–left her head spinning.

  The memory of the pleasure he’d given her still lay in her body, a delicious echo of what they’d shared. As Richard leaned down to brush his lips against hers, still cradling her in his arms, Serafine couldn’t help but gasp at the sweet, erotic spark his touch still conjured.

  ‘Good morning.’ Richard kissed her again, his expressing lightening. ‘I believe we both slept well. I only woke an hour ago, I think.’

  ‘An hour? How difficult it was to sound elegant when all she wanted was to touch him again. To work out how to please him as he’d pleased her. She’d come close last night, tantalisingly close–but no, she had to turn her mind to more quotidian things. ‘You must have been dreadfully bored.’

  ‘Of course I wasn’t bored. I’ve never had a more diverting morning–I spent most of it remembering our diverting night.’

  ‘You must take up more edifying pursuits.’

  ‘I doubt you’d prefer me to play the harpsichord or duck hunt in bed.’

  ‘It depends on how good you are at harpsichord playing or duck hunting.’

  ‘That begs an important question.’

  ‘Are you going to find a harpsichord?’

  ‘No. At least, not yet.’ Richard stroked her cheek. ‘Did you enjoy last night as much as I did?’

  Serafine paused. Enjoy was a weak word. No words seemed to fully encapsulate the deep, quivering joy that filled her at the memory of what had happened…

  … but dash it, this wasn’t the plan.

  ‘Well.’ She swallowed, wondering why it was so difficult to speak. ‘It… it
was most satisfactory.’

  ‘Most satisfactory? How dare you damn me with faint praise.’ Richard pulled her to him, kissing her with a wicked smile; Serafine half-struggled to escape, hoping that he would hold her tighter still. ‘Most satisfactory. The nerve of it.’

  ‘It wouldn’t do to compliment you too highly. You already have a dreadfully swollen impression of yourself–I’ve always considered it my job to puncture it.’

  ‘It’s a good job I have a dreadfully swollen impression of myself, given the cruelty of the woman in my arms.’ Richard stroked along the curve of her waist, gently moving to the underside of her breasts. Serafine sighed with pleasure, unable to conceal it. ‘She makes slaves of men for sport, you know.’

  ‘No-one would ever attempt to make you work for them. Far too inconstant, far too likely to complain.’

  ‘It depends on the work I have to undertake.’ Richard moved his hands over her breasts, his fingers light and skilled as he circled her nipples. Serafine bit her lip, leaning her head back against Richard’s chest as her body responded to his touch. ‘There are certain skills I would happily dedicate my life to.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘This, for example.’ Richard gently pinched her nipples with the very tips of his fingers. Serafine closed her eyes, a faint whimper of pleasure leaving her lips as she arched her back. ‘I could do this for a long, long time, working out how best to do it. Seeing how long I could do it before you’re a beautiful, quivering mess.’

  ‘I… I couldn’t very well tell you to do otherwise.’

  ‘But you’ve already told me how inconstant I am. Perhaps I should stop, and move onto something else.’

  ‘Don’t stop.’

  ‘Hmm. That sounds like a command, but it appears I have the power in this particular exchange.’ Richard pinched slightly harder, his mouth hot on Serafine’s neck as he kissed her. ‘I could stay here, or I could move my hands downward.’

  ‘Oh, I—’

  ‘I could do what I did last night. I could stroke my way along those glorious thighs and touch you where you ache. Are you aching again, Serafine?’