Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke Read online

  “I need to be here with you, Portia.”

  Heavens, he licked her neck and it made her tingle everywhere.

  Still, wasn’t now a time to be serious? To plan for their survival? To plan to catch a vicious murderer? “How can you think of sex now?”

  But he rolled her over and kissed the cheeks of her bottom. She had to admit—she really didn’t want to chase a killer.

  Not when his fingers caressed her rump and then slid into the valley between her cheeks. He’d stroked her there—in that forbidden place—when he’d made love to her from behind. Her whole body was poised in anticipation....

  Would he touch her there again?

  He licked his finger—she saw him over her shoulder. Then caressed the entrance to her anus with his dampened finger.

  “Oh, perhaps I shouldn’t. Perhaps this is too wicked,” she whispered.

  “With you, I feel that nothing is wicked, Portia. Everything feels special. You deserve to experience and enjoy anything you desire. But I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

  Doubt hit her. He was tremendously experienced. Would he be disappointed if she proved boring—too afraid to do sexual things?

  “Portia, there’s nothing wrong with setting limits to what you enjoy.”

  “But you tried wild things.”

  “I needed to keep going for wilder, stranger sexual acts as I grew jaded. I don’t want that with you.”

  Because he knew this was only for duty. That was what her heart told her.

  “Touch me,” she whispered. “Put your finger inside my . . . my bum.”

  There. She was going to be daring.

  She held her breath as the tip of his finger stroked her in gentle spirals. She panted, her heart pounded, and her fingers curled up, mimicking the sweet tension inside her.

  His finger had gone in just a little the first time he’d made love to her from behind.

  This time—

  Ooooh. He teased with just his fingertip. Then he thrust a little deeper. She felt her muscles resist, but it was the most erotic feeling. The tension built and she rocked her hips. Needing more. Fear and desire were an explosive mix.

  Yes, more.

  Oh, was she sure?

  Yes, she was.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Deeper went his finger. Past tense muscle, to give her a jolt of pleasure that made her squeal.

  He teased her, building pleasure with just the long, slow thrust of his finger. Her hands strayed down for the pressure in her derriere made her clit grow hard and ache. She stroked herself and he thrust with his finger. She felt rather like a virtuoso, playing with erotic skill on her body as he did the same.

  “Two fingers,” he growled.

  She felt suddenly more full. And loved it. How could her ass take such thickness? But it did and it was so—!

  Oh!

  His cock slid into her while she climaxed, while her pussy pulsed and pleasure washed through her. Having him fill her then...

  Her muscles clutched at him, trying to pull him deep. Braced on his arms, he thrust into her, and she rubbed her clit lightly, and came again. Came all over him.

  “I’m going to lose control—”

  He shouted it. Thrust hard and fast and she was so wet that she cried, “Harder. Oh, please.”

  Another climax burst, washing her with such intense pleasure she sobbed.

  Then he roared. He roared loud enough to be heard on the mainland. And he came too.

  He laughed roughly as she whispered, “That was so erotic. And I know we can’t have any more—”

  “You want more, love? I’m happy to try.”

  And he did.

  22

  She sucked him vigorously, holding his thick, hot cock in her mouth, savoring the taste of him. Portia was straddling his legs and her delicious Sin lay on the bed, and they’d made love for hours. For the whole day, except when the six of them had gathered for food. Sax and Rutledge had searched the island and the house for the Old Madam, but they’d found no one.

  “What in hell do we do?” Sax had asked.

  “A boat has to come,” Sin had growled. “What we have to do is stay alive.”

  Then he’d hustled her back up to their bedchamber. Portia had wanted to know if they should do something, and Sin had said, “I will. But I want this day with you. One whole day with you.”

  The way he’d said it made her nervous. She acquiesced—for now—but she intended to stop him from doing anything foolish.

  After so much lovemaking, she was sucking him because she was too spent for any more.

  Suddenly Sin let out of deep, painted groan. His face contorted in the agony of orgasm. His thick cock pulsed in her mouth, growing impossibly hard and huge. But nothing came out.

  Did she ask anything about it? She had heard men were terribly sensitive about lovemaking. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

  Lying on his back, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her to him so she was lying over his chest. Her hair was a wild tumble of curls, covering both of them like a shawl.

  “I came dry,” he said huskily. “I’ve run out of seed. Climaxed too many times. God, when I do that—it’s almost agony, but its exquisite agony because it only happens when I’ve had too many orgasms and too much pleasure.”

  “You should have told me. I didn’t know. Did I hurt you?”

  He chuckled but winced. “You are adorable. I’m not hurt, but tired.”

  “You should sleep. So your body can recover.”

  He smiled at her, and it was such a tender smile, her heart lurched. She could agree to marry him and wake up like this every morning—

  But without love, she knew they would not wake up like this together for long.

  She heard a soft snore. Sin was already fast asleep. Eyes closed, his long, dark lashes curling against his cheeks, his lips soft and slightly parted. He looked so content and so beautiful, her heart gave a tug.

  He was so exhausted he’d fallen asleep on his back, his legs slightly splayed, cock soft now and flopped along his left thigh. His right hand was outstretched toward her.

  Portia knew she should snuggle against him and sleep.

  But she couldn’t. She’d had many, many wonderful orgasms, but her wits were whirling. They might be safe temporarily tonight, but what would tomorrow bring?

  She lay on her back, trying to will her body into sleep.

  But something nagged at her. From what Sin had told her the Old Madam had been afraid, but it must have been an act. She remembered seeing the woman wringing her hands. The woman had elegant hands with many jeweled rings.

  Portia looked at her hands, curled over the top of the bedspread. She did much work at the foundling home, and her hands weren’t soft and pampered.

  If it was the Old Madam, why was she doing this? Had she had a child who had been hurt by all these people—?

  Her hands. That was what was wrong! When she had talked to the cook in the kitchen, she hadn’t really thought about the woman’s hands. But now she remembered Mrs. Kent’s hands were elegant. They weren’t tough, reddened. She remembered how long-fingered and graceful they were when the cook touched her locket. And when the cook’s hand had brushed hers in the kitchen, the skin had been smooth. She hadn’t felt any roughness of calluses.

  Those had been a lady’s hands. Not a servant’s hands.

  But the cook was dead—

  Or at least a woman’s body, clad in a gray dress, lay at the bottom of the cliff, where they couldn’t get to it.

  Thinking back, Portia tried to compare the cook and the Old Madam. Both had large bosoms and were of similar height. The cook was dowdy and rather plump. The madam had a voluptuous figure and wore rouge, lip rouge, kohl around her eyes. But it was easy to look dowdy in a gray dress. The body at the bottom of the cliff could be the cook . . . or could be the Old Madam.

  The cook was obviously not a cook. Certainly the food had tasted quite delicious, but no ac
tual cook would possess such dainty hands.

  She sat up.

  “Portia, what are you doing awake?”

  She almost leapt out of the bed. Sin sat up, the covers falling away from his beautiful, naked chest. The glow of coals in the fire gilded the lines and planes of his hard torso.

  Stop thinking of his nakedness and think sense, Portia. “I thought you were asleep,” she said.

  “I was, briefly. I have to keep my wits about me and keep you safe, love.”

  “Sin, there’s something I must tell you. Something I believe I’ve figured out about these crimes.”

  “What is it, my bride-to-be?”

  “I’m not your bride-to-be—oh, let us stop arguing about that. Let me tell you about this.”

  He held out his hand and as she clasped it, he drew her closer to him. “Tell me, love.”

  “I think the cook is the killer. She’s not really dead. She faked her death, just as you did.” All her ideas spilled out madly as she outlined why she thought the cook was an imposter—and a murderess. “There was once she even lost her accent. She stopped saying ‘yer’ and said ‘your,’ but I didn’t notice until now.”

  Sin listened. He never interrupted while she explained. Then softly, he said, “I think you’re right.”

  “Then what are we going to—”

  He put his hand over her mouth, cutting her off. She squawked behind his palm in protest. A muffled sound. He put his finger to his lips. And she heard a sound. Footsteps. Light and furtive outside the door.

  She stopped sputtering—heavens, she even tried to stop breathing so they could hear. The steps continued past their door. Then came a soft creak.

  “The stairs,” Sin whispered against her ear.

  He was getting out of bed. Portia put her hand on his solid, strong forearm. “You can’t. Last time you were shot at. What if it’s a trap? The cook luring you out. What if she shoots again and does not miss?”

  “I’ll be careful. This time I know what to expect.” Naked, he walked across the room. Utterly unconcerned that he wasn’t wearing a stitch, he opened the door slightly, glanced around. Then opened enough to slip out and closed the door.

  She rushed to the door to follow, just as it opened. Her knees wobbled with relief as he came back in. “You went out naked.”

  He glanced down. “I’d forgotten.” Frowning, he said, “It was Sax.”

  “Saxonby? Do you think I’m wrong—that Saxonby is the murderer? As you accused him earlier?”

  “That accusation was false—to set up the false duel and my fake death. I’ve known Sax since we were boys. I can’t believe he’s guilty. He must be planning to hunt the killer alone.”

  “But that’s utterly foolish. He must be stopped—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Of course he would offer to do that. And she knew she must let him go. He went for his clothes and impulsively she rushed after him. Threw herself against him, pressing to his firm, hard, naked back. “Do be careful.”

  He turned, looking a little affronted. “I will be, Portia. I promise you.”

  She hugged him. She liked being pressed tight against him, her breasts against the hard muscle of his back, her cunny against his groin. She was afraid to let him go.

  Even though she’d refused to marry him.

  He actually had to pry her arms off him. “I’ll lose him unless I go now, love.”

  With lithe movements he pulled on his trousers, then stuffed his feet into his boots, which were battered and muddy. He wore nothing under his trousers. There was nothing but bare skin. She held out his shirt, but he shook his head. “The white is too visible.”

  Instead he put on his dark coat over his naked chest. Picked up his pistol.

  “You’ll get soaked in the rain.”

  “A small price to pay to find out what’s going on.” He kissed her quickly. “I’ll look out for myself. You keep the door locked.”

  He was grinning. He was enjoying himself. How could he be so thrilled when he was facing danger? He was like a boy, eager for adventure.

  As he was closing the door noiselessly, he stopped. Whispered, “Lock the door behind me.”

  She hesitated.

  “Do it. Don’t follow me.”

  She knew she had no choice. She went to the door as he asked and just as he slipped out, he stopped her from closing the door. “When I come back, you’re going to agree to marry me.”

  Then he was gone. She closed the door quietly and carefully turned the key.

  He wasn’t going to give up on marriage.

  She paced in the room, arms folded over her chest.

  She prayed he’d come back safely so they could argue about marriage. She went to the vanity mirror. There was still a faint glow of light from the coals in the fireplace—they had all been in charge of their own fires. It barely illuminated her face, but she could tell she was pale and haggard—

  Oh!

  Something moved in the vanity mirror. She looked up, heart pounding, at the mirror, but saw nothing. No, wait, there was something. Something draped in black.

  She spun around just as a dark cloth slapped against her nose and mouth and strong hands held it there. She couldn’t scream. She wildly grasped at the vanity table. There was a silver tray there. She tried to hit her attacker.

  But the figure in black knocked the tray from her hand. It clattered on the floor, which was what she’d truly wanted. She was getting dizzy, losing consciousness, and she desperately swept everything off the vanity surface with her hand, making it all crash to the floor.

  Then she remembered—her door was locked. Even if anyone heard all the crashing, a rescuer couldn’t get in. Desperately she shoved against the arm and managed to push it back enough so she could breathe. She used all the strength she had.

  Cold metal pressed to her temple.

  “That’s right,” said a hoarse voice. A woman’s voice. “This is a pistol. Now keep your mouth shut or I’ll kill you now.”

  “Who are you?”

  “You’ll know soon.”

  “But where did you hide in here? We searched this room. Checked it . . . checked it before bed . . .”

  Her voice was slurring. It was hard to form words. Hard to think . . .

  The killer took advantage of her dizzied lack of strength. The rag slapped back on her face. She didn’t have the strength to fight this time.

  “Stupid git,” the voice snapped. “You only glanced under the bed. The beds were all made specially, to allow a person to hide within the frame. How do you think we could hide and evade your search?

  “We? There’s more than one . . . ?”

  She was fighting to stay conscious. She gripped the vanity, but her hand slid on the cool marble. The room was spinning—

  Portia slumped then, falling to the ground. How could she be taken this way again?

  23

  Fighting across the muddy lawn, blasted by wind and rain, Sin could barely see through the downpour in the dark. At least Sax couldn’t see either, so he had a fighting chance of catching up with his friend.

  Ten years ago, Sin had come to London filled with guilt, trying to embark on a new life. Now he was scrambling through a rainstorm, fighting for his life. For Portia’s life. Was her theory right?

  “Stop there or I shoot,” shouted a rage-filled voice. “Who’s there? Tell me or I will blow your head off.”

  “Sax, it’s me. What in hell are you doing out here?”

  Saxonby stepped out of the darkness, into the faint pool of light given off by the lights in the house. Already, his unusual silver and black hair was plastered to his head, his clothes soaked. He lowered his pistol. “Sin? I got a note telling me to come out here if I wanted to find the solution.”

  Sin lowered his pistol also. “So you walked out, alone, likely into a trap?”

  “I’m here alone, but armed as you see. This fiend killed Georgiana and I want justice. I figured it was time for a confrontation.” />
  Sin grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “This was a ruse to get you outside alone.”

  “I don’t damn well care, Sin. I want vengeance. You’re going to have to go back. The note requested I come alone.”

  “I’ll come and stay hidden.”

  Sax hesitated. Then growled, “What have I got to lose? I don’t give a damn if I live or die anymore.”

  “Don’t talk like that. I’m fighting to survive, and I’ve got many more sins on my conscience than you. If there is anyone who has reason to sacrifice himself, who shouldn’t care if he lives or dies, it’s me.”

  “You have Portia to protect. It makes a difference. I’ve got no one now. And I have more sins in my past than you think.” Sax turned abruptly. “The note said to go down the steps to the boat launch. To be there at two a.m. My plan is to be early, hide and wait.”

  Sin flicked his wet hair out of his eyes. “What if the killer is already there, waiting for you?”

  “In a raging storm? My wager is that the killer is overconfident by now. Gloating with success.”

  “Portia thinks the cook is the killer.”

  “How could she be? She was at the bottom of the cliff.”

  “Portia believes the cook killed Barker, put her body in the cook’s drab gray dress, and pushed her off the cliff, so we would assume the cook was dead. Mrs. Kent used the same ruse I did.”

  “Your Portia is a smart woman. Sin, you were a bleeding idiot to let her get away ten years ago.”

  “I know. This is my chance to make amends. For ten wasted years.”

  “Make amends?” Sax asked.

  But Sin didn’t answer. He looked back toward the house. Cold rain pelted his face. He could make out a few lights in the windows through the gray wall of rain. Did he keep going and follow Sax to protect him? Or return to Portia?

  If he didn’t this might be the last time he was going to see a friend he’d had since boyhood.

  And Portia would be safe with the door locked.

  Blast, Sax had vanished into the dark again.

  Running in pursuit, Sin made his way to the steps that led to the boat dock. Rain made them slick and deadly. Below, waves smashed into the rocks, as if trying to devour human flesh.