The Duke Wears Nada Page 9

  “It is everything and more than I could have hoped.” Lucy glanced at Jason. “Good evening, Captain Collingwood. At sunset, I have often admired the Intrepid in our wake, and she is a beauty.”

  “Thank you, Lucy.” Jason bowed. “Shall we go inside, as I am starved.”

  “I am not sure why.” Alex wound her arm in his. “As you spent the better portion of the afternoon, in your bunk.”

  “I should always be so lazy.” Jason whispered in Alex’s ear, and she shrieked. “And you may depend upon it, my lady wife.”

  “Somehow, I suspect there is more to the story.” Cara shook her head. “But it is lovely to see you, Lucy.”

  “And you.” How Lucy adored her new sisters, who were every bit as protective and supportive as Lenore. “I understand felicitations are in order, as Lenore told me you are expecting the third addition to your family.”

  “And this one will be a girl, although I have no preference.” Lance beamed. “But let us get inside, as our sofra is waiting.”

  In the relatively cool establishment, which boasted wall coverings and rugs in bright colors, Lucy inhaled a variety of rich scents. Seated on the floor, beside Damian, she marveled at the selections, which the server brought without prompting.

  “The restaurant prepares a different menu, every day, thus the fare is always unique, and you rarely eat the same meal, twice.” Damian lifted a teapot and poured her a cup of the steaming brew. “They do not serve intoxicating beverages, and the drink of choice is black tea, which you might enjoy with mint leaves, but sip it, because it is very thick and strong.”

  “My, but you are a charming host.” She almost slipped in his title, but she remembered that he did not like her to address him, formally. To her delight, he pulled near a couple of large dishes heaped with savory selections, and for a moment, Lucy pretended she was his wife, in truth, as Jason and Lance doted on their brides. “And what have we here?”

  “This is bazin, which is a wheat dough, with fish and potatoes.” Damian pointed to the left. “And that is couscous, with meat, vegetables, and chickpeas.”

  “It smells delicious.” Then she collected her napkin. “But where is the silverware, and what of my plate?”

  “This is called communal dining, my dear.” He winked. “And you eat with your fingers.”

  “How extraordinary.” And so she dived into the new and enticing experience, her heart melting when he fed her a morsel, and she suckled his flesh. Then the waiter cleared the sofra and carried in platters filled with what she surmised were desserts.

  “Now that we broke bread and filled our bellies, I would know why my brother refuses Lucy’s sensible request?” Alex folded her arms, and Lucy feared she might swoon. “And what is so wrong with enacting the consummation prior to the vows?”

  “Alex, I told you not to broach the delicate subject.” Jason wagged a finger. “I will deal with you when we return to the Intrepid.”

  “I am well acquainted with your form of discipline, and I intend to enjoy every minute of it.” Damian’s sister lifted her chin. “But tell me the truth, did you think less of me when I followed you to Plymouth?”

  Jason sighed. “Alex, this is neither the time nor the place—”

  “This is precisely the right time and place, because my damn fool brother is about to let the love of his life slip through his grip over some misplaced sense of honor.” Alex elbowed Jason in the ribs. “Answer me, honestly. Why did you take my maidenhead, when you could have refused me and sent me back to London?”

  “Because I love you,” Jason replied, without hesitation. “I have loved you since that first dance we shared at Richmond House, when you wore your red gown and inquired after the size of my vessel.”

  Lance snickered, and Cara giggled, but Damian groaned when Alex kissed her husband.

  “Is there a point to this conversation?” Lucy’s dashing duke asked. “Because that is far more information than I wish to know of my sister.”

  “And there is no need to air the indelicacies of your errant judgment.” Lance shook his head. “Although it is good for a laugh.”

  “You are one to talk.” Jason snorted. “At least I claimed my woman as would a man, while you were taken abed by the fairer sex and then bungled the proposal.”

  “I will be the first to admit I mishandled our courtship.” Lance brought Cara’s hand to his lips. “But all that matters is, in the end, I won her.”

  “Yes, you did, my hero.” Cara reclined against Lance, and he rested his cheek to her crown.

  “So the premature consummation did not impact your relationship or how you viewed yourself, as a gentleman?” Damian shifted and twined his fingers in Lucy’s, and his query buoyed her spirits. “Because I will not defile my future wife’s virtue.”

  “You believe I would treat Alex, thus?” Jason narrowed his stare, and Lucy gulped, because the blonde giant always appeared more than a little dangerous. “That I thought any less of her for pursuing me?” He huffed a breath. “If so, then you mistake the situation, because I admire Alex’s courage, and it is a priceless treasure, beyond compare, to know that your bride desires you, above all else. That she would risk ruin to bestow upon you her gift, sans the usual ties that bind.”

  “Indeed, I concur, and I would argue what Cara did, however unorthodox, impressed upon me the strength of her devotion.” Lance stroked her hair. “And once I had her, my desire only intensified, such that nothing would stop me from making her my wife.”

  “So it is safe to presume you support Lucy’s position.” In that instant, Damian met Lucy’s gaze and smiled. “I should give her what she wants?”

  “Did it hurt Trevor and Caroline?” Alex squealed, when Jason lifted her to his lap, which was commonplace for those two. “Or Dirk and Rebecca?”

  “I get your meaning.” Yet Damian’s frown betrayed his internal disquietude.

  “I believe it is time to depart for our ships.” Jason steadied Alex as she stood. “What say you, my angel?”

  Alex inclined her head and batted her lashes. “I am yours to command, captain of my heart.”

  “I like the sound of that.” The look Jason gave his bride brought the burn of a blush to Lucy’s cheeks, and she averted her gaze.

  After bidding farewell to the family, Lucy and Damian returned to the jolly boat and made the short trip across the water, to the Sagremor. With heightened anticipation, and in utter silence, she climbed the Jacob’s ladder, navigated the waist, and ascended the companion ladder to the quarterdeck.

  By the time they reached his cabin, her expectations had flown through the roof. Prepared for seduction, she paused to take his lead. When he pressed his palms to her hips and bent his head, she welcomed his tender kiss.

  Then Damian withdrew. “Goodnight, my dear.”

  THE DUKE WEARS NADA

  CHAPTER TEN

  In the wee hours, Damian came awake. The Sagremor listed gently, to and fro, and he rolled to his side. A clap of thunder signaled an approaching summer storm on the Mediterranean, and he supposed that was what disturbed him. Closing his eyes, he pulled the sheet to his neck and settled into his bunk, when a feminine cry jolted him alert.

  As lighting illuminated his cabin, he flung back the covers, stood, grabbed his robe, belted it at his waist, and walked to Lucy’s door. After a soft rap on the oak panel yielded naught but another sob of distress, he entered her small room.

  “Lucy?” He walked softly to her little bunk, and another bright flash revealed her torment, as she tossed and turned in the tangled blanket. “Sweetheart, it is all right. I am here.”

  Easing to the edge of the mattress, he shook her shoulder, and she mumbled incoherently. When he repeated the action, she lurched upright and screamed.

  “Shh.” With care, he drew her into his lap. “It is Damian, and you are safe, love.”

  “He was here.” Emitting a gut-wrenching lament, she wrapped her arms about his neck. “I could smell his breath, and he touched m
e. He hurt me.”

  “No, my darling, Sheldon is not here.” Burying his nose in her honeysuckle-scented hair, he massaged the pearls of her spine, in an attempt to reassure her, as she trembled. “He is gone, and he can never harm you, again.”

  “But I am frightened.” She shifted, straddled his thighs, and clutched fistfuls of his silk garment. “Will you not help me? Will you not take pity on me, because I can no longer bear the pain of the unknown?”

  In unveiled desperation, she kissed him with unschooled movements, nonetheless arresting, yet he could not find the passion required to do the deed. Then the evening’s conversation came back to him, and he recalled Jason’s words: It is a priceless treasure, beyond compare, to know that your bride desires you, above all else. That she would risk ruin to bestow upon you her gift, sans the usual ties that bind.

  As the rain sounded a gentle drumbeat, Damian envision Lucy not as the bespectacled Miss Teversham but, rather, as his duchess. As his wife. In that moment, everything changed, and his body came alive, as he responded to her kiss, leading her down a new and beguiling path from which there was no return.

  Cupping her bottom, he loosened the reins of his desire and pulled her closer. When he flexed his hips, pressing his erection to her most intimate flesh, she gasped and rested her forehead to his.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” When he rocked, she moved in unison, and he nibbled her bottom lip. “Tell me the truth, and I will do whatever you wish.”

  “I beg you, do not deny me.” Her plea, forcefully spoken, shredded his control, and he lifted her as he rose from the bunk. “Please, Damian. Have pity, because it is killing me, and I can take no more.”

  “Then let us retire to my cabin, where we have more room.” And where he was most comfortable, because he suspect he was far more nervous than her. When he set her on his bed, a thunderous roar heralded nature’s tempest had arrived, and another storm waged within the walls of his stateroom.

  “Should I remove my night rail?” She scooted to the center of the bunk, as he lit a candle.

  “No, love.” Given her tremulous state, he planned to take things slow, and he opted not to remove his robe when he joined her. When Damian stretched alongside her, she rolled into him, and he caught her. “For now, just kiss me.”

  True to form, Lucy obeyed with her characteristic enthusiasm, and desire simmered as he tutored her in the ways of lovemaking. With elementary caresses, he stoked the flames of passion, summoning the finesse of a lifetime to ensure she knew naught but pleasure. Tension built, coiling in the pit of his belly. In massaging movements, he introduced her to his touch, as he licked and suckled her sweet little tongue. And only when she yanked his hair did he part her thighs and stroke her most delicate flesh.

  To his infinite gratitude, he found her hot and wet, and that did much to encourage him. It was then he discovered Lucy watched him, and he spied no fear in her gaze. Instead, she framed his face and drew him to her. That was the unmistakable invitation for which he waited.

  With his legs, he spread wide her knees, as he settled his hips to hers and gave her his weight. Propped on his elbows, he inclined his head and deepened their kiss. On alert for any sign of retreat, he positioned himself, pressed forward, inch-by-inch, penetrated her tight and swollen sheath, and halted, as she stiffened beneath him.

  Once she relaxed, he thrust.

  For Damian, the realization that the woman who was, for all intents and purposes, his wife now held part of him within her well nigh brought him to tears, and the love he harbored for her grew by leaps and bounds. Whereas he anticipated feelings of shame to coincide with the precious moment, because they had not spoken the vows, nothing could have been further from the reality, as a mystical web surrounded and shrouded them, and he moved within her.

  Indeed, it was just as Jason and Lance insisted, because Damian had never experienced anything to rival the intimacy he found with his bespectacled lady. The familiar rhythm brought with it a host of new and alluring sensations, and heat spiraled and fanned from his gut to his limbs, leaving nothing unscathed in its wake.

  Whispering words of support and instruction, he gritted his teeth when she heralded her maiden release with a healthy but precious scream, and he followed her into the sweet abyss, as brutal spasms shook him to his core.

  Then he collapsed atop her.

  “Damian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Am I yours?”

  In the dim light, he stared into his pillow and wondered how to respond, because the truth anchored somewhere in between. Yet, she needed closure, and he had to give it to her. The answer, when it came to him, seemed remarkably pedestrian but honest.

  “For all eternity, love.” Propped on his elbows, he brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I am the first, and I shall be the last man to make love to you.”

  “Oh—thank you.” Even as she smiled, the tears fell from her blue eyes, which saw so much potential in others, so much good in the world, but she failed to recognize her own worth, and he vowed to correct that. “Thank you. I feared I might never be yours.”

  Mindful of her fragile state, he disengaged from her body, rolled onto his back, and took her with him. Curled at his side, she wept, and he tucked the covers about her and searched for some way to mollify her. Then it occurred to him that he had far more in common with Jason than it seemed, and Damian again borrowed from Alex’s husband. “Darling Lucy, you were mine from the moment we met.”

  ~

  After the successful negotiations with the Deys of Tunis and Tripoli, Lord Exmouth brokered an agreement with the Dey of Algiers, or so he thought. When Algerian troops attacked and slaughtered an estimated two hundred Sicilian, Sardinian, and Corsican fishermen who enjoyed British protection, Admiral Pellew ordered the fleet to form a blockade, with the Brethren positioned at the rear, with the singular intent of bringing the Dey to heel.

  While the world outside prepared for battle, in the days since Lucy consummated her relationship with Damian and gained the answer to a painful question, she set aside the past and the fear to make room for a bright future with the man she loved. When he claimed her bride’s prize, it was as if he broke the invisible chains and set her free, and she was determined to regain control of her life.

  Hugging his pillow, she closed her eyes, revisited the afternoon’s interlude, following lunch, and shivered at the precious memory. How he touched her. How he filled her. How he carried her into the bliss and held her long after the sensuous storm passed.

  It was in those quiet moments of reflection that she explored more of her sensuality and resolved to bring something of her own to their bed. So she flung aside the covers, stood, and strolled to the long mirror.

  Naked, she studied her figure, brushed the back of her knuckles to a nipple, and marveled as it hardened. There was unique power inherent to love and sex, yet Damian employed his skills to do nothing more than bring her pleasure, when he could have manipulated her innocence and ignorance. Until that moment, their exchanges had been decidedly one-sided—he initiated and led the dance, and she followed.

  “Perhaps I am overdue for a change.” At the washstand, she scrubbed her face and cleaned her teeth. En route to Algiers, Damian moved her belongings into the main cabin and made it clear that he preferred his bunk with her in it. So she skipped to the dressing area, opened her trunk, and collected her breeches, boots, and a lawn shirt.

  After garbing herself, appropriately, she secured her hair in a neat chignon. With one last check of her attire, she considered her tack and charged into the corridor.

  As expected, she found her man on the poop deck, scrutinizing the coast of Algiers.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Teversham.” Carsleigh always blushed when he addressed her.

  “Good afternoon, Carsleigh.” When the first lieutenant descended to the quarterdeck, she clicked her heels and peered at Damian. “And how are you, Cap’n? Did you enjoy the midday meal?”

  “Oh, it
was a savory meal, indeed, Miss Teversham.” The heat in Damian’s stare warmed her from top to toe, and she bit her bottom lip. “In fact, I find my favored fare rather succulent, of late.”

  “Oh?” How well her dashing duke played the game, and she thrilled to the telltale red flush that spread from his throat. “I find it a tad exhausting.”

  “And you will find it doubly so, when I get you back to our cabin, because I want nothing more than to peel you out of those breeches.” He scanned the vicinity, bent his head, narrowed his stare, and grinned. “What possessed you to put those on, today, when you know how they distract me?”

  “Perhaps I wish to distract you.” A lock of his thick brown hair fell across his forehead, and she resisted the urge to whisk it aside. “Is that so wrong?”

  “It is when we guard the fleet’s flank.” Without warning, Damian flinched, raised his spyglass, and studied the shore. “Lucy, go below, and stay there until I come for you.”

  “Why?” How she adored his serious side, so respectable and focused, when he was anything but in their bunk. “Nothing is happening, except we spend another day guarding the mole for any hint of attack, which never commences.”

  “My dear, things can change in the blink of an eye, in times of conflict, and what appears calm can become chaotic with a single cannon shot.”

  “Do you anticipate action, today?” She strolled to the stern rail, bent at the waist, and leaned forward. “It is almost three, and soon we will retire for dinner. Surely, it is too late to engage in a new campaign.”

  “Not necessarily, as confrontation knows no time.” As she hoped, from behind he curled about her and caught her ear lob in his teeth. “But I anticipate plenty of action, after dinner, because you bait me without shame, and I shall bite, my luscious Lucy.”

  “Is that a promise?” Lucy wiggled her hips, brushing him in a certain sensitive spot, and he hitched his breath.