confided the indignity of kisses their husbands pressed upon their persons. Drooling tongues, sharp teeth. Ick. Elizabeth pulled herself back from these intruding thoughts and refocused on Harry.
Hesitantly, she followed his lead, then grew more bold, daring to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. She slid her tongue closer to his and they engaged in this most fascinating of dances. Her breasts felt shockingly tight and heavy. When he reached one finger into the bodice of her gown and flicked a pebbled nipple, she pulled back in shock. His expression mirrored the way she felt.
Harry gave her a wry smile as he lifted her off his lap onto the seat next to him. “Damn me. Never felt that before.”
Elizabeth lifted a brow at him, and then giggled when he gestured to her breasts.
“You seem to have a lovely pair, but then I’m no connoisseur, seeing how those are my first and probably last set.”
Gales of laughter erupted out of her despite the embarrassment and residual tinge of arousal coursing through her. “Oh, Harry, you sweetheart. You don’t need to pretend for my sake. I know you love Arthur.”
He smiled at her. “It’s difficult to pretend that,” he said, and shifted his bottom, causing her to notice a distinct bump near the fall of his trousers that had most definitely not been there before. “I was thinking of Arthur, though,” he admitted sheepishly.
She hadn’t thought it possible to flush further, but her body managed splendidly. “I didn’t know you’d react like that.” She wasn’t totally clueless; she did have an older brother and had lived in the countryside for years.
Harry shrugged. “Well, it puts my mind at ease about tonight.”
“Have you never … been with a lady?” It was perhaps a bit forward to ask, but curiosity ranked high on her list of faults. Shouldn’t a certain degree of liberty be granted to questions for her husband?
He shook his head. “No. I’ve always known I prefer men. Arthur tried it once with a woman. He made a concerted effort to be normal before we met.”
“Harry, you are normal,” she said, fascinated by the little glimpse into his world.
‘Well, you’re the only person I’ve met with such a liberal mind-set. The rest of Britain would just as soon tear me to pieces than allow me to live how I please on my estate,” he said with bitterness in his tone.
“You could have, you know,” she pointed out. “Simply put out a false, tragic story about a childhood love dying. Devastated Duke Swears Never to Marry. I can see the society pages now.”
“A sound plan, and something I’d love to have done, if only. Blasted Finchley, with his threats. Can’t let him take the dukedom.”
Her hand covered Harry’s larger one. “We won’t,” she promised.
CHAPTER TWO
Oh, Lord. Night had finally fallen. Elizabeth pulled the coverlet just a bit higher till her lips kissed the rich silk fabric, and wiggled her toes, which could now almost peek out the bottom of the bed. Despite her earlier bravado to Harry, she lay terrified in her room, the duchess’s suite.
Swaths of teal and ivory silk hung from the windows. The wallpaper was festooned with curlicues and a decorative motif, the exact blue as the drapery fabric. The alluring fragrance of wildflowers and grass wafted in through the open windows, carried on a cooling spring breeze.
Harry had insisted on driving to his property just outside London after the wedding breakfast. He refused to “do his duty” in the gossipy confines of his London town house. At first, his decision relieved her. Her jaunt into the surreal seemed easier on unfamiliar ground than in the harsh familiarity of loud, noisy Town. But now, surrounded by darkest night and chirping crickets, she wished for the familiar calls of the hackney drivers, or the clacking of carriages heading home after a ball.
The hidden, wall-papered door leading to the ducal suite creaked open and Harry’s head popped around it. “Hallo. Settling in?”
“Quite well. The room is lovely.”
“Liar,” he said, and strolled in clad in only a loose burgundy silk robe. “Your face is as white as the cover you’re trying to hide under.”
She attempted a brave smile at his lightheartedness. She’d done the right thing in marrying him. Really. Was there a better man, other than her brother, in all of Britain? She thought not. She’d be a duchess, have a child and gain a great friend in her husband. What lady could ask for more? Not her, certainly. And if a tiny part of her dreamed of passion and kisses and … more, well, she pushed those thoughts to the very back of her mind and scooted over to make room for her husband on the bed. Her marital bed. The one where she would soon lose her virginity. To a man who liked her, but did not want her. Oh, hell.
“You’re frowning,” Harry observed.
“Am I?”
“Yes. Having second thoughts?”
“No. Let’s do it.” In an act of bravery, she pushed the comforter down to her waist, baring the decadent negligee her mother insisted she include in the trousseau, her mother having no idea she could wear the costume of a Drury Lane performer and Harry still wouldn’t care.
He untied the knot at his waist and slipped the robe off, letting it pool on the ground at his feet. His broad shoulders spoke volumes about the hours spent in fencing practice, and his flat stomach showed no excess of dining that so many of his peers suffered. Elizabeth stared at his penis, curiosity overcoming her shyness. He seemed nicely formed; a shaft about the width of her wrist hung down between his legs. She’d heard rumors of hard protruding parts, but Harry didn’t seem to have one of those types. She guessed she preferred his softer, more approachable looking member.
Harry raised a knee onto the bed and hoisted himself next to her, then slid under the covers. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing the two of them together from head to toe, and kissed her cheek. Elizabeth turned slightly to kiss him back on the lips when he abruptly pulled away. “Hang on,” he told her, and slid off the bed, striding back toward his own rooms. “This isn’t going to work,” she heard him muttering.
He disappeared into his room while she clutched the covers to her breasts. Had she blundered? Was it over?
A few minutes passed before he entered the room again, and this time she understood the whispers and rumors of protruding parts. His penis no longer hung down his leg, but stood at attention, pointed straight at her. She felt her mouth drop open in amazement, but before she had time to take a second look, Harry was under the covers and on top of her.
Her nightrail bunched at her waist and Harry’s penis poked at her belly before he lifted her right thigh. Then she felt him between the lips of the most intimate part of her. A deep breath relaxed her slightly, but his thrust at her entryway forced her to clench her muscles tightly against his invasion. She offered up an encouraging smile, but he missed it. His eyes were closed and concentration marred his handsome visage.
Suddenly his eyes flashed open. “Wait here,” he ordered, and exited the bed one more time for his own room.
Her body protested the sudden cold at his absence. “What is going on?” she asked the cherubs smiling down at her from their painted perch on the bedroom ceiling mural. Their arrows pointed toward Harry’s room, so she followed the advice. She slid off the bed, straightening her nightgown back to virginal modesty, and crept toward Harry’s suite. One finger, then her whole hand pushed open the connecting door.
“Harry?” she called, peeking her head in to look for her absent husband. “Is everything all rig …”
Harry stood facing her. Arthur perched on his knees in front of him, his mouth on Harry’s—Oh, my. Elizabeth froze, her eyes wider than guineas. She should move, leave them to their privacy. But somehow her feet took one step, then another, until her body stood fully in the duke’s bedchamber. Her voice trailed off as shock and another,