Moonlight Square: Books 1-4 (Plus Bonus Prequel Novella), page 169
“I know,” he said darkly. “I’m a little worried about that, actually.”
“Why?”
There was a storm brewing behind his eyes. “I have a theory you’re the reason Axewood got Joel to cooperate.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, taken aback.
Luke said nothing, and she figured it out for herself in a wash of cold dread.
“You think Lord Axewood told Joel he would harm me unless he went along with it?”
Luke nodded, and Portia clutched her heart. “Then thank God I refused the earl’s suit!”
“He’ll pay. Don’t worry.”
A chill ran down her spine at his ominous tone. She paused. “You’re going to kill him?”
“Indeed.”
Portia’s heart sank. More killing? But the stony resolve in Luke’s eyes and the blood on his clothes made her back down from voicing her protest to hear that, once again, he would turn to violence.
With the wine still making her head fuzzy, it was all she could do to take in this shocking information. Smugglers right here in London! Criminals who killed for sport. And stuffy, pompous Axewood a ruthless villain himself.
“Poor Joel,” she said softly, staring at the floor as she tried to wrap her mind around it all.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m getting him out soon. In two nights’ time, he’ll either be free or we’ll both be dead.”
She looked up, even more horrified as Luke took the washcloth back from her and rose to put it back in the basin.
“But you asked what actually led to all this,” he continued, “so I’ll conclude my explanation with a fact I only just learned tonight. Namely, that my right-hand man has, er, a bit of a history with Jimmy O’Toole’s wife.”
“Ah,” she said, recalling Gower in his cups doting on the woman.
“When Gower found Maisie sported a black eye, he acted accordingly. Promised her our protection and spirited her out of O’Toole’s territory. Before long, the two were followed. The battle ensued.”
“Hmm. Well, at least you won.”
Luke gave her a rueful smile and returned to the bench. “I think it’s fair to say that neither side won tonight, actually. The militia showed up and everybody scattered. It’s a damned inconvenience, really.”
He sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped. “I was planning a raid on the Carnevale Wednesday night, attacking in force. But the lawmen sent the boys running for cover, and I don’t expect to see them again anytime soon. Now Gower’s down…
“Well,” he said after a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, “no matter. I can do it myself. I’ll figure something out.”
“Oh, Luke.” Portia stared at him, unsettled.
The thought of what could’ve happened to him tonight was bad enough. But now he intended to—what, sneak into a gathering of criminals cruel enough to feed men to sharks, and try to save Joel single-handedly?
Was he mad or simply that brave, that sure of himself?
Studying him with awe, it struck her that the most amazing part of all was that it was not just “Silversmoke” doing this—it was Lucas.
Her darling dragon-head.
To dismiss him as some ferocious killer would be to ignore the other side of his nature. The sweetness, the warmth, the humility.
But the weightiest thought that sank in at that moment that Luke was doing this for her.
He had been, for weeks. All this time, hard at work behind the scenes, never taking the credit for all his good deeds.
On the contrary—he had disguised himself by playing the fool, the bumbling quiz, not caring who laughed at him or mocked him behind his back.
Including her, the woman he counted worthy to be his duchess.
Portia cringed to think of how she had regarded her fiancé until just a few weeks ago. How oblivious he must think her! She had never even suspected that her future husband was the very man behind all Silversmoke’s heroics.
But this? Why, this mission was extraordinary, she thought as she studied his handsome face.
It wore a slightly confused expression at the moment.
“What?” he said, frowning at her.
Portia shook her head. That any man should go to such lengths as risking his life not just to save another human being, but his own rival for a lady…
She knew absolutely and entirely in that moment that it was no contest between him and Joel. Whatever Luke was, whatever his guises, his violence, his lies, she loved him, much to her despair, and she might as well accept it.
Without warning, she leaned down and kissed him softly on the lips, cupping his beloved face in her hand.
The slight prickle of his scruffy jaw made her fingertips tingle and her blood zing with wild awareness of him as a man.
“Oh my darling,” she whispered, overcome, “you truly are the hero that I dreamed of.”
Luke stared at her with surprise when she pulled back, ending the kiss. “So, does this mean you forgive me?” he asked slowly.
“Well, no!” She straightened up and propped her hands on her waist, startled by the blunt question.
Luke arched a brow; it seemed they both knew her answer was a lie.
“I don’t know,” she retorted. “Maybe?”
“Maybe?” he echoed, and feigned a slight pout, though he looked unsurprised, casting her a cynical glance from the corner of his eye.
Portia couldn’t help smiling. “Yes, Your Grace. I will concede to a maybe, even though you are still a bounder and a bad seed. But…I am glad you weren’t killed tonight.”
“Believe me, so am I.” He suddenly shot his arm out and captured her about the waist, pulling her down onto his lap. “Maybe? I’ll maybe you, my girl!”
A breathless laugh escaped her, but she could not bring herself to object. She closed her eyes and gladly let the brigand claim the kiss he would have stolen anyway.
Parting her lips with a bold stroke of his tongue, he tasted of fire and smoke, but the strength in him thrilled her, his powerful arms encircling her. Portia slid her hand slowly across his sculpted chest, savoring every inch of him, her pulse pounding.
His green eyes glowed with seduction when he finally let her up for air. “I’m glad you came tonight. I missed you.”
She shook her head stubbornly. “I only came to yell at you.”
A roguish half-smile crooked his lips. “Are you sure about that?”
She huffed at his flirting and feigned an attempt to squirm away, but he tightened his gentle hold and laid her down on her back on the bench, leaning over her.
“Because I get the feeling you came here for something else entirely.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she retorted as he kissed her neck. She closed her eyes, dizzied by the sensation.
“Well, look at you,” he said. She opened her eyes to find him sizing her up with a ravenous glance. “Waltzing in here all tousled and rosy with wine, just looking for trouble. Well, guess what, my lady? You found it,” he whispered. Then he slid his hand beneath her skirts, and his fingers began gliding up her thigh.
Portia went motionless on the cramped bench, her pulse pounding.
“You’re my captive now,” he taunted in a silken whisper.
“No I’m not.” Oh, but she was. Wholly willing, in spite of herself. Fascinated by him—and he knew it.
“Afraid so.”
Her cheeks heated while she held her breath and waited to see what the gorgeous scoundrel might do next.
He nodded, holding her stare. “You’ve fallen into the clutches of a dread highwayman, my dear. Heaven only knows what might happen to you now.”
“What might happen?” she asked breathlessly.
“You’ll see. I warned you…”
She lifted her chin with a quiver of excitement. “Do your worst, highwayman. I’m not afraid.”
“Mm, that sounds like a challenge. I accept.” He leaned down and gave her one rich, deep, leisurely kiss after another, stealing her breath. Then he paused to nuzzle her ear. “Perhaps I shall rob you of your virtue, so you’ll have no choice then but to marry me, as planned.”
She turned her face away with a shiver of want, still trying to play coy, though he had her panting with desire.
“You would never do that, in any of your guises.”
“Wouldn’t I? Don’t be too sure about that, Portia Tennesley,” he whispered. “If it means keeping you forever, I could be tempted. And honor be damned.”
Then he lifted her onto his bed and lay atop her. Portia’s heart slammed in her chest as she caressed his sides and shoulders, trying not to touch any of his burns, cuts, or bruises. Luke’s hand traveled down her belly and curved around her thigh, then he pushed her legs apart gently.
She groaned, clutching him as his warm, deft fingers ventured into the dewy wetness of her core. He whispered as he stroked her, telling her how he longed for her with intoxicating murmurs in her ear.
Her womanhood throbbed, and the crazed pleasure that his rhythmic touch stoked in her blood led her past all shame. The wine and her crazed lust for him blurred away any lingering inhibitions.
She helped him eagerly when he pulled down her bodice and feasted on her swollen nipples. She ran her fingers through his dampened hair, feeding her other breast into his hot, wet mouth when he sought it.
She arched against him, moaning with need like she’d never known.
The combs in her hair distracted her from the pleasure he lavished on her. She needed to be rid of them. Her chignon was already a mess, so she quickly removed them. As she shook her hair free, Luke lifted his head drunkenly from her breast and gazed at her.
“What is it?” she asked, panting, self-conscious.
“I’ve never seen you with your hair down before. You’re so… I haven’t the words.” He captured a lock of her hair like a pale ribbon across his palm and kissed it, reverent as Galahad, to her unending delight.
Portia shook her head tenderly at him, adoring the man. “You are such a quiz.”
He grinned with hapless trust, his lips damp with kisses; Portia pulled him close again and held him like she’d never let him go. Somehow, he was Lucas and Silversmoke and everything she ever could have dreamed of, all wrapped up in one.
One glorious man—her darling duke—and there’d never be another.
He claimed her lips again with unbridled enthusiasm.
Portia caressed his hair and cupped his nape as he kissed her so deeply. His tongue swept over hers with the same maddening rhythm of his tender touch pleasuring her.
She tipped her head back, her legs sprawled, Luke lying on his side next to her. Though his fingers were as deep in her core as he could thrust them, it was not enough for either of them. She hovered at the brink of a shattering climax. She was shaking as he plundered her mouth with rough, needy kisses.
Then she noticed through a haze of passion that he was unbuttoning his breeches with his left hand. She swallowed hard and tried to clear her head, half alarmed as she realized what this signified.
And yet the flicker of hesitation dissolved in a trice. Instead of protesting, she licked his lips with sensuous hunger, running her hands down his hard, delicious body, craving all he had to give.
“Ah, you drive me mad,” Luke said in a ragged voice between kisses, panting.
She dragged her eyes open. How beautiful he was. His chest was damp with sweat, and the lantern’s glow flickered over his stone-carved abdomen. But there, beneath his adorable belly button, she saw the ruddy, rounded head of his enormous erection sticking out over the top of his black breeches. Primal eagerness flared inside of her as he freed it.
She swallowed hard. “May I touch you?”
“Please do.”
At once, she began inching her palm down his warm, chiseled stomach and went exploring. Luke moaned with anticipation; Portia felt the fierce drumbeat of his pulse as she slid her hand down his body.
His muscles were tensed, and he quivered when she grazed her fingertips cautiously over the silken head of his cock.
He whispered a ragged oath at her light touch.
His response thrilled her. “Ohhh, Silversmoke,” she purred in a mischievous tone.
He laughed breathlessly at her admiration and kissed her on her shoulder. “All yours, love.”
“So, um, what do I do with it, precisely?”
He laughed, his eyes sparkling in the lamplight. “Whatever pleases you, my lady.”
“Oh, I see.” She gave a teasing smile, curling her fingers around his hot, velvet shaft. “Do I stroke it?”
He flinched and closed his eyes with a look of bliss. “I hope so. Oh God, yes. Lots of that.”
“And do I squeeze it…like so?”
A savage groan escaped him. His chest heaved as he nodded. “Fast learner, you.”
“Does this make you feel better after this awful night you’ve had?” she whispered.
“You make me feel better. Just seeing your face, Portia. I fear you have no inkling how much I adore you… But hell yes. That definitely helps.”
Moved by his words, Portia applied herself to giving him the pleasure that he craved. Luke slid his left arm around her waist and drew her closer, warmly cupping her breast.
As he kissed her with mesmerizing depth, Portia lost herself in caressing his pulsating member. She was fascinated by the effect her touch had on it, on him. His kisses deepened, and, if it were possible, his manhood swelled even larger, grew even harder and hotter in her hand, and he trembled with pleasure now and then.
“Come here,” he said suddenly, capturing her hand. He laced his fingers through hers and pinned both her hands above her head on the mattress, rolling atop her. “Let’s play.”
“I don’t know this game,” she said with an uncertain smile, though she thrilled to whatever he wished to show her.
“I’ll teach you.” He held her gaze with a smoldering stare, his face sculpted by shadows.
She quivered, helplessly eager. “Are you going to deflower me now, you wicked beast?”
“Would you like that?”
Portia didn’t answer for the simple reason that she didn’t know. She couldn’t even think as he reached down with one hand and guided the satiny head of his member against her dripping passage, teasing her with it.
She whispered a curse of utter enjoyment, absorbed in the sensation. She’d never felt such things. He held his hard, thick shaft in his hand at just the perfect angle with which to tantalize her. Toying with her, slip-sliding at the threshold of her passage, he made her want like she’d never wanted before. God, it was the most blissful torture…
“Now what’s this about you canceling our wedding, my sweet? Or more importantly, our wedding night?”
“Unh. You are cruel,” she gasped out, striving for sanity.
She felt his cocky smile against her lips. “So I’m told.”
But, oh, she couldn’t bear for him to stop. Her body begged for release, but still he made her wait. A cry of longing escaped her when he angled the now slippery-wet length of his massive hardness to caress her drenched mound, inch by inch.
She gritted her teeth as she arched against him. After a moment of this, she glanced down to watch in reckless abandon as he dipped just the tip of his hardness into the swollen pink folds of her passage. He watched, too, both of them panting.
She felt lawless, barbaric. God, he was driving her out of her mind. He slid his throbbing shaft slowly against her rigid center, luring her in exquisite temptation.
Oh, he knew exactly what he was about. With every illicit caress, every naughty motion, he was leading her into a veritable trap.
Marriage.
But she was past caring at the moment if he was manipulating her with his beautiful body. She wanted him, craved that closeness with him, needed him inside of her now.
No matter the consequences.
“Luke,” she moaned, half a plea.
He looked down at her, his emerald eyes heavy-lidded. “Yes, darling? Tell me what you want.”
“You already know.”
“Say it.”
She licked her lips, well aware that if she did this, if she gave herself to him, then she’d have to take him for her husband—and live with whatever secrets he opted to keep.
Whatever illusions he created. Whatever rules he saw fit to break or bend. If she gave in right now to her own thunderous desire for him, the Duke of Fountainhurst would own her henceforth, for all practical purposes.
Alas, deep down, she feared he already did. How could any other man ever compare? It was no use. Passion would make her his slave and so be it. She looked into his eyes, burning, as the breathless whisper escaped her: “Take me.”
Savage hunger flamed in his eyes. But he held himself back for a moment. She could see him battling himself, fighting to check his reaction.
Waiting eagerly for him to take her innocence, she could feel his pulse booming in his glorious chest. He nuzzled a kiss along her cheekbone, then leaned lower to slip a blunt reply into her ear: “No.”
“What?” Portia went motionless, then planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed him back a few inches, sure she’d misheard. “No?”
He shook his head, looking dazed at his own answer. “I—could never forgive myself if I deflowered the woman I love when she’s drunk. Sorry.”
Portia stared at him in astonishment. “I am not drunk!” Anymore.
“You’re not sober,” he said. “No. I want to, believe me. But I won’t want you forced into marrying me, then resenting me for it forever.”
Her jaw dropped. He was serious!
She spluttered with confusion.
“Don’t worry—there are other things I can do to you, love,” he murmured, laying his hand on her hip, though he looked a bit worried at her reaction.
“Don’t bother!”
“Darling, the wedding is only a fortnight away. We’ve waited this long.”
“I don’t believe you.” She pushed him off her indignantly, her face heated with embarrassment at her own wanton behavior. How perfectly mortifying! “If that’s how you feel, you shouldn’t have started this.”
