When she tried to push herself away, the frustrating man refused to budge, except to bring the horse to a stop. His eyes never left hers even as he threw the brake and tied off the ribbons.
Anger flared through her, but so did something else just as hot, just as consuming. “How dare you—”
He kissed her, so unexpectedly that she gasped against his mouth. But beneath the caresses of his sensuous lips, the gasp turned into a low sigh, and her hands that had been pushing at his shoulders to shove him away now clutched at his coat sleeves to keep him right there, pressed tightly against her, kissing her.
Her head swam. Not at the realization that Monmouth was kissing her, this same man who wanted to destroy her father’s mill. Not even because he was a duke.
No, confusion rushed over her like a wave because of the heady sensations of pleasure and need he stirred inside her. She didn’t think any man except for her John could have this same effect on her, could kiss her so knowingly and with such affection. She tasted the same longing and need on his lips that she’d tasted on John’s the night of the masquerade, felt in his strong arms the same tenderness behind his need.
But this wasn’t her John. This man was Monmouth. This man was—
“My enemy,” she whispered breathlessly against his lips.
HE FLINCHED as her words eviscerated him. “We’re not enemies, Cora,” he murmured as he slid his mouth back along her jaw to kiss at the tender flesh beneath her ear. She trembled in response, and his lips smiled against her. “How could we enjoy this so much if we were?”
“I don’t—” she forced out between panting breaths, her hands still clutching at his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“But you do enjoy it…being kissed by me?” His hand slid up to her nape, to massage seductively at the base of her skull.
“Yes,” she admitted and closed her eyes, although he couldn’t have said whether in shame or pleasure. But she didn’t pull away and instead slipped her arms around his neck.
“And when I caress you?” He slowly stroked his hand down her elegant neck, to rest his thumb in the hollow at the base of her throat. Her pulse beat wildly there. “Do you enjoy that, too?”
She arched herself into him. “You know…I do…drat you.”
He laughed as he captured her mouth beneath his again, this time to ease her lips apart and slip his tongue inside to plunder all of her kiss. Her breath hitched when he slid his tongue over the length of hers. But he cajolingly teased until her hesitation fled, and she dared to stroke back in a silky soft glide that shivered heat straight through him.
He seized her mouth in a blistering kiss that left her panting and boneless in his arms. The kiss he’d wanted to give her the night of the masquerade but couldn’t for fear of being seen. The kiss he’d fantasized about since he first tasted her lips on his. But this was so much better than he’d imagined, with a sweetness beneath the arousal that left him slightly dazed and yearning for more.
Not releasing her, he slipped his arms around her and drew her up onto his lap. Then, behind her back, he tugged off his gloves and let them fall to the floor of the carriage. He wanted nothing between them when he caressed her.
“And this?” His hand rested on her side, his fingers tracing over each rib through her corset as he slowly worked his way upward. When she trembled, he had his answer. “If I dared to caress higher, would you let me?”
His thumb stroked teasingly against the side of her breast, daring her to accept the caress he so desperately wanted to give her.
“Say yes, and let me give you this pleasure, too.” This one and so many, many more that he wanted to share with her. Never before had he cared about giving a woman pleasure; intimacies had only been about his own needs. But with Cora, bringing her pleasure pleased him. Immensely.
“Yes,” she whispered against his lips, and her fingers curled into his hair at his collar, in a soft entreaty not to stop.
He caressed her breast against his palm and gently massaged her fullness. Her nipple drew up taut in eager response, but there were too many layers of material for her to truly feel how glorious a man’s touch on her breasts could be. So he gently tugged down at her dress and all the layers beneath, until he freed a single breast to the afternoon sunlight.
“Dear God, you’re beautiful,” he rasped out as he traced a fingertip over her dusky nipple. It drew up impossibly tighter, like a dark pink rosebud, and when he plucked at it with his fingers, a plaintive whimper fell from her. He kissed her reassuringly, to convey that he knew exactly what her body needed, and gave her a gentle pinch that shot pleasure into her with a gasp.
When she tore her mouth away from his, he thought she might have changed her mind and would stop him. Instead, she buried her face against his neck and shyly whispered, “Yes…Oh please, yes…”
His foolish cock flexed at the arousal in her, so intense that she shook from it. Sweet Lucifer, how much he wanted her! And he meant to have her, too.
But not yet. There were still too many barriers between them. Now, he’d have to settle for this small taste of her.
He lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth. When he began to suckle lightly, she pressed herself harder against him, and her fingers clutched at his hair to keep his mouth tightly against her. He swirled the tip of his tongue over her, then lapped at her between greedy suckles, the combination of licks and sucks and nips of his teeth making her writhe on his lap. If she kept that up, she’d discover exactly what having his mouth on her did to him.
If fondling her breast brought her this much pleasure, then he could only imagine her reaction if he took a more intimate touch.
“I want to caress you,” he murmured against her hot flesh. “Right where you’re aching to be touched.”
She tensed with surprise, and when he looked up into her eyes, he saw her bewilderment that he could know what sensations bloomed inside her. But of course he knew. Through her letters and the night of the masquerade, he knew all of her desires. Just as he knew that no other man had ever touched her before.
He slipped his hand beneath her skirt and brushed it up her leg, pausing when he reached the top of her stocking. When she didn’t tell him to stop, he dared to let it drift higher, until he teased his fingers at the feminine curls guarding her sex. Each of her breaths came labored with nervous anticipation, and he could feel the damp heat of her just below his fingertips.
“Yes.” Her lips formed the silent word, but it was all the permission he needed. He stroked his hand over her feminine folds. Sweet heavens…she felt like liquid silk, so soft and smooth beneath his fingertips.
“John,” she whispered achingly.
He smiled against her shoulder. He loved to hear her say his name, when she knew exactly who the man was who was bringing her such pleasure. Almost. She didn’t know that the Duke of Monmouth and the John from her letters was the same man. Guilt pricked at him that he couldn’t tell her and reveal all, but it couldn’t be helped. Not just yet.
“Soon, my love,” he promised with a kiss to her temple, and meant every word. “I’ll make love to you soon.”
Her hand clamped down on his wrist, stilling his hand. “No.” Her eyes flared with a haunted look. “We cannot—I cannot…”
“Because we’re not married.” He knew why she would keep herself from him and respected her even more because of it, yet that didn’t stop the disappointment from pouring through him.
“No,” she whispered. “Because you want to destroy the mill.”
They stared at each other, silent and still except for the pounding of his pulse in his ears and her gradually steadying breaths. Both of them were flush with desire and arousal, both aching and yearning for more. But there was more than just layers of clothing between them, and those problems couldn’t be solved with a few loose buttons and lifted skirts.