Waking Up With the Duke (London's Greatest Lovers) by Heath Lorraine

Author:Heath, Lorraine [Heath, Lorraine]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Harper Collins, Inc.
Published: 2011-06-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Jayne awoke, still lethargic and sated after a less than sedate session of lovemaking. It was still dark so she knew it had been only a few hours since Ainsley had left her and she drifted off to sleep. Strange how she felt as though she were truly waking up for the first time in her life. She couldn’t explain it. She’d come here for a purpose, and even if she discovered this morning that she was with child, she would be loath to leave before the allotted time to which they’d all agreed.

Whatever was wrong with her? She should be missing Walfort, and in a way she was, but last night she’d not thought of him at all, not even when Ainsley left her. Instead all she could think about was the duke and the pleasure she found in his arms. His experience made him far more skilled than Walfort, but it was more than his talents. When she was with him, it was as though no one else in the world existed for him. All his attention was focused on her. No doubt it was part of the game at which he excelled: seducing women. Yet it never felt like a game. It seemed he meant every touch, every press of his lips, every caress.

She released a long, lingering sigh, followed by a low moan. Already she—

“Wonderful. You’re finally stirring.”

With a tiny screech, she scrambled back, sat up against the headboard and stared at the silhouette near the window. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here. ’Tis my cottage.”

“I meant in my bedchamber.” And she suspected he knew very well what she meant.

“I came to awaken you but couldn’t bring myself to do it. I have something to show you, and now that you’re awake . . .” He tossed a bundle onto the bed. “I borrowed them from the stable boy. They’re clean. I doubt they’ll be a perfect fit—he hasn’t your lovely curves—but they’ll do in a pinch.”

“What exactly are they?”

She heard the strike of a match, watched it flare before he lit the lamp. The flickering light revealed him dressed in woolen trousers, a shirt, and a brown jacket—all of which appeared to have come from a beggar.

“Trousers,” he answered.

“I can’t wear trousers.”

“Of course you can. It’s still dark. No one will see, but you need to hurry. We must be there before first light.”

“And where is it that we must be?”

“Why, where the sprites and faeries play, of course. With any luck, perhaps we’ll even capture one.”

“Ainsley, what on earth are you on about?”

“It’s a secret. Now hurry along.”

She was sputtering her refusals when he strode from the room. She should pull up the covers and return to sleep. Instead she drew her nightdress over her head and quickly put on the trousers and shirt. It seemed as though there should be more items than this. They were so light. She felt embarrassed at the thought of leaving the room wearing so little.

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