Page 112 of Stolen and Seduced By the Duke

Margaret swallowed and asked, "Then what?"

Pierce's gaze travelled over her slowly before returning to her eyes, and his voice lowered. "Sit on the chair."

The command was simple, yet the tone behind it sent a warm shiver through her. She obeyed, lowering herself onto the chair beside the bed while wondering precisely what sort of game her husband had decided to play.

"Remove one slipper," he instructed, standing before her.

Margaret glanced down at her shoes and then back at him. She lifted one foot, but Pierce immediately said, "Not so fast."

She froze, and he stepped nearer. "Slowly, Duchess." His voice was thick with lust.

Margaret felt her cheeks grow hot beneath the mask. Good heavens, he was teasing her. She had spent so much of their marriage complaining about his rules that she had never imagined there might be rules she would actually enjoy obeying.

With deliberately careful fingers, she untied the ankle laces of one slipper and slowly eased it from her foot before setting it aside. Pierce watched every movement, and the intensity of his attention made her suddenly conscious of the smallest gesture. She removed the second slipper with equal care, and when she looked up, she found his jaw slightly tense.

He stepped closer. "Place your foot on my thigh. Then, your stockings next, Duchess," he said, and Margaret's breath caught.

She could not believe how a few ordinary words could suddenly feel so intimate. She lowered her gaze and raised one foot and set it against his thigh. She pushed her skirt up to her waist and began untying the delicate laces of her thigh-high stockings, her fingers strangely unsteady beneath his watchful attention.

Slowly, she rolled one stocking down her leg and then the other, aware of Pierce shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The small movement told her more than any declaration could have done. He was affected by this too. That knowledge sent a rush of confidence through her, because for once she was not the only one trembling with anticipation.

Margaret had spent so much of her life believing that she was somehow less desirable than other women, that men overlooked her because she was too spirited, too outspoken, too much herself. Yet Pierce Sterling was looking at her as though she were the only woman in England.

"Stand," he said softly.

Margaret rose.

Pierce stepped behind her and began unlacing the ties running down the back of her gown. He took his time, his fingers brushing her skin with every loosened fastening, until at last the gown slipped from her shoulders and fell in a soft heap at her feet. Next came her chemise, until she was completely naked in nothing but the pearl necklace and mask.

Margaret stood utterly still, her heart hammering as she felt his warmth behind her. Then his lips touched her bare shoulder, gentle at first, lingering long enough to make her close her eyes. A shiver travelled through her, and she realized with startling clarity that she did not want to hide from this man any longer. She did not want to be merely the duchess he had selected because Hugh needed a mother, nor the convenient wife who happened to suit his circumstances.

I want to be his. I want him to have all of me.

"Pierce," she whispered, turning towards him. Her voice trembled, but she forced herself to meet his gaze through the black mask. "I'm ready to be your wife." She drew a shaky breath and placed one hand against his chest. "Truly be your wife in all ways."

Pierce became completely still. For once, there was no command in his expression, no teasing confidence, only a sudden gravity that made Margaret's heart ache.

"Are you sure?" he asked quietly, reaching up to touch her cheek. "We can do what we did before."

Margaret shook her head. She had never been more certain of anything. "No," she whispered, moving closer until she could feel his breath against her face. "I want you, all of you. I have made my decision, and I expect you to obey that."

The words seemed to undo something inside him. Pierce drew a deep breath, and then his arms closed around her. “Yes, Duchess. As you wish.”

His mouth found hers with a tenderness that quickly deepened into yearning, and Margaret melted against him, clutching his coat as though she feared he might disappear if she loosened her hold. His hands cupped and massaged her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her rosy peaks.

Every kiss seemed to awaken another part of her, until her entire body felt alive beneath his touch, every nerve aware of him. She had once thought of the marriage bed as something to be followed through, a duty that must be attended to, but with him it felt different. It felt like an adventure.

His kisses moved from her lips to her cheek and down her chest to her breast, each kiss making her breath catch.

Margaret closed her eyes, surrendering to the warmth of him, and thought how strange it was that the man who had once seemed so cold could make her feel so cherished. His hand rested against her back, holding her close without demanding anything more than she willingly gave.

Margaret shivered and pressed closer, no longer caring about masks or rules or the uncertainties that had haunted her throughout the evening. For tonight, there was only Pierce, his arms around her, and the astonishing certainty that she was exactly where she wanted to be. She had spent weeks wondering whether he could ever truly want her, and now, beneath the mysterious masks they had chosen to wear, she finally understood that he had never grown tired of her at all. He had simply been waiting, as she had, for them both to be brave enough to admit what they wanted.

He picked her up and placed her on the bed. Then took her mask off. He disrobed, taking off his cravat, his coat, his shirt and trousers until he too was naked with his black mask still on. She rested against the bed, and when his hand settled upon her knee, then moved down her thigh until it hovered over her mound, she moaned.

She gave a small gasp of surprise as his fingers began to massage her rosebud. His thumb pressed gently in slow circles, then moved up and down with careful pressure, easing the lingering stiffness from hours of standing and dancing.

"That feels very good," she whispered. Good? She laughed internally. It felt like lightning, like a spring storm.