Dukes By the Dozen

He could not quite regulate his breath, or control the lust pounding through him. He slid his hands over her body, listened to her purrs of approval. He took one breast in his mouth, tugged lightly at her nipple, and reveled in the tremble of her thighs even as she gripped his hair.

So responsive, so uninhibited. A man could lose himself in her passion.

He forgot everything beyond the circle of firelight, beyond the velvet of her skin, the heat that gripped him when he entered her. Her sigh of welcome shook his soul, her soft limbs drawing him in until he did not know where he was—except with her.

When his mind whirled like the storm outside and his blood burned like the fire indoors, he allowed himself to be lost in her.

CHAPTER 7

THE WOOD BLAZED ONCE MORE as Wulf added fuel and stirred the coals back to life. Bea snuggled into the blankets he’d covered her with and let her gaze roam over his naked body. He was almost too exquisite to look at. Hard, lean, muscled. He had been a solder—a spy—and it showed still, even if he had been home for a few years. Certainly, he did not appear to be a duke.

But then, he was not supposed to be, until fate had played its hand.

“Do you miss your brother?” Bea wished she had not spoken the words as soon as they tumbled from her lips. The question was unpardonably rude, the answer entirely too private.

But he was staring at her over his shoulder, beautifully naked and carefully tending the fire. Everything about him had stilled, and she wondered if he had forgotten his important bits were not far from the flames.

“You know of my brother?” He set the poker aside and drew away from the hearth. Crawling over the pile of blankets and Bea herself, he settled himself beneath the covers and drew her close, leaving her near the warmth and his back to the cold room.

She resisted for a moment, but it was too pleasant to ease against his frame. To accept the heat of his body, the way his chest fit against her back. Watching the flames, aware of Wulf just behind her and doing the same, she said carefully, “I know you are not the firstborn.”

Crackling flames filled the silence.

“I am sorry, Highrow. I should not have asked.” Guilt rippled through her satiated body. “Please forget I did so.”

“No. It is a good question, and I do not shy away from the truth.” He dropped a kiss onto her bared shoulder, as if he had done such a thing a thousand times before. “I miss my brother very much, though not due to anything related to the dukedom. I simply miss my brother.”

Everything in her sighed with sympathy. Poor Wulf.

“You were close.”

“Very, but I rarely took the opportunity to return home once I became a spy. I had found a purpose in serving my country and pursued it relentlessly.” The arm around her waist tightened, drawing her closer still to his hard, heated body. “He was gone just a few years later. I received word it was a fever of some kind.”

“And so, you became the duke.” Bea stared into the flames, trying to imagine such a moment. She loved her brother, though she did not always like him. Still, if he were gone, she would be mired in grief.

“And so, I became the duke.” There was no bitterness in his voice. Instead, a deep sorrow coated his words. “My brother loved the land, the family. The title was at risk, and the history that went with it. I came home—to honor him. The family.”

“You gave up espionage,” she murmured.

“Family is more important.” The hand circling around her waist drifted up to cup her breast. Easily, once again as if he had done so a thousand times before. But it was both the first time and the last, so Bea let herself enjoy the sensation of his callused hands on her skin. “Now Napoleon’s missives have been exchanged for the grain yield.”

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“I miss my brother more.” His fingers toyed with her nipple, each touch sending sparks through her. “Nor does it matter any longer. That life is gone. Forgotten.”

“Nothing is ever forgotten. It is only behind you.” Shifting within the circle of his arms, Bea turned to face him. Stared hard into those deep blue eyes. “Sometimes, you need to look behind you to determine where you are going.”

“A philosophical highwayman.” In the shadowed half-light, his face might have been carved from stone. Rough and strong, and blessed by the pagan gods.

“I am a highwayman of many parts.” She pressed her lips to his. Softly, because she felt the hurt that still reverberated through his body. “You did what was right, coming home. You will continue to do what is right as the Duke of Highrow. Your brother would be proud.”

“I hope so.” He nibbled at the corner of her mouth, sending little shivers right down to her toes. “The wind has died down.”

She had forgotten the snowstorm and the world beyond the warm cottage. It seemed as if, for a brief time, nothing existed outside the circle of golden firelight. Only the two of them, warm and naked and cocooned in blankets.