A Wildflower for a Duke, page 26
She appeared puzzled by his words, spoken without any context to anchor them. She nodded, watching him as though trying to decipher his expression.
“Good. That’s all. I’m going to check in on Zach. Goodnight, poppet. I love you so much.” He kissed her again, and she went back to reading her book before he had even left the room.
He knocked twice on Zach’s door and cracked it open. Zach was fast asleep, sprawled out on the bed fully clothed, with his head at the foot and his boots on his pillow. Gabriel grabbed a blanket and tucked it around him, careful not to jostle his sleeping form.
Finally, Gabriel stopped in his own bedroom, but Keene must have been waiting for him in the library. He shed his boots and clothes, changing into looser-fitting trousers and shirt sleeves.
***
Gabriel crossed the room and opened the connecting door to the duchess suite, where Violet had already prepared for bed and had her blankets pulled up to her chin.
“Are the children asleep?”
“Zach was.” He stood propped against the doorframe, watching her. Everything about Violet now made him cripplingly unsure. His own emotional upheaval regarding Emma felt insignificant compared to the anxiety and confusion Violet must have endured.
Gabriel glanced between the chair by her side and the bed, trying to decipher where she might want him. She answered the unspoken question, sliding her body towards the centre to make space for him. Nodding, he approached. When Violet pulled back the corner of her blankets, he stalled again. Her face fell, and he immediately regretted his hesitation.
“The chair is all right too. I realise that what I said doesn't change anything. I wasn’t trying to … That is, I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable.” He ignored her offered chair and pulled the covers back, peeled off his socks, and dropped them on the floor.
“Of course it changes things. But it doesn’t change the fact that I want very much to hold you, Violet.”
Slipping into bed beside her, he curled his body towards hers. Violet rolled to face him, knees tucked up, and, like two bookends sharing the same pillow, they stared at one another. Their noses nearly touched, but their bodies remained apart.
Neither said a word as they adjusted to the closeness. Then he felt her toes touch his calf under the blanket. He watched her face as she encouraged his leg to cross to hers, her toes flexing and curling into the material of his trousers. Pressed flush together, from their knees down to where her bare foot draped across his ankle, their bodies formed a lopsided heart. Her toes continued to stroke and nuzzle at his calf, and one of her hands crossed the distance between them to twine her fingers with his. He glanced down at the bump where their hands clasped beneath the counterpane, then back to her face.
“More?” he rasped.
“More.”
He disengaged their hands and slid one arm beneath her neck, settling it gently on her shoulder. His other hand travelled to rest on her hip, the soft material of her nightgown bunched beneath his palm. Like a small mammal seeking heat, she shifted her body closer to his, her head tucked to his neck.
When the tips of her breasts touched against his shirt front, and a few scant inches separated the remainder of their bodies, he squeezed the curve of her hip gently, silently willing her to stop moving closer. “Enough?” he asked in a croak, fervently praying that it would be. He wouldn’t deny her whatever closeness she required, but he didn’t want the slightest risk of his body misinterpreting her need for physical touch. Gabriel had never been happier to be a thirty-seven-year-old man in control of his own base needs. This was about comfort; nothing more.
“It’s perfect,” she replied on a sigh.
He dropped a kiss to her hair.
“Will you stay?” Her sleepy voice was breathy against the slope of his neck.
“Yes.”
Within minutes, Violet’s breathing was steady and deep. Throughout the night, Gabriel fluctuated between profound contentment and unwanted arousal. Asleep or awake, his body remained acutely aware of her soft, sleepy form instinctively wrapped around him. Sometime during the night, he awoke painfully stimulated, as the thigh she had unknowingly hiked up and stretched across his unwelcome erection shifted and ground against him. His cock throbbed against the heavy weight of her leg. Biting back a groan, he carefully extracted his body from beneath hers and rolled onto his side.
Eased from slumber, Violet followed him, rolling to her side and laying her palm against his shoulder blade. “Are you well? Did I hurt you? When my brother was small he used to steal into my bed at night. He always regretted it, claiming I kicked in my sleep.” She kneaded her thumb into the muscle of his shoulder as he gritted his teeth, willing his erection to subside. When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “Gabriel. What's wrong?”
He had never been so annoyed with his own traitorous body, “It’s nothing. I just need a moment.”
“Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?” The tender concern in her voice redoubled Gabriel’s efforts to think of something—anything—to quell his painfully obvious problem. He did not want to plant the idea in her mind that men could not control their bodies. This man would control his, goddamn it!
Gabriel’s breath caught in his chest, every muscle becoming rigid as he felt her supple thighs slide against him and cradle his buttocks. He bit his lip and threw an arm over his face. Her retreat was immediate.
Cold replaced the space where her body had been as she scooted away nearly the full width of the bed. “You don’t have to stay.”
The almost unnoticeable quaver in Violet’s voice, shimmied into his soul and tore. “No Violet. No.” Thankfully, his cock had finally receded to half-mast, and he rolled to look at her. “It's nothing you did. And God help me, it's nothing I meant to do. It's an automatic reaction that happens …” He could tell she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Ignoring his cowardly impulse to hide his explanations in the safety of shadows, he fumbled to the nightstand and lit a candle. He needed to see her and ease the sting of his unintentional rebuff. And he thought that once she did understand, she may be frightened in the pitch black. By now it was safe to draw her near, and he was eager to do so.
“Come here, little love. No, don't hide from me over there. I am sorry. I will explain. Just come here.” She reluctantly scooted closer and he pulled her closer still. He ground his teeth, searching for the most clinical explanation he could find. “Sometimes, if there is friction against a man's penis, it … stands up.” He struggled not to sound like the clumsy, ridiculous oaf that he, at this moment, very clearly was. “Other times it stands up for no reason at all, and I understand it has something to do with blood circulation. It also reacts similarly when aroused … when a man anticipates a woman. But I swear to you, that's not the case tonight,” he added hastily.
Gabriel chanced a glance at her face to see if more explanation was necessary. Instead of the fear or disgust he expected to see, Gabriel was met with deeply rutted dimples and an impish grin as Violet fought to contain her laughter. “And you already know this.” His cheeks aflame, he covered his face with his hand as relieved laughter bubbled up.
Violet peeled his hand from his face.
“Not all of it, but I do have livestock that make babies in the spring.”
Gabriel relaxed. “When you were sleeping, your leg … you were shifting in your sleep. I didn’t want to scare you so I pulled away until it was no longer so obvious.”
Violet sighed. “I do understand the basics, but I have no doubt there are differences between ruminants and men. I probably shouldn't have refused Hamish’s ‘wedding night’ talk. Now I’ll just have to ask you.”
“Hamish? He seems an interesting choice for an education of this nature.” More laughter escaped, the knot in his chest loosening. “But I suppose in lieu of an older sister or mother, a close friend with experience is the next logical choice.”
“Indeed.” Her voice was smiling now. “He called it a different name. Quite crude sounding, really. Then he made an endless series of jokes I didn’t understand pertaining to how it rhymes with ‘rock’.”
“Cock.”
“Oh! You know it!” She sounded oddly delighted, as if she had been admitted to a secret club, and he couldn’t help but grin at her unorthodox curiosity and enthusiasm.
“Yes, love. It's quite common vernacular.” The hot rush of embarrassment returned, but the glimmer of her customary zeal left him hungry for more.
“Are there other names for it?” She sounded downright giddy with interest now.
“Yes. Loads. Manhood, member, shaft. People in the 1400s frequently referred to it as a man’s ‘pin,’ which seems like an excellent way to terrify the fairer sex. In the 1600s it was commonly called a ‘plum tree shaker,’ which, while comical, does bring to mind a kind of aggression that I would prefer not be implemented on my plums.” This evoked a quizzical frown.
My God, she was innocent. He carried on, attempting to dance around the follow-up questions the plum tree shaker would no doubt evoke. “For a while it was referred to as a ‘knick knack,’ which I can only guess stems somehow from the word knickers. Then, in the early 1700s, someone took to naming it the ‘silent flute.’ I’m not going to hazard a guess as to the etymology of that one.” Gabriel prayed his red face did not betray the blatant lie. “I think my favourite may be ‘the shaft of delight,’ but even I admit that it does have a certain unhealthy arrogance to it.”
The bed shook with the force of her giggles, and, inappropriate as the conversation felt, he couldn’t resist the urge to encourage more uninhibited laughter
“There's also ‘rudder,’ ‘pike,’ ‘maypole,’ ‘noodle,’ ‘standing wire,’ ‘spigot,’ ‘fiddle,’ ‘spindle,’ ‘cranny hunter,’ ‘Captain Standish’—”
“No. Now you’re just making these up.”
“No! I swear it.”
“Wait. Who is Captain Standish? And if his name has become synonymous with a penis, does it mean that he was well liked or hated? Men do seem rather fond of them. And…” She began to fidget, as if the need to ask all her questions at once compelled her body to squirm in tandem with her rapid mind. “How do you even know so many names for it? Did they have an entire class at Eton on what to call your manly bits? How did you have any time to learn Latin or calculus with that list? Oh! Was it part of the end-of-year examination?”
“Slow down! I will answer all your mad questions!” He laughed and playfully tapped her on the head with a pillow. “I have no idea who Captain Standish was, but I would guess he was well liked. Although, I am not sure if I would appreciate it being called ‘the Duke of Northam.’ I will have to give that one more careful consideration. Most of the names, I imagine, were invented by adolescent boys who think of little else besides girls, their penises, and where they want to put their penises. If there was a class at Eton, I can assure you I would have passed with high marks.”
“It still seems ridiculous to have so many names for it. I don't have a billion names for my …” Her voice trailed away.
“Oh, don’t worry. We men have given it enough names to make up for the fairer sex’s obvious oversight.” He smiled wickedly
“NO! You haven't!”
“By far the oldest and most popular over the years is ‘cunt,’ which I have never much cared for myself. It sounds so harsh. There is also the ever-popular ‘purse.’ That's stood the test of time dating back to the 1500’s. Some lesser-used names are ‘bookbinder’s wife,’ ‘treasure,’ ‘altar of Venus,’ ‘honey pot,’ ‘quiver,’ ‘cunny hole,’ and the very bizarre ‘two leaved gate’.” A smug smile curled his lips at her flabbergasted surprise.
She promptly wiped the smile off his face. “And, what do you call it, Your Grace?”
He pretended to consider it for a moment. “I've always been partial to ‘pussy.’ A velvety word for the softest part of a woman. Certainly brings to mind better images than two leaved gate …”
“I will never be able to look at a cat the same way again.”
He grinned. “Indeed.”
“Pussy.” It slid from her lips as if she was testing the feel of the word. Gabriel’s lips parted with a slow breath.
“Yes, I see you do like that word. You’re blushing, Your Grace.”
“Impossible. Dukes do not blush.”
“What hogwash. You blush all the time. And you have completely distracted me from my questions.” She cut him a look, then grew contemplative as if pondering some great philosophical enigma. “You said it stands up. With a goat, it's kind of tucked away until …” She gestured with her hands. He would have laughed if not for her earnest expression. Why did society insist upon keeping unmarried women from understanding basic physiology? It was maddening.
“I'm certain you’ve seen statues. Artwork. That's the way it looks most of the time, more or less.” He smirked. “But when it's … agitated, or ready to couple with a woman, or, as I mentioned, sometimes for no reason at all, it rises like this.” He held up one small, unassuming finger and uncurled it so it stood erect.
Understanding lit her face. “Well that makes sense since it wouldn't work with a woman if it was floppy. That would be like threading a noodle through a needle.” She grinned as if she had just been awarded the Copley Medal for her brilliant deduction. Then her expression softened and she reached for him. “And you pulled away because, after what I shared, you thought I might be afraid of you? Or were you embarrassed?”
He squeezed her hand, enormously relieved that she understood. “Mostly the former. A bit of the latter,” he said, sheepishly
“Gabriel. I am nervous about what will happen, of being touched and all that comes after. But I am not afraid of you. I know you’d never hurt me, or force me, or lose control of your moral compass because of a little influx in blood circulation. He was a monster. You are the man who saved my son. Who respects my individual choices enough to give me work gloves when you would rather me watch from the side. Who has never been anything but gentle and patient with me.” She paused for a moment, biting her lower lip. “Everything about being with a man intimately is either petrifying or totally unknown.” Her lashes lowered. “I've never even been kissed before, so the list of possibilities that intimidate me would fill three sheets of parchment. But if things do eventually progress between us … and I hope they will,” she added shyly, “I trust that you will be considerate and tender with me while I work through every single fear on that list. I will feel safe with you. Hamish and Nathan told me that with the right person, there isn’t any reason to be afraid, and so I believe that.”
He pulled her close and laid his chin on her head. “I am going to kiss you, Violet, but not tonight. And when I do, the only thing you will feel is how absolutely cherished you are. We will cross off one line at a time from that list until the experiences that remain don’t seem so scary anymore.” She hugged his calf with both bare feet and smiled at him.
“But for now, we need to sleep. And hopefully my Captain Standish can refrain from waking us both again. My mother returns from London tomorrow, God help us both. We shall have a full day of attempting to avoid her. Luckily, she’ll only be around for the day before leaving to harass my brother for another fortnight. Gabriel stretched out and Violet immediately snuggled close, resting her cheek against his heart as if they had slept that way a hundred times. Keene’s advice from earlier that evening flashed through his mind. Think less. With everything that had been said between them tonight, he would have expected his overwrought brain to spin like a top, but oddly, the opposite had occurred. Perhaps the tangle of his thoughts felt so insurmountable that his mind had opted to abandon introspection altogether. Like finding a skein of hopelessly knotted yarn and casting it back into the basket to sort through another day. Regardless of the cause, he was thankful for the chance to simply enjoy the weight of her in his arms and her soft breaths wafting across his chest.
“I like this,” she said.
“I do too.”
Chapter 27
G abriel stepped into his private rooms to find Keene already present and debating between two shirts that appeared completely identical, at least as far as Gabriel could tell. “Hiding from your mother?” Keene inquired, abandoning his shirts to pour himself a cup of tea.
“No, I’m not hiding. Thank you for the tea.” Gabriel confiscated the cup and set the saucer on a nearby table. “And for your information, she hasn’t even arrived yet.”
Keene frowned and poured a replacement cup for himself.
Taking a scalding sip, Gabriel coughed. “Is it your goal to burn my oesophagus to cinder?”
“Oh, I do apologise, Your Grace. I mistakenly assumed you wanted your hot tea hot. I would say you must want your tea lukewarm like your love life, but the upstairs maids report your bed was made this morning when they arrived to clean.” He raised his eyebrows and jabbed Gabriel with a playful elbow, causing him to spill some of his tea.
Gabriel filleted him with a glare. “How do you know I didn't make my bed this morning?”
Keene gave a snort of derision. “Probably because you wouldn't have the slightest clue that the sheets and counterpane are folded down precisely sixteen inches, and you can't even put on your own stockings. You're as helpless as a baby lamb.”
“I can too put on my own stockings,” Gabriel muttered.
“Also, you left those aforementioned stockings in the duchess’s room …” He paused, as if building anticipation before he dropped an ace on the table. “Next to the bed.”
“My God! You are a nosy arse!” Gabriel chided with no real heat to the insult.
“I prefer to call it well informed. I had my doubts yesterday when you stormed after her like a moody twelve-year-old, but it appears you have more prowess than I gave you credit for. Well done, Your Grace.”
Gabriel rubbed two fingers up and down his temple trying to find a balance between sharing his worries with the person he trusted most in this world, and not betraying Violet's confidence. “No. We talked. We slept. We talked some more.”
