you would not be the first woman to return my kisses with the hope of trapping a duke into marriage,” he smoothly countered.
She blinked, as if shocked by his words. “I would never—”
“And neither would I,” he interrupted, kissing her with a fierce demand. “I desire you,” he rasped, his lips moving down the line of her collarbone. “I ache for you. It is that simple.”
“Dear lord,” she moaned, her fingers skating over his chest as he once again found the tip of her breast to suckle her with a growing insistence. “There is nothing simple about this.”
She was right.
Lust was simple, but this…
Grimly thrusting aside the voice of warning in the back of his head, Stefan nudged her legs apart with his knee, his hand moving over her hip until he could tease the inner skin of her thigh.
She gave a small cry of pleasure and Stefan hastily covered her lips in a smothering kiss. It was not fear of discovery that troubled him; it was fear he might very well shoot anyone stupid enough to walk through the door and interrupt him.
Returning his kiss with an untutored enthusiasm, Leonida dug her nails into his back. Stefan growled his pleasure, his hand seeking the intimate cleft between her legs. She was already damp and his finger slid through the slick folds, a sweet temptation that made his erection pulse with an angry demand for release.
Guided by her soft pants and moans, Stefan caressed her with a growing urgency, goading her to even greater pleasure. She began to stir restlessly in his arms, seeking a relief to the tension he could feel clenching her muscles.
“Easy,” he murmured, grasping one of her wandering hands to press it against his arousal.
He groaned at the raw pleasure. Even through his buckskins he could feel the heat of her fingers as they curved tentatively around his shaft.
Using one hand to guide her fingers over his arousal, he used the other to continue pleasuring her, their rasping breaths the only sound to break the silence of the grotto.
“Stefan…I need…”
“I know, my dove, trust me,” he muttered, barely recognizing the irony of his words.
In this moment he could think of nothing beyond the sight of Leonida’s beautiful face as her eyes widened and her mouth parted in a silent scream of pleasure.
Her first taste of passion, but not her last, he silently swore.
Struck by her beauty, Stefan was caught off guard when her fingers tightened around him. With a strangled moan, he thrust his hips forward and his powerful release exploded. Gasping for air, he leaned heavily against her, struggling to remain upright as the shattering climax pulsed through his body.
Christ, what had the woman done to him?
CHAPTER SIX
WAITING UNTIL THE DINNER GONG had echoed through the vast house, Leonida glided through the thankfully empty corridor to slip into the Duchess’s room.
She knew she was taking a risk. Although a large number of the servants would be busy in the kitchens, either assisting with the meal or enjoying their own, there were always a few drifting about the house, their sharp gazes missing nothing.
But what choice did she have? She might try and convince herself that giving in to Stefan’s skillful seduction was the perfect means of keeping him distracted from her true purpose for being in Surrey, but she was not stupid.
Her violent explosion of pleasure had nothing to do with plots or schemes or her loyalty to Russia. She was quite simply incapable of resisting the handsome Duke of Huntley. And every moment that she spent in his company only deepened her fascination.
She had to find those letters and flee before her revulsion for deceiving Stefan overcame her devotion to her mother.
Her decision made, Leonida had sent word to the kitchen that she preferred a tray in her room and, waiting until she was certain that both Stefan and Brianna had gone down to dinner, she had posted Sophy near the stairs and darted through the shadows to the state rooms.
Grasping a candle in her hand, she entered the Duchess’s bedchamber, casting a quick glance around the vast room.
Unlike most of the estate, the Duchess had chosen to remove the aging wainscoting and replaced it with crimson damask wall panels. The ceiling was molded and trimmed with gilt, and in the center a cut glass chandelier reflected the candlelight with a shimmering beauty. Set near the white marble fireplace, the four-poster bed was draped in emerald-green velvet that matched the cushions on the gilt gesso chairs.
Despite the air of emptiness, the chamber was kept ruthlessly clean, reminding Leonida that a servant might enter at any moment. The quicker she finished her search, the better.
The question was…where to begin?
Beyond the fabulous gilt-framed pictures by Gainsborough and Reynolds that could all possibly cover a hidden safe, there was a pair of mahogany cabinets, a rosewood writing table and a French marquetry pedestal bureau.
And she had not yet entered the private parlor that was just beyond the connecting door.
With a sigh, she moved toward the writing table. Surely it was the most obvious place to begin her search?
Obvious, but fruitless, she soon discovered, finding nothing more than the usual items. Parchment, quills, ink, wax and the Duchess’s formal seal.
“Mon Dieu. Where can they be?” she muttered.
She was just moving to the pedestal bureau when the door to the room was pressed open and Sophy was waving a frantic hand.
“The Duke is coming up the stairs,” she hissed. “You must hurry.”
Muttering a curse, Leonida raced across the room, shutting the door behind her. Then, grasping Sophy’s arm, she hurried them both toward her chambers.
“Why does the aggravating man not leave me in peace?” she hissed, as aggravated by the joyful leap of her heart as by his untimely approach.
Sophy snorted, casting Leonida a knowing glance. “Aye, I wonder.”
Leonida blushed. “He is suspicious of my presence in Surrey.”
“Why would he be suspicious?”
“He seems to believe I am here to lure his brother into some plot devised by the Emperor.”
“Ah.” Sophy nodded. “Well, the rumors were that Lord Summerville did put himself at risk on a number of occasions for the Czar Alexander. Perhaps the Duke has cause to worry.”
Leonida’s lips twisted. “If Alexander Pavlovich desires Lord Summerville’s assistance I would be the last person he would send. He rarely even recalls that I exist.”
“Such a man has much on his mind,” Sophy murmured.
Of
