The Dukes' Christmas Abductions by Doris O'Connor, Raven McAllan Read Free Book Online

to, well, to start the
birth of something new and good. Our marriage.”
    “Where?
Where did we do it?”
    He
jumped. That was a singularly stupid question. “Here, of course, in the
chapel.” Where else would a duke wed? “We were going to go to our house in the
woods to celebrate.”
    She
looked at him blankly. Kit made haste to explain. “The one where we play
whenever we can. My betrothal present to you, for us.” She still stared at him
with no comprehension showing on her face. Kit sighed. “A small house near the
west wood, equipped for us by us and where no servants are allowed. Mainly
because what we get up to there might get me hanged, and you exiled. However,
nature foiled our plans. There was a tremendous storm, similar to the one
tonight and so we began our married life here, in this room.” He grinned. “We
can both be very inventive when need be. You did say you’d never look upon the
curtain ties in the same way ever again.” He paused and winked. “I offered to
have them framed.”
     

 
    Chapter Five
     
    Faversham House, December 2015
     
    Clara
blinked in the sudden light, and breathed a sigh of relief at the welcome
return of electricity. The old-fashioned radiators, which she so admired,
whirred into action with their usual clanking sounds. The half-naked man in
front of her spun around as though he was expecting to find a masked intruder
in his bedroom. Muscles bunched and released in his back when he bent down to
pick up a wicked looking hunting knife off the oriental rug that covered the
wooden flooring in front of the huge four poster bed she was sitting on…   naked … Oh, god I’m naked in front
of a complete stranger, who will see everything if he turns around. One I
almost had sex with.
    Clara
barely suppressed a shriek at her thought processes. Reality set in with a
vengeance. None of this had been a dream. With the perfect replica of a Regency
bed chamber bathed in light, this man—whose tight ass she couldn’t help but
admire as the soft material of his breeches hugged his behind—this hunk, who
would put Raven McAllan’s Jack Trevithan to shame—would be able to see every last
one of her wobbly bits. Not that she was ashamed of her body, far from it, and
at least in her favorite Regency erotica writer’s books, the men of those times
always enjoyed their ladies’ soft curves, but this wasn’t a book on her Kindle.
This was her life, and she had the throbbing pussy and smarting ass cheeks to
remind her of that.
    “What
sort of magic is this?” His deep voice took on that gravelly note of annoyance
that seemed to be a livewire to her libido. Just like she had done when she’d
been draped over his knees, her pussy muscles spasmed, and the top of her
thighs grew wet with her arousal. She’d been on the verge of coming earlier,
and it wouldn’t take much to send her over the edge now.
    “Kit,
is that you? Enough, you had your fun. This stops now. I know you must be
hiding somewhere.” He looked round the room as though searching for something,
and when he turned back in her direction Clara made a hasty grab for the first
thing she could find to cover her nakedness, which happened to be the shirt he’d
been wearing. Once she had pushed her head through the opening, and fumbled
with the strings she was somewhat covered, if you ignored her boobs playing
peekaboo through the gap. His gaze snared on her assets briefly, and a secret
thrill went through her system, when he groaned and adjusted his cock. The
action made her look at his groin, and her throat went dry at the long, thick
imprint lovingly outlined by his breeches. There was something to be said for
men’s Regency wear when you looked as buff as this guy. What had he said his
name was again? Daniel, something. Duke of Hockwell, that was it. That name
rang a distant bell in her befuddled brain.
    How
did you address a duke again? “Hockwell.”
    He
frowned at her shout, yanked his gaze upward to her face, and