CHOCOLATE, TEA AND THE DUCHESS

www.nobleromance.com

Chocolate, Tea and the Duchess

ISBN 978-1-60592-152-5

Chocolate, Tea and the Duchess Copyright 2010 Brita Addams

Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means

without written permission from the publisher. Contact Noble Romance Publishing,

LLC at PO Box 467423, Atlanta, GA 31146.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual

events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination

and used fictitiously.

Book Blurb

Phillip Allard, the Duke of Thornhill, is caught in a compromising situation not of his

own making, with Lady Felicity Linden. He finds himself honor bound to marry the

girl, who is twenty years his junior. Everything tells him this is a course that can only

lead to heartache, for Phillip has a secret. Yes, he fancies women, but he also fancies

men.

He finds physical fulfillment with Haynes, a man at the Sapphire Club, but it is only for

sex. When the liaisons with the man end, Phillip meets the enigmatic and handsome

Alexander Chilton, and he discovers he needs this man. His need extends beyond the

sex, when he realizes how the man makes him feel.

The problem is, how does he explain this need to Felicity? Will she feel he doesn't want

her? His explanation proves quite simple and poignant. Sometimes you might want a

cup of chocolate in the morning and sometimes you might want tea. But there are times

when you want both.

Will Felicity understand this and can Phillip live with a decision that is anything less

than complete acceptance? Is there a place for another person in their marriage?

Chapter One

London, Autumn, 1817

Phillip Allard, the Duke of Thornhill, meandered along the periphery of the

ballroom with a drink in hand and no particular destination in mind. His only goal at

the moment was to avoid Lady Plimmswood, who'd fancied her daughter, Felicity,

becoming the Duchess of Thornhill, since the poor girl was in her pram.

If pressed, Phillip would say the young woman was most beautiful. Her auburn

hair and violet-blue eyes gave her an exotic look, and combined with her adorable

freckles, she was a woman most men would want at their side. Phillip Allard, however,

was not most men.

For several weeks he'd successfully avoided Lady Plimmswood, but as he

lounged against a Corinthian column on the far side of Lord and Lady Estbury's marble

and crystal ballroom, he heard the annoying trill of the woman's voice, a sound that

would forever grate on his nerves.

"Your Grace, good evening." The woman gushed, the ostrich feathers on her

ridiculously coifed hair bobbing up and down as she attempted a curtsy, a feat

hampered considerably by her rather stubby legs.

Phillip bowed stiffly, though against his better judgment, as he looked down his

nose at the pudgy figure before him. "My Lady Plimmswood, it is indeed a surprise to

see you at this glorious fete."

The woman tittered uncontrollably behind her fan, the sarcasm of his comment

totally lost on her.

"I do hope you have reserved your dance with my Felicity, Your Grace. She

would be devastated if her card filled up and your name was not on it."

"I am sure you would find a place for me, my lady." He hadn't reserved a dance

with Lady Felicity or anyone else for that matter. He hated dancing.

Waving her rather ample arm, Lady Plimmswood motioned for her daughter.

"Oh, Felicity, dear, do come over and greet His Grace."

Phillip's ears rang with the shrill sound of the marchioness's voice.

Lady Felicity Linden walked to greet the duke, eyeing her mother with a look

that could kill. With a discernable hesitancy, she curtsied before Phillip, a flawless

display he thoroughly hated. He bowed, though she was still deeply into her curtsy,

then offered her his hand, hoping she would take it, which would successfully ease her

out of the ridiculous position she was in.

"I do hope you will honor me with a dance, Lady Felicity." His teeth ached at the

thought of prancing around a dance floor, but he was nothing if not polite. Actually, he

wasn't particularly polite by nature, but tonight he had no wish to send the young girl

into a state of melancholy over what would be deemed his blatant rejection of her

mother's less than subtle suggestion.

"I would be honored, Your Grace." Then she curtsied again.

Phillip rolled his eyes skyward.

They settled the particulars, after which Phillip excused himself. He had a

sudden, intense need for a change of scenery. In the brisk evening, he welcomed the

autumn air after the overheated miasma of perfumes, beeswax, and body odors of some

of the less than fastidious personages of London society.

Phillip Allard vastly preferred his own company to that of others, though a

member of Boodles, in name only. He did not give dinner parties at his Grosvenor

Square townhouse and spent at least three nights a week in St. John's Wood at the

Sapphire Club. He felt most at home there, for his sexual gratification came second only

to his obligation to the House of Lords.

That gratification came in many forms, for which he would never apologize. He

pitied the man who would dare call upon him to do so.

As he'd strolled through the ballroom this night, he'd recognized no less than one

hundred and fifty men and women, all members in good standing with the Sapphire

Club. Those same nobles would loath having their membership revoked for any reason,

for their sexual proclivities were as perverse as his were.

The Sapphire Club was a diamond amongst the rocks. Though little talked about

at society events, most of the attendees at this ball would, at some point this evening,

find their way to the sprawling estate, owned by Lucien Damrill and his wife, Serenity,

in St. John's Wood.

Phillip had been a member for many years, having been one of the first to

endorse the club, a place where every imaginable sexual fantasy was brought to life.

The hefty membership fee kept mouths shut, which provided an atmosphere of

complete security. Phillip had seen most everyone in this ballroom naked and in

various stages of sexual congress, as they had seen him. Consequence or title mattered

not; creatures of the flesh made up London society. Those not currently members,

would be at some point, once they learned of the club's unique offerings.

The music waned, signaling Phillip that his dance with the lovely Lady Felicity

was imminent. With a ducal sigh, he pushed himself away from the white stone

balustrade and dragged himself back into the brightly lit ballroom. The young lady

stood but ten feet away, trying to look as though she held no intention of throwing

herself at him. No doubt, her mother had placed her there after her last dance, lest

Phillip decide to renege upon the obligation.

"Lady Felicity, I believe the next dance is mine." He bowed. Her smile was

charming, though a bit tentative.

"Yes, Your Grace, I believe it is." She curtsied yet again.

The couples positioned themselves for the country dance as the music began to

swell. Phillip considered it a small blessing there was little opportunity to converse if he

was forced into dancing in the first place. Aside from the music, only the sounds of feet

scraping the floor, some heavy breathing, and the swishing of silks and satins filled the

air.

Phillip noted his partner's adeptness; she glided through the figures with grace

and acuity. Her smile seemed natural and not the least bit shy, as earlier in the presence

of her mother. Her laugh floated pleasantly upon his ears, making him follow her with

his gaze as she executed dance steps away from him.

When she once again came within his arms, the scent of lavender permeated his

senses. He felt particularly lecherous, considering she was young enough to be his

daughter. The thought of introducing her to the pleasures of the Sapphire Club took

root, something he would have to dislodge, once she was again safely under the control

of her overzealous mother.

Phillip Allard was not, nor would he ever be, in the market for a duchess. His

brother had a stable of heirs, ready and able to assume the weighty mantel of the

Thornhill legacy.

As the music once again waned, Phillip's heart felt a bit heavy. He found himself

dreading the end to this surprisingly enjoyable interlude. "Might I request a waltz, Lady

Felicity?" he asked before he could change his mind.

"I would be quite pleased, Your Grace."

"I shall fetch you for the dinner dance."

She curtsied again. When she rose, her smile lit the room. A momentary

distraction, but her presence made this otherwise insufferable affair tolerable. He

bowed and watched as she made her way across the ballroom. Her gown caressed her

bottom, and her hips swayed just enough to retain his interest.

With at least an hour before the waltz, Phillip had time to peruse the card room.

Mayhap, he'd play a hand or two of whist. Time would pass much faster. He found

himself looking forward to his waltz with Lady Felicity. It had been years since he'd

looked forward to anything really, save his weekly thrashings at the club. Upon

reflection of his need for them, he pondered just how perverse that was.

Against all hope, a game of cards wasn't going to be peaceful.

"Thornhill."

The unwelcome, wine-soaked voice stopped Phillip in his tracks. He turned to

face Viscount Westerhouse, a vision that would likely keep the duke from his sleep.

Dressed in an outlandish coat in the color of something evacuated from one's stomach,

the rotund man presented the very picture of overindulgence.

"Westerhouse, what brings you out on this fine evening?"

"In search of a bride, Thornhill, but then I suspect you are doing the same."

"Not in the least." He spoke dismissively, emphasizing the point with a blatant

flick of his wrist.

"Well, I am getting on, you know, and I must secure the title. There isn't a decent

heir amongst my brothers."

"Indeed, there isn't,
save one."

Westerhouse raised an eyebrow, almost to his receding hairline. "You can't mean

Lucien. For God's sake, man. He is a fourth son and look what he does. He's a purveyor

of the flesh."

"You make it sound as though he's a madam at a brothel."

"Quite."

"Not close. His establishment simply caters to the desires of its members. All is

consensual and no money ever changes hands, as you well know."

"Yes, I understand that, but
of course
, he has barred
my
membership for years."

"So you aren't against what he does, just that he doesn't allow you to participate."

"I suppose you could think of it that way, but I simply don't understand why he

won't accept me as a member."

"I believe that he simply doesn't wish to have you within a reasonable proximity

of his person. Has he not sent unmistakable signals as to his reluctance to have you

about the club? Why would you wish to be somewhere you are not welcome?"

"The sex, man, what other reason could there be?"

Phillip's skin crawled. If ever two brothers were disparate, it was Simon and

Lucien. Lucien was blessed with dark, brooding good looks while Simon was short,