Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) (13 page)

He remembered the bite of it against his bare backside and upper legs. Still, for all the coldness and rigidity of his parents, he’d felt unmoored when word came that they were dead. He’d screamed, and wept, and promised to be good if only they’d come back.

But the best behavior in the world couldn’t undo what had been done.

As much as he fought it, his mind traveled to the last time he’d been in this room, standing vigil over his parents’ coffin. So little of them remained that they’d been encased together. Or so he’d been told. He’d sat stoic and silent while mourners paid their last respects. Too young, too numb to truly understand everything that transpired, all the ramifications, he’d been left an orphan, alone in the world, with no close family. Those who had introduced themselves as relatives were unfamiliar. He’d never again seen a single one of them after the burial. No one checked up on him to ensure he was well cared for. No one penned a letter to see how he was getting on. No one inquired as to his health, his safety, his well-being. No one gave a bloody damn.

The morose thoughts threatened to consume him. It was the reason that he’d not taken up residence here. It wasn’t a place of happy memories. Yes, he should sell it.

But he knew he wouldn’t.

I
T was a lovely day for a stroll through the park. Minerva was grateful that when Lord John Simpson, brother to the Duke of Kittingham, had called on her, he had suggested they go out. It was a lovelier way to spend the time than sitting in the parlor, where her thoughts bombarded her with doubts. She hadn’t yet decided what to do about meeting Ashebury tonight. If she weren’t drawn to him, she would have no decision to make, but after last night, she found she wanted to experience all that he had to offer. While he might have suspicions regarding her identity, he didn’t know for certain. She rather liked his not knowing for certain.

“—you see.”

She glanced over at her strolling companion, who had seen all of nineteen years. He was fair-haired and tall, his side whiskers little more than peach fuzz. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He gave her an indulgent smile. “My brother and I have never gotten along. He’s mean-spirited, spiteful. Rather nasty, to be honest about it. He’s going to cut off my allowance when I reach my majority, which leaves me in a bit of a bother.”

“I can see where it would. But it’s quite acceptable for second sons to become members of the clergy.”

He grimaced. “The trouble there is that you have to always ask after people’s problems.”

“But I’m certain it must be extremely rewarding to provide comfort.”

He shook his head. “Not really my cup of tea.”

“Perhaps you could join a regiment.”

“Dreadful amount of work, marching about, taking orders.”

“Better than being forced to live on the street.”

His steps came a halt and he faced her. “I was hoping you would do me the honor of marrying me.”

She bit back a bubble of laughter. “I’m considerably older than you.”

“As I’m aware, but it would get you off the shelf.”

“I don’t really have a problem being on the shelf. As a matter of fact, I’m rather liking the independence it affords me.”

His eyes brightened. “I wouldn’t take that away from you. It would be a marriage in name only. As the spare, I don’t require an heir. So you would have no wifely duties.”

“I have none now.”

“But now all of London knows you don’t. When we’re married, it would be our little secret.”

Her offers were getting more ridiculous. She needed to take out an advert in the
Times
, announcing that she was not in the market for a husband. “You gain my dowry. I’m at a loss as to what I gain.”

“You won’t be a spinster. You’ll be
my
lady
. And you’ll have my protection.”

“I have protection now.”

“Your father isn’t going to live forever.”

“In his absence, I have brothers who will step in, plus I have a strong left hook.”

He blinked. “You would engage in fisticuffs yourself?”

“If need be, yes.”

With a sigh, he slumped his shoulders. “Is there nothing I can offer that would make marriage to me attractive?”

“Love.”

He looked positively defeated. “I love another girl.”

“Marry her.”

“Her dowry is a pittance. I was going to use yours to give her everything I can’t.”

“We should probably stop talking now before I introduce you to my left fist.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “I mucked things up.”

He looked so young, and she felt remarkably old. “Consider the army, my lord. It’ll give you backbone.” Turning on her heel, she began the long trek home.

It was several minutes before he loped up to join her. “You won’t tell anyone about my offer will you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank you, Miss Dodger.” They walked in silence for a while before he said, “What if I can’t make a go of it on my own?”

“I have faith in you, my lord. It won’t be easy, but if you really love the girl, you’ll find a way. One that doesn’t involve someone else’s dowry.”

As they carried on toward her home, she wondered how her life had come to this. Last night had contained no disappointments. It had been only joy and pleasure.

She wanted another night with Ashebury—on her terms.

“Y
OU rang for me, Your Grace?”

Standing at the window in his library, sipping his scotch, Ashe watched as twilight crept over the gardens. He was going to miss the quiet, miss not slamming into memories every time he turned a corner. For hours, he’d roamed the familiar hallways of his youth, remembering a few times worth savoring. His mother spritzing him with her perfume, tickling him until he laughed and begged her to stop. His father tying thread around Ashe’s first loose tooth, securing one end of it to a doorknob, then slamming the door closed, jerking out the tooth in the process. Patting Ashe on the shoulder. “Good lad. You’ll do well as a duke.”

And Ashe never again telling his father when he felt a tooth beginning to wobble. Then no longer having the opportunity to tell him.

“We’re taking up residence at Ashebury Place. Have the servants begin preparing it for our arrival. I should like to be moved in within the week.”

“Very good, sir. We’ll have to take on additional staff.”

Because Ashebury Place was twice the size of this house. “We’ll make do with what we have for now.”

“As you wish.”

It wasn’t what he wished. Truth be told, he probably needed to let some of the staff go. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn them out when their only crime was having an employer who had fallen on hard times.

“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?”

“No, that’s all for now, Wilson.”

“Very good, sir.” Wilson left as quietly as he’d entered.

Ashe pressed his fist to the window, leaned his forehead against it. He didn’t want to keep reliving the memories that had visited him today, but it was as though he were trapped in a barrel that was rolling down a hill. For the first time that day, he smiled. At Havisham, they’d once taken turns climbing into a barrel and being rolled about, so he was very familiar with the sensation. He’d taken pride in being the only one not to cast up his breakfast.

The thought about his pride brought him to his photos, which brought him immense satisfaction. Following that thought was an image of Lady V lying across the bed with legs revealed, waiting for him to part them, to bury himself between them.

He needed her tonight. He desperately hoped she’d be there.

Chapter 11

S
HE was three minutes late, one hundred and eighty seconds past the last gong that marked the witching hour, and he’d already found a replacement for her. With her heart clamoring and bitter disappointment settling into her breast, she stood transfixed in the doorway leading into the parlor of the Nightingale Club and watched as Ashebury nodded and smiled at a woman wearing a deep purple mask and elegant evening gown. It barely occurred to her to wonder why the lurid female wasn’t dressed in the simple attire of every other lady in the room.

Instead, she was more concerned with why she thought she’d meant something to him, why she’d given any credence to his invitation, to the pleasure he’d brought her, to the exceptions he’d claimed to make where she was concerned. Lies spouted from his luscious, deceiving mouth like that of every other man who had ever deemed to give her attention. When she was out of sight, she was out of mind. She. Lady V.

She castigated herself. Had she really thought that a woman who visited a place like this was going to be revered and hold a man’s affections for more than the time it took to bed her?

Then he was striding toward her, his smile broadening, and it occurred to her that it had never been for the woman in purple. That it had been for her the second she’d stepped through the doorway, and he saw her.

She had been three minutes late. It wasn’t even a minute later, and he was at her side.

“Seems you’re not wanting for a partner this evening,” she said, hating the churlishness in her voice, striving not to reveal the full extent of her irritation and disappointment by shaking off the large, warm hand that he had curled over her shoulder, offering the touch she had planned to welcome with every aspect of her being.

His smile dimmed slightly, his gaze held hers commandingly, not allowing her to look away. “Lady Eliza is the proprietor. She was reassuring me that everything I asked for had been seen to.”

“What did you ask for?”

He glided that cupped hand along her arm, took her hand, and lifted her fingers to his mouth. She was aware of the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips. “Do you want me to ruin the surprise I planned for you?”

The tightness in her chest unfurled like a rose blossoming at first light. “What if I hadn’t come?”

“I’d have left here a broken man.”

A corner of her mouth curled up. “I doubt that.”

“Well, perhaps not broken, but very disappointed. Shall we go up?”

The time had come. While her nerves threatened to jump about, she took a deep breath to calm them. She would not—could not—back out again. She’d made her decision to come here, to meet him tonight, because she wanted to be in his arms. He was the one, the one she yearned for, the one she wanted to take her more deeply into the realm of pleasure. She trusted him. He could have taken advantage before, could have pressured her, could have been angry when she changed her mind. But all along, he’d been patient, understanding, gentle—even though he’d told her that he liked it rough and hard. The kiss against the door had no doubt been a sampling.

It hadn’t frightened her then, the thought of it didn’t frighten her now. She wanted to be with him. For tonight, she relished the fantasy that he yearned to be with her.

She nodded. Wrapping his arm around her back, he turned her for the stairs, then brought her in closer against his side as they ascended them. When they reached the top, he escorted her along a different hallway, at the end of which was another set of stairs. He guided her up them. At the top was only one door.

She was shimmering with anticipation as he unlocked it, shoved it open. This time, after she passed over the threshold, she wasn’t surprised when the door slammed in her wake and she found her back against it, her hands shackled over her head, his mouth hungrily and greedily devouring hers. This time she welcomed him without hesitation, without reservation.

“You were late,” he snarled.

She laughed. “All of three minutes.”

She’d almost not come. She’d climbed into the carriage, climbed out of it. Back in. Then she’d had the driver drop her off a few blocks from the Nightingale, sent him on his way, and prayed he’d say nothing to her father. But why would he? He didn’t know her final destination or the mischief she was getting into.

“Each one was an eternity of agony,” Ashebury ground out.

The joy spiraling through her only increased when he latched his mouth back onto hers. He wanted her, yearned for her, desired her. He made her feel beautiful and elegant. He made her feel as though she mattered to him.

“Take off the mask,” he demanded, his mouth hot against her throat.

“No.” Tonight was fantasy, the dreams of a homely girl who had never known the heat of passion, who had never been made to feel desired. Who had thought she’d be destined for a cold marriage until she’d decided she’d rather hold her head up high as a spinster than bow before a man who couldn’t love her.

Leaning back slightly, he peered through the small openings of the mask into her eyes, bracketed his hands on either side of her throat, skimmed his thumbs along her chin. “After all we’ve shared thus far, why won’t you reveal yourself to me?”

“Because it will change everything.”

“Could change everything for the better.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll become self-conscious, uncomfortable. Probably won’t go through with it. But I want very much to be with you.” She cradled his jaw. “Still, I need the mystery.”

Placing his hand over hers, he held it in place while he turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to its center. “How will you explain your touched state on your wedding night?”

“I’m not going to marry.”

His eyes held hers. “What if you have an offer?”

“I don’t trust any man to be sincere when he says he wants me. None has ever claimed to love me.” She lowered her hand to his lapel, squeezed her fingers around it. “Don’t say those words to me tonight. I don’t need them. I want honesty between us.”

“Says the woman in the gilded mask.”

“There’s no dishonesty in not revealing who I am when it is the mark of this place. Didn’t you accept these conditions with other women?”

“But none of them intrigue me as you do. Yet if the choice is to accept your terms or not have you . . . I’ll accept your terms.” He released her, stepped away. “Now, let’s enjoy what Lady Eliza prepared for us.”

She looked more closely at the room then, realized it was larger than the other. Thick red velvet hung from the canopy of the bed in stark contrast to the white satin sheets that glistened in the candlelight like a shimmering pool of decadence. Within the sitting area, a fire burned low on the hearth. Near the window was a cloth-covered table set with a light repast and a bottle of wine. Ashebury was pouring the burgundy liquid into two goblets.

Wandering over, she said, “I’m not certain I can eat.”

He peered at her. “If not now, later. You need to keep up your strength. We have all night.”

She almost told him that she needed to be home before her parents were up, and her father was an early riser. But she would worry about working her way through that gauntlet later. After taking the goblet he offered, she sipped the wine, smiled. “Very nice.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

She glanced around. “Why this room?”

“It’s used only by the most elite, for special occasions. It doesn’t seem quite as tawdry. It’s isolated, which I thought might make you less self-conscious should you have a need to scream in pleasure.”

After last night, she suspected he could very easily make her scream. She took another sip, licked her lips, watched as his eyes darkened. “You didn’t set up your camera.”

“I’m not here for photographs tonight.”

“Did the one you take of me turn out?”

“It is without doubt my best work.”

“I hoped you might bring it, show it to me.”

He slowly shook his head. “I’ll never share it with anyone, not even you.”

“That hardly seems fair. Perhaps I’ll have you teach me how to use a camera, and I’ll take a photo of you.”

He picked up a strawberry, placed it lightly against her lips. “I’ll be happy to add that to the list of things I intend to teach you.”

Taking a bite of the strawberry, she enjoyed the succulent sweetness, watched as he finished off the fruit. Everything was going so slowly, more slowly than she’d anticipated. “I thought we’d get right to it.”

“I told you that first night that a slow seduction increases the anticipation and ultimately the pleasure.”

“The slow seduction began two visits ago, wouldn’t you say?”

The sensual smile he bestowed on her hinted at his devilish nature. “There is only one first time, V.”

Her mouth was suddenly dry. “I see you’ve decided to go informal. Should I call you A?”

“Ashe. Would you rather I call you something else? Sweetheart, perhaps?”

“I don’t want any false endearments.”

“If I utter them, trust me, they will not be false. I don’t play games. When I take a woman to my bed, I’m quite serious about it.” Setting his glass aside, he took a step nearer to her, drilled his gaze into hers. “And your mask will come off. If you want me to do naughty things with you, it will come off.” He trailed his finger along her skin, just below the lower curve of the mask. “I’m going to remove your clothing, and then I’m going to extinguish the candles, draw the curtains around the bed, so there is naught but darkness within it. You’ll slip inside, remove the mask. When you’re ready, I’ll join you.” He leaned nearer, whispered, “And when we’re both ready, I’ll slip inside you.”

She quivered with need as the images bombarded her. Slow seduction indeed. She finished off her wine, hoping it would calm her racing heart.

“But first,” he said, straightening, “I have something for you to wear so you won’t feel quite so exposed.” After reaching inside his jacket, he unfurled his hand to reveal a small chain of golden links with delicate golden tassels dangling between them.

“What a gorgeous bracelet!” She studied him. “You can’t be meaning to give it to me.”

“Not a bracelet exactly.” He knelt, patted his thigh, looked up at her. “It goes around the ankle. I purchased it during a trip to India. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to own it, but I know it belongs with you.”

“Honestly, I can’t take a gift such as that.”

“In a very short while, I’m going to take something from you. I should give you something in return.” He patted his thigh again. “Come on. You know you want it, and it’ll be our secret. You can wear it, and no one will see it beneath your skirts.”

She remembered his saying that she should be a little bit in love with the first person she coupled with. Was he striving to ensure that she was? Because she was certainly falling for him. She placed the goblet on the table, her hand on his shoulder for balance, and her foot on his firm thigh, giving her toes the freedom to curl and uncurl at the familiar feel of him. He secured the gold around her ankle. She didn’t think it had ever looked so delicate.

“Most gentlemen would probably give a bracelet or necklace or earbobs,” she said.

“I am not most gentlemen.” He unfolded that magnificent, well-toned body of his. “And you certainly are not most ladies.” With his eyes on her, he slipped a finger from each hand beneath the straps of the loosely flowing gown and began to move them aside.

Her breathing hitched. The moment for which she’d long waited was upon her. She wondered if she should have been frightened or nervous. If she would have been on her wedding night. But she was merely overflowing with eagerness and anticipation.

The cloth lowered a fraction, his gaze dipped down, came back up to hers. Held. Waited.

“It’s going to slither to the floor,” he said eventually. “Then I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the bed.”

“Not before I remove your clothing,” she said, a little more confidently than she felt.

His smile warmed, his eyes glinted with pleasure. “And here I always thought virgins were shy.”

“I’m not when I know what I want. And I want you.”

With a feral groan, he released the straps, cupped her face, and claimed her mouth while the silk fluttered to the floor. She should have felt exposed, but she didn’t. His arms came around her, pressing her against his chest while his mouth plundered. Rough and fast he’d once told her, and she suspected he’d been curbing his desires for fear of frightening her. But she had no qualms, no misgivings, no doubts. She needed this man as badly as she needed her next breath.

Breaking off the kiss, he lifted her and began striding toward the bed.

“Your clothing,” she admonished.

“I need to get you nearer to the bed while I still have the strength. You weaken me.”

Laughing, she cupped his strong jaw. He must have shaved immediately before coming here as she felt no stubble. She wouldn’t have minded it, but she was pleased he’d gone to the trouble. He smelled of soap and freshly applied sandalwood. He’d taken as much care as she had preparing for this encounter.

Setting her on her feet, he gave her body a slow perusal. “You’re exquisite.”

Such a simple statement, but it made her feel flawless, beloved, appreciated. In a figure eight, he traced a finger around her breasts. They tightened, seemed to strain toward him.

“Take down your hair,” he commanded.

“I thought you enjoyed unpinning it.”

“I want to watch your breasts lift up when you raise your arms. The darkness will prevent me from seeing so much. Indulge me now.”

She’d not considered that. Everything she wouldn’t see. “Isn’t this usually done in the dark?”

His eyes grew languid as he took them on a journey over the length of her. “Not always. Sometimes the darkness can add to the sensuality of the act. Sometimes the light can make it just as provocative. Depends what you desire. I’m the master of both.”

She would accuse him of being boastful, but she’d seen the truth of his words in his photographs. Swallowing hard, she raised her arms, watched as his nostrils flared, his lips parted slightly, his eyes glittered with yearning. As she searched out the pins, she nearly regretted that she required the darkness, that he required the removal of the mask. But she wanted it gone as much as he did. She didn’t want it hampering them.