What a Duke Wants (15 page)

“No. It is fine. Please stay. Should I ring for something? Port? Brandy?”

“Would you think it unmanly if I asked for hot tea and cold water?”

“Not at all, although I would confess I might find it a bit strange.”

H
e had been right to come. He lifted the tea to his lips and took a gentle sip. The water had been gulped down as soon as it arrived. A good drink of water after a night of overindulgence often saved him from a pounding head in the morning. The tea, now, that was just soothing.

As was Isabella. He couldn’t remember a more pleasant time than this last half hour spent gazing at the flames and chatting whenever the need took them. The time had been far different from the awkward days they’d spent in the carriage.

He shrugged, trying to release the tension in his shoulders. Bloody jacket.

“Would you like me to help you with that?”

The soft question took him by surprise. When he’d first arrived he’d been ready for her to offer, had even hinted that she should. Now, as sleepy familiarity surrounded them, it seemed more dangerous. “Yes, I would like that,” he answered, hoping his voice didn’t sound too husky.

She rose from her chair and walked toward him. The belt on her robe had loosened and he could see a hint of skin through the thin linen night rail. It was old and worn. Part of him longed to dress her in something new and fine, but a bigger part was very happy with the way the threadbare fabric outlined her skin.

And then her hands were at his shoulders easing his coat down. The stiff fabric slid easily under her fingers, and he twisted an arm back until he was free. “Ah, that feels good.”

“Getting you out was easy. I am not sure getting you back in will be possible.”

“Divers manages with only the barest of complaints.”

“I am not Divers.”

No, she certainly was not. Her robe gaped further with her movements, and he could see one rosy nipple peeking through the fabric. His fingers curled in the effort not to touch. He swallowed, hard.

“You are looking tense again,” Isabella murmured as she reached over and stroked his cheek. She had no problem with touching.

He closed his palm about her hand. “That feels so good.”

Their gazes met and held.

“I’ve missed you.” She spoke so quietly he was not sure he heard correctly.

Chapter 15

T
ouching him was heaven. She leaned nearer as he remained in his chair. She should be mad and standoffish—or at least cold. He had forced her into a situation that she had no wish to be in. But, as she ran her fingers over his cheek, felt the scruffy stubble of his beard, it was hard to remember that.

Instead she remembered that this was her own doing as well as his and that his offer was better than any she had expected to receive.

And she remembered that this was Mark.

For the past days she had been so busy thinking of him as Strattington that she had forgotten just how drawn she was to him, to the man. The duke she could do without, but the man, that was something else.

She pulled in a deep breath and considered.

It was not awkward between them at this moment. That had been her greatest fear. How was she to do this thing when she felt so distant from him?

But here, now, this was not distant. This was—possible. Could she take the lead and bring them to the next step?

If she was going to do this, she should set the terms, the pace.

Leaning forward, she let her hair brush across Mark’s face, watched the flickers of his eyes as each strand brushed him. His eyes darkened with desire. His wants were clear.

Her glance dropped to his lips, back to his eyes.

And she kissed him, softly, gently—but with unmistakable intent.

Her breasts brushed against his shirt and she made no effort to pull back. If she waited the mood might change—it had to be now, now while he was Mark.

He tilted his face toward her, capturing her lips more fully, bringing her mouth into deeper contact. His tongue licked her lips and then slipped inward. He shifted, opening his legs and bringing her between them. His strong thighs surrounded her, making her feel both captured and powerful. She tilted her hips forward, bent her knees, brushed against him, felt his reaction deep in her core. He might have the muscles, but she had equal control.

Catching his head between her hands, she plundered his mouth and was plundered in return. His eyes closed slowly. It should have taken away from the intimacy of the moment, but the vulnerability of his expression caught at her. This was Mark. He was not hiding anything from her. Somehow in closing his eyes he had exposed himself further.

Something in her heart softened. This was Mark—he had said he would care for her—and he would.

She smiled against his lips. His eyes slipped open. “You look happy,” he said against her mouth.

“Yes, I think I am.”

“You have not been happy these past days.”

“No, but now I am.”

“And I must say that I am too.” He tilted slightly, bringing her to sit on his lap.

He pulled his head back and looked at her for a moment. “I was not expecting this tonight. I had planned to wait—at least until I had bought a house for you.”

Her spine stiffened and then she forced it to relax. This was all he could offer and she had decided to accept it. “That is not necessary. This is not about money and payment. No, shhh—let me explain.” She held a hand up to his lips. “This is about us—about Isabella and Mark. I was willing before you became the duke and I am willing now.”

“I was always the duke.”

“But I did not know that.” She placed a sweet kiss upon his mouth. “Believe me, it was never my ambition to be a well-kept woman.”

He kissed her back once, the slight noise of the pucker slipping between them. “Then what was your ambition?”

Could she tell him? Yes—or at least part—the part that had to do with him. “You will laugh.”

“I promise not to.” He crossed his fingers over his heart.

“I rather thought I’d be an estate agent’s wife. I’ve already told you that I wanted marriage. I was working hard to seduce you into an offer.” She ducked her head as she spoke.

His fingers caught her chin and pulled her glance back up. “You thought to seduce me to marriage?”

“I know—it does seem silly now.”

Laying a kiss upon her nose he cuddled her closely. “No. It is not silly. I think—I think if life were different I could have seen that life—and liked it. I imagine us growing fat by the fire with our six children clustered about.”

“Six?” she sputtered.

“You want seven?”

She reached up and slapped him lightly.

Laughter filled the room and then stilled.

“It was a nice dream,” he said.

“Yes, but now we must live with what really is.” She rested her face against his shoulder and stared into the flames. The fire should have been ridiculous on this warm night, but it did bring comfort. “I guess it won’t be so bad.”

Mark cleared his throat. “I have been assured that I am better than not so bad.”

S
he was so sweet when she blushed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, tilting her face up to his.

Mark cuddled her tighter. He could not believe the warm lump that had risen in his throat when she talked of marriage this time, when he understood her dream. Normally such talk would have had him backtracking as quickly as possible. Perhaps, however, because of its true impossibility Isabella’s dreams had cast a spell over him as well. He truly could imagine a life with her at his side, see the two of them raising that impossible brood of children together. A household of redheads would not have been quiet—but it would have been wonderful.

He cleared his throat. This was not what he had come here for.

He did not have time for silly impossible dreams. When he married—and it would be far sooner than he liked—it would be to someone respectable from a good family. Someone who was definitely not Isabella.

“I should go.” He moved to slip her off his lap.

She placed her hands on his shoulder. “Don’t.”

His lungs halted in the middle of a breath. Her fingers squeezed, gripping through the thin fabric of his shirt. He exhaled slowly. “You want me to stay?”

“Yes.”

He drew in another breath. “Why? I need to be clear. I want no more confusion between us.”

It was her turn to swallow. The muscles in her neck tensed and relaxed. “I want—I want you to stay. I want you to spend the night with me.”

“In your bed?”

She laughed. What was there to laugh about?`

“Can I just say I want you to spend the night with me?” she asked. “I have no wish to claim the bed. You’ll understand when you see it.”

He placed his hand over hers. “I don’t care whose bed it is as long as you are in it.”

Her cheeks turned pink again, but the corners of her eyes crinkled. “I think that can be arranged.”

Slipping off his lap, she stood and, taking his hand, led him out of the room to the stairs.

He could only smile as he followed. After the evening he’d had, he could only believe the gods were finally rewarding him.

W
hat did she do next? Isabella shut the door to the bedroom and went to light another candle. As the light spread across the room she heard him gasp.

“It is quite something, isn’t it?” she said. At least the room provided a short distraction from what came next.

“It’s purple.”

“I think of it more as violet.”

“There is certainly violet here, along with fuchsia, and I don’t know names for all these colors.”

“I am not sure that there are enough names to describe every shade here.” She looked about the room. Purple did not even begin to describe it. The walls were pale lavender and the bed hanging the most royal of purples. That would not have been so strange. What made it odd was that there was not another color to be seen. The furniture had been painted, along with the doors and window frames. Even the china was purple.

And the bed—the linens were purple, the pillows were purple, even the lace edging was a delicate light plum.

“Plum—that’s another shade,” she said as she walked to the bed. At least the coverlet was soft. Reaching out, she brushed a hand across it, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle.

She turned to face him, suddenly awkward. What did she do next?

Her hands played with the tie of her robe, but did not unfasten it. Her teeth worried at her lower lip.

Bare toes peeked from the hem of her gown and she tucked them back in.

Finally she lifted her eyes back to Mark. She didn’t know why she was so worried; he was still glancing around the room, his face full of amazement.

I
t took every ounce of control he had not to stare at Isabella. She was a goddess in the dim candlelight. Her hair curled about her with a life of its own, contrasting with the pale white of her skin. She was nervous, though. He could see it in every hesitant, shaking movement.

She wanted him. He was sure of that. But somewhere in the long walk up the stairs her nerves had returned.

She might want this, but she was unsure of how to go about it.

The problem was that he felt the same way. Not since he was a boy in his teens had he felt this way. After all the practice he’d had in these matters in the past years, it should have been a simple thing.

Only this was Isabella. From the moment he’d met her, nothing had been simple.

“I never knew my uncle was fond of purple. My cousin wore a lavender waistcoat on at least one occasion, but the duke was the most dour of dressers. Even Divers has mentioned it and he never has anything negative to say about my uncle.”

“Perhaps it was his mistress who was fond of the shade? It is only to be found in this one room from what I have seen. Everything else is quite regular, almost surprisingly so.” Her toes peeked from beneath the hem of her robe again.

“I know nothing about his mistress. I did not even know for a certainty that he had one until I learned of this house after I inherited. I would have supposed he did. My aunt had been dead for many years and he undoubtedly thought that keeping a mistress was part of his position in society.”

Her lips curved up very slightly. “Is that what I am—part of your position in society?”

“Of course, what else would I want you for? It has nothing to do with this hair that curls about you like liquid flames.”

He reached out and stroked a curl, pulling it straight and then letting it bounce back.

“And,” he continued, “it has nothing to do with having lips so full and lush a pink that they look like I’ve been kissing them for hours, like I want to be kissing them for hours.” He ran his thumb over her lower lip, enjoying its quiver beneath his touch.

“Your eyes have grown so dark.” Leaning toward her, he stared straight into them. “Normally they are the soft blue of a summer sky, but now the centers have grown large and black like a cloudless night. They have nothing to do with my desire either.”

Her breaths grew rapid, one merging into the next. He ran his fingers down from her lips, across the silky skin of her chin, down the long length of her neck. Her pulse was speeding. He pressed his lips to it, to that soft spot between neck and shoulder. “And my wants are entirely unrelated to this spot, this magic spot just made for kissing, this spot where I can feel the life flowing through you, feel how my words affect you.”

He nibbled on her neck, enjoying her every little gasp. Sliding his fingers farther down, he enjoyed the smoothness of her skin until he ran into the neckline of her gown. He trailed his finger back and forth just above the tie that held the gown up. It was tempting, oh so very tempting, to give the tie a tug and move things along, but instead he let his hands move sideways, skimming down her arms, past the swell of her breasts. He stopped as he reached her waist, grabbing the belt of the robe.

She swallowed, her neck quivering.

He hesitated, but she did not stop him as he opened her robe and let it hang loose.

He could only stare at her thin linen shift. He’d seen her breasts before, seen them naked, but they were more than worth a second look. He expected he would never get tired of looking at them. Their rosy tips were pressed against the worn fabric, and he watched them pucker beneath his gaze.

Her chest rose and then fell as she pulled in a deep breath.

He forced his gaze up to meet her eyes. Her pupils were even darker now, but he could see the uncertainty in them as well.

“Yes, I am definitely only after you as a reflection of my position in society.” He let his gaze drop and then brought it back to her eyes.

“I was going to seduce you, try to make everything the way it was.”

“The way it was when I was just Mark Smythe and you were Isabella Smith?”

“Yes. It was so much more—more comfortable then.”

“It still can be. Although I must admit that this room makes it hard. I still can’t picture my uncle here—not that I want to at the moment. I will have to make finding you a new home a high priority.”

“You don’t need to. This one is fine. I was being silly.”

“You want this?” He gestured about the room.

She smiled and stepped back, edging up on the bed to sit, her gown sliding up her legs. “I would admit that I’d like some fresh paint and perhaps some new linens. I was thinking yellow—a whole room full of yellow—lemon, mustard, butter, saffron—even perhaps a touch of canary. Maybe I could even get a real one. Would you buy me a bird in a gilded cage?”

He moved to sit beside her on the bed and reached out to grab one of her hands, bringing it to his lips. Opening it with care, he laid a kiss upon the palm. “I think I would buy you anything you wished, Miss Isabella Smith, just to have you look at me like you are now.”

“Like I am now? I don’t know what you mean.”

Another kiss was laid upon her palm. “You look at me like a man and not a duke. In the time since I inherited I don’t think another person has done that. Even my mother and my sisters look at me differently now. God, even Douglas is not the same. I rather like being just a man. If I need to have the house painted to look like a giant buttercup to keep you looking at me in this way, then that is what I will do.”

He could see her fight for seriousness, but bit by bit humor took her face until she was laughing. She fell back on the bed, tears wetting her eyes, she was laughing so hard. “I am sorry,” she said between giggles. “I know it’s not that funny, not really that funny at all, but can you imagine the great Duke of Strattington pulling up to a house painted like a giant buttercup?” She pushed up to her elbows and stared at him. “And can you imagine what anyone would say if this was how they knew the duke’s seduction went—or that the duke’s mistress was too busy laughing to take off her clothes? Not that she knows how to take them off in front of a man anyway.”