Dukes by the Dozen

by Grace Burrowes

  He did not take the fabric. “You were avoiding me.”

  “You are trying to woo me.” She released the velvet and the panel swept back into place with a whoosh, giving Bruiser but a quick second to leap from its path.

  “I am.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t even bother to deny it.”

  “Why should I? You’re my wife.”

  “You know why.” Her cheeks flushed. “Forgive me, but I do not think I can change.”

  “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

  She blinked in surprise at him.

  “Otherwise why would you avoid dancing with me?” He stepped toward her, closing the distance that felt far too cold for his liking. “Why would you tuck yourself behind the draperies when you knew I’d be pursuing you?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Do you expect me to answer these questions?”

  “No.” He gave her a half smile. “I already know the answers.”

  “Do you?” Her gaze drifted down to his mouth.

  He lowered his face closer to hers. “I do.”

  “Please, elucidate me.” The words were breathy with anticipation.

  She thought he meant to kiss her. And he wanted to. God, how he wanted to. The prior night, sleeping beside her, knowing she was there and not touching her, it had driven him to distraction. Certainly, it had resulted in him not getting a wink of sleep. Not when he kept thinking of her slender fingertips wandering over his naked chest. He’d wanted them to wander lower, to grow bolder in exploration, more sensual.

  But he needed her to want him, truly want him. He’d already broken through her shabbily erected defenses at dinner. It had been evident in the softening of her tense mouth, the genuine mirth in her quiet laughter.

  He lowered his face closer still, their lips only a whisper apart. Her breath caught, and her lashes swept over her flushed cheeks.

  “You’re frightened,” he said quietly.

  Her eyes flew open. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re afraid I’ll succeed in wooing you.”

  She leaned away from him, but he slipped his arm behind her slender back to still her from retreating.

  “I know what you want, Julia.”

  “Of course you do.” She arched her body against his, her feminine softness to his masculine hardness. “I already told you what I want.”

  Oh, she was sweet in his arms. Her delicate orange blossom scent teased at his resolve; her beautiful mouth parted in innocent longing. Far too tempting. He lowered his mouth to hers, stopping just before they touched.

  And then he released her.

  She stepped back, dazed.

  “I hear games will be following the dancing.” He bowed to her. “I wish you luck in our wager, my duchess.”

  With that, he strode from the room and left her standing beside those blasted draperies. He had only returned to the salon for a moment before Julia joined him with Bruiser trailing along behind her like a furry white shadow.

  “I have it on good authority we will be playing charades this evening,” she said by way of greeting. “I happen to be quite good at charades.”

  “And I happen to be quite good at the Petronella reel.” He offered her his hand. “Would you be so kind as to join me?”

  She accepted with an obvious hesitation that quickly melted away as soon as they were on the dance floor. Her sincere enjoyment of dance was one of the many things that had caught his eye about her and led to him begging an introduction from Lady Bursbury in the first place.

  Following the Petronella reel was the game of charades in the drawing room. Julia was correct; she was exceptionally good at charades, her sharp wit detailing every word broken to pieces and reassembled.

  Except he was better. So, when the game had drawn to a close and every participant of the house party was returning to their chamber for a final night of slumber, he found himself the victor with a prize to claim.

  Chapter 5

  Readying for bed was a never-ending task, especially when Julia was uncertain what William would request after winning. He had allowed the servants to assist them in readying for bed before he finally dismissed them. Through the entirety of it, Julia’s stomach had been awash with a churning of emotions: anxiety, anticipation, excitement.

  She was nearly certain his award would not be sexual congress. Not when he was so determined to win her over. He’d been equally as determined to win at charades. He’d laughed along with the others, but when it was his turn, he had taken on an air of seriousness that spoke volumes. He’d meant to win. And he had.

  She stood by the bed, uncertain if she should climb beneath the covers, or sit on the bed. In the end, she crossed her arms over the thin nightgown and waited for William to finish washing his face. Once he’d folded the towel in his immaculate way, he strode toward her in his nightshirt, one purposeful step at a time.

  “You’ve won,” she said. “What will you claim as your prize?”

  He let his gaze wander down her nightgown and gave a lazy smile that made her stomach positively twirl. “So I have. And I can ask for anything?”

  Heavens! What was he planning to request from her?

  “Yes,” she answered cautiously.

  He closed the distance between them, so her crossed arms actually pressed against his nightshirt, to the heat of his very strong chest. With gentle hands, he carefully unfolded her arms and then lifted his fingers to her face in a featherlight touch that framed her jaw. A warm tingle erupted where he caressed. His eyes were so dark in the low candlelight; she could not discern the pupil from the color surrounding it, though she knew them to be the warmest brown.

  He lowered his face to hers, his sensual mouth so close, his breath brushed over her chin. Her heartbeat caught, but then thundered with undeniable impatience.

  “I want to kiss you,” he said in a low, intimate voice.

  An eager shiver raked over her skin.

  “That’s all you wish for your prize?” she asked breathlessly. “A kiss?”

  “Yes.” His mouth lowered, and swept against hers, cool from having recently washed his face.

  He did this several times, a maddening brush of their lips against one another, pausing only every now and then to kiss her bottom lip, her top lip, and then both. Fire coiled low in her belly. Her arms slid up his torso, over etched muscle and powerful strength. He was so very, very male.

  His tongue touched the seam of her mouth, and she parted for him. Their tongues mated together, cautious and subtle at first, but quickly igniting with a heat echoed by the one pulsing at her core.

  William’s hand slid behind the back of her head, cupping it and turning her face up to him. His tongue stroked hers, his mouth kissing, nipping, sucking.

  It wasn’t enough for Julia. Not when he had aroused in her such a hunger. She was eager for more and more and more. The hot ache at her center was now practically unbearable.

  She arched her body against his and found evidence of his own desire. A moan dragged from the depths of her soul.

  He cupped her bottom with his free hand and brought their pelvises together. The hardness of his arousal met her cleft and she rubbed against him, shameless in her need, eager for that delightful friction. Their kissing went from passion to frenzy, their mouths slanting, tongues licking, breaths panting.

  William held her to him and gave a low, savage growl that made every hair on her body stand on end with primal delight. With that, he broke off the kiss.

  “Thank you for my prize.” His chest rose and fell with his ragged breath.

  Julia’s mouth fell open. She watched in frustrated horror as he backed away from her and made his way around the bed.

  Ravenous desire pounded between her legs, unsatisfied. A soft whimper escaped her lips before she could stop it. Every bit of her was wild with feeling, so that even the scant weight of her nightgown against her stiffened nipples made little ripples of gooseflesh dance over her skin.


  She climbed into bed beside him, the sheets cool against her burning skin. What had he done to her?

  She curled a naked leg over his. “William, please?”

  “Please what, madam?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice.

  “Please kiss me again. Touch me. Take me.” She ran her hands over the swell of his chest and practically melted at the impossible strength there. “Please,” she whispered.

  He did not answer, and she nearly cried out. Surely, he was not asleep already. Who could possibly sleep with everything throbbing and glowing with the heat of a thousand glowing embers?

  But she knew all the begging in the world would not get her what she wanted. Only winning a blasted game would, and since this was the last night, she hoped Nancy had something planned tomorrow before their departure. She needed more time.

  The wind howled through the night and well beyond morning. William had been awake for all of it. Judging by the rustling about and perpetual tossing and turning, so too had Julia.

  He had known simply kissing her would be the sweetest torture, but he had not anticipated the level of discomfort his unsatisfied body would heap upon him. His groin ached, and his veins seemed to pulse with thick mud rather than blood.

  It was the first time in the fortnight of their marriage he’d woken up with his wife. Dark hair tousled around her face, making her look pleasantly mussed, as though she’d been well-loved rather than having slept poorly.

  Her mouth curled into a shy smile. “Good morning.”

  Her nightgown had slipped from one shoulder, leaving it bare and tempting in the light easing in from around the edge of the curtains. She followed his gaze and quickly pushed up the drooping cloth. That wasn’t all. She grasped the covers and tucked them about under her arms with the yards of thick cloth layered over her like a shield.

  He raised his brows. “For a woman who wishes me to move along in the business of procreation, you certainly are rather missish this morning.”

  “But the sun is up.”

  Oh yes, the sun was up. And that was how he’d prefer to see her best, with those golden rays kissing her flawless skin. “Once I have finally had you again, wife, I will have you anywhere and at any hour.”

  She stammered, “I beg your pardon?”

  “Including in the full light of day.” He tugged lightly at the blanket. It fell free from her limp grasp to reveal one soft pink nipple beneath the thin linen nightgown. “Where I can see all of you. Touch all of you.” He grinned as the little bud grew taut and strained at the fabric. “Taste all of you.”

  Her mouth parted, but before she could say more, he drew away, more for his sake than for her own. God, he ached fiercely for her. Acutely.

  To his surprise, she slipped from the bed as well, and did not bother to put on her robe. Sunlight limned the outline of her body beneath, highlighting the dip of her waist and an enticing line of light between her slender thighs. He pulled back a corner of the curtain in desperate need to escape and was blinded with the brilliance of sheer white outside.

  Julia drew back with him, shielding her eyes. Together, they blinked and gazed out once more. A thick layer of snow coated the world beyond, hiding the exact location of the lake and burying bushes. The roads would be impassable for travel regardless.

  “I think we will be staying here for another day,” Julia said brightly.

  “At least. Why does that have you so happy?”

  “It’s another day to win games.” She smiled. “It’s my turn.” Her gaze fell on his forearm where his nightshirt had ridden up and her quiet joy faltered. “What happened there?”

  William brushed the sleeve into place, covering the mottled flesh. He’d made sure to keep that arm turned from Julia’s sight until now. It ran along the outside of his forearm, a violent mass of thick, twisted skin. A small scar by comparison to what it could have been, how close he’d come to death.

  “A burn, that is all.” He released the drapes and the room blanketed in darkness.

  “Were you in a fire?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He strode away from the windows and went to the ewer to wash his face.

  “When?”

  Why did she have to press him so? He splashed cold water on his face, but it did not blot out the memories of that day, the screams of his parents as the flames consumed them. He scrubbed at his face, but he could not scour away the weight of guilt in his heart. A lifetime of consideration had taught him that it would never lessen. He folded the linen neatly and set it beside the ewer. “Do you prefer balls or soirees?” he asked.

  “Balls,” she answered. “I enjoy dancing.”

  “You’re quite good at it.” He ran a comb through his hair, straightening what he could until Hodges made an appearance to do it for him.

  “Almost as good as you are at deflecting questions.” She tilted her chin, having clearly made an accurate point. “And almost as good as I am at games. I will be the victor today.”

  Before he could say anything further, her maid, Edith, entered the room with the tray of hot chocolate, bobbed a quick curtsey, and set about her tasks for the day.

  Soon he would see exactly how good Julia was. They both had much to gain. And even more to lose.

  Chapter 6

  That kiss. That kiss, that kiss. Julia’s insides simply swam at the memory. The very thought conjured a low thrum of anticipation throbbing between her thighs. No matter what she did, she could not clear it from her mind. And if she was being honest, she did not wish to refrain from remembering.

  No, she wanted to replay it over and over in her mind. His tongue stroking hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. His sensual growl.

  A shiver ran down her spine and left her skin prickled with sensual awareness.

  “You are cold.” Beside her, Lady Cecelia said in her gentle tone. “Let’s have the maid fetch your shawl.”

  “No need.” Julia closed the book on the page she’d attempted to read for the twentieth time. “I’ll go upstairs myself. I need to move around a bit, I think.” Though really, Julia hoped to find her husband upstairs. As much as she had wanted to avoid him yesterday, she wanted to see him today. After such a kiss, hopefully he could be easily enticed into more.

  Lady Cecelia lowered her own book. “I’ll come with you.”

  “I’m perfectly fine.” Julia said. “It will only take a moment.”

  “If you’re certain.” Lady Cecelia was already settling her gaze on the open novel.

  “Very.” With that, Julia departed the room, making her way past Nancy’s oldest daughter, Lady Penelope, who had an upside-down Gothic novel in her hands and another book resting at its center. One with graphic pages of various plants and…was that an eye?

  “Your book is upside down,” Julia whispered.

  Lady Penelope’s mouth dropped open, and the young lady rushed to flip it upright before sliding a sheepishly grateful smile in Julia’s direction. That done, Julia dashed up the stairs, a mite too quickly perhaps, in the hopes of seeing William and doing what she could do entice him. Yes, even in the daylight.

  A sound came from the other side of her door. Was it rustling? Yes, it was most certainly rustling. Without hesitation, she opened the door, and about gave poor Hodges an apoplexy.

  He recovered quickly and bowed. “Your Grace.”

  She glanced discreetly around their living space to see if William was about. “I came to get my shawl.”

  “His Grace is not here,” he said in a knowing tone.

  She regarded the older man as he straightened several bottles of shaving soap and cologne. “I imagine his perpetual neatness makes being his valet easier.”

  “I much preferred it the other way, Your Grace.” Hodges’s thin mouth set into a hard line beneath his white mustache.

  It was impossible not to notice there was something deeper being alluded to. She ought not to ask. She ought not to care. Even as she reminded herself of these things, her mouth opened up and popped out with a
question. “Was he not always so neat?”

  Hodges’s eyes crinkled with affection. “Oh no, when he was a lad, he was messy as a squirrel.”

  Julia shook her head at the notion of her immaculate husband being anything but.

  She should leave well enough alone and return downstairs. And yet, she yearned to discover what made William strive so terribly hard for perfection. And once more, before she could stop herself from caring, another question emerged. “What changed?”

  The light dulled in Hodges’s affable expression. “His Grace was changed, that’s what. After the fire. I didn’t see him again until he took me on as his valet, when he returned home from university. He doesn’t speak of his life before then, but I know his relatives shuffled him about for years. I imagine in a situation where one feels like a misstep would mean another house, one learns to be unfailingly perfect.”

  He lowered his head, revealing a bald spot at the cowlick on the back of his head. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I shouldn’t speak so openly. I only wanted you to understand his constant cleaning is by no means an insult to you.” His eyes widened. “Not that you’re untidy.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, but I am. Terribly messy. Enough for the both of us.” The idea of her husband as a young man was a sobering one. Ushered between houses, trying to be perfect, to please them all. “Thank you for telling me.”

  Hodges held out a pale green shawl for her. It was not the one she would have chosen, but at second glance, it complimented the small embroidery along the hem and was far more becoming than the one Julia had intended. Shawl in hand, she made her way downstairs to find the men had joined the women. The books had all been put away, and Nancy’s daughters had returned to their private rooms.

  Lord Mortry stood in the corner surrounded by every lady in attendance; even Lady Doursly, whose cross face had softened into something almost whimsical as he read aloud from what sounded to be The Bride of Abydos. Lord Byron. Of course.