Dukes by the Dozen

by Grace Burrowes

  Oh, how could they not?

  With a soft laugh, she clutched the invitation to her bosom, then hurried away. After all, the ball was in less than a week, and she had the perfect costume to make.

  Chapter 3

  One Week Later

  The Monmouth Masquerade

  Good God, he was nervous! Surrounded by a sea of masked guests inside Bishopswood’s ballroom, John tugged once more at the sleeves of his black kerseymere jacket.

  He nearly laughed at himself. When had he ever been nervous about a woman before in his life? In his younger days, he’d bedded more women than he could remember, sharing in all kinds of pleasures with down-to-earth women from the markets, inns, and villages. In more recent years, he’d been too busy with his business to spend much time in pursuit of the women of the gentility that his new money brought him into contact with. Since he’d inherited, though, it was society ladies who vied to capture his attention, those women who were more than eager to raise their skirts for a wealthy duke. But they did it because they wanted favors from him, or for the titillation that came from being bedded by England’s newest duke. He rejected those ladies outright, knowing he’d find no pleasure in them, because they wanted to be with the title and not with the man.

  But the woman who pinned those notes to the tree knew nothing about the title or his status as one of England’s most powerful men. He suspected that she wouldn’t care even if she did. At least he hoped she wouldn’t, preferring the true man he was. God knew how much he liked her. She was an intelligent, kind, and philosophical creature who had captured his imagination.

  If she were half as beautiful in person as she was in her letters, he feared that she might also capture his heart.

  He snatched a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman, more so he could continue to take glances toward the top of the stairs over the rim than for the drink itself. His eyes hadn’t strayed far from the landing all night, although how he would know her when she arrived, costumed and hidden behind her mask, he had no idea. He only prayed that he would. And that she would come at all. When he’d returned to the tree to seek her response, the invitation was gone, but she’d left no reply. Nor did she write even once during the past week.

  Since then, he’d kicked himself repeatedly that he’d pressed her to meet, fearing he’d gone too far. Would he ever hear from her again?

  Quashing his worry, he watched as the parade of new arrivals appeared on the landing and handed their invitations to the Master of Ceremonies, who announced them based upon their costume…Lord Tiger, Lady Peacock, Lord Green, Lady Venus. Tonight was a true masquerade, with all identities hidden until the midnight unmasking. He’d insisted on it. His guests knew that he lurked somewhere within the house and would eventually join the party, but they had no idea that he was already there, hidden among them. For a few precious hours he wanted to be nothing more than one of the crowd, so that he could enjoy the party himself before they set upon him like locusts in their rush to curry his favor. Most of all, he wanted time to enjoy the company of the woman who had written all those letters.

  A lady in red appeared at the top of the stairs—

  His glass lowered away. No, not her.

  He had no idea what his secret authoress would look like or what costume she’d wear. If she’d appear at all. But he knew he’d feel her presence when she arrived, the way old sailors felt oncoming storms.

  Like some infatuated nodcock, he’d tried to catch her a few weeks ago. He’d posted a stable boy in the woods, just out of sight of the lane, to watch for whomever was leaving the notes. But the woman never came during the hours that the boy was there, only for the notes to appear as if out of the morning mist or midnight glow. Like magic.

  After a few days, John called off the watch. He should have respected her wishes and trusted that she would reveal herself at the right time.

  Which he prayed was tonight.

  He tossed back the rest of the champagne and set the glass aside. Admittedly, though, he was also glad for the distraction the notes had presented during the past few weeks. Cora Bradley was still giving him fits over the mill, a business so small that it took in hardly any orders at all outside the fall harvest and winter season. One that was rapidly sinking so far into debt that soon he wouldn’t haven’t to worry about removing it himself to construct the lock—the creditors would do it for him, one board at a time.

  Were the woman and her father mad? He simply couldn’t fathom them or why they refused to accept the offers he’d made. The only answer he’d gotten from her was a letter four weeks ago from Samuel Newhouse, flatly refusing to sell and stating her position that the new duke couldn’t buy or bully his way into upending their lives, and he hadn’t seen her since the day when she’d declared like a general that she’d never surrender.

  Apparently, she’d meant it.

  She’d managed to stall work on the lock and back him into a corner where his next move could only be asking for an act of Parliament. A move he certainly didn’t want to take, preferring willing cooperation over legal edicts. But if the lock wasn’t built soon, the canal wouldn’t go through. All of his planning and work would come to naught, and he’d be left with nothing more to do, no work to engage in. It would kill him.

  White flashed at the top of the stairs. His gaze darted to the landing—

  Her.

  A low tingle rose inside him as he watched her give her invitation to the Master of Ceremonies. His breath hitched with nervous anticipation despite a soft chuckle to himself as her name was announced. Lady Swan. A graceful, gliding vision in white silk and feathers, one in perfect opposition to the black clothes of his panther, of her softness and elegance to his hardness.

  Her gaze moved over the ballroom below as she slowly descended. Halfway down the stairs, she found him and stopped.

  Holding her gaze across the room, he held out his hand toward her in invitation, as if she were only a few feet from him rather than across the grand ballroom. The party faded away around them until it was only the two of them. No one else in the room mattered.

  She drew in a nervous breath, her slender shoulders stiff. Then a smile spread beneath her white satin half-mask, and she moved on, gliding down the remaining stairs and into the crowd which parted around her as she came to him.

  As she reached him, the musicians struck up the opening notes of a waltz.

  Wordlessly, she slipped her trembling hand into his. He raised it to his lips, unable to resist this small kiss, then led her forward to the dance floor, to take her into his arms and twirl her into the waltz.

  Cora laughed as happiness bubbled through her, the soft sound rising and falling with the music that swirled around them. He led her through the steps, and they moved together as if they were one, oblivious to the party around them. She knew only the warmth of his brown eyes as he held her captive beneath his gaze from behind his black mask, his attention fixed on her as if she were the only woman in the world.

  He gave her fingers a light squeeze of reassurance. The soft gesture raced up her arm and landed in her chest, making her heart race like a drum and her breasts grow heavy.

  “Lady Swan,” he murmured with a curl of his sensuous lips. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “And you,” she answered breathlessly, knowing it wasn’t the waltzing that was stealing her breath away, “my Lord Panther.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Sweet heavens, you are beautiful.”

  Thank God that she wore a mask, or he would have seen the scarlet flush of her cheeks despite her soft laugh. “But you cannot see my face!”

  “I don’t need to.” Another squeeze to her fingers, this time with a shift of his body to draw her slightly closer. “I’ve seen into your soul and know how precious you are.”

  She would have stumbled if not for his strong arms that kept her securely in position. “But,” she whispered, unable to find her voice, “you don’t even know my name.”

  �
��Yet I know you nearly as well as I know myself.”

  They reached the end of the ballroom and started back in a series of turns that left her light-headed. No—he made her light-headed with his stare, warm and rich like melted chocolate, and his seductive words that twined down her spine.

  “Names hold no significance.” He lowered his head to murmur in her ear. “You’ve revealed your heart to me in your letters. I know exactly how beautiful you are, and it has nothing to do with how you look.”

  Before she could say the same about him, the waltz ended. He dropped into a low, formal bow to match her curtsy, but when she rose to walk off the floor, he stopped her.

  “Give me another dance.”

  She wanted nothing more. But she knew society’s rules, even if she’d never been part of it. “Two dances in a row with the same man is scandalous.”

  “Then it’s a good thing we’re wearing masks.” He took her hand between his, unwilling to let her go. “I just found you, Lady Swan. I can’t bear to give you up so soon.”

  His hopeful gaze undid her. How could she resist?

  With a nod, she took her place for the next dance, and when the quadrille started, oh, how glad she was that she’d agreed! They moved back and forth, close and away, and something about the roiling knots of dancing couples struck her as more intimate than the waltz had been. Snatches of conversation when they came together, curious gazes when they parted…enough for her to realize that he was broad shouldered and physically fit, that his black clothes clung to a muscular body used to hard work, that his jaw was firm and masculine, his hair curly dark brown and most likely as silky soft as it looked.

  Her fingers itched to touch his hair. And to trace along his jaw, to brush over those lips—more, she wanted to kiss those lips. Those full yet strong lips that even now twisted into a lazy grin as he audaciously returned her stare, as if he knew exactly what improper thoughts were racing through her mind.

  She lost count of the number of dances they shared, but not the number of times he smiled at her. Nor could she ignore the electric tingle that sparked through her with every brush of his hand against hers, or the heat that blossomed inside her from the way he watched her…the way he made her feel as if she were truly as beautiful as he’d claimed.

  When the dance ended, she was breathless and beaming. The masquerade was proving to be the grandest night of her life, and all because of this man, whose real name she still didn’t know. Whenever she’d asked during the dance for his given name, he’d only murmured, “Later,” then circled away.

  “My lady.” A deep voice at her shoulder caught her attention, and she turned to find a man beside her dressed as a tiger. But for all his finery, he sorely lacked in comparison to her panther. “May I request the next dance?”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he interjected as he stepped to her side with an easy-going smile that belied the sudden tensing she sensed in him at the approach of the other gentleman. “Lady Swan has given her evening to me.”

  He took her arm and led her away toward the wall of French doors that opened onto the garden terrace and let in the fresh night air to cool the crowded room.

  “Lady Swan has, has she?” He wouldn’t be able to see the arched brow beneath her mask, but from his low chuckle she knew he heard it in her voice.

  He leaned down to bring his mouth close to her ear. “At least, I hope she will.”

  A shiver swept through her, and not from the cool evening air as he led her outside onto the terrace and into the shadows, where they could finally be alone.

  “Perhaps she would,” she countered playfully as she stepped away, her hand trailing up his arm as she moved past, “if she knew the name of the man she was with.”

  He grinned at her obstinacy. “John.”

  Her shoulders sagged. That wasn’t at all helpful. For heaven’s sake, half of the men in England were named John. “Just John?”

  “For tonight, yes.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, to place a lingering kiss of apology against her fingers. “If you learn more, you might not like me so much.”

  Never. Oh, he was simply wonderful! “I like you a great deal,” she admitted in a whisper, so soft that it was almost lost on the night. “I can’t imagine anything changing that.”

  “I certainly hope so, because you have utterly captivated me.”

  At a loss for words, she melted, sinking against the marble balustrade behind her.

  He stepped toward her to close the distance between them. Not releasing her hand or breaking eye contact, he eased the long white glove down her arm and off. This time when he kissed her fingers, there was nothing between his warm lips and her bare skin.

  The sensation was overwhelming, and a soft sigh eased from her lips.

  “I want to kiss you.” He turned her hand over to touch his lips to her palm.

  She swallowed. Hard. “I think you are.”

  “A proper kiss.” His mouth trailed up to her wrist, and he smiled against her pounding pulse at discovering the effect he had on her. “To taste the sweetness of you.”

  God help her, she wanted exactly that. More daring than she’d ever been with a man before, she caressed her bare hand over his jaw. The warmth and strength of him pulsated beneath her fingertips.

  “Then kiss me.” Her answer was nothing more than a breath. “Please, John.”

  Closing her eyes, she held her breath. He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, then moved away.

  Her eyes fluttered open, bewildered. Was that all? Disappointment rang hollowly through her. It was barely a kiss, when she’d craved so much more!

  Sensing her frustration, he placed another delicate kiss to the corner of her mouth, then slid his lips across her cheek, following the line of her mask to her ear. “If we were alone,” he promised her, each word a titillating warmth that tickled over her skin, “truly alone, without fear of anyone stumbling upon us, I would give you that kiss. And so much more.”

  To make his point, he traced the tip of his tongue along the outer curl of her ear and sent a shiver of heat shuddering through her. Her hands slipped lower to his chest, to clutch at his lapels and keep him right there with her. So close that the heat of his body warmed her front, that his masculine scent of leather, port, and cigars filled up her senses and made her head swirl.

  “But tonight,” he warned, “we must make do with what we can steal.”

  He removed his glove and caressed his thumb over her bottom lip while he took her earlobe between his lips and gently sucked. A sound of longing fell from her, and she touched the tip of her tongue to his thumb, to encourage him to give more caresses, more stolen kisses.

  Instead, he trailed his hand down her neck, to the hollow at the base of her throat. He strummed his thumb against her wildly beating pulse, before his hand moved lower to the top of her chest, where her heart jumped against his fingertips and her breath came quick and shallow. An ache began to tingle between her legs, although his hand was nowhere near there.

  “We could…find a way…to be alone,” she whispered as his lips slid once more over hers to claim a kiss in passing.

  He froze, tensing beneath her hands as they rested against his chest.

  When he didn’t reply, she nervously added, “If you’d like.”

  He pulled her into his arms and held her pressed against him as he buried his face in her hair and laughed. The low sound rumbled deliciously into her. Then he released her and shifted back to his original position, close but not touching except for his lips at her ear.

  “I would like nothing more.” As his deep murmur vibrated through her, he dared to lower his hand to steal a caress of the side of her breast through her satin bodice. “Because then I could tell you all the wicked things I wanted to write to you in my letters but couldn’t, and we could do all that we dared.”

  His hand fell away. A whimper rose on her lips at the unexpected loss of his touch.

  “But we cannot.” With a knowing gl
eam in his dark eyes, he stroked her bottom lip with his thumb in a caress that hinted at so much more. “Something tells me that you’re still innocent,” he murmured as he slowly explored the shape of her lips He was kissing her with his fingers the way she longed for him to do with his mouth. “And if we were alone tonight, you might not be innocent much longer.” He slid his lips across her cheek, once more to her ear. “Because I would make love to you, if you let me.”

  She trembled, the excitement and temptation of his words sending her pulse spiking. Goosebumps dotted her skin, and she could barely breathe beneath the intoxicating masculinity of him. She closed her eyes, swept away by him and the midnight magic, and confessed in a whisper, “I would let you…”

  A deep breath seeped from him, his hardness replaced by a new tension. One that was dark and dangerous. So much more intense…a yearning that both excited and frightened. The same yearning he flared inside her.

  He placed slow and tantalizing kisses to her ear, and she whimpered, never realizing before how erotic secret whispers could be. How delicious a man’s mouth at her ear, how tender her earlobe between his lips. She slipped her hands beneath his jacket to cling to his waistcoat. Although he refused to be drawn closer to her physically, he was already inside her head and her heart.

  He dared to brush his hand over the low neckline of her dress, with a featherlight caress over the swells of her breasts. His scandalous touch should have offended her. Instead, it stoked the growing ache between her legs that now turned into a dull throbbing.

  “You know what happens between a man and a woman,” he murmured, “How a man makes love to her?”

  “Yes.” She’d become feverish with the images his words stirred inside her head. He was making love to her now, she realized, right there on the terrace, surrounded by the crush of partygoers, with his whispered words, soft kisses, and stolen caresses.

  “We would do that, love, and I would show you how much you mean to me, how beautiful you are.” He kissed her lips, his mouth lingering against hers in brazen promise. “I would give you all the joy a man can bring to a woman, until you shatter with bliss in my arms.”