Dukes by the Dozen

by Grace Burrowes

  “I do too, but she doesn’t exactly live an exciting life.”

  “She…throws parties…”

  Susana snorted. “We both know, you throw those parties. She just tags along and makes speeches.”

  “They are very good speeches.”

  “That is a matter of opinion. And beside the point.”

  “And the point is?”

  “The point is, you deserve more in life. You deserve all the happiness in the world. And a husband who loves you. You deserve children. I’ve seen you with the boys. You are magnificent.”

  Meg focused on a pleat in her bombazine skirt. “I would love to have children…someday.”

  “Of course you would. And this party is a wonderful opportunity to scan the opportunities, as it were.”

  Yes. It would be. “Thanks to you.” She gave her friend another hug, then pulled back. “Do you know any of the men who are coming?”

  Susana’s brow furrowed. “I peeked at the guest list. Jonathan invited Richard Manning and Aiden St. Clare. They’re both very respectable.”

  Respectable? Not what she’d been thinking. She’d been thinking tall, dark, and just a trifle grumpy with a dazzling array of dimples when he smiled…

  “I’ve met Manning at the opera more than once,” Susana continued, unaware of Meg’s momentary mooning over an unreachable duke. “Do you like the opera?”

  “I’ve only been once,” Meg said. “It seemed…tedious. But I was young.”

  “Oh, it is tedious, but it’s fun to watch the crowd during the boring parts. If you and Manning go, Christian and I will go with you.”

  “That would be fun.”

  “Just think of it. If we both lived in London, we’d be in each other’s pockets again, just like when we were children.”

  “Oh, how I’d like that.” She’d sorely missed Susana—any female friendship. Well, female friendship her own age. She and the dowager rarely had similar tastes.

  “Me too. So here is the plan. This week, we will assess the possibilities and then go in for the kill. Yes?”

  How could she say no? “Of course, yes!”

  “Excellent!”

  * * *

  After she left Susana’s spacious quarters, Meg headed up to the nursery to tuck the girls in. Not because she had to—Susana’s governess was excellent—but because she wanted to. She loved Lizzie and Vicca and had missed their antics because she’d been so busy for the past few days.

  They were in bed, but far from asleep, and they both leaped up with a hurrah! as she pushed into the room. She gave them each a hug and a kiss and asked what they’d been up to. What followed was a raucous recounting of their adventures with William and Christopher, Susana’s twins. As they shared the details, it occurred to Meg that she might want to have a chat with Susana’s governess. Surely she wasn’t aware of all of this. She certainly couldn’t have known that the four hooligans had built a fortress in the library. With books. Or that they’d figured out a way to snitch cakes and pies from cook’s pantry without being seen. Or the bit about the fire in the greenhouse.

  Honestly, the girls were becoming a bit too fascinated with fire for her liking. Perhaps Jonathan should be informed as well…

  And then, as though she’d conjured him with her thoughts, he was there in the doorway.

  “Papa!” Lizzie cried. “Come help Meg tuck us in.”

  He did. She watched, breathless, as he loped across the darkened room, as perfect in form as a man could be. She tried to still her thudding heart and reminded herself to breathe. Oh, and force a casual smile.

  “I thought you were already tucked in,” he said in a deep raspy voice, lit with humor.

  Vicca made a face. “Not by you.”

  “It’s better if it’s you and Meg.”

  “Miss Ainsley doesn’t do it right.”

  “Doesn’t she?” The powerful duke went down on his knees between their beds and kissed them both, one after the other.

  “Exactly right,” Vicca said somberly.

  “Young girls need to be tucked in properly,” her twin added.

  “Good to know. Now, both of you, under the covers. Close your eyes. Time to sleep.”

  “We’re too excited to sleep,” Lizzie said.

  Vicca nodded. “The party starts tomorrow!”

  “That it does. So you both need your sleep. And…” He fixed them both with a dark scowl, which made them giggle. “I expect you both to be on your best behavior. All the mavens of society will be there.”

  “I thought Grandmamma was the maven of society.”

  Lizzie nodded. “That’s what she told us.”

  Jonathan chuckled. “She is. But all her maven friends will be there. And you need to understand that your behavior reflects on the entire Pembroke family. That is a great weight to bear.”

  The girls sobered and nodded, apparently listening to their father…for once.

  “It’s possible that I might even find you a new mama.”

  Oooh. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said that, on account of the fact they were listening and all. They both made faces.

  “What if we don’t want a new mama?” Vicca asked.

  “Of course you do.”

  Lizzie shrugged. “I like Meg. Why don’t you just marry Meg?”

  A mortifying silence settled. Meg and Jonathan exchanged chagrined glances. Before Jonathan could answer, Meg forced a laugh. “Nonsense. Your papa needs a young wife.” She ignored his sharp glance. “She has to be able to keep up with you, after all.”

  Vicca pursed her lips and then nodded. “You are awfully old,” she told Meg.

  It was difficult to hold back a laugh. “Thank you.”

  “All right. Enough of this.” Jonathan pulled up their covers and tucked each one in with another kiss. “Go to sleep.”

  “Good night, my darlings,” Meg said as she stood to join Jonathan as he walked to the door. She hadn’t intended to, it just worked out that way.

  “Wait!” One of the twins cried as they reached the doorway. In tandem, they turned and looked back at the shadowed beds. “Look!” The twins both pointed above their heads, and they, perforce, looked up.

  Oh dear.

  It was mistletoe. Blast the dowager and her insistence that the stuff be scattered everywhere.

  “You have to kiss now,” one of the twins said. Meg suspected it was Vicca, the minx.

  She and Jonathan shared another chagrined glance. His shoulder lifted. “I suppose she’s right.”

  “Of course she’s right,” Meg said, struggling for a matter-of-fact expression, though her heart raced. “It is mistletoe.”

  “That it is.”

  “Do it!” their audience demanded.

  With a sigh, that made clear this was an onerous task, Jonathan put his fingers to her cheek and tipped her face to his.

  Meg held her breath, which was unwise, because she was already a little giddy due to his closeness, and the dizzying scent of his cologne. She watched, breathless, as his head descended. She saw it then—just before their lips touched—his quirk of a smile. It warmed her heart.

  And then everything warmed, because his mouth was on hers, delicious and velvety smooth. It send a shard of hunger and delight through her. It made her want in a way she had never wanted before.

  Cold, bitter disappointment scored her as he pulled away, far too soon, but it was only to look into her eyes with an indecipherable expression…before he lowered his head again.

  This kiss was deeper. Sweeter. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, against his firm, perfect form as he explored her mouth.

  She was barely away of the cheers from the peanut gallery, her mind was so utterly consumed with the delirious sensations flooding her. Thank God he was holding her, or she might have melted to an ignoble puddle right then and there.

  When he lifted his head for the second time, it was to stare at her with a quizzical expression she had no hope of understanding. But when he smi
led at her, it was one of his teasing grins. The one a friend would offer in a mutually uncomfortable situation.

  And oh, uncomfortable she was.

  “Happy Christmas, Meg,” he said as he let her go.

  Her soul wailed as he did, but she steadied herself by leaning against the wall, and trying desperately not to look at him like a mooncalf. “H-happy Christmas, Jonathan,” she murmured.

  And then, with another “Good night” to the girls, he made his way to his rooms, without so much as a single glance back.

  Clearly the kiss hadn’t meant anything to him.

  Meg, however, was devastated.

  Chapter 5

  Jonathan tried to maintain an indifferent demeanor as he walked away from Meg, but damn. That had been the most amazing kiss of his life. It had been all he could do to not lay her down on the carpet and take her there, right in front of his daughters.

  Granted, he hadn’t kissed a woman like that for a long while. Since Tessa, probably.

  It had been a long time since he’d even wanted to.

  Of course, he hadn’t wanted to, this evening. Not particularly. He’d been goaded into it by his children. But now that he had, now that he’d tasted Meg, experienced the soft delight of her mouth… Hell, now it was all he could think about.

  She’d always been a friend—a little sister—to him. He hadn’t thought about her in that way, most probably out of respect for his friend George. How had he never noticed how seductive she was? How sweet she smelled? How had he never truly thought about her as a woman?

  Well, he was thinking about her as a woman now, that was for certain.

  And then, there was the comment she’d made, about being too old to marry him.

  What kind of nonsense was that? She was four and twenty. Hardly an old biddy, though she did kind of look old, in that baggy black frock she always wore. And her hair, up like that in a tight bun. Other than that one night when he’d found her with his children, it had been years since he’d seen it down. His fingers itched to—

  “Your Grace.”

  He stopped short, stunned to find Rodgers standing right before him. If his valet hadn’t spoken, he might have just plowed right into him.

  He adjusted his cuffs. “Yes, Rodgers?”

  “Two of your guests have arrived.”

  “Really?” So early? Jonathan lifted a brow.

  “Yes, sir. A Lord Mattingly and Lord St. Clare. They’re waiting for you in the billiard room.”

  Ah, excellent. Drinking partners. Just what he needed to smooth off the rough edges his unexpected encounter with Meg had engendered. “Put them in the west wing, please. Near my chambers. I will go and join them now.”

  Rodgers bowed and scuttled off to wherever valets went and, with a smile, Jonathan headed for the back of the house where his friends awaited him.

  * * *

  Jonathan grinned as he entered the billiard room to see his friends, and Christian, stripped down to their shirtsleeves, engaged in a game of billiards. They’d been friends since Eton, and he really liked them all. He’d been delighted when Susana and Christian met and hit it off straight away. Also, it was nice to have another man in the family—one closer than Inverness, at least—to back him up against all the females, as it were. Although he’d discovered, if pitted between Jonathan and Susana, Christian always chose Susana.

  As it should be, he supposed.

  St. Clare was tall and thin with sandy blond hair with a hint of red in the sunshine, and Mattingly was muscular and dark. They both had a wicked sense of humor and shared Jonathan’s political leanings, which was always helpful in a friendship.

  When they saw him, they all crowed a greeting and lifted their glasses.

  “There he is,” Mattingly said, pouring a glass for Jonathan as well.

  “Where’ve you been?” Christian asked.

  Jonathan took a sip of excellent brandy. “Tucking the girls into bed,” he said, nipping at his tongue to keep from babbling the other bit. About the surprisingly scorching kiss with Meg.

  Now that he was there, the others laid down their cues, and the four of them sat by the fire and got caught up. It hadn’t been long since he’d seen Mattingly and St. Clare in London, but they always seemed to have scintillating stories to tell. Indeed, they had Christian holding his sides in no time as they told a tale of a brawl in Whites last week between Peter Scofield and Reginald Busk over the debatable virtue of a known Cyprian. Love-triangles were always juicy fodder in the ton, and this one, apparently, was delighting gossips all over town. There had even been a threat of a duel.

  Sadly, there had not been a duel. At least, not the pistols at dawn variety. But there had been a battle involving a half-full bottle of champagne and a napoleon—the cake, not the emperor.

  “It was a damned waste of Chantilly cream, if you ask me,” Mattingly muttered, refilling his glass.

  St. Clare nodded. “And champagne.”

  Christian chuckled. “An appalling waste.”

  “But you should have seen it,” Mattingly said. “Scofield dripping wet.”

  “And Busk, sputtering, all covered with cream,” St. Clare added with a snort.

  And then the two of them were off again, laughing so uproariously that Jonathan and Christian had to join in, even though they hadn’t seen it.

  There were other stories, not as funny, though. The four of them talked and drank—and smoked the occasional cheroot—for several hours. It was quite grand. And a welcome prelude to the party to come, though the party to come would never be so pleasant. Jonathan resolved to savor this moment with his friends, and remember it when he wanted to tear his hair out in the ensuing days.

  But then Mattingly went and said something that completely ruined his mood.

  “So tell us about this girl.”

  A simple question. Surely not one that should cause such an uprising of bile from his gut.

  Jonathan sipped his brandy. It tasted bitter. “Girl?”

  “You know.” St. Clare slapped him on the shoulder. “The one you mentioned in the invitation.”

  Mattingly fixed him with a somber gaze. “We’re both dying to know more about her. Especially if she comes recommended by you.”

  “Indeed,” St. Clare said. “I’ve been looking for a wife for months now, and cannot bear any of those flibberty-gibbets the mamas are proffering this season.”

  Mattingly grunted. “Mindless twits. Tell me she’s not mindless.”

  “No. No, she’s not mindless,” he said, but it was through tight lips.

  “Good.” Both of his friends grinned.

  “Is she pretty?” St. Clare asked hopefully.

  Jonathan shrugged. All of a sudden, he didn’t feel like talking Meg up. Not to these two. “She’s not bad.”

  “Not bad?” Christian blurted. “She’s gorgeous. Beautiful, intelligent eyes, lovely brown hair, and a face like a cameo—”

  “Surely not like a cameo,” Jonathan muttered, but no one was listening to him. His friends had turned all their attention to Christian, who continued on, for far too long, singing the praises of Meg Chalmers. Over and over and over again until Jonathan wanted to scream at him to be quiet.

  He couldn’t though. Couldn’t say anything.

  And the damned irony of the situation was that he was the one who had welcomed these wolves to his door.

  Judging from their expressions, they were going to eat Meg alive.

  In a good way, of course. In a matrimonial way.

  But Jonathan couldn’t still the unease in his belly or silence the howling of his soul at the thought of Meg choosing one of them. Marrying one of them.

  Because then he’d have to pretend to be happy for them.

  And that was a terrible prospect.

  * * *

  Something strange and wonderful happened the next day.

  Meg fully expected to be awakened early by Beth, the chamber maid. She fully expected to spend the day helping the dowager with last-m
inute disasters and preparations for their guests.

  But no one came to wake her up.

  When she finally roused, the sun was high in the sky and Susana was sitting in the chair by the window sipping tea. She shot Meg a brilliant smile.

  “Oh dear.” Meg swiped the hair from her eyes. “I’ve overslept.”

  Susana laughed, a glorious tinkle. “You deserved it. Besides, Mother wants you to be fresh for tonight.”

  “Tonight?” she parroted, though she knew the itinerary quite well. Tonight was the welcome party. For the guests. Of which she was now one, apparently.

  “The guests have already started arriving,” Susana said. For some reason there was a frown on her beautiful face.

  “Have they?”

  “Yes.” A snort.

  “Susana, darling, whatever is wrong?” Meg knew she should rise from the bed, but it was so warm and comfortable, she just nestled deeper into the down.

  “It’s them.”

  “Them?”

  “The women Mother has invited. I can only assume they are for Jonathan, but seriously, Cicely Peck?”

  Yes, Cicely Peck had been on the list of invitations Meg had written. “Do you not like Cicely Peck?”

  “Oh, she’s all right, I suppose. But not the sort I want as a sister-in-law.”

  “One cannot always choose one’s in-laws.”

  “How true that is. But Cicely?”

  “Tell me about her.” She hadn’t been around in Meg’s season. She’d probably still been in leading strings then.

  “Well, she’s beautiful.”

  Lovely. Meg set her hand to her stomach, which, for some reason, had begun to churn.

  “And she’s from a good family.”

  “Yes. The Pecks.”

  “But she’s…”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Reptilian?”

  Meg burst out laughing and sat up to eye her friend. “Tell me how you really feel,” she jested.

  Susana flushed. “I don’t mean to be petty. There’s just something cold and predatory about her.”

  “Jonathan isn’t a fool. He will never choose a woman who isn’t warm and sincere.”