Dukes by the Dozen

by Grace Burrowes

  Ah. He should have known they’d be in the library.

  What he hadn’t expected, what he’d never imagined, was that he would find Meg in Hisdick’s arms.

  “What on earth is going on here?” he bellowed, much louder than he’d intended.

  They both whirled around, and to his ire, Meg laughed. “I wanted to show Richard Jane Austen’s first book and look.” She pointed up to where mistletoe dangled over their heads.

  First of all—Richard? They’d just met. How were they already on a first-name basis?

  Second of all, blast Mother and her mistletoe.

  It was a struggle to batten down his rage. “Hisdick, I need to speak with Meg, if you don’t mind?”

  For all his social flaws, Hisdick could take a hint. He nodded and exited the room, even closing the door in his wake.

  Once he was gone, Jonathan needed a moment. A moment to control the raging beast within, perhaps.

  “What is it, Jonathan?” Meg asked, coming closer and peering up at him like an innocent.

  “What is it? What is it?” he sputtered.

  “Yes.” He had no idea why she laughed. “Why did you send Hisdick away? We hadn’t even found the book yet.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  She stared at him. Blinked. “Know what?”

  “How dangerous that is?”

  “What?”

  Honestly? Did she not know? He raked back his hair. “You can’t just leave a party with a man and go into a deserted room with him.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “You most certainly cannot kiss him.”

  “But there was mistletoe.”

  “That doesn’t change anything. You could have been compromised.”

  “With Hisdick? What nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense. Had Lady Jersey, hell, had anyone else come in and seen you kissing Hisdick, you would have been done for.”

  Meg put her hands on her hips. Her eyes snapped fire. She was magnificent.

  “I did not kiss Hisdick.”

  “You were going to.”

  “What nonsense.”

  “There was mistletoe.” He pointed above his head.

  She looked up, then shrugged. “It does not signify.”

  “It most certainly does signify.” He had no idea why his anger was rising, but he did have a suspicion that it wasn’t anger at all. It was something more…feral. Something utterly mad.

  Without thinking, he yanked her into his arms and took her mouth, covering her, smothering her, tasting that delicious nectar he’d been craving since last night. It was a wild kiss, a devouring kiss, one that shocked him to his core.

  Because she kissed him back. Every sort of passion he felt, she gave back.

  When it ended, there in the darkened room with no sounds but their ragged breathing, his world was changed.

  He knew now, he could never let her go. Knew now that Meg was his.

  He leaned back and gored her with a dark, dominant gaze. “I’ve thought about that all day. Wanted that all day,” he said.

  She made a show of patting her hair to make sure it was all still in place.

  “Well.” Surely his voice didn’t crack. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “What-what could I say?”

  He growled at her. “That you wanted it too.”

  To his dismay, she turned away. “It was nice—”

  “Nice?” A roar. Fury burned through him, and without thinking, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, making sure, this time, it was a damn sight more than nice.

  They were deep in it. Mouths melded, souls entwined, when the bark of a laugh came from the door. Horror trickled through him. What had he been thinking, kissing Meg like that, here? Surrounded by the mavens of the ton? He could have ruined her utterly. He whirled around and nearly collapsed in relief when it was just his sister.

  “This is becoming something of a habit,” Susana said with a smirk.

  “Well, really,” Meg said, once again patting her hair. It was clear she was breathless and there was a rosy tinge on her cheeks. Also, she would not meet his eye.

  “What on earth are you thinking, Jonathan?” His sister strode in and tipped up Meg’s chin, checking her face for any evidence of savagery, perhaps.

  “I came in here to save her,” he said, not unlike a child caught stealing a cake.

  Susana shot him a disbelieving look.

  “She was kissing Hisdick,” he insisted.

  Meg snorted. “I was not kissing Hisdick.”

  Susana sighed. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kiss Hisdick.”

  Neither could he, but that was entirely beside the point. “The point is, she was in here, alone with Hisdick. I came in to save her.”

  “And somehow she ended up kissing you?” Susana tipped her head to the side.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” he sputtered.

  “It’s not?” Meg’s voice was wobbly, wan.

  Dear God, were those tears in her eyes?

  Blast. Women were confounding. “That’s not what I meant, darling—”

  “Darling?” Susana tsked. She took Meg by the arm. “We are going back to the party. There are still several men who wanted to talk to you, dear. And you.” She speared Jonathan with a fierce glower. “Get yourself together. You’re supposed to be looking for a wife.”

  He was. He’d found her.

  But before he could say as much, both Meg and Susana were gone.

  He knew he should follow them, knew he should go back to the party, but he just couldn’t. Instead he poured himself a whisky and dropped into the chair by the fire—though the hearth was cold—and glared at the logs.

  Chapter 7

  “Where on earth is Jonathan?” the dowager asked as Meg and Susana came back into the salon.

  “He’s pouting,” Susana said.

  “What?” Her tone led one to believe a duke had no business pouting whatsoever. “He has a party to host.”

  “Perhaps it’s too much for him.” Susana again.

  Meg was glad her friend was on her side, because she wouldn’t want her as a rival.

  “Perhaps,” the dowager said. “I’ll have a chat with him. Where is he?”

  “The library.”

  As the dowager stalked down the hall to find her errant son, Susana pulled Meg aside and checked her hair and dress for rumples. “What was that, dear?” she asked in an undertone, lest anyone else hear.

  Meg shook her head. Her body was still quivering to the thrill of Jonathan’s touch, that feral kiss. It was too much to expect her to think. “I don’t know.”

  Susana shot her a sideways look. “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know why he kissed me.”

  In response, Susana turned her to the glass. “Don’t you? Can’t you see how lovely you are?”

  She stared at her reflection. Oh, she looked fine. “I’ll never be as pretty as Tessa.”

  “Oh dear. Is that it?” Susana sighed. “I do know how you feel, though. I was certain Christian would fall for her once he met her. She was so beautiful. But darling, Tessa is gone. Jonathan’s not even mourning anymore.”

  “I know.” It hardly signified. Tessa has always been the pretty one. Meg had always been the one who tromped through the mud with the boys.

  “But that is all beside the point. You are here and you shall have a wonderful time. Come now. Let’s go speak with Everton. Have you met him yet?”

  Meg made a face. “He spits when he talks.”

  “Oh dear. How about Mattingly?”

  Mattingly was nice. Funny. Clever. He just wasn’t Jonathan.

  Meg shrugged.

  “Surely there is someone you would like to talk to.”

  “I enjoyed conversing with Hisdick…” He was extraordinarily well-read and had an excellent grasp of subtext.

  “All right.” Susana linked their arms once more and they made their way over to the corner, where Hisdick
had once again positioned himself and they had a lovely conversation about authors such as Sarah Burnley, Elizabeth Thomas, and Jane West, though Susana didn’t contribute much. She simply stood guard.

  * * *

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Jonathan winced as he heard his mother enter the room. For a second, he thought to hide his whisky, then reminded himself he was a duke and he could drink whenever he damned well pleased. So he lifted his glass. “I needed a break.”

  She sniffed. “Susana suggested perhaps you weren’t up to hosting.”

  Susana had the right of it. The last thing he wanted to do right now was host. He wanted to go into the salon, sweep Meg off her feet, and carry her bodily to his chambers.

  But he couldn’t. Damn it all anyway.

  “You must go back. The card games are about to start.”

  He forbore rolling his eyes, but just barely. He might be seated with one of them. “I don’t like to play cards.”

  Her snort echoed the room. “You like cards enough when you go to gaming hells.”

  “Gaming hells aren’t dangerous.”

  “Well, I never. This is a party in your own home. You are not in danger.”

  “Ah, but I am.” He refilled his glass. “Did you know Miss Peck suggested I take her to the conservatory? Tonight?”

  “I’m sure she didn’t.”

  “I’m sure she did.” Also, his mother could not have noticed the deep gouges on his forearm from her talons. “Mother, I appreciate you inviting them all, but…”

  “But what?” Her eyes went wide and all innocent-like.

  He stared at her for a moment. “You have to know that none of them would suit.”

  “None of them would suit?” The fact that she parroted him and batted her lashes while doing it made suspicion bubble within him. Oh, he knew her. He knew her well. He just hadn’t suspected she could be so manipulative.

  “But you didn’t want me to settle on one of them, did you?”

  Her innocent look intensified. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Jonathan, you are talking in riddles.”

  “Am I? Who is the woman you really want me to consider. Just tell me. It will save some time.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She shifted her intense attention to the pleats in her skirt.

  “Is it the Malbury girl? What’s her name? Portico?”

  “Portia. And no. She’s spotty.”

  “Drake’s daughter? Petunia?”

  “Priscilla. And no. She’s mannish.”

  “All right. Who then?”

  The dowager sniffed. “I have no intention of choosing your wife for you, and frankly, I am insulted at the allusion that I do. You’re a grown man and you can choose your own wife. Now, come back to the party. You’re going to play cards and you’re going to like it.”

  With a command like that, he could hardly disobey.

  But he took his whisky with him.

  * * *

  Truth be told, once the card games started, the party was tolerable. Probably because a lot of the guests left at that time to go to bed. And probably because Jonathan managed to be seated with Mattingly, St. Clare, and Everton. And, as they all knew, Everton was an easy mark.

  Pity they weren’t playing for money.

  For her part, Meg sat with Susana and Christian and Hisdick. There was far too much laughter coming from that side of the room. It almost ruined his concentration.

  But at least, from this vantage point, he could keep his eye on her, and he found, as long as he could keep his eye on her, he could remain calm.

  It wasn’t until very late that Meg stood, Susana with her, and said their good nights.

  Jonathan wanted, quite desperately, to follow. But he could hardly do that, so he stayed where he was and finished his hand. Christian and Hisdick wandered over to their table and co-opted some empty chairs, and the men—the only ones left in the room—gave up on cards and settled for a nice conversation. With whisky.

  Oh, it was all so pleasant.

  Until Mattingly said, “I say, Devon. Thank you for inviting me. I can’t tell you how taken I am with Miss Chalmers. Arsy yarsey, head over heels.”

  And something bitter shifted in Jonathan’s gut.

  “Oh, yes,” St. Clare said, with a glint in his eye. “She is lovely. Her brother was George Chalmers, yes? I remember him from Eton. Good sort.”

  His glass was empty. He cast around for a fresh bottle.

  “A shame what the new baron did to her,” Mattingly continued. “The least he could have done was see her settled.”

  St. Clare grinned. “Not that I’m complaining. She’s here for us now.”

  No. No, she wasn’t.

  “I plan to ask her for a waltz tomorrow night.”

  Mattingly was an annoying arse.

  “I will too.” Lovely. Now Hisdick was in the mix.

  Christian laughed. “It seems our Meg has some suitors,” he said, gouging Jonathan with an elbow. “No doubt she’ll be affianced by Christmas.”

  Where was the whisky? “Stafford! More whisky!”

  “I say, Devon, may I have your blessing?”

  He stilled and gaped at Mattingly. “What?”

  “Well, you’re her guardian, are you not?”

  He most definitely was not.

  “No, I want your blessing,” St. Clare insisted.

  “I’m not giving anyone my blessing,” he snapped. For Christ’s sake, what were they babbling about?

  “You have to. He has to, doesn’t he?” St. Clare asked plaintively.

  Christian shrugged. “Meg’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”

  No, she couldn’t. Had they all gone stark raving mad? “Stafford!”

  To his surprise, it was not Stafford with a fresh bottle of whisky who appeared at his side. It was Rodgers, with no whisky in evidence. “Your Grace,” his valet said in a dour tone. But then, Rodgers was always dour.

  “Yes?”

  “May I speak with you?” He shot a glance around the table. “Privately?”

  “Of course.” And thank God. Jonathan had had about as much of this as he could take. If one more man asked him to proffer his blessings on a union with Meg, he might just snap.

  He nodded to his friends and rose, following Rodgers into the foyer. “What is it?”

  “There is, ahem, a problem with your chambers, sir.”

  Jonathan frowned. “A problem?”

  “Yes, Your Grace, inasmuch as they are not…empty, sir.”

  A little flare of excitement rose in his chest. “Is it Meg Chalmers?” Had she somehow gotten the brilliant idea to meet him in his rooms?

  Rodgers reared back. His eyes bugged out, making him look a touch like Mawbry. “Good God, no.”

  He had no idea why he asked. Clearly he had not been thinking.

  “It’s Miss Peck, sir.”

  Miss Peck? Holy hell. “Well, what is she doing in there?”

  His valet looked discomfited. “Sleeping, sir?”

  “Sleeping? In my chambers?”

  “Apparently you took too long to come to bed and she nodded off. I went to turn down the bed and it was…occupied. I came to find you at once.”

  “Good man.” Jonathan clapped him on the shoulders and made a mental note to give his valet a raise. “But what do we do about this?” He had to ask. He had no earthly clue. One thing was for certain, he wasn’t going to that room tonight.

  “If I may make a suggestion, sir?”

  “Please do.”

  “Shall I inform the dowager?”

  “Oh. An excellent suggestion.” Let Mother deal with this. “And can you make up a room next to Christian’s for me?” It wouldn’t hurt to have a little extra protection.

  “At once, sir.”

  Rodgers melted away and Jonathan took a moment to massage the bridge of his nose. What had he been thinking, coming t
o a house party filled to the gills with predators?

  The answer was clear.

  He had not been. Thinking. Not at all.

  It seemed to be an ongoing condition of late.

  And it continued when, after a few more drinks with his friends, he trudged up the stairs and had the wild notion of going to Meg’s room to finish their conversation. Before he had a moment to reconsider such insanity, he turned left instead of right at the landing and made for the governess’s chambers.

  It was right next to his daughters’ room, poorly sited for a seduction, but they were just going to talk. Right?

  He scratched at the door, pulse trilling as he waited for her to answer. It seemed to take forever. Finally, he heard a rustling and soft feminine footsteps nearing the door. His heart thudded in his chest and—

  The door opened and a young woman peered out at him through the crack. She wore a mobcap and a lawn nightdress and her eyes widened at the sight of him. She was definitely not Meg.

  His mood deflated.

  “Your Grace?” she whispered. “Is something wrong?”

  “Ah… no. Miss…?”

  “Miss Ainsley.” Ah yes. Susana’s bloody governess. Why hadn’t he realized Meg would have changed rooms when a real nanny had arrived? But where would she have gone? Blast it all to hell that his house was so large. He could hardly go scratching at fifty doors looking for her.

  Blast and drat.

  But Miss Ainsley was staring at him. He had to say something. He certainly couldn’t ask where Meg was sleeping. That wouldn’t be proper in the slightest. “I…ah, was wondering how my daughters are doing.” All right. That would work.

  The tension in her face melted away and she smiled. He realized she was quite pretty when she wasn’t horror struck to find a duke at her door in the middle of the night.

  “Oh, Your Grace. They are fine. We had our own little party in the nursery tonight. They dressed up and wore tiaras and everything. They do love their tiaras. It’s so nice to have girls for a bit,” she added shyly. “Not that I don’t love the boys, but it’s a whole different thing with girls, you know?”

  He nodded though he had no earthly clue. “Very good,” he said in his dukiest voice. “Please know we’d like the children to attend the musicale tomorrow at two.” A brilliant idea, because having his girls there would provide him the opportunity to shield himself from the predators.