The Princess Stakes

by Amalie Howard

  He bowed. “The Earl of Beckforth at your service, my lady.”

  Good heavens. Her lungs squeezed behind her ribs. This man was her family. Only a distant cousin on her mother’s side, but still. Family. And he had sought her out on the balcony, which meant he obviously knew who she was. But why?

  She could barely formulate a reply as he offered her his card. “It would please me if you called upon me at Lockhart Manor sometime.”

  His manner wasn’t overtly friendly, but it wasn’t curt either. In fact, the whole exchange was remarkably bland, albeit unexpected, like a bolt out of the blue. With an awkward nod, he took his leave, and Sarani tucked the calling card into her reticule.

  What were the odds that he would seek her out? And again…why?

  Did he mean to expose her? Embrace her? Convince her to go away?

  Her throat burned from a tight combination of thirst and confused emotions. She reached for a glass of champagne from a passing footman and downed it in one swallow, putting up a finger for him to wait. She replaced the empty glass with a new one, only to have it snatched from her fingers.

  “Champagne is supposed to be sipped, not gulped,” the duke of her fantasies said.

  “I am not a child, Your Grace,” Sarani tossed back. “And why aren’t you inside the ballroom? Don’t you have a wager to fulfill?”

  “Do you enjoy being groped, my lady? Poked and prodded as though you were a stud bull on display for breeding?” he asked, his raspy voice doing all kinds of unnatural things to her unruly senses, and Sarani nearly let out a shocked laugh. His lips lowered to graze her ear as a firm hand gripped her elbow and steered her toward a hidden alcove behind a potted fern. “Because I assure you, it is quite tiresome. I am not a piece of meat.”

  Her suddenly agreeable tongue wanted to point out that he was indeed a fine piece of meat, but she buttoned her lips firmly. Sodding champagne—she’d never had much tolerance for the stuff. “Welcome to the ugly world of courting, Your Grace, and what we women have had to endure for centuries.”

  His large frame tensed beside her in the gloom. “Someone has touched you without permission?” His voice was almost a growl…and now the tingling sensation had turned into something more scorching.

  “No.” She laughed. “And besides, no one dared to touch me but you, even at the risk of the maharaja’s wrath or my kukri.”

  Sarani almost sensed him smile and then felt him shift closer, though he did not touch her. She was grateful. If he did, she was likely to go up in a shower of indelicate sparks. “Do you have your blades on your person right now?”

  “Why? Does that scare you?”

  “No,” he said, his breath feathering over her face. Gracious, he was close. So close that she was aware of every inch of him, even in the shadows. “But I don’t wish to find myself on the business ends of them.”

  “Why would you—?”

  But the rest of her words were blanketed by the warm pressure of his mouth bearing down upon hers. Every nerve in her body pulsed like lightning in a storm. Sarani couldn’t help herself—her hands reached up between them to clutch the lapels of his tailcoat, dragging him closer. He’d looked so sinfully handsome tonight. She’d practically salivated when he’d been announced on arrival. Rhystan in full ducal dress was clearly her Achilles’ heel.

  And him naked… That might be the death of her.

  Body on fire, she melted into his mouth. His lips were soft and firm as they explored the contours of hers, his tongue tracing the seam before plunging inside. Sarani moaned. She’d forgotten how good he tasted, how skilled he was at kissing, how right she felt in his arms. She didn’t care if he had an ulterior motive. She just needed him.

  His mouth dragged down her jaw, peppering small kisses along its edge. When he reached her sensitive throat and bit lightly, her knees nearly buckled. A finger traced the edge of her bodice and Sarani froze, reason returning in between the bouts of utter insanity. They were on a very public terrace at a very public ball.

  “Rhystan…”

  He licked at her skin, and her eyes nearly rolled back in her head, protests all but forgotten. No, no, no. She was saying something…something important. Sarani tried to get her mutinying brain under control, but that was hard when the dratted man was treating her body like it was his own personal banquet.

  “People will see,” she whispered.

  “No, they won’t,” he murmured thickly against her collarbone, the sinful rasp of his voice making her skin leap.

  “But—”

  But nothing else came out as her words turned into gibberish as his fingers yanked at her bodice and his mouth closed around the aching bud of one taut nipple. Sensation rioted across her in hot rippling waves, arrowing down her belly, straight into her hot, yielding core. A low groan escaped him as he shifted to suck the other breast into his mouth.

  “Your skin is like velvet,” he rasped.

  Grasping her hips, Rhystan sank to his knees—heaven help her wicked thoughts—gathering her hem and reaching down beneath her crinoline to trace her stockinged legs up over her calf, past the hem of her drawers, his fingers freezing on the leather straps of her kukri sheaths crossing each thigh. He lifted a brow, glancing up. “You are armed.”

  “A girl can’t be too careful,” she said.

  “How do you retrieve them?”

  “Pockets,” she panted as his wandering hand left the straps and climbed higher. “Cleverly stitched holes, really.”

  With a growl at her words, he moved toward the slit in her drawers to caress her bare, trembling thighs. His knuckles grazed over her heat before she felt his finger slip between her slick folds. A groan tore from him. “So wet, so perfect. Is this all for me?”

  “Rhystan…” she whispered, too far gone to be embarrassed about her arousal, her own hands winding into his hair.

  This was madness. What they were doing was madness. And yet she did not want him to stop. She never wanted him to stop.

  “I’ve wanted to touch you for fucking weeks,” he muttered. The vulgar oath only made her burn hotter. “Teach that tart mouth a lesson, grasp this tempting arse.” His hand left her briefly, reaching around to grab a handful of her derriere, and she squeaked. Oh! She saw his mouth curve into a dissolute grin before he returned his palm to her core. “Discover all of you.”

  When his fingers began to move again, aided and abetted by a disconcerting amount of wetness between her legs, Sarani nearly fainted. Sensation built and built, his free hand reaching up to pinch and roll her nipple while his clever fingers toyed with her damp flesh, until it almost became too much, blindingly bright, before shattering. A scream gathered in her throat, but then Rhystan was standing and his mouth was there, kissing her and swallowing her soft cries as her sated body settled into a boneless state against his.

  They stood there, breathing hard, his forehead resting on hers.

  “That’s also been on the list of things I’ve wanted to do for weeks,” he whispered.

  She licked her swollen lips. “There’s a list?”

  “A rather long one, considering I started it five years ago.” He brushed his mouth over hers. “All the debauched, wicked things I wanted to do to Princess Sarani Rao.”

  Gracious, her body twitched with need as if she hadn’t just had the orgasm of her life. But as sanity replaced stupor, Sarani drew away and sucked in a horrified breath. It was a miracle no one had seen them or happened upon them. Though Rhystan was right. The alcove was concealed by an outcropping and the nearby plant, which had afforded them a modicum of privacy.

  But still…

  Sarani’s body heated, her fantasies of the duke on his knees well and truly met. Thank the heavens she hadn’t been too loud. A ferocious blush filled her cheeks, and she was glad for the darkness. Hastily, she put her bodice and skirts to rights, checking the intricate coiffure t
hat Asha had insisted on, but thankfully that felt like it was still in place.

  “We should go back inside,” she said, jostling out of the nook and past his big body. “You will undoubtedly have been missed.”

  Rhystan’s hand darted out to grasp her arm and tug her back in toward him. “Sarani, wait, I—”

  But whatever he’d been about to say was cut off as his eyes went wide, a frown pinching his lips. She didn’t dare look behind her, but she knew someone stood there. They’d been discovered, and while she was scandalously crushed against his chest, no less. Sarani bit her lip. At least it hadn’t been while his hand had been up her skirts. Small mercies.

  “Good God, Embry,” a drunken male voice cawed loudly. “Leave some for the rest of us, will you?”

  She stepped out of the duke’s embrace only to get an eyeful of Lord Littleton…of course it had to be this season’s loudest dandy. Her skin prickled as curious stares flocked to them. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Things could not possibly get worse. She was going to swoon.

  A cool hand took hers, tethering her to his side. “Since when can’t a man sneak a moment with his betrothed, Littleton?” Rhystan drawled.

  “Betrothed? Congratulations, good man!”

  Sarani’s breath hitched as none other than the dowager duchess appeared at the balcony doors. Things could definitely get worse. Her gaze narrowed on them as if she could clearly see the cloud of sin around them. “Embry, our host has been looking for you.”

  “Oy, Dragon Duchess,” Littleton brayed. “Looks like you’re about to be replaced and put in the dower house, eh?”

  The stark anger on her face was brief but ugly, and the sight of it made Sarani lift her chin in angry defiance. She gripped Rhystan’s hand tighter and smiled at Littleton. “We’ve been keeping it a secret, but I suppose the cat’s out of the bag now.”

  * * *

  Rhystan sat back in the carriage, staring at Sarani and his sister, who had not stopped chattering about her first real ball. His mother had long since departed in a froth in her own coach, leaving Sarani to find her own way back. His carriage was stuffed with two young ladies, both of whom made his blood boil for vastly different reasons.

  Ravenna because her high-pitched shrieking was about to do him in, and Sarani…well…he couldn’t think about her without sporting a flagpole in his trousers. Hell, he was still half-hard after the interlude on the balcony. He’d always known she was responsive, but her soft moans…how wet she’d been…how sweetly her body had clenched around his fingers, had combined to demolish him.

  His trousers instantly grew crowded. Discreetly, he attempted to adjust himself on the seat but caught Sarani’s eye anyway. Her gaze darted away, dropping to her hands clasped in her lap, a violent blush spreading on her cheeks as she fixed her attention on his sister.

  “You naughty, naughty, naughty wretches,” Ravenna was saying. “I honestly cannot believe your antics. Being discovered in flagrante delicto on the balcony. Littleton would have spread it far and wide already. The man is a menace.”

  Sarani buried her face behind her hands, a laugh spilling out. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Why? You two are engaged.”

  “Yes, but your mother wished for your brother to wait to make an announcement so she could let the other prospects down gently.”

  Ravenna gave an indelicate snort. “You mean so she could push Penelope in your place.” She giggled. “Lord, her expression was priceless when Littleton was braying the news that you’re now the official winner of the Duchess Duels.”

  Rhystan almost snorted at the ridiculous designation.

  “As if anyone could hold a candle to you.” Ravenna rolled her eyes and threw herself back against the squabs. “And as if my brother could keep his eyes off you. He practically galloped out of the ballroom the minute you stepped out onto that balcony. It was a wonder that Mama did not see him leave and discover you earlier herself.” Her gaze sparkled with mischief and panned between them. “Is it true what Littleton said that you were doing out there?”

  “We were talking,” Rhystan said.

  Ravenna grinned. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? I suppose you do use your tongue for both.”

  Sarani gasped with a smothered laugh, and he scowled, though the recollection of Sarani’s sweet taste made his mouth water. He suddenly wanted to kiss her again. Kiss her elsewhere. See if she was as sweet there as her lips had been.

  His sister cackled. “You are a dissembler, brother.”

  “Ravenna, enough,” he snapped. “That is unseemly.”

  But of course his warning went unheeded. “My goodness, the gossip was afire. A duke ravaging a lady? The aloof Duke of Embry no less?” She pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back her giggles. “Poor Penelope. She and Lady Windmere were dead certain she was going to receive an offer from you. Though I warned her months ago that I suspected my brother’s heart was elsewhere.”

  “Was she expecting an offer?” Sarani asked.

  “Penelope intimated as much,” Ravenna said. “She has already had seven offers from suitors. It’s because she’s an heiress of course. Her dowry is enormous, like her head.”

  Rhystan shook his head. “She could have all the money in England, but marrying that chit will drive any man to an early grave. Any other gentleman is welcome to her, but not me.”

  “Speaking of suitors,” Sarani interjected, peering at Ravenna. “Any young men take your fancy tonight? I did not spot a single silly, smelly sir in tonight’s mix.”

  “Not a one, no.” Ravenna let out an aggrieved sigh. “They’re all boring, full of their own importance, and lacking in ambition. They were all commendable dancers, though, and creditable punch fetchers. I was not thirsty for one second the entire evening.”

  Rhystan flattened his lips. “Courtship is not a joking matter, Ravenna. You need to secure a husband.”

  “Why?” his sister shot back. “So you can leave again? Go back to your exciting, shipboard life?”

  He stared at her. That was exactly why. But hearing it stated so baldly and seeing the fleeting flash of hurt on her face made something tighten inside him.

  “Ravenna—”

  “I don’t wish to marry anyone.” She drew a deep breath. “Well, not right now. I want to travel and see the world as you have. Visit India, maybe where Sara grew up. I’ve talked to Asha—”

  “You talked to Asha?” Sarani blurted out, her panicked gaze meeting Rhystan’s.

  Ravenna reached for her hand. “Please do not be cross with her, Sara dear. I practically forced her to tell me stories of you when you were younger, about where you grew up and some of your adventures. She misses her home, too.” Oblivious to Sarani’s brewing panic, Ravenna went on. “She told me that you grew up in a palace. How delightful! And your jaunts to the river and all the trophies you took for horse racing.” She sighed. “It sounds much better than dreary, stuffy old London.”

  “It wasn’t all roses,” Sarani began haltingly. “Every place has its trials and thorns.”

  “I don’t care. I want a bit of adventure before I become some man’s property.”

  “And risk scandalizing the Huntley name?” Rhystan firmed his jaw. “No, I forbid it. You will secure an appropriate match and marry to your station as is your duty.”

  Two incredulous stares—one a wounded copper and the other a furious hazel—crashed into him. The bitter thought that he sounded exactly like his father slid through him before he quashed it. He also dimly recognized that he was the pot challenging the kettle, given that he was avoiding his own mother’s trap as well as his obedience to duty with a fake betrothal to a lady whom most of the ton would deem unsuitable.

  His thoughts were reflected in Sarani’s eyes. There was injury there, too, along with a flicker of ferocity. Why would she be angry? Their engagement wasn’t even real. Sh
e had no say in who Ravenna married or whether the match was sound. He leveled her with a cool expression. “Do you have something you wish to say?”

  “Sometimes fathers or brothers don’t know what’s best.”

  He gaped in incredulous surprise. “You’ve certainly changed your tune from five years ago. Your father spoke, and you jumped.”

  “That’s not fair and you know it.” Her gaze flicked to Ravenna, but she was too caught up in her own anger to have noticed his slip. “You know very well what was required of me. I had no choice.”

  Rhystan shook his head and ground his jaw, well aware of what a hypocrite the situation made him. He’d expected Sarani to defy the wishes of her father while expecting Ravenna to keel over and do what she was told. The irony of the double standard did not escape him.

  “This is the way things are done.”

  Her eyes flashed. “That doesn’t make it right. Sometimes, things have to change.”

  “As you’ve changed, Lady Sara?” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

  “This isn’t about me, Your Grace. This is about your sister and you being here for her instead of out on the sea somewhere.” Her voice hushed. “At least you have a family.”

  Narrowing his gaze, he pinned his lips in anger. How dare she judge him for his choices? “Ravenna will marry.”

  “So that’s it?” his sister burst out. “You forbid me from living my life, and you’ll hand me over to the first man who offers, like a purse of coin over a card table.”

  Rhystan hardened his heart at the break in her voice. “If he suits, yes.”

  “I wish to hell you’d stayed away,” Ravenna whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

  “That makes two of us, then.”

  Eighteen

  It’d been over a week since the news of their engagement had broken, and the scandal sheets had yet to stop writing about the standoffish duke and his mysterious fiancée who, rumor had it, he’d imported from a palace in India. Sarani snorted. As though she were a case of wine from Italy or France.