Blame It on the Duke (The Disgraceful Dukes #3)

by Lenora Bell

  If they only knew. The few chapters of the Kama Sutra that she possessed were extremely explicit about the principles and postures of lovemaking.

  Alice’s cheeks heated. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t think of lovemaking as a foreign language. One which I’ll be quite fluent in with the proper teacher, if I set my mind to my studies.”

  The ability for pleasure must already be living inside her, waiting to be awakened, in the same way the ability to learn new languages flourished so easily. Of course, she would have to discard her maidenly modesty and misgivings.

  Alice closed her eyes and touched the center of her palm, recalling the stimulating sensation of Lord Hatherly’s caress. She rather thought with Hatherly as her teacher, she could swiftly overcome her trepidation and enter fully into the spirit of libidinous pursuits.

  If his fingers brushing her palm set her body tingling in such an interesting manner, one could only begin to imagine what might happen if those same rough-padded fingers were to brush . . . other areas.

  “Sweetheart.” Charlene’s voice intruded into Alice’s wayward reverie.

  Her eyelids lifted, only to find her two best friends staring at her with concern.

  Charlene gripped both of Alice’s hands. “Listen to me. I know you are thinking of this as an intellectual exercise, but believe me, the act of love can’t be controlled so easily. It’s the most intimate conversation two people can have and it sometimes awakens uncontrollable emotions. I’m afraid for your heart, Alice. It’s not like you to be so impulsive.”

  Alice drew her hands away. “I’m not stupid. I know what I’m doing. This is my choice.”

  “Of course you’re not stupid,” exclaimed Thea. “You’re more intelligent than Charlene and me combined. You are fluent in six languages, for heaven’s sakes.”

  “This manuscript fragment I possess could be very significant if united with the rest of the work housed at Fort Williams College in Calcutta. It’s a treatise on pleasure in all its many forms. If published, it could be quite educational for the young ladies of the world.”

  “Well, you know how I feel about education for females,” said Charlene. She and her husband ran a shelter and school in Surrey for vulnerable young girls who had fallen on hard times. “Keeping girls ignorant of the workings of their bodies only leads to bad situations. Ignorance is a weapon men use to maintain their societal superiority.”

  “This manuscript teaches that females should seek pleasure as well,” Alice said. “And it enumerates sixty-four methods for obtaining that pleasure. Not only physical release, but the pleasures experienced through our five senses . . . and our emotions.”

  Thea’s eyes went wide and blue as a summer sky. “I’d like to read this book.”

  “And you shall. As soon as my missing chapters are reunited with the whole.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Charlene said grudgingly, “but maybe marrying Hatherly is an expedient way to achieve your goal.”

  Thea reached over and touched Alice’s cheek. “Never mind that I don’t want you to leave for purely selfish reasons, but have you thought that marrying Hatherly means you can’t marry anyone else? I had thought . . . well, there was someone else I had thought of for you.”

  “Someone else?” asked Alice. This was the first she’d heard of such a notion.

  “I was waiting to tell you. I know how you feel about matrimony, but now that you’re willing to marry, you should think of Patrick.”

  “Your brother-in-law?” Alice tilted her head. “Somehow I don’t think Patrick’s looking for a wife. He always has such a sadness hidden in his eyes, even when his lips are smiling.”

  Thea had told Alice of Patrick’s troubled past and all of the loss he’d experienced.

  “Yes, but he truly is the most wonderful man,” said Thea. “Such a good father to his son, Van. And you make him laugh more than anyone else, Alice.”

  “I make everyone laugh,” Alice replied. “Because I’m so odd.”

  “Patrick would be better than Hatherly,” Charlene mused, sipping the last of her cocoa. “Actually, anyone would be better than Hatherly.”

  “Dalton and Patrick are in the library right now.” Thea set down her mug and jumped from her chair. “Let’s go and talk to them.”

  “Thea, I’m not going to marry Patrick.” Alice motioned for her friend to resume her seat. “It’s not a good, or even a decent, gentleman I require. At this point what I need the most is the freedom to travel. And the best way to achieve that is by marrying Hatherly. He wants nothing from me save my absence.”

  “It sounds rather lonely,” Thea said. “What happens afterward? After you return from India?”

  “I’m willing to relinquish the dream of reading by the fireside with a loving spouse, for a month of instruction in the arts of love from a temporary husband, followed by blessed freedom.”

  Thea smiled. “It’s possible to have both freedom and love, isn’t that so, Charlene?”

  Charlene nodded. “The right gentleman won’t take away your independence, Alice.”

  “The right gentleman hasn’t come along yet,” Alice said, with a hint of bitterness. “As Hatherly’s wife I will have my language scholarship, my travels, and I will not be married to some vain prig like Lord White who would expect me to fawn all over him and listen to his unpoetic pronouncements all day long. Or, even worse, a gentleman who might be cruel to me.” At her friends’ worried expressions, Alice smiled bravely. “I know what I’m doing. I’m far too sensible to fall in love with Lord Hatherly.”

  She’d never felt herself to be even in the slightest danger of falling in love. And she certainly would never be so imprudent as to give her heart to a rake like Hatherly.

  “I hope so,” Thea said.

  Charlene squeezed Alice’s hand. “I know you’re strong, and I know you have a plan for your life. But please be cautious and careful. Be very, very careful, sweetheart.”

  “Have you seen this one, Hatherly?” Dalton, Duke of Osborne, asked as Nick strode into his library at Osborne Court. He flourished a roll of newsprint at Nick.

  “I’ve seen them all,” Nick said glumly. He flung himself into a chair and held out his hand for a glass of Dalton’s excellent Irish whiskey.

  The penny paper satirists were having a ball with his forced betrothal to Miss Tombs. Drawings of him in bonnets on an auction block, or him in a bridal gown and veil with Miss Tombs at his side with a drooping moustache and a dress sword.

  “All of London’s laughing at me,” Nick said. “It’s not that funny, Patrick.”

  “It’s hilarious,” said Dalton’s brother Patrick Fellowes, with another snort of laughter and a devilish gleam in his light green eyes. “You look so fetching in a bonnet, Hatherly.”

  “Doesn’t suit me, that bonnet,” Nick grumbled. “I’d have preferred a stuffed finch on top instead of a cluster of cherries.”

  Patrick chuckled. “Cherries are more symbolic.”

  “Ha ha,” Nick said.

  He swallowed half the whiskey and felt almost immediately more cheerful. “So what have you two uncovered? Any news of Stubbs? Was he the one who escorted the duke to the Crimson?” He turned to Patrick. “And was the wager even binding?”

  “It’s a good thing you’re already seated,” Dalton said. “You may want another drink.”

  “That bad?”

  “Worse. Much worse.”

  Perfect. More bad news. Nick held out his glass for a refill. “Out with it, then. I’m ready.”

  Dalton crossed his formidable arms over his chest. “I made the rounds of the hells and spoke with my inside contacts. This isn’t the first time His Grace has gambled and lost heavily. As it turns out, for the past two months, he’s been gambling frequently.”

  “Pardon?” Nick exploded. “But I hired Stubbs to watch him . . . oh . . . damn it all! I can’t believe Stubbs would do this. I trusted him implicitly.”

  “I’m afraid Mr. Stubbs has bee
n leading the duke to the lowest gambling hells, encouraging him to be reckless, and pocketing any profits,” said Dalton with a pitying look. “Though it was mostly losses from what I gather.”

  Fury spiked through Nick like the sudden onset of a tropical fever. “I’ll murder Stubbs when I find him. How could this happen?”

  “There could be someone else behind the scenes,” Patrick mused. “Someone who perhaps coerced or hired Mr. Stubbs and wishes to discredit you and the duke. Cause damage to you financially.”

  “How much damage are we talking?”

  “More whiskey?” Dalton said.

  Nick groaned and placed his chin on his fist. “Yesterday I received an accounting of my mother’s latest bills. Five hundred quid for her milliner. For bonnets. Does the woman discard them after one wearing? Three hundred for monogrammed jeweled cravat pins. Some young buck with the initials S.C.”

  “You may want to ask her to economize,” Patrick said.

  “You don’t know my mother. She’s Swiss French. She must have the very best of everything.”

  “In that case, you may wish to marry Miss Tombs immediately,” said Dalton.

  Nick’s head snapped up.

  Had he truly joined the ranks of impoverished peers who required an heiress to bail them out of financial straits?

  Though he’d already made up his mind to go through with the marriage.

  When he’d left the baronet’s house he’d had the sinking feeling that he would never be able to hurt Miss Tombs by breaking an engagement. She’d looked at him with too much trust in her eyes. He simply couldn’t bring himself to cause her pain.

  He respected her too much.

  Besides, he was looking forward to making her blush again. And then watching her board a ship bound for India.

  A sudden vision filtered through his mind like a swirl of orange bitters mixing into a glass of whiskey.

  Leggy Miss Tombs spread across his bed, long limbs twined with his.

  Sliding his toes along a curved instep while tasting soft, full lips.

  “Nick?”

  “What’s that?” Nick glanced at Dalton.

  “What were you thinking about?” his friend asked. “You had a silly grin on your face. You looked almost . . . contented.”

  “Ah, nothing. So who could be behind this? I would suspect my uncle of wanting to discredit the duke, since he’s made no secret of the fact he wants his brother declared insane, but this financial loss hurts my uncle as well since his son Barnaby stands to inherit everything in the future. Already paid me a visit, my uncle. Was livid about the marriage. Thinks I’ll produce an heir. Which I won’t.”

  “After some investigation on my part, I believe we may rule out your uncle,” Patrick said.

  Nick tossed back the remainder of his whiskey. “I have to find Stubbs and question the man. I think you’re right. I don’t think he was working alone. It’s just not like him.”

  “In the meantime,” said Dalton, “I’ll need you to draw up a list of suspects. Anyone you can think of who would have any reason to hold a grudge against you.”

  “Ah.” Nick scratched his head. “That could be a long list.” He wasn’t always popular with the gentlemen he stole courtesans away from. Or with creditors. Or . . . It would be a long list.

  “About the wager,” Patrick said. “I believe that since Sir Alfred is a baronet, and your father a duke, you may be able to involve the Crown if you wished to have the debt of honor nullified. But it will require some petitioning and may be a lengthy process.”

  Nick sighed. “Sir Alfred was right. I don’t want to subject the duke to a long public trial. He’s growing more confused every day. He thinks his orchids whisper secrets to him as he tends them.”

  “Which leaves you only one option.” Dalton raised his glass. “To Miss Tombs.”

  “Do you know she tried to convince her parents I had brewer’s droop and couldn’t father an heir? She was trying to rid herself of me.”

  Patrick laughed. “I do like Miss Tombs.”

  “I think Thea was rather hoping you might marry the girl, Patrick,” Dalton said.

  Patrick sputtered over the rim of his whiskey glass. “Excuse me? She’s quite odd, isn’t she? Always nattering on about some obscure subject.”

  “She’s not odd so much as refreshingly forthright.” Why did Nick immediately want to leap to her defense? She’d insulted him, lied to him, and done everything in her power to repel him . . . and somehow ended up completely charming him.

  And not just because of her delectable dimples, or her lithe curves.

  She’d kept him guessing at every turn with her clever twists of mind and that bawdy sense of humor. And she’d been so very responsive to his kiss. There was fire beneath that prim façade; he’d stake his life on it.

  In short—Miss Tombs was his favorite kind of trouble. An intelligent woman who would match him in wits and sensuality . . . and then leave him in peace.

  “She only agreed to marry me because she wants to travel to India and restore some ancient manuscript to a library. She speaks six languages, you know. She’s been translating a fragment of some dry, dusty book from Sanskrit to English.”

  “And so the last one falls,” Dalton intoned with a knowing smile.

  “I haven’t fallen,” Nick protested. “I’m merely taking a detour. She’ll be gone soon enough. Wed her, bed her, and be rid of her is what I—”

  “Ah,” Patrick interrupted, making a strange slashing motion with his finger against his throat.

  “—agreed to,” Nick finished. “I wasn’t even planning on going through with the nuptials when I wooed her, until I—”

  “You might want to stop talking now, Hatherly,” Dalton said in a strained voice.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s standing right behind you.”

  Nick jumped out of his chair and dropped his whiskey glass.

  Damned if Miss Tombs wasn’t standing in the doorway of the library, flanked by Dalton’s wife, Thea, and his friend James’s wife, Charlene.

  All three ladies had thunderclouds in their eyes.

  Miss Tombs’s face was white, her aquamarine eyes huge, and her full lips compressed into a severe line.

  “What are you doing here?” Nick blurted.

  “Leaving!” She tossed her head, spun on her heel, and ran away.

  “Alice,” Nick yelled, racing after her. “Alice, wait!”

  Chapter 5

  When she begins coming to see him frequently, he should carry on long conversations with her, for, says Ghotakamukha, “he never succeeds in winning her without a great deal of talking.”

  The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

  Nick caught up with Alice on the front steps, grabbing her by the elbows and whirling her to face him. “Allow me a chance to explain.”

  She struggled, but he easily held her trapped.

  “You kissed me and you weren’t even going to marry me.” She tried to wrench free. “You’re worse than a rake. You’re a liar. Charlene was right about you.”

  “You didn’t let me finish my sentence.” He stroked a strand of hair away from her accusatory turquoise eyes. “I wasn’t planning to go through with the marriage until I—”

  “Discovered your coffers needed filling,” she interrupted with a sharp shake of her head, flinging the hair back across her brow.

  “Please listen for a moment. I was going to say to my friends that I hadn’t been planning to go through with it until I realized how much I respect you and your goals. I would be extremely proud to be the man who freed you from the conventions of your sex and sent you wandering freely across the earth. I can’t wait to see what you make of that freedom.”

  She didn’t smile, but she relaxed slightly in his arms. “How convenient for you to have my father’s money and no wife to worry you.”

  “It is convenient, I won’t deny it. We suit each other perfectly because our goals go hand in hand. We both want freedom. Y
ou want the freedom to travel and I want my elderly father to remain in the comfortable and familiar surroundings of Sunderland House.”

  “You want to keep the house for your father’s sake?”

  “It would kill him to leave Sunderland and his orchid conservatory. I honestly believe that.”

  She regarded him for a moment with a perplexed expression. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

  “Because everyone always assumes the worst about me, and since I usually live up to their expectations, I would hate to disabuse a young lady from thinking me anything other than the sinful sensualist she longs for me to be.”

  Since they were on the topic of sin, he pulled her tighter, enjoying the feeling of her lissome form in his arms.

  “I’m not sure I can trust you, Lord Hatherly. I can’t read your eyes. Sometimes I think you’re laughing at me as though I were an amusement fashioned specifically for your enjoyment.”

  “You’re not?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He dropped his teasing manner. “You can trust me in this, Alice. May I call you Alice?” he belatedly remembered to ask.

  No more formality. Not when she had, apparently unconsciously, nestled closer, and slid her hands inside his coat for warmth.

  “It’s better than Dimples, I suppose.”

  “You don’t like Dimples?” He stroked a hand down her back. “But it fits you so well.”

  She fit him so well.

  Her soft curves pressed against him, making him eager to taste her lips again.

  It was a chilly evening and she was only wearing a thin, muslin gown.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “Of course you’re free to back out of our arrangement. I wouldn’t blame you. Maybe you’ll even find your Professor Darcy and have those quiet nights by the fire.”

  “I never truly believed that fantasy. Marriage was always an abstract principle to me—something to consider only after my travels.”

  “There’s something else you should know about me, Alice.”

  “Is there?” She tilted him a saucy smile. “I’ve done my research in the past few days. I’d say I know quite a lot about you.”