Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  Years ago, before she’d even met Adam, her father had devised the trust as a means to protect her and her inheritance from fortune hunters. Other than her dowry, her husband would have no access to her wealth. All financial decisions would be made by the trustee, whom her father had chosen to act in her best interests.

  What had made Adam’s proposal magical was that he’d known about the trust…and hadn’t cared. He hadn’t wanted her for her money but for who she was. For the first time in her life, she’d had a taste of what it could be like to be valued and wanted, just for being herself.

  Looking back, she knew that that had been a pivotal, life-altering moment for her. It was the foundation for all that had happened since. Adam had seen the promise of her and now, eight years later, they had a loving union beyond her wildest imaginings.

  “If the terms are clear, then what is the problem?” she asked.

  “The problem is that I’ve become aware of Mr. Isnard’s financial woes,” her father said grimly. “Financial problems that he has been hiding from me, problems that could make him vulnerable to corruption.”

  Gabby suppressed a sigh; she knew where this was heading. Her father had never hidden his distrust of his son-in-law, and the feelings had been mutual. Normally, she tried to stay out of the men’s reciprocal animosity, letting them circle one another like suspicious wolves, but the time away had changed her. She felt a new strength and confidence to speak her mind.

  “Are you saying that you think Adam would influence Mr. Isnard?” she asked point-blank.

  “Precisely.” Her father gave a vigorous nod. “I’ve never trusted your husband. Who knows what he would do if he got his hands on my bank?”

  “Adam does not need your money, Papa,” she said patiently. “He is an extremely wealthy man in his own right.”

  “There is no such thing as too much wealth. I’m a banker; trust me, I know. All my life, I’ve worked with men like your husband, whose ruthless ambition knows no bounds.”

  “In that respect, Adam is not unlike you.” She gave her father a wry look.

  He grunted, crossing his arms over his nightshirt. “I came from nothing. I had to earn a living to survive.”

  “And is Adam any different? He came from the stews and built an empire with his own two hands. And he is not just a businessman, but also a loving father and husband.”

  “Is he a loving husband?” her father asked gruffly.

  Secure in Adam’s love for her, her suspicions about Jessabelle laid to rest, she could, for the first time, answer that question with confidence.

  “He loves me, Papa,” she said with quiet conviction. “As much as I love him.”

  After a moment, her father said grudgingly, “At least Garrity is not a total idiot. That fall in the river did him good.”

  From her father, this was high praise. Unfortunately, he wasn’t done.

  “But I still don’t trust him. And I won’t leave Billings Bank—my legacy and life’s work—at the mercy of a moneylender. I’m going to have Mr. Isnard investigated further, to make sure everything is on the up and up.”

  At her patience’s end—and seeing the hand of the clock edge closer and closer to her appointment time—she decided not to argue any further. Her father had always been possessed of a distrustful nature. If he wanted to investigate his long-time, trusted friend, then she couldn’t stop him. She was certain nothing would come of it; after all, Mr. Isnard’s only wrong-doing was having some financial difficulties. If that was the barometer for guilt, then half the men in England would be culpable.

  “Do what you must, Papa.” She kissed his cheek. “But I really must get going. I’m meeting Adam at the modiste’s.”

  Her father gave her a confused look. “He’s back at work, isn’t he? Why the devil would he meet you at the dressmaker’s in the middle of the day?”

  “Because he wants to help me pick a gown for an upcoming ball.” She smiled dreamily. “Because he thinks I’m as important as his work.”

  “Well, that’s just daft.” Her father shook his head. “Imagine a man wasting working hours on some frivolous errand.”

  Love isn’t frivolous, she wanted to say. But she didn’t because she knew her father would not understand. Instead, she kissed his cheek once more, promised to return on the morrow, and hurried to meet her husband.

  28

  Adam watched his wife in action in the dressing room of Mrs. Yarwood’s shop, a fashionable establishment on Bond Street. Anticipating their arrival, Mrs. Yarwood had set up dress forms to display a variety of styles that Gabby could use for inspiration for her own gown. At the other end of the room, a dais surrounded by cheval looking glasses would allow her to view herself from all angles if she wished to try on a garment.

  Surveying the selection of gowns, Gabby pointed a decisive finger.

  “I like this one,” she said.

  Predictably, she’d chosen the fussiest, dowdiest frock of the lot. The insipid pink eyesore was trimmed with miles of ribbon and lace, the neckline suitable for a nun. The wide skirts had the most flounces Adam had ever seen on a single piece of clothing.

  “May I suggest another gown that might suit you even better?” Mrs. Yarwood asked with the tact necessary for success in her profession. “This green velvet, for instance, has a most flattering shape…”

  “I want the pink one,” Gabby said.

  Mrs. Yarwood looked more resigned than surprised. Adam imagined the modiste had had more than one argument with this particular customer. As he was discovering, Gabby’s sweet nature hid a backbone of polished steel. That strength had enabled her to endure countless hurts while keeping that pretty smile on her face. It could also work to her detriment…the present situation being a case in point.

  “For my gown, however, I’d like the neckline raised,” Gabby went on.

  She was examining the style she’d chosen, her brow furrowed in concentration. As if she were imagining herself in that sack-like garment. Adam could have spared her the trouble and told her what she would look like: a giant iced cake.

  His wife’s attempts to hide her charms were a damned travesty.

  “And my dress should have more embellishment. More ruffles and whatnot.” Gabby’s face lit up. “Indeed, I recently saw a fashion plate that featured a cape as part of the gown. Perhaps you could attach one to the shoulders, have it flow down and cover the entire back…”

  Seeing Mrs. Yarwood visibly cringe, Adam decided it was time to step in.

  “I think we’re headed in the wrong direction with this,” he said.

  Gabby blinked at him. “Wrong direction? How do you mean?”

  “Less is more,” he said succinctly.

  Mrs. Yarwood was looking at him as if he’d walked across water to arrive at her shop. “Your husband has an excellent point, Mrs. Garrity. The latest fashions are cut more closely to the figure—”

  “I don’t care about the latest fashions. I know what I like,” Gabby said stubbornly.

  “If I may have a private moment with my wife?”

  “Have all the time you want, sir,” the modiste said fervently.

  He thought he heard her utter a prayer as she fled the dressing room, her assistant on her heels.

  “As much as I value your opinion, I know what I want,” Gabby said the instant the door closed.

  “I’m certain you do. But that doesn’t mean you know what looks best on you.”

  She narrowed her eyes. With her rounded cheeks, golden freckles, and lush mouth, she looked like an adorable yet annoyed faerie. On a deeper level, he was heartened by her increasing willingness to speak her mind in front of him. He loved her growing confidence and wanted to encourage it…even if he had to rouse her ire in the process.

  Admittedly, there were other reasons why he liked his wife riled up. Her irritation was causing her breasts to heave in a most delightful way.

  “Who has more experience shopping for dresses, you or me?” she asked.

 
; “Who spends more time looking at you, you or me?” he returned.

  Her cheeks turned rosy, but she raised her chin to a mutinous angle. “If you must know, dress shopping is one of my least favorite activities. It’s ever so tedious, and you’re not helping by prolonging the experience. It has taken me years to find a style that I’m comfortable with, one that suits me—”

  “Your clothes don’t suit you.”

  Her jaw slackened. He didn’t like to be the cause of the pain flashing across her features, but being direct was the best way to make her understand.

  “Gabriella, you are beautiful no matter what you wear,” he said. “But the way you hide your gorgeous body in dowdy dresses is a damned crime.”

  “You think I’m dowdy?” Her poise wilted, her gaze lowering.

  Hell, her vulnerability destroyed him.

  He closed the distance between them. “Sweetheart, you’re the most desirable woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

  To prove his point, he caught her hand and brought it to his groin, holding it there. Her eyes lifted, her fingers trembling against the ridge of his erection; beneath his thumb, the pulse in her wrist quickened, making him even harder.

  “I want you all the bloody time,” he murmured. “Over breakfast, at my office, anywhere I happen to be, I think of fucking you. The moment when I’ll next taste your sweet lips, feel your tight quim clenching my cock, hear those delightfully breathy sounds you make when you come. There isn’t a minute that passes when I don’t thank my lucky stars that you’re mine.”

  Her lips formed a lush “O,” her gaze darkened not with pain now but feminine desire.

  Taking advantage of her agreeable state, he led her over to the dais.

  “Stand here for me, love.” He began to unfasten the hooks of her dress.

  Her startled eyes met his in the looking glass. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to show you how I see you.”

  He deftly stripped her down to her undergarments. As tempting as she was with her maidenly blushes, her toes curling against the carpeted platform, he had another objective in mind. He crossed over to the line of dresses and selected the ruby satin that had caught his eye from the start. Returning, he helped Gabby into the gown.

  Even though the garment was loose on her, its potential was undeniable. The rich hue brought out the fire in her hair, the purity of her rounded blue eyes. The deceptively simple cut showcased the perfect hourglass of her figure. The neckline left her shoulders bare, dipping to a daring vee between her ripe breasts. The vee was repeated at the bottom edge of the bodice, lengthening her torso…and drawing the male imagination to the sweet, feminine place where that arrow pointed.

  Holding the fabric together between her shoulder blades to give an approximation of the fit, he said huskily, “Tell me what you see.”

  “I suppose…the gown looks well enough,” she said reluctantly.

  “Let me tell you what I see, pet.”

  His gaze holding hers in the reflection, he ran a possessive hand over her. From the silky slope of her bared shoulder to the plump swell of her breasts above the neckline. He trailed his fingers down the bodice, feeling the quick, shallow surges of her breath. Then he gripped her cinched waist.

  “All of this is mine,” he said softly against her ear as she shivered. “Mine only to touch and enjoy. But I want the world to know what a lucky man I am and, most importantly, I want you to know your own worth. To know that women look at you and wish they had half your beauty, that men look at you and envy me because I’m the one who will be taking you home. I’m the one who will be making love to you, worshiping your body with mine.”

  He brushed his lips against the side of her neck. She let out a shuddering sigh, raising her arm so that her fingers brushed his nape, her head tilting back for his kiss. He obliged her, a heated swirl of tongues. Then he broke off the kiss, nodding toward the mirror.

  “Look at you,” he said. “What do you see?”

  The image he saw dampened his smalls with pre-seed, his heart and cock pounding in unison. They were man and woman, twined together in a pose as old as time. Lost together in the garden of desire.

  “I see a woman in love,” she whispered. “A wife who knows she is beautiful because her love is returned by her husband.”

  “I want you to be as proud to be mine as I am to be yours,” he murmured.

  “I am proud.” Smiling, she turned to face him. “And you’re right. I adore this dress.”

  “Good, let’s summon Mrs. Yarwood and have her take your order as quickly as possible.”

  “Why the rush?”

  “The sooner we’re done here, the sooner I can have my way with you in the carriage.”

  His wife lowered her eyes demurely. “I’ll have my gown ordered in less than ten minutes.”

  29

  In the past, Gabby had dreaded balls because the crush of people made her nervous. The disparaging glances and snickers behind fans had always struck an unpleasantly familiar chord, causing memories to rattle within the Humiliating Experiences I’d Like to Forget category. Being in the public eye put her on edge; when she was on edge, she tended to chatter in a mortifyingly inane manner that increased the withering looks and closing of circles as she passed, thereby feeding the cycle of her anxiety.

  Yet tonight was different: Gabby was actually enjoying Tessa’s ball. When the other had asked for decorating advice, Gabby had given a few suggestions. She was happy to see how well the ideas had worked.

  The “midnight garden” theme created a romantic atmosphere in the mirrored ballroom, apropos for celebrating Ransom and Maggie’s engagement. Gabby had suggested bringing in large potted plants to create “hedges” at different parts of the room, which provided intimate areas for conversation. The jasmine and gardenia plants did double duty, filling the room with their sweet fragrance. Tessa had even had a small white gazebo constructed in one corner; the champagne fountain was housed within, and guests were clearly enjoying the novelty of entering the latticed structure to have their glasses refilled.

  It wasn’t just the ambience that Gabby was enjoying. For the first time, her dance card had been full and not just due to the kindness of her friends’ husbands. She’d twirled on the dance floor with admiring gentlemen, and what made that experience special was knowing that Adam was there, watching with possessive pride. His presence gave her confidence, calmed her, and allowed her to carry on a normal conversation.

  At present, she stood in a circle of friends. Tessa was chatting in her animated way with Maggie, Polly, and Emma joining in. The hostess wore a stylish emerald shot-silk gown that brought out the unique green of her eyes. The guest of honor’s dress of bronze velvet flattered her voluptuous figure and lustrous cinnamon curls. The duchesses were both buxom visions, Polly in blue taffeta and Emma in grey Gros de Naples with an overlay of sparkly silver netting.

  For once, Gabby felt equal to her lovely companions. Despite the rush order (or perhaps because of the exorbitant price Adam had paid to get the dress made in time), Mrs. Yarwood had outdone herself. The ruby gown exceeded Gabby’s highest expectations. When Nell had completed her toilette, she’d hardly recognized herself. The dress revealed more than she’d ever dared to reveal before…and the improvement was shocking.

  Curves she’d thought too abundant now appeared alluring. Her bare shoulders and the hint of cleavage between her breasts was the right balance between sensuality and decorum. Her coloring, which she’d once believed to be vulgar, looked regal against the deep red satin. She’d found a new jeweler’s box on her dressing table, and when she’d opened it, her heart had stuttered, Nell letting out a low whistle. Fashioned of heavy gold, the brooch had an egg-sized ruby at the center, the peerless gem ringed by flawless pearls.

  A brief note had accompanied the gift. For a wife beyond rubies.

  Nell had pinned the magnificent brooch at the dip in Gabby’s décolletage. Standing before the cheval mirror, Gabby had seen
her own beauty for the first time. It was as if a weight had been lifted off, allowing her to stand taller, her shoulders back and posture proud.

  Her confidence had only grown at her children’s reactions.

  Watching as Nell had arranged soft braids over Gabby’s ears, completing her simple coiffure with a few fresh blooms, Fiona had breathed, “I want to look just like you when I’m grown up, Mama!”

  “You’re the prettiest lady in the world,” Max said.

  Gabby had had to discreetly dab at her eyes.

  And if her children’s admiration had bolstered her self-esteem, then her husband’s had sent it into the stratosphere. His appreciation hadn’t just taken the form of words. Before leaving for the ball, he’d crowded her against her dressing room wall and planted the proof of his approval deep inside her.

  “I want you to feel me all night. Here, in your pretty pussy,” he’d rasped in her ear. “I want to know that while other men ogle what’s mine, you’ll bear my claim where it counts.”

  Just thinking of that deliciously debauched interlude heated Gabby’s cheeks.

  “Gabby, you’re looking overheated.” Tessa’s observation stirred her from her risqué thoughts. “Do you think it’s too stuffy in here? I could have the footmen open the balcony doors—”

  “The temperature is fine,” she said quickly.

  “Then why are you redder than an apple?” Tessa demanded.

  “I was, um, just thinking about…”

  As she desperately searched for an acceptable excuse, Maggie and Emma exchanged looks, their mouths quivering.

  “What’s so amusing?” Tessa wanted to know.

  “I think Gabby’s glowing for a reason other than the room temperature.” Maggie’s tip-tilted emerald eyes were warm with understanding.

  “Was it the dress?” Emma asked knowingly. “Husbands always like a new dress.”

  Polly aimed a mischievous look at her older sister. “Is that why Strathaven buys you a new wardrobe every month?”