by Eva Devon
“Bite your tongue, brat,” he countered, amused at her indignation. “What should I do with a scrawny thing like you?”
The truth was he could imagine many things to do with her lithe body. She didn’t need to know them though. Not yet.
She pursed her lips, clearly at war with her fury at his insult and her relief at his reprieve.
He let out a long, suffering sigh. “Listen carefully, Alfred. You shall sleep here. I don’t trust you sleeping anywhere near the other male servants. If you were found out it could go terribly wrong.”
“I am very careful,” she gritted. “Do you think me a fool?”
“If I do, you are a delightful one.”
“Perhaps you aren’t capable of thinking well of anyone besides yourself,” she said firmly, “but I have a surprising amount of good sense. I’ve taken utmost care since my arrival.”
“Taking umbrage with my inherit arrogance?” he teased. Oh, how delightful it was to prod her easily outraged pride. “How else should a duke be?”
To that she made no reply, only folded her arms over her chest. “No one has found out,” she said as if this somehow proved her case.
“I found out,” he stressed. “And if I did, someone else could, too.”
“And will you be noble and not let things go terribly wrong between us?” she challenged.
“I will do whatever you wish,” he said softly. “You may sleep in my bed or out of it. Whatever is your pleasure.”
Her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly, shocked by his blunt statement, no doubt. “You are the Devil,” she said.
“Perhaps, but the Devil can be very fun.”
Her blue eyes suddenly blazed like twin stars, afire with the desire to know more about what fun the Devil might provide. “People might draw strange conclusions,” she said abruptly. “If people think that Alfie is sleeping in your room.”
“Let them think as they will.”
“You don’t care?”
“I know the truth. You know the truth. Does anything else matter?”
She stared at him for a long moment then shook her head slowly. “No.”
“Good.” He clapped his hands together. “Then we shall dine.”
“You shall dine. I shall serve.”
Nicholas sighed. It might have been a great deal easier if he hadn’t kissed her. Or let on that he knew she, indeed, was a she. “Do you realize that you’re as stubborn as a mule?”
“A quality not appreciated in females, I know.”
He gave her a half smile, realizing he had the opportunity to begin his seduction in an entirely new way. “Did I say I didn’t like it?”
She hesitated. “No, you didn’t.”
“Be as stubborn as you like. A will to match my own will be quite a change.”
A wily grin tilted her lips. “I shall remind you of that, Your Grace.”
“Nicholas,” he said, letting his voice go warm. “Now that we know you’re no stable boy, you have no reason not to call me Nicholas.”
She paused then said with a startling amount of firmness. “Nicholas.”
That grin of hers blossomed to a smile so bright, it nearly overpowered him.
He swallowed, suddenly feeling disarmed. How in the blazes had she done that? He always went about with an un-penetrable armor about himself. Enjoying others, but not touched by them in any sort of meaningful way.
But that damn smile? It touched him, all right. It punched him right in the gut, grabbing him and making him feel all of fourteen again. He wanted to please her. Anything to keep that smile on her beautiful face.
He would. He would please her until all she wanted was him. And nothing and no one else.
*
The wine tasted of plums and spice and slid over her tongue with almost as much seduction as the duke’s kiss had done. She fought a sigh of blatant contentment.
The wine, in fact, was a mistake.
Her entire body felt languid, fluid, as if she might float about his turret room at any moment. It was delicious.
She was gloriously relaxed, if a bit nervous, just being so near to the Duke of Roth. No, not the Duke of Roth. Nicholas. She nearly giggled, then lifted the crystal goblet to her lips and took another sip.
“You look most pleased,” he observed from across the small table.
“I am.” She was sated on good food, good wine, and conversation so free that she was as drunk on it as the wine.
There was only one place setting, brought up by a footman, but Nicholas had insisted she sit down with him.
After several objections, she’d finally agreed. After all, she wasn’t actually his servant. This was an arrangement and she had every intention of enjoying it. The last weeks had been difficult, never letting her guard down.
Now? Oh! She could behave however she wished.
Nicholas arched a brow and hooked one knee over his chair arm, languorous as a leopard as he lifted his wine goblet slowly to his lips. He drank carefully, as if savoring every last drop of the wine before he swallowed.
He licked the slight trace of moisture from his lips.
She couldn’t tear her gaze away from those lush lips, full of promise. She hated to admit how much she wanted to kiss him again. To see if it had been sheer chance that his kiss had made her feel so passionate. She lifted her glass to her own lips, determined to make him long for her as much as she longed for him.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said suddenly.
So suddenly that she choked on her wine and coughed.
The duke jumped out of his chair and strode behind her. With one solid whack, he pounded her back.
The force was just enough that she wondered if her eyes might pop out of her head. “You’re quite strong,” she wheezed.
“Do forgive me. I’m not used to resuscitating ladies drowning in wine.”
Her eyes watered as she drew in another deep sip, trying not to seem shocked that he hadn’t moved his hand away from her back. That he was, in fact, slightly rubbing his palm along her shoulder blades. So she searched for something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make her seem a complete ninny. “Do you often resuscitate ladies?”
A dark, mischievous laugh rolled from his lips. “They do have a tendency to faint in my presence. Or so they feign.”
“Faint?” She blinked, wondering at the ninny-hammered nature of so many women. She blamed society. Women were not inherently silly. “Why would they faint?”
“Out of pleasure I presume. But even I have doubts that I have such powers.”
Fainting from pleasure? She’d never fainted once in her life. “Might I ask, why would someone become incapacitated by such a thing?”
His hand paused in its firm but seductive stroking. “I beg your pardon?”
She cleared her throat then gulped more of the wine, feeling more and more comfortable discussing such shocking things by the sip. “Faint from pleasure. I would like you to elucidate.”
“For one, most ladies who faint from pleasure don’t use words like elucidate. Women who use such words usually give as much pleasure as they take.”
“Indeed?”
“Mmm. There’s something about intelligent women. They realize the more pleasure they give the more their partner will desire to return it.”
“I see.” She didn’t see at all. Well, she understood the concept that giving might assist one in getting, but she didn’t truly understand the hows. Of course, she had a basic understanding of anatomy. Anyone who went to a museum or the Academy to look at the pictures did.
“You have the most curious expression on your face, Alfred.”
“I. . .” She stared at her wine glass. There was about a half inch left. Shrugging, she brought it to her lips then drank until there wasn’t a drop left.
He arched a roguish brow. “Requires that much courage, eh?”
“Unlike you, I am not accustomed to discussing lewd things.”
“How should I know what you’re accus
tomed to? You’ve run off from home, cut your hair, and have been pretending to be a young man. Who knows what other scandalous things you’ve gotten up to.”
“I assure you,” she said, feeling strangely indignant. “I have the most honorable character.”
“How very boring.”
She frowned, her face warm. Boring? “I have no wish to be. It’s a fate worse than death, being boring.”
He laughed softly. “I wouldn’t go that far, Alfred.”
“Wouldn’t you?” She gestured with her empty glass. “Might as well just step into the grave if one is going to be boring.”
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly. It wasn’t just being boring though. It was having one’s will crushed by a society that didn’t accept interesting women.
The duke cocked his head to the left and sipped his wine. “I’m sure there are many happy boring people.”
She shook off the unhappy thought and allowed herself to feel the confidence of his presence. After all, he was being so receptive to her thoughts. Unlike any one since she and Juliana had been girls.
“Fools,” she said firmly.
“Perhaps.”
“Explain to me this pleasuring business,” she suddenly demanded, determined to be anything but boring or broken. Wait. There was something far better. She pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly. “I change my mind.”
A soft laugh passed his lips. “Do you?”
“Mmm.” She lifted her gaze to his and, daring herself for everything she was worth, she placed her free hand on his chest. The feel of his hard, warm skin over muscle was positively thrilling. She wished she could rip his shirt from him and feel his velvet skin beneath her palm. Perhaps she could.
“Show me,” she whispered.
He stilled, the laughter dimming from his face, replaced by something far more dangerous. Silence followed her proposal as he stood as unyielding as stone.
Growing nervous under his searching stare, she licked her lips, hoping the gesture would excite him as much as when he had done it earlier. “Well?”
“Alfred, you’ve had too much to drink.”
She titled her head back. “Now, you’re being boring.”
“I don’t take advantage of ladies.”
“I’m not a lady. Not right now.”
He laughed. Again. “I don’t take advantage of stable boys either.”
She should be annoyed he was so amused by her but she wasn’t. She was amazed by him, his arrogance, and his sheer sensuality. “What about curious young maids?”
He groaned. “Definitely not them.”
“But I wish you to.”
“Perhaps,” he said gently, despite a slight tension in his frame. “But it very well might simply be the wine.”
“It’s not,” she declared. Oh, how she longed to feel something. Something other than the dull plodding existence her life had been. . . Until she’d run, that is. But even then, she’d been rather lonely. “I promise it’s not.”
“Then promise me something.”
She nodded, ready to be pleasured.
“Ask me again tomorrow, when you’ve had no wine.”
“But—”
“No.” He said firmly, raising a hand to her cheek and caressing it. “No buts. I will not have you regretting anything about our endeavor. Do you understand?”
She let out a beleaguered sigh. There was something rather romantic about the way he was looking out for her. Perhaps, her rogue was a gentleman after all.
Chapter 7
A contented sigh escaped Nicholas’ lips. How could it not? He stretched and grinned, eyes closed against the bright morning light spilling in through the far window. His arms were wrapped about a soft female. Without thinking, he pulled her towards him, hooking her hips against his. He nuzzled his face into her hair.
Her extremely short hair.
What the blazes?
He froze then bit back a curse. Oh, it was a willing female in his bed, but not one he could slake his lust upon. Oh so slowly, he attempted to extract his arms from her middle without waking her. No mean feat considering her hands were resting on his forearms, as if savoring the feel of his strength about her.
She wiggled backward and a hiss escaped his lips. Damn and blast. He shouldn’t be in bed with her and he was a damned idiot for suggesting she climb upon his bed last night. Her cot had looked damned uncomfortable and, well, he’d intended to extract her family origin from her.
Despite the wine he’d plied her with, she’d proven elusive and had, instead, started an informed, if slightly endearing, debate on Napoleon and his immense desire for power. She was a woman who longed to be heard and he’d listened. It was a pity so many men so firmly refused.
His wish to make her comfortable, to draw her out, and discover something about her true identity had backfired. She’d revealed nothing then fallen asleep from good food and wine. And perhaps, since he knew her secret, she’d simply felt safe.
Safe! With him. The idea was almost laughable. But Alfred seemed to trust him. That, of course, only made him more suspect of her capacity for good judgement.
He’d helped her open up, certainly, but not quite in the way he’d intended. He was no hypocrite. He wanted Alfred. Last night, when she’d offered herself to him, he’d wanted to strip off her breeches, linen shirt, and unwind the bindings at her breast then show her what pleasure was. Somehow he knew that she wasn’t going to be some passive miss in bed but a woman that once she felt comfortable, made demands and also took the lead from time to time.
She was going to be a tigress.
Surely, she deserved a decent love affair before she tired of her experiment, ran home, and married. Yes, she deserved to know the delights of good bed play. He loathed the idea of some bumble-headed idiot member of the aristocracy looming over her on their wedding night. The damned fellow would pull up her night rail and breed her in a manner than would only make her think of England and not the fiery passion that should arise between a man and a woman.
But he was not the sort of man who was interested in taking a woman to bed who was incapacitated. Too many men of his acquaintance bore no such scruples and they disgusted him.
Still, it had been a hellishly delicious night with her pressed up against him. He’d conjugated at least five hundred words in Latin before he’d been able to find some semblance of comfort and ability to sleep, but he’d not had the heart to kick her out of his bed.
Which was deuced odd, because, in general, women did not sleep in his bed. They were there for a single activity. Slumber was not it.
What the Devil was happening? A slow smile curved his lips. Whatever it was, it was damned enjoyable. He looked down on her face. In slumber, no one could ever have made the mistake that she was a boy. No, there was too much femininity in the curve of her slightly defiant chin, her pert nose, and ever so slightly burnished skin.
Working out of doors had left her with a decidedly unladylike color to go along with her shock of red hair.
Perhaps he was mad to allow this. A young woman, pretending to be a man? It was a recipe for disaster but didn’t he love unpredictability? He did. Yes.
It didn’t matter that he’d been longing for the security he’d felt as a very little boy for years. He’d even almost proposed marriage to a young lady before realizing she was absolutely the wrong choice. He had no wish to have a ton marriage. He was not going to be content with polite platitudes over breakfast, dinner, and necessary nighttime congress.
Oh no.
If he longed for anything, it was the love his parents had shared. True, some claimed he could have few memories of his parents, but he’d never forget the way they looked at each other. He wanted to look at a woman the way his father had his mother.
He blinked, stunned by the train his thoughts had taken.
Alfred should be at the center of his thoughts, not his past or his possible future.
She was meant to be a good entertainment in a
long, dry spell of life.
So, he should get to it.
He gave her a good shoulder prodding. She’d need it given the amount of wine she’d consumed if she was ever to face the day. “Shake a leg, Alfred. Time to start your duties.”
She groaned and buried her face into his pillow.
He didn’t even bother to hide his grin. Alfred was clearly suffering the worst head. Well, that happened when one consumed a bottle of good red wine on one’s own. Oh, but what a treasure she’d been.
He hoped she had no regrets.
“Alfred,” he coaxed. “No layabouts here. Servants don’t sleep in.”
She grumbled again then went stiff. She rolled over, opened her eyes and stared at him. “Y-your Grace.”
By God, her eyes were astonishing.
Blue really didn’t cover it. They were aquamarine. The color of the coves of Devon in high summer. The kind of sea a man longed to dive into and swim in until he felt completely renewed.
Which was an utterly stupid thought. Alfred’s eyes were not Devon seas. They were, indeed, blue.
She blinked then said, “I seem to be in your bed.”
“Marvelous observation, Alfred. You should consider science as your profession.”
She arched a brow at him. At him!
He laughed. She was so easy to rile.
All that starch suddenly went out of her and her cheeks flamed a gorgeous pink.
She pushed back an errant bit of hair. “Why am I in your bed?”
“Couldn’t keep you out of it, my dear.” Which was only partially true. She had been eager to jump in it, but it had been he ultimately who had encouraged her to recline on the soft mattress. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why he’d thought that a good idea now.
He’d never thought he was a masochist.
“I did?”
“Oh yes.”
“And did, did. . . You see I don’t recall and I should like to remember if—”
He lifted a hand and gently touched her lips. “Never think it, Alfred. Villain that I am, I should never take advantage of young woman so happily influenced by drink.”
She blushed an even brighter shade if possible then buried her face in her hands.
