The Duke's Untamed Desire (Devilish Dukes Book 2)

by Amy Jarecki

  “Pearls, though it is a quandary who they are for.”

  “Now that’s a tall tale if I ever heard one.”

  Georgiana jabbed her friend with her elbow. “Hush.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. Your generosity exceeds all imaginings and I will forgive you this once.” Mother’s voice drew back Georgiana’s attention. “And you, dear, must haste away and dress for luncheon while the rest of us wait.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t want the guests to wait because of me.”

  “Nonsense, it is your birthday week we are celebrating, of course we’ll wait.”

  Eleanor grasped Georgiana by the elbow and started for the grand staircase. “I’ll go with you.”

  “You are a dear.”

  “Oh no,” Eleanor whispered. “I want to hear about your outing with the duke.”

  “I tried to discourage him.”

  “Evidently not enough.”

  Georgiana led the way through her chamber door. “I feel as if I’ve jumped off a cliff into an abyss with no bottom.”

  “’Tis that bad?”

  After removing her pelisse, she turned for Eleanor to loosen her laces. “Worse.”

  “And he took you to a jeweler’s shop?”

  “Purely by accident.”

  “I’m not sure I believe anything Evesham does is an accident.”

  She drew in a deep breath as the walking gown fell to the floor. “But he’d never been to Twickenham before.”

  “All right, let’s say your excursion was purely by chance. You said he purchased pearls.”

  “Yes,” Georgiana said over her shoulder, hastening into the withdrawing room. Good Lord, she didn’t want Eleanor to see her face.

  But her friend followed closely behind. “What else?”

  “Nothing.” She picked up a pink gown the maid had set out for luncheon. No, she wasn’t going to mention the tiara and earrings. “And he made no mention of who they were for.”

  “Of course not.” Eleanor brushed her finger along ribbons hanging from a hook. “And your birthday isn’t on Saturday, either. Did you know your mother is planning a grand ball in your honor?”

  “A ball? I hate balls! And how am I going to attend a ball on Saturday evening, only to rise at the crack of dawn Sunday and rush off to Richmond Park?” Georgiana dropped to the ottoman. “This entire week is a disaster.”

  “I think it is rather diverting.”

  “Do not tell me you fancy Mr. Greg.”

  Eleanor joined her on the seat. “Not diverting for me, silly. You have won the attentions of a very eligible duke.”

  “You sound like Mama.”

  “You truly do not like him?”

  “’Tis not a question of like. It is a question of compatibility. Every time I kiss him, I feel like a traitor.”

  “Why? Because you sprayed a bit of water on him at the start of the Season?”

  “A bit? Two hundred gallons, mind you. And, if he knew who I really am, he would be livid to say the least.”

  “You do not believe him capable of forgiveness?”

  “Not in these circumstances.”

  “So what will you do?”

  Georgiana rose and stepped into her dinner gown, tugging it over her shoulders. “This morning, I tried to tell him we weren’t compatible.”

  “And what did he say?”

  As heat rushed to her face, she turned away. “He disagreed…quite emphatically.”

  Eleanor took charge of the laces. “Why am I not surprised.”

  “But what should I do?”

  “Hmm.” She tucked the strings inside the skirt. “Here are the facts as I see them: He likes you a great deal. You like him, as well, except for your steam pumper venture.”

  “Mind you.” Georgiana swapped her walking boots for a pair of satin slippers. “That steam pumper has occupied most of my time over the past six years. I cannot just walk away.”

  “May I give you a tidbit of advice?”

  “Why not? The well is certainly dry when it comes to relying on my own advice.”

  “Roll the dice and see where they lie. It is only Wednesday. Why not enjoy the party, attend the ball and on Sunday, you’ll spirit away to the park, do your demonstration and find your financier…then you’ll have choices.”

  A lump swelled in Georgiana’s throat. “Right, choose Evesham or choose the steam pumper.”

  “Why should it be one or the other?”

  “Because married women do not run steam-powered fire engine businesses—” Groaning, Georgiana moved to the toilette and examined her hair in the mirror. As usual, her bonnet had smushed the curls around her face.

  “I think you’re being awfully short sighted.”

  “What say you?” She used her finger to revive the ringlets. “My feet are planted firmly on the ground and you have stars in your eyes. Perhaps you have been a successful importer for too long. Believe me, my friend, if you found a husband, he would not stand idle and allow you to continue your business dealings—as soon as you say, ‘I do’, your property becomes his.”

  “You’re right there, which is exactly why I haven’t married.”

  “See?”

  “Hmm,” Eleanor mussed, pinning a pink bow at the top of Georgiana’s chignon. “So, how do you want to proceed?”

  “I must tell Evesham he must stop showering me with attention.”

  “I thought you already tried that.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It hadn’t escaped Fletcher’s notice when Georgiana led Eleanor to the north wing on her way to change for luncheon. She’d gone the same direction to dress for dinner. Now after eleven, he’d decided to take Max and Molly for a walk…to the north wing, of course. Moreover, after a sneeze during the Derby’s parlor games, Her Ladyship had given him a kerchief. Now the lacy piece of muslin needed to be returned.

  Hardwick Hall was a sprawling five-story castle, with south, east, and, north wings. The man who’d been appointed his valet had told Fletcher the servant’s quarters occupied the top floor, aside from those who had rooms in the basement. He had already deduced that there were no bedchambers on the first floor. Which meant, Georgiana’s bedchamber must be somewhere on the second and third floors in the labyrinth of corridors in the north wing. But knocking on the wrong door would be a grand faux pas.

  Setters weren’t exactly bloodhounds, but Max and Molly had been exposed to scent training. On the second floor landing, he pulled Her Ladyship’s kerchief from inside his doublet pocket. He gave each dog a good sniff. “Find her.”

  Max yipped, wagging his tail and spinning in a circle.

  Molly started up the steps but stopped and returned to Fletcher’s side.

  He let them sniff the kerchief again. “This way?”

  Max started off, his head down, his long black tail straight up, the fur waving like a flag. Molly fell in beside him as they swiftly walked over the carpeting, zigzagging through the maze of passageways.

  Once Fletcher was good and lost, Molly rounded a corner, stopped at a door, and scratched.

  “This one?” he asked, letting the pair smell the kerchief one last time.

  Max jumped up, his toenails clicking on the timbers.

  “Down,” he whispered.

  “A moment,” Georgiana’s voice came from inside…at least Fletcher prayed it was she.

  He gave each dog a scratch.

  “I thought you might come back—” said Her Ladyship, her mouth forming an O. “Ah…” She popped her head into the corridor and looked left, then right.

  “Were you expecting someone?” he asked.

  Georgiana tightened the sash on her dressing gown. “Not really. My maid left her monocle.”

  “Your maid uses a monocle?”

  “She’s older—Mama appointed her for the duration of the party. She has been with the family for a long while.”

  “I see.”

  “Your presence outside my bedchamber is quite unexpected.” She kneeled and gave
the dogs a scratch. “Hello, darlings, are you out for a stroll—but you’re not out are you?”

  Fletcher grinned. After the Green Park incident, it was nice to see Her Ladyship growing so fond of his dogs. “I thought I’d do some exploring. With the dogs. And it was Max whose toenails rapped on your door.”

  “Ah.” She smoothed her hand along the dog’s coat. “So you are the cause of this impropriety.”

  “The devil take it.”

  She straightened. “How convenient to blame the dog.”

  “Quite.” Fletcher held up the conversation cards he’d carefully selected and removed from the deck below stairs. “There were quite a few cards from Question and Answer remaining unturned when your mother called an end to the night’s festivities.”

  “Thank heavens for small mercies.”

  “You’re not fond of conversation cards?”

  “I abhor all parlor games and I’m not fond of my mother’s attempts to play matchmaker.”

  “Is that what she’s doing?”

  Georgiana gave him a pointed look—one that said, “she is and you know it.”

  Molly yipped, dashed into Her Ladyship’s bedchamber and grabbed a realistic-looking toy squirrel from a trunk at the foot of the bed. The Setter shook her head, prancing in a circle.

  As Max dashed after the deviant, Fletcher groaned and hastened inside, the door closing behind. “Bad dog. Drop it!”

  Molly released the squirrel, her tail tucking between her legs. While Max immediately sat and affected an angelic expression.

  Fletcher retrieved the sodden toy. “I’m sorry. They don’t usually misbehave.”

  With her pincers, Georgiana returned the squirrel to its place among an assortment of porcelain-faced dolls. “Unless they’re gaining access to a widow’s bedchamber, yes?”

  Glancing back to the closed door, Fletcher brushed a lock of hair from his brow. “My tactics at least seem a tad spontaneous. However, missing the turn to your bedchamber in a house where you grew up and bringing me a cup of chocolate, though much appreciated, I believe my tactics compare.”

  “I’ll grant you that.”

  He retrieved the borrowed conversation cards from his pocket, admiring the décor, reminiscent of a teenaged girl—frilly pink bedcurtains with matching coverlet and pillows. “Shall we play?”

  Georgiana gestured to the settee. “Where are the answer cards?”

  “I didn’t bother with those…I’d rather hear a candid response.”

  “Does that not spoil the mystery?”

  He sat and crossed his ankles. “Parlor games are meant to introduce unmarried men to unwed women. I think we’re well enough acquainted to move on to the next phase.”

  “Bedchamber games?” she asked, her eyes innocent as if she didn’t realize she’d just made his pulse quicken.

  Clearing his throat, Fletcher turned over the top card. “I do like your wit, my lady.”

  Adorable, bow-shaped lips formed another O. “And you are a rake.”

  As he drew his hand away, his little finger brushed the delicate skin on her wrist. “So say the rumors.”

  Georgiana reached in and took the cards from him. “Then I shall shuffle the deck. Chances are you’ve already ordered them to suit your fancy.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  Nonetheless, she efficiently shuffled, cut and repeated, then put the deck on the table in front of them. “How shall we decide who goes first?”

  “Let’s make it easy. Ladies first, as customary.”

  “Very well.” She took the top card and read. “Are you true to your word?”

  “Always.”

  “Truly?”

  “What use is there in saying something one doesn’t mean?”

  Frowning, Georgiana shifted as if his response made her uncomfortable. What had she expected? For him to tell her he was a consummate liar?

  Fletcher took the next card. “May I be bold in my requests?”

  “How bold?”

  Fletcher’s tongue slipped to the corner of his mouth as he slid his finger beneath the tie on her shift and slowly tugged. “This.”

  She brushed his hand aside and pulled the bow taut. “Do you aim to seduce me?”

  “No more than you did to me last eve.”

  As she turned away, a blush along her neck betrayed her modesty.

  “Did we not agree to take things one day at a time?” he asked.

  “We did.”

  “So, I believe it is your turn to ask the next question.”

  Complying, Her Ladyship drew. “Do you like to laugh?”

  “Dearly and often.” That answer requiring no contemplation, Fletcher took the next card. “Will your memory of me keep you warm for the winter?”

  Georgiana’s gaze met his for a moment, then meandered downward as her tongue licked the corner of her mouth. “Hmm. But that would be predicting the future—time beyond this week.”

  Unable to resist the temptation, he brushed his lips across hers. “I’ll wager there’s a bit of fire thrumming through your blood now—just as it is for me.”

  “That, sir, is not one of the questions and I refrain from providing a reply.” Taking in a deep breath, she selected the next card. “How shall I express my affection?”

  Before he grinned, a warm glow spread throughout his body. “Oh, yes, I so wanted you to pick that one.” He took his time raking his gaze from her face, to her slender neck, to the cinched robe that concealed the delectable treasure beneath. His entire body smoldered as he looked into her soulful brown eyes. He slipped the card from her fingers and let it sail to the floor. “You may express your affection in any way you desire as long as you do it right here, right now.”

  Before Georgiana blinked, a look of pure seduction crossed her features—slightly parted lips, an intake of breath that caused her chest to heave, and the half-cast fluttering of lashes made her look more tempting than warm chocolate made with fresh cream. But then she looked to her clasped hands. “You must swear you’ll never tell a soul,” she whispered so softly, Fletcher almost asked the lady to repeat herself.

  Almost.

  Using the crook of his finger, he lifted her chin. “Did we not agree that whatever happens this week will remain a secret forever?”

  “Yes,” the word sounded breathless as a bit of amusement returned to her gaze.

  Fletcher sat back and spread his knees, resting his hands at his sides—a very vulnerable position for anyone. Yet for a man, such posture expressed confidence and, he hoped, surrender.

  Delicate fingers traced up his arm and across his shoulder until she untied his neckcloth with the skill of an efficient valet. Georgiana’s eyes grew dark while she slowly pulled the fine muslin away from his throat. “In order to properly express my affection, I believe it is necessary to remove a few garments.”

  Her teeth scraped over her bottom lip. “I think I like where this is leading.”

  “I believe you will.” When he reached for the sash tying her robe, she brushed his fingers away. “I am expressing affection. Not you.”

  He moved his hands back to the position of surrender. “As you wish.”

  She slid a thigh over his lap and straddled him, focusing on his shirt’s buttons. “You see, I’ve never done this before.”

  Fletcher puzzled. She was a widow and hadn’t appeared as a virgin in his bedchamber last eve. “What haven’t you done, exactly?”

  “I’ve never…ah…taken charge before.”

  “Never seduced a man?” The mere thought made him lengthen. God’s blood, it took immeasurable self-control not to rip the robe from her shoulders, tear open her shift, and take her on the settee.

  “Mm hmm.” Nibbling at his neck, she rocked her hips, the softness between her legs slid along his erection.

  Fletcher’s mind numbed at the friction, but it wasn’t enough. Too many layers of clothing were involved, especially the thick, woolen robe wrapped around her body.

  She smelled
like lavender, honey, and delicious woman. And her tongue…mercy, every sweep of her tongue melted on his skin, stirring the fire within to a blazing furnace. Her hips moved to the side while she spread his shirt open, her mouth continuing on its torturous conquest.

  Fletcher lay his head back and moaned. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

  “Do you not know?” She gave him a knowing grin while flicking the buttons of his falls. “A wife’s duty is to lie on her back and endure.”

  “You believe that?”

  “’Tis what Mama told me on my wedding night.”

  “I see.” What she has been missing all these years.

  Georgiana released the next set of buttons. “But I’ve always wanted to express affection like this.”

  “Like what?” he asked, his voice climbing as she slid his cock out from beneath his smalls.

  “I’ve heard the gossip in the servant’s quarters. You cannot tell me a man can pleasure a woman with his mouth, yet a woman is unable to reply in kind.”

  “Many men take their gratification by such means, but not by a gentlewoman.” He groaned as she licked him.

  “Am I lowering myself by kissing you here?” She slid him into her mouth.

  Surrounded by moist warmth, his voice caught between a sigh and a moan. Fletcher’s bum muscles clenched as she sucked him. “You are the goddess divine.”

  Her chuckle rumbled through him, making a surge pulse from the base of his cock all the way to the tip. Fletcher clenched his teeth, willing himself to maintain control.

  Her fingers slid up his shaft. “Am I gripping too tightly?”

  “Perfect,” he growled while lightning flickered at the base of his spine. He clutched her hair while he thrust inside the tight little mouth, the gentle teeth barely stroking him.

  Then she swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock. “You are more sensitive here, are you not?”

  “Bloody hell, you slay me, woman.”

  Her sultry chuckle washed over him before she glanced up. “I think I like taking control.”

  “If you keep milking me with your mouth, you’ll bring me undone.”

  “Is that not the objective?”

  “Not until you’ve been pleasured.”