Wild Passions of a Mischievous Duchess

by Violet Hamers

  Gerard smiled warily. “Your support may be for naught in the end. I think my attentions may have frightened her.”

  Bridget laughed. “Oh Gerard, do I have to advise you to sit on your hands?”

  He chuckled. “My hands have not gotten me into too much trouble, yet. But all the same. She’s an odd sort. And her deference towards myself as a Duke makes it difficult to tell if she is displeased by me.”

  “Give her time. If she gets to know you as we do, there’s no doubt in my mind that she will come to love you.”

  “Who will come to love him?” A woman’s voice came from the doorway behind Gerard and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He twisted in his seat to see Rosaline striding into the room. Her hair was windswept as she had just come in and was accompanied by the butler who bowed as he left.

  “Oh…uh...” He felt his color rising. He looked back at Bridget and she looked at him with questioning eyes. He shrugged.

  “Oh, Rosaline. I was wondering when you would arrive. I was just verifying if the rumors going around downstairs with regards to my brother and Miss Peaton were true,” Bridget said, as Rosaline sat down.

  “Rumors?” the lady asked.

  “It seems my brother has finally found the woman who can melt his icy heart,” Bridget’s voice was gently teasing.

  Rosaline looked stunned for a moment, her posture going stiff. She looked like she recovered almost before he could notice her reaction at all though. “Is that so? A governess, Gerard?” She turned her gaze on him, her eyes were bright and clear, but her smile seemed forced.

  Gerard was brought back to earth after his conversation with Bridget. In Rosaline’s false smile he was reminded of the fact that, as encouraging as Bridget was, there were those who would not think that a relationship between himself and Miss Peaton would be proper. Likely, Miss Peaton herself shared this view.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, uncomfortably. “I was merely remarking upon the excellence of her governessing.”

  Rosaline laughed. “You’re a terrible liar, Gerard. But I can’t say that’s a bad trait in a gentleman. Of course, I wish you the best in this endeavor with Miss Peaton. Love can be found in the strangest of places.”

  And with that, the subject seemed to be dropped. Bridget moved on quickly to turn the conversation towards Anne’s baptism. She wanted Lady Rosaline to stay for the baptism and to help plan a celebration ball afterwards, but Gerard was hardly paying attention. The tacit approval of his sister seemed to solidify his feelings for Miss Peaton, and he found himself unable to think of anything else save how he would spend the entire night in the library again, waiting, hoping.

  * * *

  Another day had passed. The Duke of Hadminster had spent a short amount of time with herself and Lord Limingrose, but he had not touched her again, nor had he brought up their rendezvous plans. It had taken all of her determination not to seek him out that first night. The thought of sneaking through the halls to meet a gentleman under the cover of darkness filled her with shame. But she knew she would not be able to hold out forever.

  That night, as she took up her customary position near the window, she listened to the faint sound of Lord Limingrose’s snoring. When he was certainly in deep sleep, she got up from her seat and paced back and forth across her small room. She could not resist the temptation, and even as the shame bit at her conscience, she slid her feet into her slippers and wrapped her dressing gown around her shoulders.

  The trek to the library felt short that night. The dark shadows no longer made her hackles rise. She was driven forward by a strange desire that seemed to be growing stronger in her by the day.

  She saw the flickering light of a single candle filtering weakly from beneath the library door, and with a trembling hand, she pushed it open. He was upon her at once, as if he had heard her coming. He’d abandoned his candle on the small table on the far side of the room and emerged from the darkness, taking her hand.

  “You came,” were his only words.

  As though caught up in a swiftly retreating tide, she was pulled towards the small couch. His hand on hers was warm, and despite the impertinence of his touch, she could not summon the propriety to pull away. He was a different person in the darkness. Here, he was not a Duke, but merely a man. A man with a low voice that resonated pleasantly in her chest and a touch that was at once tentative and persistent.

  “Perhaps this is not a wise idea,” Elizabeth said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “Perhaps not,” he agreed, and yet he did not take his hand away. Sitting side by side in that flickering pool of golden light, his fingertips stroked the back of her hand. Looking down at where they touched, Elizabeth entwined her fingers with his.

  “Are you afraid of me?” he asked after a moment.

  With a restrained breath, she brought her gaze up to his. His pupils were large in the dim light, his eyes dark and intense. The shadows in the hollows of his face flickered, making the impression of his being a different person here all the more pointed. There was nothing she could do but be truthful. She nodded.

  “Yes. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand why you would speak to me at all. Let alone…this,” she said.

  “I have no intention of harming you—your employment or your reputation.” His fingers slid from between hers and glided up her wrist. Goosebumps erupted over the backs of her arms at the gentle touch as it traveled up her arm.

  “Then, what do you intend?” she asked. His hand was on her shoulder now, traveling up the side of her neck until his fingertips were buried in the hair at the back of her neck.

  “I intend to kiss you,” he said darkly.

  “Why?”

  “Because, for the first time in seven years, I want to. And because you want me to. You can deny it no better than I can. You would not have come here tonight if not.”

  “We hardly know each other,” her protestations were admittedly weak. Even as she questioned him, she was leaning towards him, her chin tilting upwards.

  “And yet…?” he leaned down, so close that his breath fluttered across her skin.

  “And yet…” Elizabeth was trembling and her mind was a fog of confusion and a desire that she did not understand. She was vaguely aware of the fact that she had never been kissed before, though that realization felt far away and irrelevant.

  His lips were upon hers before she had time to think it over. The brush of his lips quieted her mind even as it awakened untold sensations in her body. She leaned into him, her hand resting on the front of his shirt. His body was warm beneath her hand. She felt ignited, as though she had gone through her entire life in a haze of half-slumber until this very moment, when his kiss awakened her. His hands rested on either side of her face, his thumb brushing over her cheeks as he pulled her deeper into the kiss.

  When they parted, Elizabeth gasped for breath. All at once, her life paraded through her mind, a flicker of all the moments that she had been touched. The cold prodding of physicians. The stinging slap of childhood punishments. The trusting grasp of a child’s hand. Never had she been touched the way that his fingertips now caressed her. He touched her as though he were committing to memory every contour of her face.

  His hands were experienced. He had proven his deft ability to stoke a fire within her and she trusted without doubt that he knew how to tend it. She shifted in her seat, wanting to be closer to him. Wanting to be enfolded in the heat of his body. She leaned closer to him, wanting to urge him on, wanting his hands and mouth all over her but not knowing how to ask him.

  His fingers brushed over the curve of her lips. Reflexively, she parted them, and his thumb brushed past her moistened bottom lip until it rested on her teeth. His gaze was dark and clouded, his eyes half-lidded, and his breathing was short and labored. Her own thoughts were so muddled, but she wondered what he, a gentleman who had experience with this sort of thing, was thinking.

  He put pressure down on her teeth, gently forcing her m
outh to open. Her heart raced and she felt her spine tingling with a pleasurable sort of panic. He stared at her with that dazed look that she recognized as a lust that mirrored the rising heat within herself, for a moment longer. Then he kissed her again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  He wasn’t thinking. He had a plan before she arrived in that dark room. He was going to explain. He was going to be thoughtful and measured. He was not going to let himself be carried away.

  But then she had appeared in the doorway. Her unreadable face transformed in the candlelight into something mystical and otherworldly. Like a specter in the night, her white nightgown shrouded her in a sense of timelessness. That room felt then as though it existed on some other plane, some world removed from the mundane life of daylight, parties, and business. And she slipped in like the whisper of a young man’s shameless dream.

  He found himself unable to speak. At least not about what he had intended to speak about. He reached out for her, unable to stop himself from putting his hands on her ethereal form, as if to prove to his half-sleeping mind that she was physical and real.

  He knew that he would kiss her. Even as he tried to remember all the reasons why he had wanted to show restraint and patience, he felt himself careening towards the inevitability. It had been too long. She was so near now that he could sense the warmth of her body radiating off of her from beneath her clothes.

  What is it about this woman that affects me so? Why her? Why now?

  When their lips touched, he could not remember why he had denied himself this for so many years. She yielded to him so sweetly, her hand coming to rest on his chest. She was timid still, her lips hardly parting, but as he took her face in his hands it was as if a dam had been broken. All of his longing came gushing forth in a torrent that threatened the last of the resolve he had stored up.

  He parted from the kiss to look at her again, to try to recollect himself. It was a futile effort. Her eyes glistened in the candlelight and she looked at him with an expression that, for once, was perfectly transparent. Fear mixed with desire was written on her face so clearly that he was nearly taken aback by the earnestness of it.

  He didn’t know what to do about her fear. He knew that nothing he could say to her, no promise he could make, would truly set her at ease. He was a Duke, and she a governess. She had to believe that he was merely trifling with her, as if she were merely a diversion to pass the time. He could not assure her that she was not a plaything in his eyes, because the truth was that he himself did not know what she was to him. Other than a pleasing torment.

  Useless as he was to deal with her fear, he knew precisely what to do with her desire. She was too innocent to act on that heat behind her eyes, but as he traced the curve of her lip with his thumb, she parted those lips so sweetly that he had no doubt that she wanted him.

  His blood surged as he slipped his thumb into her mouth. Her breath caught and he knew she was also noticing the turn that this encounter had taken. At first, their kiss had been tender, a soft brushing of lips. But now, he could not stop himself. He wanted her clothes off, soft and supplicating beneath him in a warm bed.

  Oh, how I want this!

  Unable to bring that dream into reality, he settled on kissing her again. This time on her open mouth, his lips crashed against hers and his tongue tasted of her warmth. She gasped softly, the hand on his chest balling into a fist. He took that hand in his and moved it behind his neck and she, understanding, threw her arms around him. He pulled her to him, her unbound breasts soft against his chest.

  Her kiss was still timid and unsure, but she did not pull away. Then, her boldness seemed to grow as she tilted her head to the side, deepening the kiss and meeting his tongue with her own. He groaned his encouragement, yielding as she took the lead.

  Yes, at last.

  * * *

  The room felt hot, and in her mind the dancing flames of their two candles leapt up into an inferno that sucked the oxygen out of her very lungs. His gentle domination threatened her, bringing her to that precipice of feminine helplessness. He tantalized her with danger, but just as the peril was at the point of overtaking her reason, he slackened and allowed her to regain the reins.

  His chest was so hard against her. Most gentlemen could make themselves appear fit and strong with access to the kind of expertly tailored clothing that the upper class had. But the Duke of Hadminster’s body was in no need of sartorial sleight-of-hand. Lean muscles rippled underneath the thin fabric of his shirt. She trailed her hands over his arms, her fingers testing the contours of his biceps.

  He is strong. He could break me if he wanted to. But he’s so gentle…

  Her tingling delight in his body distracted her so that at first, she did not notice his hand at her shoulder. But as the warm hand travelled down to cup her breast, her attention could find no other focus. Wantonly, she leaned into his palm, but when his thumb dragged purposefully over her nipple, bringing it to a hard point, it was as though the blood drained from her face.

  She pulled away quickly, sucking in a panicked breath. Suddenly, the room was no longer warm at all. In fact, it was cold. Terribly cold. And dark. The chill seeped into her heated flesh and she wrapped her arms around herself, rocking shut like a clamshell as the reality of what she had allowed to happen overcame her.

  “Miss Peaton.” His voice sounded far away, as if she were listening to someone speaking in an adjacent room. “I’ve frightened you. Forgive me.”

  “I must go,” she said, standing up. “I’m sorry. I should not have come here.”

  She felt like a beacon of sin as she fled the library. Her thoughts condemned her all the way to her own room where she flung herself under her blankets and wrapped them tight around her. It was as if she thought she could shut out the memory of his touch if she smothered her skin with cold, unfeeling blankets.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, despite her mental scolding.

  You tart. You fool. You slut.

  But she could not rebuke herself enough to erase the yearning and desperate longing for the impossible match. Frustrated tears flowed relentlessly into the night until at last she slipped, exhausted, into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  She knew that it was only a matter of time until she saw him again. And yet, when she saw him striding across the lawn towards her and Lord Limingrose the following afternoon, panic rose in her throat. Lord Limingrose was a ways off, lost in his pretend world, and she did not have enough time to call him back before the Duke reached her.

  “Miss Peaton,” he said. “I must speak to you.”

  “Please, Your Grace, do not,” she answered, her own impertinence stinging at her conscience.

  “I have been a bull-headed fool,” he continued, standing near her. She did not turn to face him, afraid that seeing the face that had haunted her dreams would only cause her pain. She stared ahead at the child as he bounded from stone to stone beneath the trees. “I have no excuse, except that I have grown so unaccustomed to the companionship of a lady that I lost my head.”

  Elizabeth shook her head, finally bringing herself to look at him. “Have you forgotten that I am not a lady? Stonehill is my workplace, not my home. I do not belong to your world.”

  He sighed, his lip curling up into a dreamy half smile for just a moment. “No. No, I had not forgotten that.”

  “Your Grace, I will not allow myself to be compromised. Poor and unconnected I may be, but I have my pride.”

  “Miss Peaton! Look!” Lord Limingrose called. He’d managed to scamper up the side of a tree to one of the higher branches.

  “Do be careful!” she called back, straining to make her voice sound light and casual.

  “Miss Peaton, what can I do to make you believe that, despite my regrettable lapse of propriety last night, my feelings for you are both honest and honorable?”

  She shook her head, still not looking at him. “Nothing. You can do nothing to prove something that cannot be.”

  He hunched
down a bit, twisting so as to put himself in her line of vision, forcing her to look at him. She wanted to look away. His face had grown so familiar to her, not just in the times that she had been with him, but in the hours she had spent thinking of those angles and planes. His beauty was disarming, and she had to endeavor to remain armed against the charms of an unscrupulous philanderer like him.

  “Nothing, Miss Peaton?” He asked so earnestly, his eyebrows furrowing. His gaze seemed to penetrate into her mind as he searched her expression.

  The implication of marriage hung in the air. The idea was too absurd to be entertained. She fought to keep her expression neutral, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he affected her. No Duke would seriously make a Duchess of a governess, and to imply that there was hope for such a thing was a cruel trick.