At The Duke's Pleasure
Page 10
Abroad! her father would have complained. Aren’t there any cloistered spinsters here in England who can tat a bit of thread? And for a fraction of this outrageous price!
But the duke remained calm. “Yes, the tariffs are quite steep for most imported goods these days. Lace included.”
“Thus all the smuggling that’s so popular,” she said. “But Madame doesn’t deal in contraband lace, so that wasn’t an option. Not that you would approve such goings-on. I’m sure you would never have cause to find yourself on the wrong side of the excise man,” she added, hoping he got her allusion to the French wine they’d drunk at dinner the other evening.
From the wry look he gave her, he did. “No, certainly not.”
Studying the garments, she crossed to a pale pink silk evening gown. “This one has the rose-point lace. Exquisite, is it not?” Taking up the dress, she held it out for his inspection.
His gaze roamed over the lace. “Indeed. Those nuns definitely know their stitchery.”
He sounded serious enough, she decided, and yet as she studied him, she thought she detected the faintest hint of a twinkle in his eyes.
Is he teasing me?
Frowning, she suddenly worried that her plan might not be working as expected. He was supposed to be angry, not amused.
“What else, Your Grace?” she pressed. “What other portions of the bill have you curious?”
At the reminder, he gazed again at the invoice. “Well, the sheer number of gowns for one. By my count there are over one hundred and fifty. Did you have any idea that you’d ordered quite so many?”
Her eyes widened, surprised in spite of herself. At the time, she’d known that she was buying an enormous number of gowns, but even she hadn’t realized it was that many! Gracious, Papa would be red-faced with an apoplexy if he were the one holding the bill. So why isn’t the duke?
“No, Your Grace,” she admitted, “though as Mallory said, I only ordered what I needed.”
He raised a brow.
“As I recall, you did say I was to buy whatever I required.” She paused with apparent innocence. “It would seem I required a very great deal.”
But rather than glowering as she expected, he barked out a laugh. “That’s the understatement of the century. And what of this one gown I saw that cost five hundred pounds? I believe there was some mention of diamonds in the description.”
Oh goody, she thought. He noticed that one!
She’d realized when she ordered the dress that it was the most outrageously extravagant, utterly decadent thing she’d ever done in her life. In several lifetimes. Even Mallory had hesitated over the purchase, biting one of her fingernails with indecision, while Claire forged ahead and gave her approval of the purchase.
“Oh, that one is for a very special occasion, although I haven’t decided which one yet. The dress is made of a magnificent cream sarcenet. Tiny diamonds are encrusted in the bodice, with an array of leaves and flowers across the skirt that are sewn with a thread made of real gold. The effect is quite dazzling. Oh, and I ordered shoes to match! Those haven’t arrived yet, I’m afraid. The boot maker is still fashioning my footwear. And I have orders with three different milliners and two glove makers as well.”
Her heart pounded in her chest, nerves trembling as she waited again for the explosion.
Instead, the corners of his mouth turned up. “No one will be able to say you aren’t dressed as befitting my duchess. Although I’ll probably be forced to raise the rents on my tenants to pay for all this,” he added with a sweep of his arm.
Her jaw dropped, aghast. “Surely not!” Good heavens! She’d never thought of such a thing. How awful! She would return everything at once, if that was the case.
He tossed back his head and laughed. “Not to worry. I have more than sufficient funds to pay for your spree. Who knows, however, what shall happen if you continue in this vein after we are married.”
Married.
Her shoulders sank. So he was still set on the engagement. Wasn’t he the least bit perturbed? Wasn’t he going to fume and fuss and yell at her at all?
“Then you aren’t angry?” she asked.
He gave her a contemplative look before calmly folding the invoice he held in neat thirds and tucking it inside his coat pocket. “Were you expecting me to be?”
“I…I…well, perhaps.”
“Did you think I’d disapprove of the expense? Ah, I can see that you did.” He paused, meeting her gaze. “I’ll admit I was taken aback at first by the rather substantial size of your purchase. But this is your trousseau, so I suppose a bit of excess is to be expected.”
She stared. Why was he being so reasonable? Why wasn’t he outraged?
He gave her a reassuring smile. “I know you’re used to dealing with your father, but you’ll have to remember that I have different attitudes about spending money. Not that you shouldn’t exercise a measure of prudence in future, but it takes a great deal more than one lavish shopping excursion to ruffle my feathers.”
Breath rushed from her lungs as she realized how thoroughly she had misjudged him, and worse, that all her efforts had once again been for naught. Damn and blast, she cursed silently, resisting the urge to beat her fists against her sides. He might not be vexed, but I certainly am!
“You don’t look pleased,” he said. “Nor should I say relieved.”
“Oh, I—I am,” she dissembled. “It is just that I am surprised, especially after your squabble with Mallory.”
“Yes, well, Mallory is another matter entirely, since every time she shops, it’s with a lavish hand. It’s a good thing Hargreaves has deep pockets or else I fear there might be discord over household expenses once they’re wed. But enough talk of my sister. Is that gown you are wearing one of your new purchases?”
Absently, she brushed her fingers over the skirt of her lilac spotted muslin day dress. “As it happens, it is.”
His gaze swept over her. “Very becoming.”
“I’m so glad you approve, Your Grace.”
“I do,” he said with sincerity, leaving her unsure whether he hadn’t heard the hint of sarcasm in her voice or he’d just chosen to ignore it.
“But there it is again. Your Grace,” he said. “I thought we had dispensed with such formality, at least in private. Considering the amount of money I’ve just spent on your wardrobe, I would think you could muster up an ‘Edward’ or two.”
“In that case, I’m so glad you approve—Edward.”
He laughed, his midnight blue eyes gleaming in a way she ought not find attractive. She shouldn’t find the rest of him so attractive either, especially not when she was annoyed and disappointed that her latest attempt to free herself from their engagement had met with such disaster. But happy, sad or vexed, nothing changed the fact that Edward Byron was one undeniably gorgeous man. Particularly when he smiled as he was doing now, tiny lines fanning near his eyes, the seductive hint of a dimple creasing his cheek in a way that begged to be touched. Or kissed.
Her fingers curled against the fabric of her skirt.
Still smiling, he raised his hand and waggled a pair of fingers in a circular motion. “Let’s see it all.”
“All what?”
“The dress. Spin around so I can take in the full effect.”
“Your Grace!”
He raised a brow.
“Edward,” she amended. “That is a highly improper suggestion.”
“It’s equally improper that we’re alone in your bedchamber, as you already pointed out. Come along, let’s see what Madame has created.”
She shot him a mutinous look, but his expression didn’t change not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash. Her nerve endings prickled, flutters dancing in her stomach at the idea of displaying herself to him. Swallowing with a self-consciousness she rarely felt, she turned around as rapidly as her feet would take her.
“That was much too fast.” He crossed his arms. “Do it again.”
“Again!”
“Oh, of course.”
And that’s when she realized that he was having a tiny bit of revenge after all. He might not bluster and bully like her father. Instead, he found other, far more insidious ways to wring a penance out of his victims. She was surprised his siblings didn’t live in more abject fear of him than they did. But as she’d witnessed firsthand, they all seemed to adore him.
As do I, she thought, much to my supreme regret.
Exhaling in silent resignation, she held her arms out at her sides, then turned in a steady circle, one slow step at a time. After a full revolution, she stopped, facing him. “There,” she said. “Satisfied?”
A light flickered deep in his eyes, one she wasn’t quite certain how to interpret. “Madame’s work is lovely,” he said in a low tone. “As is the wearer of her design. You shall do me proud, Claire. Every man in Town will be throwing himself at your feet this Season.”
Every man but you.
Glancing away, she lowered her arms to her sides. “Yes, well, if that is all, Your Gr—Edward, I believe I should ring for one of the maids so they can set the room aright. As you’ve already noted, there are a great many gowns to be unpacked and hung in the armoires.”
“So there are,” he agreed. “But first there is one more detail you appear to have overlooked.”
Her brows drew tight on her forehead. “What detail?”
“I’m sure it has simply slipped your mind, but you have yet to thank me. I believe the purchase of more than a hundred and fifty gowns deserves some show of gratitude.”
She laid a hand on her chest. “Oh, stars, you’re right! How remiss of me not to have said anything earlier. Amid all the talk, thanking you did slip my mind. Pray forgive me for not conveying my sincere appreciation from the very start.”
“That’s quite all right,” he said with a negligent shrug. “Although if you wish to make it up to me, there is something you could do.”
“Yes, of course, you have only to ask.”
“Do I?” he mused aloud, crossing the distance between them so that he stood barely inches away. “I am glad to hear it. You won’t mind expressing your gratitude with a kiss then, will you?”
Her heart leapt, crashing so hard inside her chest that she felt the thump under her hand. Only in that instant did she understand the trap into which she’d fallen and recognize the bait he’d laid out like sweetmeats arranged on a tray.
Oh, he’s sly. And dangerous. Very, very dangerous.
Neatly caught, she knew there was no way around it, short of ordering him from her room. And given the circumstances, she didn’t think he would simply obey. He was a duke, after all, and used to giving commands, not taking them. If only there was some way she could push him out, she might have tried, but he outweighed her by half a dozen stone at least. Moving him would be like trying to dislodge a tree. And he knew it. She could see it on his face.
Drawing a breath, she linked her hands together. “Very well. You may kiss me.”
His mouth curved in an amused little smile. “Oh, I didn’t say I wanted to kiss you. I want you to kiss me. You are expressing your thanks, after all.”
Her jaw dropped, nerves bouncing like tiny springs in her stomach.
He isn’t just dangerous, she thought, he is wicked too.
“I’m waiting,” he said, bending his head slightly to compensate for the difference in their heights.
Without giving herself more time to consider, she lifted up on her toes and touched her mouth to his cheek with a hasty brush of her lips. “There,” she declared. “Your kiss.”
He turned a derisive eye upon her. “That wasn’t a kiss. That was a dry-as-dust peck, the sort I might expect from one of my elderly aunts arrived for a holiday visit. Come now, you can do better than that.” Moving even closer, he took her hands and laid them on his chest. “Go on, Claire,” he encouraged in a husky voice. “Give it another try. After all, it’s only a kiss.”
Only a kiss.
Maybe for him, but to her it was so much more. And yet the need was there, the impulse to touch him again and find out if the experience was as heady and wonderful as she remembered. She shouldn’t. She was ten times a fool for even considering such a thing, when she should simply tell him no and step away.
But he was like forbidden fruit. Ripe, delicious and tantalizingly within reach. Was this how Eve had felt when she’d gazed at that apple? No wonder the poor girl had succumbed to the serpent.
Leaning up again, she gazed into Edward’s eyes for a long moment, then slowly touched her mouth to his.
Chapter 8
Edward didn’t know why he’d started this lunacy of playing kissing games with Claire. But considering her antics over her trousseau, he hadn’t been able to resist teasing and tormenting her just the tiniest bit, barely able to contain his amusement as she’d grown round-eyed at his suggested method of thanking him.
He had to admit she looked adorable in her pretty lavender dress, as bright and fresh as a new spring day and every bit as lovely. Despite knowing he should bid her adieu and return to work in his study, he’d found himself lingering, unwilling to let her off the hook without at least a token measure of retribution.
Not that he really minded the expense, since to be blunt, he was rich and could well afford the extravagance. As he’d told her, he had far more liberally minded views on spending money than her father. And yet he sensed there was a great deal more to this excessive dress-buying business than met the eye. Particularly since her father was such a nip cheese and she’d obviously been anticipating an explosive reaction on his own part.
What he wanted to know was why? It was almost as if she’d wanted him to be angry, as though she’d deliberately purchased an outrageous number of dresses just to irritate him.
He’d nearly questioned her on the subject, but decided that he would let the matter go for now. She was still settling in here in London, still getting used to her new situation and status as his fiancée. Perhaps she was simply testing her boundaries and stretching her new wings, as she boldly explored what she could and could not do as his duchess-to-be.
Then again, perhaps she’d simply wanted to get his attention, since he had to admit he had been distracted of late with this Everett matter and hadn’t devoted as much time to her as he’d originally promised.
Well, if gaining my attention is her goal, he thought, as he clasped her little palms against his chest, she has it now!
The question was, would she take his dare or refuse? Would she give him a real kiss and not another sexless peck on the cheek? He supposed he was asking a lot of Claire given her innocence. But a man could hope, he decided, his senses alert and ready for whatever she decided to do.
Without any further warning on her part, she arched up on her toes again and touched her mouth to his. Satiny soft and tender as rose petals, her lips pressed against his own with a guileless determination that made him want to smile. He remained still, giving her time to explore, despite the fact that her efforts were tentative and unsure. Trembling, she pressed harder, sliding her closed mouth over his in a way that was decidedly pleasurable, yet uninspiring all the same.
On a small gasp, she drew away, her sweet breath stealing over his senses with a fragrant warmth that made him want to pull her back. Instead, he remained motionless.
“Was that better?” she asked on a near whisper.
He smiled. “Better, yes, but you could do with a little more practice. Why do you not try again.”
Her eyelashes fluttered, her gaze growing faintly lambent. “Again?”
“Exactly,” he confirmed, careful to keep her hands trapped beneath his own. “And relax this time. Let your lips and jaw loosen up a bit. After all, it’s a kiss not a competition.”
Her gaze locked with his, her hesitation plain, as though she were battling some inner demon. For a moment, he thought she was going to retrea
t, but then she gave a small sigh and leaned toward him again. “All right,” she murmured, “but only one more.”
“Only one,” he repeated. “If that is what you wish.”
Seemingly relieved by his response, she leaned up, then joined her mouth with his. Her eyelids slid closed, concentrating as though she were determined to prove herself this time.
He could have taken control of the embrace. Could have kissed her back with an intensity that would have moved things along quite nicely. But he decided to wait a little more, wanting to know what she would do and how far she might be willing to push the embrace.
Having obviously taken his instructions to heart, she parted her lips and moved them against his with a gentle caressing action that set his senses abuzz. Tipping her head one way, then the other, she deepened the kiss, testing each angle as though searching for exactly the right fit.
And suddenly she found it, using the most sublime combination of friction and finesse to send his senses winging skyward. His pulse raced faster, his thoughts growing lazy and slow as she drew him deeper into her spell.
Throwing off the yoke of restraint he’d kept around himself, he drew her hands upward and looped them around his neck. As soon as her fingers curved against the back of his cravat, he slid his arms down and around to clasp her body snugly to his.
She shivered and kissed him harder, finding the honeyed spot again that made him groan with pleasure. She whimpered in response, opening her mouth a little wider as she increased the range of her exploration.
Then, without so much as a hint of her intentions, she drew the warm, wet tip of her tongue against his bottom lip. He shuddered and pulled away, staring into her bemused gaze.
“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked on a husky demand.
She blinked, eyelashes fluttering as though he’d asked her to solve a rather perplexing riddle. Her fair brows drew together with concentration. “Fr-From you. Last time.” Pausing, she met his gaze. “D-Didn’t you like it?”