The Temporary Duchess: A Jet City Billionaire Serial Romance

by Gina Robinson

  If Riggins ever looked at me like that, I would faint dead away from happiness. It was every woman's goal to have a man she loved look at her like he wanted to possess her. Want her that much. Adore her more than anything. To gaze at her like she was his life's blood. As much as I wanted to get my hands on the Dead Duke's study, I had to pry myself away from the painting.

  Gibson and I chatted pleasantly on the walk to the library.

  "You and the late duke were close?" I asked, with an ulterior motive, hoping he knew something about Sid's possible twin.

  "I worked for him for several decades. I knew his tastes and likes, and his personal opinion on many matters, yes. I admired him. And he was a good employer. But close, as in a friend, no, I don't think so, ma'am."

  I nodded, fighting my desire to ask him more, like if the Dead Duke had ever confided anything about business to him. But that seemed like going too far too soon.

  "The library was the duke's favorite room," Gibson said as we approached it. "He was a learned man. An introvert, you might say. A gregarious introvert, but fueled by time alone to think and recharge. Too many social engagements drained him.

  "As he aged, he gave them up entirely. Though if you ask me, it wasn't just the desire to recharge alone. He said he'd lived too long. He was bored and his body had failed him. I don't think the duke was necessarily a vain man. But his looks had faded, too. He'd been used to being admired by the ladies, you see. And being strong and virile. I believe he preferred to be remembered that way, as opposed to the shrunken shell of a man he'd become at the end."

  "I don't really blame him," I said, sympathetic. I wasn't looking forward to becoming a frail little old lady either. "I imagine losing your looks is something of a comedown. Even though the alternative isn't a happy thought either."

  Gibson smiled. "No, indeed. But a long life has its downsides, too. And the late duke felt them keenly. He lived through a great many struggles and personal tragedies. Planning for the estate's future kept him going, I believe. For the last many years, it was the only thing he lived for."

  Gibson made me almost feel sorry for the Dead Duke.

  "He loved to read and study," Gibson continued. "A very intelligent man from the beginning. With a high IQ. Around 160." Gibson's chest puffed with pride, as if his status was somehow elevated by working for such a smart man. "Genius level, they say. Always got top marks at school."

  An evil genius to some, I thought. I'd seen firsthand how diabolically clever he was. But 160? How did I compete against that?

  As Gibson threw open the doors to the library, my pulse raced. My heart plunged into my stomach as I stepped in. Crap. The place was as large as the Seattle Public Library, if not larger. How would I find his secrets in a place like this?

  I gulped. "Impressive."

  "It is, isn't it?" Gibson looked around with the same sense of awe I had. Which spoke to how extraordinary it was, that he was still impressed after having been around it for decades.

  Bookshelves stuffed with books reached to the incredibly high ceiling that was at least two stories tall. So high that rolling ladders went along the cases to allow you to climb to the top shelf to snag a book. Nearly all the books were leather bound and works of art.

  Gibson went on about how many valuable first editions there were in the collection. The family histories on the shelves. Something about an original copy of the King James Bible, and other treasures. And the challenges of providing archival conditions to preserve the books. The most valuable volumes were evidently housed in a special, climate-controlled room. Riggins wasn't going to like hearing that. Running a valuable library on top of everything else?

  Without prompting, Gibson pointed out the Dead Duke's favorite spot to sit and read. And named a few of his favorite books, including a volume titled Lady Witham's Great Game. Which seemed an incongruous book for him to like. I made a mental note to check it, and the others, out.

  "How are the books shelved?" I asked out of curiosity. And so I knew how to search them. "The usual way—the Dewey Decimal System?" I was only half joking. Using the Dewey Decimal system would have required labeling and categorizing all the books, including volumes that had been on the shelves for hundreds of years.

  "Shelving the books in a logical manner has always been a challenge," Gibson said. "This library was in existence well before the Dewey Decimal System was invented. Many of the titles are shelved alphabetically by author and then by title. There are a few shelves that house the late duke's personal favorites.

  "And, of course, there are scrolls as well." He pointed to drawers and cupboards. "The late duke had everything entered into an electronic database. It was quite the job. It's searchable by author, title, and subject matter. It also gives the shelf the book should be on. The local librarian in the village was most helpful and has a good grasp on the intricacies of this library."

  "Yay for modern electronics." I looked around the room again. It seemed to go on forever. I couldn't overstate the size of it if I tried.

  It smelled like old leather, yellowing pages, dust, and a hint of cigar smoke lingering from ages past. In short, it smelled like antiquity. Which Riggins hated. I didn't think all the room fresheners in the world would mask it. Nor should they. Not if it were up to me, anyway. It smelled exactly like a library should.

  "I'd like access to the database. Like the late duke, I love to read. I'm also fascinated by history. Particularly if there's any history of the castle and the family…"

  Gibson nodded. "I'll make sure you get it."

  We moved on to the Dead Duke's private study.

  Gibson unlocked a door and let me in. "This was His Grace's inner sanctum." He sighed heavily, sadly. "I can almost still see him sitting at his desk just there."

  My heart raced with excitement at the sight of it. This room was cozy and personal. Filled with the Dead Duke's personality. His intimate objects. The books he loved best. His favorite art. His favorite chair. Books lining the shelves. File drawers my fingers itched to search. Where would he have hidden information about Sid's possible twin? Was it here at all? Or sealed and locked in a vault in Mr. Thorne's law firm?

  I paused to compose my thoughts and process my first impressions. I could almost feel the Dead Duke's presence in the room. Not necessarily in a paranormal way. My sense of smell was highly sensitive. I inhaled deeply. It was just possible I detected a hint of what must have been his cologne lingering in the air. And lemon polish and dusting clothes.

  As crazy as it sounded, I liked what I saw. The room indicated a sense of humor that was comforting. And at odds with the opinion I had of a stern and humorless man.

  I decided the Dead Duke must have been meticulous about his personal toiletry and cleanliness. There wasn't a hint of that old-people smell at all.

  Gibson was spot on. The room looked eerily as if the Dead Duke had just stepped out to grab a cup of tea. His glasses sat by a landline phone. There was a pen next to a notebook, as if he'd been about to jot himself a note.

  The room had clearly been dusted and cleaned. Every surface gleamed.

  "Has anyone touched this room since the duke's death?" I asked.

  "The cleaning staff has been in regularly, like always." Gibson sounded almost insulted that I would have thought otherwise.

  I pressed on anyway. "Has it been picked up and tidied?" I looked around. The room was fairly neat, but not pristine like most of the other rooms. It was lived it. Which gave it that feeling that he was still alive and using it.

  "No. It's as he left it. The duke gave specific instructions that nothing was to be moved from its original location until instructed by the new duke." Gibson lifted his chin, obviously defensive. "He was adamant about that. We respected his wishes. As eccentric as he seemed at times, the late duke had a reason for everything he did. Though it wasn't always obvious at first."

  I nodded. Strange. I would love to poke around on my own. I made a mental note to tell Riggins about it and get his opinion
.

  "Wonderful." I had to smooth ruffled feathers. "I'm so glad you did. I'm sure the late duke wanted us to know something about who he was as a person. And I'm glad to get the chance."

  Gibson relaxed and nodded, at least slightly appeased. "This is the portrait I brought you here to see."

  Hanging on the wall opposite the Dead Duke's desk, in direct line of sight, where he could stare at it as he worked, was a photograph of the Dead Duke and Helen in an embrace that belonged on the cover of a romance novel. Or in the bedroom. Once again, it was breathtaking for its passion. Classic and classy. Obviously taken by a skilled photographer who'd captured their kiss to perfection.

  "I feel like I should be blushing," I said, my gaze fixed on it. "It's like a beautiful accident. I feel like I'm intruding on a private moment, but I can't look away." I took a step closer.

  Gibson laughed and nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I think we all feel that way. You see what I mean now?"

  He walked over to stand in front of the black-and-white photo with its sharp and contrasting lighting done at the hands of a skilled portrait photographer, and not yellowed or faded by time. Thank goodness they didn't have color photography back them. This picture would have been sepia by now. It was matted and expensively framed to match the style of the room.

  "It's hung exactly there ever since I've been here, and that's decades. I heard directly from staff members that were with the late duke when it was originally taken that it's been on that wall since he received it from the photographer.

  "After she died, he wouldn't let anyone touch that picture for years. Not even to dust it. He dusted it himself.

  "He left her bedroom exactly as it was when she died, too. Locked it up. Wouldn't let anyone in there for a good decade. Not even to clean. Gave the second duchess a different room, even though it was less conveniently located and not the mistress' suite. Until she finally talked the duke into reopening Helen's room."

  Gibson paused, acting like he'd said too much. "I don't want to give the wrong impression. The duke loved all his wives. He valued the second duchess' opinions, obviously. But Helen was special."

  Gibson studied the photo. His voice became soft with emotion. "The duke never got over her. Never. That's what everyone said. Even though I never knew her and never saw them together in person, the truth of it was clear to me from more than just the stories."

  I frowned, puzzled by this foreign picture of the Dead Duke, so different from my own thoughts on him. It didn't seem kind to me to keep this photo up when he was married to someone else. Especially in a place where he saw it every working hour here. Why did he do it? If what Gibson said was true, it must have killed the Dead Duke to look at his young, vibrant first wife day after day and not be able to have her or talk to her. On one level, it seemed like a cruel kind of self-torture.

  "Didn't the other duchesses object?" I asked. "They weren't jealous?"

  Gibson shook his head. "If they did, he didn't listen. This was his private space and absolute domain. No one told him what to do here. Rumors were the duchesses weren't allowed in here ever. It's possible they didn't know."

  "His man cave?" I said.

  "Yes, I guess you might call it that."

  "I hope the duchesses had their private domains, too." Fair was fair.

  Gibson studied the picture with me. "There are no pictures like this of him with the other duchesses, you understand."

  I inhaled deeply. "I do. I definitely do."

  We stared at it in companionable silence. "Helen's bedroom—is it still the same?"

  "Oh, no, ma'am. The second duchess never used it herself. But she had it completely redone, in as much as she could while still maintaining the décor of the castle and historic value.

  "The third duchess used Helen's room as her own and put her own touches on it again."

  I nodded, disappointed. "The study was locked when we arrived. May I have a key? I'd like to come here and look at it whenever I want. Get to know the late duke for myself." And look for clues to Sid's cure.

  "You'll have to get the current duke's permission before I can give you a key, ma'am. This is his private space now."

  Riggins

  After a day looking over the estate and the books, I wanted to unwind and make love to my duchess. Damn, thoughts of her intruded at the least convenient times.

  When I finally got her in the bedroom, she playfully pushed me fully dressed onto my back on the open bed and climbed on top of me, straddling me and rubbing up against me, laughing playfully. She was barefoot and wearing jeans and a pullover sweater.

  "Finally, I got you alone! We can talk, really talk. Though the walls might have ears for all we know." She laughed again and leaned over to kiss me lightly as her long, lavender-tipped silver hair fell over my face.

  Her kiss was just a tease, nothing more. She knew full well what she was doing as she rubbed her crotch against mine and braced her hands against my chest. She sat up and unbuttoned my shirt. "So? Tell me about your day and I'll tell you about mine."

  "Haven't we been over this at dinner?" My shirt fell open. "I helped gut a deer. We'll be having venison for dinner soon."

  She traced a line down my stomach with the tip of her fingernail until I shuddered pleasantly beneath her touch, aching with want and holding back.

  She smiled seductively. "Learned something new or knew how to do it?"

  "Learned something new."

  "Well, there's that." She bent and ran her tongue around my nipple.

  "We could have said all this in front of the staff." My breath caught as she started to suck. "Your day?"

  "I toured the house. Including the Dead Duke's study. I saw some beautiful pictures of him." Her words were hot against my chest. "The young Dead Duke was surprisingly hot."

  She sat up suddenly and pulled her sweater off over her head, tossing it away and unfastening her bra. She tossed that away, too. I never tired of looking at her breasts.

  "Do you have a crush on the Dead Duke?" I teased. The thought was impossible. "Is that what has you turned on?"

  She grinned and stroked my cheek. "You know, you have his smirk." She leaned forward and kissed the side of my mouth.

  "What?" I had the family smirk. I hadn't realized the Dead Duke had it, too. I wasn't sure I should be flattered. "Is that an insult?" I said playfully.

  "I love a man with a confident smirk. It's sexy. You turn me on, duke. You."

  I reached for her breasts. "I heard a lot about him today myself. Bird painted a completely different picture of him than I have. A flattering picture. Can you believe it?"

  "Mmmmmm. Gibson did, too. Seems he was much loved and extremely generous." She unzipped my jeans and peeled them back. "Quite the paradox, isn't he?"

  Her breasts budded.

  I took her nipple in my hand. "Do you always talk this much during sex?"

  She grinned. "You tell me. You're my only." She leaned forward. "I need a favor." Her voice was silky as she reached into my jeans and stroked my dick.

  "Are you using sex to get what you want?"

  "I am." She kissed me again. Deeply.

  I wanted her so badly. "At least you're honest."

  She grinned. "I want a key to the Dead Duke's study. I asked Gibson for one. He said the study's yours now and I have to ask you. Apparently I need your permission."

  I unzipped her jeans and put my hands around her waist, trying to keep my voice even. "Why do you want it?"

  "I want to go through his papers and things. The key to Sid's cure could be there." Her breath caught as I ground against her. "He has to have kept a record of his plans somewhere." Her gaze held mine.

  "Show me the office tomorrow. We'll go through it together."

  "My key?"

  "You have my dick in your hand," I said as smoothly as I could. "This is no way to do business. Do I have any choice?"

  "It could be someplace much nicer. Warm and moist—"

  "Damn. Is it wrong to want you so much?" I s
lid her jeans down her hips. "I'll give you your key. Now get out of those jeans."

  Haley

  I took Riggins on a Dead Duke tour, showing him all the portraits, lingering in front of the one in the guard chamber. "You see? He was hot. Very hot. I think I'll ask Gibson to move this painting into our bedroom so I can fan-girl over it all the time. He can watch us approvingly as we procreate."

  I lowered my voice and whispered into Riggins' ear, "Let him think we're trying to make a baby. Birth control. Our revenge!"

  Riggins rolled his eyes. "Over my dead body."

  Riggins had procured a key to the Dead Duke's study. The photo of the Dead Duke and duchess in there interested him more.

  I took his arm as he studied it. "Told you! You can't look away, can you? The passion just jumps off the photo paper. They clearly love each other—"

  Riggins pulled me into his arms and kissed me, mimicking the pose exactly. One arm around my waist. One holding the back of my head. Tongue in my mouth, dancing with mine, seducing me. When he released me, I was breathless.

  "So?" I said. "I take it you like this picture."

  "The duchess is hot." He raised his eyebrows lecherously.

  I laughed. "Glad you think so. Maybe I should start dressing in 1930s fashion."

  "Don't you dare! It's pure modern-day Flashionista for you. Now that you're duchess, it's your responsibility to promote the brand."

  "Hey, this is our honeymoon. No business." I kissed him lightly.

  We broke apart and walked around the office together.

  He was obviously curious. "It feels like he should be coming back any minute."

  "I know, right? That's exactly what I felt this first time, and still do." I told him what Gibson had told me about nothing being moved on the Dead Duke's orders. "What does he want us to find? What does he want us to know?"

  I hoped it was about Sid. But I couldn't tell Riggins that. I'd promised to keep it a secret.

  Riggins picked up an art deco paperweight and sat it back down again. "You think he wants us to find something out?"