When You Give a Duke a Diamond

by Shana Galen

But she had shared it with him.

  And now he’d hurt her, too.

  He downed the port and poured another glass. He was good and drunk now. Why not have another?

  And what did the woman expect, anyway? She was a Cyprian, for God’s sake! She took men to her bed for money. She and her two friends were famous for servicing the Earl of Sinclair. He didn’t know if they took turns or all frolicked together, and he didn’t care.

  She was a slut.

  What choice did she have?

  Pelham drank again to still that small voice in his head. Oh, where was his father’s voice when he actually wanted it? “There are always choices,” he muttered. “One doesn’t have to sell one’s body to survive.”

  What do you know about it? You’re a man and a duke.

  “That’s right. I am a duke, and I bloody well don’t have to listen to you.”

  “I haven’t said anything yet.”

  He all but jumped, sloshing a measure of port on his loosened cravat where it streamed down his linen shirt.

  He blinked when she came into focus, and he sniffed his port. Had someone added more than port to the decanter? He was seeing visions.

  “You look as though you’ve had enough.” She was standing in front of him, and before he could respond, she plucked his glass from his hand and sipped.

  She shrugged. “Not bad. I prefer brandy, but I recently had to give it up.”

  “How did you get in here?”

  “Through the door.” She looked back at it, and he took the opportunity to blatantly peruse her. She was wearing a silk robe over what looked like a simple white nightshift. Her feet were bare, and her blonde hair was caught with a blue scrap of satin and tumbled over one shoulder like a silver ribbon.

  She wasn’t the picture of a courtesan. Oh, he supposed the silk robe could be seductive, if she wanted it to be, but it was hardly arousing over a linen nightgown. Free of adornment and with her hair down, she looked young and pretty, not exactly a Duchess of Dalliance.

  She turned back to him, and he quickly looked away.

  “I couldn’t sleep and wanted a book.”

  “You read?”

  She laughed. “Sometimes.” She gestured to the empty spot on the couch beside him. “May I?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?” she asked, taking the seat anyway. He felt the silk of the robe brush his hand and shivered. “Because you’re foxed and might take advantage of me?”

  “I’m not foxed.”

  “You’re slurring your words.” She set the glass of port on the floor beside the leg of the couch. “And your eyes are bleary. If there’s one thing I know, it’s when a man is foxed.” She said it matter-of-factly.

  “I’m not foxed.” He was, but he had already said he wasn’t. A duke was decisive. He had decided something earlier this evening. What was it? “We’re leaving in the morning.”

  Her brows rose. “I thought dukes didn’t run away.”

  “I’m not running.” He stumbled over the r in running, but he went on anyway. “I’m investigating. It’s not the same thing.”

  “Of course. Now I see the difference. Is this investigation outside London?”

  “Yorkshire.”

  “Yorkshire? The seat of your country estate?”

  “It’s near Nowlund Park, where Lady Elizabeth grew up. The marchioness said something yesterday that piqued my interest.”

  She tucked her legs under her and sat forward. “Pray tell. I’d love to know what piques the interest of a man like you.”

  And this was why she was a notorious courtesan. Pelham didn’t think he’d spoken so many words together since… well, very rarely. But she had him talking. Despite that icy veneer, she was easy to talk to.

  That’s because she’s not icy. You can feel how warm she is.

  “Stubble it.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. The marchioness mentioned Lady Elizabeth had made a quick jaunt home a fortnight ago. Claimed she wanted to see her dowered land one last time before agreeing to the betrothal.”

  “Ah, so she came with land.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I thought you were in love with her, but then I realized you weren’t. I suppose I wondered what would entice a man like you to marry.”

  “I am a duke. I have to produce an heir.”

  “Exactly, but why Lady Elizabeth for your heir? Now I know. Land.”

  Why did he feel that, in the guise of these compliments, she was actually disparaging him?

  “And I want to know why Lady Elizabeth would go to Yorkshire. She didn’t care about that land.”

  Juliette’s eyes widened. “You think she hid the diamonds there?”

  “I don’t know. I know your theory is before the events on the balcony at Carlton House, Lady Elizabeth told this Lucifer you had the diamonds. And this is what precipitated his visit to your home. But I can’t think why she would do such a thing.”

  “Because you and I had been linked. She probably told him you gave me the diamonds.” She nodded. “Yes, that makes sense. That night, Lucifer kept saying to me, I know he gave them to you. He must have been referring to you, Will.”

  Pelham ignored the completely inappropriate use of his name. Will wasn’t even his name. It was William. “Why would I have these bloody diamonds?”

  “Eliza told him you had them. I don’t know what lie she concocted. It could be anything—you’d caught her with them and forced her to confess. She’d asked you to hold them for safekeeping…”

  “I don’t have them.”

  “But Lucifer doesn’t know that, and if he thinks you have them, you’re in danger.”

  “Then I suppose it best we find these diamonds.”

  “Will you return them?”

  “No. But I want to know what I’m being threatened over. I want to know what Lady Elizabeth died for.”

  She clasped his arm with her bare hand. He realized he’d discarded his coat. All this time he’d been talking to her he’d been without a coat, and his cravat was undone. There was no excuse for such slovenliness. “Then you believe she’s dead.”

  “I have no reason to believe otherwise.” He glanced at her hand on his arm, and her gaze followed. “I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

  “No.” She withdrew her hand. “You wouldn’t.”

  “I called you a slut.” He knew he was stating the obvious. Moreover, he knew he was bringing up a matter that, were he sober, he would never mention.

  She laughed without humor. “I know. I heard.”

  “It upset you.”

  She pressed her lips together, the haughty reserve coming down again. “It didn’t please me, but it’s not the first time, and I suppose it won’t be the last.”

  “You’re not made of ice.”

  She gave him a puzzled look. “What strange things you say when you are foxed.” She looked away, appearing to study the books behind his desk. “No, I’m not made of ice,” she said quietly. “Neither are you, but we both have hard outer shells.” She gazed at him, those blue eyes penetrating like icicles, only far, far warmer. “You know where my shell came from. What about yours?”

  “I’m a duke. I’m expected to be—”

  “Pompous?”

  He frowned at her. “Formidable.”

  “Oh, you are that, but I have the feeling you want to apologize to me.”

  He blinked. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you hurt my feelings.”

  “Dukes don’t apologize.”

  “No, they are far too arrogant.” She rose, and he realized belatedly she intended to leave.

  He also realiz
ed he didn’t want her to go. It wasn’t a mental realization. It came to him when he noted he’d caught her wrist with his hand.

  She looked down, as cool as a winter day. “Your hand is wrapped about my wrist, Your Grace.”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He blinked. What had he just said? Something was wrong. Something was very wrong indeed. His body—his mouth—was not obeying his mind.

  “What would you have me call you? Your Highness?”

  “Will,” he said.

  She stared at him, something flickering in her eyes. Amusement? Surprise? “Are you going to take advantage of me, Will?”

  “I might.” He pulled her back on the couch beside him. “And I won’t apologize for it later.”

  “No, I’m sure you won’t.”

  He stared at her, amazed this beautiful creature was beside him. She’d kissed him in her attic this morning, and he hadn’t been able to forget the feel of her lips on his. The smell of her, the taste of her. He wanted more.

  And he could not have it. He was a duke. She was a courtesan, and he didn’t want a mistress.

  Anything more than that could never be.

  She blinked at him then raised one of those sweeping eyebrows. “Well? I thought you were going to take advantage of me.”

  He could. He could kiss her, touch her. That was hardly taking advantage, considering who and what she was. But he didn’t think he could leave it at that, because the more he knew her, the less she was the Duchess of Dalliance and the more she became Juliette.

  She sighed. “Are you thinking about it, Will?”

  “I’m weighing my options.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Would you have me pounce on you like some sort of animal?”

  “That’s what most men do.”

  “And that’s what you want?”

  “Will.” She took his shoulders. “I don’t want to be attacked, but a woman likes to feel desired. As it is now, I can see you making lists in your head. Next you’ll pull out your watch and check the time.” She stood. He was losing her. “All your contemplation has given me time to contemplate. And do you know what I’ve contemplated? You insulted me today. You’ve insulted me on several occasions and all but called me a liar. You dragged me out of bed and humiliated me in front of your staff.”

  He stood. “I humiliated you?”

  “Yes! I kissed you this afternoon because I was feeling vulnerable… and because”—she clenched a hand as though her next words were distasteful—“you were kind. For once. But I don’t want to kiss you again. And I certainly don’t want to share your bed. You probably look at that dratted pocket watch when you’re making love!” She whirled, and he stood there, prepared to let her go.

  And then his pride bubbled to the surface, and he took three steps, caught her about the waist, and swung her around.

  “Oh, now what?”

  “Now this.” He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. He meant the kiss to prove to her that he could be spontaneous, that he was not as she’d painted him. But of course, as soon as he kissed her, he started wondering if this had been a mistake and if he shouldn’t just go to bed—alone—to prepare for the early morning departure.

  And then she kissed him back.

  Her mouth moved under his, and she made a small sound like a satisfied cat. And Will forgot all about time and mistakes and everything but the woman in his arms. Her mouth was soft and sweet, her lips ripe under his, her breath tasting slightly of the port she’d drank. The silk robe she wore was thin, and he could feel her curves beneath it as he wrapped his arms about her and pulled her closer. She was warm and feminine and just the right height. He did not have to bend to reach her lips.

  His hand moved up the silk on her back and wrapped about the silk of her hair. It was thicker than it looked and softer, as well. He could imagine it spread beneath her on her bed of blue silk. He could imagine her making those little kitten sounds she made now in his bed as he pleasured her.

  Her hands grasped his hair and pulled him nearer still. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her, and he slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her deeply and thoroughly. She broke away and murmured, “Will.”

  The sound of her pet name for him broke his last barriers. He was hard for her, and he nipped her neck, smelling the scent of lavender. Kissing his way to her ear, he felt her shiver and moan.

  But she wasn’t moaning. She was speaking. “Touch me,” she whispered. “It’s been so long. Touch me.”

  Her hand guided his around her slim waist, up her rib cage, and to the fullness of her breast. He cupped it, feeling the hardness of her nipple through the thin layers between them. He remembered the soft flesh of her arm that night he had touched her at Carlton House. Would this flesh be even softer?

  Don’t think, Pelham! he chastised himself and did what his body urged. He tugged the robe open, saw it flutter and pool on the floor, then gazed at the porcelain shoulder revealed by the loose nightshift. He put one finger in the neckline and inched it down.

  His gaze met hers, and she wet her lips. Everything in him strained to rip the nightshift off her, but he held on to the last vestiges of control and was rewarded with the plump flesh of her breast. A moment later, her pink areola came into view, and then the hard nub of her nipple.

  His finger skated over it, over flesh so soft he could not begin to describe it, and the way the skin contracted further drove him to the edge of maddening desire. He teased the hardened flesh, and her head fell back slightly, as though she offered herself to him.

  He took. Without thinking, he took, lowering his mouth to that impossibly soft flesh and that exquisitely hard nipple. He took her in his mouth, tasting, lapping, sucking gently until she was crying out. He moved her toward the couch, wanting to feel her beneath him, wanting to see her supple body inch by inch.

  They took two steps, three, and then there was a crash.

  She jerked, and he was instantly on alert. Had Lucifer somehow managed to gain entrance to the house? Pelham had posted additional men to guard the perimeter. He didn’t believe the man could make it through his security, but he was taking no chances. He pushed Juliette behind him and looked about for something to use as a weapon. The fire poker was closest.

  “Will.”

  He could lunge for it and—

  “Will.”

  He turned.

  She pointed to the floor. His glass of port was upturned, the dark liquid spreading on the floor in a small pool. “It was only the glass. I knocked it with my foot.”

  “I see.” He looked up at her, and she pulled the bodice of her nightshift up to cover herself. The moment was awkward, and he remembered why he avoided entanglements with women—hell, with anyone—there was always that awkward moment when one fears one has revealed too much.

  What was he supposed to say now? What was he supposed to do? Why the bloody damn hell had he kissed her in the first place?

  “Since now would be the appropriate time to apologize”—she bent and retrieved her robe—“and we both know you won’t do that, I suppose I should take my leave.” She wrapped herself in the robe and tied it securely. She didn’t appear the least disturbed he’d just had his hands all over her—not to mention his mouth and tongue. His hands were still shaking with arousal, but her fingers were as steady as a tumbler on a high rope.

  It came to him this meant nothing to her. And why should it? She was a courtesan. This was her nightly routine. Had she felt anything when he touched her?

  “We’ll make an early start tomorrow,” he said, his own voice sounding surprisingly calm in light of the pounding of the blood in his ears—and other regions.

  “Yes, and I know what happens if I’m not dressed and ready on your schedule.” She gave a laugh and waltzed from the room.


  Pelham watched her go then sat and put his head in his hands. Now that she’d gone, he could not understand what he had done. He could be logical and reasonable and tell himself touching her was a mistake. Kissing her was an egregious mistake. Anything further was utter catastrophe.

  But when she was near…

  He raked his fingers through his hair. When she was near, he knew he was making a mistake, and yet he did it anyway.

  He glanced at his desk, at the portrait hanging to the right of it. There was really no excuse for it, he thought, staring at the portrait of his father. It was weakness and behavior not befitting a duke.

  It would cease now. Tonight.

  He would not touch her again.

  But that didn’t mean he could stop wanting her.

  ***

  The man was stone, Juliette thought as they raced along in the well-sprung ducal carriage. He sat across from her, reading the Times and completely ignoring her. He’d been doing so for the last six hours.

  True, she hadn’t tried to make conversation, but then she was playing the role of the Duchess of Dalliance. She was supposed to be used to this sort of thing, not be clamoring for attention the morning after a liaison. Not feeling insecure and wondering what she had done wrong.

  She’d been wondering since last night. As soon as they’d been interrupted, he’d looked at her with such ferocity it had scared her. She’d thought it best to make a hasty retreat, all the while hoping he would stop her.

  Hoping she’d been wrong about him.

  Hoping…

  She could picture Lady Sinclair’s face in her mind, and the countess was frowning. Hoping was what naïve young girls did, not independent women. Hoping for something did not make it come true.

  She could hope Pelham felt something for her all she wanted, but his actions said something very different. His very words said something completely different.

  Why had she even kissed him? From the start, he’d done nothing but insult her. Lady Sinclair would raise a brow and ask, “Now Juliette, why would you kiss a man who obviously detests you?”

  Because he didn’t detest her. He just thought he did. Really, he needed her, needed someone to wrench him from his mind-numbing routine and introduce some fun into his life. He said he did not want her, did not like her, but his eyes said something altogether different.