Duke of Sin

by Adele Ashworth

  He thought about that for a moment. Then, “I could have him arrested.”

  She shook her head. “That won’t work. I need the letter he has from my solicitor.” With disgust flowing through her tone, she added, “I can’t imagine how he got that.”

  “With enough money and persuasion, one can buy almost anything,” Will replied matter-of-factly.

  “Which makes no sense if Mr. Montague is a lowly actor.”

  He looked at her, a faint smile playing across his lips. “Very astute, madam.”

  She pulled a handful of grass and flung it at him.

  He chuckled and lifted his hand to ward off the attack.

  “Which means he’s using someone else’s funds, or he’s not who he says he is,” she related as other possibilities began to invade her mind.

  “Do you know how badly I want to make love to you, Mrs. Rael-Lamont?” he said very softly, leaning back on one elbow again. “Just looking at you, talking to you, arouses me to unbearable heights.”

  She fairly giggled at that, at the very male way he changed the subject to one of intimacy, at the ease in which he confided his desires, at the manner in which his words and inflection made her heart jump and a surge of tingling heat flow through her past her better judgment. The Duke of Trent, she realized at that moment, possessed a wicked way of arousing her with feelings of complete contentment.

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “If you weren’t wearing hoops, I’d take you now.”

  She smiled wryly in return. “And cause more scandal? Nonsense. Besides, we can be seen from your home, your grace.”

  “Wilson has terrible eyesight.”

  “And the rest of your staff are blind, no doubt.”

  He shrugged lightly. “They are if I say they are.”

  Her smile faded. Seconds later, she admitted, “Do you know how desperately I want to feel you inside of me again. Will?”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “Not that I care in the least, but are you serious or teasing, Vivian? Never in my life have I heard a lady say that to me.”

  She thought she might have caught a trace of concern in his quieter tone.

  Reaching out, she pressed her thumb to his lips. “You’ll have to discover that on your own next time.”

  He kissed her soft skin gently.

  She pulled back with a smile—until he grabbed her wrist and placed her hand, palm down, on top of his pants where she couldn’t help but feel the length of his shaft, swollen and pressing against her.

  “That is how much you stir my blood, Vivian,” he admitted very softly. “Never doubt that I will always want you.”

  Her breathing grew instantly shallow as a wave of desire hit her strongly. Instinctively, she rubbed him, minutely at first, but certainly enough for him to feel the hesitant, intentional motion.

  Suddenly a hunger lit his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered.

  She lay back on the grassy slope as best she could with her hoops at her back, next to him by mere inches, her head in her hand as she rested her elbow on the ground. He watched her, held her gaze with a startling strength of will as she began to stroke him through his clothes.

  “I like touching you,” she murmured, feeling the aching swell between her own legs. “I like the way you look at me…”

  He drew in a shaky breath, never closing his eyes as he placed his head in one palm, his other hand on her breast.

  “One day we will do this where I can see all of you,” he murmured huskily, his thumb searching for her nipple through soft muslin.

  She felt her entire body come alive, wishing desperately she could climb on top of him. “Yes…”

  He let her find her rhythm against him, never moving himself, just letting her trace him up and down with fingertips, nails, her entire palm, stroking him steadily.

  “Are you wet for me, Vivian?” he asked, his voice raspy, his eyes glazing over with his mounting desire.

  “Yes.”

  “One day I will taste you there.”

  She inhaled sharply through her teeth. “How does this feel?”

  “Perfect,” he whispered, tenderly pinching her pointed nipple through her dress.

  “Will…”

  “If you continue,” he said, his breathing labored, “I’ll climax like this.”

  She swallowed, witnessing the passion in both his voice and the building tension in his expression, the tightness in his jaw and the muscles of his neck. He was straining to hold back.

  “I want you to,” she said with a dare that astounded even her as she spoke the words, moving her hand steadily over his erection. “Do you know how this excites me? I want to watch you.”

  “God, ‘Vivian…” Suddenly he closed his eyes and pushed into her hand. “Make me come, sweetheart.”

  He clutched her breast now as she realized he was almost there. She, in turn, relished the moment, the feel, and the knowledge that they were the only people on earth who knew how familiar they were with each other at that moment.

  She leaned over and gently brushed her lips against his. In a second of sheer recklessness, utter abandonment, and without clear thought, she whispered, “Come into my hand, sweet Will…”

  Startled, his eyes opened wide. And then he groaned and jerked his hips against her two or three times, gritting his teeth as he leaned forward and placed his forehead on her chest. She continued to stroke him through his pants, unsure, until she felt him grab her hand, stilling her movements.

  They lay very close like that for several minutes as his breathing calmed and balance of mind returned to both of them. He still pressed her hand against him, though she could feel him gradually soften. In a manner, Vivian felt so content, so free of restraint right now, knowing that if onlookers could see them, they would appear to be two fully dressed people relaxing side by side at the ocean front, close enough to be in deep conversation. Never could anyone guess they’d just been overrun with passion, that she’d said those things…

  Deeply ashamed of a sudden, Vivian pulled back and sat up a little, looking away from him toward the house. “I—I don’t want you to think I’m—”

  He grasped her jaw with his hand and forced her to face him. Searching, he stared into her eyes.

  “I think you’re beautiful.”

  She offered him a tepid smile, slumping a little into her stays. “I didn’t want to shock you.”

  “Shock me?” he frowned. “Vivian, what you just did to me, what you just said to me, made this one of the most satisfying, quick romantic interludes I’ve ever had. If I seem shocked it’s because I can’t believe how incredible it was to experience it fully dressed.” He grinned devilishly. “I only wish you weren’t wearing those blasted hoops.”

  She smacked him lightheartedly in the chest, though she knew her cheeks were flushed with acute gratification at his confession. “It’s still embarrassing to me. I was overcome with… with—”

  “Passion for me?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  His smile faded a fraction. “Nothing we do privately is wrong as long as we both enjoy it. Understand?”

  She nodded negligibly. “Will you give me the manuscript now?”

  He dropped his hand from her chin, laughing out loud as he rolled onto his back, fingers interlocked over his stomach.

  Eyeing her mischievously, he said, “You do so know how to wound a man, my darling, Vivian.”

  She pressed her lips together to keep from breaking into her own fit of irritated laughter.

  He sighed with pure exaggeration. “First you tease, then torture me with pleasure, then demand. What, pray tell, should I do with you?”

  She leaned over him, her face only inches from his. “Will you help me?” she asked very softly.

  His expression became contemplative as his gaze roved over her face. Then he reached up and gently touched her hair. “With every need, until my dying breath.”

  Vivian stilled inside as clarity washed over her. She couldn’t move, could
n’t utter a sound in response as she choked back tears. Never had a man said anything quite so precious to her. Never had any man meant so much.

  She glided her fingertips across his cheek. “Let’s get Gilbert, my darling Will.”

  Chapter 14

  Lady Elinor Chester took a long, deep breath then walked sensually to the full-length mirror near her bedroom window to study herself with a critical eye for the first time in years.

  She really did look quite good for a woman now almost twenty-six years of age. Her long, silky blond hair was piled on top of her head while little ringlets framed her face. Her light blue eyes were delicately outlined with almost invisible lashes, but of course Elinor was an expert in the art of concealing minor flaws. She lightly applied bits of kohl to her lashes to make them darker, and skillfully rubbed rouge on her cheeks and lips to give them color. To her chagrin, Elinor found herself prone to occasional blemishes of the skin so she sometimes brushed powder on her face to absorb the oil.

  Nevertheless, she was quite lovely, everyone thought so, and attracting men had never been a problem for her. In fact, it had been almost effortless until just recently when she began to notice that many of the eligible men were getting married to other women. This in itself was starting to bother her, for she only just realized that she was getting old. Not old in the aging sense but old in the marrying sense, and she absolutely refused to die unwed. During the last several months she’d slowly come to the conclusion that she was very nearly on the shelf in terms of marriage, and when she coupled that with the fact that she was running out of money, she was left with few reasonable choices. Now, at least, she had a plan.

  Elinor stared hard at her reflection. Critically, the only flaw she possessed was her figure. She’d been built like a boy, a tad too slender, having no curves to speak of, and worst of all, cursed with an inexcusably small bosom. Most men in her experience didn’t tend to care all that much, however, for she presented herself to the gentlemen in society with a sensuality that overcompensated for her somewhat unfeminine shape. Yes, Elinor Chester certainly knew how to please a man in bed and that in itself was worth thousands.

  A slamming door from the landing below pulled her out of her thoughts as she realized Steven had returned home at last. She’d received a note from him yesterday informing her that he’d be arriving today before noon, and although it had been years since he’d stood on the grounds of their estate, she was ready, more than ready, to face her brother again.

  “Elinor!” he bellowed from the entrance hall.

  She sighed, rolling her eyes before lifting her skirts to walk with a purposeful stride to receive him. She knew without a doubt he’d be waiting for her in their late father’s study. It’s where he’d always felt important and superior.

  “There you are, little sister.” He half-smiled for her benefit.

  Elinor stopped short in the doorway and literally gaped at him, astonished by the change in the man. “I wouldn’t have recognized you, Steven,” she said with a touch of awe in her voice as she looked at each feature of his face. “You look so utterly different.”

  His reddish-brown brows rose with indifference. “It’s been a long time since I stepped foot in this pig pit,” he replied with a disgusted chuckle. He sat heavily in a large winged chair, taking quick note of its dull gray leather, dry and cracking beneath his legs. “Don’t we have any nice furniture anymore, Elinor? Where the devil does the money go—”

  “You’re one to talk, you swine of a brother,” she cut in with increasing agitation. “You run away from here to God knows where, spending whatever you like, then you return years later and wonder where the money is going? Why don’t you give me a little of what you and the great Gilbert Montague have stashed away?”

  He only laughed harder at that, sinking further into the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing one ankle over the other.

  Elinor could feel her anger bubbling at the surface from his rather relaxed entry back into her life, but because her brother remained in control of the situation, and more importantly the money and the manuscript, she had no intention of ruffling his feathers. Not too much, anyway. Instead of saying what was on her mind, she smiled prettily at him and sat down on the matching settee across from him, drawing her small legs up underneath her dress.

  “So, Steven, how long will you be with us this time?”

  “We’re getting the manuscript back,” he fairly whispered as he gave her a sideways glance, his good humor now changing to a wry grin.

  Her eyes narrowed. “We?”

  “You didn’t think it was just yours, did you?”

  Elinor stared at him, confused, saying nothing for a moment as she tried to ascertain the meaning of his words. Then suddenly the cloud lifted and shock took over as her eyes widened in horror.

  “You can’t sell it,” she nearly choked out.

  He snickered again, his tone abounding with ridicule.

  Her stomach lurched but Elinor, ever restrained, refused to let her worries show.

  “You’re only trying to make me angry,” she stated succinctly. “So typical of you.” In a tone dripping with caution, she reminded him, “But the manuscript is mine, Steven.”

  He ignored her warning, looking now at his hands. “That manuscript belonged to Elizabeth. She’s dead.”

  Elinor felt her bones grow cold. “That is the point, dear brother,” she spat. “It belongs to me now, and I want it back.”

  “For what purpose?”

  That simple question caught her completely off guard. Seething, she squeezed her hands together in her lap, eyeing her brother candidly, amazed that he hadn’t seemed to age a day in the last five years. Nor had he changed. He was as despicable as ever.

  “What I want it for is not your concern.”

  He chuckled again, though this time it appeared false, forced.

  “It’s always my concern,” he remarked casually as he absentmindedly picked imaginary lint off his shirt. “With Gilbert in charge—”

  “Gilbert can rot in hell,” she threw back at him, “and you damn well know it. That is my playing card, Steven.”

  His gaze shot up to her again, his eyes black with a fury he refused to contain. “Now, now, that’s not proper language for a lady like yourself, dear sister,” he replied, his voice softly grave.

  Her body felt instantly charged with an odd mixture of its own rage and a cold rush of fear, though she sat composed, thinking furiously. She shouldn’t have said that. It would do her no good at all if he walked out now. She would never see him—or her manuscript—again. And as appalling as it felt, she needed them both.

  Drawing a long breath to help ease her agitation, she lowered her lashes quite submissively and brushed her palms down her gown, freeing it from wrinkles it didn’t have.

  “If you must know, I believe the Earl of Demming is a collector of fine artifacts and essays—”

  Her brother’s burst of genuine laughter cut her off. Feeling her cheeks burn, she asked, “What is so amusing?”

  “Good God, Elinor, the man is ninety years old if he’s a day.”

  Her lips thinned. “He’s only a tad over fifty, dear brother, and frankly that’s irrelevant.” She sat straighter on the settee and folded her hands in her lap. “He’s got unlimited wealth, and he needs a wife.”

  Steven looked positively baffled in his continued amusement. “He doesn’t need a wife, and I doubt very much that he wants one, being, as it were, a man who, shall we say, hunts on the other side of the meadow.”

  “I’m wondering how exactly you know that, Steven,” she remarked bluntly.

  His eyelids thinned to slits. “Don’t toy with me.”

  She ignored that. “The point is, he will marry me if I offer him the manuscript in exchange for vows. Then we will live comfortably for the rest of our lives.”

  Frankly, Elinor couldn’t care less if Steven—and Gilbert for that matter—disappeared forever from her world.
But she wanted the assurance of a good life, and this was a nearly certain way to get it. Appeasing her brother’s own desire for a rich and easy existence seemed a decent way to guarantee some cooperation at the very least.

  Suddenly Steven drew his legs in and leaned toward her, hands clasped together as he rested his elbows on his knees.

  “I don’t think you understand something, Elinor. The point actually is that you don’t know for a fact that the Earl of Demming will marry you, that anyone will marry you in exchange for a signed Shakespearean sonnet. Once again you’re thinking too far ahead.” He snorted, waving a hand in front of his face. “We don’t have the manuscript in our possession yet.”

  Steven, in all his arrogance, forever knew how to counter an argument to bring her back to reality. She hated when he did that.

  Sighing, Elinor acquiesced. “So what do you propose we do? Why are you here?”

  He smiled again to reveal succinctly, “Our friend Gilbert has already begun a brilliant plan and this one is even better than the first.”

  He paused after that, attempting to tantalize her with his silence. She wasn’t amused. He disgusted her.

  “Oh, splendid, another great plan,” Elinor retorted most sarcastically. “I suppose he wants to murder the woman then abscond with all her flower money.”

  Steven raised his brows in mock appreciation. “Very clever, Elinor. But actually, she’s quite wealthy in her own right. God knows why she plays with dirt.” He lowered his voice. “And apparently Will Raleigh has taken quite a fancy to her.”

  Elinor stared at him, startled at the implication. “How do you know this?”

  He smirked. “I know everything.”

  She refused to counter that boast because she knew him well enough to understand that he’d already thought of a marvelous comeback. She refused to give him the satisfaction of making her feel stupid.

  Suddenly it struck her that he hadn’t denied a desire for murder, and with that frightening thought, all other considerations vanished.

  “She doesn’t know anything, and never will, Steven,” she warned in a deadly quiet voice, sitting forward on the settee and watching him carefully. “Get the manuscript back and leave her alone.”