“How many?”
He turned onto his side and brought her hand in to kiss the tips of her fingers. “I love you,” he said over the voice in his head screaming that he’d just made a fatal mistake. “I love you and want you, and if you never return my love, then so be it. I’d rather you reject me than live my life never having told you of my feelings.”
“Daunt,” she whispered. “Don’t say such things. Don’t tell me lies, not even pretty ones.”
He met her gaze straight on. He slid his hand down her stomach, over her belly, to her mons. “A bed this time. Come to bed with me. Let me kiss you everywhere. Caress you everywhere. Later, if you tell me we cannot be lovers, I shall take my disappointment elsewhere.”
“Oh,” she said when his fingers delved.
“You’re wet,” he whispered. “I want to make you wetter yet.” He slid his other hand the length of her spine. “Shall I? May I try?”
“Yes,” she said on a breath. “Yes, please.”
He laid her on the mattress and stretched himself over her and kissed his way from her shoulders to her breasts, and there came a moment when she surrendered to her body. Yes, yes, Lord yes, but he wanted this. He took her nipple into his mouth, and he did love the shape of her, the taste of her. He loved that small sigh, and then her gasp and the moan that came. He continued downward to the apex of her thighs and set himself to kissing her there, licking, stroking with his tongue, absorbing the taste of her and her reaction. With his free hand, he stroked the inside of her thigh, pushing enough to make room for him.
She came without reserve, shuddering, calling out, and then she sat up and worked at the buttons of his waistcoat. “Help me,” she said.
“With pleasure.” Before long, his clothes were off, and he splayed himself over her, and she ran her hands down his back. He fell into the siren call of arousal, and he pushed aside all this uncertainty about their future. She had agreed to this, they were in bed, and she was touching him, and Lord, but her fingers were clever. That slide of a finger over his nipple, the softness of her, the press of her mouth to his skin.
Her hands wandered over him, and he lay back while she continued to touch him. She took pleasure from him, adored him with her mouth, her hands, and fingers, and he was nearly beyond enduring any of it. At last, though, he put his arms around her shoulders and held her while they kissed, and she’d learned something of him, for this was better than before.
“Please, Daunt,” she whispered.
“Yes, my love?” He turned them over so that she was on her back and he between her legs.
“Put your beautiful prick inside me.”
“I am yours to command.”
She pressed her head back and laughed. “Oh, yes, my very own viscount to see to my pleasure. Yes. Now.”
The curve of her mouth drew him in the way it always had. Whenever she smiled, he wanted to be the object of her pleasure and desire. He pushed up on his hands and adjusted himself, allowing the anticipation to fill him.
She slid her hands down to his low back and arched against him, and he pressed in, in, and in, and she was warm and soft inside, and this was Magdalene, whom he had loved and admired for too many years to count. She met his thrusts, the roll of his hips, and pressed against him as if she could not get enough.
He quickly reached the point where all that mattered was the quest for their mutual pleasure. She came first, calling his name, “Daunt, yes,” and finishing with an incoherent cry.
He was close, so close. The base of his spine quivered and he withdrew, and she held him close, pressing herself against him so that his cock was between them while he spent.
Chapter Fifteen
‡
They’d found two of the Dukes; what a triumph that was. The satisfaction and excitement of that permeated him as Daunt lay beside a sleeping Magdalene. He drew her close, and she sighed and curved her body against his.
In fewer than twenty-four hours, he must meet with the other members of the Bibliomania Club. He hoped and prayed that the others had succeeded in finding the remaining Dukes.
Magdalene stirred, and he was immediately diverted from the subject of Dukes. “Do you hear the birds?” she asked, voice muffled from her being mostly beneath the sheets and covers.
He hesitated. Did she realize she was not at Plumwood and that he was not Angus? “I do,” he said. “It’s one of many pleasant ways to awaken.”
“It’s why I so love this room.” She turned over and opened her eyes and slowly smiled. His heart thumped when she pressed a hand to his cheek. She shivered once. “Good morning, my lord.”
“Are you cold?” He slipped out of bed to avail himself of the water closet and afterward stopped to add more coal to the fire.
“Did you sleep well?” Magdalene asked as he headed back to the bed. She was sitting up now.
“I did, and you?” He had a clear memory of last night, including telling her yet again that he loved her. She had not replied in kind.
“I can’t recall the last time I slept so well.” She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “Hurry back, Daunt. You’ll catch your death.”
“I am not cold.” He set his hands to his hips. “Are you thinking of returning to sleep?”
She looked him up and down with undeniable appreciation. “What a specimen of a man you are, sir.” She held out her hand. “Come here.”
He rejoined her in bed and slipped his arms around her. She came in close. There was hope in that, wasn’t there?
“Did we really find not one Duke, but two? Or was that just a dream I had?”
“We did indeed.” Lord, he was in Magdalene’s bed, in her arms, and she did not look sorry that he was here.
She sighed. “I do wish we’d found Fabulosis.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. “The two of us know he did not make off with the book.”
“You have always been his unwavering supporter. Have I told you how much that meant to him? And to me.”
“Perhaps one of the other members has found it.”
“Write to me if they have, Daunt. Please?”
“That goes without saying.” He leaned down and kissed her, a long and tender kiss that she returned.
When they parted, she said, “Heavens, you kiss divinely.” Under the covers, she pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re warm,” she whispered.
“So are you.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulders. This time, he knew better than to blurt out his feelings. She needed time. It was her nature to come at new things slowly. She had not decided against him, and he chose to take hope from that.
Her hand wandered downward, and for some time, he was highly diverted, and then something more. She still wanted him, surely that was an appropriate conclusion to make of the night’s events. He hadn’t been at all sure what the morning would bring. Would she explore his body like this if she regretted their intimacy? She pushed him onto his back, and he complied.
“Magdalene.” He cleared his throat. “Magdalene, my love…” She slid down, and then her mouth was around his cock, and he was entirely erect, and all too soon he could not think of anything but her mouth and his cock and the fact that the woman he loved was in bed with him. Orgasm robbed him of thought and words, and that might well be for the best. She might not welcome another inept declaration of love.
She laid her head on his chest while he floated on the edges of bliss. Physically, he was sated, but his uncertainty about their future remained. He’d confessed himself too soon. He’d rushed her when she needed time because that was how she was. Careful. Reflective. Considered.
He set his hand on her shoulder and kept the sheets and blankets around her. Even with the fire built up, there was a morning chill in the air. “That was a most excellent start to the day,” he said. “But if you want to sleep, do.”
“I’m not at all sleepy.”
“In that case, I could return the favor.” He kissed the top of her shoul
der and draped an arm over her waist, but someone tapped on the door. From the other side of the door, a female voice softly called out, “Mrs. Carter?”
“Tilly,” she said to him.
Daunt sat up. “Shall I hide behind the curtains or under the bed?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Neither. She brings me chocolate and a brioche every morning.”
He relaxed. There was hope to be had from her acceptance of his presence here. “Do you think she’s brought enough for two? I’m ravenous.”
“I’ll share.” She raised her voice and said, “Come in, Tilly.”
The servant opened the door and focused on a corner of the ceiling, her cheeks bright pink. “My lord. Gomes says to tell you there’s a caller. A Mr. Rivett.”
He and Magdalene exchanged a startled glance. Rivett was the shop owner who’d written claiming to have a complete set of Dukes. “Please tell him I shall be down shortly. Offer him anything he likes.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll have your breakfast shortly, ma’am.”
When Tilly closed the door after herself, Magdalene grabbed his upper arm. “Rivett is here!” She practically leaped out of bed. “Oh, Daunt, we cannot keep him waiting.”
He gathered his scattered clothes, and Magdalene helped him dress. “He cannot have a complete original set of Dukes,” she said while she folded his neckcloth and tucked it into his coat pocket with the Dukes they’d found last night.
“No. But he might yet have something interesting.”
She patted the outside of his pocket. “Where will you put these?”
“There is a safe in my rooms.” She nodded and tucked his watch safely in another pocket. “I shall meet you outside the front parlor in, say, forty minutes? Does that give you enough time to dress?”
“Another Welsh comb for me. Now go.” She pushed him to the bedroom door. “Tilly!”
Daunt had quite the trek from Magdalene’s quarters to the north wing where his valet awaited. He locked the Dukes safely away, gave himself a quick bath at the basin and, with the assistance of his valet, made himself presentable.
Magdalene was waiting outside the parlor when he arrived. He kissed her hand, and together, they entered.
Chapter Sixteen
‡
As Magdalene followed Daunt into the parlor, a dark-haired, slender man in his middle years stood, a leather case held flat against his chest. He bowed deeply to Daunt. “Good day, my lord. Thank you for seeing me.”
After seeing Magdalene to a seat at a desk, Daunt acknowledged him with a nod. “Mr. Rivett.”
“At your service, milord.”
Her seat gave her an unimpeded view of Mr. Rivett and Daunt. She settled her shawl around her shoulders, mildly anxious about this encounter with Mr. Rivett. She kept her hands clasped on her lap and concentrated on taking deep, soothing breaths. Daunt’s presence had much to do with her relative calm.
“I appreciate your writing to me,” Daunt said. “You’ve certainly traveled a long way. I hope your journey was uneventful.”
“How kind of you to inquire. Yes, milord, though I am glad to be back on English soil.”
“You do not live in Italy?”
“Oh, no.” Rivett was well-dressed but travel-worn. His hair bore the obvious impression of a hat, and his boots were dusty. “I travel the Continent whenever the business calls for it, which it often does.”
“That business is?”
“Quintas & Rivett, purveyors of rare and curious items, established in the year of our Lord 1753.” He bowed. “We are located on Noncet Close, near Duke Street, London. We recently opened another shop in Hampstead Heath.”
“You deal in rare books, do you?”
Magdalene racked her brain for any recollection such a shop. Quintas & Rivett had no reputation as a dealer in rare manuscripts else she would have heard of it.
“If the subject matter is suitable, we might. In the main, however, books are not an area of interest for me. My customers had rather see what is gruesome and bloody. Relics of the saints. Mummies and bones. I’ve sold my share of nooses to a certain lord. Burial shrouds of infamous murderers, begging your pardon, ma’am. I don’t mean to frighten you.”
She let out a breath. “I am not frightened, sir.”
“Stories of the macabre and tales of the depraved sell quite well.”
“May I ask how you came to contact me about the Dukes?” Daunt asked.
To her left, a flash of light caught her eye. She looked, but all she saw was the flowered wallpaper and the closed door to the adjoining room. A glance at the window provided no explanation for the shift in light. There were no clouds to cause the light to change. How odd.
“I bought a shipment in Florence, you see,” Rivett was saying. “When it arrived at Noncet Close at last, these books”—he patted the leather case—“had been included. I thought they were interesting, though not for customers of Quintas & Rivett. I made some inquiries, and it happened that two of the men I spoke to mentioned you were looking for one of these books.”
“Oh?” Daunt said.
The flash to her left distracted her again. She looked again. The keyhole was dark; there must be a key on the other side.
“Here now, I’ll mangle the title, for it’s not in English. Terra Cotta Fablosia or some such thing.”
Magdalene sat up, and Daunt said, “De Terris Fabulosis?”
“That sounds more like it.” He nodded to himself. “Is that the book you’ve been searching for?”
“I confess, Mr. Rivett, I am astonished that none of the men you spoke to offered to buy it.”
“Oh, but they did. Every blessed one of them. I thought to myself, if these men offer me good coin sight unseen, what might your lordship offer?” Rivett placed the leather case on the table, his hands resting lightly on top. “I warn you, though, I’m not inclined to sell just the one. They came as a set of four.”
“I shall represent to you that it is a certainty that two of those volumes are not genuine.”
Magdalene stood to take a closer look at the interior door. Indeed, the keyhole was dark, but there was a very peculiar sense of motion. She stayed to one side and bent to have a look, but there was nothing, now. Had she imagined there had been? There was movement and then what was unquestionably someone’s eye.
“That said, in the matter of rare books,” Daunt was saying, “I prefer forgeries and copies are removed from commerce. Less confusion for the serious collector and less chance for the new or inexperienced collector to find they’ve paid good money for a bad product.”
Rivett’s eyebrows shot up. “I make no representations about the books except that they were shipped to me from Florence. Others have said they might have value and that you are looking for one of them.”
“Did your experts authenticate these books?”
“No, milord. I merely described what I received.” He tapped the leather case. “Collectors always surprise you with what they find interesting and valuable.” He smiled. “I’ve made a good living from the fact, milord. Some book smaller than your hand, and there’s a fellow somewhere who’d sell his own mother to have it. A figurine that looks like nothing, yet someone pays a hundred pounds for it without blinking. These books, I can see why someone would be interested. They’re colorful, and if nothing else, there’s value in the gilt and silver.”
“There’s gilt?”
“It’s why I asked around. Pictures like that, all colorful, and there’s someone, somewhere, willing to pay ready money.”
There was no possibility of the set being genuine, but nevertheless, excitement stirred in the pit of her stomach. At least two of those books could be genuine, after all. And if Rivett was wrong about what he had, the books might be something else of interest.
“May I see them?” He held out his hand, and Rivett handed over the case. “Did they arrive in this case?”
“No, milord. But I’m willing to sell you the case too, if you’re interested.”
Daunt chuckled and handed the case to her. “Would you do the honors?”
Based on the Dukes they’d already found, the case was approximately the size required to hold four such volumes. She glanced at the door and saw another shift in the light from the keyhole. She slid the books free of the container Mr. Rivett had put them in.
“They are the right size.” They’d come out upside down, but it was instantly obvious these were not in original condition. They were each bound in leather, not red velvet. She turned over the topmost one and examined the binding. “The workmanship is exemplary, meticulous, even.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Rivett smile.
“Go on, my dear,” Daunt said.
Magdalene opened the volume and was obliged to hold back a snort. The pages were a heavy-grade cotton rag dyed to approximate the color of vellum. No one with any expertise in such manuscripts would be fooled for a moment. Her initial impression was that these were meant to be copies. She agreed with Daunt. Even a copy of a Duke was interesting, but it was best to have them all in the possession of an honest expert.
Other than the materials, the similarities between this and the Dukes they had already found were striking. The frontispiece was lettered in the same style, with the primary title, Liber Ducis de Scientia, and the title of this volume, De Motibus Humanis, matched that of the two genuine Dukes. This struck her as an improbable coincidence, unless whoever had created the copy had, indeed, seen at least one of the originals. The illuminations on the interior pages were lovely, colorful, precise, and, at times, piquantly amusing. “Exquisite,” she said, with true appreciation of the work that had gone into creating this copy. “Truly, this is artistry.”
Rivett’s smile turned to a grin. “Did I not tell you they were pretty?”
“Such meticulous work.” She picked up the second. “One can imagine a scribe with his pots of ink and pens bent over the pages long into the night.”
“Which volume is that?” Daunt asked. He’d planted himself in line with the door such that from where he stood, he could see only that four volumes were before her.
How to Find a Duke in Ten Days Page 31
