by Gill, Tamara
And then she was gone, wrenching herself out of his arms and staring at him with confusion. Her eyes were large and round, her breasts heaving with each breath. Dale glanced at her lips, bruised and swollen from their kiss and his need doubled. She was a temptress and he wanted her. So. Damn. Much.
He wasn’t sure what was going through her mind, but whatever it was sent her packing and she ran from the room. Dale swore, running a hand through his hair. He’d overstepped his mark, perhaps even insulted her. As for what Peter would say to him if he found out…
“Shit,” he muttered, striding to the door.
Dale returned to the ball, and keeping to the edges of the room, he spied Mary with her friend, both of them chatting amicably within a small group of men and women both. He studied her a moment, relieved to see she’d not fallen into a fit of the vapors, if anything, she seemed alight with color, her cheeks reddened and her lips still a little swollen from their kiss.
He let out a relieved sigh. He would ask her to dance and ensure she wasn’t upset with him and to confirm she was well. After all, they had become somewhat friends the past few days and he would hate his lapse in gentlemanly behavior to sever that.
“How fetching Lady Mary is this evening. What say you, old boy,” Lord Weston said, siding up to him, his gaze fixed on Mary.
“Lady Mary always looks well no matter what day it is.” Dale didn’t like the fact that the man was so vain that his eye was only turned when a woman was up to his standards. Not that Dale was totally innocent of that charge either, he’d certainly thought Mary’s wardrobe could do with a little updating.
Lord Weston threw him a curious glance before saying, “I wanted to apologize for the other day how you and Lady Mary found me and Lady Hectorville in a certain state of déshabillé. Not my finest moment, but, well, she is a vixen as you well know.”
Dale understood what he was saying about her ladyship and her bed sport, but the simple fact that she often shared her bed with many and was never tied to one man soon made it clear to Dale that he could not carry on a liaison with her. He didn’t share well, never had, not even as a child.
“It is probably wise that you cease such activity under Lord Lancaster’s roof. I don’t believe he’d be pleased if he heard Lady Mary was submitted to such an education.”
Lord Weston paled at Dale’s words and he inwardly laughed. Good. He wanted the fop to feel uneasy. He’d certainly made Mary so.
“Mary won’t say anything, she’s in love with me, you know. Tried to kiss me the other evening.” Lord Weston glanced at Mary now dancing with Lord Fairchild again, and his eyes narrowed in thought. “Maybe I should let her try again and see where it takes us.”
Dale fisted his hands at his side. A cold chill swept down his spine and he turned to face the little snot. “You meddle with her and I’ll meddle with you. Do you understand?” His voice brooked no argument and was laced with deadly promise.
“What is it to you what I do with Lady Mary?” Lord Weston smirked. “It’s not like you wish to court her. Hell, no one has these past five Seasons. She doesn’t know this, but we dubbed her Ribbon Rebellion, being so fond of such adornments on her gown and that she’s a bit of an unorthodox chit when it comes to society’s expectations for her sex. What a laugh we had of it and she was never the wiser. Even Peter had no idea and we even mentioned the name right under his nose.” His lordship laughed.
Dale clocked him one in the nose and watched with great satisfaction as he fell like an old, rotten oak, landing on his arse on the parquetry floor. The music stopped and guests standing nearby gasped as Lord Weston tumbled to the ground, blood spurting from his nose and dripping down onto his perfectly tied cravat and waistcoat.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Carlton?” he said, his voice muffled behind his hands.
Dale leaned over him, pulling out his handkerchief and dropping it on Lord Weston’s chest. “Knocking you on your arse just as you deserve. Speak again in front of me, or anywhere else about Lady Mary,” he said, lowering his voice, “and you’ll get another one.”
He walked off, heading for the terrace where he needed to cool off. Five minutes out in the crisp, winter air was just what he needed. Distantly he heard Peter call out for the music to commence and looking over his shoulder he watched as Lady Hectorville helped Lord Weston to his feet, even if the blaggard threw off her support once he stood.
What an ass.
Dale reached the end of the terrace and looked out over the gardens covered in snow, a smile spreading across his face. What fun that was, and not a more deserving bastard was ever on the receiving end of such a blow. It would certainly give the gossips some fodder during the break in the Season and possibly into the new one. Unless another scandal broke before that.
He started when a small gloved hand wrapped about his. He didn’t need to turn to know who was beside him.
Mary clasped the duke’s hand and came to stand before him. He was upset, that was obvious. One only had to look at Lord Weston’s swelling nose to know the punch the duke had afforded him had been no light touch.
“What happened?” she asked, not wanting to bother with small talk. She’d seen the duke and Lord Weston talking as she danced and had not missed Lord Weston’s amused smirk at her as he talked with his grace. Something told her his lordship’s bloody nose had something to do with her.
He stared down at her, and a ripple of heat, not due to the brisk outside air, stole across her skin at his intense gaze. Instead of answering her, he clasped her jaw and took her lips in a searing kiss.
She melted into him, having thought of nothing else from the moment she’d left him earlier in the night. To stay, to kiss the duke was all that she’d wanted to do, but by doing so she courted scandal. Her parents expected her to always show decorum, but she’d never been very good at that, so a stolen kiss or two couldn’t hurt surely.
And it did not. It didn’t hurt at all. The kiss went on, his mouth hot and insistent against hers, the slight roughness from the stubble on his face marking her skin. Mary wanted to feel more of him. She reached around, wrapping her hands on the inside of his coat, the corded muscles on his back, flexing as he held her close.
She gasped as a hardness pushed against her abdomen. Her stomach clenched. Mary stood on her tiptoes and pressed against him to where she ached most, undulated her hips to feel him better. The duke moaned, hoisting her higher, one hand reaching down to lift her leg around his hip. The cold stone of the balustrade met her bottom as he angled her over the railing, using its support to press harder against her core.
Relentlessly he rubbed against her and it was too much and yet not enough. Liquid heat pooled between her legs and she gasped through the kiss as his actions teased and taunted her toward a pinnacle she could not reach.
A loud, barking laugh from inside made them start and the duke stepped back, looking over his shoulder to ensure they were still alone. They were, and Mary wanted nothing more than to be there. To be alone with the duke and see where that delectable little action would eventually lead.
“Apologies, Lady Mary. I’m heartily ashamed of myself.”
Mary couldn’t stop her lips from twitching at his embarrassment. She wasn’t embarrassed at all. Curious and aching yes, but embarrassed, absolutely not.
She came up to him, running one hand across his jaw. “I’m not,” she said, walking back toward the terrace doors and leaving the duke shocked and still behind her.
The words that she wanted to kiss the duke again should shock her, but all she felt right at this moment was expectation. She liked him, more than she’d thought she would and ever since she’d run into him in the conservatory in all truthfulness, she’d hardly thought about Lord Weston.
Oh yes, she may have told the duke she wanted his lordship to kiss her, but that was really only because the duke didn’t wish her to. Only one gentleman occupied her mind and he was on the terrace where she’d left him. She’d not though
t to meet a man that not only showed interest in her life, the things she loved to do, but also listened, not just nodding and agreeing for propriety’s sake.
Oh no, now that she’d had a small taste of what his grace could do to her, he wasn’t going to escape that easily. And with a few days left of the house party, she would have to come up with a plan to make him lose such steadfast control about her again and kiss her some more. The idea flittered through her mind that the duke might ask for her hand and nerves pooled in her belly. She bit her lip, not wanting to give rise to hope when realistically a few stolen kisses did not mean he would offer marriage. Even so, the thought of spending more time with his grace, of kissing him yet again made excitement thrum through her veins. What a wonderful thought indeed.
Chapter 9
Over the next few days Dale fought to keep his distance from Lady Mary, but everywhere he turned she seemed to be there. Her newfound popularity ensured a bevy of gentlemen guests always surrounded her. Her smile and intelligent conversations about politics, horses or fishing, had kept them coming back for more, and there was little doubt in his mind that come next Season she would be snatched off the marriage mart merry-go-round that so many got stuck on.
He sat on a chaise longue, reading the latest news from London. The snow was falling heavily and it was Christmas Eve meaning everyone was indoors, keeping themselves occupied with cards or music. Earlier that day Dale had played a game of billiards with Peter, but the arrival of Lord Weston, his nose still bruised from the other evening, soon meant he’d excused himself.
The little popinjay had not taken his warning to heart and continued to seek out Lady Mary at any opportunity. No doubt just to vex Dale, and vexing him, it most certainly was.
Dale looked over the top of his paper and watched Lord Weston enter the front parlor. Mary was busy reading a book in a nearby chair. It was only the two of them, and she’d tucked her legs beneath her gown like she had done in the hunting lodge. A relaxed pose that he would assume a married couple might have if relaxed within each other’s company.
Lord Weston sat across from her, and Dale watched as she settled herself in a more appropriate fashion, talking politely to his lordship, but if Dale was any judge of character, he would guess her interest had cooled toward his lordship.
She glanced at him and his suspicions were confirmed. The heat and determination he read in her eyes were all for him, and not the dandy sprouting on about waistcoats before her.
If Lord Weston noticed her inattention he didn’t seem to say, just continued to speak as if he had a captive audience.
Dale’s lips twitched. How wrong he was.
Not for anything could he tear his gaze away. The more he looked, the more he wanted to see of her, not just across the room, but elsewhere too. Someplace quiet, private and alone. Asleep on his bed would also do very well.
Peter stood before him, cutting off his view. Dale started and looked up, schooling his features. His friend stared down at him with something akin to annoyance and Dale gritted his teeth. “Morning Peter,” he said, folding his paper and setting it on his lap.
“We need to talk.”
His friend’s concerned tone made him frown. “Sit and tell me what is troubling you.”
Peter did as Dale asked and he gave his friend his full attention. “Lord Weston has asked Father if he may court Mary.”
Dale sat up, fury spiking through him at the audacity of the man after he’d told him to stay the hell away from her.
“I have not forgotten your warning about him, and I told my parents of your concern, but they’re adamant that Lord Weston is genuine and whatever you saw his lordship and Lady Hectorville doing was wholly innocent.”
Dale swore. “Peter, your sister caught them in a compromising position, not I. I merely was the messenger. She cannot marry him; he’ll never be faithful to her and she deserves so much more than that.”
Peter’s mouth pulled into a thin, disapproving line. “I agree. We must help her find a gentleman who is suitable.” His friend turned to him. “Do you have any ideas?”
Dale pulled at his cravat, the warmth of the room making him sweat. “No-one present. I think she needs to have her Season next year and see if there are any more suitable gentlemen who pay court to her.” He paused, glancing at her. Lord Weston had shuffled closer to her person. If he moved any closer, he’d be sitting on Mary’s lap.
“If your parents will not listen, we’ll have to ensure Lord Weston gets the message loud and clear to stay away. He’ll end up giving her a disease.”
Peter’s eyes flew wide and he gasped. “Surely you jest.”
Dale shrugged, partly wondering why he was so set on Lady Mary not being married to such a bastard. What was it to him whom she married? So long as she was happy with her choice, he really didn’t have much say in the matter. But to think of her married to another, to share her bed, to have her bestow delectable kisses to anyone but him… He glared at Lord Weston, not appreciating the thought.
“I do not. With the amount of bed-fellows he’s had, it’ll only be matter of time before she has the pox.”
Peter stood, and Dale watched as Mary’s brother marched up to Lord Weston asking him to a game of billiards. Dale picked up his newspaper, feigning reading as he listened to the conversation. That Peter had surmised that if he kept Lord Weston away from Mary that would ensure the chap would not court her.
It was basic in concept, but could work, especially if Dale helped him with that endeavor. He smiled knowing he’d enjoy hindering Lord Popinjay from being able to pay court to Mary.
A lone finger pulled his paper down and Dale looked up to see Mary standing before him. Her gown had a pretty light green floral pattern over it. It was summery in appearance, but with the long sleeves and green shawl it was suitable for the cold time of year.
“Lady Mary,” he drawled, his body alerting to the fact that she was so close to him. Her hand picked up his paper and tossed it on the seat beside him. She leaned down, placing her hands on either side of his head, pushing him back into the cushion.
“What are you and my brother up to? Lord Weston was trying to court me and you should know I was enjoying it very much.”
“As if you could marry such a man.”
She raised one brow, a small grin on her lips. “No, of course not, but I was enjoying watching you dislike his courting. That, your grace, was worth the few minutes in his presence.”
Dale reached out, running a finger down the small hollow at the front of her throat, tracing it down between her breasts, which at this angle, spilled a little over the front of her gown. He bit back a groan, itching to spread his hand over her soft silken skin, tease the sweet nipples to hardened peaks beneath her dress.
“Don’t push me, Lady Mary. You may not like the outcome.”
She chuckled, leaning down further to kiss him softly on the lips. He didn’t move for fear of ripping her down on the seat beside him and finishing what they’d started the other night. The memory of her pliant body, willing and enjoying him on the terrace filled his mind and his body hardened. They were in the front parlor damn it; anyone could come in at any moment. He glanced quickly toward the door and clenched his hands at his side when he realized it was open.
“Maybe I’d like the outcome,” she said, running a finger over his bottom lip before standing up and severing all contact. The instant she was gone he missed her touch. He swallowed, completely at a loss as to how he was to handle the little vixen. Never had he met a woman who threw the rules of society aside to walk her own special path through life.
He was utterly beguiled.
Giving him another saucy smile at the door, she turned and left the room. He stared after her, his heart racing in his chest as if he’d been taking part in strenuous exercise.
If only he were, and with Lady Mary, now that would make an enjoyable afternoon.
Later that night Mary stood speaking with Louise in the upstairs drawing room,
a sprig of mistletoe in her hand. She would not normally be so bold as to carry around the little plant that would allow her to kiss anyone she choose, but she was determined to further acquaint herself with the duke.
He was simply too irresistible to ignore, and she wanted to feel all that he made her feel the other night.
“If your mama finds out that you’re wishing to steal a kiss from the Duke of Carlton she’ll have your head on a platter and serve it for supper. You know they’re already irritable with you not making a match last Season.”
“That was by choice, Louise. If I had wished for an offer I could’ve showed two gentlemen that I can think of off the top of my head who would’ve furthered their acquaintance with me, but it was not what I wanted.” In fact, Mary had done everything in her power to thwart suitors. One could not give her heart to a man who was only interested in what you brought to the marriage. That was not who Mary was. She wanted to be able to converse with the man she married, to be on equal footing within their home. If she could not have such outside the walls of her house, then she would damn well have it within it.
“And now you wish the duke to further his acquaintance?” Louise searched her gaze, a small frown upon her brow.
Mary shrugged. “I don’t know what I want from the duke, another kiss would be nice,” she said, teasing Louise a little. “He’s different from anyone I’ve ever met before I suppose. He doesn’t ridicule me for my likes and he actually talks to me, no one ever really talks to you in London or listens for that matter. The gentlemen make out they do, but they really do not.”
“And the duke does?” Louise asked, grinning.
Mary nodded. “He does, and it doesn’t hurt that his kisses are very nice too.” Left her aching in places she didn’t even know could ache. She wanted to feel that again.
