The Duke in My Bed

by Amelia Grey

  Damn, he couldn’t get Miss Prim off his mind, no matter what he was doing or thinking. Every last thought always came back to her.

  The hell of it was that it bothered him less and less.

  Chapter 11

  I have lost the immortal part of myself, and what remains is bestial.

  —Othello, act 2, scene 3.

  It was the second day in a row for rare bright sunlight and azure blue skies. The heat of the sun felt good to the back of Bray’s neck as he walked up the stone path to Miss Prim’s house. He’d been an inconsiderate blackguard more times than he hadn’t, and it was unusual for his past transgressions to haunt him. In fact, other than Nathan Prim’s death, nothing ever did. But for several days now, he hadn’t been able to stomach the fact that Miss Prim thought he’d been knowingly malicious to her younger sisters.

  That rankled.

  He didn’t know much about children and nothing about girls. Except now he knew girls could squeal to the high heavens and make one want to put a pillow over one’s ears. They could cry for no reason and touch things they shouldn’t. They could be just as impolite, naughty, and playful as boys, but he would never mistreat them. And he didn’t even want to think about little Miss Missing-Teeth Bonnie hugging him. Most unfortunate of all was that he was their guardian until his runner could find that blasted viscount.

  Last night while plowing through a bottle of claret and trying once again, but in vain, to play a game of cards without thinking about Miss Prim, he’d decided he must see her again. He wouldn’t rest until he’d taken her to task about her accusations. He wasn’t going to be able to let this be and get it out of his mind until he was sure Miss Prim and Proper knew he hadn’t kept Saint from them on purpose.

  Bray reached to pick up the brass door knocker, but his hand closed around air as the door opened in front of him. Miss Sybil seemed shocked to see him standing there, but he was not surprised to see the little girl. Remembering what she did the last time she’d opened the door for him, he immediately flattened his hand against the wood and stuck his booted foot over the threshold so she couldn’t shut the door in his face again.

  Her eyes widened in fear, and she stepped out on the stoop with him. “Are you here to take Saint from us?” she asked in a soft breathy voice.

  Her question illustrated how necessary it was to clear things with her older sister once and for all. He leaned down to her and said, “No. He is yours for now and forever. I wouldn’t take him back even if you tried to give him to me.”

  A wide smile spread across her face and wrinkled her nose. She whispered, “Thank you, but don’t talk so loud.”

  Bray frowned. “Don’t talk so loud?” he repeated her words in a whisper.

  Miss Sybil put her forefinger to her lips and said, “Shhh,” and pointed inside the house behind her.

  “Why? Is someone sleeping?” he asked.

  She shook her head and rose up on her tiptoes to get closer to him even though he was still bent down to her. “We’re playing blindman’s buff and Louisa is it,” she whispered with a mischievous gleam in her big blue eyes. “I’m hiding.”

  Bray made a quick assessment of the situation. “Does she allow you to hide outside when you are playing the game?” he asked, following her orders and whispering again.

  Miss Sybil’s gaze held as steady on his as if she were playing a hand of cards with him. She remained silent. He knew she was trying to decide if she should tell the truth or not.

  “Well, does she?” he asked again.

  Finally, she pouted and shook her head again.

  “Back inside,” he said softly.

  She jerked her hands to her hips, turned around, and stepped back into the vestibule. Bray followed her and quietly closed the door behind them. Miss Sybil pointed to the stairs and gave him a questioning look. Bray could remember playing the game and hiding on different floors when he was a boy. It was never easy for the one wearing the blindfold, but immense fun for others. He could only assume this was not the first time Miss Prim had played the game with her sisters. She probably knew she’d have to search the entire house to find even one of them.

  Bray nodded his approval to Miss Sybil and then whispered, “Where is Miss Prim?”

  “Book room,” she mouthed to him, and pointed down the corridor. “Everyone else is abovestairs, too. Be quiet and don’t tell her.”

  He made the motion as if to put a key to his lips and lock them and then throw the key away. Miss Sybil grinned and headed up the stairs. Bray smiled, too. He hadn’t even thought about the game blindman’s buff in years. And he was amazed at how quickly the childhood gesture of locking his lips with a key had come back to him. Maybe little girls could be enjoyable after all—if they weren’t crying, or screeching, or hugging.

  After watching her climb the stairs, he walked down the corridor as quietly as his boots would allow on the squeaky hardwood floors. He paused to peer through each door he passed until he was rewarded at the last room on the left.

  Bray felt anticipation simmer in his loins.

  Louisa stood in the middle of the room, her back to him, counting. Her hands were gently clasped behind her, and she was swinging back and forth. Her glorious amber blond tresses tumbled past her softly rounded shoulders. The ends of a black scarf, which was tied around her eyes, mingled seductively in the back of her hair. She wore a simple honey-colored dress that flowed and fluttered enticingly around her legs with each movement she made. She looked so incredibly fresh and watching her like this, he was suddenly overwhelmed with desire for her.

  “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred,” Miss Prim called out loud. “Ready or not, here I come.”

  With her arms and hands extended in front of her, she slowly felt her way over to the far wall, where there was a window. She patted the draperies to make sure no one was hiding behind them.

  “All right,” she said. “I’m starting at the window, so I know I will have been around the room when I get back here.”

  Bray quietly stepped farther into the room and leaned against the bookshelves so he could observe her. There was something about her vulnerable, innocent state that immediately had him wanting to cuddle her to his chest and kiss those soft, warm lips.

  She was good at the game, moving the chair away from the writing desk and checking underneath it, walking all around the chairs and settees, feeling the cushions as she went. She searched under the end tables and behind the upholstered wing chairs.

  Bray was so intent on just watching her that she was very close to where he was standing before he realized it.

  He wasn’t sure he wanted her to catch him spying on her without her knowledge—but he wasn’t sure he didn’t, either.

  Should he make his presence known?

  It was the right thing to do. But how many times had he ever done the right thing?

  The closer she came to him, the less he was inclined to move out of her way.

  Yes, I want her to find me.

  His anticipation kicked up a couple of notches when he saw her hands reaching out toward him. Closer, closer until her fingertips landed midway on his waistcoat, just about the height of the two older girls.

  “Aha!” She smiled wickedly. “I’ve found one of you.”

  She must have sensed he thought about bolting away, because she quickly added, “You know the rules: You cannot move once you’ve picked your hiding place.”

  All right.

  That was fine with him. He didn’t really want to move.

  Her probing hands went lower. His heart rate jumped. Bone-melting pleasure seared through him and suddenly had his breaths coming fast, short, and shallow.

  “Is this Lillian?” Miss Prim asked. “What do you have on? How am I to tell who it is when you disguise yourself?”

  Her gentle hands slipped lower, pressing, lightly searching for the clue that would tell her whom she’d found. He didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that she didn’t go wide in her search bu
t kept her hands right up the middle.

  Bray winced silently, tightening every muscle in his body, trying to force his manhood not to respond to her innocent exploration. But his will was no match for her touch. He was doomed. His lower stomach tightened, and a surge of hardness caught between his legs.

  “I don’t think this is in the rules of the game,” Miss Prim said while one hand fiddled with the buttons on his waistcoat and the other slid open palm down the front of his riding breeches.

  Sweet hell! That felt good.

  “You are not supposed to masquerade yourself,” she added in an exasperated voice. “And what is this? Are you standing on a box to make yourself so tall? I’m not happy about this, but I’ll play along for now.”

  I am.

  Bray sucked in a deep silent breath. His senses reeled in delight. He finally knew the meaning of heavenly torture. It was heaven and it was hell to be fondled by a young lady who had no idea she was touching him, let alone where she was touching him.

  “But remember, all of you promised to play fair this time,” she said. “I can’t possibly ever win if you keep changing the rules. And what kind of clothing is this you have on?”

  Her hands moved up to his waist again, and she pulled on the ends of his waistcoat, but he felt no reprieve. All but one part of his body remained still, and it was throbbing and growing rapidly. He threw his head back and almost groaned out loud. Only his years of training, hiding every emotion that threatened to emerge from inside him, kept him still.

  Though he couldn’t see her forehead, he knew when her brow wrinkled into a frown of confusion as her movements took her south again. Bray abandoned himself to the gratifying torment. He came over wanting to give Miss Prim a piece of his mind, and instead she was giving him the kind of finite torture no man should have to endure but all men wanted to.

  “This feels odd,” she whispered.

  Oh no, it feels amazing and so satisfying. Don’t stop.

  Perhaps he could forgive her for thinking he’d stolen the dog from her sisters after all.

  “And such an odd place to have buttons,” Miss Prim said, and crossed her arms over her chest as if she were studying her thoughts.

  Suddenly her hands quickly sailed up the eight buttons on his waistcoat, to his neckcloth. “And how and why did you make your shoulders so wide?”

  “Gwen, Lillian!” she said in a surprised voice, jerking her hands to her hips. “Don’t tell me you got into Lord Wayebury’s wardrobe and pilfered his clothing? You know better. He’ll have our heads!”

  Bray clenched his jaw and, from strength he didn’t know he possessed at the moment, said, “It’s me, Miss Prim, the duke.”

  She gasped. Her hand flew to her blindfold and she yanked it off. “You!” Her eyes looked as if they could spit fire at him. “How long have you been there?”

  “Not long enough,” he said truthfully.

  “Where did I—I mean—” Her voice faltered and softened in anguish. “Oh no! Did I touch you?”

  Oh, yes and, it was exquisite pleasure.

  It pained him greatly to do it, but he didn’t twitch an eye or let the corner of his mouth quiver in mirth as he nodded.

  “I did, didn’t I? Merciful heavens!” She closed her eyes and groaned as she squeezed the black scarf in a tight fist. Her eyes popped open and she stared blankly at him. “Just shoot me right now and put me out of my misery.”

  “I have no pistol,” he answered dryly.

  “You wouldn’t shoot me anyway. You are too much of a devil, and you want me to be in this agony.”

  He was in agony, too, but he doubted she would believe him, so he remained quiet.

  “Tell me, did I do the unthinkable and touch you where—where I shouldn’t have? No,” she whispered earnestly, clearly confounded by wanting and yet not wanting to know what she had done. “What am I saying? I shouldn’t have touched you anywhere.”

  Bray watched her cringe in mortification again. Her expression went from shock to horror to fury. Should he tell her the truth?

  Miss Prim’s problem was that she still thought of herself as a vicar’s daughter. He wanted to shake that firm foundation out from under her, and he knew exactly how to do it so she wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

  “Yes, Miss Prim, you touched me exactly where I wanted to be touched.”

  Chapter 12

  Out, damned spot! Out, I say!

  —Macbeth, act 5, scene 1

  “What? No! Oh no!”

  Louisa felt as if the flames of embarrassment started at her toes and raced up her body to her face as fire through dry brush. She would never be able to look him in the eyes again.

  “Yes, touched me exactly where I wanted to be touched,” he repeated.

  “Dear sweet mercies! Don’t say it again,” she whispered.

  Louisa had never fainted in her life, but her legs were so weak, she thought she might crumple to the floor.

  “My heart, Miss Prim,” the duke added as calmly as if he were talking about the weather. “You touched my heart.”

  Could she believe him? No, his answer was too glib. He was too self-confident.

  “You are lying,” she shot back.

  “That is a strong accusation from someone reared under the straitlaced hand of a vicar, Miss Prim.”

  “But accurate, is it not? You have no heart to touch.”

  “That is probably so.” A smile twitched the corner of his mouth. “If I had a heart, you touched me where it would be.”

  Did that mean maybe she hadn’t touched him inappropriately? She couldn’t tell by his expression. He was just too good at masking his true feelings and what he was thinking. She wanted to believe him, but should she? Was it best to just let it go?

  No—for some reason, she couldn’t. She had to know for sure.

  “Did I touch you anywhere else? You know what I am asking, Your Grace. I have a right to know.”

  He hesitated.

  She stiffened.

  He nodded.

  Her cheeks flamed red hot again. “Oh, I always knew you were a vile beast. Why did you stand there and let me—let me fondle you and say absolutely nothing to stop me?”

  “Why do you think I did?”

  Louisa was so livid, it was impossible for her to speak at first. “You are more than a beast. You are a scoundrel of the highest order and should never be allowed anywhere near a respectable young lady—or children, for that matter.”

  “Then slap me for my abhorrent behavior.”

  That brought her up short and snapped the fury right out of her. “What?”

  “Slap me, Miss Prim.”

  “You are teasing me, Your Grace,” she whispered.

  “No,” he said with deadly calm. “You either slap me, or I will kiss you.”

  “What? I don’t believe you.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He was right. She did believe him.

  “And,” he added, “before you make your choice, remember: Only one of us will enjoy the slap, but I’ll make sure we both enjoy the kiss.”

  She whirled to run away, but his arm snaked around her waist and he swung her to face him. She struggled briefly before he flattened her back against the bookshelves and pressed his body to hers. Somehow he’d managed to capture both her wrists in one of his hands and he held them behind her. He had her tightly pinioned, but she wasn’t alarmed.

  She was angry.

  Their eyes and their bodies were locked in a battle of wills, and she truly had no idea who was going to win.

  “Let me go!” she whispered hotly, and squirmed against his pressing weight, knowing it was futile but unable to simply acquiesce to his imprisonment without a fight.

  “No, my indignant Miss Prim. If you were so outraged by what happened between us just now, you should have taken your retribution when I offered you the chance.”

  Her breath trembled in her throat. His tone, the light of intrigue in his green eyes, made her stomach quiver delicious
ly. Teasing warmth tingled across her breasts. She was baffled that even though she was furious with him, he could make her feel such pleasing sensations.

  She ceased struggling. “I’ve never slapped a man,” she admitted.

  He lowered his head, bringing his face close to hers. “You’ve probably never had reason to before now.”

  “I haven’t.”

  He caressed her cheek with his fingertips, letting them slowly trace the outline of her lips. The pads of his fingers traveled over her chin and down her neck to rest in the hollow at the base of her throat, where she knew her pulse was beating wildly.

  Slow curls of pleasure came alive inside her, and without conscious effort, her chest lifted to feel more of the weight of his arm lying against her breasts. His hand confidently slipped over to her ear, and his fingertips slowly outlined its shape before moving beneath her hair to caress the soft, sensitive skin there. The warmth and tenderness of his touch seemed to seep inside her soul and weaken her will to resist him.

  “I would wager you have never been kissed either, being a properly brought-up vicar’s daughter. You’ve probably never even been tempted.”

  Not until now.

  “So tell me, Miss Prim,” he asked huskily as his gaze studied hers, his face so close, she felt his breath on her cheek, “do your stillness and your silence mean the kiss wins over the slap?”

  Did it?

  If there were ever a man who deserved a slap, it was this one, but did she really want to do it?

  “You are holding my hands,” she whispered.

  He smiled and nodded once. “In that case.” He let her go and took one step back. “If the lady intends to strike, go ahead.”

  She was free of his hold, but she didn’t feel free of him. She had room to reach back and bring her hand down on his cheek with all her strength, but she didn’t move to take advantage of his surrender. Instead of feeling calmer and slowing down, her breathing increased sharply. The seconds ticked by. She was in no danger of him keeping her against her will, yet she remained still except for the rapid rise and fall of her chest.