The Duke in My Bed

by Amelia Grey

  “Well, what do you have to say?” the earl asked pointedly.

  “Hold this,” Bray said, and shoved his wineglass into the earl’s hands.

  “Ah, ah—now, see here, Your Grace, I’m not your servant!”

  Bray paid the man no mind. He strode down into the swirling throng of people in the ballroom. As was his custom, he headed to pay his respects to the widows, dowagers, and spinsters. He waded through the crowd, speaking to some, nodding to others, but as usual, not allowing anyone to detain him for long until he’d kissed the hands of all the ladies lining the dance floor. He knew that would be the one part of the evening he would enjoy. The ladies looked forward to the attention he gave them, and he looked forward to their smiles.

  By the time he’d greeted them all, a new dance was starting, so he invited an elderly but still lovely viscountess to join him on the dance floor. Louisa had a new partner, too, a younger, more handsome man than Lord Bitterhaven, but for the life of him, Bray couldn’t remember his name. Miss Gwen was on the dance floor, too, with Mr. Standish. Bray assumed that meant the rakish blade was behaving himself when he was with her. That surprised Bray and pleased him.

  Bray kept the conversation going with the viscountess, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to Louisa every chance he got. Her light pink gown was cut far too low. He didn’t know what Mrs. Colthrust was thinking in letting her wear it. Surely Louisa could see that the dandy she was waltzing with had his thoughts on her bosom and not on what she was saying. Thankfully, just as Bray was thinking he’d leave his partner stranded in the middle of the floor and go jerk the man’s head off, the dance ended.

  He smiled at the vicountess and escorted her back to her seat. His duty for the evening accomplished, he searched for Louisa once more. He didn’t know why he came to the Great Hall when it was such torture to watch her dancing, talking, and laughing with other men.

  But then, he couldn’t fool himself. He did know why. Every once in a while, he would catch her staring at him with her gorgeous blue eyes, and the attention thrilled him. He’d bet his title that whenever she was watching him, she was remembering, like him, their few moments of stolen ecstasy on the settee in her drawing room.

  He still couldn’t believe she’d let him make love to her and then had the nerve to tell him she didn’t want to marry him. For days, he felt as if she’d gotten what she sought from him and then sent him on his way as if he were an unwelcome suitor.

  He knew he was a difficult man at times, but Louisa was a difficult lady at times, too. She was just too damn independent for her own good. Not only that, but he didn’t have five—he stopped and swore under his breath—four sisters to bring into a marriage. Hearing those girls’ screams, squeals, and crying had always made him want to bolt for the door—but Louisa made him want to run to her door.

  For over two years, he’d thought he would be happy if she didn’t want to marry him. But that was before he met her, got to know her, kissed her, and made her his. That was before she made him feel things he didn’t want to even think about: jealousy, anger, hurt, and love.

  Love?

  Hell no. He knew how to make a woman feel loved, but he didn’t know how to love one. It wasn’t in him to do so.

  Could that be the reason she’d rejected his offer of marriage, could it be that she was waiting for him to declare his love for her?

  Hell, what was he thinking? She didn’t want to marry him, because she didn’t need to marry him. He was her guardian. She knew that he would see to it she and her sisters had very comfortable lives. Still, it rankled that she was the one dismissing him.

  He glanced around the room, hoping to see Seaton or Harrison, but all he saw was Louisa heading to the dance floor with yet another partner. Was she going to dance every dance and wear out her shoes? He looked for a young lady he might quickly sweep onto the dance floor himself when he caught sight of Mr. Hopscotch standing on the landing, searching the faces in the crowded room. No doubt the man was looking for him. In Bray’s current mood, he’d probably smash the man’s face in if he insisted one more time that he must marry Louisa to save the Prince from embarrassment. Bray was near the door to the courtyard, so he quickly opened it and dashed out onto the slate terrace.

  The night air had a chill, and to add to his already foul mood, it was foggy as well. There were several couples close together in various parts of the lighted grounds. He didn’t want to watch lovers whispering to each other in the dark.

  Bray walked down past the cupid fountain that centered the courtyard and saw even more lovers taking advantage of the foggy evening. He grunted to himself. There was no peace for him at this place tonight and maybe not anywhere. He knew the only reason he was hanging around and didn’t go to one of his clubs was because he didn’t want to leave so long as Louisa was there. But worse than that, he was aching to hold her, to hear her contented sighs, to feel her beneath him moaning softly with sweet pleasure.

  A sound of feminine distress reached him and disturbed his thoughts. He listened. He could barely make out the woman’s words, but it sounded like she was saying, “No, let me go.”

  He looked around. The sounds hadn’t seemed to disturb any of the couples who were dotting the landscape and the terrace. Some young buck had obviously had too much to drink and was trying to steal a few kisses and caresses from an unwilling female. It wasn’t his problem.

  When would young ladies learn that the reason a man took them for a walk in the garden was so he could kiss them and touch them? Men were born to try to dominate females, and it was up to the woman not to let that happen. He certainly hadn’t been able to dominate Miss Prim. If anything, she had been dominating his thoughts ever since he met her.

  Bray started to walk off when he heard running. He stopped and looked in the direction of the footsteps and saw Gwen hurrying up the pathway.

  His breath stalled in his lungs. “What the bloody hell?” he mumbled as a fierce protectiveness rose up in him.

  He hurried across the courtyard at an angle and caught up to her and said, “Miss Gwen, stop.”

  She glanced over at him and quickly looked away. “No, please, I want to be alone.”

  He grabbed her arm, stopping her. He took notice of the other couples nearby. It appeared only one had paused their conversation to look at them, so he let go of her.

  “You can try to run away and make a scene so everyone will know what’s wrong with you, or you can stand here and quietly tell only me what’s going on.”

  “Nothing,” she said, keeping her head down.

  “That is not the truth.”

  She faced him, and Bray saw wide-eyed fear. It was the same look her brother had when he’d realized how badly he was hurt. And just like her brother’s that night, Gwen’s expression registered disbelief and sadness, too. That protective feeling inside Bray grew stronger.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said in a deadly quiet tone so she would know he wouldn’t let this rest until she complied.

  “Nothing,” she said again as if trying to sound more in control of herself.

  “If nothing happened, why is your lip bleeding?”

  “Oh,” she said, and put her fingertips to her bottom lip. “I must have bitten it myself when he—”

  He touched the small of her back and ushered her away from the path and closer to the courtyard wall, away from curious eyes. There was no blood, but saying so had given Bray the information he was looking for.

  “Were you with Standish?” he asked, handing her his handkerchief.

  The fear returned to her eyes. “No, no. I wasn’t. I swear.”

  “Miss Gwen,” was all he said.

  “Please don’t tell Louisa,” she whispered earnestly. “She will be so angry with me. She told me not to walk with him. She told me not to assume he loved me until he told me so. I didn’t listen to her, and she was right. It was all my fault.”

  “How was it your fault?”

  “He—he wanted to
kiss me, which I didn’t mind. I wanted his kisses, but then he wanted to touch me, and I told him he couldn’t unless he asked me to marry him.” Tears filled her eyes. “He told me he doesn’t love me and doesn’t intend to make a match with me. I thought he loved me.”

  “Shhh,” he said. “Don’t say more. You’ve told me enough. And don’t cry,” he ordered. “You don’t want to walk back into the ballroom with tears streaming down your face or your nose red, do you?”

  She shook her head and sniffled while wiping her eyes with his handkerchief. “I don’t want Louisa to know I was so foolish. I can’t believe he doesn’t love me. I was so certain he did.”

  “Men are ungrateful nodcocks when it comes to a lady’s affections.”

  “You won’t tell her I made a fool of myself, will you? Promise me you won’t tell her.”

  “I won’t tell her. This is your affair, Miss Gwen, not mine. You handle it with your sister however you wish.”

  And I’ll handle this with Standish.

  “Thank you.”

  From over her shoulder, Bray saw Standish sauntering up the pathway.

  “Look,” he said to Gwen. “Sit over there on that bench and compose yourself for a few moments and dry your eyes. Don’t go inside until I come back to walk in with you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  Bray strode quickly across the grounds to the other side of the lawn and caught up with Standish just as he was about to step onto the slate terrace. “Standish, there you are. I’ve been looking for you. Might I have a word with you?”

  He turned and acknowledged Bray. “Of course, Your Grace.”

  “Let’s go over here. This is a private conversation.”

  The young man followed him around to the side of the building. When they rounded the corner, Bray grabbed him by the bow of his neckcloth and pulled it tight, twisting and wrapping the length of it around his fist, choking Standish as he slammed him against the stone.

  “You don’t deserve it, but I’m going to do you a favor and give you some advice my father gave me years ago, ‘Stay away from the innocents for your urges. Have all the doxies, mistresses, and orgies you want, but keep your hands off innocent ladies.’ Now, do you understand what I’m saying, Standish?”

  The man’s face was turning red. He tried to speak, but Bray held the bow so tight around his neck that all he could do was sputter and nod. Bray squeezed a little tighter, nearly lifting the man off his feet.

  “Good. You would do well to heed my warning. If we have to meet about this subject again, I won’t be so pleasant to you as I am right now.” Bray let go of Standish.

  The man slid down the building to the ground, pulling at his neckcloth and gasping for air. “You must be mad to attack me like that!” Standish ground out while he tried to loosen his neckcloth.

  “I am mad,” Bray answered. “Mad as hell. And one other thing: I suggest that Miss Gwen receive a note from you tomorrow explaining that she is the most beautiful young lady you have ever met, and if you were ready for marriage, she would be the one, but you are far too immature to think of marriage at this time.”

  “You can’t expect me to— Ouch!” Standish yelped as Bray’s foot came down on his knee.

  “What were you saying?” Bray asked.

  “I’ll have the message delivered tomorrow,” Standish said from between clenched teeth.

  “Good. I think it might be better for you to spend the rest of the Season out of London, don’t you? Otherwise, you and I might find ourselves having another talk. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly, Your Grace,” he said, his face twisted in pain.

  Bray lifted his foot off the man and walked back to where Miss Gwen sat.

  She stood and she rose to meet him.

  “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

  “Better, I think. Are my eyes and nose red?”

  “Just a little. Go splash water on your face, and that should take care of it. If they are still red, tell anyone who asks it was the champagne you drank. It makes a lot of people look flushed.”

  She nodded. “Thank you for your help, Your Grace.”

  He smiled. “I’m your guardian, Miss Gwen. It’s my duty to look after you. You may come to me with anything, and I will help you.”

  She reached up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Bray was so startled, he stepped away from her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that. Please forgive me for being so forward, but tonight I feel about you the way I always felt about Nathan. As if you were my brother taking care of me.”

  She thought of him as a brother? That gave Bray the oddest feeling. Was he acting more like a brother than like a guardian? Was that feeling he’d had when he saw that she’d been hurt by Standish something like brotherly love? Did she feel like a sister to him?

  Bray had that now-familiar tightness in his throat, and he didn’t know what to say except, “I don’t need gratitude for doing the right thing. Let’s go back inside.”

  Somehow whenever he was around Louisa and her sisters, all the training that went into hiding his emotions left him. He didn’t know what to make of what was happening to him.

  Chapter 25

  Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.

  —Henry VI, part 2, act 3, scene 1

  Louisa didn’t know how much longer she could pretend she was having fun. She wasn’t. The music was loud, the room crowded, and the constant roar from chatter and laughter had her wanting to look for Mrs. Colthrust and Gwen and tell them she was ready to go home. That this madness of parties would go on for another two weeks was almost more than she could bear to think about. As far as she was concerned, the Season was much too long. Surely a month of parties and balls night after night should be the most anyone had to endure.

  She enjoyed dancing, conversing with people, and the glass of champagne she had each evening, but she was ready to return to her life of spending the evenings at home with her sisters, playing games, working on her stitchery, or reading. And she knew that Bonnie, Sybil, and Lillian were missing her and Gwen, too.

  She thanked the young man she’d danced with and bade him good-bye on the dance floor, having to insist she didn’t need him to help her find Mrs. Colthrust.

  “Miss Prim?”

  Louisa turned to see a tall, portly gentleman she didn’t recognize standing beside her.

  “Good evening,” he said. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at the first ball of the Season. I’m Mr. Alfred Hopscotch.”

  “I met many people that first evening,” she said, knowing she had no memory of being introduced to him. “Thank you for reminding me of your name.”

  “We didn’t have the opportunity to talk. The party was a crush, and everyone wanted to meet you for obvious reasons.” He ran his hand down the ends of his neckcloth and said, “I wonder if it might be possible for me to have a few moments of your time tonight?”

  She looked around the room, hoping to spot Gwen or Mrs. Colthrust. “I was just trying to find my sister and chaperone.”

  “I promise I won’t take much of your time,” he said. “I am a personal attendant to the Prince, and he has asked me to discuss something with you privately.”

  “Are you sure it’s me?” she asked, thinking if the man attended the Prince, then he must have mistaken her for someone else.

  “Quite sure. Do you mind if we step over to the side of the room and away from the dance floor?”

  “All right,” she said, curious as to what the man wanted to discuss with her.

  He led her over to a corner near a large urn. He looked around as if to make certain that no one was close enough to hear him and said, “What I have to say is of a most private nature to the Prince. At his request, I must ask that you keep anything I say to you in the strictest confidence. He wants assurances that what I say to you will go no further.”

  Louisa looked suspiciously at the ma
n, still not convinced he had the right person. “All right,” she said, and continued to stare at him. “But pardon me if I find it improbable that the Prince has sent you to a ball to talk to me.”

  He smiled reassuringly. “When the Prince told me this afternoon to approach you, I suppose I could have waited and visited with you at your home tomorrow. But when the Prince asks me to do something, I don’t usually tarry.”

  “Perhaps you should tell me what it is, then.”

  “The Prince knows the Duke of Drakestone vowed to your brother that he would marry you and that His Grace has not made good on that promise.”

  “I believe everyone in London knows that, Mr. Hopscotch.”

  “The Prince has tried to impress upon the duke how critical it is that he keep his word and marry you, but the Prince has seen no progress in that direction.”

  “I had no idea this matter would even cross the Prince’s mind. Surely he has more important things to concern himself with than a personal matter between me and the duke.”

  “What the dukes do and say is always important to the Prince. He feels strongly that the Duke of Drakestone should uphold the long-standing honor of the dukes before him and live up to his word and marry you.”

  The man paused and waited as if he expected her to say something, but she remained silent. She had stopped answering questions about the duke after the first week of the Season.

  “Have you asked the duke to fulfill his vow and marry you?”

  “Certainly not,” she said.

  “The Prince would like for you to.”

  Louisa’s eyebrows rose, and so did her ire. “Sir, I don’t know what to say to you or to the Prince other than it is by mutual consent that the duke and I do not wish to marry.”

  “The Prince must ask you to reconsider. I am not at liberty to give you the particulars of why it’s necessary—the duke knows them, of course—but it is in the Prince’s and England’s best interests for your wedding to the duke to take place by the first day of June.”

  This conversation was getting more bizarre by the moment. “I find it difficult to believe that whether or not the duke and I marry would have anything to do with England or the Prince, Mr. Hopscotch.”