Duke of Decadence

by Tammy Andresen

  “All of them,” she replied and then she stepped back, loosening her braid and allowing the locks to fall about her shoulders.

  “You’re all right with sharing my bed before marriage?” He pulled her close again, beginning to work on the strings of her corset.

  “I offered to be your mistress,” she replied as the garment fell away. “I trusted you from the first.”

  He yanked his shirt over his head and then pulled her close again.

  Isabella ran her hands from his shoulders to his torso, exploring every line and dip of muscle on his exposed skin. “I love the way your skin feels,” she said as her hands slid over his flesh again.

  In answer, he gathered her chemise and pulled the fabric up over her head. He cupped her cheeks, kissing her again, but soon his hands slid down her neck, to her chest, where he cupped a breast in each hand.

  Sensation rocked through her as her nipples puckered under his touch. Her neck tipped back, and she arched into the touch.

  But he kept moving his hands down and when he reached her waist, he untied her pantaloons and the silky fabric grazed down her thighs, pooling at her knees.

  He gave her a naughty grin before he bent down to pull them the rest of the way down, kissing her belly as he did.

  A pulsing need throbbed between her legs, which only intensified as his lips slid lower.

  “Bash?” she asked as his fingers brushed through the curls at her apex.

  Rather than answer, he dipped his fingers lower, sliding them along her most sensitive flesh, skimming her lower lips.

  She let out a gasping moan, her body shivering at the sensation that ricocheted through her.

  He stroked her again even as her fingers dug into his hair. But he wasn’t done. He dipped his head lower and his tongue repeated the path his fingers had just traversed.

  She gasped, pulling at his hair as he repeated the touch.

  “Bash,” she begged as his tongue began to move in a rhythm even as his finger slid further back, entering her channel.

  Her eyes blurred and her legs shook as he relentlessly moved faster.

  Her legs could barely hold her as his other arm wrapped just below her derriere, partially supporting her weight. Tension was building inside her as she pulled at his hair again, crying out his name.

  And then she broke, pleasure shattering her insides.

  She’d barely recovered when he stood and lifted her into his arms, crossing to his bed. He laid her down and tugged at his breeches, only getting them as far down as his knees when he was climbing up her body.

  She felt like pudding, her muscles so relaxed they hardly wanted to work, but still she had to giggle. “Your boots are still on.”

  He let out a growl, that started a hum of need inside her again. “I don’t have time to take them off.”

  She nearly asked him what the rush was but as his skin came down on hers, she forgot her words.

  The feel of him pressing into her felt deliciously…right. She threaded her arms about his neck as their lips met in a searing kiss.

  And then his manhood pressed to her folds, her slick heat drawing him in.

  He moaned, burying his face into her neck even as she winced at the stretching, burning sensation that made her tense.

  He stilled, lightly stroking her hip. “My love?”

  “Keep going,” she returned, forcing herself to relax. “I’m ready.”

  In one quick thrust, he broke through her maidenhead and fully seated himself inside her.

  Her cry was drowned out by his groan of pleasure.

  He stilled again, giving her time to adjust before he began to move inside her once again.

  The pain receded with each stroke and as he moved more quickly, she found herself meeting his thrusts. Pleasure began to build inside her again and she tightened her grip around his neck.

  His rhythm started to grow uneven, but she couldn’t ask why because her own body exploded in pleasure again, convulsing around him even as a moan ripped from his throat.

  “Isabella,” he groaned, collapsing on top of her.

  She blinked her gaze back into focus as her fingers stroked down his back.

  And to think, she almost hadn’t dragged herself to his room. She’d wanted to stay on her floor where he’d left her but then, that well of strength she hadn’t known she had, propelled her forward.

  And as she lay in his arms she realized it had led her home.

  Epilogue

  Bash stood at the front of the church waiting for his bride. Her sisters stood to one side, his friends on the other. He gave a quick smirk to see Menace eyeing Eliza even as she pointedly ignored him in return. He wondered if another romance was blooming.

  Then again, they were talking about Menace. His friend, however, had better behave himself. Eliza was no longer without a guardian.

  The door at the front of the church opened and Mason entered with Isabella on his arm.

  Bash forgot everything else as he stared down the aisle at her. In the palest blue gown, her skin glowed and her chocolate brown hair caught the candlelight, shimmering as she made her way toward him.

  He drew in a breath, forgetting everything else, as she glided closer.

  He loved this woman and she was about to be his wife.

  His throat tightened with emotion as he shifted, resisting the urge to walk down the aisle and pull her close. Finally, Mason reached him and with a nod, placed Isabella’s hand into his.

  And then all was right with the world.

  How could he have worried that she’d bring out the worst in him? This was the best. She was the best.

  They came to stand in front of the priest, the lilting words flowing over him as he promised to love, honor, and cherish Isabella for the rest of his days. Easy.

  She’d fascinated him from the moment he’d seen her. And he’d continue to hold her next to his heart for always.

  When she softly said her vows, her eyes locked with his, his chest swelled with so much emotion it was all he could do to keep from kissing her.

  “I do,” he answered, squeezing her fingers.

  “I do,” she repeated, giving him a glowing smile.

  She was his. And then he captured her lips with his own. Had the priest told him he could kiss his bride? He’d lost track.

  But he heard her nervous giggle and thought perhaps he’d been a bit early in his declaration of love.

  “The Duke of Decadence indeed,” Menace murmured next to him. “More like the Duke of Devotion.”

  He raised his head giving a light chuckle. The name suited him just fine.

  They made their way back out into the cold morning, the guests piling into several carriages to make their way to the wedding breakfast.

  Bash pulled Isabella to the front where his carriage waited for them. The moment the door closed, he pulled her into his arms, kissing her several times as he settled her across his lap. “You look so beautiful, my love.”

  She laughed softly as she wrapped her arms about his neck. “And you looked very dashing today.” Then she pulled away her eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Bash.”

  “For what?” he asked as he ran the backs of his fingers across her cheek, over her jaw, and down her neck.

  “For keeping us safe. For giving my sisters a future.”

  He grimaced despite the soft words. “I didn’t keep you safe yesterday.” Who was the man who kept appearing? Then something clicked. “The other night in the garden…someone bumped me. I think it was him.” He tossed his head back on the seat. “I knew I recognized his voice. I just placed it.”

  She pressed her chest to his, her breath blowing over his cheeks. “We’ll figure out who he is, and we’ll get my sisters married off and safe. I wish I could save the house but…” She shrugged. “It’s just a place. My heart now has a home and it’s with you.”

  He slipped his arms around her back, holding her close. “We’ll make you a wonderful new home, Isabella. And you’re right. We’l
l see your sisters safe and settled.”

  “The season is coming. Are you ready to launch three women into society?”

  He chuckled. “I’ve retained Aunt Mildred’s services. I know she was dreadful yesterday, but she’s done the hard part of launching them already. We’ll have them wed in no time.”

  She kissed him again. “I’m glad you feel that way.” She nibbled at her lip. “But right now, I think we should focus on me and you.”

  He captured her lips again. “I agree. Me and you.”

  “Always.”

  “Forever.”

  Marquess of Menace

  Lords of Scandal

  Tammy Andresen

  * * *

  Hells bells, Dylan hated these sorts of parties.

  Loathed them, actually.

  To be honest, he didn’t like anything that involved society or the ton.

  Awkward, considering he was a marquess.

  Dylan Amesbury, Marquess of Milton leaned against the wall with his arms crossed as he watched a sea of dancers sway back and forth in front of him, his face set in an annoyed frown.

  He much preferred to spend his time at his secret gaming hell, the Den of Sins, or at his boxing club, or to be absolutely clear, having his fingernails ripped off one by one.

  He wasn’t meant for this sort of life, never had been. A fact his family was fond of reminding him often.

  In some ridiculous series of events, he had inherited the Milton title, which should have gone to his third cousin, Lord Henry James Marks. Then his second cousin, the Honorable Steven Winthrop. His older brother, Mr. William Amesbury would have been better but no. For some odd reason fate had placed the title in his hands. Loaded to the gills with debt, he’d been given the title and all the responsibility of turning the blasted marquisate around.

  Laughable, really because of all the men who might have inherited it before him, he was the absolute worst choice. He drank, gambled, and generally skirted through life barely keeping himself out of trouble. Well, serious trouble anyhow.

  His mother had gone into fits when she’d realized that he’d become the marquess. And her parting words to him on her deathbed, try not to bring the family any more shame.

  He let out a long breath, shaking his head.

  Three girls nearby giggled as they snapped their fans over their mouths and made eyes at him above the fluttering instruments. It was February. How could they be hot enough to fan with such vigor?

  He looked away again, not bothering to even feign interest in the debutantes.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like women, he liked them very much. Short ones, tall ones, curvy ones, brash ladies who swore like sailors, and exotic beauties, and every day hard drinking women who liked a quick laugh and a bit of fun with an even quicker tumble. He’d even dallied with a few ladies of society. Widows were a personal favorite of his.

  If there was one type he didn’t go for, it was the giggling, covered in lace, fan waving, marrying type.

  More precisely, he didn’t mind the giggles or the lace…just the marriage part.

  He let out another long breath. The very idea of tying himself to one woman left him cold deep inside. He’d been meant for life of fun, leisure, and debauchery. It’s all he’d ever been good at. Ask anyone in his family. They’d agree.

  But he found himself drowning in ledgers, crop counts, and…marriage prospects.

  The Den of Sins had actually helped reduce the mountain of debt he’d inherited. But he had two crumbling estates with villages that had largely been abandoned and fields that had ceased producing.

  He’d attempted to think of other ways to right the title, but the only real asset he had to leverage at this point was….well…his looks.

  Dylan had been born handsome. A fact he’d utilized to its fullest advantage for most of his life and one he’d use again now to repair the title and prove to his family that he was capable of doing something no one else had done in the past few generations. Be a successful marquess.

  He scrubbed a hand through his hair and heard one of the ladies sigh. Longingly.

  He should ask one of them to dance.

  But dread churned in his stomach. He couldn’t do it.

  Still, he’d have to introduce himself to one of the taffeta confections at some point. If for no other reason than he needed to discern which of these women had the largest dowry and would make for the best candidate to become a marchioness.

  To a sham marquess.

  Neither reared for the duty nor holding the necessary dignity for the position, he was sure to disappoint.

  He looked back at the girls, picked the one with the most lace and ribbons in her hair and winked. It was the only metric he could think to choose one of them over the others.

  He knew this was not how most titled lords went about courting. There were introductions and pretty words and formal dances and blah blah blah. But he didn’t have the time or energy for such pleasantries.

  The sooner he wed and repaired his finances, the sooner he could go back to his old life of drinking and gaming hells. Where he was comfortable. Where he excelled.

  And it turned out that debutantes and working women had a great deal in common because all three ladies blushed and giggled, and the fans moved even faster.

  Perhaps courting wouldn’t be as awful as he’d imagined.

  “Good evening, my lord.” An older woman stepped in front of the three young ladies and gave him a smile, coquettish and obvious as she dipped into a curtsy. “I am Lady Price, and these are my daughters, Lady Judith, Lady Penelope and Lady…” he ceased listening.

  Each of the girls dipped into a matching curtsy to their mother as they lowered their fans. Judith’s bow was awkward, Penelope’s teeth were horse-like, and whatever her name was… just no.

  But he stood there making polite conversation for what seemed like hours before another matron introduced herself and her daughters and then another and another.

  Each more painful than the last.

  Finally, not able to stand another moment, he slipped from the crowd that had developed around him and started toward the terrace. He needed air or a carriage to whisk him from this party to the nearest gentlemen’s club or, better yet, the Den of Sins. Where men unabashedly participated in cursing and drinking and womanizing.

  But just as he reached the doors, he glanced over and saw her. Miss Eliza Carrington.

  Tall and statuesque, her dark brown hair was piled high atop her head. Her coiffure lacked the ribbon and lace of so many other girls which only added to the appeal of the lush locks. Dark lashes fringed her large, warm eyes, making them extremely mesmerizing.

  Her nose was small and straight, set off by high cheekbones and her mouth was so full and lush it made a man ache. He didn’t allow his gaze to sweep down her body. He already knew that her full curves would set him off into a riot.

  He’d met Eliza on two separate occasions. One, very proper. His best friend, the Duke of Devonhall’s wedding to Eliza’s sister, Isabella Carrington.

  But the other time made him grin. It had been the least proper meeting of a proper girl that he could think of. Which meant it had been exceedingly fun. In addition, Eliza was nothing like the rest of these girls. She had spirit and spunk and… he stopped.

  Eliza was a distraction. Nothing more.

  Even now two men stood near her, both intent upon her while she hardly looked at either of them. She was a woman made to tease men.

  Normally, he’d love to allow her to tease him, but he had a future to prepare for. She didn’t have the connections or funds he required and he needed to leave her be.

  Which was why he kept moving and headed out onto the terrace. Eliza Carrington was not the right woman for him. Nor was he the right man for her. She struck him as the sort that would see right through his wicked ways to the black heart he hid underneath.

  Eliza watched the Marquess of Milton head out the doors. Cad.

  To his friends, he was
just Menace. An apt name.

  The man was trouble.

  Eliza knew when a man was best left alone. Too handsome by half, as near as she could tell, Menace had never worked an honest day in his life.

  She gave an indelicate snort as she watched him walk out the doors.

  “Don’t make such noises, dear.” Her Aunt Mildred patted her arm. “It isn’t polite.”

  Eliza frowned at the other woman who wasn’t actually her aunt. The truth was, she was an actress that Eliza and her sisters had hired to play the part of their real aunt. The actual Mildred hadn’t left Scotland in twenty-five years, which made impersonating the lairdess exceedingly easy.

  The why of the whole situation was a bit more complicated.

  It started with her mother’s death and her father’s disappearance.

  Her mother’s death hadn’t actually been the complicated part, which had been a standard case of disease of the lung. Funny how the mundane could be so heart-wrenching. But their father, a merchant, had been on a trip to the Orient when she’d passed.

  They’d made several attempts to contact him but to no avail. Lucas Carrington had neither returned home nor written to say when he might. It had been almost a year since they’d received any communication from him.

  She covered her stomach as nerves raced along her skin. And their uncle, their mother’s sister’s husband had had their father declared dead and seized any assets he could get his claw-like hands on.

  Including Eliza and her sisters. Malcolm had tried to marry them off to whatever man would have them. More accurately, he wished to sell Eliza to the highest bidder to collect the purse, but her younger sister Isabella had met and married a duke. The Duke of Devonhall now had all four Carrington sisters under his protection.

  Which was a blessing at this exact moment. Because her uncle stood next to her with the noxious Mr. Taber.

  “Eliza,” the man hissed as he reached for her arm, gripping her too hard. “I know you remember our friend, Mr. Taber.”