Bedding Lord Ned (Duchess of Love 1)

by Sally MacKenzie

  She grinned. “That might be beyond even Reggie’s skills, but I do believe you’ve given me an idea.”

  “Splendid. Let me give you several other ideas.” He pushed off her stays and pulled her shift up and over her head; then he cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples. Liquid desire shot through her.

  She suddenly had a very clear idea of exactly how she wished to spend the next hour.

  She pulled him over to the bed. “Ellie thinks Ash still loves Jess, by the way.”

  Drew’s brows lowered. “Well, I wish he would act on it then. I would like my heir to get an heir before I go to my reward.”

  Venus ran her hands over his chest. “Go to your reward?! Nonsense. I’ll not hear any talk of departing this earth.”

  He lifted her onto the mattress. “Confess, Venus. You’d like a grandchild to spoil before you’re too feeble to do a proper job of it.”

  She laughed. “Yes, indeed, but I do not plan on being feeble for many years yet. Are you going into a decline soon?”

  “I’ll show you a decline.”

  Drew shed his pantaloons almost as quickly as he had when he was twenty-one and vaulted onto the bed. What followed was a flurry of activity accompanied by laughing, giggling, moaning, and gasping, and then Venus was flat on her back, delightfully satisfied.

  “I think there’s still some life left in you, your grace,” she said.

  “Of course there is.” Drew flopped down onto the mattress next to her and closed his eyes.

  Venus turned to look at him—at the strong planes of his face, his long lashes, his clever mouth. She loved him in so many ways. “Thank you for looking out for Jack today.”

  He kept his eyes closed. “I suspect his brothers and perhaps Ellie were looking out for him as well. After I passed him the paper heart I’d saved out, Ned slipped him one, too.”

  “Did he? Excellent. I think it was very good Jack won the game outright rather than merely tying Miss Wharton, as then he’d probably have played the gentleman and let her choose her sleigh partner—which would surely have been him.”

  “Hmm.”

  Venus turned over to look up at the canopy. For some reason, she did not feel sleepy at all. “You know, I rather like Miss Wharton now. She may have some rough edges, but she is charming in her own way. She was so enthusiastic about both the treasure hunt and charades. She would make some man a fine wife.”

  Drew frowned and cracked open an eye. “But not Jack.”

  “No, not Jack.”

  “Good. I agree Miss Wharton is an estimable young woman, but I could no more bear an extended visit with her than I could one with Humphrey.”

  Venus nodded. “True, but she may settle down once she marries. I suspect some of her problem is nervous energy that a husband could manage very well.”

  Drew’s eyes lit with a markedly lascivious expression. “Ah, yes, nervous energy.”

  “What? Oh!” She giggled. “I didn’t mean that kind of nervous energy! You’ve already attended to that.”

  “I have?” He turned to nuzzle the place under her ear, and then moved his lips slowly down her neck. “Are you sure?”

  “Y-yes ... umm.” He whispered kisses up the side of her breast. Oh! All Drew needed to do was touch her, and her body ached for him, even now, after he’d already brought her to completion. His lips were so close to her aching peak. She wiggled.

  “Feeling a bit more energy, then?”

  “Ah, ah, y-yes.”

  “Let me help you.” He finally latched onto her nipple, and after that, Venus didn’t give another thought to her guests.

  Ned stared down at the small tent in his coverlet just below his waist.

  Damn.

  It would be fine—wonderful, actually—if his, er, excitement had been caused by dreams of Lady Juliet, but it hadn’t been.

  He scowled at the offending protuberance, and it obligingly wilted.

  Zeus, he felt more tired than when he’d gone to bed—which wasn’t surprising as he’d tossed and turned through one disturbing dream after another. He’d waded through red-walled dungeons, swarms of cats, and writhing masses of serpents. His heart had nearly stopped at one point when he’d seen Ellie sitting on Jack’s sledge at the top of a mountain. The snow was too deep and his feet too frozen for him to catch her, so he’d watched helpless as she’d barreled down the slope and into a lake.

  But the last dream ...

  Oh, bloody, bloody hell. He banged his head back against the bed’s headboard, squeezing his eyes shut, but that didn’t help, of course. The image was burned into his brain.

  Ellie had been dressed in a silky red gown, dancing and flirting with Jack. Zounds, he still felt a hard knot of anger thinking about it. And then the music had changed to a waltz, and Jack had turned into Cox, and—Ned pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes—Ellie’s gown had melted away so all he saw was her lovely cream-colored back and those damn red drawers on her swaying arse.

  He jerked his hands away from his face and glared at his coverlet. His damn cock was disarranging it again.

  He took a deep breath. No, this was good. It was encouraging. His body had been deeply asleep since Cicely’s death, and now it was waking. He just wished Lady Juliet and not Ellie was the cause of the resurrection.

  Well, it was resurrection nonetheless—that was what was important.

  He threw off his covers and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. In truth, dreams didn’t mean anything. He would put them out of his mind. He’d just use the chamber pot, clean up, and then—

  What the hell was sticking out from under his bed? It looked like ... he stooped down. Yes, it was a white feather boa.

  “Reggie!” He scanned his room. Where the hell—ah, of course. Reggie had made a comfortable nest in his rumpled coverlet.

  The cat lifted his head and blinked at him.

  “Reggie, if you’ve been stealing things again, I swear I’ll take you by your tail and fling you out the window into the snow.” Of course he’d been stealing things—Ned didn’t make a habit of collecting feather boas.

  The blasted cat yawned. He knew all too well Ned wouldn’t dare harm a single hair on his annoying, thieving body.

  Ned plucked the boa off the floor, and then got down on his hands and knees to peer into the shadowy area under his bed.

  Reggie had been busy. Ned hauled out a large yellow and green reticule; a pink silk stocking, sadly showing the effects of Reggie’s teeth and claws; one pantalets leg with lace trim; and a box of Hooper’s Female Pills which he dropped as if scorched as soon as he read the label.

  “Bloody hell, Reggie, couldn’t you stick to less personal items?”

  Reggie was too busy licking his hindquarters to reply.

  Ned sat back on his heels. “I suppose I can dump them on the table in the little yellow salon like Mama did yesterday. People may as well get used to checking there each morning for their missing belongings.”

  Reggie neither agreed nor disagreed. He yawned again, stretched, and jumped down from the bed, walking off at a leisurely pace, tail high, as if he ruled the castle—which in a way he did.

  Well, there was nothing to do but gather the things and take them downstairs. Ned scooped them up and—oh, damn.

  There on the bed where Reggie had been lying were Ellie’s cursed red drawers.

  Ellie stared out the window in the long gallery. Mrs. Dalton’s rheumatism had predicted the weather accurately once again—the sun was out, the sky was blue, and there wasn’t a snowflake in sight. She squinted; it was almost too bright. Evergreen branches bent with the weight of the snow, and the fields spread out smooth and white, marred only by the occasional deer or rabbit tracks, for as far as she could see.

  It would be good to get out of the house; perhaps the cold would clear her mind.

  She rested her forehead against the cool glass of the windowpane. She needed to think. She’d hardly slept at all last night. Try as she might, she coul
d not muster one iota of enthusiasm for either Mr. Humphrey or Mr. Cox.

  Choosing a husband in order to have children had seemed completely reasonable just two days ago, but now it felt like insanity.

  She pressed her head harder against the glass. It was reasonable. Marriage would not only give her children, it would give her a home of her own. A place to manage; a place she was needed. “Wife” was a far more desirable title than “spinster.” As a wife, she’d be treated as an equal by the neighborhood matrons rather than as an object of pity.

  No, as long as the man wasn’t cruel—and neither Mr. Humphrey nor Mr. Cox showed any evidence of cruelty—marriage was far preferable to spinsterhood. In the not so distant past, many, if not most, marriages were arranged for practical reasons that had nothing to do with the horribly impractical emotion of love.

  She sighed. No matter how hard her mind argued, her heart would not be persuaded.

  So was Jack right? Should she pursue Ned as Miss Wharton was pursuing Jack—or would Ned just run as far and as fast as his brother?

  She heard heels echoing on the wooden floor behind her and turned. Damn, it was Ned. She didn’t want to talk to him right now; her thoughts were too confused.

  Her heart wasn’t confused, though. It leapt like an eager spaniel at the sight of him and, if she let it, would likely fawn all over his boots. He was so dear to her and so handsome—so tall and broad-shouldered with that lock of chestnut hair flopping onto his forehead. This morning he was dressed simply in buckskin breeches and dark blue coat and waistcoat with an elegantly-tied cravat and ... a large yellow and green reticule?

  “I was hoping I’d find you here,” he said, coming to stand beside her and dropping the reticule on the wide windowsill.

  “Y-yes.” Why in the world did he have a reticule? “I couldn’t”—no, no need to let him know she hadn’t been able to sleep—“I woke early and thought I’d stretch my legs. It’s so quiet and peaceful here.”

  He smiled. “If you can ignore all the disapproving ancestors glaring down at you from the walls.”

  She smiled back at him, willing the tightness in her chest to relax. “Oh, they’re not as bad as the ones downstairs. And I’ve always particularly liked the painting of you and your brothers over there.” The artist had sat Jack, who must have been around four years old and was clutching a stuffed bunny, in a chair with Ash and Ned standing on either side. “You all look so angelic.”

  Ned chuckled. “You wouldn’t say that if you could have heard the threats and bribes and muffled curses that went along with those sittings. I believe the artist swore off painting young boys as soon as he put the last dab of paint on the canvas.”

  “Perhaps, but I know your parents must be very glad to have the picture now.” Ellie’s heart clenched a little every time she looked at it. It reminded her so strongly of their happy, shared childhood. She could see a bit of the man in the boy when she looked at Ned’s young face.

  She looked at the man before her. And sometimes she could still see a glimmer of the boy in the man.

  Ned shrugged and glanced out the window. “It looks like a good day. Mama will be happy her plans needn’t be rearranged.”

  “Yes. I imagine the servants are already preparing for everyone to go skating later.”

  Ned’s face tensed, and he frowned. “Is the pond frozen solid?”

  Damn. She could hear the worry tight in his voice. “All but the part by the spring and that will be roped off. You know your father won’t take any risks.”

  Ned’s frown didn’t relax. “But the ice can be unpredictable. Remember when Ash fell through?”

  “Yes, but that was in March when the thaw was beginning. He knew he shouldn’t have gone out on the pond.” Ned had been the one to pull Ash out; everyone else had stood gaping on the bank. Perhaps that was why he never seemed to enjoy skating. “You worry too much.”

  Ned’s brows snapped down to meet over the bridge of his nose.

  She shouldn’t have said that—Jack twitted him constantly about his tendency to fret.

  “I only worry because too many people around me don’t worry enough,” he said, “which brings me to one of the reasons I came looking for you this morning.”

  Oh, blast, here it comes. Maybe she could distract him. “Does it have anything to do with your very lovely reticule?”

  “What?” He blinked at her, and then looked down at the purse. He flushed. “No. That is, yes.”

  “No and yes?” She forced herself to smile, hoping she could tease her way out of this certain-to-be unpleasant conversation. She didn’t want to argue with him. She was too tired, and her feelings were too jumbled. She could as easily scream like a fishwife, saying things she surely would regret, as dissolve into tears. Neither would serve a purpose and both would be highly embarrassing and unpleasant for each of them. Avoidance was quite clearly the best policy.

  “The reticule—or rather, what’s in the reticule—is the second reason I sought you out.”

  Dash it all, that sounded very ominous. She looked at the large, lumpy purse. “Has Reggie been busy again?”

  “Yes, he has. I don’t see why—” Ned pressed his lips together. “But enough of that. I wish to discuss your ridiculous plan to go sledding.”

  “Ah.” That wasn’t completely fair. “It’s not my plan. Jack is very much to blame.” She paused—she should be truthful. “And Mr. Humphrey. If he hadn’t been so annoying, I likely wouldn’t have agreed to go along with the notion.”

  But of course Ned did not want to discuss anything—he wanted to dictate to her. “I hope there won’t be time—not that I’m anxious to see everyone skating, either—but if for some reason Mama urges you to go flying down the hill on a sledge this afternoon, you must give me your word you will refuse.”

  She looked at him. She should be angry. She wanted to be angry. Anger would help her get through this unwanted conversation, and Ned deserved a few sharp words. He was overstepping his place—in point of fact, he had no place to overstep.

  But she couldn’t be angry. He was worried and concerned which, though annoying, was also very sweet. “Ned, I appreciate your solicitude, but I can’t promise anything. I—”

  “Of course you can promise.”

  She inhaled slowly through her nose. He meant well. She must remember that. “If your mother—”

  “Father won’t let Mama sled.”

  She wasn’t so certain of that. “Then there’s no problem. I will only sled if your mother does.”

  Ned’s brow was still furrowed. Clearly he also doubted his father’s ability to restrain the duchess. “But Mama may feel compelled because of you. She will not wish to break what she likely views as a promise. You must withdraw first.” He pinned her with determined eyes as if he could force her to do what he wanted just by glaring at her. “You need to be sensible, Ellie.”

  No good could come from her giving him more power over her. He was not her husband and would never be her husband. She must stop trying to please him. “Your mother is perfectly capable of being sensible as well, Ned. And may I remind you you said your father would keep her from sledding. Since I won’t sled if she doesn’t, I have nothing to promise.”

  Ned hunched a shoulder and looked away. “Yes, well, but Mama is sometimes—often—able to persuade Father to let her do things that are ill-advised.”

  Ellie almost laughed. “Only because the duchess can decide such matters for herself. You don’t really think your father should try to control her actions, do you? The duke has far too much sense for that.”

  She expected him to chuckle and agree, but he didn’t.

  “I do think it. I mean, Father should control Mama.” His jaw hardened. “It is for her own good. Her own safety.”

  “Ned ...” What did she know? She’d never been married. Still, she couldn’t imagine any modern woman letting her husband manage her every action this way. “Surely Cicely didn’t let you tell her what she could and couldn’t
do?”

  “Of course she did.”

  “She did?” Cicely had been very biddable.

  Ellie’s heart sank. If that was the sort of woman Ned wished to marry, she could never be his wife.

  “Yes.” His eyes were now almost pleading. “About important things, she did. About safety.” He swallowed, and his face grew dark with despair. “Except I couldn’t keep her safe in the end, could I?”

  He blinked and turned sharply to stare out the window. His profile could have been carved from granite.

  “Oh, Ned.” Ellie reached out to touch his arm.

  He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t shrug off her hand either. “I hated it, Ellie. I hated being so damn helpless.”

  “I know, Ned.” They’d been over this many, many times after Cicely died. “But sometimes things happen that no one can protect against. You know Cicely was happy to be carrying your child.”

  His jaw hardened even more. “She was afraid.” He spoke so low, Ellie would never have heard him if it wasn’t so quiet in the gallery. “That’s why she wanted to come back to Greycliffe and be close to her mother.”

  She wanted to wrap her arms around him to comfort him as she had four years ago, but the time for that was past. She shook his arm gently instead. “Of course she was nervous and wanted her mother nearby. That’s normal for a first baby. All my sisters were exactly the same way.”

  He didn’t reply. He stared out the window a moment more and then stepped back so she had to drop her hold on him.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But the fact remains that while I couldn’t keep Cicely safe—and yes, I know you are right about childbirth—I can protect you from sledding.” He looked quite mulish. “Dead is dead, Ellie, whether from an unsuccessful labor or from colliding with a tree.”

  She could feel his desperation beating against her. It was unreasonable, but he clearly wasn’t reasonable about this. It would be easy to give in—she didn’t even want to ride on the stupid sledge—but she felt certain that would be the wrong thing to do.

  “But you can’t protect me, Ned. In your heart you must know that. Even if I don’t go sledding, something else could happen. Life—and death—are unpredictable.”