The School for Brides

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  Eva stared down from the shadowy second-floor landing at the wolf pack of creditors standing in her entryway with stacks of bills clutched in their hands. There were rumbles of discontent and a few upraised voices as they insisted upon a meeting with her. Harold stood sentry over the lot lest they get unruly, and refused their request.

  Every shop her mother had visited, every order she’d placed over the last several years, and obviously hidden, had come back to haunt her daughter. Eva counted a full dozen men and wondered how many more were outside awaiting their turn to confront her and demand money. Obviously, His Grace hadn’t purchased all her debt. She could easily surmise the reason they had sought her out this day and who had sent them.

  The devil was at work to torment her. He knew she was balancing on a razor’s edge and needed a final push.

  “His Grace said to ask for Miss Black.” A portly man in a suit waved a fistful of notes in Harold’s face and nodded to a tall, thin man beside him. “This bill has been past due for nigh six months. When can I expect to get paid?”

  Eva blanched. She’d been so careful. Mother hadn’t been allowed to venture out without an escort for several years. When had this debacle happened? She ran all the options through her head and came up with the only conclusion.

  Mary. She was the one person who couldn’t refuse her mother.

  The girl was an efficient maid, but a ninny. If her mother wanted to circumvent her jailer, Mary would not be difficult to distract. Place a handsome footman in her view, or wave some trinket before her nose, and the girl would be trotting the Bond Street shops like a panting pup.

  Mother was not always as fey as Eva feared. She still had enough sense to devise a plan to get what she wanted. If Eva lifted Mother’s mattress, no telling what sorts of treasures would spill out.

  She’d have to get Harold to check. Some of the hidden trinkets might be worth selling.

  “I will no longer extend credit until these bills are caught up,” one man protested as Harold began to slowly remove the men from the pack one at a time and ease them out the door.

  Another shouted, “I am owed one hundred pounds!”

  She wasn’t sure what Harold said to the crush to finally get them all out, but when the oak panel door was closed and locked behind the last man, she felt deflated.

  After her meeting with His Grace in the park this morning, she’d rushed home to hide in her room and pace. Her body aches and fevered flesh didn’t subside with time or angry grumbling. Truthfully, the more she thought about the dark duke, the hotter she became, until she was certain she was coming down with some dreadful illness.

  She felt trapped and ready to wring his manly neck. A few moments in his strapping arms and she was ready to throw aside all her principles to see what other kinds of sensuous games he could teach her.

  Even now, distanced from the devil duke, she could think of nothing but the way he’d nuzzled her neck and how desperately flushed she’d become. She had turned into another person, not Miss Black with the dowdy gowns and bland wig, but Evangeline Winfield, daughter of a once celebrated and scandalous courtesan.

  She couldn’t understand what was happening to her. Perhaps if she’d had more dealings with men, her experiences would offer an explanation. She hated His Grace with all of her being—if he were crushed beneath a mail coach, she’d not shed a tear—so why did her body not recoil at his touch?

  Worse yet, in the moments after she fled from him and plodded home on Muffin, she’d envied the year Arabella had spent in his bed.

  Truly and fully envied Arabella!

  Gads. She leaned her elbows on the rail and dropped her head into her hands. What was she to do? He had her trapped in a fox hole. His Grace was pacing above, waiting for her head to emerge so he could snatch her up with his large paw.

  And devour her with his hot mouth.

  She let out a low groan and dropped back against the wall. Below, Harold walked toward the kitchen, unaware she’d been spying. He was her protector, her only friend. And she’d never felt more isolated than she did in this moment.

  Eva could not confide in him. Not this time. His Grace wouldn’t be safe from her enraged servant if he knew what liberties His Grace had taken with her. And what she’d allowed!

  Slowly, she limped down the hall to her room and closed the door to her sanctuary. But even in this place with the tiny blue flowers on its papered walls and coverlet in a matching hue, she could not close out His Grace, not completely. He was a specter ever floating over her, watching, waiting.

  The mirror beckoned. Facing her reflection, she looked for marks on her skin, some evidence of His Grace: handprints, red splotches where his mouth had pressed against her skin. Nothing.

  It was as if he’d never kissed her there, never caressed her face, never run his lips across her pliant flesh.

  Frustrated, Eva looked down at her breasts. She never gave more than casual thought to the pair. They were just another part of her body and her femininity. But His Grace had touched one without invitation.

  They were no longer hers alone.

  If she went to his bed, would he play with them? She cupped the full flesh over her bodice as he had done. Would he kiss them, lick her nipples; suckle them until she cried out? Would he kiss her neck and touch her bottom and do all sorts of deviant things to her until she finally succumbed to pleasure?

  Would she like these things? Would she encourage his exploration, invite his possession, or fight with every ounce of will she could muster?

  Eva shook her head, dropped her hands, and backed away from the mirror. She no longer recognized the woman reflected there.

  “I cannot become my mother,” she whispered and sat on the bed. The grim hand of fate had intervened to connect her and the demonic duke. He would never set her free until he tired of her. Eva flopped back on the coverlet and stared blindly at the ceiling. Would he be satisfied with one night?

  Deep inside her she knew the pull of His Grace was too powerful to fight. He owned her; he’d sent the creditors to her today to prove his power and force her hand. He’d woven himself into her life and left her open and vulnerable.

  “I cannot let him touch me again,” she whispered, disheartened. “I will not be his whore.” And yet, she knew she would be. He’d weakened her with her desire until all she could think about was how desperately she wanted him. How the taste of his mouth had left her wanting to explore further the silent promises his body had offered and her body ached for.

  When he came for her, she wouldn’t refuse him.

  Downtrodden and defeated, she pushed from the bed and called for a bath.

  A coach has arrived for you, Miss Evangeline.” Mary walked into Eva’s room as she was giving her appearance a last glance in the mirror. The girl’s voice held a touch of awe as she clasped her hands to her thin chest. “ ’Tis from a duke.”

  Eva kept her face calm and inspected her clothing. Everything in her costume was in place. Evangeline was deeply buried beneath Miss Black. She hoped it would be enough.

  Mary examined her gown and grimaced. “I can fetch the blue gown if you like, Miss Eva,” she offered timidly. “ ’ Tis a lovely shade and fitting for an outing.”

  The blue would be a fine choice if the duke were a suitor. Since he wasn’t courting her, and debauching her was his plan, he’d have to make do with the brown. His happiness was the least of her worries. “Thank you, no, Mary. This is perfect.”

  “Yes, Miss.” Mary shot her a puzzled frown and withdrew.

  When she’d requested the bath, Eva knew he’d send for her, sensed it to her toes. Her benefactor was not a patient man, and he was on a hunt for a bedmate. She’d felt the press of his desire against her thigh this morning. She knew time had ticked away, and the hour to accept or refuse his request had gone.

  Arabella had left him months ago. Unless he visited prostitutes, he’d lived without a mistress for a long time.

  Smoothing her skirts, she smiled tightly.
The brown gown was little better than the one Mary was wearing and without ribbons and bows. It had a severe collar so high and tight, her neck rivaled that of an ostrich. She wore her wig under her oldest bonnet, and her spectacles were in her valise.

  She was dressed for war. If His Grace thought she would climb into his bed warm and willing, he was sorely mistaken. He would have to fight for her with all the seductive talents he possessed. She would be no man’s easy whore.

  With a last sigh, she left the room.

  His Grace’s rose-decorated town house was dimly lit when she arrived an hour later. The footman led her into a large dining room.

  The stuffy space was lit with a row of burning candles along the center of a long table, and two huge vases of flowers of every color were placed as centerpieces on the wood surface, with not a single rose mingled among the blooms.

  His Grace sat at the far end of the table. He was casually attired in his shirtsleeves with his shirt partially unbuttoned at the neck. A glass of some sort of spirit was in his hand. The candlelight flickered over his features, framing him in gold against the backdrop of shadowed walls.

  He brought to mind a handsome gothic romantic hero of legend, tucked away in a castle waiting for an innocent virgin to come along to chain to his bed for his pleasure.

  Chained for pleasure? Eva tried not to imagine herself reaching out her chained hands to caress his broad chest, but the image came unbidden. If she was his captive, how far would she go to gain her release? Would she kiss him? Would she let him remove her clothes and touch her breasts? Between her legs?

  It was a shocking image—but even more shocking was her aroused reaction to it.

  He sipped his drink, staring at her over the rim of the glass.

  “Miss Black.”

  “Your Grace.”

  She stood in the doorway after the butler withdrew, trying to hide her apprehension. She marveled at the darkness in this handsome man who would force her into this bargain without a care for her feelings. But of course, men of his stature felt entitled to take what they wanted. And for some unexplainable reason, he wanted her.

  Eva breathed in. Her tightly boned corset left her little room for more than a shallow breath. She tugged at her neckline. “That dress is hideous, Miss Black,” he said bluntly.

  “I’m sorry it does not please you,” she responded stiffly. Beneath her clothing, her body burned in the stuffy room. Perhaps so many protective layers hadn’t been a good idea. She swayed slightly.

  He continued to regard her with a scowl.

  “Strip,” he said sharply.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “I said, ‘strip.’ ” He drank the spirit and poured another glass. “The night is warm, and you seem to be in some distress. Perchance wool wasn’t the best choice of garment?”

  The shock of his command froze her limbs and she couldn’t move. “I c-cannot,” she whispered.

  Nicholas watched the color drain from her cheeks. The woman seemed to have gained a stone since their last meeting. He suspected that beneath her dreadful gown, she had on enough petticoats and chemises for three women. It certainly would make breathing difficult and lead to light-headedness. There was only one way to ease her suffering. Less clothing.

  “I do apologize, My Lady. It seems I have offended you.” He leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “I thought to offer wine and poetry befitting your beauty but suspected you’d prefer a direct approach. Was I wrong?”

  Fire returned to her eyes, and he hid his satisfaction when she crossed her arms over her flattened breasts. Her annoyance would keep her upright.

  “Your seductive skills are certainly lacking, Your Grace,” she scolded. “I confess I cannot fathom how you ever manage to entice women into your bed.”

  His chuckle lifted her chin. “You do amuse, Miss Black.” He watched her watch him. Her eyes caressed his face and moved down to his open collar. While her mind balked, her body was his. All he had to do now was convince her to put aside their differences and enjoy the pleasures two people could share. “I will show you my talents once you have taken off some of those layers of clothing, lest you faint dead away.”

  If there was ever a moment tonight where he felt her balk or panic, he’d stop immediately. When she came to his bed, he wanted her willing and as eager for him as he was for her. His intention was to bring her to heel and teach her a lesson about what her interference had cost him in losing his dearest Arabella. Not to leave her battered and abused.

  Oddly, the anger he’d felt over losing Arabella had vanished the moment this spinster bit his lip. Eva Black had a fire in her that Arabella lacked, and she intrigued him with her starch and fight. Before this night was over, he intended to make her burn.

  “If you cannot undress, Miss Black, I shall be forced to strip you myself.” Nicholas set his glass down, stood, and walked over to her. She flinched but remained where she was, as if her feet were nailed to the floor.

  The scent of lilacs drifted around her. She lowered her lids, and soft brown lashes fanned out over her lovely eyes. Those eyes were the windows to her every emotion.

  Nicholas lifted his fingers to the strings of her bonnet and paused with gray satin tangled in his fingers. “May I?”

  Without meeting his eyes, she nodded weakly. Her skin had a moist sheen. With two tugs, the bonnet was in his hand. He fanned her with it. She was heated, but not with desire. This wasn’t the seduction he’d imagined.

  The gloves quickly followed and were cast aside. He wanted to free her hair but decided to leave it to last. Miss Black could keep her mask of spinsterhood. For now.

  Nicholas came to a halt behind her and slid a knuckle down the row of buttons that ran from the base of her skull to the curve of her lower back.

  “An unfortunate choice of gowns you made this evening, Miss Black.” He leaned to her ear and breathed into the soft shell. The scent of her skin stirred him to the beginnings of an erection. “I am an expert with buttons.”

  He thought he caught the slightest hint of a whimper as he began a downward procession through the tiny buttons. When he reached midback, he eased the drab gown down until her pale shoulders and creamy white neck were exposed to his inspection.

  From his advantage above her, he let his gaze caress the delicate curve of her neck. His spinster was a delightful mix of softness and strength.

  He pressed his lips to where her neck joined her shoulders, and a few short, stray crimson-gold hairs peeked out from beneath the hideous brown wig. They were a siren’s call he couldn’t resist.

  His senses flooded with the scent of lilacs and sunshine as he nuzzled his face to the spot.

  The taste of her soft skin was nearly his undoing.

  Eva closed her eyes tightly as His Grace pressed his lips against her neck. His breath and a light dusting of beard shadow tickled her skin. The whirling room began to slow as the heat eased slightly, now that she was free of the itchy collar of the gown. If her arms weren’t weighted beneath her clothes, she’d pull the remaining layers off herself.

  For a second time in two days, he was caring for her, though tonight it was as much for his own benefit as it was for hers. Still, he could use her weakness to his advantage but did not do so. Yes, he was undressing her, but her fear was lessening. Once he had her unclothed and cooled, the game would change.

  The gown fell away. “Better?” he asked and came around her.

  Eva tried to breathe deeply, and failed. “I’m still having difficulty.” She tugged at her corset. He brushed her hands away and worked the lacings.

  “You have certainly sacrificed your comfort to arm yourself against my invasion.” He tugged firmly at the corset. “We will remedy that shortly.”

  Eva expected the creamy swell of her breasts to escape when released from the boned structure. However, the layers of lacy chemises held fast and saved her modesty. There were many levels of undergarments to shuck off before she could be free.

  “
I considered stitching a gown of thorns,” she retorted breathlessly. “Then I decided your determination to bed me wouldn’t be put off by anything less than yards of broken glass and steel spikes. And I was completely out of those.”

  Good humor returned to his eyes. He dipped his fingers beneath two chemises and held her gaze. Then, with a jerk, he rent the delicate cloth open to her waist. She gasped.

  “Two removed, and”—he tipped his head to look down into her partially exposed cleavage—four chemises to go.”

  Eva was certain her breasts swelled with anticipation of what he might do to them once they were freed. She was both alarmed and confused. Part of her wanted this seduction to end. At the same time, she wanted him to take away the restrictions of her spinsterhood and allow her to experience, just once, how it felt to be desired and loved by a man.

  His Grace was without a doubt the finest figure of man she’d ever seen, and he knew how to use his seductive talents to invoke her response. In spite of her distaste for the man, she was finding it difficult to stay detached with the scent of soap and brandy swirling around her, and the warmth of his hands at the ribbon on the outer chemise.

  “I think you are not as repulsed as you’d like me to believe,” he said softly, and ran a fingertip along the skin above the lace trim. Her heart tumbled erratically and her eyes drooped closed. A sigh escaped her lips.

  “There is an attraction between us, Miss Black. You feel it, too.”

  Eva opened her eyes with a scowl. He circled her and slid the chemise off her shoulders, to her waist, and then to her hips. Breathing was much easier now, and his hands bolder, splaying across her buttocks as he eased the chemise ever downward.

  “You delude yourself, Your Grace, if you think I am not suffering. You cannot know how deep my hatred is.” She could not make the words sound convincing, even to herself. It was impossible to think when the duke was caressing her rump.