Blame It on the Duke

by Lenora Bell

  “I happen to believe that if one gorges oneself immoderately on pleasures of the flesh, one never truly tastes anything. It’s only a gulping, a satisfying of an immediate need.”

  “Is that what you believe, sensible Alice?” He touched her cheek lightly. “That your needs and desires should be denied?”

  She didn’t know what she believed when he gazed at her with such hooded, sensual eyes.

  “No . . .” How could she convince someone like him, whose immediate needs took precedence over all else? “Think of it this way. If you stopped eating desserts for one week, the next time you tasted a cherry tart, the flavors would burst in your mouth. You would savor the flaky, buttery crust and become aware of each grain of sugar in a new way.”

  “We can proceed as slowly as you want, Alice. But I never eat sweets. And you’re all the sugar I need.” His kissed the top of her head, squeezed her shoulders, and fell back against the pillows.

  She was the one developing the sweet tooth.

  Kali hopped up on the bed, and Alice gathered her into the crook of her arm. “How’s my baby?” she crooned. “Been out stalking lionesses?”

  Kali immediately began purring loudly and snuggled deeper into Alice’s arms.

  Nick scratched Kali’s chin, and their hands rested together atop her cat’s gray-and-brown stripes.

  For some reason, the sight of their hands overlapping atop Kali made Alice’s heart begin to ache again.

  Chapter 22

  A man who is versed in these arts, who is loquacious and acquainted with the arts of gallantry, gains very soon the hearts of women, even though he is only acquainted with them for a short time.

  The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

  The following weeks passed far too quickly. Alice’s days were filled with her translation work and with caring for Jane, who was nearly recovered. Though Alice still hadn’t been successful in coaxing her into divulging her true identity.

  Alice and Nick read aloud to the duke while he tended his orchids. He loved accounts of sea voyages the best of all, and pestered her with questions about every detail of her upcoming journey to India.

  She explained to the duke that the ship on which she would sail was a respectable merchant vessel from her father’s fleet. She’d known the shipmaster since her childhood, and while he had thought it rather odd that she wished to voyage to India in her brother’s stead, and even more strange that Alice begged him not to tell Sir Alfred of her plans, the magic of being Lady Hatherly, and Duchess of Barrington someday, had convinced him to agree to giving her safe passage.

  She’d considered hiring a respectable companion, or a lady’s maid, to accompany her, but had decided against it. She’d been living for weeks with no maid and found she rather liked the freedom it afforded from prying eyes and gossiping tongues.

  Alice encountered plenty of those when she accompanied Mama on her social calls. All the ladies of the ton plied her with questions about Nick, probably desperate to know when he would be back in the market for a mistress again.

  Which was a subject Alice had no interest in either thinking, or talking, about.

  Alice had sent Charlene and Thea on their way to their summer homes, with assurances that all was well and going according to Alice’s plan.

  And she enjoyed long, laughter-filled visits with Aunt Sarah, who no longer seemed quite so scandalous, now that Alice understood precisely what happened behind bedchamber doors.

  By day she was a dutiful daughter, a devoted daughter-in-law, and a loyal friend.

  By night, she cast all propriety aside and lived for pleasure.

  Nick’s bedchamber was a dream world that had nothing to do with the daylight.

  They were swiftly moving through the sixty-four varieties of pleasure.

  She’d married him for the freedom to achieve her dreams and she’d also married him for this: unbridled sensual enjoyment.

  She’d dreamt of this, alone in her room at night, before she met Nick, as she translated the Kama Sutra.

  She hadn’t dreamt of a mannerly professorial type.

  She’d conjured a strong, confident lover who knew exactly how to stoke her fire until passion burned hot and uncontrollable.

  While her body learned his heated language, she attempted to keep her heart cold.

  Attempted . . . and failed.

  She’d lost all control of the game.

  Didn’t know who was winning or losing.

  All she knew was that she loved his arms around her, loved how tender he was with his father, and with her, and her heart had cracked wide open.

  Nick thought, idly, that he should probably be spending less time with his brilliant, beautiful wife, and more time easing back into his former life of wild and wicked pursuits.

  He should be drinking at his club with the usual crowd. Planning his next hedonistic entertainment.

  Stalking the evil man behind Stubbs’s betrayal.

  He should be doing any number of depraved, unwholesome things.

  But instead here he was, in the library with his wife, his head in her lap while she read a novel.

  He told himself the reason was that she was leaving soon and he had to soak as much Alice in as possible.

  That’s what he told himself.

  The truth was that the lust for revenge had died.

  And the club was full of flatterers and fools, posturing and making pointless wagers about trivial matters.

  And the truth was that the only entertainment he needed was right here.

  He had a beautiful view of luxurious curves and sweet dimples as Alice smiled over a passage in her novel.

  His body felt mellow and peaceful. He was warm and cozy and domesticated. He could allow himself to drift in this feeling because they were still following the plan.

  She was leaving.

  Nick had the rest of his godforsaken life to return to empty pleasures. Right now, he was going to fill his well so full of Alice that it would brim with the memory of her bright smile until the darkness swallowed him and the madness took hold.

  Raising his head, he kissed the soft skin above her bodice and slipped beneath the fabric, searching for her nipples, the two reasons he had a tongue.

  What else was it good for? Not talking. Not convincing her to stay.

  His tongue was good at making Alice pause while she was reading.

  He licked her nipple with long, lavish strokes.

  He continued exploring and she continued reading, but her chest rose and fell rapidly and the blush he loved, the soft tinge of pink like the flush one found sometimes along the petals of cream-colored orchids, spread over her chest.

  The book fell to the floor with a thud.

  “Nick,” she sighed, leaning against the cushions, arching her back and thrusting her nipple into his mouth.

  He could do this for the rest of his life. Pleasure his wife. Make her sigh with contentment.

  The noises intruded on his brain slowly. No, his mind said, ignore them. Keep licking.

  “Nick, stop,” Alice said. “There’s someone coming.”

  A loud knock on the door.

  Damn it. Nick rearranged his trousers and helped Alice restore her bodice to order.

  They’d been doing a lot of those last-second adjustments lately because he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  “Enter,” Nick growled with a very bad grace because there were other types of entering he wished he could be doing at the moment.

  It was Patrick.

  “Hello there,” he said cheerfully, bowing to Alice. His gaze darted between them, taking in Alice’s pink cheeks and mussed hair and Nick’s grimace. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Patrick,” Alice said, walking toward him and holding out her arms. “You’re not interrupting anything. Please, do come in.”

  Not interrupting anything? Nick begged to differ.

  Patrick’s green eyes danced with laughter as he noticed Nick’s sour expression. He bo
wed over the hand Alice proffered. “Lady Hatherly.”

  “Oh.” She squeezed his hand. “You must call me Alice, as before.”

  “Apologies for my lateness,” Patrick said. “The Dowager suddenly decided she wanted to go to Brighton to bathe in the sea water, and my son Van plagued me so that I gave in and we journeyed as a group.”

  “How was Brighton?” Nick asked.

  “Van loved the seashore, and wanted to run free, but the Dowager watched him like a hawk every second of the day. She loves him so very fiercely.”

  “He’s such a bright lad,” Alice said.

  “And mischievous. Always getting into some trouble, my Van,” said Patrick proudly.

  Alice smiled. “You must mean you are late in congratulating us on our marriage?”

  Patrick lifted a sheaf of papers from the satchel he carried. “I’m late in delivering the contract you requested.”

  Nick’s heart fell. He’d forgotten all about the bloody marital contract.

  Chapter 23

  A wager may be laid as to which will get hold of the lips of the other first. If the woman loses, she should pretend to cry . . . and dispute with him saying, “Let another wager be laid.”

  The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

  “The contract?” Alice echoed, her mind drawing a blank.

  With a sickening lurch deep in her belly, she remembered the marital terms she’d asked Nick to have prepared. Patrick must have drawn them up for him.

  She’d completely forgotten the existence of the contract.

  How had she forgotten something so important? Had she changed so much in the span of a few weeks?

  “The terms you asked for,” Patrick replied. He turned to Nick. “You told me she stipulated very specific terms.”

  “Oh, she did,” he drawled. “Very clear terms.”

  Alice avoided Nick’s eyes. “Of course I did. I’m sorry, I was only confused for a moment. I didn’t know that Nick had asked you to be his man of business in this matter.”

  “Oh, Thea sent you this.” Patrick drew a jar from his satchel. “Some of her aunt’s famous marmalade.”

  He handed Alice the jar and she held it to the window, watching sunlight tease the amber and orange into a rich glow. “March will be delighted,” she said dully.

  Patrick gave her a perplexed look.

  “Mr. March. Our footman.”

  “I see,” said Patrick.

  “Care for a drink?” Nick asked Patrick.

  “Don’t mind if I have a small one,” Patrick replied.

  While Nick was at the sideboard pouring something golden into a glass, Patrick moved closer to Alice.

  “Are you sure this is the right thing for you, Alice?” he asked in a low voice. “You don’t have to sign the document, you know. Even if you asked for it. You’ve a right to change your mind.”

  Had she changed her mind?

  Everything was still the same, wasn’t it? She was still planning to leave. Her trunks were already packed. The ship sailed in six days.

  “Nothing has changed,” Alice said.

  “This contract details a business arrangement, but the scene when I arrived didn’t look like business to me.”

  “The contract is still required.”

  Intellectually, Alice knew that Nick could never be true to one woman, even if she wished the complete opposite were true.

  Signing this agreement was the prudent, sensible course.

  And Alice had been prudent and sensible her entire life.

  Patrick’s eyes searched her face. “You’re signing away your right to bear him children. I thought that part was rather strange, and not something to be decided lightly.”

  She didn’t have a chance to reply because Nick approached, handing the glass to Patrick.

  “While you were away we had another delivery,” Nick said to Patrick. “One that will require a new name.”

  He must be speaking of Jane, Alice thought.

  Patrick nodded. “You can give me the details later. In the meantime, I will witness the signing of the contract. Unless . . . perhaps you don’t wish to sign it anymore?”

  Nick stared at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something. He lifted his hand, dropped it back to his side. “Alice?” he said softly.

  Both men were waiting for her to speak, and Alice was never at a loss for words, so she squared her shoulders, found the fortitude to curve her lips into a smile, and grabbed the roll of parchment from Patrick’s hand.

  “Of course we want to sign the contract.” She laughed carelessly. “Right, my lord husband? Nothing has changed. How could it in the space of only a few weeks?”

  She untied the ribbon and spread the pages out over the desk.

  I, Lord Hatherly, do solemnly pledge to allow my wife, Lady Hatherly, to travel. I will never seek to keep her in England for any reason, and I do hereby swear never to make demands upon her except that she be circumspect in her manner of living and she never seek to bear an heir by . . .

  The words on the page swam in front of Alice’s eyes, marching in a line of stark, black letters spelling out precisely what she’d requested.

  Shouldn’t her heart be lifting? Here it was, her writ of freedom and her license to leave.

  “Everything appears to be in order. Lord Hatherly?”

  Somehow she couldn’t call him Nick right now. Maybe never again. She had to stop allowing him beneath her skin and into her heart.

  She must follow the plan, because it was the only part of her life that made sense right now.

  Emotion swirled in the depths of his silvery eyes when he finally met her gaze. Regret. Remorse. Could there be . . . yearning?

  Let’s tear this up, she thought with a strong surge of emotion. We don’t need this. Let’s start fresh. Forge a new contract. One where we promise to love one another until death do us part . . . and we truly mean the words.

  Her mind was playing tricks on her, and her heart as well.

  Telling her she cared for Nick.

  Confusing physical intimacy for love.

  Lovemaking wasn’t a language to learn. She couldn’t master it with hard work and memorization. Her heart had been too unpredictable.

  There were no rules to follow in this game.

  And she’d already lost.

  Nick watched Alice sign her flourishing signature to the contract, and his heart didn’t do any of the things he’d expected it to when she’d demanded the document that day at Dalton’s house.

  Shouldn’t he be gleefully contemplating a return to his bachelor freedoms?

  No one waiting to question him if he came home late.

  No one who cared.

  Perfumed courtesans with no expectations. Empty pleasures that never satiated him in any lasting way.

  Not like sweet, satisfying Alice with her naughty questions and bawdy sense of humor.

  Caring, intuitive Alice.

  Visiting the duke in his orchid conservatory.

  Gifting her body to Nick with such abandon it left him breathless.

  I don’t want to sign the contract.

  I don’t want her to leave.

  A selfish, dangerous thought to have.

  You can’t keep her here for your pleasure, when she has a wide world to explore.

  For his pleasure . . . or for his heart?

  She finished signing and glanced at him from under dark lashes, the brilliant turquoise of her eyes dulled to stone.

  She signed the contract. Didn’t even ask to speak to him in private first.

  Just walked to the desk and dipped her pen in ink and signed the damned thing.

  She still wanted her freedom and she must have her adventures. He wanted her to be happy. Her dreams could never be fulfilled in England.

  He gripped the pen and forced his hand to make the necessary motions.

  This was how it ended.

  This was how it was always going to end.

  His name there, next to hers. Their sign
atures would stay close when their bodies were oceans apart.

  “Well, that’s done, then.” He couldn’t muster his usual bravado.

  Patrick gave him a pitying look, as if he knew exactly what conflicted thoughts were roiling through Nick’s mind.

  “You’ll have to tell me more about your plans for India, Alice,” Patrick said. “Van is enamored of all things adventurous. He’ll want to know everything. Will you visit the Taj—?”

  The door to the library suddenly burst open, crashing against the wall.

  “Look who I found lurking outside! I knew there were lurkers about.” March stalked into the room pushing a large man in front of him. “All my vigilance has been rewarded.”

  “Stubbs?” Nick exclaimed.

  Stubbs stood, head bowed, shoulders hunched. “I’m ready to talk,” he whispered.

  Chapter 24

  The good perform those actions in which there is no fear as to what is to result from them in the next world, and in which there is no danger to their welfare.

  The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

  Nick knew immediately what Stubbs meant. He was ready to divulge who had blackmailed him into leading the duke to the gambling hells.

  His former servant looked even worse than the last time Nick had seen him in Lear’s hired carriage.

  Bulbous purple nose, red-veined cheeks, and sad, bloodshot eyes.

  “Come in, Mr. Stubbs,” Nick said.

  “You’re just going to invite the sorry blighter in like he came for a nice cup of tea? He betrayed us!” March glared at Stubbs. “Why did you do it? Who hired you?”

  Stubbs hung his head. “I’m truly sorry for the pain I caused.”

  “As you should be,” Patrick said coldly. “I’m glad to see you’ve decided to make amends. I have made a full accounting of every wager, every penny you forced the duke to lose. You left a messy trail to follow.”

  Stubbs hung his head even further. “I know. I wanted you to find it.”

  “So you thought you’d apologize and have your old job back, is that it?” March asked. “Tell him, Your Lordship, tell him he’s going to prison for what he’s done.”