Four Times a Virgin (Irresistible Aristocrats Book 2)

by Suzi Love

  His acquaintances would laugh at his foolish behavior if they saw his current mad obsession. Oh, how far the mighty could fall, and in so short a time.

  He groaned. The woman who owned that house was driving him insane.

  Chapter Eight

  The Duke of Stirkton, attired in somber charcoal upon black, stared across wide loops of blond hair and tried to ignore them tickling his chin while he twirled his partner up and down Lord and Lady Algester’s ball room. The past week had tripled Max’s frustration and drained his small store of patience.

  Enduring round after round of these tedious soirées had driven him to invent far-fetched excuses so he could legitimately claim a dance with a woman. The dance would be the Waltz and the woman would be Carina. This present dance was his fifth attempt to complete an entire set without the debutante in his arms standing upon his feet, or worse, tripping over her own every time he spoke. He pretended that his wealth and titles overwhelmed these girls, and not his character. Adding to his discomfort, Carina stood near the wall and laughed, presumable because indomitable Stirkton couldn’t converse with, or charm, even one of Alice’s acquaintances.

  “Oh, Your Grace, oh, please, do forgive me...”

  Yet another white-gowned debutante tramped on his toes and, somewhere below chin level, stammered the requisite apology. He gritted his teeth to keep from throwing back his head and screaming, a compulsion that had nothing to do with her insignificant weight pressed down on his evening shoes.

  “...Because, oh dear, I was so clumsy, and I didn’t mean...”

  Max’s eyelids drooped closed for a few blessed seconds of peace as, in his mind and in silence, he bellowed out his frustration.

  When the girl’s self-berating rhetoric stopped, he lifted his lids and peered down at her. Baby-blue eyes formed perfect circles and a perfectly-shaped mouth made a perfect ‘O’, while blond ringlets bounced in perfect accord when she swallowed her fright down her perfectly-shaped milk-white throat.

  “For God’s sake, somebody save me.”

  He knew he’d said it aloud when her perfect skin, no doubt achieved through applying lemon slices for hours each day, bleached to the color of chalk. And now, the perfect cherubic chit who’d been forced by an overbearing mama to dance with a duke, would run home and hide under her bed for a week. Worst of all, she’d inform his future duchess and all her young and impressionable friends that Alice’s duke-to-be was a terrifying madman.

  “Please forgive me.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “My mind was elsewhere. I know my betrothed’s bon amis refer to me as Strict Stirkton─”

  She gasped, dropped the hand poised in the correct upright dancing position, and took a tottering step backwards. She covered her perfect mouth with a shaking hand and he barely stopped himself from groaning, knowing that any sound might cause her to swoon on his trampled feet. Lifting her fingers from her lips, he held her hand aloft once more and stepped back into position in the line of dancers.

  “One, two, three, turnabout, left glide, right glide ...” He counted off steps and prayed that she’d slide, by rote, into the sequence of twists and crossed legs and ignore the curious looks they garnered. This tedious evening, dancing attendance upon the chit he was to marry, had been another attempt to demonstrate to Carina he was capable of being sociable, but damnation, his attempts were a catastrophe. For a man who prided himself on correctness, he’d totted up a long list of errors.

  Carina had warned Max, several times, to call his fiancée by her given name to demonstrate his affection and to encourage her to address him by his Christian name. To make amends, he’d vowed to entertain Alice’s numerous friends, despite each and every one appearing as terrified of him as Alice was.

  Max searched for this one’s name. “Mary─”

  “Minerva.”

  “Minerva? You’re named for the goddess of wisdom?” For the first time, the girl’s lips twitched up into a natural smile and it transformed her perfect face, her perfect features, into a far more tantalizing goddess. “With your beauty, they should have named you Cassandra.”

  She laughed, a sweet tinkling sound, and he smiled back at the tiny enchantress while they slipped into the dance. “Naming me Minerva is now distressing for Mama, because she fears I’m living up to the name.”

  “Your mother doesn’t want you to have wisdom and knowledge?”

  Another tinkle of laughter. “Oh, no, Your Grace. Young ladies are supposed to be vapid and useless, lest their intelligence exposes their escorts as bumbling idiots.”

  “Does that include dukes?”

  She arched a perfect eyebrow. “Most especially dukes.”

  His undignified snort of laughter didn’t shock her this time, but amused the girl. He guided her through the next turn by pressing his hand on her back and grinned. For many years, he’d avoided ballrooms for fear of being trapped by hordes of vapid chits and their match-minded mothers. Even his long-standing marriage contract didn’t deter the more desperate and determined women.

  “Never once have I considered how young ladies with intelligence, such as yourself, must feel when they encounter so many gentlemen who lack intellect.”

  “And dim-witted enough to also be condescending, which makes it hard to bite my tongue.”

  Amused for the first time, Max ignored the incredulous stares from the dancers around them and laughed aloud. If he’d been assured of finding others with this girl’s combination of beauty and intellect, he’d have ventured into these staid areas of tonnish entertainment long ago. Perhaps then he’d comprehend the workings of a young girl’s mind and be able to converse with Alice about more than the day’s weather, and perhaps then she might welcome his obligatory visits to her bedchamber.

  After escorting Minerva—the only bright spot amongst the line of insipid

  partners—back to her chaperone, he ignored Carina’s puzzled scrutiny and made himself available for Alice and her mother. Fetching glasses of punch was an innocuous activity and not likely to alarm any young ladies. Though Alice’s mother, with her haughty manner and constant demands on his time, alarmed him.

  Girding himself to focus on Alice’s friends for another hour at the very least, he bowed before her and forced a smile, while reminding himself to be gentle, considerate and the opposite of a monster.

  “Lady Alice, the musicians are warming up. Would you do me the great honor of standing up with me for another set?”

  She gave jumped like a startled fawn, gaped at him, and turned to her mother with a panicked look. Her reaction was easy to interpret because Carina had described Alice’s fears to him that afternoon. But, despite his efforts to help Alice become comfortable in his presence, the prospect of being in his arms for a second dance scared her half to death.

  Visions of their wedding night raced through his head and he shuddered. Unless there was a dramatic change in their relationship, bedding Alice would be akin to plowing a whore against a wharf side wall and then walking away as soon as he’d satisfied a basic need. Though he’d never imagined emotional attachments or having a clinging wife, he’d never force himself on a frightened girl in the bedchamber.

  What a bloody mess. Money, titles, years of education and training were useless in this situation and he was floundering, despite having what he immodestly considered as above average intelligence. The tiniest hint of a revoked marriage contract would disgrace Alice and shame the name he’d fought so hard to protect.

  As he opened his mouth to offer a plausible excuse for Alice and spare her further embarrassment, Lady Johnston leaned across to her daughter. “Alice! You must never refuse His Grace. He’ll soon be your husband, so you must learn to respect and obey him.”

  Max flinched. A wife bred to obey a duke’s every whim had been his goal for a long time, but the notion that his duchess would submit to him, despite loathing his touch, turned his stomach. He clasped his hands behind his back to hide his shudders and heard Alice’s meek, “Yes
, Mama.”

  Alice held up her hand and waited for Max to assist her to her feet. He dutifully clasped her fingers, taking care not to squeeze or encroach on her person. If the girl couldn’t endure his hands on her body during a dance, how the hell would this mousy chit survive being bedded by a jungle cat? And, yes, he freely acknowledged that he was the hunter in bed and his companion was prey. Before this, he’d pictured a typical arranged marriage with the usual sparse couplings in the dark and for only one purpose: to impregnate his duchess.

  A duke and duchess slept in separate bedrooms, apart from those few opportune days each month when Alice would be between courses and fertile. And the onerous task of teaching Alice about intimacy and calculating fertile days would fall on his shoulders, as he couldn’t imagine Lady Johnston performing her motherly duties and explaining sex to her daughter. Containing his passion might prove the least of his problems.

  Good God! Explaining coupling and reproduction to a girl who cringed at his touch scared him more than having his teeth pulled, one by one. No matter how he educated her, vocally or physically, his bride would view him as an animal waiting for his mate to come on heat, with the end result being submission but no enjoyment. After burying Augustus, he’d believed himself free to make his own choices about sex; when, where, and with whom. Memories of those nights during his teens when he’d deflowered virgins or been given lessons in copulation from whores fueled his nightmares, especially as the next virgin he deflowered would be his duchess on their wedding night.

  He helped Alice to her feet and mentally retreated into his duke-like shell, executing the steps of courtship on a ballroom floor by rote. As he turned Alice towards the music, he bumped into someone, a soft, warm person who smelled like roses: Carina—a momentary reprieve from his anguish.

  “Lady Dorchester,” he said. “Pardon my clumsiness. Did I hurt you?”

  “Not at all. No one who has watched you dance would call you clumsy. Don’t you agree, Alice, that Max is an excellent dancer?”

  Alice’s gaze was fixed on the floor, but she gave a sketchy nod and a murmur of agreement, which made Carina scowl at him as if he was responsible for her reticence.

  “Don’t let me stop you,” Carina said, placing her hand on Alice’s arm and waiting until the girl looked up at her. “Continue your dance. I do so love watching happy couples twirl through a waltz together.”

  Max watched as his betrothed’s eyes widened in appeal, this time to his nemesis. The irony made him want to laugh, or howl. A man and woman who were to be married to each other, and both preferred the company of another woman, the same woman.

  “Carina,” Alice said in an anguished voice. “His Grace and I would be much happier talking to you than dancing.” She looked up at Max and swallowed, twisting her gloved hands. “That is, with your approval, Your Grace.”

  For the first time in his life, Max wished he could cry.

  They’d walked towards Lady Johnston’s chair, or rather her throne. “Alice.” Her daughter jumped. “His Grace wished to dance the Waltz with you.”

  Alice bowed her head until Max had to lean in to hear. “Of course, Mama.”

  He wanted to wring Lady Johnston’s bejeweled neck. His hands must have actually twitched at his sides, because another hand slipped into the one furthest away from Lady Johnston. He gave Carina’s fingers a light squeeze to thank her.

  “Perhaps, Lady Alice,” he said, ignoring her mother’s rudeness, “you’d rather sit with your friends until supper is announced? Lady Dorchester might stand up with me instead.”

  Alice sagged with relief. “Oh, yes, yes, please do, Your Grace.”

  Max walked Alice the few steps to her acquaintances conversed. “I’d be grateful if you could address me as Maximus, or Max.”

  If it were possible, Alice appeared more anxious. She gripped the pleats below her neckline so tightly, he feared her corset-enhanced bosoms would pop over the top.

  “It isn’t necessary, Your Grace.” Alice sent another helpless glance towards her mother, but the grand lady was engrossed in the tasty morsel of gossip the damsel beside her was sharing. She turned to Carina. “Do you think I should address His Grace in such an informal manner?”

  He scowled at Carina when she used her hand to cover her mouth and her chuckle. “You’ve dispensed with formality, Carina, and address me as Max, so surely Lady Alice should call me Maximus at the very least.” He dared her to contradict him. To his annoyance, Carina was busy smothering her mirth again.

  “Yes, Alice, you should call him Max, now that you have become closer.”

  “Closer?” Alice squeaked.

  Carina patted her hand and Max squirmed. After the solicitor had read out the terms of Augustus’s will, Max had rushed to begin his search for the other women but hadn’t worried about his bride. Now he berated himself for not giving more attention to this situation.

  “I like to think we’ve grown closer recently. We’ll be more comfortable with each other when we’re wed, because we’ll know each other better.”

  When Alice urged them to waltz by waving her fingers towards the dancing, he steered Carina towards the floor with a hand to her elbow. But his thoughts lingered on Alice.

  “Go slowly with her as she’s on the brink of accepting–”

  “Accepting the ogre? Strict Stirkton who makes her shake with fear?” Their courtship was a disaster and their marriage was unlikely to be better.

  “You need practice dealing with women.”

  He spun her in a turn and said, “I deal with women all the time.”

  Carina turned with him and her lower body shifted into his for support. His thigh tightened between her legs and, despite the layers of evening clothes separating them, his prick throbbed and grew. Without conscious thought, he bent her back over his outstretched arm and thrust deeper into her apex.

  Her tiny gasp owed nothing to their dancing, and she stilled for a long and wonderful second before she moved and took up their conversation. “I don’t mean the women you pay at your cottage every month.”

  “Each second month,” he murmured, distracted by the signs of female arousal.

  “Truly? I assumed a man with your appetites would require a woman every month.”

  “I’ll not discuss this in a ballroom with my fiancée looking on.”

  He twirled Carina into a complicated series of turns, narrowly avoiding other dancers and lifting her slippered feet off the polished floorboards. Her grip tightened and he kept her upright by holding her closer, and at the same time setting his body on fire. Pulling away was difficult, almost impossible, but he lightened his grasp one finger at a time, though he longed to fold her into his arms and damn the consequences.

  If he glanced across the ballroom, he’d meet the wide eyed stare of his fiancée, or the accusing glare of his future mother-in-law. These games were over and he needed time alone with Carina and, by damn, she’d meet him at Brent Street very soon. When the music finished and he swung her in one last circle before forcing himself to release her.

  After bowing to the ladies, he retreated in cowardly haste to the card room. Holding a large brandy, he lounged against the card room wall and was debating joining a game when Alice’s father came to stand beside him. Although his lordship liked the idea of his daughter becoming a duchess, his mistrust of Max was palpable. Perhaps the man’s pre-wedding investigations had sniffed out some past transgressions and silence was the safest option.

  The older man took Max by the elbow and drew him to a secluded area. “I’ve watched you with my daughter and I’m disappointed with your behavior. I’d thought that you understood my precious child better now, and that she was becoming more comfortable with the idea of marriage and with your character.”

  “My character?”

  “Are you aware that you’re referred to as Stern Stirkton, amongst other names?”

  “I don’t give a damn what others say, and you shouldn’t concern yourself with such nonsense.�
��

  “My daughter’s welfare is my concern. I want to know that she, and any future children, will be cared for.”

  “Are you implying that I might ill-treat your daughter, or my own offspring?”

  “I’m implying nothing, but the late Duke’s treatment of his son, and your mother, has been widely spoken about for years. And of course, his dealings with you, his only grandchild, were appalling.”

  Augustus had cunningly tried to hide his evil side, so discovering that others had known was a shock. Naively, he’d imagined the only person who knew the truth was him, though a late night visitor to his house recently had destroyed that illusion. Carina and Gertie had local knowledge of his estates and childhood, so why hadn’t he thought of this man knowing too. Blind arrogance?

  “I’m not my grandfather and I don’t conduct myself as he did, especially when, after his death…Let’s simply say more of his dealings were revealed and I swore to do things better. The changes I’ve made are for the better.

  “What changes?”

  “I can’t reveal that, but rest assured I’m working hard to right some of the wrongs.” He broke off and shook his head. “I promise that what you call my stern nature is under reform and Alice will be happy with me.”

  “You’re paying too much attention to Lady Dorchester and, for reasons I cannot fathom, the brood of women related to the Countess. Lady Johnston and I have noticed, and soon others will remark, that your attentions should be fixed on Alice, and no one else.”

  “How I pass my time, and my reasons for doing so, are not your concern, sir.” He struggled to keep his breathing regular and his temper steady. Using his height and breadth to intimidate his father-in-law wasn’t a gentlemanly act, but the man’s interference must stop.

  “I am Stirkton and I answer to nobody but myself.” He pointed his finger at the man’s chest. “Do I make myself clear, my lord?”

  “Be clear on this: you’re reputed to deal with people hardheartedly, but your ruthless nature doesn’t scare me because I can just as hardnosed. I’ll not allow my daughter’s name to be besmirched with scandal because, one day, my grandchildren will inherit and they will sit at the peak of London’s society.”