Sins of a Duke

by Suzanne Enoch

  All he needed to do was turn his back and walk away. The crowd would speculate, rumors would spread, but in the end his reputation and power would win the argument for him. As far as he was concerned, though, that would be cheating. And he wanted the victory here. He wanted her apology, her surrender, her mouth, her body. Slowly he straightened his fingers. “I apologize for upsetting you, Your Highness. Please join me in the library so we may converse.” He reached for her wrist.

  The princess drew back, turning her shoulder to him. “I did not give you permission to touch me.”

  At the moment he wanted to do so much more than touch her wrist. God. It was as though when she hit him, she’d seared his flesh down to the bone. “Then we are at an impasse,” he returned, still keeping his voice low and even, not letting anyone see what coursed beneath his skin, “because I am not going to continue this conversation in the middle of a ballroom.”

  She looked directly into his eyes. Despite his anger, the analytical part of him noted that very few people ever met him straight on. Whatever she saw there, her expression eased a little. “Perhaps then instead of conversing, we should dance.”

  Dance. He wanted to strangle her, and she wanted to dance. It did admittedly provide the best way out of this with the fewest rumors flying. The rumors it would begin, though, he didn’t like. Was she aware that she was making this look like some sort of lover’s quarrel? He couldn’t very well ask her. Instead he turned his head to find Lord Elkins. “Could you manage us a waltz, Thomas?” he asked, giving an indulgent smile. “Princess Josefina would like to dance.”

  “Of course, Your Grace.” The viscount waved at the orchestra hanging over the balcony to gawk at the scene below. “Play a waltz!”

  Stumbling over one another, the players sat and after one false start, struck up a waltz. That would solve the yelling, but not the spectacle. “May I?” Sebastian intoned, holding out his hand again.

  After a deliberate hesitation, the princess reached out and placed her gloved fingers into his bare ones. “For this dance only.”

  With her now in his grasp, the urge to show her just who was in command nearly overpowered him. Mentally steeling himself, he slid a hand around her waist, in the same moment sending a glance over his shoulder at Shay. “Dance,” he mouthed. Not for all of heaven and earth would he prance about the floor alone.

  “Are you going to explain to me why you sent a carriage without bothering to attend me yourself?” Princess Josefina asked.

  “Your English is surprisingly good for a foreigner,” he said deliberately. “As a native, allow me to give you a little advice. No matter who—”

  “I will not—”

  “—you may be elsewhere,” he continued in a low voice, tightening his grip on her as she tried to pull away, “you should consider that in England you do not strike a nobleman in public.”

  “For your information,” she returned in the same tone, “my English is perfect because until two years ago I was English, raised mostly in Jamaica. And I will strike anyone who insults me.”

  That settled it. She was a lunatic. “You’re mad,” he said aloud. “I can conceive of no other explanation as to why you would speak to me in such a manner.”

  She lifted an elegant eyebrow. “If I am the only one who tells you the truth, that does not make me mad. It makes everyone else around you cowards.”

  The muscles of his jaw were clenched so tightly they ached. “I should—”

  “You should what, Melbourne?” she cut in, her gaze unexpectedly lowering to his mouth. “Arguing with me excites you, doesn’t it?” She drew a breath closer in his arms. “And there is nothing you can do about it, is there?” she whispered, lifting her eyes to his again. Abruptly the smooth-voiced seductress of earlier swayed gracefully in his arms.

  She felt the attraction between them as strongly as he did. That realization should have made the dance, the conversation, the looking at her easier, but it didn’t. Just the opposite. As Sebastian spun her about the polished dance floor, his focus narrowed until all he could think of, all he could imagine, was Princess Josefina naked and spread beneath him, begging for him, begging for mercy, begging for release. He’d never felt so close to the edge of his famous control as he did at that moment.

  “Come now, duke,” she cajoled, “do you have nothing to say at all?”

  “I prefer action to words,” he ground out.

  “Do you, now? What sort of action?”

  Princess Josefina Embry just barely kept herself from wetting her lips. Only the look in Melbourne’s eyes, and the suspicion that he would jump on her right there in the middle of the ballroom kept her from doing so. The stays on her gown felt so confining that she could barely breathe. All afternoon she’d anticipated…him. The touch of his fingers as he handed her into his coach, the witty banter they would exchange on the way to the ball—the kind of banter she’d missed and longed for while spending the last three weeks crossing the Atlantic Ocean in a very cramped ship with only sailors and her father’s people for company.

  And then his carriage had arrived—without him inside.

  “I don’t wish to further offend Your Highness by describing the action I’m imagining,” Melbourne returned in a low, sensual growl.

  A tremor ran down her spine. Did he have any idea how his mere presence must affect women? Dark brown hair just curling where it brushed his collar, that tall, lean, hard figure, those high cheekbones and that Roman aristocrat’s chiseled nose and jaw, and especially those glittering, storm-gray eyes—how could he not know? He could have any female he wanted. He probably did, whenever he chose.

  “You’ve already offended me,” she goaded, trying to keep her voice steady. “Answering my question couldn’t possibly make matters worse. What action would you take against me?”

  He lowered his head toward her, so she could feel his breath warm against her skin, their mouths only inches apart. “You’re panting for it, aren’t you, Princess?” he murmured.

  The music crashed to a crescendo and stopped. Everyone began applauding.

  “You’ll have to imagine,” he whispered, brushing her ear with his mouth as he released her. “Because next time, you’ll have to ask my permission for a touch.” Straightening and stepping back in the same motion, he gestured her toward the side of the room where Conchita and Lieutenant May stood waiting.

  Blast him, the devil. “You are still my escort for this evening, Melbourne,” she countered before he could vanish somewhere. “Pray do try to remember that.”

  The duke sketched a bow, just deep enough to avoid insult, and shallow enough to make clear that he was doing no more and no less than custom dictated. “Of course.” He gestured to someone out of her line of sight. “Allow me to introduce you to our host and hostess for the evening, Lord and Lady Elkins. Thomas, Mary, Princess Josefina of Costa Habichuela.”

  “You do us great honor, Your Highness,” the viscountess gushed, sinking into a deep, reverential curtsy.

  That was more like it. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said, putting into her tone all of the graciousness she refused to grant Melbourne. Every fiber of her seemed aware of him, and the angrier and less controlled he became, the more she liked it. Not quite the course of action her mother had recomended, but she couldn’t deny that the results excited and aroused her. He aroused her.

  “You must meet everyone,” Lady Elkins continued, reaching out as if to take Josefina’s arm and then obviously reconsidering. “If you’ll join me, Your Highness?”

  “Yes, of course,” Josefina replied, and snapped her fingers at Melbourne. “Don’t wander too far, Duke.”

  He favored her with a hard smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.”

  Good. Deliberately holding himself in check or not, at least the Duke of Melbourne understood his place. As for who would ask permission to touch whom, she would see about that.

  Chapter 3

  As Lady Elkins led Princess Josefina into the
admiring crowd, Sebastian turned his back and headed for the nearest floor-length window that opened onto the grounds. It was closed, but he shoved it open and stepped outside onto the stone terrace. Shaking, he clenched the granite balustrade in front of him so hard his knuckles showed white.

  “Seb?”

  He closed his eyes, trying to slow his breathing and the beat of his heart. “Go away,” he grunted.

  Instead he heard the crunch of boots on old leaves as Charlemagne walked closer. “Apologies. People are talking, and I’m having a bit of trouble coming up with an explanation as to why Her Highness would hit you. Any suggestions?”

  “Let it be.”

  Shay cleared his throat. “Are you certain about that? The look you gave her when you were dan—”

  Sebastian whipped around to face his younger brother. “What look?” he snapped. If he couldn’t rid himself of this frustration, he was going to burst.

  “Christ, Melbourne. Nothing.”

  “What look, Shay?” he pressed. Angry, frustrated, aroused—whatever the devil she’d done to him, he couldn’t think straight. He advanced on his brother. “What?”

  “Fine. Lust. You—you looked like you wanted to throw her on the floor and…I know that’s not you, but half a hundred people saw—”

  “Lust,” Sebastian interrupted again. Heat burned just beneath his skin. Lust made sense. “Let them say what they will. My reputation can withstand the charge that I had a lustful look on my face.”

  With a nod, Shay stepped backward. “Don’t kill me, but are you well? How about a whiskey? I’ll fetch you one.”

  The duke looked at his brother for a long moment. “It may surprise you, but on rare occasion I do have baser thoughts.”

  “You’re human, Seb. I know you’d like us all to forget that sometimes, but you are.”

  If this chaos was being human, he didn’t like it. “Whatever thoughts I might entertain, I have no intention of acting on them. So go back inside with me, and laugh.”

  “Laugh?”

  “Yes. We’re highly amused by the eccentricities of Princess Josefina.” Putting his usual calm expression back on his face, he threw an arm across Charlemagne’s shoulders and steered him back in the direction of the ballroom. “So laugh, dammit.”

  Whatever the devil the princess thought to accomplish by attacking and baiting him, she would learn that she’d just engaged in battle with a master. If she knew what was best, she would immediately surrender. Of course, considering how close he’d been to physical embarrassment earlier, the wisest course of action for himself would be to call the meeting a draw and stay as far away from her as possible.

  However strong his resolve to be untouched by any of this, the rest of the Griffin clan remained annoyingly attentive. The moment he convinced Shay to go away, Zachary and Caroline appeared. At least they served to distract him from the damned princess.

  “It’s as bloody hot as Hades in here,” Zachary complained, tugging on his elegant white cravat and clearly doing his damnedest to avoid talking about anything significant.

  “Of course it is,” Sebastian returned, keeping his back to the dance floor and whomever Princess Josefina might be dancing with. “You know how Lady Elkins feels about air from out-of-doors.”

  “At least you could have the good grace to sweat, Seb.”

  It was his internal temperature that troubled him tonight. “I’m a duke; I don’t sweat,” he offered. “Go dance with your wife.”

  “I’m keeping you company.”

  “You’re keeping an eye on me, you mean.”

  “All I’m saying is that Shay and I wrestled for it, and I lost.”

  Beyond Zachary’s shoulder a pair of cabinet ministers hovered, red-faced and sweating. Sebastian swiftly hid a frown of his own before it could alter his expression. Truthfully, after that slap he’d thought he would be mobbed with members of Parliament, all of them convinced that he must be weakening and that the Elkins ball was the time and place to attack. He only hoped one of them would anger him—he had a great deal of ire bottled up and waiting to explode.

  “Your Grace,” a sweet, feminine voice cooed behind him, “surely you might take pity on a poor miss without a partner for the quadrille.”

  Setting an amiable expression on his face, he turned around. “Lady Frederica. You look lovely this evening.”

  The young lady curtsied, all burgundy gown and coiled blonde hair and impossibly long eyelashes. “Thank you, Your Grace. That’s very kind of you.”

  “I would be pleased to escort you to the refreshment table, my lady, but I won’t be dancing again this evening.”

  He knew the rules, and he knew how to use them to his advantage. He’d danced with the princess, but that could be seen as a clear exception. If he danced with Lady Frederica, however, every other lady present would with good reason assume he would be just as willing to partner with them. By refusing the first request he received, they should likewise all understand that he wished to be left alone.

  He knew why they pursued him, but for God’s sake, after four years they should realize he had no intention of remarrying. The only way he could make it more clear was to hang a sign around his neck, and that would ruin his cravat.

  Lady Frederica reddened. “Of course, Your Grace. An escort would be welcome.”

  Very well, so now he would have to chat with a few of the other stubborn, marriage-hunting females prowling about tonight. It was still better than having to dance with them—and far easier to conclude.

  And that was a good thing. He had enough on his plate this evening. As he looked up, he caught Princess Josefina gazing at him. Their eyes met, and she swiftly turned away. If she knew what was good for her, she wouldn’t protest when he sent her home all by herself. Because calm as he might look now on the outside, inside he felt just short of a predatory lion. And this lion intended to keep his pride intact.

  “How was your evening, daughter?”

  Josefina handed her cloak to her maid, Conchita, and made her way into the room her father had commandeered for his office. “It was abysmal,” she said, sinking into the chair across the desk from him. “I don’t know where you heard that the Duke of Melbourne would be able to help you forward the development of Costa Habichuela, but I found him to be aloof, rude, and arrogant.” Well, not aloof, perhaps, but definitely the other two.

  She still fairly shook with unreleased tension, but except for blasted Melbourne, she’d done Costa Habichuela proud this evening, if she did say so herself. And she’d meant to be nicer to him. If he hadn’t surprised her by not appearing in person to escort her and then by simply walking up as though he owned the world, she would have reacted differently.

  Or she thought she would have. Something about him just…sent her off-kilter. Insulting as his parting words were, perhaps it would be for the best if they simply avoided one another from now on. She certainly had enough to do without battling dastards.

  “His assistance could mean the difference between success and failure,” the rey replied on the tail of her thoughts. “And I doubt we’ll find a more worthy spouse for you anywhere in England.”

  “That may be a bit much to expect. He makes me uncomfortable.”

  He looked up from the map that covered the desk between them. “That’s good. It will keep you on your toes. Complacency never led to anything but failure.” The rey smiled. “And just remember, though our royal ascension may be recent, we are royalty. And however arrogant he may be or how uncomfortable he makes you, your blood is bluer than his.”

  “I think ice runs in his veins and not blood at all, but yes, I remember.”

  Her father nodded. “That’s all I ask. Now get some sleep. We have a very full day planned for tomorrow.”

  Rising, Josefina stepped around the table to kiss her father on the cheek. After three weeks on a ship from Jamaica, two days in a bumpy coach from Brighton, and one very long day in London, she could use some sleep. And she hoped that whatever he
r father had planned for tomorrow did include Melbourne. Perhaps they didn’t like one another, but she would not be the one to concede defeat. That would be for him to do.

  “No. I won’t pay a penny more than four shillings a sack,” Sebastian said, reaching for a paper at his elbow.

  “It’s rumored to be a very high-quality crop.” Shay made a note in the ledger book in front of him. “We paid three shillings eight last year.”

  “It’s coffee beans, Shay. Not gold dust. Four shillings. I doubt they’ll find a better price elsewhere. Let them look.”

  The middle Griffin brother nodded. “That’s all I have for now, then.” Slowly he closed the ledger. “So are we ever going to discuss last night?”

  Sebastian cleared his throat. “No, we are not. I was forced by duty to dance with a lunatic, and I did so. The end.”

  “But you were attracted to her; that was obvious.”

  “Was it?” he asked sharply.

  “To me. To the family, I mean. Caro nearly slapped Zachary, his jaw was hanging open so far. No one else noticed a thing, I’m certain.”

  “She’s pretty.” He stood, practically shoving Charlemagne out of the opposite chair and into the hallway. “And a lunatic. I find the combination at first glance intriguing, and at second glance horrific.”

  “All the same, Seb, it’s been a long—”

  “Stop it,” Sebastian interrupted. “I loved Charlotte. I still love her. With you and Zach and Eleanor married and procreating, and with Peep nearly eight, the Griffin bloodline is secure. That would be my only reason for pursuing anyone, and I’m grateful to all three of you for saving me from being placed in that position.”

  “Still, even if you aren’t interested in remarrying, there is still the fact that sex is fun.” Charlemagne made a face. “Not with the lunatic, I mean, but there are any number of—”

  “Have I ever given the impression that I require your advice or assistance with anything regarding women?” For God’s sake, one slap from that…female and his own family thought he’d lost his ability to reason. He could only imagine what the rest of his peers must be thinking. And that, unfortunately, could be a problem.