Some Like It Wicked (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 1)

by Carole Mortimer

  Yes, that would surely be for the best, Rupert acknowledged dully. To remove himself from Pandora’s vicinity. Well away from the temptation she still represented to him, when his manhood was still an aching throb of need between his thighs.

  He stood up abruptly before rasping, ‘Always leave the man begging for more, is that the way of it, Pandora?’

  She turned to him sharply, those violet eyes dark and pained. ‘I—you—that was never my intention!’

  Rupert sighed, knowing that his anger was not directed at Pandora, but towards himself. It had been his intention to enjoy the delights of her body as he bathed and caressed her, but he had not expected to then find himself so mesmerised by her beauty, and her response to his caresses, that he knew he was seriously in danger of becoming totally lost to the need to possess her. Totally. Utterly. Again. And again. Until Pandora remembered no other lover but him.

  Not a pleasant or comfortable realisation for a man who, in the past, had always taken any woman he desired and then just as easily—and unemotionally—discarded her.

  ‘I apologise for that remark, Pandora, it was both crass and insulting.’ He reached out to take one of her hands in his before raising it to his lips. ‘I shouldn’t have taken things so far as I did. You were tired and in discomfort, and surely in no condition to—’ He broke off with a self-disgusted shake of his head as he released her hand before straightening swiftly. ‘Is there anything else you are in need of before I leave?’

  Was there anything else Pandora was in need of?

  So many things. Words of kindness. Even affection. Anything but the strained awkwardness that now stood as a barrier between the two of them.

  She took in Rupert’s dishevelled appearance, the gold of his hair in disarray from where her fingers had threaded through its silky length at the height of her passion, his lips looking fuller—from his attentions to her breasts?—his shirt hanging loose from his pantaloons.

  The heat deepened in Pandora’s cheeks as she turned away from the bulge of his arousal, which was still visible beneath those pantaloons. ‘No, I don’t believe there is anything else I require tonight.’ She attempted an uncertain smile, sure she had never felt so uncomfortable, or so embarrassed, in her life.

  No one had ever touched her before in the intimate way that Rupert just had. Arousing her. Claiming her. Taking her to a pinnacle of pleasure she had never dreamed existed. And all the time she had been completely naked in Rupert’s arms he had remained dressed in his shirt, meticulously tied neckcloth, waistcoat, pantaloons and boots!

  What must Rupert now think of her abandonment? Of the way in which she had so completely lost all control? Certainly there was none of that closeness she hungered for. The lying in each other’s arms, the gentle murmurings she had always imagined would surely follow such physical closeness.

  But what did she really know of ‘physical closeness’? Until tonight, her only experience in that regard had been the humiliation she had suffered on her wedding night, when Barnaby had entered her bedchamber for the sole purpose of informing her he didn’t find her in the least physically attractive, nor did he ever intend to touch her body in tenderness, let alone passion!

  No, perhaps this distance, this coolness between a man and woman who were not married to each other was how these things usually ended once the passion was spent?

  All these years Pandora had wondered, and hungered, for physical intimacy, only to now realise that it was not as she had thought it would be at all. Oh, the pleasure was even more glorious than she could ever have imagined, but this—the distance and coolness that now existed between herself and Rupert—was surely not worth even those wondrous minutes of heady delight?

  ‘We will talk again in the morning,’ he said gently.

  ‘I— Yes, of course we will talk again tomorrow.’ Her smile became even more strained. A smile Pandora maintained until Rupert had gone through to the adjoining dressing room and closed the door quietly behind him.

  At which time she dropped down heavily on to the side of the bed, her face buried in her hands as she gave in to the tears which had been threatening to fall since the moment she regained her senses and Rupert had become a distant stranger to her.

  Genevieve had been wrong—taking a lover was not fun. It was not fun at all! Oh, the lovemaking had been a revelation, more beautiful than Pandora could ever have imagined, even in her most hungry-for-affection dreams. But the aftermath—the aftermath was bewildering, emotionally painful and not something Pandora believed she would ever wish to repeat …

  ‘What the deuce do you think you’re doing?’

  Pandora gave such a start, at the unexpected sound of Rupert’s voice so close behind her, that for several moments she was in danger of falling from the chair she was currently standing upon in order to reach the lace glove, which seemed to have stubbornly hidden itself at the back of her wardrobe.

  Instead she reached out to the shelf in front of her for balance, before turning to look over her shoulder at Rupert as he stood so elegantly and fashionably attired in the middle of her burnt-and-dishevelled bedchamber, in his superfine of cobalt blue, with a silver waistcoat beneath and pale grey pantaloons worn with black Hessians. His fallen-angel face was as wickedly handsome as ever, the gold of his hair falling rakishly over his brow as he quirked a mocking brow at her.

  Pandora moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue before answering him. ‘I would have thought that the open trunk beside you spoke for itself.’

  Rupert’s mouth firmed. ‘Trunks may speak to you, Pandora, but none have as yet ever spoken to me.’

  Her eyes narrowed as she released her death grip on the shelf before turning on her slippered feet to face him. ‘I’m referring to the fact that the number of my personal effects already packed inside the trunk must obviously mean that I am going away.’

  Yes, Rupert had already ascertained that much. Just as he had realised, when he returned to Stratton House just an hour earlier, that his own bedchamber was empty, and that Pandora was gone from the house. Something his own butler had confirmed, along with the information that her Grace, the Duchess of Wyndwood, had sent word for her coach earlier this morning, along with her maid, and had departed with said maid and coach just a short time later. It had been left up to Rupert to guess that her destination was Highbury House.

  A fact that had been confirmed when he arrived here a short time ago and was greeted at the door by Bentley, the grey cast to that gentleman’s face testament to his disturbed night and the shock he had suffered at having to rescue his mistress from being burnt alive in her bed. Safe in the knowledge that Pandora was indeed up the stairs in her bedchamber, Rupert had spent the next few minutes once again suitably thanking the butler for his timely intervention and expressing his gratitude for Pandora’s safety.

  While the two men were talking, Rupert couldn’t help but notice that the number of boxes in the hallway had grown in number since yesterday, informing him that Pandora was continuing with her packing.

  The fact that she had looked so young and vulnerable as she perched precariously upon that chair when he entered her bedchamber, and was dressed in a gown of the palest lemon with a matching ribbon threaded in her gold curls, had momentarily robbed Rupert of breath and speech as he tried to place this elegantly attired young woman with the wantonly naked one he had held in his arms last night and pleasured to an explosive release.

  Looking up into her coolly smooth and beautiful face, he could still not quite believe he had made love with this woman only a few hours ago. ‘You left without so much as a goodbye.’ It was not at all what Rupert had intended to say, yet now that he had said it he was glad that he had. He was … disturbed that Pandora had left him, gone, disappeared, without so much as telling him where she was going or if she intended coming back.

  Pandora turned away from that accusing silver gaze. ‘I thought it was what you wished me to do.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘And why should yo
u have thought that?’

  She shrugged. ‘The maid brought up my breakfast tray and informed me that you had gone out.’

  ‘And …?’

  She gave an impatient shake of her head as she turned to frown down at him. ‘Surely it’s obvious?’

  He raised those arrogant brows once again. ‘Not to me, no.’

  ‘Then you are singularly lacking in sensitivity, sir!’ Pandora informed him haughtily.

  ‘Because I chose to spend the time you were sleeping to go out and deal with several matters of business?’

  She blinked. ‘Business?’

  ‘Business,’ he echoed grimly. ‘And would you kindly step down from that chair, Pandora; I am getting a crick in my neck looking up at you.’

  She easily guessed that it was not a crick in the neck Rupert was suffering, but that he didn’t like having to look up at anyone! ‘I haven’t reached my glove as yet …’ She turned back to the task with renewed vigour, relieved not to be the focus of that critical silver gaze, if only for the few seconds it would take to reach her missing glove.

  ‘I’m in no mood to play games this morning, Pandora— Oh, damn it to hell!’ Rupert had reached out to put his hands about her waist with the intention of lifting her from the chair, but as she turned to face him her slipper caught in the hem of her gown and she cried out as she overbalanced and tumbled from the chair, straight into his waiting arms. ‘That’s one way of achieving my objective,’ he murmured drily as he held her tightly against him.

  Her face was flushed and irritable, and she glared up at him to struggle ineffectually in his arms. ‘Put me down, please.’

  He arched teasing brows. ‘Is that any way to thank me for rescuing you from a fall?’

  Those beautiful eyes glittered. ‘If you hadn’t startled me, then I should not have fallen at all!’

  ‘I’m very much afraid, Pandora, that since the first moment I met you, I seem to have done little else but rescue you from one disaster after another.’ Rupert caught his top lip between his teeth in an effort to stop himself from laughing at her disgruntled expression.

  ‘It is my wish that you put me down at once.’ If Pandora had been standing on her own two feet, then she would no doubt have stamped one of them in temper.

  Rupert closed his eyes and counted to ten, then counted another ten, all in an effort to prevent his mirth from breaking free and enraging her even further.

  An hour ago, even ten minutes ago, he had been angry and frustrated at finding that Pandora had fled Stratton House in his absence, but now, just a few short minutes later, with Pandora held safely in his arms, all he wanted to do was laugh!

  Pandora stilled as she eyed him suspiciously. ‘I trust you are not about to laugh, Stratton?’

  How could she, how could any woman, so starchily address the man in whose arms she had been completely naked and aroused only hours before?

  Pandora Maybury, that’s who. The woman in whose company Rupert had never suffered a single moment of boredom. Dash it, how could there be time for boredom when she seemed to stumble from one mishap to the next?

  It was too much, she was too much, for Rupert to be able to contain his mirth another moment longer.

  Pandora looked up at Rupert as he burst into sudden, explosive laughter. Not a polite smile, or a dry chuckle, but the sort of humour which entailed him throwing back his head and letting out a loud guffaw. The sort of long and helpless laughter that made one weak and caused even Rupert to step back until he was able to sit down upon the chair from which Pandora had fallen only moments ago. And even then he did not cease his laughter completely, but continued to chuckle as he looked down at her as he shook his head in bemusement.

  Pandora had been devastated, mortified with embarrassment earlier this morning, when the maid at Stratton House had delivered her breakfast, and answered her query concerning the Duke’s whereabouts with the information that he had left the house over an hour ago, nor had he left word as to when they might expect him to return.

  To Pandora, the abruptness of his departure, and his knowing full well that she would not wish to spend any time alone in the house with Patricia Stirling, seemed to have but one explanation: he must be hoping, after their lovemaking in his bedchamber the night before, that she would have departed from Stratton House by the time he returned. That being the case, she had immediately sent a note to Henley requesting she bring fresh clothes and the coach to Stratton House.

  To then have Rupert arrive here only minutes ago and accuse her of not saying goodbye to him was beyond anything! ‘You are nothing but a cold, unfeeling, arrogant brute—’

  Rupert’s humour faded as quickly as it had arrived. ‘Was I cold and unfeeling last night?’ he prompted huskily. ‘Was I arrogant then? Or a brute?’

  Pandora had stilled in his arms, her cheeks flushing becomingly. ‘You—’

  ‘I am very sorry to interrupt, your Grace—er, your Graces.’ An uncomfortable-looking Bentley stood framed in the open doorway. ‘But Mr Jessop has arrived to see her Grace.’

  Rupert’s gaze remained narrowed on Pandora as he answered the other man. ‘Ask him to wait in the blue salon, would you, Bentley,’ he instructed distractedly.

  ‘You—’

  ‘Now, if you please, Bentley,’ Rupert said courteously as Pandora looked set to explode at his arrogance in ordering her butler about.

  ‘Yes, your Grace.’

  Rupert didn’t need to turn to know that the butler had departed. ‘Mr Jessop?’ he prompted as he continued to hold Pandora in his grasp.

  An irritated frown creased her ivory brow. ‘He’s my lawyer—’

  ‘Having previous been introduced to him, I am aware of that, Pandora,’ Rupert spoke softly. ‘What I wish to know is why he is visiting you again this morning?’

  She breathed heavily. ‘He’s here because I sent for him, of course.’

  ‘Why?’

  She struggled against his hold. ‘Release me, Rupert.’

  ‘No.’

  Those purple eyes darkened. ‘You have already embarrassed me by continuing to hold me in your arms in front of my butler—do you now intend to embarrass me in front of my lawyer, too?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘Not unless that lawyer is in the habit of coming upstairs to your bedchamber, no.’

  ‘You should not be in the habit of coming upstairs to my bedchamber!’

  He shrugged unconcernedly. ‘I will take your remark under consideration.’

  ‘You—!’ Pandora’s eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed. ‘Release me and remove yourself immediately from my home—and don’t say no to me again, Stratton,’ she warned as he was about to do exactly that, ‘or I warn you I may be pushed to an act of violence!’

  How she intended doing that, when Rupert still held her in his grasp, he was unsure, but caution being the better part of valour, and all that … Besides which, tempting as the notion was, Mr Jessop could not be kept kicking his heels in the blue salon all day whilst Rupert gave Pandora another leisurely demonstration of exactly why he, of all people, had a perfect right, to be not only in her home, but in her bedchamber.

  A demonstration which Rupert was only willing to delay, but not to cancel altogether …

  ‘Mr Jessop,’ Pandora greeted the lawyer warmly as she entered the blue salon. Perhaps a little more warmly than she might have done if she had not been aware of Rupert’s arrogant presence at her side!

  Stating that there was absolutely no reason for him to accompany her had achieved absolutely nothing, as he had merely smiled that self-assured—and infuriating—smile of his and followed her down the stairs to the blue salon. As if she were the same ninnyhead he had called Henley and had not dealt quite capably with her own affairs during this past year of widowhood.

  ‘Pandora, your Grace.’ Anthony Jessop made Pandora a polite bow, but his attention was obviously distracted by the man standing beside her.

  ‘It is kind of you to call so quickly after receiving my note.’
Pandora continued to ignore Rupert’s broodingly silent presence as she smiled at the older man.

  ‘It was my intention to call upon you this morning anyway,’ the lawyer assured lightly.

  Pandora arched a surprised brow. ‘It was …?’

  He nodded. ‘But we will talk of that in a few minutes. Your butler has just informed me that there was a fire in the house last night? I trust no one was harmed?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘Your concern is appreciated,’ Rupert answered the other man quietly. ‘But, as you might well imagine to be the case, Pandora has been overset by the fire, so perhaps you would just like to state your business—’

  ‘If you would please allow me to deal with this, Rupert?’ Pandora frowned her irritation with his interfering intervention. ‘Indeed, I’m not sure how I would have managed without Mr Jessop’s help this past year.’

  ‘I’ve been only too pleased to be of service, Pandora,’ the gentleman assured her warmly. ‘And I was anxious this morning to inform you that I have received, in my opinion, a more-than-generous offer for this house.’

  ‘Really?’ Pandora brightened. ‘That is gratifying news.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Anthony Jessop bowed. ‘I have brought the necessary papers for you to sign if you find the offer acceptable?’ He turned to unfasten the leather briefcase he had placed upon one of the small tables that stood either end of the sofa, before removing those papers. Pandora took them eagerly. ‘This is truly—’ ‘Interesting,’ Rupert spoke softly. ‘And surprising that you should have received an offer for this house within only days of Pandora informing you of her wish to sell it.’ He easily plucked the papers from her fingers before glancing down at them.

  Pandora eyed him with annoyance. ‘I’m sure there’s no reason for you to bother yourself with any of this, Rupert—’

  ‘I see that the offer is being made by a gentleman by the name of Michael Jessop.’ Rupert chose to ignore Pandora’s indignation at his high-handedness as he quirked a brow at the other man. ‘A relative of yours, perhaps?’ ‘My uncle.’ Anthony Jessop looked slightly uncomfortable under that critical gaze. ‘He owns several properties in London.’