She stared, completely taken in by his pure masculinity, by the hard planes sculpting his body with a firmness she lacked. He was magnificent and she was completely enthralled.
Christ!
He was going to make a fool of himself if she didn’t quit staring at him like that – as if he were a toy she wanted to play with. So he did the only thing he could think to do and stalked forward. His hands landed firmly on her waist before lifting her up in the air.
She gasped with surprise but he ignored her. “Wrap yer legs around me,” he ordered and looped one arm beneath her bottom to hold her in place while he walked them both to the bed. Setting one knee on the mattress, he captured her mouth with a hungry kiss and followed her straight down.
She instantly arched against him and murmured his name like a plea. And as eager as he was to get on with things, he forced himself to remember that she was a novice at this and that he must be gentle. So he took his time making sure she was ready and then distracted her from the pain he caused as he joined his body with her, with a kiss that stole his own breath. She was his, just as he’d hoped she would be. The look in her eyes as he broke off the kiss and gazed down at her lovely face was slightly dazed, her cheeks a charming shade of pink, and her lips…he’d soon kiss them again.
“Are ye all right, luv?” he asked, just to be sure. She nodded and then adjusted her position, bringing him closer and almost breaking the final thread of restraint he possessed as she moved against him.
A hiss tore past his teeth and God help him if she didn’t smile, like a vixen who knew exactly what she was doing. “Careful now or I won’t be able to control meself any longer.”
“I don’t think I’m going to break. In fact, I quite like the way this feels already.” And then she moved again, threading her fingers through his hair and hooking one foot around his thigh as she did so.
A rush of desire rose up inside him. It was like a wave sweeping over his body and wrecking his fragile control. Driven by instinct he surged forward, both giving and taking in equal measure, all the while conscious of how bloody lucky he was to have met her, to have won her heart and made her his wife, to be here right now in this bed with her gasping and sighing beneath him.
She was more untamed than he’d ever expected and he, scoundrel that he was, totally loved it – the contradiction between proper lady and uninhibited woman so heady it pushed him toward a steep climb made even more powerful by the emotions that she instilled in his heart.
“I love ye,” he managed the second before he peaked and started to soar. She joined him a heartbeat later, concentrating the pleasure until it grew so intense he could scarcely think.
“I love you too,” she said a while later when they’d both caught their breath. Undone and somewhat shaken by the intensity of the experience, he’d collapsed on his forearms, rolled onto his side and pulled her against him.
He kissed her shoulder in response to her comment and felt his body prepare itself for round two. “Are ye sore?”
“A little,” she confessed. Then after a moment, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t do it again.”
This comment earned her a playful nip which in turn made her giggle. “Perhaps we should have a snack first,” he said and deliberately pushed himself up and away from her glorious body before he could take advantage. Because no matter how eager she was for more lovemaking or how thrilled he was by her blatant enthusiasm, he believed she needed a rest. So he prepared a couple of plates with some fruit, cheese, and biscuits and poured them each a glass of champagne.
“Will you ever grow your moustache back, do you think?” she asked while they picnicked on the bed.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Only if you want me to.”
She considered that for a second and finally shook her head. “I prefer you without it.”
“Then it’s settled. No more moustaches.” She grinned and he could not resist, so he leaned toward her and kissed her deeply, tasting the pear she’d been eating as well as a hint of champagne. “You smell divine, by the way.” When he broke the kiss and leaned back, she was so delightfully flushed that he had to kiss her again. “I have somethin’ fer ye,” he whispered close to her ear.
“But…you’ve already given me jewelry and—”
“Perhaps I should amend me statement by sayin’ I’ve somethin’ fer both of us.” Removing their plates, he set them on the dresser and collected one of the books she’d been studying with Philipa. He handed it to Regina and watched her eyes widen and her face turn a bright shade of red. “If ye like, we can start at the very beginnin’ and work our way through it.”
Without saying a word, she reached for him and pulled him to her, bringing him home. This was where he belonged. With Regina. And fate had shown him the way.
24
It was another typical evening at Amourette’s. The men who came here to enjoy a decadent evening of debauchery included only those with enough coin to afford it. This wasn’t the sort of a cheap establishment one might expect in St. Giles, but one that prided itself on quality. This kept the riffraff away and resulted in the occasional peer walking through the doors.
Everything was possible here, every fantasy just one payment away from being realized. Provided no harm came to the girls. They weren’t dressed in common clothes but in silk and lace with dozens of ribbons, the occasional feathers, and enough crystal beads to dazzle any man looking to have a good time. Few clients were bachelors. The majority were either betrothed or married, which was why Amourette’s was as popular as it was. Because it promised discretion.
Sitting on the floor at the top of the stairs leading up from the wood paneled foyer, Ida Veronica Strong watched as Philipa played the hostess. She paired each man who arrived with one of the available courtesans, who then either escorted her companion into the parlor or upstairs to her bedchamber. None of the men ever spotted Ida. They were much too preoccupied by the courtesans to do so, and in any case, she was sitting away from the steps, on the landing just past the spot where the banister turned.
Her face pressed against the balusters for a better view. She’d recognized the previous man who’d arrived. He was a regular client who came once a week and always asked to see Scarlet. But although Scarlet had returned to Amourette’s, she no longer worked, so the man in question was now paired off with other women.
Having spent the last four years of her life in this brothel since her father brought her here at the age of fifteen, Ida viewed the women who lived here as friends. Perhaps even family, though only Philipa knew her real reason for being there. Everyone else believed that she was the daughter of one of Philipa’s old acquaintances and that Philipa had assumed guardianship of her after the parent had died. Which was more or less true, although there was more to it than that.
The front door opened again and a new gentleman entered the foyer. Seen from above, it was hard for Ida to gauge his height except by measuring him against the painting that hung immediately to his left. His shoulders appeared to reach the lower part of the frame, making him several inches taller than she. He removed his hat, allowing her to see the top of his head, which was covered by lustrous hair colored in shades of oak and chestnut brown. His build was both imposing yet somehow elegant at the same time. Perhaps because of the authoritative way in which he moved that suggested high social standing and power.
He glanced around and, finding the foyer empty, looked up.
Ida froze. Even though she knew she ought to retreat to her room and hide, she could not seem to move. Her gaze was locked with his, her heart pounding harder with each passing second. Heavens, he was far more handsome than she had expected, perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen.
Eventually, it was he who spoke. “You there.” His voice was not unpleasant, but the arrogance of his tone made Ida tense with irritation. “Will you keep me waiting forever or do you plan on serving me? I haven’t all night.”
Her curiosity about him turned to immediate di
slike. She shifted her gaze to the parlor door and then to the one leading into the music room. Both were shut and Philipa wasn’t in sight. Most likely, she’d become distracted by Mr. Greer, an old client of hers who still flirted with her even though he now found his pleasure with some of the younger women.
“It will likely take an hour before one of the women is free and ready to take you,” Ida told the newcomer, hoping to send him on his way. “They’re all fully occupied at the moment.”
“You’re not.”
The comment was like a slap in the face, even though it ought not to have been. After all, she was a young woman, just nineteen years old, and she did live in a brothel. He wasn’t the first man to make assumptions, and yet it still felt like an insult.
“I’m not available,” she told him plainly.
He tilted his head and continued to study her. “A pity,” he finally murmured.
Deliberately, Ida quashed the surge of appreciation the compliment caused and stood. His gaze followed her every movement as she began descending the stairs and for the first time in her life, she felt her stomach flutter in response to a man’s perusal.
She forced herself not to focus on that but on seeing to his satisfaction instead. After all, if he was a peer, as she now believed him to be, he would have influence. One bad word uttered by him against Amourette’s and the business Philipa had struggled to build might crumble. Ida couldn’t allow that to happen, so she would just have to be helpful and nice to him no matter how much it grated.
“If you’re willing to wait, I can have some food brought up from the kitchen – a plate of sandwiches perhaps? There are also newspapers available to help you pass the time.”
He nodded, but made no remark.
Moving past him, Ida caught a whiff of something wonderfully rich and enticing, a blend of leather and musk combined with a hint of coffee. She was almost tempted to pause and sniff the air, but resisted the urge and went to the front desk instead. “Name?” she inquired. When he didn’t answer immediately, she glanced up and was met by a stony expression. “It doesn’t have to be your real name.”
He stared at her until she was forced to move on account of the piercing intensity of his eyes. They were like two glass orbs filled with liquid gold, both bright and unyielding in their command.
“Mr. N. will do,” he eventually said.
“Excellent.” Ida made a note in the ledger Philipa used to keep track of her clients. “And do you have any particular tastes, Mr. N?”
The pause that followed caused heat to erupt all over Ida’s skin like an unpleasant rash. She could feel him staring at her even though she kept her eyes trained on the paper where she’d been writing.
“Why do you need to know that?” he finally asked.
She took a moment to allow a deep breath to calm her. For reasons she could not explain, this man was frazzling her nerves. “Some of the women here specialize in more uncommon modes of…um…gratification.” She barely managed to say that last bit without choking on her tongue.
“I see.” Another pause, and then, “Does asking her to pretend she’s my maid fall into that category?”
Ida’s skin grew even hotter. The very idea… “No.” She scribbled a note and silently cursed herself for the uneven stroke of her letters.
“How about if…” His voice trailed off and Ida waited once again for him to say the unexpected. But just when she was about to look up and make sure that he meant to continue, he grabbed her wrist and jerked it toward him.
What the..?
“Where did you get this?”
The harshness in his voice sent a tremor down Ida’s spine. She tried to pull her wrist back but he held on too tight and refused to release her. “Let me go,” she demanded. If he didn’t, she’d scream to alert the two men that Philipa employed for protection.
“Not until you tell me why you’re wearing this bracelet.”
Ida went utterly still. Fear crept under her skin and knotted her insides. “It was a gift,” she whispered. “I…I don’t know where it was purchased, if that’s what you want to know.”
He narrowed his gaze, gave the bracelet one final look and let her wrist go. “It isn’t. I already know that part.” Ida sucked in a breath and took a step back, dropping the quill in the process. “Matthew Strong ordered it from a jeweler on Bond Street when he returned from France. He said it would make a fine gift for his daughter.”
Swallowing past the dryness in her throat, Ida shook her head. “Why would you say that?”
“Because I was there.” As if seeing something in the way she reacted to that particular comment, he leaned in closer, his eyes now wide with disbelief. “My God. You’re her, aren’t you? You’re Ida Strong.”
And just like that, the safety Ida had known for the past four years was torn from her grasp. If this man knew who she was, others would learn of her existence soon. Word would spread and the men who’d had her father tried for treason would hunt her down and kill her as well.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read The Forgotten Duke. If you enjoyed this novel and would like to try some of my other books, I suggest giving the Crawfords series a go, starting with No Ordinary Duke. This book features a duke who just wants to live a normal life and a woman who despises the aristocracy. When sparks start to fly between them and she then discovers his true identity, compromises must be made if they’re to stand a chance of a happily ever after together.
Or if you haven’t read the previous books in my Diamonds In The Rough series, you might consider starting at the very beginning with A Most Unlikely Duke where bare-knuckle boxer, Raphe Matthews, unexpectedly inherits a duke’s title. Figuring out how to navigate Society won’t be easy, but receiving advice from the lady next door may just be worth it.
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Once again, I thank you for your interest in my books. Please take a moment to leave a review since this can help other readers discover my books. And please continue reading for an excerpt from A Most Unlikely Duke.
A Most Unlikely Duke
Diamonds in the Rough
* * *
Available now!
Chapter 1
London, 1818
Thick clouds darkened to shades of gray as they rolled across the London sky. Beneath them, standing in the middle of the Black Swan courtyard, Raphe Matthews drew back his fist, his muscles bunching tightly together—just long enough for him to assess the angle and speed with which to release all that power. Instinct made it a brief calculation. Less than a second, and then he sent his fist flying.
The punch snapped his opponent’s face sideways, producing a spray of spit and blood that painted the air with specks of crimson. A cheer erupted from those who’d come to witness the fight—a motley selection of hardened individuals. This place was not for the weak or the wealthy. It reeked of filth and the daily struggle to survive. This was St. Giles, but it might as well have been the bowels of hell for all the difference it made.
“Come on!” someone shouted.
Raphe’s other fist met a hard chest with a crunch. His knuckles ached, the force of the punch vibrating through him.
“Matthews, Matthews, Matthews...” The chant shook the air while Raphe shifted his footing, regaining his balance just in time to accept the blows that followed. He didn’t mind, for it only revealed his opponent’s sudden desperation.
Raising his fists to block the attack, Raphe bobbed to the side, turning away, just out of reach. And yet, he was close—so close he could smell the sweat on the other man’s skin, see the fear that shone in his eyes, the beads of moisture clinging to his hair that dripped onto his brow.
More shouts flooded the air, drowning him in a cacophony of unintelligible noise. The wave of encouragement shifted
, alerting him that support had changed—no longer in his favor.
Forcing it into the background, Raphe focused on the man he was meant to beat. Today his name was Calvin Butler. Raphe launched himself forward, surrendering to the rage, and let the punches fly, beating back pain and anger until Calvin Butler lay stretched out on the ground, hands covering his face in surrender. A fleeting second of silence passed, just long enough to be sure of the outcome, and then the spectators sent up a roar in response to Raphe’s victory.
Exhausted, he stumbled back, a light drizzle dampening his skin. A coat was draped over his shoulders while Butler was helped to his feet—a sorry sight, with his blackened eye and swollen lip distorting an otherwise handsome face.
Turning away, Raphe pushed his way in the direction of the taproom. All he wanted right now was a drink.
Fast.
“Butler ain’t lookin’ too good,” Raphe’s friend, Benjamin Thompson, said as he came up beside him. A couple of inches shorter than Raphe, his green eyes were a handsome complement to his ginger hair and freckles. He was without a doubt the kindest and most dependable person Raphe knew, besides his own sisters. Together, they made their way to the bar, where Ben promptly called for a server. “Give us a couple o’ pints.”
Resting his elbows on the counter, Raphe grunted his response to Ben’s question. “He knew what ’e was in fer.”
Ben nodded. The beer arrived, and both men took a healthy swig. “Ye could ’ave been gentler, though. The man was done. No need to keep beatin’ at him like that.”
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