“My honored guests, may I have your attention?” Hicks assumed an air of polite refinement. “Our esteemed hostess, Mrs. Randolph, would like to begin the evening’s entertainment with a performance on the lute, dedicated to her husband, Sir Dalton Randolph. And accompanying Mrs. Randolph, we have Miss Lenore Teversham playing the pianoforte for her fiancé, His Grace, the Duke of Rylan.”
In order to gain a better vantage, Blake shuffled to the side, as Lenore searched the throng, he suspected, for him. When their gazes met, she gifted him another treasured smile, and he responded in kind.
As a gentle lull blanketed the ballroom, Lenore tapped the first notes of a familiar tune, and Blake recognized his personal favorite in an instant. It was the Adagio Espressione, a duet from Jan Ladislav Dussek’s Opus Thirty-eight in E Flat Major. On a particularly stormy evening aboard the Tristan, he had shared that bit of information. Lenore dipped her chin, signaling it was no coincidence, and he vowed to kiss her silly at some point during the affair.
“Your lady is superb, Blake.” Sporting a ridiculously maudlin countenance, Dalton adopted a relaxed stance. “When do you wed?”
“We return to London after the New Year.” Steely resolve invested his muscles, and he made the decision, then and there. “And we shall take our vows as soon as I can arrange it.”
CHAPTER TEN
A tempting slip and slide of sumptuous flesh, in concert with a delicious bump and grind of hips, enticed her to explore the sensuous realm about which she knew little. Ensconced in a tiny alcove at Courtenay House, hidden from prying eyes during the New Year’s Eve celebration, Lenore speared her fingers in Blake’s hair, pressed her body to his, and moaned, as he twined his tongue with hers. When he rested his hands to the curve of her derriere, pulled her close, and thrust, she feared she might go up in flames, especially when she noted the firm ridge of his—
“Lenore, you are woolgathering.” Her Grace snapped her fingers. “My dear, pray, you must pay attention, as Mr. Hope will be here, soon, and you have yet to make the final selection of swatches. And then we must visit Amanda, as I have not spoken with her since she gave birth, and I am anxious to see her new son. Blake tells me Mark is beside himself with joy.”
“I am sorry, Sarah.” Shaking herself alert, and returning to the present and the duchess’s private apartments at Elliott House, Lenore tucked the precious reminiscence, with which Blake marked the midnight hour, in the recesses of her mind and focused on the task. “If it is all right with you, I should much prefer to maintain the integrity of the current design and add a few splashes of the lavender damask.”
“Are you sure?” Sarah looked her surprise. “Believe me, it will not hurt my feelings if you wish to scrap the lot of it and begin anew.”
“But I do not wish to scrap the lot of it.” As she scanned the elegant chamber, Lenore mulled various alterations. “In truth, the décor, as it is, suits me.”
Just then, the door to the sitting room opened, to reveal Blake and Mr. Hope.
“Ah, here they are, just as I supposed.” Blake strolled to the side wall and splayed wide his arms. “Now, as I was saying, I should have this entire section removed, to create a much larger, shared ducal apartment.” Then he strutted to the right rear corner. “As for my bride-to-be’s closet, you can leave it here, but I would have you increase the size to twice the current space, as well as that of her bathing area, and install screens for privacy.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. Hope scribbled notes on a pad. “And what of the integrity of the inner bedroom?”
“I should like them combined, with the four-poster holding pride of place.” Blake peered over his shoulder at Lenore and waggled his brows. “But my lovely fiancée can choose the colors, as she sees fit.”
Lenore glanced at Her Grace. In unison, they blinked.
“Blake, am I to understand you have commissioned a major renovation to the ducal quarters without informing me?” His mother stood. “Or am I mistaken?”
“Mama, do not forget this was your idea.” Blake winked at Lenore, and she glanced at the portal and then met his gaze. “Er, I forgot something in my study. I shall return, in a moment.”
As Her Grace questioned the decorator, regarding Blake’s impromptu modifications, Lenore seized upon an adequate excuse to exit the scene. “I have a scarf in the precise hue that I would include in the plans, and I shall fetch it, now.”
Thankfully, her future in-law and Mr. Hope hardly took notice of Lenore, as she tiptoed into the hall. Checking left and then right, she wondered in which direction Blake found refuge. Would he have ventured toward the grand staircase or to the wing that encompassed her current accommodations?
“Psst. This way, sweetheart.” Blake summoned her, and she rushed to a nearby guest chamber. “Hurry.”
“Where are you?” With six open entries from which to choose, she ventured forth—until he caught her about the waist, lifted her from the floor, and swept her into a dark room. In seconds, she found herself set upon by six feet of aroused male, and she reveled in his passion.
“I thought I would never get you alone, as I listened to that fussy little man discuss boring textiles and wood trim until I feared I might scream.” In a flash, Blake cupped her bottom and covered her mouth with his, and she bit his lip in her zeal. “Ah, Lenore, you drive me to the brink of insanity, and I am going to make you pay on our wedding night.”
“Is that a promise?” She licked his chin, and he growled and suckled her neck. Fire simmered beneath her flesh, in a tantalizing slow burn, and she ached for what she knew not. But in the days since they returned to London, Lenore settled into a comfortable routine, which was anything but routine, with her future husband. The only real certainty, other than their companionable evening walks, dusk, and dawn, was that he would waylay her, at some point, when she least expected it. Yet she did not complain, as his brand of ardor was particularly addictive. “Oh, Blake, I long to be yours, in every way.”
“And I yearn to make you mine, but I will not do so until the vows are spoken.” As a man possessed, he claimed another fiery kiss—and kept kissing her. Desire erupted, and delicious heat poured through her veins, lighting every nerve, investing each muscle, and she wrapped herself about him, until she knew not where he began and she ended. Then he abruptly wrenched free and retreated. Breathing heavily, he buttoned his coat. “What excuse did you give Mama?”
“I am retrieving a scarf.” Bereft of his warmth, she shivered and hugged herself.
“Then you should be about it.” He closed his eyes and exhaled.
“Did I do something wrong?” She extended her hand, but he backed beyond reach. “Are you angry with me?”
“With you, never.” Swearing under his breath, he frowned. “Rather, I am angry with myself, because I would not frighten you, now that you have accepted my proposal. But I find it difficult to resist you, when you are in such close proximity and so accommodating.”
“Can you not see that I want you, too?” Of course, she knew not all that statement entailed, but she comprehended the mechanics involved, as Lucilla studied the human anatomy, and the reproductive process, in detail. But no book, nothing committed to paper could adequately explore the emotional aspect of intimacy. For Lenore, it was a new and enthralling facet of life she craved. But it occurred to her that something troubled Blake, and when the realization dawned, she started. “Oh, no. You are afraid I will change my mind.”
“No.” He shook his head, but she suspected otherwise.
“Yes, you are, and I am astonished.” Quick as a wink, she pounced, grasping his lapels and hanging tight to him. “My darling, have you so little faith in me? Do you not understand that my word is my bond, and I am already yours?” She yanked hard on his coat. “If you will have me, I will surrender, here and now, as the ceremony is but a formality.”
“But I prefer we wait.” Yet he relaxed a measure.
“How very old-fashioned is my sea captain?” She giggled, as he favored her w
ith a grin. “I have it on good authority that Caroline and Trevor did not delay, and neither did Dirk and Rebecca.” She snorted. “In fact, Cara and Lance, as well as Alex and Jason, consummated their unions prior to the wedding. Why should we be any different?”
With his thumb, he trailed the swell of her cheek. “Because I respect you.”
Emitting a half-strangled cry, Lenore charged.
Catching Blake off guard, she lunged, and he stumbled and tripped. Together, they landed on the bed. In a scarce second, they exploded. A novice in such games, she scrambled over him and focused her efforts on his lips. When he rolled her, and she ended up beneath him, she thought she might swoon. And just when things got interesting, Blake flinched.
“Bloody hell.” Once again, he withdrew as though she had scalded him. Staring at the ceiling, he gritted his teeth. “For the love of all creation, go get—whatever you were going to get.”
“My scarf.” Propped on her elbows, she studied him and laughed. “Your Grace, you blush.”
Again, he averted his gaze. “Lenore, so help me, if you do not get off that bed, I will—”
“You will—what?” She bubbled with mirth. “Will you spank me?”
“That does it.” He groaned, as she jumped from the mattress and smacked her lips to his. “You are going to kill me.”
“My poor aggrieved duke, I would never harm you.” But she squealed when he swatted her bottom.
“Come.” He steered her into the hall. “Let us return to Mama and Mr. Hope, else I may avail myself of your offer, and then we will both be in trouble.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Parker, the grey-haired housekeeper drew up short. “My apologies, Your Grace.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Parker.” In her brain, Lenore formulated a quick excuse. “His Grace and I were just discussing possible lodgings for my uncle, when he arrives from America.”
“Of course, Miss Lenore.” The servant dipped her chin. “We will see to his comfort, if you have designated a room. Also, the totals from the stillroom ledger balanced to perfection, and I placed the order for the additional supplies you requested.”
“Did Jennings inform you that there will be three for tea, as Mr. Hope is here?” Although her heart beat a rapid salvo in her chest, Lenore mustered an air of refinement. “I believe he is partial to your shortbread and marmalade.”
“Yes, ma’am. I shall have everything arranged in the back parlor.” The housekeeper curtseyed. “Your Grace.”
“That was inspiring.” Blake twined his fingers in hers and nipped at her knuckles.
“Your duchess will have to think on her feet.” Lenore halted him. “Never doubt me, Blake, as I am afraid no more, and I will be your wife.”
#
January yielded to February with a hellacious blizzard, which suited Blake’s needs, given the heated trysts with Lenore that marked his days. In search of distraction, he ventured to Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon, where leather connected with solid flesh, as he bobbed and weaved. There was nothing like an afternoon in the pugilist’s ring, pounding an opponent, however friendly, to relieve the stress associated with his wicked and insatiable hunger for Lenore’s luscious body.
“So have you fixed the date?” Damian veered to the right.
“Mama wishes to hold an outdoor reception, in the garden, so she insists on an April ceremony.” And the thought of enduring another month and a half of early morning rides to calm a stubborn erection inspired naught but ire, which he released in a lethal one-two combination. “But the announcement will appear in The Times in a fortnight, and the invitations will go out, thereafter.”
“Sounds like your mother and Caroline have been diligent.” Damian shifted, delivered a check-hook, and followed with a nice uppercut. “Any word from the uncle?”
“Not yet.” Blake let fly a brutal blow to the torso, and Damian arched a brow. “Sorry, brother.”
“I should have known better than to take you up on your challenge, given what happened with Dirk, when he languished in courtship hell.” Damian rolled his eyes. “I have no interest in garnering another war wound, no matter how noble the cause.”
“I apologized for that.” Dirk frowned. “And if it makes you feel any better, my nose has never been the same.”
“It is a small consolation.” Damian snickered, until Blake dropped another series of punches. “Easy, brother. Need I remind you I must still get myself an heir?”
“First you must find a wife.” Everett chuckled. “Trust me, you will need one.”
“And that is no small task.” Trevor winced, as Damian struck another blow. “As Blake would know, given he has yet to make it to the altar.”
“Now I resent that, Trevor, really—” Stars filled his vision, and Blake swayed. Rubbing his chin, he scowled at Damian. “That was a cheap shot.”
“That had to hurt.” Lance grimaced.
“Pay attention.” Damian shuffled his feet. “I have not seen you this diverted since Lord Sheldon stole the widow Davis from beneath your nose.”
“Now I could break your teeth for even mentioning his name.” Trevor scowled. “That bastard targeted our family after Caroline gave him the heave-ho at Lady Darrow’s cultural review.”
“But he did assist Dalton and Daphne.” Lance pointed for emphasis. “Is that not worth some small measure of redemption?”
“No, it most certainly is not.” Exhaling, Trevor shook his head. “He tried to seduce my wife.”
“I cannot believe you did not heat her posterior for venturing into the realm of the demimonde.” Spent, Blake leaned against the ropes and rubbed his temple. “But what I would give to journey through time and witness Sheldon’s comeuppance.”
“Well I was there, and I can tell you Caroline was bloody brilliant.” Everett guffawed and slapped his thigh. “She did you proud, and it was not her fault, as she knew not the purposive nature of the gathering.”
“She would have, if she were not alone. As I recall, someone was tasked with keeping watch over her, in my absence.” Trevor glanced at the ceiling and then cast Blake a pointed stare. “Oh, yes. That would be you.”
“Now that was not my fault.” Blake elbowed Damian. “My partner in dubious affairs was supposed to take her to the Hogart’s musicale.”
“She said she had a megrim and preferred to stay home.” Damian shrugged. “What did you expect me to do, drag her about against her will?”
“That is far more preferable than having her stumble, un-chaperoned and unaware, into Lady Darrow’s.” Trevor checked his timepiece. “Hell and the Reaper, I am late.” He grabbed his coat from a nearby chair. “And I still need to stop by the hothouse, before I join my bride for dinner.”
“What is the rush?” Blake stepped from the ring and grabbed a towel. “It is doubtful she will eat without you.”
“Well, it is rather more than a meal, brother. It is an experience I would neither miss nor delay for anything in the world.” Trevor grinned. “Remember, she wants another babe, and Dr. Handley just gave his permission for her to resume marital duties, which stimulated her appetite, but I am not referencing food. And I am never one to keep my countess waiting.”
“Oh, I say. I should come with you.” Everett adjusted his cravat. “To my everlasting thanks, Sabrina evidences the same hunger when she is pregnant, she adores daisies, and I know just how she will express her appreciation of my efforts to please her.”
Dirk and Lance peered at each other and smiled.
“I should have been home an hour ago.” Dirk almost knocked over a table as he rushed to the door.
“Me, too.” Lance elbowed his way through the exit.
“So that is what I have to look forward to—puppy dog faces and flowers.” Myriad thoughts swirled in his brain, and a strange sensation enshrouded him in an eerie gloom, which Blake tried but failed to shake. “But I am for a massage.”
“I will join you.” Damian gave Blake a harmless nudge. “What is it, brother? What troubles you?�
��
“I am not sure.” And that was what bothered him. “But I have not slept soundly for a fortnight, and I cannot shake the nagging suspicion that something is wrong.”
“Worried Lenore may stow away, harbor some secret profession that places her life in peril, leap from a moving carriage, use another man to make you jealous, surprise you with news that she increases, or lob a hairbrush at you on your wedding night?” Damian’s catalogue of the various hazards their married brother’s endured, in some form or fashion, on the road to marital bliss did not inspire confidence. “Come now, it is obvious, even to the disinterested bystander, that she adores you. And, at the risk of sounding maudlin, she could not ask for better in a man.”
“Praise, indeed.” Yet Blake could not quiet the inauspicious notions swirling in his brain, after he undressed and stretched on the table, and the attendant began his work.
For the first time in the game of life, he did not hold all the cards or possess all the answers, and it unnerved him. And the fact that Lenore did not leap at his marriage proposal still bruised his pride. Despite her assurances to the contrary, he would not relax until the vows were spoken and consummated.
“You are wasting that poor chap’s talents, my friend.” Damian opened his eyes and sighed. “Perhaps a visit to the communal bath and an early return home will better suit your disposition?”
“But we were going to have a brandy, at White’s.” Even as he said the words, he longed to return to Elliott House. Together, they strolled into the massive chamber, which featured polished English limestone tiles. After dropping his robe, he descended the steps that led into the large pool. “I would maintain our routine, while I am at liberty to do so.”
“Ah, but you are not at liberty to do so.” Damian chuckled and grabbed a bar of soap. “Whether or not you wish to admit it, you have changed since you met Lenore.”
Blake groaned, and Damian burst into laughter.
“Am I as bad as our leg-shackled Brethren?” Blake held his breath.
“Indubitably.” As he lathered his hair, Damian smirked. “You look like you just lost your best hound.”
Love With an Improper Stranger Page 13
