by Lavinia Kent
“I don’t believe I ever stopped loving you, Linnette.”
Now those were the words she wanted to hear. “I tried to stop. I thought I had stopped. I would never have married Charles if I had not thought I could stop, could forget you, but now, now I wonder. I do fear you may be right.”
“Is it really something to fear?” He bent over and slipped his arms about her, lifting her onto his lap with ease.
She cuddled against his chest, feeling safe and oh so feminine. “I have been afraid of my feelings. As I said, I do not know if I can trust you. I was so firm in that belief this morning and I can only wonder in my change of opinion. I was so sure how I felt, sure that I could never wed you. How can I be confident in my feelings now?”
“And are you questioning? Do you trust me?”
She pulled back just enough that she could look into his eyes again. “It is my turn to say ‘I don’t know.’ I think I do trust you. I want to trust. I want to have reason to trust. I, too, would have liked you to find that dragon to slay. And then when Swatts was speaking, I asked myself if that would really be trust, if I made you give it all up for me. Is it trust if something has been proved or is trust relying on someone when you do have doubts?”
His eyes crinkled. “I don’t know.”
“It is a dilemma. One I am hoping you will help me solve.”
“Oh?” He snuggled her tighter, causing her to move across his lap, his increasingly interesting lap.
She wiggled a little to the side. That would come later. “Yes, I think I need to experiment, perhaps for a lifetime.”
“And how would you do that?”
“I was thinking that if we lived together so I could see you every day, perhaps, god-willing, had a child or two, worked on managing Doveshire together, and kept talking, as well as kissing, that then in a decade or two I might know with more certainty if I could trust you.” She dropped her gaze at the end, afraid of his answer, despite her own certainty.
“You are talking marriage?” His voice was gruff. “Do not play with me.”
“I suppose I am. Although, I admit I seem to enjoy courting scandal these days. I believe that I would enjoy a long engagement—with us living in the same house. I’d like to hear the biddies talk about that one.”
“Is that even possible?” He was stirring beneath her lap. He clearly liked the idea.
“I don’t know.” She smiled broadly as she said the words. “But I am certainly willing to find out. Mr. Swatts did mention you had left the hotel.”
“Yes, I am not quite sure why I did it in such a hurry. But I felt a true need to be in the house.”
“It might have forced me away.”
“I’ve never seen you forced to do anything.”
“You still haven’t asked me—again.”
“Asked you?”
“I may be forward and unforceable, but I do still believe it is your job to ask for my hand.” She shifted her hips so his sex pressed firmly against hers. She knew just where this discussion should move—and fast.
But James evidently had other ideas. Before she could draw another breath, she found herself lifted and deposited on the seat while he slid to the narrow stretch of floor between the benches.
He took her hand in his and said the words—at least almost the words—she’d been hoping for. “Will you, Linnette Sharpeton, do me the honor becoming my wife? And don’t think I didn’t swear I was never going to ask again after this morning.”
There was some temptation to roll her eyes. Would the man ever get over her laughter? “I would have been shocked if you hadn’t sworn just as I swore I would never say yes.”
“And is that a yes?” The man actually sounded unsure—and a little defensive.
“Yes. Yes. Yes.” She bent down to give him a kiss and to draw him back up to her, but he continued to have ideas of his own.
He returned her kiss, but only lightly, before pulling back.
She was about to protest, but then his hands were under her skirts, rubbing her ankles, her calves, stopping for a lingering touch at the back of her knee—she loved that spot—then up her inner thighs. There was shiver of fresh air as he pushed her skirts up, baring her in the low light of the coach’s lanterns.
“It’s a good thing your skirts are already wrinkled,” he said, bending his head to brush a kiss on each knee, and then letting his lips follow his hands as they worked their way up her thighs. “I was quite upset not to be able to taste you at the opera. It seemed most unfair. I intend to remedy that now.”
“Oh—do—you?” Her voice squeaked at the end and he was only halfway up her thigh.
“Yes, I most definitely do, my dear wife-to-be.” His tongue left slick lines across her inner thigh as it moved higher.
Speech became impossible. She swallowed, wanting to say more, but already lost in sensation. There would be more time for words later. And as his breath brushed her curls and his tongue targeted home, she didn’t say a thing.
“So why did you jump in a lake?”
It was not a question he had ever imagined asking after sex, but as he lay back in Linnette’s great bed, with a most satisfied woman in his arms, it occurred to him that it was the one question that had not been answered.
Linnette stiffened slightly, and then relaxed again, turning her face against his chest. “If you asked anyone, they would tell you that Elizabeth pushed me.”
“That little—. I would have expected you to sound angry. It is unheard of to dump a lady in a lake.” James shifted, trying to see her face.
In response to his movement, Linnette did turn her face up. She smiled, but it did not quite reach her eyes. “That sounds almost Arthurian, but I am definitely no Lady of the Lake.”
“Not swinging swords for vengeance?”
“As I said before, Elizabeth did not push me,” she said the words very quietly, her breath warming his chest.
“But . . . ?”
“I truly did jump. She could not have stopped me if she had wanted to.”
“Why?” He would never understand women, at least not this one.
“I just did. It seemed like a grand idea at the time, but now I fear I may regret it. It truly seemed more of a lark than anything—and a way to show that I was not hiding a belly under my skirts. Now I fear I should just have taken Annabelle’s suggestion and thrown a masquerade and come dressed in drapery.”
He said nothing as he considered her words. “Everyone thinks Elizabeth pushed you, but in truth you jumped. I am still not sure I understand why.”
“I wanted to get back at her—perhaps I swung my sword of vengeance without thought. I certainly wanted sympathy for myself and for Elizabeth to face the consequences of what she’s done with the cartoons, but now I am not so sure that I did anything but act like a spoiled child.”
“I think I begin to understand.” Although, in truth, he was not sure he did at all. He would have understood a punch or brawl, but to pretend to be pushed?
“No, you don’t. But that is fine. I do not understand myself—although it did feel wonderful for a moment. And then I saw Kathryn and Annie and how they looked at Elizabeth. I did not want that. And then I ran into Annabelle and her sister as I left the park. They had seen the whole thing. Annabelle was full of sympathy for me, but something in her sister Lucille’s gaze made me think that perhaps she saw me jump and knew I was a fraud. Lucille is quiet, but I have the feeling she sees everything.”
“Will she say anything?”
“I do not know, and in some ways I hope that she does. I would deserve it—I warned you I was now courting scandal.”
“That is nonsense—your deserving it, not the courting scandal. You are correct that I do not understand fully, but if Elizabeth is behind the cartoons, I cannot feel sympathy. She hurt you.”
“I know—and yes, she did. But that is still no reason for me to act in such a fashion. We were good friends. It was never an easy friendship, true. But I think in many ways we are
too much alike.”
“I do not see that.”
“We are both strong women whom the world has not always treated fairly, and yet we go on. I think perhaps that I have been luckier and she has resented me for that. I know I sometimes resent her ready tongue and wit—not that I am hurt by them, but that I am jealous of them. She always has the perfect reply and it seems that nothing upsets her, destroys her calm. At least not until today. She truly looked quite appalled as she stood there and I waded out, dripping.”
“Was she angry?”
“Yes, but I saw respect also. It almost made me think she was not behind the cartoons, that it would have been beneath her. She has always been very straightforward in her actions. I think it is why I found this whole thing so surprising.”
“Mmmm.” It was not much of a reply, but his body was becoming very aware that Linnette was rolling her hips back and forth and it really didn’t care about the cartoons any further. And his mind was beginning to think it just might agree.
Linnette began to plant lazy kisses along the underside of his chin, her tongue occasionally darting out to taste him. He pulled her higher, wanting to see into her eyes, wanting to know just how together they were in all of this.
She came along agreeably, more than agreeably, but then just before pressing her lips against his, she paused. “My only question is, if Elizabeth isn’t behind the cartoons, then who is?”
THE MAIDS
“Oh, my God!!” Abby’s voice echoed down the street.
Jane hurried up after her. Her friend had never taken the Lord’s name in vain and it seemed most unlikely that it could mean anything but true disaster. “What is it? Is somebody hurt?”
“No, but look. I can’t believe it. He would never do that to her. He’s my favorite in the whole bloody bunch of them. Lady Tattingstong cannot deserve this. No, she cannot. Her husband is a true devil if this is true.”
Jane found herself stopping beside her friend and staring at the chemist’s window. Abby had sounded as if she were talking about a family member, not some lady they followed in cartoons and scandal sheets, but Jane did know the feeling. Following the lives of the duchesses had become a central part of her day.
And this cartoon truly was horrible. Lady Tattingstong stood in the front and slightly to the left. She was surrounded by bags of money, pound notes dripping out. That damned American flag stuck proudly out of her grand bosom. She smiled as if she controlled the whole world—and enjoyed it.
But behind her stood her husband, the marquess. Jane had come to know all of their faces well. He was looking at his wife, his expression one of distaste, even as he slipped his fingers forward and took several pound notes. That was not, however, the worst.
The worst was the pretty young woman held tightly in his other arm. The pretty young woman with a new baby in her arms. The pretty young woman whose bodice was stuffed full of Lady Tattingstong’s pound notes. The pretty young woman who had another child beside her.
“My God,” Abby repeated her earlier words. “The marquess has another family.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Most days Lavinia Kent loves her life and knows that she has found her own happily-ever-after with her husband and three children. But on those other days (you know which ones!), she is very glad for the wonderful romances, sensuous gowns, and tall, sexy men that fill her mind—and then her computer.
Lavinia lives in Washington, DC, with her family and an ever-changing menagerie of pets. She attended Wellesley College as an undergraduate and holds an MBA from Georgetown University.
What a Duke Wants is Lavinia’s fourth book from Avon Romance. She also has a fun and, sexy serial of e-novellas, The Real Duchesses of London, available from Avon Impulse.
She can be contacted at her website www.LaviniaKent.com or through Facebook and Twitter.
ALSO BY LAVINIA KENT
A Talent for Sin
Bound by Temptation
Taken by Desire
Norma
The Real Duchesses of London
Kathryn, The Kitten
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
LINNETTE, THE LIONESS. Copyright © 2011 by Lavinia Kent. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition July 2011 ISBN: 9780062107930
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062115706
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