Two Brides and a Duke: A Steamy Regency Romance (Parvenues & Paramours, Book 4)

by Tessa Candle

  Eleanor scowled. “No one would be shocked about such a report at all, given what they all know about my mother.”

  “Ah, but the truth is, everyone will forget all about it, once you become a duchess.”

  “They will never forget.”

  “Then they will remember at their own peril, for I intend to throw the most fashionable parties in the kingdom, and those whose memories are too good—and anyone who associates with them—will find themselves cut out.”

  “You are too good.”

  “I mean it.” His eyes locked with hers. “You shall have every desire of your heart, and you shall never have to spend a moment in the society of anyone you do not like. I wish I had protected you better from that Auchdun jackass.”

  “Hah! I think if you had asked me a month ago, I would have said I preferred his company to yours.”

  “But you would have been lying, though.” He gave her a sideways smile.

  “Yes.” She played with a stray black curl by his ear. “I would have been lying.”

  He drew her close to him and nibbled at her lips playfully before kissing her, long and deep.

  Her body responded instinctively to his passion, and she threw herself into the kiss like a deep ocean, lapping at his tongue, wanting to fuse with him forever.

  When he let her up for air, he looked at her inquiringly. “How are you feeling? Was that too much? I will wait for you, my love.”

  “It is not too much.” She smiled wickedly at him. “It is not enough. And what is the point of waiting?”

  “Well,” he was being the devil’s advocate, but he was slipping a hand into her bodice as he spoke, “you have not agreed to be my wife yet…”

  “You have not yet asked me.” She was breathless. “Very bad form, considering what you are doing to me right now.”

  “Let me remedy that, immediately.” He freed a nipple from her dress and licked it until a surge of warmth ran through her. Then he paused to enquire, “Eleanor, will you make me the happiest of men and consent to be my wife?”

  “Oh yes.” It came out as a moan.

  “Was that a yes, I will marry you, or were you simply enjoying yourself?”

  “I will marry you, but only if you consent to do all sorts of naughty things to me—both before and after we are wed.”

  “Oh, I consent.” He ripped open the front of her dress in one deft motion, and was kissing the length of her body, exploring her with his fingers and his tongue, making her dissolve into a white heat of pleasure that danced on the exquisite edge of longing, until she could no longer withstand the force of his desire.

  She groaned. “Give me all of you.”

  He stripped off his clothing as she lay back and watched him in the firelight. The sight of his glistening muscles and his erect member held her in a thrall of masculine beauty. Never had a renaissance sculpture of Adonis looked so resplendent.

  “I have changed my mind. I prefer the firelight.”

  “I prefer it too. I like to see the lust in your eyes.” He lowered himself onto her and she luxuriated in the full contact of their skin. Then he entered her, staring intently at her face and growling, “Oh yes, just like that. I want to see the pleasure ignite in their beautiful depths.”

  He moved slowly at first, then began to thrust harder, grabbing her hips and driving into her faster and faster.

  She clung to him greedily and clawed at his back, until they cried out together, joining in a torrent of hot, wet fulfilment.

  “I love you,” she murmured in the aftermath, amazed that this confession sprang so naturally from her. But it was the old Eleanor who hid her feelings. The new Eleanor wanted to share everything with this wonderful, beguiling man.

  “I love you, too, my future duchess.” He kissed her hair, and slid off of her, pulling her onto his chest and wrapping his arms around her. “However, we had best hope that your father allows us to get married before the next Pallensley heir arrives.”

  “I will elope if I have to.” She fondled his member. “But it will not hurt to keep practicing for the wedding night.”

  Chapter 32

  The man parlour at Blackwood held less appeal upon Delville’s second visit. He laughed internally at how, when he was last enjoying Rutherford’s hospitality in this very room, he had looked askance at how tame his friends had become—domesticated by domestic bliss.

  And now he was becoming a duke with his own massive estate, and eventually a duchess who would bring him joy every day of his life, if only her father would consent. His outlook had definitely changed, which was no doubt the fault of the bewitching Eleanor. Oh, how the tables had turned on him.

  He accepted a drink from Rutherford and sat down next to Frobisher.

  “I see you have not yet stopped grinning like the village idiot.” Frobisher openly scoffed.

  But Rutherford came to his defence. “He has so much to be glad for, you know. He has now escaped death a second time, has inherited a prince’s ransom, and has made a highly desirable alliance. I think if he were scowling we would be justified in thinking him an ingrate.”

  “Certainly. But you are not subjected to him daily, Rutherford. If you had to endure the way he goes about, glassy eyed and smirking, you would be irritated too. And he has become far too polite to be plausible. What has happened to good old Devil?”

  Delville just grinned at them both. “If it will make you feel better, I shall find something bad to do. I could break into your stables and steal another horse. Only I should warn you, I would only use it to elope with Eleanor.”

  Rutherford threw up his hands. “Ah! Do not even jest about it! Grendleridge already holds me responsible for everything that has happened to his daughter—that is to say, for exposing her to you.”

  “I would say that is more Frobisher’s fault than yours, really.”

  “I see you do not comment upon your own guilt in the matter, Delville.” Frobisher raised a brow to punctuate his accusatory look. “Convenient. But do not worry. I have had my share of grief from Eleanor’s father.”

  Rutherford went to stir the fire. “However, as I was the person Grendleridge sent Eleanor to stay with, I am the one he principally holds at fault.”

  Delville sighed. “Yet, I trump you both, for he certainly hates the very sight of me.”

  “Can you blame him?” Frobisher sounded sour. “You could have saved us all a lot of trouble and avoided this whole debacle, if you had been honest with us from the start.”

  “I know it. My only excuse is that I did not know how to tell you what I was up to without also disclosing my mission, which was to remain a secret. It hardly matters now, however, as I have so completely failed.”

  “There!” Frobisher finally sounded satisfied. “That wiped the smile off your face.”

  “But you have not failed.” Rutherford was much more conciliatory. “After all, you saved the little girl, and also protected the wife of this ingrate,” he jerked a thumb at Frobisher, “from Screwe.”

  “Did he now?” Frobisher’s ire seemed to have found its proper origin. “As I recall, he kept that snake on my property, right next to my wife, without mentioning a word about it to me. And now we have no idea where Screwe is.”

  Delville winced. It was clearly too much to hope for that, when they said he was forgiven, it would simply be resolved as neatly as all that. “I understand it will take time for you to forget all that I have done. Only know this: I am a changed man. I can see now how my flippancy and arrogant self-sufficiency put others at risk. Being trapped in the pit one has dug for oneself is a wonderful cure for stupidity. And I am truly sorry for not trusting you both with my secrets. I not only endangered Rosamond, I almost got Eleanor killed.” Forgiving himself would also take some time.

  Frobisher was quiet for a few moments, then grumbled, “And you also put yourself in peril, Delville. Do not forget how it would have been for us to lose you again.”

  Rutherford cleared his throat. “Yes, well, and o
n that note, I suppose I should ask, because Tilly wants to know, do you think Screwe is still alive?”

  “I do not know.” Delville fended off a shudder, but he was not deeply disturbed that Red Martha would probably kill him—for that would be a sort of cosmic justice. “She will almost certainly dispatch him, eventually. I am concerned that she will extract information from him before she does so, however. That would be very bad.”

  “Why is that?” Frobisher was tense.

  “Because, although Screwe did not know my motives, he did know I was looking for a particular child. Red Martha may not yet have sorted out our connection to the rescue of Persephone, but if Screwe tells her that I was looking for the girl…”

  Rutherford passed a hand over his face. “Then she will be back.”

  Delville swallowed. “I am sorry to have put you both in this position, but I must protect Persephone, and I need your help.”

  “You shall have it.”

  “Most certainly.” Frobisher pulled a face. “Not that we have much choice. We need extra precautions to defend ourselves, in any event.”

  Delville decided to call Frobisher’s bluff. “You could just hand her over to Red Martha. Then your households would be safe.”

  “Of course we could not!” Rutherford waved a hand in disgust. “You know us better than that, Delville.”

  Frobisher gave Delville a withering look. “Children must always be protected. And anyway, that woman has menaced my wife. I, for one, would like to see her in gaol.”

  “She has also been a little too closely aligned with Screwe in his threats against us.” Rutherford scowled. “She is the worst sort of criminal. If there was a public hanging, I should want a front row seat.”

  “Your soul is darker than I thought, Rutherford.” Delville felt the call of unfinished business, but stood firm in his commitment to retiring from spy work. “I am sorry for failing so thoroughly in my mission to get evidence of her treason. On the other hand, I am not the only person looking. They will find something against her, eventually. The woman is up to her neck in all sorts of wrongdoing.”

  The servant then entered to summon them to dinner, and they went to join the guests in the dining room.

  Delville could barely keep his eyes off Eleanor, despite dark looks from her father. She had given up trying to disguise her beauty, and he was smitten by the full radiance of her skin and lustrous chestnut hair. She was as demure as the situation required, but occasionally she caught his eye, and her secret smile made his heart glow. Indeed, he was having some difficulty controlling other parts of his anatomy.

  After dinner, the ladies and the Duke of Grendleridge went through. Frobisher and Rutherford proposed another drink before joining the others.

  “Thank you, but I wish to make a good impression on Eleanor’s father. He already thinks me an utter reprobate.”

  “I cannot imagine how he formed such an opinion.” Frobisher was enjoying himself.

  Delville looked calmly upon his jeering friend. “You may mock all you like, but you were not always so perfect as you seem to think yourself now.”

  “None of us were.” Rutherford slapped Delville on the shoulder. “I know Tilly has made me a better man.”

  “And she is about to make you a father, you lucky sod!” Frobisher did not even feign a blasé air. “I am so deeply envious that I cannot even pretend not to notice, as I should.”

  “Well, you are like family, Frobisher, so I will overlook the bad form. But honestly, pretending not to notice would be an absurdity, at this point. I wish she would enter her confinement.” He turned to Delville. “I could not even convince her to stay quietly at home when we were hunting for you. When the digging began, it was all I could do to keep her from grabbing a shovel.”

  “Your wife has a heart of gold.” Delville chuckled. “And I am grateful to be the object of her kindness, and not her matchmaking. Poor old Benton. Do you think he has had sufficient time to repent marrying in haste?”

  “I imagine so.” Rutherford feigned a fearful look.

  “Oh, she will probably wait to show her true colours until the glad tidings of your survival and ascension to the Pallensley duchy gets around.” Frobisher pursed his lips. “I can imagine how happily she will receive that news. But look, if we are going to sit around talking, we might as well have a glass of brandy or two.”

  “Actually Rutherford, if you do not mind, I want to go check on Persephone.” They had all decided it best to bring her along to the dinner, and nervousness had made Delville arrange for three guards to sit outside the nursery, but it would be her bedtime soon. Delville just wanted to make sure she was securely installed and tucked into bed. She liked it when he peeked in on her to say goodnight, and he was utterly charmed. He had never believed he would enjoy reading children’s stories or practicing the level of French that Persephone was learning, but he loved every minute of it.

  Rutherford inclined his head. “We shall meet you in the great room, then. You can have a brandy there, Frobisher. The women are better conversationalists than us, in any case.”

  Delville left them debating where they should drink their brandy, and slipped upstairs. Persephone was already asleep when he looked into her room. A dark tress was tangled up in her long black lashes, and he smoothed it away gently. She stirred a little, but did not wake. Delville sighed. She was a darling. He hoped that Eleanor would not mind adopting her, for he desired them to someday make a home for her together.

  As he left, he tipped each of the watchmen by her door ten pounds. “Take particularly good care of that little angel, and guard her with your very lives. I shall make it worth your while.”

  They all bobbed their heads in agreement and seemed keen enough, but Delville wished he had hired more men for the job. He tried to dismiss his nerves as he headed for the staircase. He was probably being overly cautious. Her dark hair could not help but remind him of his sister. His guilt was merely preying upon his mind—that was all.

  He was greatly looking forward to spending some time with Eleanor’s father as he whistled down the stairs and headed for the great south parlour. He had some work to do to repair his character with the man. But he was confident, and could not resist smiling as he walked into the grand salon.

  Frobisher and Rutherford had not yet gone through, and Eleanor saw him first. Her eyes lit up as they found his. She was so beautiful, glowing, and when she smiled at him from across the room, it was as if a shower of sparks burst around her.

  Then she threw up her arms to cover her face, everyone was hurtled into confusion, and Delville realized that it was not a dreamy halo cast by the eyes of love, but an explosion of glass from the great window, reflecting in the light of the fireplace and chandeliers.

  Men were clamouring into the room, followed by a woman clad in red with a scarf pulled over her face, who pointed at Eleanor. But Delville was already moving, instinctively swerving to grab the poker from the hearth, then running to swing at the two men who were grabbing Eleanor’s arms. The first one was grounded with a single blow and lay on the floor bleeding from his head. Eleanor was struggling to get away from the second, and a third man attacked Delville, swinging his great ham fist at him.

  Delville ducked and the blow struck his shoulder, which hurt like the devil, but the deflection of the blow also made the man stumble. Delville brought the iron down on the man’s knee with a satisfying crunch, then kicked him over and gave him another blow to the skull.

  As the man sagged into unconsciousness, Delville turned to see that Eleanor had scratched the eye of her attacker. He did not waste time in admiring her bravery, but merely cracked the poker over the man’s head and left him for dead.

  In the white heat of the melee, Delville pushed Eleanor none to gently behind him. “Take Tilly and get out of here!” He hardly knew where Tilly was, but recognized this was no place for a woman in the family way.

  Delville spied another two men going after Rosamond, but Rutherford and Fr
obisher were now rushing into the room, grappling with them. The last man was standing guard beside the woman.

  He knew it was Red Martha. If they could catch her or reveal her face, she was as good as hanged, but something about her body language said she was not afraid. She was livid. Suddenly a bounding mass of fur was hurtling toward her. Delville recognized the hound. It was Mack, joining in the fray.

  Servants and guards were now rushing into the room, and Delville darted to dispatch the man who was getting the better of Frobisher, as Rutherford knocked his own combatant back into the arresting arms of two of the guards.

  Then a yelp sounded from behind him. Red Martha was fleeing, and the man who remained beside her had Mack pinned to the floor, a knife flashed in his hand. “We leave and the dog lives.” His mistress was already making her way back through the part of the window that was bashed out. Mack was struggling, unable to get himself free.

  Delville raised his poker to attack, but Rutherford cried out, “For God sakes, Delville, it’s Mack! Let him go!”

  Delville heard the anguish in Rutherford’s voice. The dog was family to him. Delville lowered the iron bar to the floor, and the man sneered, dragging the struggling Mack backward through the window. Mack landed a few bites, but the man shrugged them off. He was a bloodhound, after all, not a wolfhound. These henchmen were bloody-minded brawlers who could take some pain.

  Delville saw the stricken face of Rutherford as he scanned the room to make sure that the ladies were unharmed. Eleanor and Rosamond were by Tilly’s side where she reclined on a chaise longue. Tilly looked terribly pale.

  “Rutherford!” she called out, and Rutherford, who had begun to run for the window after Mack, stopped in his tracks.

  “My darling,” her voice was forcedly calm, but nonetheless carried a message of extreme distress, “I believe I need to go to my chamber now. Perhaps we should summon the doctor.”