The Hazards of Hunting a Duke

by Julia London

  In his bare feet, Jared walked to the door, pulled it open—and was completely startled.

  It wasn’t Dawson at all, but Ava at his door, wearing a dressing gown loosely tied and holding a long strip of red silk. But what he noticed more than the provocative dressing gown and long strip of red silk was her eyes. Her green eyes were glittering, and it was a very stirring sight. “Lady Middleton, you deign to favor me with your company after all.”

  She chuckled low and abruptly reached up and shoved him in the chest, forcing him backward. She stepped over the threshold after him and quickly shut the door behind her, leaned up against it, and spread her arms wide, her fingers on the door frame, the scarf dangling from her hand. “I do, but on my terms, sir.”

  “Oh?” he asked, his eyes roaming her curves, “Have I given you leave to define our terms?”

  She smiled, held up her arm, and twisted it slightly, so that he could see the gold bracelets she wore. “Must I have your permission?”

  He didn’t quite know how to answer that. He didn’t quite know his mind at all at the moment. “Why didn’t you join me for supper?” he asked.

  Ava raised a brow. “Did you miss me?”

  “That is beside the point,” he said brusquely.

  “Is it, indeed?” she asked low, and pushed away from the door, her shapely leg sliding out from beneath her dressing gown. A flash of gold on her ankle caught his eye.

  “What—”

  She boldly covered his mouth with her hand, tilted her head back, and smiled seductively. “Now which of us is the unhappy one?” she whispered, and pushed him backward.

  Jared moved back, his legs bumping against the chair at the hearth. She reached up, put her hands on his shoulders, and pushed him down. He sat, his legs sprawled before him, watching her warily, his curiosity and his blood highly aroused.

  Ava said nothing, but still smiling seductively, she began to move. It seemed strange at first, as if she were dancing to music only she could hear, draping the silk across him, following it with the trail of her fingers—but soon his mind and sight were preoccupied with very delectable parts of her body moving very sensually. Hers was not a dance he’d ever seen before. She moved with her hips, draping the silk over her arm, flinging it up, then draping it on him as her hips swung back and forth.

  As his focus grew intent on the curves of her body, and she used her hands to skim her body suggestively, he became aroused. She twirled around him, reaching her hands high in the air and shaking her bottom, then twirled again, leaning over him, caressing his cheek with her hand while the silk draped across him, then she was up again, twirling, and frankly, driving him quite mad.

  The woman, this innocent whose virginity he had claimed, was making him delirious with thirst for her. He was completely seduced, could not take his eyes from her. Yet when he would reach for her, she swayed away from him.

  “Ava,” he said, his voice surprising him with its hoarseness, and his hands, his skin, surprising him with the need to just touch her.

  But she laughed at his desire, twirling around in a blur of red silk and flesh and honey blond hair before suddenly falling to her knees between his legs.

  “Jared,” she said, her breasts rising with the pant of her breath. She slowly leaned forward and pressed her lips to his chest, to a patch of skin visible through the slit of his shirt.

  She might as well have burned him; his body seized with the sensation of her moist lips. He put his hands to her face, tried to draw her up, but she gripped his arms, pushed them away, and kissed him through the slit of his shirt again, the tip of her tongue flicking against his flesh as she slipped her hands beneath his shirt and moved them, light as a feather, up his torso to his nipples.

  His pulse was pounding, keeping time with his throbbing cock. He closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and luxuriated in the light, ethereal touch of a woman’s hand on his body. Her hands moved down again, flowing over his skin, to his hips, and moved like a feather across his erection. But there she paused, and through the fabric of his buckskins, she caressed him.

  Jared sucked in his breath when she touched him; his head snapped up and he grabbed her arms. “Come here,” he growled, moving forward, his hands cupping her face.

  She shook her head. “Allow me this,” she said, using his words from the first night they had lain together, as her hand cupped him. “I am your wife and you will allow me this.”

  Bloody hell, he’d allow her the sun, the moon, the stars—whatever she might desire. With a groan of surrender, he fell back against the chair, his body on fire. Ava tossed the silk aside, and with both hands, she undid his belt, and opened the flap that scarcely contained the evidence of his passion. When his cock sprang free, Ava did not flinch; she drew a breath, leaned down, and closed her lips around the tip of him.

  His blood turned to liquid fire. Jared grabbed Ava’s head, tried to lift her, but she was steadfast and took hold of his hips, then slid the length of him into her mouth.

  The tender flick of her tongue proved more than he could bear, and he abruptly sat up, took her face in his hands, and forced her to look up. Her eyes had a sultry, hot look to them. He reached under her arms and easily pulled her into his lap. Her dressing gown fell open, exposing her breasts to him, and he eagerly took one to his mouth as his hand sought the juncture of her legs.

  He found it, hot and wet, the flesh swollen. Above him, he heard her ragged draw of breath, felt the tables turn. He was in control now. He held her firmly by the hips and moved her against his cock. Ava, his bride, his beautiful, sensual bride, gasped for breath above him. He moved her body, positioning her, and looked up at her face. She was flushed with excitement, her eyes glittering, and slowly, carefully, he slid into her.

  She closed her eyes; her head fell back as she sank down on him, and she let out a long, deep sigh of pleasure. He moved gently in her, afraid to hurt her, afraid he might overwhelm her with the passion raging in him. But when Ava lifted her head and smiled down at him, he began to move with more assurance.

  She began to move, too—awkwardly at first, but then matching his rhythm. His hands sought her breasts, his mouth her skin, and when he thought he couldn’t reach her, couldn’t reach deep enough, he put one arm around her waist and surged up, taking them both to the rug at his feet. Her legs came up on either side of him; he slid deeper and harder, his hand between them, stroking her to the same explosive conclusion that was building in him.

  Moaning, she moved beneath him, bucking against him until she found her release with one long, low cry. She grabbed him, her nails digging into his skin, her mouth on his shoulder.

  He drove into her, felt the draw of his own release and shuddered his life’s blood into her.

  A moment passed as they lay panting. When Jared had finally regained his senses, he thought he might be hurting her and shifted, bracing himself with his arms. “Lie still,” he murmured as he kissed her cheek. “I shall bring you a clean dressing gown.”

  “Mmm,” she responded, stretched her arms above her head, and gave him a very sated, catlike smile. Jared kissed her lips, then stood up, pulled his buckskins up, and walked into his dressing room to find her a dressing gown.

  But when he walked into his room again, Ava was on her feet, had wrapped her dressing gown around her, and had picked up the length of red silk.

  He smiled. “Do you mean to dance again?” he asked, holding the gown out to her. “For if you do, lady, you might kill me.”

  She smiled lopsidedly, walked to where he stood, rose up on her toes, and kissed him soundly on the lips. “Good night, my lord.”

  He slipped his arm around her back and returned her kiss with one a bit more ardent. “Are you tired?”

  She smiled. “Sleep well,” she whispered, and moved out from the circle of his arms.

  It confused him. He thought perhaps she meant to get in his bed, but she walked toward the door instead. “Wait!” he exclaimed, confused, before she opened the door.
“Where are you going?”

  “To my rooms,” she said with a bright smile, and opened the door. “Good night.”

  He stood there, confounded, as she walked out, his body and mind still steeped in their lovemaking, still holding a dressing gown, trying to fathom what had just happened.

  When Ava slipped into her room, she walked to the hearth and hugged herself tightly. She hadn’t wanted to leave him. She had wanted so badly to stay, and she believed that he’d wanted her to stay. But she’d given Sally her word.

  “You must trust me on this, mu’um,” Sally had firmly told her. “If you give yourself to him and seem eager to do it, he will take you, but he will think of another. If you only share yourself with him when you please, he shall want you even more. He’ll want you so desperately he’ll be devoured by the want, mark me.”

  That sounded splendid, but still, Ava had wondered how Sally could be so certain.

  Sally had laughed and called her naïve. “Mark me, Lady Ava,” she’d said. “If you heed my advice, he shall come to you. Not the whore in London. You.”

  Ava certainly hoped so, for after tonight, there was no place she wanted to be but in his arms.

  Twenty-two

  J ared had a ravenous appetite the next morning, and breakfasted alone, replaying the events of last night over again in his mind’s eye. When he’d finished, he had the mare saddled and rode out, spurring the young horse faster and faster, recklessly leading her to jump over streams and fences, trying to shake that interminable and peculiar feeling at the core of him. It was a feeling of discomfort that seemed to grow in him each day, feeling a little like there was something too large inside his body.

  When the mare was spent, he rode her easy back to the abbey. As he neared the old castle ruins, he saw the gamekeeper’s boy standing high on a mound of rocks, his wooden sword at his side. He’d often seen the boy here, but he’d always ridden past. Today, however, he sent the mare trotting up the hill.

  As he neared the ruins, the boy jumped down from the mound of rubble, his expression wary. Jared dismounted and tethered the horse and walked up the hill to the ruins. As he climbed up to what had once been the main floor of the castle, behind the lone wall that remained standing, he could see a tin cup, another wooden sword, an old saddle blanket that was neatly folded to form a pallet, and a cloth, folded and tied and undoubtedly containing bread and cheese.

  It was, Jared thought with an aching twist of his heart, the same place he used to play as a child. He’d spent endless hours here, master of all he surveyed. When his governess came after him late in the afternoon, he returned to the abbey, where, at about the same age as this boy, he’d been master of the house before he even knew what that meant.

  “King of the castle, eh?” he remarked to the boy, walking into the middle of what was left of the castle floor.

  “Papa said I had your leave, milord,” Edmond said, looking a bit like he’d been caught doing something he ought not to do.

  Jared smiled. “You do indeed have my leave, lad. I’m merely curious as to what you’re about.” He glanced at the child and studied his face. “I often played here when I was your age.” He looked around at the familiar pile of rubble. “I got bored of playing alone, though. Once, I insisted a footman accompany me so that I’d have someone to slay.”

  Edmond blinked. “I haven’t got a footman, sir.”

  “No,” Jared said, his smile fading. “I suppose you haven’t.”

  “I don’t mind being alone,” Edmond said, absently swinging his sword at the ground. “I’m always king that way. One day I shall go to London where I shall have footmen.”

  Jared smiled and put his hand to the boy’s head. “I have every confidence you will.” He wanted to say more, to ask the child how he fared here at Broderick Abbey, if he helped his father in his work. But Edmond had found something on the ground to fascinate him—he was digging the point of his sword at whatever it was—and Jared realized he had no idea how to talk to a young boy. He felt inept, incapable of speaking the appropriate language.

  He stepped back. “Carry on, then,” he said, and turned, walking back to the mare. He had one last look at Edmond before riding off, but Edmond’s attention was elsewhere.

  Back at the abbey, Jared sought out Ava and found her in the blue drawing room. She was reading a letter, her head bent over a writing table, her eyes squinting.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  She started, and quickly picked up the letter she was reading and folded it.

  “What are you reading?” he asked absently as he strolled into the room, his eyes on her face.

  Ava blinked, stuffing the letter into her pocket. “Nothing, my lord. Just a bit of old news,” she said, and looked at him expectantly.

  He kissed her on the cheek. “You weren’t at breakfast.”

  “Oh, did you breakfast here?” she asked, her voice light. “I thought perhaps you had ridden to breakfast with Lady Kettle.”

  So Veronica had paid her a call as he’d suggested. “Not today,” he said with a smile. “I ate entirely alone. Again.”

  “Hmm,” she said, and glanced away.

  “I think it a perfect day for riding lessons, madam.”

  She looked at the window and shrugged insouciantly. “I had thought to write some letters. I’ve not written Phoebe in several days. She’ll be desperate to know how I am getting on, of course,” she said, and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “And I’ve so much to tell her.”

  What in God’s name was the matter with her? “That can wait.”

  “Very well,” she said with a sudden bright smile, and abruptly stood. “I suppose I could spare you an hour or so.”

  Spare him? She’d left him last night, and now she acted as if she’d rather be writing long and boring letters than spend time in his company. What in the devil was going through her mind? This wasn’t his usual experience with women—normally, they were quite eager to spend time in his company. “How very kind of you,” he drawled. “Thank you.”

  Ava began moving purposefully toward the door. “Shall I meet you in the foyer?” she asked, but she’d already sailed past him, was already walking out.

  Jared watched her go, then put a hand to his nape and tried to work through what, exactly, went through a woman’s mind at any given moment.

  Fortunately, Sally was cleaning her room when Ava burst through the door, her pulse racing.

  Not that Sally seemed to notice her exuberance, for she was quite cross. “Your Miss Hillier is quite the taskmaster,” she snapped when Ava entered the room. “She had the gall to waken me this very morning and insist I clean your dressing room! At seven o’clock in the bloody morning! She’s not very kind, that one.”

  “He’s insisted on a riding lesson,” Ava said, ignoring Sally’s protests.

  Sally dropped the pillow she was plumping and folded her arms over her middle. “What did you say, then?” she asked sternly.

  “I said, ‘well sir, I have some letters to write, but I suppose I might spare you an hour or so.’ ”

  “Brilliant!” Sally cried. “Perfectly well done. Now go and be as charming as you can possibly be. Lots of smiling and touching, and be pretty with your words.”

  “Pretty with my words?” Ava echoed. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Heaven help me,” Sally muttered to the ceiling, then leveled a gaze on her. “I mean that you should flirt, mu’um. Tease him and make certain that he feels quite the king. A woman must always appeal to a man’s ego, as it is every man’s greatest weakness.”

  “Appeal to his ego,” Ava repeated as she hurried into the dressing room to change into a dark green riding habit.

  “Try and keep in mind,” Sally said, stepping in front of Ava when she had changed and was hurrying out, “that you are reeling in a very big fish. He’s much bigger and stronger than you, so you must reel carefully and evenly, for if you let the line go slack or pick it up too quickly, you’ll lose
him.”

  “You really do have a tendency to speak in metaphors, don’t you?” Ava asked as she grabbed Sally’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “To speak in what?” Sally demanded, insulted.

  Ava squeezed her hand again. “Never mind. I must hurry now,” she said, stepping around her.

  “God blind me, have you heard a word I’ve said?” Sally called after her. “Don’t appear too eager!”

  Ava walked slowly until she was out of Sally’s sight. But the moment she was clear of her, she hurried down the corridor and the grand staircase, slowing again only when she could see the foyer.

  From that point, she walked carefully down the steps, her posture erect, just as she used to do with Phoebe and Greer, when they would practice walking down the steps with books on their heads in preparation for the day they would be queen. They never quite worked out the details of how they might become queen but, nevertheless, they would be prepared to don the mantle when the time came.

  When she reached the bottom step, Middleton appeared from the corridor on the right. In his riding cloak, he looked large and forbidding, particularly with his gaze as intent on her as it was. “There you are,” he said quietly.

  “Yes. Here I am!”

  “If you are quite ready, then?” he asked, and held out his hand to her.

  Ava put her hand in his, and cursed the tiny, enchanting little shiver of delight it gave her when he possessively closed his fingers around hers. “I must thank you, my lord, for taking time to teach me to ride. You’re such an accomplished horseman that this must be very tedious for you.”

  “Not in the least,” he said, smiling charmingly, and led her out.

  When they walked outside into the bright sunlight, Ava’s face fell. There on the drive was the brown mare she’d seen Middleton ride with such fury. And standing next to her, an old, swaybacked chestnut. She had no doubt the old bag of bones was intended for her, but he looked as if he had one or two hooves in the grave.