My Divinely Decadent Duke

by Sandra Masters

  Somewhat composed and grateful to be away from the duke, she said, “I gather you noticed, sir. And you haven’t seen my brothers in action as yet.” They laughed. Cassandra tried hard to keep a light spirit and get to know the gentleman better. After all, a close friend had introduced them at the ball. Although part of the political circle, he didn’t offer much personal information about himself other than he was with the Foreign Office for the past fifteen years assigned to various courts in Europe. While he enjoyed the Italian court, he did confess to homesickness for London.

  “So that’s how it is.” He arched his brown brow, gazed at her with his deep brandy eyes. The color reminded her of the duke’s dog, Clayo. It seemed everything reminded her of the Duke.

  Fairbanks was handsome in his own right. Different from the Duke, but he was still a presentable gentleman. With difficulty, she distanced her thoughts from the irascible Althorn.

  “Yes, sir. I am watched over with earnestness.” She allowed herself to be escorted to a corner of the room near the now dubious potted plant. This time she noted Althorn sat behind the potted palm on the opposite settee. Cassandra wondered if he made a point to hide behind greenery. She smiled deep within and wondered if one day she would write an ode to a potted palm. Such silly thoughts. The duke had a way to make her feel giddy and wicked—but only sometimes.

  “I sail in the regatta tomorrow. Would you join me if I invited you?” Fairbanks continued to hold her elbow as if she were some fragile piece of porcelain.

  To Cassandra, it seemed a possessive trait. She wasn’t sure she liked it one bit. Some men became territorial—like an army ready to annex whatever country was in sight. She presumed him to be a man who wouldn’t allow another to take what he wanted. She ascertained him to be a primary man. He came first, and then anyone else. When did she become so knowledgeable about men?

  “How many in your party?” she asked, for protective reasons. “Are you an accomplished boatsman?”

  “I believe there will be seven sailboats, two persons to a boat, all in unison and visible of each other. I hope this answers your question of propriety. With regard to your second question, I have won many races because of my acumen.”

  Cassandra tired of him and likened him to a blowhard who loved to hear himself speak.

  “What time does the regatta start?” She fanned herself as the room seemed to melt them.

  “Early on the morrow at six in the morning. Is that acceptable?” His voice and tone were flamboyant. But, there was no flash in his touch, and no stomach lurches at his glance, the way it was with Althorn. It was now after midnight and soon the last waltz would sound the end of the night’s activities. Many of the men drank and gamed heavily. She wondered how they could get up at such an hour to start the races.

  As the last waltz began, Cassandra arose when Althorn left his station near the now infamous palm for his dance; he bowed and offered his hand. Not a word was spoken, but Fairbanks became the recipient of an evil scowl. He returned the duke’s grimace with one of his own.

  Before they even began to dance, he blurted, “How can you sail with him alone?” The duke’s angst was evident.

  “We will not be alone, as you overheard. Eavesdropping, as you are prone to do, I see. It is how we first met, Althorn.”

  “I sat behind you innocently and minded my own business.”

  “You minded my business, too,” she chastised. “There is nothing innocent about you. Need I remind you once again…I’m not your concern.”

  “Where in hell did you find him?” he asked with an arrogance he’d honed to perfection.

  “No profanity, if you please. The one person list is no longer necessary.” She gave him a proud stare.

  “Does that mean you’ve stopped the offer of yourself as a sacrificial virgin?”

  She tried to escape from him, but his arms were too strong, his steps too swift, and his hold her on her too…wonderful. “You insufferable wretch, why can’t you leave me alone? You’ve made it abundantly clear what you think of me. Enough is enough.” The heat of his body and his nearness took her breath away in large doses. She knew she was in love with him and it spoiled her for anyone else, but she wouldn’t suffer his abuse.

  She reminded herself she wasn’t one of those misses who held on to a man’s every word to appeal to his vanity. The duke certainly had enough for an army of Wellington’s men, and Bonaparte’s too, but his tremendous ego proved to be a challenge and one she wasn’t quite equipped to handle. Yet when she was in his arms, all pure thoughts left her, and all she could think of was the euphoria he instilled in her. Its twin, passion, also showed its head. She was ill prepared to deal with these strange strong sensations.

  “By the by, dear lady, what about this chemise you’ve inspired? How does it stay on if it has no back? Don’t you think it quite scandalous to have this said about you? Where is your decorum?” His lips were taut and he gritted his teeth while he held his head high and continued to maneuver her around the dance floor and kept a good hold on her. “If you promise not to bolt on me, we may be able to enjoy this dance? What say you?”

  “I will not bolt. It would give you much satisfaction. So many questions. Oh, yes, the lingerie. It does stay on momentarily until it slips to the floor as I designed it to do.”

  She taunted him, and experienced a sense of power not known to her.

  “I didn’t write the article, but I shopped for a trousseau. It is my intention to design seductive underwear for women. I have forged an agreement with a French modiste and it might provide a handsome income for me and Alicia.”

  “So you now have another business agreement?”

  “I learned well from my first attempt to extract a business arrangement from a high-in-the-instep ass of an aristocrat.” She stiffened her shoulders. “For your information, my decorum is where it has always been, fiercely guarded from the likes of you.”

  “Cassandra, I recall there was a time you wanted the likes of me.” They twirled again and again in a frenzied motion.

  “Insanity must run in my family. There is no need to discuss it further. That is in the past and I predict a brilliant future.”

  “Humph,” he growled. “Have you proposed your business arrangement to any other gentleman who would enter into an arranged marriage with you?” It was obvious he wanted to hurt her, but she held up to him well, and defied him every step of the way with a spirit that would be worthy of the warrior woman, Boadicea, the Celtic Queen.

  “It’s no longer necessary, Althorn. There are a few willing candidates, haven’t you heard? That’s the other reason I designed my trousseau to be quite exceptional. I seem to recall you said you liked a hot bed, so I assumed other men might also like the same level of heat. By the way, the lingerie is highly priced since the vision it presents guarantees a wicked night.”

  She gave him barb for barb from her quiver and became a practiced student since she learned from a master rake.

  “What about the so-called revolutionary corset?”

  “Their words, not mine, but you’ll never see it on me, Althorn. You lost your chance. Orders pour in for lingerie for which I have yet to finish the design. The things we women do to attract men who may not be worthy of such attention.” She turned her head to the side, arched an eyebrow and a sly grin emerged.

  “You should not sail with him. He is too experienced in the ways of the world for you. Good God, he comes out of the Italian court where there are so many liaisons and attachments…and none of them legal. All one has to do is wink and a woman will run to your bed.”

  Did he realize how jealous he sounded? Good. “How do you know this, Althorn? From your vast libertine experience?”

  “Yes.”

  “At least you’re honest. I’m not like other women…remember this. I seek love, affection, and a wifely relationship with an honorable man. You aren’t included in this category anymore.” He made her dizzy from all the rotations he performed.

  “I
know, Cassandra. I remember your dreams. I hope you find them.” His voice was seductive and with him she floated on air clouds. He remembered her dreams. Oh, sweet heaven, did he not know he was the star performer?

  “It will be difficult if you continue to pounce on me from behind potted palms. You don’t want me, but neither do you want anyone else to approach me. I am not the foolish girl I was when you first kissed me. Truth be known, I now sample kisses and flirt with passion no longer ashamed of things that happened to me when I was on a balcony with a rogue. This is thanks you. Because I now know how much I will allow—and no further.” Before she knew what happened, he danced her out to the balcony where they swayed magically as one, as stars beamed down on them. A sly grin escaped. He’d managed to propel her to the infamous terrace.

  He held her with fervor, kissed her with a fierceness. She pressed her body against his and looked at him with ardor. And if that didn’t put starch in his breeches, nothing would.

  “Are my kisses better than others you’ve tasted—I believe you used the word sampled?”

  She thought his tone confident, curious, and jealous. “They are adequate, Althorn.” She tried hard to control a desire to laugh and the effect of his strong arms around her solidified. How she wished he could love her, but she would not succumb to his charms just because he sought her tonight. She wanted true love and wouldn’t settle for less. If Cassandra couldn’t have him, she didn’t want his proximity because it brought back many painful memories. She embarked on a new life and, much to her regret he wouldn’t be part of it. His choice, not hers.

  “Adequate, you say? You must be incorrect,” said the duke.

  Cassandra attacked his sexuality. The brazen hussy.

  So Althorn retaliated. “Will I soon read about you and your swain in the Tattler Tales? That you lost your virtue to him in the decadent chemise? Or will it be the black rosebuds?” He added, “Good hunting, Cassandra.”

  She pulled away when he lessened his grip. “You are cruel. How could you? There are some men who take pride in a maiden’s virtue on their wedding night.” She ran down the stairs to the garden, her feet flying off the pavement and down another path to seek solitary comfort away from his hurtful words.

  The duke was about to follow and ask her forgiveness, when a hand on his arm halted him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Fairbanks perhaps sought an encounter.

  “You aren’t me,” Althorn sneered. “Kindly remove your hand from my jacket or you’ll find my fist in your face.”

  “I make a bad enemy. I would like you to remember that.” Fairbanks removed his hand from the duke’s cutaway.

  “I eat people like you for breakfast and spit them up for luncheon. I would like you to remember that.”

  They were set to fight when Brent Montgomery came on to the balcony. He strode to them. “Gentlemen, please retire to the ball. His Majesty would not appreciate fisticuffs or a duel challenge. I will see to my sister.” His voice made his intention clear.

  No one made a move.

  “Sir Fairbanks, please honor my request for you to leave.”

  He bowed and walked away with a slow stride.

  “You, too, Althorn. I don’t know what happened, but I can guess. Leave my sister alone. Your attentions aren’t welcome to this family any more. She deserves better than you. Now, be gone.” He brushed by the duke; their shoulders touched for a moment, then he headed toward where Cassandra sat in the lower gardens.

  He exhaled at the impertinence of the man. How dare Montgomery touch his person and impugn him with such indignity. He would not tolerate this behavior.

  Althorn restrained his anger. Even though her brother had every reason to be angry and to speak to him in reprimand, what an affront to his person. He was a duke chastised by a lowly earl? What a family. He would be fortunate to get away from it all. He turned and walked into the ballroom and sought Lady Constance so they could go to her home and consummate her offer of diversionary bed sport. Goodness knows he was ready for it.

  ****

  Cassandra stood near a lanterned tree, sobbing. Brent placed a hand on her arm.

  “No one will ever hurt you any more. Remember that. Stop your tears and come back. I’ve sent them both away.”

  She hugged her brother. “I love the duke so and he’s mean. Does the pain ever go away? I’m trying hard to get him out of my thoughts, but I’m fighting myself. When you lost your fiancée Nadeen, how long did it take for the horrible ache to stop?”

  “Love is a noble madness. Months and years, and sometimes I think it never went away. It’s stored somewhere in the recesses of my mind,” he answered with obvious sadness in his voice. “I went in search of that love again. It grieves me to say I didn’t find it with Felicity.” He extended his arm and they walked toward the dance floor and gravitated to the earl’s wife, who flirted with the Italian ambassador.

  “Sir Fairbanks, we will leave you, if you please. My wife is tired and my sister is exhausted from all the dancing. Shall we see you again?” he asked as he took both ladies’ elbows.

  “Lady Cassandra has consented to join the regatta tomorrow, with your permission, Montgomery. We will be on the beach at six in the morning.”

  She didn’t remember an agreement to join the man. Swift boat rides were known to upset her stomach. Another affront from a man? What had this world come to? Are we women all sheep to be herded?

  “So early,” he said. “After a night of alcohol and cards, I would think sleep would be more precious, but then I’m a married man with a wife.” He smiled to Felicity, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

  “This is the King’s first social event, and you know how he likes it to go on and on. He loves his entertainments,” the ambassador commented.

  “Yes, I do. I fear Cassandra may have forgotten she has an appointment tomorrow. Please accept her regrets.”

  Cassandra raised her head about to speak, but saw the cautionary glare her brother cast.

  “Yes, silly of me to forget, Brent. Sorry, Sir Fairbanks.”

  “Good evening to you.” the earl led the ladies to the cloakroom and retrieved their pelisses.

  The Italian ambassador hastened his farewell.

  Cassandra turned to her brother. “Thank you, Brent. I’m not comfortable with such a man in a crowd, and certainly not in a two-person boat on the ocean.” Her voice sounded thick with relief. Would she have felt the same way if Althorn were the pilot of the boat? She knew the answer. The roiling in her stomach wouldn’t occur by the pounding of the waves, it would be because she was with him. There was nothing else to be said or thought. Lord help her. Damn him.

  The Duke and Duchess of Ravensmere followed, in moral support for the family. They had averted a possible scandal, but when Cassandra gazed beyond Brent’s shoulder, she spotted a pressman jotting notes onto a pad.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After a deliberate loss at cards with His Majesty, the duke completed his obligations and sought Lady Constance. He found her in conversation with two gentlemen who gave way to him when he joined the group.

  He bowed. “I apologize for my neglect, but his Majesty does enjoy his win at cards, and I could not deny him his pleasure.” He extended his arm, enjoined her hand possessively, and guided her to the cloakroom.

  They made the short ride to her residence in silence. Upon arrival, he descended to escort her to her front entrance. The breeze of the cool ocean air fueled his senses. He faulted himself for the unpleasant evening. Many apologies would be in order. Lady Constance coyly invited him in. He turned and signaled the coachman to wait.

  He noted her butler wasn’t in attendance, but champagne cooled in a silver bucket in the drawing room. A generous assortment of brandies and port stood in readiness. He placed his things on the side table. She poured with sensual innuendo and handed him a snifter of brandy she knew he preferred. The research on his likes and dislikes evidently were well documented. He sat next to her and didn’t speak.
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br />   “You are still in your somber mood, your Grace. What can I do to succor you?” The lady moved to face him and as she did so, her shoulder strap slid down. He was used to women who manipulated costumes to bare skin to encourage seduction. Constance reached to pull at the satin string. He stopped her. “No, it suits you well.”

  He embraced her and removed the other strap. Enraged with combustible anger and desire, he savaged her lips, then her neck and each earlobe. He was passionate, but it wasn’t Constance his lips kissed, but Cassandra’s. The lady he held responded with practiced ardor. He led her upstairs to her bedchamber where he clambered out of his formalwear. She stood and faced him, available and inviting. He partook of a glass of liquor on the bedside table and strode toward her. In one swift motion ripped off her gown and unlaced her corset and undergarments. All his clothes he deposited on a bedside chair.

  Althorn saw she startled for a minute seeing his bold tattoo. He lowered his gaze. The duke fought his own demons; he guessed Constance knew how to handle them, and like mythical beasts they needed appeasement. The tattoo reminded him of his life in Barbados, a continent and lifetime away.

  Althorn tried not to act the savage; he held much inside him. His body demanded quick release. There was no romance, just passionate anger—and hunger for someone else, not the woman in his arms.

  He thought of his Cassandra, at how he’d chastised her cold, calculated demeanor. When she first made the offer of a marriage. Look at me now. He prepared to take what Lady Constance offered. It was wrong. Was this what love was about? Yet he was ungratified. Did he not behave like a licentious stud?

  It wasn’t enough. He wanted someone else. “Constance, I apologize for your torn dress. This is not who I am. I beg your indulgence and must leave.”

  He retrieved his clothes, dressed in haste while she watched in disbelief. “What have I done to cause you to leave…now?” She started toward him.

  “No. Stop. You’re any man’s dream, but tonight this isn’t where I belong.”