The Duke of Seduction

by Darcy Burke

  She suddenly froze. A moment later, he did the same, lifting his head from hers. “Lavinia?”

  “Is this what you did with all the other women?” She detested the jealousy in her voice, but couldn’t help it just the same.

  He took his hand from between her legs and cupped her face. “No.”

  “Please don’t lie to me. I know you had assignations with women like this. At balls and such. That’s how we met, in case you forgot.”

  “How could I?” he asked with a wry tone that didn’t immediately soothe her. “First, I did meet with women…like this.” He exhaled softly. “Second, and most importantly, I’m not lying. This is far different from anything I’ve ever done or experienced.” He stroked her cheek, her jaw, and she could feel that his mouth was just a breath from hers. “Don’t you know how different you are, Lavinia? How precious and wonderful? I never loved any of them.”

  Joy loosed inside her and spread. “You love me?”

  “More than anything. More than music. More than words. More than my life.”

  Nothing he said could have meant more to her. She felt very foolish for her jealousy. “I’m a petty woman, aren’t I?”

  “You’re entitled to any emotion you feel—and I shall do my best to answer your concerns. But know this, Lavinia: I love you. I love you.”

  “Oh, Beck, I love you too.” Her heart felt as if it would burst from her chest.

  He kissed her again, more gently at first, then with increasing urgency as she moved her hand against him. His hand descended to her sex once more, and she tightened her grip around his cock.

  He gasped, breaking the kiss, and she worried she’d hurt him. She loosened her hold. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing.”

  “You’re doing magnificently. Please don’t stop.”

  She gripped him again. “That’s not too tight?”

  “No,” he answered, the tightness of his voice giving her a moment’s pause until she realized that was how he tended to sound when he was aroused. And judging from the length and girth of his shaft at present, he was most definitely aroused. “Please move your hand.”

  She slid her palm along him to the tip and then back down. “Like that?”

  “Yes, please. Faster.”

  Oh, he liked faster too. How lovely. She smiled to herself as she quickened her pace. He answered by teasing her folds and slipping a finger inside her. Desire blossomed into blatant lust, and she couldn’t help but move her hips forward, seeking more of him.

  “Lavinia, put your foot on that shelf.”

  “Which shelf?”

  “Any shelf.”

  She lifted her foot and found one. The position opened her up to his touch, and he thrust two fingers into her, drawing a cry from her lips.

  “Now take my cock from my clothing so I can get to you, please.”

  “You’re being so polite,” she murmured, grasping his flesh and using her other hand to peel his clothes away.

  “It’s taking a great deal of effort.” It sounded as though he was gritting his teeth. He tucked her skirt behind her leg so it was pinned between her thigh and the wall. Then he clasped her waist and lifted her slightly as he nestled himself between her legs. “Guide me into you, my love.”

  She struggled to get him at just the right angle, but after several tries and a tweak of his hips, he penetrated her. Pleasure instantly washed over her, giving her the promise of ecstasy to come.

  “Now hold on to me, no matter what.”

  He trapped her against the wall with his body, lifting her as he drove deep inside her. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back as her foot found another shelf. Her other foot sought a place to ground them, so he could work less at holding her up and focus more on thrusting into her. God, she needed him to move.

  She braced her foot against the door, opening herself wider to him, then clutched his neck as he slammed into her. It wasn’t a slow build. She was thrown up to the pinnacle, where she floated for just a few moments, then ecstasy rushed through her, taking her higher still.

  He kissed her, their lips and tongues fighting to cling together between their frantic breaths. Then he thrust particularly deep, and his entire body tightened. He groaned into her mouth, trying, she could tell, to stay as quiet as possible. She could only imagine what this must sound like outside their haven. So she didn’t.

  After a few more strokes, she felt him relax—just slightly—as his body came back under control. She caressed his face and felt sweat along his brow.

  He withdrew from her and eased her legs down until she was standing on the floor. “All right?”

  She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her. “Yes. A little wobbly.”

  “Sorry. And a bit messy.” His tone held a shade of regret.

  “That’s what petticoats are for, silly.” She reached down and lifted her dress to expose her undermost petticoat that no one would ever see, then awkwardly used it to dry him off, pushing his hands aside.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

  “I wanted to.” She set to tidying herself.

  He kissed her lips, her cheek, her forehead. “You are the most thoughtful woman.”

  “I’m sensible.”

  He laughed. “Yes. Very.”

  She sensed that he’d relaxed and felt relieved. “I suppose I should return to the ball.”

  “I’ll escort you back.”

  “No, you go,” she said. “I’ll say I was in the retiring room. That way, we won’t look so obvious.”

  He groaned softly. “I didn’t mean to cause a stir. But what am I to do? You’re irresistible.”

  “And insatiable.”

  “Yes, and never change.” He kissed her again. “Ready?”

  She let out a breath, not quite ready to leave him, but knowing she must. “Yes.”

  He opened the door a bare sliver, just enough to allow a faint bit of light. He plucked up her gloves and handed them to her.

  She worked them on as he found his own and did the same. “I’ll see you at church tomorrow, then?”

  “Yes.”

  She patted her hair and pressed her hands to her cheeks, thinking she would definitely stop by the retiring room first—both to bolster her alibi and to ensure she didn’t look tousled. She certainly felt tousled, and it was glorious.

  Pressing a final kiss to his lips, she whispered, “I love you.”

  As she left the closet, she heard him say, “Not as much as I love you.”

  Chapter 16

  Bring vengeance, dark justice, to evil men!

  No woman should witness the darkness end.

  What sin hath done to the good and the right,

  Cruel retribution in dark Devil light.

  * * *

  -Beck’s writings

  * * *

  As Beck strode into White’s, the tension Lavinia had driven away with her touch gripped him once more. He’d been incredibly wound up before the ball, and he knew his behavior had alarmed Lavinia as they’d danced. And then Sir Martin had decided to be an ass, and Beck had nearly plunged over the edge.

  Sometimes anger took over, not as much as a need to be alone, but when rage came upon him, it wasn’t always easy to let it go. And he supposed he hadn’t. He’d simply set it aside until he could fully inhabit it. Now that he was here, he could.

  He wasn’t entirely certain where he might find Haywood, but knew White’s was the blackguard’s preferred club. Beck circulated through the main rooms then situated himself in the morning room where he could see the hall and watch as gentlemen arrived.

  He sipped whiskey—slowly so as to keep his wits about him—and waited.

  Over an hour after he took his post, Haywood strode into the hall. He didn’t come into the morning room, but continued straight back to the main staircase. Beck waited a minute, then followed him up. He found his quarry in the coffee room seated at a table with another gentleman Beck barely recognized.

  Grippi
ng his whiskey, Beck made his way to the table. “Mind if I sit?”

  Haywood looked up at him. “Didn’t I just run into you this morning?”

  “Indeed you did.” Beck sat down and inclined his head toward the other gentleman.

  “I was just telling Goodwin here about that debacle.” Haywood shook his head. “Stupid chit. Ah well, she’s the one who will bear the brunt of her mistake. Laurence will be just fine.”

  Goodwin, whom Beck vaguely recalled now, nodded. He was similar in age to Haywood—early forties at least and apparently of a similar mind. “She’ll regret it, if she doesn’t already.”

  Haywood snorted. “I’m sure she does. She may even be at my cousin’s right now begging him to take her back.”

  The conversation was enough to make Beck want to pummel them both, but he had an objective and that wasn’t it. He really hoped Goodwin would just go away. Alas, Beck had to suffer his presence for some time before he excused himself.

  By then, Haywood was on his third glass of whiskey, while Beck was on his second—again nursing it slowly. Now he had his chance.

  Beck moved his chair closer to Haywood and took a drink. “I wanted to ask you about something. You seem a man of a certain…expertise.”

  Haywood’s brows arched, and his eyes lit with curiosity behind the sheen of a whiskey-induced haze. “Expertise, eh?”

  “You possessed a certain reputation before you wed, which is not all that different from mine.”

  He chuckled low in his throat. “You’re a bit of a rakehell?” He lifted his glass in a toast. “The only way to survive.”

  Beck swallowed his disgust and lifted his mouth in a brief smile. “I find myself engaged as of this afternoon.”

  “Is that right? Hell, we should have been celebrating your fortune—or despairing of your impending shackle.” He shouted with laughter before taking a drink. “Who’s the lucky chit?”

  Beck wanted to hit the man and tell him to never refer to his future wife that way, but he had to stay on task. He didn’t really want to say her name in his presence, as if that alone would sully her. “Lady Lavinia Gillingham.”

  “Balcombe’s gel? She’s a bit odd, isn’t she?” He winced and apologized, demonstrating that he maybe wasn’t a complete dolt, though Beck wasn’t sure he believed that. “Had a bit of whiskey tonight, and sometimes my tongue gets ahead of me!” Haywood laughed and took another drink, clearly not at all concerned that he was on his way to being drunk and perhaps having an even more negligent tongue. “I hope you’ll be very happy together. As happy as one can be in matrimony.” He gave Beck a stern look and a nod for good measure.

  “The advice I seek is regarding that, actually. You see, I have a mistress and she’s proving a bit difficult.” He rolled his eyes and tried not to choke on the revolting tale. “She’s threatened to reveal herself to my wife, which I just can’t have.”

  “Have you tried paying her off? That’s the easiest way to rid yourself of a clinging bitch.”

  God, he was awful. “Yes, but I’m not sure I can trust her to remain quiet.”

  “Have a contract drawn up. Hell, you can even write it yourself and say your solicitor did. That usually scares the cheek right out of them.”

  “You seem to have considerable experience.”

  Haywood shrugged. “You’re the one who called me an expert.” He laughed again, then finished his whiskey. His gaze roved until he spotted a footman, who inclined his head, indicating he’d fetch another glass.

  Lowering his voice, Haywood leaned over the table and angled himself toward Beck. “If that course of action won’t work, may I suggest pennyroyal? It’s known to take care of unwanted babes, but if the bitch takes enough, you may be free of her entirely.” His brows climbed toward his bald pate just before he narrowed his eyes with a knowing tip of his head.

  The words sank into Beck’s brain with a searing agony. Was that what he’d done to Helen? She’d been poisoned. Had she been with child? Beck nearly exploded in that moment.

  But he held himself together. Instead, he feigned surprise. “Are you suggesting she could…die?”

  Haywood flinched and waved his hand toward the floor because the footman had just arrived with his whiskey. The man swept up the empty glass and left before Haywood answered. “It can happen,” he whispered. “I gave it to a gel once—years ago—and she took too much of it, not that I minded. She demanded I marry her. Because of a babe, of course. But I’d no intention of doing that. Wasn’t quite ready to settle.” He stuck his lips out in an exaggerated pout. “Who was that?” The blackguard didn’t even remember.

  It had to be Helen. It had to be.

  With a shrug, Haywood picked up his new glass. “In any case, it was very effective, and I’ve relied on it a few times since. Pennyroyal—you can get it from any apothecary.”

  Rage poured through Beck, almost paralyzing him. But he leaned close to Haywood as the man brought the tumbler to his lips. “Was her name Helen?” Beck whispered silkily. “Small, with dark hair, almost like a woodland fairy.”

  Haywood blinked at him, the glass arrested at his mouth. “Yes, that was her.” Awareness crept over Haywood’s features.

  “She looked nothing like me, despite the fact that we shared a father.” Beck snarled. “You murdered my sister, you son of a bitch.” He shoved at Haywood, sending the whiskey sloshing into his face and him sprawling from his chair.

  From an ungainly heap on the floor, Haywood wiped at his face. “She was your sister? Helen Beckett. Christ, I’d forgotten.” His face went completely white. “I didn’t murder her. We just wanted to get rid of the babe.”

  “‘We,’” Beck spat. “There was no ‘we,’ just you exerting your control over a vulnerable young woman. Get up.”

  Haywood flinched. “Why?”

  “So I can bloody challenge you.”

  The man went even paler, if that were possible, and it seemed it was. “No.”

  “Then I’ll do it while you lie there like a coward.” Everyone in the room had turned toward the commotion, and now Beck raised his voice to ensure they heard him. “I demand satisfaction. For the murder of my sister. Name your second. Mine is the Earl of Ware.” Beck hadn’t asked him, of course, but was certain Felix would agree. Hell, they couldn’t duel tomorrow—it was Sunday. “Dawn on Monday. Hyde Park.” He leaned down, baring his teeth. “And don’t think to escape town tomorrow. I will find you.”

  Goodwin returned and helped Haywood to his feet. Haywood wiped ineffectually at his face.

  Beck gave in to the fury. “You missed a spot.” He sent his fist into the man’s chin, splitting his lip. Haywood went down again as blood ran from the cut.

  “Was that necessary?” Goodwin asked angrily.

  “More than.” Beck leaned over Haywood. “Send the name of your second to Ware by noon tomorrow along with your choice of weapon. I’m quite skilled with either pistol or sword.”

  With a final sneer, Beck turned and stalked from the room. On his way downstairs, he passed curious gentlemen eager to get up to the coffee room to see what was happening. News of the altercation had spread and would continue to do so.

  He put it from his mind and strode from the club. He could hardly wait for Monday.

  * * *

  Beck had arrived for church just before the service began, barely stealing in to sit beside Lavinia. They didn’t have a chance to speak, but she sent him a warm smile and brushed her hand over his. He flinched, his hand jerking slightly. Her smile faded, but he gave her fingers a quick, reassuring squeeze.

  After the service, they walked out to the vestibule, where several people congratulated them on their upcoming nuptials. Lavinia was growing weary of all the attention, particularly since everyone felt it necessary to point out the brevity of their engagement, as if it were an oddity, which it wasn’t. She began to regret not obtaining the special license. She and Beck could be married tomorrow instead of in a fortnight.

  Lavinia’s m
other joined a small group of women in the corner while her father congregated with a handful of other gentlemen. As soon as she and Beck were without company, she took his hand. “Is something the matter with your hand?”

  Before he could answer, her father strode toward them, his brow dark. He glared at Beck. “I think we should go outside. Now.”

  Beck didn’t look the least bit surprised at her father’s tone or his expression of rage. Perhaps because Beck didn’t realize that her father never looked like that.

  “Yes, I suppose we should.” Beck sounded resigned as he turned toward the exit.

  Lavinia tightened her grip on his hand. “I’m coming with you.”

  Father glowered at her. “No. This isn’t a conversation for young ladies.”

  “If it concerns Beck, it concerns me.” She wasn’t going to let him exclude her. Curling her hand around Beck’s arm, she led them both outside.

  They moved to the side of the door, and her father didn’t waste a moment getting to his point. “What the devil are you about, challenging Haywood to a duel?”

  Beck’s muscles tensed beneath her fingertips just as her muscles loosened, and she worried she was going to pitch over. “It was necessary.” Beck’s tone was clipped and coated in ice.

  Lavinia turned and took her arm from his. Her legs were wobbly, but she refused to show any weakness. She stared at Beck, whose gaze was stoic, his mouth set in a hard line. She barely recognized this man. “You challenged Haywood to a duel?”

  “He murdered my sister.”

  Now she wavered, and Beck’s arms shot out to steady her. His face folded with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “No. Your sister was murdered, and you’re going to duel someone. How can I possibly be all right?”

  “If he indeed had something to do with her death—I didn’t even realize she’d been murdered.” Her father blanched. “If he was involved, you must notify Bow Street.”