Never Desire a Duke (One Scandalous Season)

by Dalton, Lily

  “Please,” she begged, awash with a sudden fever. She lifted her hips, seeking. “I need—”

  Suddenly, he was there, massive and strong, his breath on her cheek. His sex lay between them, pressed into her stomach, as large and pleasing as she remembered.

  “Tell me, Sophia. Tell me what you need.”

  He lifted his weight from her and readjusted so that he nestled against her more intimately. She gripped his arms.

  “I need this,” she said.

  “Show me,” he murmured.

  She had to. She couldn’t wait. She’d never touched him so brazenly, but she did so now. She gripped him, savoring the hot, velvet-over-steel texture of his member against her palm. She guided him until she felt him against her entrance, a sudden, probing pressure.

  He shifted, cupped her buttocks, and entered her several inches.

  She gasped.

  “Oh, God.” His arms came round her, his face stark and tortured, and his eyes glazed. “Just let me—” He moved, pressing further inside her. She forced herself to hold still, not to scream. Her body for so long unused to such invasion cried out in pleasure and discomfort. He let out an agonized groan. “I can’t not kiss you.”

  His hands crushed in her hair. His lips pressed against the corner of her mouth, tentative, a passionate request for her permission.

  “Please,” he said.

  That he would take her body so unapologetically, but beg for the kiss she’d so pettishly withheld broke one of the bars she’d installed around her heart and she relented.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  His mouth captured hers, his lips and tongue claiming her with such fervor, she could hardly breathe. With a growl, he eased even deeper inside her. She arched against him, all discomfort slipping away.

  “Kiss me back,” he said against her mouth.

  She did so, meeting each turn and slide of his lips with equal passion. His hips pumped, slowly, then faster. Amid the discomfort came the return of pleasure. She thrust her feet into the mattress, lifting her hips, seeking it, wanting it.

  Her movement pleased him. He grunted, and his movements became more urgent.

  “I can’t be gentle,” he whispered against her throat. “Please forgive me. I’ve waited so long.”

  With a groan, he rose up on his knees. The blankets slid from his body. He lifted her buttocks and speared her deep.

  A sudden pulse of pleasure erupted at the center of her womb to crash outward through her body, all the way into her toes and fingertips. His head fell back, and he rocked into her, hissing between his teeth. She cried out, never having expected such power. Her heart stopped beating—certainly it did—and she glimpsed a paradise created of violet and velvet and stars.

  He throbbed deep inside her. With a groan, he collapsed over her, his arms braced on either side, his blue eyes staring down into hers.

  In that moment, the look he gave her, she could almost believe he loved her.

  *

  Claxton’s first awareness the next morning was of an uncomfortable chill. Without opening his eyes, he pulled Sophia close and tugged the blanket over the both of them. To his irritation, she’d donned her night rail, which come to think of it, was fashioned of a rather crisp and unwieldy fabric. Her perfume clouded his nose.

  All wrong.

  He opened his eyes to find himself in the midst of a living nightmare.

  Annabelle stretched and yawned, giving the appearance that she’d only just awakened. “Good morning, Claxton.”

  The sudden realization came over him as to why he’d been so cold and devoid of a blanket. Annabelle hadn’t been asleep at all.

  “Bloody hell.”

  He shot across the bed, as far from her as possible, snatching a pillow over his nakedness. She, thank God, was fully clothed, wearing even a heavy pelisse and matching hat tied under her chin. An enormous fur muff lay discarded on the chair.

  “Where is the Duchess of Claxton?” he demanded.

  He’d only just managed to seduce his wife into his bed. He did not need this to frighten her away again.

  Annabelle looked about, wide-eyed, as if she’d only just realized Sophia was not present. “I don’t know. She was here when I fell asleep.”

  “More importantly,” he growled, eyes narrowing. “What in the devil are you doing here?” He slid backward off the mattress, pulling the bed curtain across his hips.

  She lolled languidly, smiling like a naughty cat. “Things have become unbearable at the inn. Meltenbourne is being very bad tempered. It’s so very disconcerting. Your brother and I made our way here early this morning while everyone was still asleep.”

  Of course, the house had been made secure last night, safe against all intruders except the one other person in Lacenfleet who had a key.

  “I mean why are you here?” he snapped. “In my bed?”

  She blinked innocently. “I was so cold and exhausted once we arrived. I just wanted to get warm and go back to sleep. Why are there no servants to lay fires or make up rooms?”

  “This bed was already occupied, if you did not notice. There’s another perfectly good bed across the hall, or did you simply not look?”

  She shrugged. “The common people do it all the time, sleep three or four or more to a bed, especially in cold weather when it’s too cold to sleep alone. I don’t see why we can’t as well when circumstances warrant. It is the country, after all.”

  Claxton thrust his shirttails into his breeches. Boots. Coat. Walked toward the door.

  He glared down at her. “You overstep, my lady. Quite deliberately, I believe. Don’t do it again.”

  Her smile faded into a pout.

  He found Haden, not Sophia, in the great room, sprawled and snoring on the settee. One firm kick collapsed the leg, sending the oblivious sleeper atilt. His brother’s eyes popped open.

  Vane glowered down from above. “What in the hell are you doing here, and why did you bring that doxy with you?”

  Haden rolled onto his side and with gloved hands pulled his coat over his face. “I didn’t really have a choice about bringing her. I can’t seem to get rid of her.”

  “Lord Meltenbourne is coming up the hill with a young boy.”

  Vane jerked at hearing Sophia’s voice.

  She stood at the window, a cup of tea in her hand. Fully dressed in dark blue wool, she’d pinned up her hair and looked nothing like the temptress of the night before.

  “Indeed, I believe half the village is following him.” She sipped. “Oh, Claxton. I do believe I’ve at last prepared a respectable cup of tea.”

  Her tone was suspiciously unaffected and underscored by a distinct coolness.

  Vane strode toward her. He spoke softly so that his brother would not overhear. “I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” Her smile, her eyes, shined too bright.

  “For Lady Meltenbourne in our bed this morning.”

  Sophia’s eyes widened. With an angry flare of her nostrils, she said, “No matter. What happens in your bed is your affair.”

  “What? No,” he sputtered, hating the tone of her voice, the implication of her words. He grasped her arm and pulled her against him. “You can’t honestly believe—”

  To his surprise, she softened and leaned in to him. “No, I don’t believe, but tonight, Claxton—”

  “Tonight what?”

  “We’ll be sure to lock the door.”

  Relief spread through his chest. “Yes, we will.”

  He pressed a kiss to her lips.

  “What is that infernal caterwauling?”

  The question came from the settee. Vane turned. He’d been so focused on trying to mend things with Sophia, he had not heard the other sound, the one coming from outside.

  “I told you. It is Lord Meltenbourne,” said Sophia, having redirected her attention out the window again. “I do believe he is shouting something about a duel.”

  “Oh, that,” arose the muffled response.

&nb
sp; Vane stormed to the settee. He gripped the upper frame and gave a fierce shove. Haden tumbled onto the floor, a tangle of arms and legs.

  “Oh, that?” Vane growled. “What do you mean by that?”

  Clothes and hair in disarray, Haden scowled up from his new position on the carpet. With obvious reluctance, he said, “That’s why I came here this morning. I didn’t take him seriously, though. I thought he’d settle down once I removed myself from the premises. Only the countess insisted on coming along.”

  Vane tamped down his first instinct to explode. This was not at all how he had imagined his and Sophia’s morning to begin. They should have awakened quietly in each other’s arms so that he could reassure her that the night before had not been a mistake. Though heartened by her exhortation to lock their door tonight, he could not help but notice she’d not once actually met his gaze this morning. Perhaps she had regrets. Perhaps she had not been affected as deeply as he had. For the first time in his life, he doubted his ability to seduce, which seemed perfectly, disturbingly right given she was the only woman he’d truly ever wanted. What if the thaw came today, and she insisted on returning to London straightaway?

  They needed more time. If only he could get the interlopers out of his house.

  “You are the one who created this debacle.” Claxton crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t expect me to be your second.”

  Haden shoved the tumble of dark hair from his eyes. “That’s just it, your Grace. It’s not me he wants to duel.” He offered a sheepish look. “It is you.”

  “Why Claxton?” Sophia demanded from where she had come to stand at his side, one hand fisted at the center of her chest.

  Vane pressed his fingertips against his eyes, almost certain that they were about to pop out of his head. “Yes, what her Grace just said. Please explain.”

  “His lordship is certain there is some scheme afoot, that I have merely been designated by you as a scapegoat to soothe difficulties at home with the Duchess of Claxton.”

  Vane’s eyes narrowed on his brother. “Why would he think such a thing?”

  Haden unfolded his long legs and stood, shaking out his rumpled greatcoat. “Perhaps because it is exceedingly clear that Lady Meltenbourne and I can hardly suffer one another’s company.” He exhaled and rolled his eyes. “Good God, Claxton. She is the most tiresome chit.” He crossed the carpet and knelt to add another log to the hearth.

  “I am not tiresome,” said a voice from the stairs. Lady Meltenbourne descended in her winter finery, looking like an affronted queen. But tears glimmered against her lashes. “The truth is, Meltenbourne has cast me aside. I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  “This is your fault, Haden,” Claxton said, storming back to the window.

  “No, it is all my fault,” said the countess. “I behaved abominably! I allowed the earl to believe I’d been unfaithful, when I hadn’t been, not really. It’s because I wanted him to cast me off. I never saw myself married to such an old man, but my father insisted. Now that I have, I’m s-s-so very miserable.” She burst into tears.

  Claxton glared at Haden. “You should never have brought her here.”

  Haden interjected, scowling, “Yes, yes, I understand that now, but what are we going to do about the earl? He seems quite intent on shooting someone.”

  “Yes, me,” Claxton retorted.

  “Just apologize to him,” said Lady Meltenbourne. “That would settle everything, I feel quite certain.”

  Vane pivoted toward her in outrage. “Apologize for what? An affair I did not have with his wife?”

  “It’s ungentlemanly to shout at a lady,” the countess wailed.

  “I wasn’t aware I was shouting at one.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but once gone, gave him no small degree of satisfaction.

  “I don’t know what I ever saw in you.” Annabelle buried her face in a handkerchief. “Horrible man!”

  Haden called from the window, “The boy is bringing a note. I can only assume he is acting as his lordship’s second.”

  Vane marched through the vestibule and wrenched the door open. With a growl, he snatched the folded paper from the boy’s hand and slammed the door closed again.

  Opening the missive, he read aloud, “No need for negotiations or false apologies. Just die. Die. Die.” He tossed the paper into the air. It fell in a zigzag fashion to the floor. In exasperation, he fisted his hands on his hips. “That’s all it says.”

  “What do you propose to do?” asked Sophia, her lips thin with apprehension.

  He glared out the window, assessing the gathering crowd, all knee-deep in the snow and bundled up so that only their eyes gave evidence of their humanity. “I suppose there is nothing left to do but to fire a shot at the old bastard.”

  Lady Meltenbourne’s eyes widened. “You’re going to agree to his demand for a duel?” Her expression became frantic. “But he is elderly.”

  He advanced on her, herding her into the corner, she backing away, nearly tripping over her ermine hem.

  “You should have thought of that long ago before you started playing games with people’s lives.” He uttered each word with blistering heat. “It is not I who issued the blasted challenge. I am in no position to deny his demand.”

  God, he just wished they would all disappear and leave him alone again with Sophia. Could a man not be snowbound with his wife without half of England arriving to interfere?

  He hissed, buttoning his collar. “It is the only way I can see to get us past the present crisis. Years ago I attended a hunt with the earl. If memory serves, the earl is a dreadful shot and could not hit the side of St. James’s if he was standing five feet from it. Haden, you will act as my second.”

  “It is the least I can do,” Haden answered wryly. He buttoned his greatcoat and smoothed his hair into a more decorous appearance.

  Vane tied his cravat at his throat. “Please inform the gentleman on the front steps that I will agree to the duel, and indeed that I wish to issue my own challenge based upon the earl’s continued false and unsupported aspersions against my character, which have deeply offended me and the duchess. One-shot only terms.”

  Lady Meltenbourne burst out in a sob and clasped a handkerchief to her nose. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  Vane looked at Sophia, his expression grave. “Please know if the duel goes unexpectedly awry, everything is in order to see that you are well taken care of. You should never need to marry again, unless you should so wish.”

  Sophia’s face drained of color, and at last, yes, her green eyes met his.

  “Why would you say something like that?” demanded Haden, frozen in place. For a moment, Vane had to blink, because his brother didn’t even look like the same person, devoid of his humor.

  Moisture glistened on Sophia’s lashes, and her lip quivered. “I don’t want you to go out there.”

  Her tears unsettled him but also gave him hope, even more than their lovemaking the night before. Could it be that she truly had feelings for him? He drew her aside, a hand at her elbow. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. It’s just that you never know what will happen. I’m certain all of this will be over in a moment.”

  He kissed her forehead. Then he opened the door and followed Haden outside.

  Sophia turned to Annabelle, who sank down onto the bottom stair. “I love Meltenbourne. I don’t want him or anyone else to die.”

  “If that’s true, Annabelle, then you have to do something. And you have to do it now.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Annabelle, you’ve got to hurry,” said Sophia, urging the countess toward the distant field. Together they ran through the snow.

  The countess stumbled, struggling with the cumbersome magnificence of her cloak.

  “It’s too late,” she sobbed. “I can’t stop them now.”

  “Yes, you can, if you hurry.”

  Despite the frigid temperatures, Vane had removed his coat. Wind swept across the field an
d ruffled his hair. Standing boot deep in the snow, he handed his two-barrel flintlock to Haden, who marched forward to meet the earl’s young second. Each confirmed only one ball occupied the chamber before returning the weapons to their masters.

  With that, the seconds moved aside to join the silent crowd of spectators who had drawn back to provide wide berth for errant shots. Sophia was abruptly consumed by a wild terror. Not for a moment did she believe that Claxton would actually shoot the earl. What she had feared, with a sudden and overwhelming certainty, was that by some chance of fate the earl’s bullet would find its mark in her husband’s heart.

  If Claxton died—

  The world spun around her, a kaleidoscope formed of stone, gray sky, and ice. She couldn’t breathe.

  On the snow-blanketed lawn, the two duelists stood back-to-back and at Haden’s count began their paces.

  She turned to the countess. “If the earl shoots Claxton, God forgive you, because I never will.”

  Annabelle dropped the cloak from her shoulders and broke into a run.

  “Meltenbourne,” she wailed.

  Sophia followed, but over the countess’s head, she saw the pistols raised and cocked.

  “Stop, darling!” screamed the countess. “Don’t do it. I love you.”

  The earl turned his head to her. “Annabelle? Are you talking to me? Or him?”

  “You!”

  Suddenly, the snow upon which he stood collapsed.

  With a bellow, the old man disappeared, until only his arm remained visible above the surface, his knobby hand clutching the pistol. The weapon discharged into the sky. The crowd roared with laughter and approval.

  Claxton, expressionless, fired his pistol into the snow, several feet to the side of his boot.

  “Oh, thank God,” Lady Meltenbourne sobbed, rushing toward the men. Sophia followed, but slower now, each breath painful, as if chilled by frost.

  Striding forward through the snow, Claxton wrested the gun from the earl’s hand and peered into the hole. “Now, enough of this nonsense. I will suffer no more of your unfounded accusations, as they highly offend not only my sensibilities, but those of her Grace.”

  “Here, here,” shouted several villagers.