How to Marry a Duke

by Vicky Dreiling

  The sun painted gold streaks in the soot-filled sky as Tristan directed the two enormous footmen who carried Tessa’s trunks as if they weighed no more than pillows.

  A crisp breeze chilled his cheeks, an invigorating sensation. He felt easier knowing he could protect Tessa from Mortland at Gatewick Park. On Saturday, he’d received the first report from the Bow Street runner. As he had expected, Mortland frequented the lowest gaming hells and prostitution houses. No doubt the lout was disease-ridden. Tristan would ensure Mortland never came close to Tessa again.

  He hoped he would receive the military reports on Mortland before he returned to London, and then he would show all the evidence to Broughton. He would demand Broughton hand the cur over to a press gang. Sending him away from England was the only way to ensure Tessa’s safety. He didn’t give a damn about her worries. When it was done, he’d tell her. She would be so relieved, she would forgive him.

  Hawk climbed out of the second carriage and stretched his arms. “Might as well walk about while I can.”

  Julianne descended from the lead carriage, lifting her frothy skirt and petticoat. Tristan frowned as he caught Hawk ogling his sister’s ankles. “Julianne, return to the carriage at once.”

  “I want to stretch my legs,” she said.

  His mother clambered out of the carriage his sister had vacated. “Where is Miss Mansfield?”

  He fisted his hands on his hips. “Would everyone please return to the carriages?”

  Naturally they ignored him.

  Tristan consulted his watch. “I will see what is keeping Miss Mansfield.” Then he turned, only to find her hurrying toward him with a netted reticule swinging from her wrist. He pocketed the watch and met her halfway up the walk. She looked a bit tired, but it was early. He offered his arm, and when she clasped his sleeve with her gloved hand, something inside his chest tumbled over. “You look very pretty,” he murmured as he took in the short emerald cape that matched her bonnet ribbons.

  She blushed and eyed the carriages. “Oh, my, we are to have outriders as well.”

  “I don’t like to leave matters of safety to chance. Come along. We need to be on our way.”

  When he reached the carriages, he meant to send Tessa off in the same one as his mother and sister. But his mother complained that one of the ladies would have to ride with her back to the horses, which apparently was too distressing for females.

  Tristan sighed. “Julianne, you may ride with Hawk and me.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “You will complain as soon as I take off my slippers, as you always do.”

  “You will do as you’re told,” Tristan said.

  “Mama, I will not ride with him. He will lecture me all day.”

  “Probably,” the duchess said.

  Hawk winked at Julianne. “I’ll ride with you and Miss Mansfield.”

  Julianne clasped her hands. “We will have a jolly journey. Tristan, you can ride with Mama.”

  “And leave me to suffer your brother’s complaints for hours on end? No, thank you,” the duchess said.

  Hawk waggled his brows. “Old boy, no one wants to ride with you.”

  Tristan glanced at Tessa. The last time he’d seen her, in his mother’s drawing room, he’d been too worried about Mortland to even consider telling Tessa about his mother’s matchmaking scheme. But now his mother had unwittingly handed him the perfect opportunity to warn Tessa. “Miss Mansfield?” he said.

  “No,” his mother said. “It would be improper for you to ride alone in a closed carriage with her. We must think of Miss Mansfield’s reputation.”

  “Mama, may I speak to you privately?” he said.

  She followed him a few paces away. “The answer is no.”

  “We are falling behind schedule already,” he said. “And this will give me an opportunity to speak to her about that subject nearest and dearest to your heart.”

  She hesitated. Then she frowned. “We cannot afford to risk any gossip about her.”

  “Mama, you have seen my protective instincts toward her. It is brotherly concern.” Any moment he expected a thunderbolt to strike him for that bouncer.

  “Well, let me speak to Miss Mansfield.”

  He followed his mother, telling himself he was doing it for Tessa’s sake.

  “Miss Mansfield,” she said. “My son has expressed a brotherly concern for your welfare.”

  Hawk snorted. Tristan glared at him.

  The duchess frowned at both of them and then returned her attention to Tessa. “As I was saying, my son has requested that I allow the two of you to travel together. Naturally I am concerned for your reputation. However, he has promised to speak to you about an important subject. You are no milk-and-water miss, but if you object, say the word.”

  Tessa bit her lip.

  Tristan lifted his brows. Then he cast a sideways glance at his mother and returned his gaze to Tessa. He hoped she would understand his silent message.

  She inhaled and nodded. “I believe there can be no objection to my acquiring a pretend brother for the duration of the journey.

  The duchess nodded. “When we stop at inns, you and my son will take on new identities as brother and sister as an extra precaution. He will be Mr. Gatewick and you shall be Miss Gatewick.”

  Hawk leaned against the second carriage. “Why not call them Mr. and Mrs. Gatewick?”

  “Stubble it,” Tristan said, retrieving his watch. “We are already twenty minutes behind schedule. Let us be off.”

  His mother cleared her throat. “Tristan, you will endeavor to make yourself agreeable to her.”

  “I’m sure he will be a most attentive husband to Mrs. Gatewick,” Hawk drawled.

  The duchess marched over to Hawk. “Help me into the carriage, you scamp. I mean to have a word or two with you.”

  Tristan turned to Tessa. “Are you sure?”

  Her lips twitched. “I shall be happy to ride with you, dear brother.”

  “I am fortunate you are so agreeable, sweet wife.”

  She laughed as he handed her up the steps. Once inside, he sat across from her and removed his hat. Tessa squinted as sunlight glared through the windows, so he pulled down the shades on both sides. “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Within minutes, the carriage rolled away. He checked his watch again. “We will change horses periodically, but about one o’clock we should arrive at the Hat and Feathers Inn for luncheon. The food is plain but decent.”

  “I knew you would plan every detail.”

  “That reminds me,” he said, reaching beneath the seat. “Here is a rug in case it gets chilly along the way.”

  “Thank you.” She shook out the woolen lap robe and tucked it beneath the high waist of her gown. With an impish grin, she kicked off her slippers and wiggled her stockinged toes. “I shall be very snug.”

  “No fair,” he said. “I can’t remove my boots.”

  “I would offer to assist you, but I fear I’d land on my backside. You will simply have to suffer.”

  She grinned and removed her bonnet, revealing her upswept curls.

  “If I take off my coat, will you promise not to swoon?” he asked. “For comfort, you understand. We have a long journey.”

  She fanned her gloved fingers near her cheeks. “I shall try to recover from the sight of your shirtsleeves.”

  He moved over to her seat. “Actually it’s so tight I will need your assistance. If you don’t mind, that is?”

  “Not at all.” Using her teeth, she removed her gloves, a move he found oddly erotic. The devil, he’d definitely been too long without a woman.

  “Turn your back,” Tessa said, “so I can slide off your coat.”

  After she helped him wrestle out of the tight sleeves, she tugged the ties of her cape. When she removed it, he pitched it, along with both their gloves and his coat, to the other seat.

  He winked at her. “I wager my mother would swoon if she knew we were und
ressing.”

  Tessa burst out laughing. “You are very naughty.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He looked at the other bench. The carriage wheels rattled on the cobblestones. “I should move to the other seat, but I’d have to shout for you to hear me.”

  “Your mother indicated you have something to tell me. So you may stay.”

  He knew Tessa would launch into a tirade when he told her about his mother’s plans and wanted to wait a bit. So he stretched out his legs. “You are my first lady friend.”

  She gave him a suspicious look. “You are thirty years old. There have been more than a few women in your life.”

  He knew better than to respond.

  “How many were there?” Tessa asked.

  He chuckled. “A gentleman never tells.”

  She peered up at him. “Did you not consider any of them friends?”

  “We never spoke about anything of consequence.”

  “Was it not awkward considering the, er, closeness?”

  “You mean physical intimacy?”

  She blushed and nodded.

  The devil, he couldn’t believe he was having this conversation with her. “I do not think you will like the answer.”

  She lifted her pert nose and made a sound of disgust.

  He’d best tell her about his mother now and then move to the other seat. “I have a confession to make. My mother ordered me to find you a husband.”

  She gasped. “What?”

  “That was exactly my response.” He paused and added, “I agreed.”

  “How dare you?”

  “Perhaps I should clarify,” he said. “I agreed to take care of the matter.”

  “You are not to reverse roles. I am the matchmaker. You are not a husband hunter.”

  His chest shook with mirth.

  “What is so amusing?”

  “I only agreed so I could ward off my mother.”

  Tessa pouted. “That was very bad of you to tease me.”

  “I had rather hoped you would thank me for protecting you from my mother’s matchmaking scheme.”

  “You have my undying gratitude,” she said.

  “Does that involve anything more substantial?”

  “If you continue to thwart your mother, I’ll kiss your boots,” she said.

  “I’d rather you kiss my lips.” The devil. He’d let that slip.

  She stared straight ahead. “I’d rather kiss a toad.”

  “Well, then, I shall find you a husband, dear sister.”

  She let the blanket slip and leaned toward him. He held his breath at the seductive expression in her eyes. Then she pulled his head down and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “There,” she said, still holding his face between her small palms. “Consider yourself rewarded.”

  He caught her hands. “You’ll have to do better than that.” The words rumbled out, the undertones unmistakably sensual. He knew he was flirting with disaster, but couldn’t help himself. When a ragged breath escaped her, his blood heated in response.

  Their gazes locked. He rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her soft hands. She closed her eyes momentarily and inhaled.

  He leaned toward her without thinking. Her lashes lifted and her lush lips parted. “Oh, you’re not a toad.”

  “Will a duke do?”

  She shook her finger and sat back, once again Miss Prim.

  He wondered if she’d ever had a beau. The words tumbled out of his mouth. “How many men have you kissed?” he all but growled.

  “A lady never tells.”

  He wondered if he was the first. The idea made his chest swell. “I wager no man ever kissed you the way I did.”

  She looked at him and arched her brows. “Fishing for compliments, Your Grace?”

  “Does that mean I deserve one?” He remembered her abandoned response and wanted her to admit she’d liked it.

  She sat back and turned her attention to the opposite seat. “I barely remember it.”

  “Liar.”

  After a few minutes, she turned and narrowed her eyes. “Have you kissed anyone since me?”

  “No.”

  Mischief glinted in her eyes. “Out of practice, are you?”

  “Is that an offer?”

  She lifted her chin. “I already gave you one kiss today.”

  “You call that quick buss on the cheek a kiss? I think you need lessons.”

  “Oh, do you have a teacher in mind?”

  His gaze lowered to her mouth. God, her lips tempted him. “I am at your service, milady.”

  She shook her head. “Thank you, but I shall wait for someone with recent experience.”

  “Now you’ve thrown down the gauntlet.” He wiggled his brows. “I must avenge my honor,” he said in an overly dramatic tone.

  Her lips twitched. “On the kissing field?”

  He’d missed matching wits with her. “Shall we duel with our lips?”

  “You may find yourself eating grass for breakfast.”

  He leaned down. “Ah, but I may fell you with a kiss.”

  Laughing, she pushed on his chest. It was a clear signal to stop, but her lips were only inches away. He couldn’t breathe.

  “What conceit,” she said, averting her face.

  He exhaled, disappointed and relieved at the same time. Of course he would not have kissed her. He’d set the wheels in motion, signaling he would propose to either Amy or Georgette. And he’d sworn never to dishonor Tessa again.

  Granted, he had been tempted, but there was a world of difference between wanting and acting. He had complete control of his baser urges. But he could hear her soft breathing. Idiot. Of course, she is breathing.

  She sighed, drawing his gaze to her profile. Her full, creamy cheeks and button nose made her appear very innocent. But her mouth was all sin, a delicious pink pout made for…

  He had to stop thinking about kissing her.

  The carriage turned, hit a bump, and sent her careening into him. His hand closed round her shoulder to protect her. The carriage evened out, but he didn’t remove his hand. Just in case they hit another bump.

  Now they sat hip to hip. Her soft thigh against his leg heated his blood. He looked at her, willing her to turn to him. Slowly she returned his gaze. Her expression softened, became languorous. He angled his head, drawing closer until he could feel her breath on his mouth. Almost taste her sweet lips. His own breathing grew labored. He knew he should look away, but she bewitched him.

  Neither of them moved an inch. He was afraid if he did, he would lose the struggle and kiss her. She was breathing harder now. His skin tingled all over. He thought he would die from wanting her, from resisting her. Heat spread to his groin, and he thought he’d go mad with the effort to do nothing when his whole body shouted at him to take her, devour her lips, and thrust his tongue inside her mouth.

  The rug slipped to the floor. “Oh,” she said.

  Saved by the rug, he thought. While he retrieved it, a voice in his head told him to move over and put distance between them, but he couldn’t make himself do it. He glanced at her, longing to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

  Tessa snuggled under the woolen rug. Then her hand slipped out to cover a yawn.

  “Tired?” he murmured. Damn, he’d lost the opportunity. He ought to be glad, but he wasn’t.

  She nodded, and a shadow passed over her face. “I did not sleep well last night.”

  “Are you worried about something?”

  She hesitated. “All will be well.” Then she yawned again.

  “Lay your head on my shoulder,” he said. When she did, he wrapped his arm round her shoulders. Without a thought, he nuzzled her hair. She yawned again and nestled closer to him.

  Tristan congratulated himself for his restraint. He’d almost become accustomed to the feel of her curled up next to him. Tessa’s breathing slowed, indicating she’d fallen asleep. The rocking motion of the carriage lulled him as well. He closed his eyes.

  An indete
rminable amount of time had passed when she turned her cheek into his neck cloth. She snuggled closer to him until her soft breasts pressed against his chest. His heart thumped, remembering the way she’d moaned when he’d palmed her breast at Ashdown House.

  The carriage rattled and started swaying. Her head slipped lower. He tried to right her. “Tess?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Tess, draw your legs up, and I’ll help you lie on the bench.” Then he would move to the other seat.

  Matters quickly spiraled out of his control. She drew her legs up and rubbed her cheek against his chest. He stifled a groan. Then he tried to lower her head while attempting to ease out from underneath her. In one fluid motion, she turned on her side, laying her head on his thighs. Then she put her hands beneath her cheek. “Mmmm,” she mumbled.

  Lord save him. When she sighed, he could feel her breath whispering along the fabric of his tight trousers. Her lush mouth was only inches away from the bad boy in his drawers. He laid his hand on her soft hair, and the gesture made him think exactly where he wanted her lips. His groin tightened again. Desperately, he tried to turn his thoughts elsewhere.

  Parliament? Tessa’s breathing slowed, making him think of sleep. More than a few of the older gents snored their way through the sessions. He’d caught himself nodding off a time or two during some old windbag’s speech. Hell, he’d caught the old windbags napping during his speeches.

  She made a funny little feminine sound. Then she stretched out her legs. The rug fell to the floor. Her skirt and petticoat were hiked up to her knees. He had a front-row view of her shapely, silk-clad calves. With a hiss, he tried to will away the inevitable erection. Down, boy.

  He vowed not to look at her legs, but every so often she moved them. The whisper of her silk stockings on the leather drove him mad. Unbidden, a wicked fantasy appeared in his head. His fingers itched as he imagined unrolling her stockings and kissing the flesh he revealed.

  Bad Boy was begging to salute her. His skintight trousers felt like a tourniquet. Then he worried the buttons on his falls wouldn’t hold up to the pressure. He imagined the sound of fireworks. Pop, pop, pop.

  Tristan stared up at the ceiling, wondering if it was possible to die of a damned erection.

  Deliver me from lust.