Dancing in The Duke’s Arms

by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel

  The man disappeared, and they were alone. Wyndover pulled out the chair beside her and gestured for her to sit. Vivienne smiled and shook her head.

  “What’s wrong?” His brow lowered with sudden concern.

  “This seat is much too far from yours,” she said. “I shall have to yell across the table.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “You would like to sit closer to me?”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “Oh, allowed and encouraged. I’ll have the footman move your setting.”

  She waved a hand. “I may be a princess, but I know how to set a table.” She moved the setting herself, and a moment later, the two of them were seated beside each other, Wyndover at the head of the table and Vivienne on his right.

  The footman said nothing about the altered arrangement when he returned. He merely served the soup and retreated to the corner.

  Vivienne was determined to keep the conversation light, and with the servants present, she couldn’t discuss Glynaven or her circumstances. She steered the conversation toward music and literature, her favorites, and Wyndover proved capable of speaking intelligently on both subjects.

  He also proved a skilled conversationalist as he directed the talk toward traveling and the customs of various countries he’d visited. As she’d visited many of the same, she could add easily and with great pleasure to the subject.

  They had a great deal in common, and when dinner ended, Vivienne was almost surprised to find the jasmine ice before her. They must have talked for hours, and it had seemed no time at all.

  She’d drunk a little bit too much wine, as the servants had filled her glass after each sip. Her head swam pleasantly, and though Wyndover was still as handsome as ever when she looked at him, she saw more than the perfect features now.

  She saw the man.

  And she liked what she saw.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

  She rose a bit unsteadily. “I suppose it is because I’ve had a wonderful evening, and I didn’t expect it.”

  He rose as well, taking her elbow. He must have thought to steady her, but she was not that intoxicated.

  “What sort of evening did you expect?”

  She shrugged, a gesture she would make only when in her cups, as she’d been told at least a thousand times that princesses did not shrug.

  “The sort where you wax poetic on the leek soup and exclaim at the sauce on the potatoes.”

  His mouth turned up at the corner. It was a very nice mouth. She wanted to kiss it, but that would probably shock the servants. She scanned the room. No servants at the moment. They’d removed all but the ices and were probably in the kitchen taking a moment’s respite.

  “I know the sort of evening you mean. I don’t think either of us had anything poetic to say about the leek soup. I must say the sauce on the potatoes was quite to my liking.”

  She lifted her hand and placed it against his smoothly shaved cheek. “You are quite to my liking.”

  He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe.

  After a long silence, he shifted slightly. “I thought I was too pretty for you.”

  “Oh, you’re very pretty.” Her fingers stroked his cheek and trailed down to his jaw. “But I shan’t be swooning, if that is your concern.”

  He grasped her hand. “Who told you?”

  “It’s common knowledge, Duke. What is your Christian name, by the way?”

  “Nathan. Why?”

  “I like to know a man’s name before I kiss him.”

  He still held her wrist, and when she leaned in to kiss him, he hesitated just for a moment. Then he dropped her hand and bent as her arms circled his neck and she pulled his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  She tasted of jasmine ices and the sweet wine they’d drunk together. She tasted better than he could imagine. And the feel of her…

  He dared not put his arms around her, because he couldn’t trust himself to behave. She pressed her body to him, her lush breasts pushing against his chest, her long, aristocratic fingers in his hair. Her mouth was gentle and full, and her kisses very, very thorough. He’d expected the kiss to be sloppy. But she wasn’t foxed, or if she was, she was very good at disguising the fact.

  She drew back, looked up at him. Her green eyes were so large they filled his vision.

  “Put your arms around me. Or”—she leaned back—“would you rather I stop?”

  “God, no. Don’t stop.”

  He put his hands on her waist, pulled her body back against his. This time, he noted the heat of her. Such a small thing to generate so much heat. He cupped her face, running his thumbs over her delicate cheekbones, then brushing his lips over hers. Her mouth parted slightly, and he took her plump lower lip in a kiss, nipping it gently.

  She moaned, her hands roaming his back. Nathan was aware the servants might return at any moment. They should stop kissing, but he couldn’t seem to abandon her mouth. Every touch of his lips to hers made him want more. Finally, when she opened for him, where their tongues touched and tangled and mated, he swore he could hear music. He’d wanted this for so long, he hadn’t thought the reality could live up to his imaginings. His very detailed imaginings.

  But her lips were plumper, her mouth sweeter, the stroke of her tongue more tantalizing than he could have ever fantasized. And when her hands slid down to his buttocks, he had to release her and grip the edge of the table where he’d cornered her to keep from ravishing her then and there.

  He had never wanted a woman, had never wanted anything, as much as he wanted her in that instant.

  “Take me to bed,” she whispered, her velvet cheek brushing against his.

  Nathan clutched the table tighter, struggling for control.

  “No.”

  She looked up at him, a brow arched. “You don’t want me?”

  “Oh, I want you. In another moment, I shall crack this table with the force of my want.”

  She looked at his hand clenching the table, then back at his eyes. “I’ve done something wrong. I’ve been too forward. I forget you English prefer your women more coy.”

  “No.” He gripped her shoulders. “I like you exactly as you are. But if I take you”—he lowered his voice in case the servants were about—“if I take you to bed tonight, I will be taking advantage of your intoxicated state.”

  “I am not so intoxicated.”

  “Be that as it may, I prefer to give you time to reconsider.”

  “Very noble of you. If I do not reconsider?”

  “Then you should know I want more than a night or two of bedsport with you.”

  “You want my affections?”

  He touched her throat and trailed down to the center of her chest and that godawful collar. He forced himself to stop there, not to stray to the swells of her breasts. “I want your heart.”

  Vivienne took a shaky breath. “Perhaps time to consider is warranted.”

  She stepped back and out of his arms. Immediately, she wrapped her own arms around her body. Nathan could not tell if it was a protective gesture or one of thwarted longing.

  “Will you ride with me in the morning? There’s something I want to show you.”

  “Yes. I’d like that. I haven’t ridden since…before.”

  He bowed. “Then I bid you good night. I will see you at the stables in the morning.”

  As difficult as it was to walk away from her, he accomplished it, not pausing until he reached his room. In his bedchamber, he leaned against the door and closed his eyes.

  “Shall I leave you, Your Grace?” Fletcher asked, coming out of the dressing room. Nathan opened his eyes to study the tall, thin man soberly dressed in black. Fletcher and Nathan were close in age, but Fletcher always seemed a good deal older. He already showed streaks of gray in his dark hair, and his face had a pinched look.

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” Nathan pushed away from the door. “She’ll refuse me, Fletcher.” Nathan pac
ed his room. “I can hardly blame her. She doesn’t even know me. I must be daft to think of asking her to marry me.”

  Fletcher clasped his hands behind his back. “Lady Vivienne is the object of your affection, I take it.”

  “Damn it, Fletcher. You were with me when I toured the Continent. You know she’s not Lady Vivienne.”

  “I also know the princess could do far worse than you, Your Grace.”

  Nathan gave the man a wan smile. “I’m not paying you enough, Fletcher.”

  “I would not decline higher wages, but I am paid as well as, if not better than, my counterparts. I am not flattering you, Your Grace. I honestly believe the princess would be lucky to have you. From what I know of her, you would be fortunate to marry her. She is intelligent, accomplished, and politically astute.”

  “All that and more.”

  “Without question.”

  Nathan dropped into a chair and put his face in his hands. “You make it sound so logical and reasonable, when this marriage business is anything but. What if she refuses me?”

  “Then you ask someone else, Your Grace.”

  Nathan laughed and pushed his fingers against his tired eyes. “I don’t want someone else.”

  “Then make certain she says yes.”

  *

  The morning dawned cloudy but dry, and Vivienne was prompt. He’d had a mare saddled for her, one of the more spirited horses, and she approved the animal and mounted with little assistance. She wore one of the duchess’s out-of-fashion riding habits that O’Connell and another maid had stayed up all night to alter. It was a lovely blue with gold piping, and as soon as she climbed on her mount, she felt right at home.

  Nathan rode his favorite gelding. Patch was known as such because he had a white patch on his chest. Nathan’s mother had named the horse, and Nathan hadn’t changed it.

  He and Vivienne rode to the west. Vivienne had a good seat, and when he was certain she could keep up, Nathan gave Patch his head. The two of them galloped for a mile or so, enjoying the morning and the silence broken only by the call of birdsong. At least, Nathan should have been enjoying it. Instead, he was thinking of the instructions he’d given to Chapple. He had to keep Vivienne away from Wyndover Park long enough for Chapple to arrange everything just so.

  “What is over there?” Vivienne asked, pointing toward one of his tenant’s lands.

  “That’s the Hollands’ farm, I believe.”

  Nathan studied the faint spiral of smoke coming from the farm and turned Patch in that direction. “Wait here.”

  A moment later, he neared the tenant’s cottage, and Vivienne was right behind him. He wasn’t surprised. He doubted she was very used to following orders.

  “There’s where the smoke came from.”

  A circle of stones ringed still smoldering chunks of wood. The fire looked to have been hastily put out and not very thoroughly. Nathan jumped down and inspected the site, then knocked on the tenant’s door.

  No one answered.

  He walked back to Patch and was about to mount when he heard hoof beats.

  “Who is that?” Vivienne asked.

  “My steward.”

  The man removed his hat and dismounted as soon as he arrived. “Your Grace. My lady. I didn’t expect to see you here.” Mr. Husselbee was tanned and freckled from so much time outdoors. He had an easy smile and a friendly face. In short, he was a man who could collect rents and still find a way to remain on good terms with the tenants.

  “We saw the smoke,” Nathan explained with a wave of his hand.

  Husselbee frowned and examined the site himself. Hands on hips, he turned back to the duke. “The Hollands are away for a fortnight. Mrs. Holland is from Dorset, and her sister wrote to say her mother was ill. I told Holland I’d feed the livestock and check on the farm while they were away.”

  “Then who built this fire?”

  Husselbee shook his head. “I don’t know. Vagrants, I suspect. I’ll make a thorough tour of the ducal land after I tend to the Hollands’ livestock. If I find anyone, I’ll run them off with a strict warning.”

  “Very good, sir.” Nathan mounted again. “Come by the house after your tour and give me a full update.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  When they were away, Vivienne spurred her horse and rode beside him. “I don’t like it.”

  Nathan raised a brow. “Vagrants? You should know that sort of thing is common enough. My game wardens frequently have to arrest poachers. I let them go with a warning. Times are hard. People are hungry.”

  Vivienne studied him, her green eyes sparkling in diffuse morning light. “That’s very kind of you. I do know poachers and vagrants are common. I suppose I feared the campsite might have housed the Glennish assassins.”

  He saw the flash of fear in her eyes before she lowered them.

  Nathan reached over and grasped her hand. “They can’t have found you here. No one knows where you are. You’re safe. I promised I would protect you, and I will.”

  She raised her gaze to his again. “I believe you.”

  He released her hand, and they rode in silence again for a time.

  “Shall we stop there and walk a bit?” she asked, indicating a stream that flowed along the back of his property. He’d had it stocked with trout, even though he didn’t enjoy fishing.

  At the stream, the horses drank and grazed while he and Vivienne walked the banks. Finally, they came to a shady spot where the stream widened into a small pond. It was not quite the size of Sedgemere’s pond, and certainly not big enough for boating, but he’d swum in it as a boy and had a jolly time playing pirate.

  Under a willow tree, Vivienne turned to him. “Should we continue our conversation from last night?”

  Nathan’s heart galloped, although he’d been trying to form the right words all morning. “I…yes,” he managed weakly and swore silently at his idiocy. She would be right to refuse him. Sedgemere had been right about him. He’d relied too much on his good looks and had no skill when it came to wooing women. Why the devil hadn’t he memorized some bloody Byron?

  “You said last night you wanted more than just my body and my affections.”

  Had he said that? Good God. He had been bold after the wine and her kisses.

  “You want my heart.”

  “I do. I want more than a…a liaison.”

  “I’m not in love with you,” she said, and his heart fell into his belly.

  “Of course not.”

  “But I could fall in love with you.”

  His head jerked up, his gaze searching her face. She smiled.

  “Oh, I could very easily fall in love with you, Nathan.” Her hands slid to his shoulders. “Do I have leave to call you Nathan?”

  “Call me whatever you want.”

  “I’ve never known a man like you,” she said.

  He winced. “Is this about my face again?”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. This is about how kind and generous and thoughtful you are.”

  “In the interest of full disclosure, not all of my actions toward you have been wholly unselfish.”

  She laughed. “Thank God. I was beginning to think you were not human.”

  “I’m very human,” he said as she pressed against him. “Exceedingly human.”

  “Is it enough if I say you have a corner of my heart? Is it enough if I say you could very well have all of it one day?”

  “It’s enough.”

  And it was, because it was not only more than he had ever expected, but he simply couldn’t resist her any longer. His body was on fire with need, and—as she’d pointed out—he was only human.

  He bent his head to kiss her, pulling her hard against him. Her mouth opened for him, her lips meeting his with the same passion and same intensity. He was left with no question as to what she wanted from him. He hadn’t imagined he would lie with her outdoors—very well, he’d actually imagined lying with her everywhere, but he hadn’t expected to
lie with her outdoors—but he would not argue the point.

  He stripped off his coat, dropped it under the tree, and allowed his hands to travel down her slim back. He cupped her bottom, brought her hips into contact with his erection. She moaned and rocked against him. Her own hands explored him—his back, his chest, his buttocks, his cock.

  When she slid her hand over the fall of his riding breeches, Nathan grabbed the trunk of the tree for support.

  “Your body is as perfect as your face,” she murmured when he kissed her neck. “You’re hard all over.”

  He was hard, indisputably hard. His hands skidded over her sides and up to cup her breasts. With a groan, her head fell back. Through the layers she wore, he felt her nipples pebble against his hands and wished he could see them, kiss them.

  She pulled him down, settling herself on his coat. “My legs won’t hold up much longer,” she said, her voice husky. “You’ve made them wobbly and weak.”

  His hand slid under her skirts and up her stocking-clad leg until he reached the bare flesh of her thigh. “They feel fine to me.” He kissed her again, his hand stroking her soft flesh. “Very fine.”

  “Don’t tease me, Nathan,” she murmured. “Not this time. Next time, perhaps, or the time after that. Not this time.”

  “I am yours to command,” he answered, his hand cupping the warm, wet flesh at the juncture of her thighs.

  A sigh escaped her parted lips, but her eyes—so dark now—never left his face.

  He touched her, explored her gently, until she arched beneath him. Her cheeks were pink with arousal, and when he slid two fingers inside her, circled her small nub with his thumb, her eyes seemed to blur and lose focus.

  “Let go, Princess,” he murmured. “No one will hear you but me.”

  Her hips rose, and he lessened his pressure slightly. In a rush, she bowed back, a strangled cry drifting through the trees. He withdrew, studied her face. She lay with her eyes closed, chest rising and falling, cheeks stained lovely pink, and her lips plump and red.

  Finally, she opened her eyes and smiled. “Nathan, do you know how to dress and undress a lady?”

  He wasn’t certain how to answer. He’d dressed and undressed his share, but it wasn’t a subject he wished to discuss with the woman he hoped to make his wife.