by Lauren Smith
He chuckled, his lips vibrating against her skin and then he kissed the sensitive flesh just behind her ear. The apex of her legs began to ache in the most curious fashion. “You’re welcome.”
One of his hands left her waist and slid up her arm, over her neck, and to her jaw. Slowly he turned her face to meet his. Her lips parted for some reason she couldn’t name. Did she want to ask him what he was doing? Beg him to kiss her? She wasn’t sure but it didn’t matter because his lips dipped down to hers and softly, like the caress of a butterfly, brushed against hers.
And then he was gone. Backing up, he picked up his plate and gave her a tight smile. “Thank you for the taking me up here. I’ll never forget it.” Leaving the candle, he made his way to the door and disappeared.
Emilia stood there, just as he’d left her, wondering what had just happened. Why had he kissed her and then left? Would he still be here if he hadn’t?
Not knowing what else to do, she sat upon the floor and took a bite of her food. While she still wished to have his company, she wouldn’t change a moment of this evening, especially the kiss. She thought of her cousins, Clarissa and Agnes, along with her sisters, Fiona and Ainsley. Each would come home with a man whom they loved. But her heart didn’t ache so much when she thought about it. She’d had a moment of her own.
What would it be like to be held against Captain Andrews…Jack? Just the thought made her body heat and ache at the apex of her legs.
She didn’t know how long he would stay here at the castle with her, but some part of her wished that it might be forever.
Sighing, she rose from the floor and picked up her plate and her candle. She wasn’t likely to sleep any better, but it was time to stop meandering about. She took one last look about the room, one of her favorite places and thought about how she’d shared it with Jack.
It was strange, because in some small way her Christmastide prayer on the beach had been answered. Even if all they ever shared was that kiss, she’d found a hope and some strength in herself she didn’t even know had existed.
With a smile, she made her way downstairs.
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About the Author
More about Tammy
Tammy Andresen lives with her husband and three children just outside of Boston, Massachusetts. She grew up on the Seacoast of Maine, where she spent countless days dreaming up stories in blueberry fields and among the scrub pines that line the coast. Her mother loved to spin a yarn and Tammy filled many hours listening to her mother retell the classics. It was inevitable that at the age of 18, she headed off to Simmons College, where she studied English literature and education. She never left Massachusetts but some of her heart still resides in Maine and her family visits often.
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The Duke Next Door
Meara Platt
Copyright © 201 by Meara Platt
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
To Eddie, Jack, and Tony who are the dukes in our family
Chapter One
Cotswolds, England
June 1819
At eighteen years of age, Lady Mallory Goodell was finally old enough to kiss a duke, and she knew just which one to set her sights upon. After all, she’d planned this moment for four long years and was not about to be dissuaded by the fact that her neighbor Lucien, Duke of Hawthorn, had yet to notice her existence.
“Good morning, Hutchins,” she said, a little out of breath from walking through the woods that separated the Goodell manor house from Lucien’s much grander ducal estate. That Hawthorn Hall was in genteel disrepair did not detract from its magnificence. “I know it is rather early to receive visitors, but do you think His Grace would mind seeing me?”
She smiled at the kindly, gray-haired butler and squinted slightly as the glint of bright sunlight in the perfectly blue summer sky caught her eyes when she gazed up at him.
“I’m certain he would be delighted to grant you an audience, Lady Mallory.” He glanced at the envelope in her hand. “But he is at the mill this morning, attempting to repair the grinding wheel.”
Mallory pursed her lips and frowned. “Oh, dear. Has it broken again?”
Hutchins nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. Is that envelope for His Grace? I shall hand it to him as soon as he returns.”
Mallory did her best to hide her disappointment, but she could tell by Hutchins’ pitying expression that she’d failed. “Would you? Thank you. Please be sure that he opens it at once.” She took a deep breath. “It is an invitation to my birthday party. We’re to celebrate it on Saturday next. But I’ve turned eighteen today.”
Hutchins cracked a smile. “My, my. How the time flies. Why, I still remember the day you were born as though it were yesterday. Indeed, I shall never forget. It was the same day that His Grace - of course, he was young Lord Lucien back then - fell out of the giant oak tree and broke his arm.”
“And three ribs,” Mallory added, for she’d heard the story often enough. The near death of the exceedingly handsome ducal heir was a particular favorite topic of the local gossips. Quite the scandalbroth at the time, for he’d fallen naked out of the tree, and there was much speculation about the how and why of it.
A woman was reputed to have been involved.
Two, in fact.
Both of questionable virtue, but that still didn’t explain what he was doing in the tree without his clothes or what the women were doing up there with him in the same state of undress.
Mallory shook her head to clear the improper thoughts now swirling in her mind. “Well, I’ll be off now.”
“May I offer you refreshments before you take your leave, Lady Mallory? It is a warm day and you’ve had a long walk.”
“Oh, but there’s a lovely breeze. Thank you, Hutchins. Another time, perhaps. Good day.”
“Good day to you, Lady Mallory.” He held up the crisp, white envelope to quietly assure her that he would not forget her invitation.
Mallory had cut through the woods on her way to Hawthorn Hall. If she walked along the road - no matter that it added two miles to her journey home - she would pass by the mill. Wasn’t it the neighborly thing to do? She could find out the exact problem with the wheel and report it to her father.
He would not hesitate to lend assistance to a duke, especially this unmarried duke.
She began to have doubts about the wisdom of her plan when the gentle morning breeze died away suddenly and left only the hot sun beating down upon her head. The bonnet she’d worn to lend shade was now prickling her skin and making her itch, so she removed it. As she did so, a few of the hairpins holding her curls in place caught in the bonnet’s lace trim and fell out. The mass of hair piled precariously
at the top of her head was now only held up by chance.
“Mallory? What brings you here?” Lucien asked, happening to stride out of the old, stone mill just as she arrived and catching her fussing with her wayward hair.
He looked perfect, of course. Not a strand out of place, even though he’d been laboring for hours and working up a manly sweat. He was dressed simply, in clothes that any farmer might wear. Coarse linen trousers and shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up to reveal his muscled forearms. His brown boots were worn and scuffed.
But his attire did nothing to diminish his magnificence.
She began to fidget with the ties of her bonnet, for describing him as magnificent did not begin to do him justice. “I heard your wheel is broken. Is there anything we can do to help?”
As he strode toward her, the sun formed a halo of light around his golden hair, and the little hairs on his forearms shone like gold dust. She supposed it was the effect of sunlight striking the sheen of sweat on his lightly bronzed skin that made him look like a proud medieval knight after a hard day’s battle.
Her fingers continued to fidget maniacally with her bonnet, but her eyes followed the glistening trail of water that slid down his neck to disappear into his broad chest. She raised her gaze to his face before he noticed that she had been looking elsewhere.
She loved his face. It was a glorious mix of elegant and masculine. She loved the way the ends of his damp hair curled perfectly against his neck. His shirt was damp as well and clung to the hard planes of his chest.
Mother in heaven.
Her gaze was drifting downward again and she could see every ripple and twist of his muscled torso as he casually approached her.
“Kind of you to offer,” he said, his voice deep and sounding a little strained, “but no need. We’ve just fixed it.”
“Oh.” She hurried to say something else, for he would certainly hear the rampant pounding of her heart if she fell silent. She made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Eyes of ocean blue stared back at her and crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her. “Um, excellent. Well, if it breaks again... of course, I certainly hope it won’t. But if it does, I’m certain Father will be glad to help out. I will, too.”
Lucien nodded, his gaze still disconcertingly fixed on her. Suddenly, his smile softened. “Happy birthday, Mallory.”
She gasped in delight and her eyes popped wide. “You remembered.”
He shook his head and gave a wincing laugh. “How could I not? No one within forty miles of Hawthorn Hall will ever let me forget that day.”
She joined him in merry laughter. “Not one of your finer moments. Perhaps you’ll tell me what really happened all those years ago, now that I am officially old enough to be told the sordid truth. Although the gossip must be far worse than the actual story.”
He winced again. “To be honest, what happened is far worse than the gossip. You have no idea how reckless and stupid boys of that age can be.”
“I don’t know, sounds like fun. I’ve never been reckless. Not ever. It must feel good to throw caution to the wind and experience one exciting moment in your life.” She shook her head and sighed. “I haven’t had a single one.”
The blue of his eyes seemed to roil and darken like the turbulent waves of an ocean current. “I should hope not. Be grateful that you’ve made it through your girlhood without a scandal to your name. Men are forgiven their indiscretions, but no such mercy is ever shown to the innocent lamb who is led astray. No silly adventures for you, my girl.”
She pursed her lips in a moue of dismay, for he now sounded just like her father. “Even if I wished for them, there’s no one around here to lead me astray. I shall be quite the proper young lady when I make my debut.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Your debut? When will that be?”
“Oh, not until next year. My parents consider me too young and incompetent to have my Come-Out this Season, so I shall have to wait a little while longer to be put on display on the marriage mart. In the meanwhile, they’ve already informed me that we shall make several trips to London to visit the best shops, no expense spared to turn me into a Society jewel. I suppose that could be fun,” she said with little enthusiasm.
“Ah, poor Mallory.” Suddenly, he broke into another broad grin. “Well, I’ll be a pig-nut.”
Her pout dissolved into another laugh, for that was the silly expression his younger brother, Aidan, always used. She liked that Lucien was using it, for it meant the brothers were now on good terms and seeing each other regularly. “Your Grace, why are you grinning at me?”
“Because this is indeed a momentous day. You’ve made it through your girlhood.” He surprised her by taking her hands in his calloused grip. Her heart shot into her throat, but she quickly realized he wasn’t making advances. He was merely stopping her from cutting off the circulation in her fingers by twisting those bonnet ties so tightly around them. “You’re officially a young woman today. That is cause for celebration.”
She nodded, unable to get a word out while he held her hands to unwind the ties. He then took custody of the bonnet before she inadvertently ruined it. No matter the reason for his touch, the graze of his fingers felt splendid and exciting against hers. “Celebration? Oh, that’s why I stopped by today. I’ve left my invitation with Hutchins. My parents are hosting a party this coming Saturday in honor of my birthday. You will attend, won’t you? Please, you must.”
He nodded and his grin softened to an indulgent smile. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened in surprise once more and her bones turned soft and tingling. Goodness, he was perfect. There was something quite arousing in the manly scent of him, a mix of healthy sweat and sandalwood soap. The trace of fatigue in his eyes caused them to droop seductively.
He tweaked her nose. That counted as something, didn’t it? Not quite a kiss, but he’d held her hand for almost ten seconds, and now he had touched her nose.
“Really,” he said, glancing at the stream that ran behind the mill. “Give me a moment and I’ll take you home.”
She meant to protest, for he was obviously busy and she’d already kept him from his other duties. But the words caught in her throat when she caught his wickedly intriguing expression. “What?” she asked.
“Each year, I celebrate the infamous day that I broke my arm–”
“And three ribs,” she interjected.
“Right, and three ribs.” He absently ran his hand along his rib cage. “I celebrate it by taking a dip in the stream. I’ve dubbed this day Saint Mallory’s Day.”
She inhaled lightly. “You named this day after me?”
“Of course. You were the best thing to come out of that embarrassing time.” He shrugged. “Why are you gawking at me?”
He tucked a finger under her chin to nudge her mouth closed. Third time he’d touched her today. This was turning into her best day ever. “I did not think you’d noticed me. My sisters are far more dazzling. I pale in comparison.”
“There’s much to be said for a quieter beauty. Come along, I’ll take you home.”
“What about your swim? I’d hate for you to break that proud tradition on my account.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “No, my girl. With you peeking through the bushes at me? That would be too much of an adventure for either of us. Your father will come after me with his hunting rifle. No, not a chance. Time to get you safely back home.”
Mallory silently chided herself. She was not only innocent, but exceptionally dense. Of course, he couldn’t swim now because his proper celebration meant removing all his clothes. Indeed, to see him... well, that would be a most pleasant adventure.
She blamed the sudden flush to her cheeks on the bright sun.
But as Lucien used his handkerchief to dab away the moisture on her overheated cheeks - a fourth touch - she was more certain than ever that she’d made the right choice.
Lucien simply had to kiss her.
; How would she convince him to do it?
Chapter Two
Lucien tried not to look at Mallory as they walked to the shady copse beside the stream where he’d tethered his black gelding, Charlemagne. Until this very moment, he’d thought of her as a gangly child. Pretty and sweet, but nothing to stop a man’s heart.
He was wrong.
She would not only stop hearts, but break them.
She somehow managed to have his heart pounding through his ears and he was too experienced and cynical for that boyish nonsense. “This way, Mallory,” he said, trying not to notice the way the sun shone on her lush, mahogany-dark curls and made them glisten. “I left Charlemagne to graze on the reeds along the stream’s bank.”
“Your Grace, you needn’t go out of your way for me. I got here on my own two feet and am quite capable of returning home the same way.”
He wanted to tell her to call him Lucien, for they’d been friends and neighbors all of her eighteen years. But that was the problem. All of a sudden, she wasn’t little Mallory, the viscount’s sweet, but unremarkable youngest daughter.
She was now Incomparable Mallory, a sultry beauty destined to have grown men falling in worship at her daintily slippered feet. They’d be lined up, groveling and begging for a taste of her sensual mouth the moment they caught sight of her. Her lips were full and had a slightly downward droop at the corners, so that she looked like she was pouting when they were at rest. Not one of those angry, I’m-in-a-snit pouts, but one of those I-want-to-have-sex-with-you pouts that would have a dead man springing back to life.
He blamed the wanton path of his thoughts on heat stroke. After all, he’d been toiling for hours in that hot mill, struggling to repair its broken wheel.
