The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior

by Megan Frampton

  The duke wasn’t seated this time, but he was still accompanied by Orange, whom he held in the crook of his arm as he stood in front of one of the bookshelves. Orange looked as pleased as a cat could look, and it wasn’t hard to see why—the duke was stroking his fur with those long, elegant fingers, and again it appeared that he had been speaking to the cat. Something about “soft fur” and “petting,” plus he looked abashed when he saw her.

  Orange seemed to know it was time to depart, since he leapt from the duke’s arms and trotted off somewhere, no doubt to torment Stripey, as he was fond of doing.

  The duke nodded at Lily and gestured toward the seat she’d previously sat in. “Would you care for tea?” he asked, walking to the beverage cart that had held brandy the evening before. He had removed his dinner jacket and cravat and was clad only in his shirt and trousers.

  Tea? Interesting. I care for many things, she wanted to say, including the removal of your clothing, but instead settled for merely replying, “Yes, thank you, Your Grace.” At his questioning look, she added, “Milk and sugar, please.”

  He handed her the cup and their fingers touched, sending sparks of feeling through Lily’s body. If she reacted this way to just the touch of his fingers—goodness. What else might she feel?

  “Charms to strike the spirit, and merit to win the heart,” he said, sitting down a few feet away and raising his cup.

  She clinked her cup against his.

  “Did Rose enjoy herself?” he asked. “She certainly looked excited.”

  “I believe she did, Your Grace. Mrs. Porter asked if I might bring Rose for a visit. It seems she has two children of her own, not too much older than Rose, and she thought it would be pleasant to have them meet one another.”

  He snapped his fingers. “Of course! I hadn’t even thought of finding other children for her to play with. How clever of you.”

  “Of Mrs. Porter, actually,” Lily replied, taking another sip. “She also intimated that she would enjoy seeing you—that is, that Miss Blake could show you around the property while the children played.”

  “How did I do this evening, in polite company?” He sounded almost anxious, and she wondered, once again, what else his childhood had lacked. It nearly sounded as though it had been worse than hers—she’d had an irresponsible parent, but her mother loved her, as much as she was able to. It didn’t sound that there was any love in his upbringing.

  “You did very well,” she said to him, “except for the chimney sweepers’ discussion, but I understand why you took a stand.”

  He leaned forward in his chair. “Do you? And yet you would have had me stay quiet on the topic.”

  She bristled at the presumed accusation. “You asked me for assistance, instruction in how to navigate Society, and I am providing it. Just because I happen to agree with you on a controversial topic does not mean it is appropriate to talk about it in a polite setting.”

  “In a less polite setting, then?” he asked, waving his hand to indicate their surroundings. “What would you say then?”

  He didn’t sound accusatory. He sounded . . . interested. As though she had an opinion he wished to hear.

  “It is deplorable.” She thought about the children who’d accompanied their mothers to the agency, how little and scared they looked. Rightly so.

  “It is, and since I seem to have developed a conscience lately, I am going to do as much as I can about it. What good is it being a duke if you can’t change things?”

  “Most people in your position would wish to keep things the same,” she replied.

  That eyebrow rose. The one that indicated his arrogance, his confidence, his certainty that he was right. “I am not most people,” he said, keeping his eyes locked with hers as though daring her to challenge him.

  That she felt she could was startling. That she felt he would like it was even more startling.

  “True, you are not,” she said in a wry tone. He smiled at her and took a sip of tea.

  “Speaking of most people,” he said, leaning forward to place his cup on the table next to his chair. “Miss Blake . . . is she representative of the type of young ladies I might meet in proper society?” It did not sound as though that pleased him, which conversely managed to please Lily very much.

  “I could not say. I have not met many ladies in Society, either.” Not since her father had died, and then she’d only met the families near his estate. Hardly the same company as that of a duke.

  “The girl couldn’t manage to express an opinion, and when she did say something, she had to punctuate it with a giggle.” He met her eyes. “Thank goodness you are not like that, Miss Lily.”

  Not here, at least, she thought, recalling a time when one of Annabelle’s exploits made her fall out of her chair with laughter. But he didn’t know that about her. Here she was striving to be precise, prim, methodical—and not captivated by her employer. Not entirely, at least.

  “I believe I will let you and Rose go to Mrs. Porter’s on your own,” the duke continued, arching an eyebrow. “I would not want to require Miss Blake to have to actually take a stand on anything.”

  “Your friend Mr. Smithfield had many opinions, at least. I found him very charming.” Lily put her glass down on the table beside her. “Is he a particular friend of yours?”

  The duke stood and turned to gaze out the window, giving Lily the chance to stare at his strong back and lower still. She’d never really thought about a man’s backside before, but how could she not, when it was right here in her line of vision?

  And it was a very lovely backside, she had to say, even though she wanted to giggle—ha!—at what the duke’s face would look like if she told him, Your posterior is quite remarkable, Your Grace.

  But that would be beyond improper, even for a woman who’d set on that course.

  “Mr. Smithfield is my best friend,” the duke replied. “I am pleased you like his company.” But he said this in a voice that did not sound as if he were pleased at all.

  “He told me about his family’s shipping company,” Lily said, “and was very kind to inquire about how I liked it here, and what my position had been before.”

  He turned toward her. She regretted not being able to see his backside any longer, but that momentary disappointment was more than made up for by his handsome face. “And do you like it here?”

  More than I should. “Of course,” she said, getting to her feet. “I like to spend time with Miss Rose and—”

  “And me?” he asked, taking a few steps toward her.

  This was dangerous territory. Risky.

  But hadn’t she told herself only a few days ago to take a risk? So she closed the distance between them, not sure what would happen, but knowing she wanted whatever it was.

  Of all the things he’d expected, it hadn’t been this easy capitulation. Not that he was complaining; many parts of his body were, in fact, rejoicing.

  He took what she offered, leaning down to capture her mouth. He wanted her not to think about Smithfield, or anyone but him for that matter, and while kissing her might not necessarily achieve those ends—he wasn’t entirely certain he was a good kisser—he knew that for the moment she was all he could think about.

  Whether she’d think she should slap his face for his impertinence was something else.

  But she didn’t, thank goodness. And then she reached her fingers into his hair and held him to her so the immediate threat of slapping was put to bed.

  As he wished they could be, but expressing that desire so soon after kissing her would likely get him slapped.

  Her lips were soft, and warm, and so delicious, and he wanted to capture this perfect moment forever, this feeling of just being here with her, their mouths touching, her hands in his hair.

  Her breasts pressed against his chest, and he congratulated himself on having removed his jacket so there was one less layer between them, not that he’d thought anything like this would happen. But if this type of thing was likely to happ
en he would be sure to keep his jacket off as much as possible.

  He placed his hands on her arms, sliding his fingers up and down her warm flesh. Gently, softly, he licked at the seam of her lips, and she responded, opening her mouth to him so he could ease his tongue inside.

  And then he gave into the experience, reveling in the taste and feel of her, and how she had taken her hands from his hair and had them now on his shoulders, gripping them as though to memorize their shape with her fingers.

  She was tasting his mouth now as well, tangling her tongue with his, nipping at his mouth. His cock was erect between them, and he wondered if she felt it, knew what she’d done to him. Was doing to him.

  He didn’t have time to wonder, however, before she pulled away, a look of shock and astonishment on her face. “Oh, my, I didn’t—oh, dear,” she said, her cheeks flushing as pink as the walls of the loathed room, her mouth swollen from their kiss.

  He put his hand out to her, but she didn’t move or react, just stood there, a statue, but not a cold, stone statue; now he knew just how warm and soft she was, and he didn’t think he would ever forget.

  “That was unexpected,” he said.

  “It was.” Her eyes were wide, gold sparks lighting the hazel.

  “Did you like it?” He had to ask because he certainly had, and he would hope they were in agreement on the matter. Because he would very much like to do it again.

  “I did,” she said, and now she didn’t sound quite as shocked, for which he was grateful. “I should go now,” she added, spun on her heel and headed for the door.

  He stared after her, the feel of her still imprinted on his body, the way she had moved toward him, how she’d responded to him—both physically and mentally—as though he were worth something. A person she could discuss things with at one moment and then kiss at the next. He’d never known a woman with all those aspects. Either it was one or the other, but never both.

  It was hard to say what ached more as she left him alone—his cock or his heart.

  A duke will endeavor to please himself, first and foremost, because by pleasing himself he will therefore be pleasing everyone around him. Because an unpleased duke is not something anybody wishes to encounter.

  —THE DUKE’S GUIDE TO CORRECT BEHAVIOR

  Chapter 14

  Lily fled upstairs to her room, something she seemed to be doing a lot lately, her heart pounding, her mouth soft and swollen, while her body was demanding to know just why it had to leave possibly the most pleasurable experience of her life.

  Propriety was the best answer she had. It would have to do.

  She stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her, leaning on the wood. Her breathing was fast and loud in the quiet room.

  Nor could she answer just what impulse had made her take those few short steps toward him.

  And even though she really, really should, she just couldn’t regret it.

  It had felt so much . . . more than she had ever expected, even when she’d pondered what it might actually feel like. It was as though someone had described what it was like to eat a piece of stale bread, only to find, when one bit into it, that it was the most glorious chocolate cake ever, dripping with frosting and delightfully rich.

  She could only imagine what the rest of it would be like. It would definitely be better than chocolate cake, she knew that.

  What else might it be better than?

  She walked into her room and sat down on the bed, and it seemed everything felt and looked different, as though the world was lit by fireworks.

  She’d had her first kiss. No, not that, exactly; had implied a passive acceptance of the action, and once things had gotten started, she’d taken her first kiss.

  From a duke, no less. If she thought of it, which she hadn’t much, she would have assumed her first kiss might be from someone of her class, someone she’d met through the agency, or a neighbor. Not a gentleman who was only a step below the Queen, a man who had the power to change law, rule over counties, destroy a reputation by raising an eyebrow.

  Imagine if he employed both of them, what type of destruction he could create.

  Not to mention employing his virility, his commanding voice, his arresting good looks, and yes, his exceedingly nice backside.

  And he had kissed her after having asked her opinion, and treated her—well, not nearly as an equal, she didn’t think he was capable of that just because of who he was—but as someone with whom he wished to talk. To have tea with after the evening’s festivities were over.

  “You are a foolish woman, Lily Russell,” she said as she unbuttoned her gown, the lovely new gown he had bought her. She hung it up carefully, then donned his nightshirt, not one of the nightgowns Mrs. Wilson had sent with all the rest of her new clothes.

  It would be a shame to wear the new nightgowns just to have to wash them again, she thought, knowing she was employing logic equal to Annabelle’s.

  This didn’t change anything, she reminded herself sternly. Kisses, to someone like him, were probably just one step above a handshake or a courteous smile. It didn’t mean anything.

  To him.

  To her, of course, it meant a lot, but that was because it was her first. Perhaps she should go out and kiss other people, just to grow accustomed to it.

  She giggled, like Annabelle, at the thought of how Mr. Thompson would look if she surprised him with a kiss.

  She didn’t think the duke would like it if she kissed his butler. The way he’d reacted when she’d spoken of Mr. Smithfield was proof of that.

  But now she had to continue working properly for the man when she knew what his mouth felt like. What her improper feelings felt like.

  She had definitely put herself into a very difficult position. In more ways than one.

  Of course, the duke strolled into the breakfast room as though they hadn’t shared a kiss the night before. Although how would he acknowledge it? He couldn’t just walk in and say, “Hello, Miss Lily, I see your mouth is no longer attached to mine.”

  To which, she thought, she could reply, “Your backside is really lovely.”

  And then they would be the Most Improper Duke and His Incredibly Inappropriate Governess.

  So it was a good thing he acted as though nothing was different.

  “What are you ladies doing today?” the duke asked as he sat down.

  Rose answered before Lily could say anything. Although the only thing she could think to say right now was, Reminisce about that kiss that shouldn’t have happened, and, Go bury my nose in your nightshirt.

  “We’re drawing today. Miss Lily says she is very good at rabbits. I’m better at horses.”

  “Perhaps I could stop by the schoolroom? See your horses?” The duke eyed the plate of sausages John was offering and shook his head.

  “If you wish, Your Grace,” Lily said quietly. Why did he want to visit the schoolroom now? Not that he didn’t have a right to, it was his house, his daughter, his employee. But now? The morning after the kiss of the night before?

  She couldn’t think about it any longer or her head might split like one of those sausages.

  “Are you going to draw, too?” Rose asked, taking another piece of toast from the table.

  “If Miss Lily has enough pencils, of course.”

  Rose put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. Lily just as quickly gestured for her to keep her hands in her lap. “What animal do you draw best?”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever been asked that question,” he said in perfect seriousness. He got a crooked smile on his lips. “A cat, I think.”

  “I can draw a cat, too,” Rose said, sticking her nose in the air.

  “Then we shall have a contest as to who can draw the best cat, and Miss Lily will be the judge.” Both he and Rose looked at Lily then, and she felt herself start to turn pink again.

  “I shall be glad to.”

  “That is lovely, Miss Rose.” It did look somewhat like a cat, in that
it had a tail, at least. And was that—well, apparently it was a cat pirate, because it had on some sort of eye patch.

  “How about mine, Miss Lily?” He held the paper up with a sly smile on his face. She circled around to his side of the table and took the paper from his hand.

  That was even less of a cat than Rose’s. At least Rose had given the cat some sort of defined shape. This was more of a cat blob, with whiskers.

  “Interesting.”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have the feeling, Miss Lily, that you are not impressed with my artistic talents.”

  She tried not to smile, but she couldn’t help it. He sounded so serious, and yet the warmth in his eyes and the slight grin that twisted his mouth told her he was teasing. She had rarely been teased.

  She liked it. Not as much as kissing, of course, but teasing was definitely safer.

  “Your Grace, I believe your cat is in need of some fur. And a tail. And paws.”

  Rose walked over to examine the drawing in question, and when she saw it, there was no mistaking the look of exultation on her face. “My cat is better,” she announced, and both Lily and Marcus nodded in agreement.

  Marcus took the drawing back and laid it back down on the table. “This was fun, even if I am horrible at it.”

  “Not horrible,” Lily corrected, “merely abysmal.”

  They looked at each other and laughed, and Lily got that warmth all over her body, the one that had nothing to do with the actual temperature and everything to do with him.

  “I was thinking about the other night,” he began.

  Not in front of Rose, she wanted to shout, but just clamped her mouth shut, staring daggers at him.

  He chuckled, clearly knowing what she thought he was about to say. “About my interests. I was thinking I should develop more.”

  “Oh.” Well, didn’t that just flatten her sails. He hadn’t been about to be inappropriate in front of a child. Or something.

  “And maybe I should hire a drawing master. Or someone to teach me the piano—do you play piano, Miss Lily?”