The Duke and the Lady in Red

by Lorraine Heath

  “You love him,” Harry stated.

  Rose nearly fell off the sofa with the proclamation. She laughed. “No, absolutely not.”

  Harry studied her as though he didn’t quite believe her.

  “That way lies disaster,” she assured him.

  “Knowing the dangers doesn’t always stop things from happening.”

  “True enough.” Leaning over, she squeezed his hand. “You should see his residence, Harry. So many books. In every room at least one book. Well, not the dining rooms. But you would be in heaven. I shall see if I can borrow some for you to read. You could read quite a bit in a week.” She did wish she’d thought of that sooner.

  “What does it look like, his residence?”

  “It’s called Buckland Palace. He says it’s not truly a palace but it is. He’s just accustomed to the opulence so he doesn’t see it. But it’s ever so grand. Paintings on the ceilings, gold edges along the wainscoting. Monstrously huge rooms. His bedchamber alone . . .” She hesitated, wishing she hadn’t gone there, hoping she hadn’t given him cause to conjure up images of her in the duke’s bed. He was fairly innocent in the ways of men and women so her words probably gave him no naughty ideas. “ . . . is almost as large as all our bedchambers put together. He took me on a tour. It was fascinating.”

  They talked then about how much longer they might stay in London. No reason to leave straightaway, with their debts paid. Although she suspected she would not want to linger overly long once she left the duke. She told Harry what she knew of Scotland, why she thought they would be happy there.

  As she was leaving, she hugged him hard, promised to see him at two the following afternoon. She would not feel guilty about leaving him here. He had his story to write. He’d welcome the quiet.

  Even as she welcomed a bit of it to settle her thoughts as the carriage rumbled through the streets. She didn’t like how much she was anticipating returning to Buckland Palace, how much she longed to be with Avendale again. It was more than the fact that he knew so well how to make her body sing and fly to the heavens. She liked being in his company, liked the way he held her afterward. She liked the timbre of his voice, even if they didn’t discuss anything of consequence. She even liked that he was a little jealous. Not that she wanted to spend a single moment of their time together with them at odds.

  She was most disappointed when she returned to his residence to find that he wasn’t about and that his butler, Thatcher, had no idea when His Grace would return. Not knowing if their evening would include more than romps in the bed, she wasn’t certain how to prepare herself.

  Shaking her head while standing in the foyer, she nearly laughed aloud. She was here for one reason and one reason only—­because he wanted her in his bed. That was most certainly where they would spend the evening. She supposed she could bathe, make herself as alluring as possible. But first, while she was alone, she wanted to scour the shelves in the various rooms and see if she could determine which books Harry might best enjoy. Once Avendale returned, he would occupy all her time and thoughts—­the rogue.

  Not that she minded, not really.

  She did hope that he didn’t tarry too long, only long enough for her to locate some reading material for Harry, something obscure that Avendale wouldn’t notice was missing. Sneaking it out was going to be the challenge, but she would find a way. She’d always been resourceful if nothing else.

  She paused at a narrow table that held a silver bowl containing a myriad of vellum envelopes. They were not her concern, and yet knowing that they were probably invitations to balls, she couldn’t stop herself from plucking one out and opening it. After pulling out the gilded invitation, she trailed her finger over the formal words. When she had first stepped into the Twin Dragons, her plan had been to make the acquaintance of those who would send her invitations such as these. She had the lovely one Drake Darling had sent her, but she had wanted to attend balls within residences, to be accepted, to take her time at selecting her quarry.

  She had enjoyed dances held by country squires, merchants, bankers, and bakers. The towns she’d visited had offerings, but nothing as grand as what she had envisioned she would find in London. Over the years, she had honed her skills in out-­of-­the-­way villages, among those who didn’t rub elbows with the aristocracy. She’d had such exquisite goals for London: to linger, to enjoy, to move about in circles far above her humble roots. To attend every sort of ball imaginable: costume, masked, Cinderella.

  But she would experience no aristocratic balls now because she’d allowed Avendale to get the better of her. Yet she couldn’t seem to regret it.

  She was in the smaller library—­the duchess’s library—­searching through the books there when she became aware of the sensation of being watched. It was as it had been that first night at the Twin Dragons. Slowly she turned to find Avendale leaning against the doorjamb, arms folded across his chest. “I returned promptly as promised only to find you not here,” she said.

  “You sound disappointed.”

  She lifted a shoulder. “Had I known you wouldn’t be waiting for me, I might have lingered.”

  “I had to settle things with Beckwith.”

  Her stomach lurched. “Did he give you any problems?”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  His confidence, his arrogance. Neither should have appealed to her and yet they both did.

  “I also saw to the lease on your residence,” he continued.

  Relief swamped her, a weight lifted that until that moment she hadn’t realized had been so incredibly heavy. They had lodgings that no one could take away from them, at least for a time. “Seems you were quite busy.”

  “I even found time for something more pleasant.”

  With long even strides he crossed over to her. Indulging, she inhaled his magnificent masculine scent, almost took things a step further and leaned into him. She wanted her head on that broad chest, his strong arms around her. Ridiculous to want so badly what she would only hold for a little while. Perhaps that was what made it so appealing. If she knew she would have him for the remainder of her days, surely she would grow as bored with him as he would with her. It was the circumstance, the finite hours that were ticking by far too quickly. Why were they still down here anyway? Why hadn’t he carried her up to bed already? Why were they still clothed when she longed for silken flesh over slick skin?

  Leisurely, as though he had the power to stop the clocks, and minutes weren’t passing that could never be regained, he slipped his hand inside his jacket and like a magician she’d once seen, he pulled forth a black velvet box that appeared too large to have been hidden so effectively inside a coat pocket. He held it toward her. “For you.”

  Now she was the one moving as though time had stopped, as though nothing was to be gained in hurrying. Slowly she opened the box and stared in wonder at the most beautiful set of rubies interspersed with tiny diamonds that she’d ever seen. She imagined the necklace around her throat, draped across her collarbone. Shaking her head, she closed the velvet lid and extended the box toward him. “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean you can’t?” he asked, his brow furrowing so deeply that it had to be painful.

  “It’s as though you’re rewarding me for being in your bed. To accept it would make me feel like a whore.”

  “You do recall that I’m giving you five thousand pounds. Not to mention paying off your damned debt.”

  She’d angered him, not at all the mood she wanted for tonight. She didn’t want drama. She simply wanted . . . peace. She wanted what had passed between them in the dark of the night. “I haven’t forgotten, but this feels different. I can’t explain.”

  He dropped into a nearby chair and stared up at her. “You are the most confounding person I’ve ever met. I’ve given jewelry to countless women. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  His words st
ung, tiny barbs pricking at her heart. She’d thought she was special, had attributed some meaning to the gorgeous item, placed more value on it because it was coming from him. “I suppose that’s it. You rain jewelry down on women who visit your bed. It makes me like all the others.”

  “Trust me, Rose, you are nothing at all like any of the others.”

  Slowly she sank into a chair. “Why?”

  His jaw tightened. “Why what?”

  “How am I different?”

  Narrowing his eyes, he drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair, one at a time, rolling them along, over and over. “For one thing, you’re not falling over yourself striving to please me at every turn. You prick my temper. You’re argumentative. You challenge me. You—­”

  “You want it easy?” she asked. “Life, Your Grace, is not easy for everyone.”

  “You think my life is easy?”

  “What else am I to think when you don’t share anything of significance with me?”

  “What you should think is that you should be damned grateful I don’t burden you with the troubles in my life.” Abruptly he stood and tossed the velvet case back into her lap. “You don’t have to accept it but you will wear it while you’re here.”

  She shot up, not reaching out to save the velvet when it plopped to the floor. “The terms of our agreement do not take away my choices. I agreed to be with you for a week, but I will not be controlled. What I wear during our time together is my decision.”

  “Fine, do as you please. We’re going to the club this evening. I was going to ask you to wear the red you wore the night we met. But wear whatever pleases you as I no longer give a damn.”

  As he stormed from the room, tears stung her eyes. What the devil had just happened?

  Chapter 11

  Within his library, Avendale splashed scotch carelessly into a glass and downed it in one long swallow. He welcomed the burn, the heat, anything to counter the anger coursing through him. Anger at himself because sharp disappointment had gouged him when she rejected his gift. It felt like a rejection of him. Especially as he’d spent nearly an hour striving to find the perfect necklace for her. The red had to be the right shade, the diamonds not too many. The piece itself could not be overwhelming and yet it needed to be noticeable. Barely.

  He poured more scotch, tossed it back. Generally when he selected jewelry for a lady, he purchased the first piece he saw. He didn’t care if it was gaudy or too small. He didn’t care how it would fall just below her neck. He didn’t give any thought as to whether she would like it or it was suited to her.

  He’d agonized over his decision today. Fretted over it, wanting so much to please her. Now it irritated the devil out of him that he’d given so much weight to his decision.

  She was with him because of five thousand quid and she drew the line at sparkling stones? He’d never understand her, and damn it all to hell but he’d never wanted anything as desperately as he wanted that. To know her thoughts, to not doubt that when she was with him she was his true Rose and not the swindler.

  He wanted something real between them and that made him an utter fool.

  He would use her body, as often, as hard, as quickly as he could while she was here. He would get his money’s worth. If he hadn’t already arranged for a private game at the club tonight, he wouldn’t take her out. He’d simply drag her straight to bed. But friends would be waiting and he’d appear more the fool if he canceled.

  After tonight, except for her afternoon visits, during the little bit of time left to them, they wouldn’t leave the mattress. He would take her as many times as physically possible. She thought the gift of the necklace made her feel like a whore? He would bloody well ensure—­

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nearly crouched and swung around to defend himself at the soft voice. So lost in his temper, he hadn’t heard the door open, hadn’t heard her join him. He didn’t look at her. Just poured more scotch and tossed it back.

  “I’ve never been given such an exquisite gift before,” she continued. “I may have placed more meaning on it than I should have.”

  He took a glass, filled it with scotch, and turning slightly, offered it to her. “I don’t view you as a whore.”

  She took the glass. “Between us there is naught but the physical.”

  “I enjoy your company, Rose. Except when we’re at odds.” He released a rough, self-­deprecating laugh. “Hell, even then. You have the ability to anger me. No other woman has ever done that. It’s odd. The things I notice when I’m with you. The things I consider. You are more than bared breasts and sweet thighs.”

  The lips he had intended to kiss the moment after he gave her necklace curled up. “There you are again, making me blush with such lovely prose.”

  He gave her a wry grin. “I’ve never had to spout drivel to get a woman into my bed. A title, wealth, power, prestige, influence—­when they are the cloak of your character you need nothing else. All you have to do is crook a finger. Although you are here for the money, I don’t think you’re impressed by the others.”

  “I am very much impressed, Your Grace, but as you say, they are your cloak. I’m far more interested in what lies beneath it.”

  The grin he bestowed this time was the devilish one that he had practiced to perfection in his youth. “I believe you were introduced to that last night.”

  A red hue swept up her cheeks. “There’s more to you than that.”

  “Not much more, I’m afraid.” Setting aside his glass, he wandered over to a window, gazed out on the perfectly manicured gardens. “How was your visit to your residence?”

  She joined him at the window. “Far too short.”

  He slid his gaze over to her. “Don’t even consider that we’ll renegotiate that part of our bargain. Our time together won’t be nearly long enough as is.”

  “I assumed you would become quickly bored with me.”

  “To be honest, so did I. How fortunate for you that we were both wrong.”

  She laughed, a sound that shimmered through him clear down to his heels. She sobered. “I’ll wear the necklace, but I don’t think I can take it with me. After all I’ve done, I don’t deserve a gift.”

  “It was a costly piece. You could sell it for a princely sum.”

  “I think I would treasure it far too much to ever sell it.”

  Her words would have appeased his disappointment if he thought she’d attach sentiment to the piece, but she was too pragmatic. She would treasure it because of its monetary value, perhaps for its beauty. Still, he said, “Then take it as a reminder of our time together.”

  “I’ll need no reminders.” Rising up on her toes, she brushed her lips over his, before placing her hand behind his head and bending him forward so her mouth settled more possessively over his, her tongue urging his lips to part.

  It was the first time that she’d initiated a kiss between them and it caused a tight pain in his chest that he thought might be the death of him. No woman had ever been as aggressive with him, had ever taken as though it were her right to do so. He always led, guided, determined the dance. He liked that she didn’t hold back, that she let him know what she wanted, when she wanted it.

  Winding his arms around her, he pressed her flat against him, running his hands up and down her slender back. She could stoke the flames of his desire so easily. She drove him to madness with only the slightest of willingness. She was ruining him. He’d never be content with anyone else.

  Although if he were honest, he wasn’t certain he ever had been. Not as he was with her.

  With her everything was different: the sensations, the passion, the hunger. Ten minutes after he devoured her, he wanted to devour her all over again. Without taking his mouth from hers, not that he thought he could with the way she was clutching him, the insistence with which her lips stayed moored to his, he lifted her
up and walked toward the desk. When he got to it, with an awkward sweep of an arm, striving not to drop her in the process, he sent everything on top clattering to the floor.

  With a laugh, she broke their connection. “Here?”

  “Here.”

  Her eyes glittered as she began unknotting his neck cloth. He hiked up her skirts. She quickly unbuttoned his waistcoat and shirt. Then her hands were skimming over his skin, caressing, outlining. He unfastened his trousers, before gliding one hand up her thigh until his fingers were lost in the honeyed heat that was ready for him.

  Placing her hands behind his head, she drew him back in, returning that wonderful, luscious mouth of hers to his. He shifted her body, brought her nearer, before plunging deep, growling low as she closed tightly around him.

  She rained kisses over his neck and chest while he rocked against her. Harder, faster. Their harsh breaths echoed around them.

  Clutching him, she cried out his name, either a benediction or a curse, he couldn’t tell which. Her name on his lips was definitely a curse as pleasure ratcheted through him, unforgiving and furious. He held her tightly while the spasms had their way, and she tightened around him, her haven still undulating from her own release.

  Why was it always so intense with her? Why did he feel weakened afterward, yet incredibly powerful? With a long, shuddering sigh, he pressed his forehead to hers. “We shall be late for our engagement.”

  “Must we go?”

  He’d never known a woman who seemed to welcome the coming together with the fierceness that she did. “We’re expected.”

  She leaned back until she could hold his gaze. “By whom?”

  “A few friends. We’ve set up a private card game. The stakes are high, which makes it more thrilling.”

  “So I’ll just observe.”

  “You’ll play.”

  “I’m not putting any of the five thousand at risk.”

  He tucked stray strands of her hair behind her ear. He liked her flushed skin and unkempt state. “All expenses are on me this week, remember?”