by Amelia Grey
He took in her beauty, knowing that she could see his great need for her once again in his eyes. He ached deeply for her.
In seconds, her nipples swelled and hardened beneath his gentle tug. The soft, feminine sounds of delight she made elated him and added to his own enjoyment.
“Does that pleasure you, Henrietta?” he murmured against her lips, not wanting to stop kissing her long enough to speak clearly.
“You know how it pleases me, Blake.”
He chuckled into her mouth. “I can hardly breathe myself,” he whispered. “I love the taste of you.”
He continued to massage her breasts, loving the feel of their soft, firm weight in his hands. Just touching her helped ease the intense hunger inside him and gave him such pleasure that he never wanted to stop. A burning heat surged through his loins, and a longing filled his heart. Her arms went around his back and she hugged him to her. Soon they were moving as one in a beautiful, glorious rhythm. Their tempo increased until Henrietta cried out in sweet passion. Blake felt her body relax against him, and he spilled his seed into her for the second time.
He had never felt so complete.
He bent his head and kissed that warm, soft spot behind her ear. He inhaled the scent of fresh washed hair. For a moment, he rested his face in the crook of her neck. He breathed deeply, drinking in her warm, womanly scent.
He kissed her silky feminine skin, feeling immense satisfaction in the way she responded to him. He savored the sensations that touching her gave him.
She was the woman he wanted forever in his life. He loved her with no doubts and no reservations. For the first time, he was certain he wanted no other woman but this one.
“We should arrange our clothing before someone knocks on the door,” she whispered.
She was so warm and inviting that he hated the thought of moving away from her for any reason. But if Blake had learned anything about Henrietta, it was that she needed order in her life. She wanted her clothing straight and proper. He understood.
He withdrew from her and turned away to button his breeches and give her privacy to deal with her gown.
When his clothes were set aright and his neckcloth perfectly tied, he turned back to her and asked, “Do you need any help with your dress?”
She was calm, just as he expected. “No, thank you.”
His fingers feathered the outline of her face as he looked down at her and whispered a deeper feeling than he thought possible, “You do realize that what just happened between us is irreversible.”
“I understand. I am fully aware of the implications of what happened between us, Your Grace, and you needn’t feel any guilt or responsibility.”
His eyes searched her face. He saw her love for him in her eyes and he smiled. “My name is Blake, Henrietta. I want you to call me Blake.”
She nodded.
“There is no need for guilt from either one of us.” He smiled at her. “As for responsibility, that has not changed. I will take care of you, Henrietta. I know what needs to be done, but it’s going to take some time to work out the details on how to go about it. I’m going to get started on that right away.”
He turned and left the room.
Nineteen
Dearest Lucien,
What do you think about these wise words from Lord Chesterfield? “Good sense will make you be esteemed, good manners be loved, and wit give a lustre to both. I have known many a man of common sense pass generally for a fool, because he affected a degree of wit that God had denied him.”
Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder
HENRIETTA DIDN’T KNOW HOW LONG SHE STOOD IN the book room after Blake left. She simply couldn’t move. In the aftermath of their heated passion, she had straightened her hair and her clothing, but her mind was in a state of disarray. She needed time to collect her thoughts and categorize them as to importance. She needed time to evaluate what had happened between them and draw some conclusions.
Blake had told her that she tempted him beyond his control. She had no doubt about this. She felt the same way about him. Still, she would not deny herself his attentions. She encouraged him. She understood the ramifications and took responsibility for what happened. She must pay the price for her wanton disregard for his vulnerability concerning her.
She wasn’t unhappy, nor was she distraught about their coming together in the heat of passion. How could she be dismayed over something she’d wanted so desperately from the man she loved with all her heart? She treasured every moment they were together. She loved experiencing all the wonderful things he’d shown her—how he could make her feel, and how she made him feel. She would never forget one touch or one kiss of their time together.
Blake’s happiness, his well-being, and his life were of utmost importance to her. The only questions for her were: where did she go from here, and what would be best for Blake?
Henrietta knew he wouldn’t want her to continue living in his house, tempting him. Few avenues were available to young ladies who were compromised, the convent being the most likely choice for her. She really couldn’t imagine Blake marrying her off to an elderly baron who lived so far up north she would never see the lights of London again or allowing her to present herself as a pure young lady to a gentleman of Society, such as Lord Waldo Rockcliffe or Lord Snellingly. She supposed he could deem her qualified to be a governess or perhaps a paid companion to an elderly woman in need of a kind ear.
Henrietta took several deep breaths and smiled. Yes, life as a paid companion or in the convent it would be. It wasn’t that she wanted to do either one. She didn’t. She didn’t have the temperament for a life of servitude, and she knew it would be a struggle, but she would do her best to hold her tongue and be obedient.
Both, entering a convent or becoming a companion, had one major advantage. The duke would no longer be her guardian, thereby freeing him from the curse. That, and only that, was the reason she would agree.
Henrietta smiled again. Blake would be free to live out his normal life. Just not with her. Henrietta’s smile faded. Her heart ached at the thought of never seeing him again. She would only have her memories of the wonderful times she spent with him in his book room.
“Oh, there you are, Miss Tweed,” Mrs. Ellsworth said, walking into the book room with a tray. “His Grace told me you needed a cup of hot tea. I took it all the way up to your room thinking you were there.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Ellsworth. A cup of hot tea would be nice.”
“His Grace said you had a foul reaction to a dog. Dear, dear, and I can see that you did. Your lips are a mite red and your eyes a little swollen. Shall I pour it for you?”
Henrietta was not up to the chatty woman staying one moment longer than necessary. “No, thank you, Mrs. Ellsworth, you may return to your other duties. I’ll take care of it.”
Mrs. Ellsworth walked to the door and then turned back and said, “His Grace told me you wouldn’t be going out to the parties tonight. What time should I have Cook prepare your supper?”
“The usual time will be fine.”
The housekeeper smiled, nodded, and left.
Food was the last thing on Henrietta’s mind. She couldn’t feel any less like eating. Right now she wanted to plan how best to put order back in her life.
She poured herself a cup of tea and looked around the book room. A sudden sense of loneliness overwhelmed her. She would miss this room with all its wonderful memories. The duke’s desk caught her eye. More mail had been delivered while she was in Hyde Park with Lord Waldo. It lay scattered on his desk.
Taking her cup, she walked over and sat down in his chair. She smiled. It would give her great pleasure to organize his correspondence for him one last time.
Blake waited impatiently in the drawing room of Gibby’s town house. His butler had told him that Gibby was indisposed at the moment but would be below stairs momentarily. Blake assumed Gibby was getting dressed for the evening’s parties. Blake couldn’t sit still, so h
e paced in front of a camel-backed, gold-and red-striped settee.
He wasn’t happy with the way he had treated Henrietta. She deserved better than a frolic in his book room, but… what could he say? He’d wanted her to such a great extent that he had simply lost the desire to control himself. He had failed to treat her like a lady, and that pained him greatly.
First, he should not have compromised her, and second, not in such a devilish way. He would make that up to her as soon as they married. He would make love to her in a soft bed with flowers and candles filling the room. But he had to do something right now that was even more important than matrimony.
“To what do I owe the honor of this pleasure?” Gibby said, walking into the room with all the dapper sophistication of an elderly statesman. He held up his hand. “Wait, don’t tell me; I’ll guess. You have come to your good senses.”
“It’s more like I have lost them.”
A confused expression eased across Gibby’s face. “Do you mean you’ve decided that Mrs. Simple’s idea is a smashing one, and you not only approve, but you want to help us get her business, shall we say, off the ground?”
Blake harrumphed. He was in no mood for mindless banter with Gibby. “I’m not that insane yet, old man. I’m not even here to talk about Mrs. Simple.”
“Well, that’s discouraging. You’ve always done such a splendid job of maligning her character. Why should you stop now?”
“I’ve done no such thing, Gib,” Blake argued. “I’ve only questioned you about her motives for your involvement in her ridiculous scheme.”
“See, you even refer to it as a scheme instead of a business venture. You and your unexceptional cousins have had a variety of unsavory Bow Street Runners asking about her and her deceased husband all over London for more than a week now.”
Blake sighed. That was true. He should have known Gibby would figure that out. He might as well tell him the conclusion he’d come to about Mrs. Simple and her ballooning idea and get it over with. Clearly Gibby thought Blake had come to his house to discuss the woman’s proposition.
After taking a deep breath, Blake said, “All right, we’ll talk about Mrs. Simple first. Just so you know, I’ve spoken with Morgan and Race about this, and we’re all in agreement that Mrs. Simple is not nefarious.”
Gibby gave Blake an “I told you so” smile. “So it took all three of you putting your minds together to come to that conclusion, did it? Figures.”
“But we do think she wants to take advantage of you,” Blake added.
The old man lifted his eyebrows suggestively. “Mmm. Now, there’s an idea that sounds promising. Usually the gentlemen take advantage of the ladies.”
No one needed to tell Blake how true that statement was.
“I’m not meaning in that way, Gib.”
“In what way?”
“I’m talking about her soliciting money from you—and you never getting anything for it in return.”
Gibby walked over to a side table with a satinwood finish and poured claret into two glasses. He handed one to Blake and then motioned for him to take a seat in one of the fancy side chairs in front of the window. Blake obliged, and Gibby sat in the chair opposite him.
His aged eyes narrowed, and he cocked his head. “What makes you think I won’t be getting anything in return for the money I give her?”
Blake sipped the wine and let it settle on his tongue for a few moments before swallowing. “Balloons shuffling passengers from one place to another won’t make enough money to pay back your investment or keep Mrs. Simple out of debtors’ prison, Gib, no matter how much you give her.”
A smile started slowly at the corners of Gibby’s mouth and widened into a big happy beam. He asked, “So, all this time you have been thinking that I want to be paid back with money?”
That gave Blake reason to pause. “Well, I didn’t think…”
“You didn’t think. What an admission.” Gibby laughed heartily.
Blake studied Gibby with curiosity for a moment. The old man was always full of surprises. He was still a handsome devil. He looked at least ten, if not more, years younger than he actually was. It never dawned on Blake, and obviously not his two cousins, either, that Gibby might be enjoying certain womanly favors from Mrs. Simple.
“I have more money than I know what to do with, Blake,” Gibby said, before putting the wine glass to his lips again.
“That doesn’t mean you should squander it on some woman’s foolish notions.”
“I don’t intend to. I might be old, but I still like to take pleasure in the attentions of a pretty woman from time-to-time.”
Blake relaxed against the back of the chair and took a drink of his wine. “I hope you never get too old for that pleasure, Gib.”
“You, Morgan, and Race worry too much about me.”
“We have to. We promised our grandmother that we would take care of you.”
“Even in death, she torments me.” Gibby chuckled again. “She only did that because she knew it would annoy the devil out of me. But I do miss her. It’s too bad the old chit had to go before me. I would much rather have had it the other way around.”
That reminded Blake of the reason he had come to see Gibby in the first place. He needed to get on with the mission at hand. He had a lot to do tonight.
“Unfortunately, we don’t get to choose who goes first. But back to Mrs. Simple, I think you should give her enough money to make four balloons. That would give her a total of six. Suggest to her that she open a recreation business with the balloons rather than a travel business. Convince her that she will have more success with a venture like that, and I think you believe that, too. This way you won’t be out too much blunt for whatever way she repays you.”
Gibby looked out the window and said, “It’s probably best I adhere to your wise counsel on this matter. Your judgment sounds reasonable, though I have found great enjoyment in the attention Mrs. Simple has lavished on me these past few weeks. I suppose it is time I brought it to an end.”
Blake took in a silent breath of relief. “I’m sure her consideration is worth a few pounds to you,” he said with a smile. “Perhaps the respect and interest she shows you now will continue even after you settle your debt of honor with her.”
Gibby smiled and lifted his glass to Blake. “Perhaps she will, but I think it will stop once she gets the money. She’ll be busy with her balloon venture.”
With that settled, Blake drew his brows together in concern. “I need to ask you something, Gib.”
The smile faded from the old man’s face, as if he sensed a more serious topic was on the horizon.
“Go ahead.”
“Do you remember that I told you Henrietta thinks she is cursed because all her guardians have died?”
“That’s not the kind of thing I’m likely to forget. How many people think they are cursed?”
“Right.” Blake paused, trying to think of the best way to say what he wanted to say. “I need to convince her that I’m not going to die—ah, that is, any time in the near future. Gibby, she really believes I’m in constant danger of dying soon.”
“With good reason, considering what happened to all her previous guardians.”
“I don’t believe in curses, Gib. Those men died because it was their time. It was their fate to die when they did. But I can’t convince Henrietta of that, and I don’t want her living with the fear that I will die soon.”
“You want to marry her, don’t you?”
Blake shifted in his chair, surprised. “How did you know that?”
“Everyone in the Great Hall knew it except that whimpering sap Lord Waldo, that pompous Lord Snellingly, and a few other fools. You stood on the side of the room watching her with an eagle’s eye the entire night. You marrying her will not come as a surprise to anyone, except maybe you.”
“Damnation. Morgan told me no one else noticed.”
“He lied.”
“That bastard,” Blake muttered. “And R
ace, too.”
Gibby laughed again. “How can you be angry with them? They did it to spare you, and you would have done the same for either of them. Besides, they knew it was just a matter of time before you realized it yourself.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter, because first thing tomorrow morning, I’m going to apply for a special license for us to marry as soon as possible.”
“The wait is usually about three days, but you being a duke, you might make it happen sooner.”
“Do you mean that there might actually be an advantage to being a duke?”
Gibby chuckled. “Yes.”
“My problem is that I don’t want her living the rest of her life with this fear that I’m going to die tomorrow because the name ‘the Duke of Blakewell’ was on her father’s list of guardians.”
“I see what you mean. That would put a damper on her happiness, for sure.”
“I know Henrietta. It would always be at the back of her mind, no matter how many years passed.”
Gibby seemed to study over Blake’s comment for a moment, and then he rose. “I know exactly what needs to be done. Give me your glass and let me refill it for you while I tell you about it.”
Twenty
My Dearest Grandson Lucien,
On a few occasions, I have seen it my duty to disagree with Lord Chesterfield, and this statement is one of them that I choose not to accept: “I must freely tell you that, in matters of religion and matrimony, I never give any advice, because I will not have anybody’s torments in this world or the next laid to my charge.”
Your loving Grandmother, Lady Elder
BLAKE STRODE THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR OF HIS TOWN house, taking off his gloves.
“Your Grace, I’m glad you’re home.”
“Not now, Ashby,” Blake said, tossing his gloves, hat, and cloak into the butler’s hands without breaking his stride. “I don’t have time.”
The hour was late. After Blake left Gibby, it had taken him longer at his solicitor’s home than he had hoped.
