The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series

by Jillian Hunter

  His expression did not soften. She hoped he would understand. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the shambles she’d made of his wardrobe drawers, or that she’d found what she thought were French letters tucked between a pack of playing cards and a pair of dove gray gloves.

  But more than anything she hoped that he had her diary in his possession but hadn’t read it.

  His deep voice caressed her. “Come downstairs to my study, Charlotte. I find it impossible to think clearly with you so close to my bed. And, yes, I have your diary.”

  She was afraid to ask whether he’d read it. She felt giddy with relief that at least it wasn’t lost. He led her to his darkened study. If Harriet had searched the room, she hadn’t left any visible sign of her presence.

  But there also weren’t any signs of Harriet in the house. Where had she gone?

  “Sit down on the sofa, Charlotte,” the duke said. “I assume you don’t mind if I use your first name.” He paused, waiting for her to be seated. “Considering that we appear to know each other so well, it only seems appropriate.”

  “You read my diary…How humiliating! How could you?”

  “It wasn’t easy, believe me. It is to your credit, however, that it claimed all my attention.”

  “I don’t think I deserve credit for what I’ve done.”

  “Or written?” He sat beside her.

  She lowered her fan to her lap.

  “Well?” he said, giving her an expectant look.

  Charlotte raised her gaze to his. “Well, what?”

  “I believe that the treasure hunt called for a duke’s kiss.”

  “Oh, that.” She twirled her fan in a bleak wave. “I made it up. I’m not really on a hunt.”

  “I know.” He raised his hand. His fingers glided down her face, warm, knowing, in no hurry. “But I am, and I will claim my kiss.”

  She swallowed a gasp. His other hand curled around her nape. She felt her hair spill loose as he pulled her pins that held its heavy weight in a knot. The words that had come so easily when she wrote of him now abandoned her. Or she abandoned herself.

  She knew only that when he lowered his head and kissed her, her desire for him was no playful dream. It was desperation. It was undeniable need. She closed her eyes, the better to surrender to him. His mouth coaxed a response. Her lips parted, and his kiss led her into darkness, lured her toward…what? She didn’t know. But he did. Her head fell back against his hand. His tongue delved into her mouth and he kissed her until shivering pleasure seeped into her bones. Her pulse soared. Her blood roared. She drifted, weightless, into her first encounter with decadence.

  “Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice harsh, his mouth a maddening breath from hers.

  “I— Yes…”

  “But I want more.”

  He pressed her back, her shoulder sinking between the cushions. For a moment he didn’t move. His hooded eyes claimed victory, branded her with heat too intense to bear. She felt it race through her veins and to her fingertips.

  He bent over her, his body hard, aroused, every inch a hot-blooded male. He brought his hand up slowly to sculpt the shape of her breasts. A sweet pain pierced her. She arched her back.

  “I could carry you back upstairs to my bedroom—”

  “No. I can’t. You can’t.”

  A merciless smile spread across his shadowed face. His hand stroked upward to the front of her gown.

  “We can’t do this,” she whispered, lifting her hand to his chest.

  “Why not?” he asked softly. “We did it in your diary, which implies consent, if not an engraved invitation. Of course, I was not consulted. But I can’t imagine I would have denied you if you’d asked.”

  “I didn’t break into your house to strike up a liaison,” she said indignantly, staring up into his sardonic face.

  “But you did break in, and you’re in my arms. Do you know that property is nine points of the law?”

  “Property?” she said, pushing herself upright.

  “Would you like a brandy?”

  “Yes,” she said, even though brandy usually went right to her head.

  “I think I could use one myself.”

  Harriet stood at the door to the study, unable to believe her eyes. She recognized the duke right away. But who was the long-haired lady he was leaning over and kissing with such wanton disregard that neither of them knew they had an audience?

  Oh, God. Charlotte. It couldn’t be. Yet it had to be.

  She backed away.

  What should she do?

  She couldn’t let Charlotte be ruined.

  But then again, she couldn’t let her lose the man she desired. And Wynfield obviously desired her, although how a harmless fancy had become a ruinous interlude the moment Harriet turned her back was a mystery to be pondered later.

  Here she’d been afraid that Charlotte had accidentally locked herself in a closet, when she’d actually been locked in the duke’s embrace, acting out one of the alleged entries in the diary that had started this affair.

  She looked so defenseless sitting on that sofa clutching her fan that Gideon’s protective instincts overpowered his basic nature. He felt like a bastard for calling her bluff. “How long have you been keeping your diary?”

  “Diaries. Ever since I learned to write.”

  He took a swallow of brandy. “Were you always so inventive?”

  “I embellished the truth in a few places. I wanted to write my life as a fairy tale. I never intended for anyone else to read it. It’s not all fabricated.”

  “Fabricated? Embellished? My angel of mischief, not even the names were changed to protect the guilty. But I have to admit I’m curious—how long have we been engaged in this affair?”

  “A year,” she whispered, sighing over the top of her fan.

  His eyebrows shot up. “All that time and you never told me? Where exactly did it start?”

  “At a circulating library,” she confessed with a smile.

  He smiled back and pried the empty glass from her hand. “I wish I’d known. At the very least I would have sent you flowers to commemorate our anniversary.”

  She laughed, and so did he. He had to admit this was a unique predicament, and he was flattered that she had found him desirable.

  “You didn’t even know I existed until this evening, and then it took Devon to push you in my direction.”

  “You’re wrong. I remember seeing you once at the emporium. I noticed you, and if I’d had a notion that you had such a passionate nature, I would have insisted we dance at the ball.”

  “I poured my foolish heart into that diary.”

  “If it’s any comfort, I found what I read illuminating.”

  She lowered her head. “Humiliating is what you mean. Will you tell anyone?”

  “Why should I?” He took a drink of his brandy. “It’s our affair.”

  “Where did you leave the diary?”

  “In my carriage.”

  “How much did you read?” she asked quietly.

  He put their glasses on the table. “Enough that I was flattered and insulted in turns. Enough that I’m not sure I know myself whether I’m a devil or a saint.”

  “I’m not sure that I want to be in your company when enlightenment dawns.”

  “Why not? It was your observations that drew my attention to this moral dilemma.”

  “But you made an arrangement tonight.”

  “I almost made an arrangement. No papers have been signed. I’m a free man, in any event.”

  She looked up, her blue eyes clouded with rue. “I’m too ashamed to offer any excuses.”

  He reached out and traced his thumb across her cheekbone. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. I can assure you that I never apologize for my imprudences.”

  “Imprudent,” she said, sighing. “That describes my—”

  He cut her off, lifting his hand from her face. “Hush a moment.”

  “What is it?”

  “A car
riage stopping outside.”

  She blinked. “It must be Harriet.”

  “How could it be Harriet?”

  She rose, searching for the pins he’d pulled out of her hair. “She brought me here. I told you.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said, staring at the row of white satin buttons on the back of her gown. “What if she’d seen us?”

  “We wouldn’t have heard the end of it.”

  He turned his head. “Harriet must have brought a few friends along. I hear voices.”

  Charlotte ran to the window and gasped. “Oh, no.”

  And Gideon didn’t even bother to ask her what was wrong. He listened to the thunderous knocking at the front door; he knew that the evening held another surprise in store and it would not be as pleasant as finding Charlotte Boscastle in his bedchamber.

  Chapter 10

  Gideon didn’t know at what point in the evening he’d sensed that nothing would ever be the same in his life again. Had it been at the ball? At Mrs. Watson’s? Or in his bedroom with Charlotte? He had woken up alone that morning with the assumption he would end up in bed with Gabrielle.

  Who could have predicted what had happened in the hours between?

  The instant he recognized Lords Devon and Heath Boscastle frozen in the doorway, a small group of friends surging behind them, he realized that his life was about to change, but not in a particularly thrilling way. He would awaken every morning in the years ahead with a mistress—a schoolmistress, that was. The lady who was cowering behind him while trying to pin up her hair and making the whole situation look worse than it really was would likely become his wife. He could see no escape from the situation that had rapidly spun out of control.

  He turned slowly to Charlotte and met her gaze. “Do not say a word. I will deal with this.”

  “We’re doomed,” she whispered.

  His thoughts exactly.

  The door flew open. Gideon looked straight at Devon, the tallest of the bunch, his friendly grin vanishing when he realized Charlotte was in the room. Pushing up behind Devon were his older brothers Heath and Drake, murder in their eyes. And there were two women, only one he knew, and another lady and gentleman close behind them.

  “This is supposed to be a treasure hunt,” Jane said with a strained smile. “How bad of you to start without us, Your Grace. Or have you hunted your quarry for the night?”

  “Madam,” he said, positioning himself between Charlotte and the marchioness, whose green eyes glittered with anger. “This isn’t what it appears to be.”

  She lowered her voice. “Perhaps you are not entirely at fault, but my husband will not care. This is an insult. If I were a man, I would call you out for the damage you’ve done to her reputation.”

  Drake Boscastle deftly stepped around her. “Well, I am a man, and I don’t mind murdering him. How could you bring her here without a chaperone?”

  “I do have a chaperone,” Charlotte said quickly. “Harriet drove me here, in fact.”

  Drake stared around the room. “Then where is she? I don’t see her.”

  “I have no idea,” Charlotte said. “We were in the duke’s bedroom and we separated.”

  “In his bedroom?” Drake’s hand shot out to grab Gideon’s neck cloth, but Charlotte jumped between them to intercept the attack.

  “I did ask you not to say anything,” Gideon said softly.

  “Aren’t you the generous protector?” Jane said. “Weren’t you supposed to meet your new mistress at Audrey’s tonight?”

  Devon shoved forward and pulled Charlotte out of his way. “How could you do this to me?” he demanded of Gideon.

  “I was wondering the same thing about you,” he replied.

  Devon snorted, pulling off his cloak. “Did you plan this before I spoke to you?”

  “Plan what? My self-destruction at a graduation ball?”

  “Where is Harriet?” Jane asked, staring at the two empty brandy glasses on the table. “Charlotte, why didn’t you come to me before committing this folly?”

  Gideon restrained the urge to throw everyone except Charlotte into the street and let them argue all night long. His butler, Shelby, was trying to squeeze through the room, his passage blocked, his voice rising in woeful apology.

  “I swear I tried to stop them, Your Grace. I swear I did. But they insisted it was a game, and that you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Well, I do mind,” Gideon said, looking disgruntled.

  Devon looked as if he wanted to kill him, and Gideon would have been glad for the chance to do the same to him. He knew he looked as guilty as hell. What was done was done. All the excuses in the world wouldn’t change the outcome.

  “I didn’t invite Miss Boscastle here.”

  “Did you invite Harriet?” Jane inquired archly.

  He ignored her.

  Devon shook his head in disappointment. “I asked you to flatter her with your attention for a few moments, not the entire night. And I didn’t mean this sort of flattery, as you damn well know.”

  “I didn’t start this,” Gideon said tersely, trying to use the truth as his defense. There were only two feasible solutions to satisfy honor. He’d either kill or be killed in a duel. Or…A second possibility loomed off again in the distance, which was death of a different order: He could propose marriage rather than be bullied into it. Marriage.

  To a schoolmistress. Granted, she defied the prim reserve that one associated with her profession. Granted, her hidden fire was a fascinating element he had not expected to arouse. But he hadn’t intended to enter another marriage at this point in his life.

  He cut Charlotte a concerned glance. She looked like a watercolor lady again. It didn’t matter that her appearance was deceptive. He couldn’t expose her in front of all these people by explaining the truth.

  What would her family and friends think if he announced that he’d found her exploring a drawer that held his French letters? The gossips wouldn’t care that she was looking for what was hers. Or that he was particular about where he put his rod.

  Devon’s wife, Jocelyn, had waddled into the room to put a restraining hand on his arm. The glare she sent Gideon made him feel like a great villain.

  Then he heard Devon mutter, “I shall never forgive myself for this.”

  Charlotte raised her voice, not shy or reserved at all. “That makes two of us, Devon Boscastle. It wasn’t enough for you to disgrace yourself as the Kissing Bandit and force poor Jocelyn to marry you. You had to poke your nose in my business and ruin my life as well.”

  The duke turned to Devon with a dark expression. “I did ask you to be quiet, Charlotte. Let me take care of this.”

  “No,” Devon said, handing his cloak to his wife. “We’ve fought each other plenty of times at the fencing salon. Why don’t we settle our differences with another match?”

  There was time only to nudge Charlotte back toward the sofa before he swung around to defend himself. Gideon understood why Devon was enraged; given a chance he could explain this predicament when the young hothead was ready to listen to reason.

  But for now a pair of great fists were flying at him, right and left. He ducked, dancing around a chair until it was obvious he was either going to knock Devon out or take a hit himself.

  “Stop it!” Colonel Lord Heath Boscastle inserted his lean frame between the two hard-breathing opponents, his brother Drake pushing over his shoulder. “If you do end up fighting you will do it at the proper time and place, and not with ladies present. For all we know, there is no reason to quarrel.”

  Gideon turned, inadvertently meeting Charlotte’s gaze. The regret in her eyes looked too genuine for him to believe this had been an elaborate scheme.

  He pulled his neck cloth loose, then looked around again to discover Devon glowering at him.

  “I thought you were too interested in her at the ball.”

  Gideon’s eyes flashed in warning. “It was your idea for me to ask her to dance.”

  Colonel Lord Heath Bo
scastle intervened again. “The rest of this conversation will be conducted at Grayson’s house in private tomorrow. I think it is safe to say that this hunt is over and it’s time for everyone to go home.”

  Chapter 11

  Harriet had just returned to the front steps after searching the mews behind the garden when the subdued group emerged from the duke’s town house. She came immediately to Charlotte’s side and took her hand.

  “Did you find it?” Charlotte whispered.

  “No.”

  “Where were you?”

  “In the carriage house and the rear,” Harriet whispered back. “And then I caught a glimpse of you and him in the study. Just weep buckets when anyone questions you. Pretend to faint.”

  “I wish you’d found that wretched diary.”

  “Look on the bright side. At least after tonight you have some genuine experience to write about.”

  Charlotte looked around.

  Devon was scowling at her as if she were a Hydra-headed monster. Her cousins-in-law, Jane and Jocelyn, gave her supportive looks. At least Jane seemed to have sympathy for the situation. The other members of the party hurried toward their carriage. As she passed Charlotte she whispered, “Chin up. Lips sealed.”

  Her dark-haired cousin Drake strode toward her, inclining his head to murmur, “Let those blue eyes talk for you.”

  But Heath, the Sphinx and master of the intimidating silence—he whose gaze could penetrate stone and the human soul, the man who had served as her guardian when she first came to London—sat back and stared at her in unblinking absorption during the entire drive home, his finger propped beneath his chin. Was he upset? Was he disgusted? Amused? Disinterested? No one could know for certain. It was best for her to hold her tongue until she knew how her explanation would be received.

  Nevertheless it was clear she had fulfilled the family legacy. She had brought disgrace upon herself and proved that her blood ran with all the passion of her predecessors.

  Gideon went upstairs with a bottle of brandy and drank half of it before he fell back on the bed. His “guests” had departed.