He spread his thighs and closed his eyes, climaxing in spasms of helpless release that he was afraid would never end.
But they did. The act had drained him. It had also invigorated him. It filled his body and soul with a satisfaction, a rightness, that he had not known he could feel.
And it was more than gratitude for a sexual act. It was a sign that she would go to any lengths to please him.
“Thank you,” he said, putting his head back and breathing out a sigh. “I will sleep well tonight.” He fumbled back with his hand and found a clean handkerchief in his vest pocket. He unfolded it and slowly forced himself to move.
She quietly made herself presentable and smoothed back her hair. “I’m glad,” she said. “You can sleep through the morning. I’ll have Devon—”
He leaned toward her. He gently wiped the side of her mouth and chin, staring into her eyes. “You will do nothing of the sort. I’m fighting that duel, and nothing is going to stop me.”
“The pair of you should sit down over coffee and hammer your differences out like—”
“Charlotte, sweetheart, do I tell you how to conduct your etiquette classes? Do I suggest that you teach the language of the fan in a manner that gentlemen, aside from Sir Godfrey, can understand it?”
“True gentlemen do understand it.”
“Maybe I’m not refined at heart.”
“Refinement is an art that requires practice.”
“Teach me at a later time,” he said quietly, unable to stop looking at her.
“Then my visit tonight was a mockery of your respect for me.”
“I assure you, nothing I did was to mock you.”
“My female charms have failed to persuade you.”
“On the contrary, your female charms are the reason I am fighting this duel.”
“And there is nothing I can do to stop you?”
“Not—” He cut himself off, turning his head. “Hush a moment. Did you hear anything at the window?”
She listened for a few moments. “It’s probably only rain. The window looks a little steamy, from what I can see of it.”
“Well, I don’t wonder why.” He pulled on his trousers and strode to the window to look through the curtains. “I swear it wasn’t rain I heard. But I do see Devon’s carriage waiting down the street. I shall hand you back to the meddlesome rogue and warn him that if he brings you out again at this hour, he will regret it.”
They quickly dressed. Charlotte walked with him to the door, hazarding a resigned look at his profile. “Well, at least you might sleep through the night. I won’t catch a wink. I should have realized it wasn’t your body that demands satisfaction. It’s your dangerous pride. Will you promise to be careful?”
“Only if you will promise the same, Charlotte. It seems that if you are not visiting a rogue, you’re being pursued by one.”
“You have no need to worry. Someone has already caught me.”
“That doesn’t seem to discourage other men from chasing after you.”
“No one chased me before you brought me to notice,” she said wistfully.
He shook his head. “I doubt that. Knowing you as I do now, it seems more likely that you were pursued and never noticed.”
She caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. “I don’t care. It’s only you I want. Please.”
He grasped her hand. “I’ll walk you to the carriage. And tomorrow we will confront whatever other crisis comes our way.”
Chapter 30
Nick stared up at the cracks in the ceiling, listening to the drunken laughter that came from the room above. The candle had burned out, and the smell of cheap tallow combined with the stench of the overflowing gutters that drifted in through the half-closed door. He’d grown up with that reek. So had Millie, even though she’d been retching when she got up to work. He almost felt sorry for her except that she’d bungled a chance to help him break into that duke’s house earlier that night. God, women made such noise.
No point in getting up to close the door. She would come home soon to stuff it shut with rags, whining that some customer had played too rough, and why hadn’t he protected her like he’d promised when she moved in? Well, he’d taken care of one before daybreak. He couldn’t kill every man she’d slept with, or he’d halve the populace.
“Hey, Nick, are you dead in there?” a youthful voice shouted through the passageway to the street above his cellar abode.
“Who wants to know?”
“Your mother. She said she’s dying and you need to bring ’er some spirits to ease ’er pain.”
“She’s always dyin’,” he muttered.
“Surgeon swore it’s true this time.” The owner of the voice materialized in the stagnant gloom, a young street thug in a cap and patched-up trousers. His name was Barney and he was a right pest. “Are you sick, too? You oughta drink some gin yourself.”
“Where’s Millie?” he asked without any inflection.
“She climbed in a coach with a customer and ain’t been back. She was cursin’ you up and down for ’er condition.” He bumped into the chest that served as a dinner table and nightstand. “A book? Are you using it for kindling?”
Nick jumped up and swatted the grimy hand that reached down for the diary. “That’s not suitable for youngsters. Anyway, you can’t read.”
“I didn’t think you could either,” Barney said with a brashness that he’d learned from Nick. He could open up an academy himself. “Are you coming to Piccadilly with us or not, Nick?”
“Later. Bugger off for now.”
“What about your ma?”
“What about ’er?”
“Nothing, Nick. I’ll wait for you at the pub in case you change your mind.”
He scratched his ribs. “Wait. What condition was Millie complaining about? If she got caught—”
“The lullaby cheat,” Barney answered on his way out.
“A baby?”
“Yeah.”
Nick kicked the door shut and swore as it creaked back open. He thought of his mother for a moment; he thought of Millie and how different she and his ma were from the lady who’d written those fancy words in her diary. He could imagine Millie telling every Tom, Dick, and Harry that Nick had put a bun in her oven. That was rich. She was a walking mattress. It probably wasn’t his seed. Odds were against it. What the hell would he do with her?
He hit his fist against the wall and the cracked looking glass in the corner reflected a face so contorted with anger that he reared away.
He remembered the horror on the lady’s face when she’d seen him in the window, and he laughed and shook his head; no one could deny he’d made an impact. She wouldn’t forget him in a hurry. Should he go to her and tell her about the other lady who had it in for her? Would she give him a reward?
He buttoned his shirt and picked up his jacket from the clothes strewn about the place. Then he lifted up one of the loose floorboards and wrapped the diary up in one of Millie’s smocks and hid it from prying hands. He wouldn’t risk taking it out in the damp. “Barney!” he shouted as he opened the door and saw three figures loitering about the stairs. “Go find Millie’s little sister. I’m gonna further her education tonight.”
It was misting lightly by the time Gideon escorted Charlotte to the carriage parked in the street. She was still overwarm from their encounter, and the cool air felt wonderful against her face.
So did Gideon’s hand around her backside as he stood, frowning at Devon and Harriet, and hoisted Charlotte into the carriage.
“Good night, Gideon,” she whispered over her shoulder. “I wish you the best tomorrow. I—”
“I shall see you afterward,” he said with confidence, and turned on his heel to let the footman fold up the steps and close the door.
“Well?” Devon asked as the carriage set off into the dripping night. “Did you convince him?”
“He is convinced that I am brazen and that you are reprehensible. And I can’t disagree.”
Harriet tossed her head. “I knew it wouldn’t work. Men like him thrive on taking risks.”
Devon folded his arms behind his head. “He isn’t taking any risk. It’s Moreland who’ll end up dead.”
“Don’t say that,” Charlotte whispered. “I don’t want anyone’s death on my hands.”
“Perhaps it’ll be raining in the morning,” Harriet said. “They won’t face off unless it’s clear.”
“Do you think it’s possible?” she asked hopefully.
“It won’t matter if it snows,” Devon said with mordant certitude. “They’ll only put it off another day. Phillip asked for this, you know. Gideon has no choice but to carry through with the challenge he was dealt.”
Gideon did not return immediately to the house. He knew that it wasn’t rain he had heard at the window. Still, he hadn’t wanted to alarm Charlotte. Nor stop her from trying out her charms. He walked across the street and stood against the wall of Major Boulton’s house, earning nothing for his trouble except a damp shirt from the mist.
Suddenly a light flickered behind the fanlight above the front door and a figure appeared on the steps. It was a man wearing a cap and nightshirt, an old flintlock musket raised at Gideon’s chest.
“Halt there, you blackguard, or I shall blow you to kingdom come!”
“Please don’t, Major. It’s only me, Wynfield.”
“Wynfield?” The major lowered his firearm. “What are you doing out this time of night? And in a drizzle without a coat?”
Gideon ran up the short flight of steps to the door. Both men then retreated into the candlelit vestibule, where a butler stood brandishing a poker.
“I thought I heard someone prowling about my window less than an hour ago,” Gideon said. “Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?”
The major chortled. “No disrespect intended, but it’s difficult to assess what is unusual with the traffic to and from your house during the night.”
Gideon suppressed a grin. “I apologize for that.”
“Why? I wouldn’t if I were your age.” Major Boulton looked back at the butler. “It is only the duke. Reassure the staff it is safe to go back to bed.”
A round-faced woman in a robe came into the hall with a lantern. “Father, what were you doing outside in your nightshirt? Really. You talk about the morals of the neighbors, but you are just as bad.”
“Leave me alone,” the major snapped.
“I will not,” she said. “Look at the both of you. You in a nightshirt. Him without a coat on. People breaking in and stealing the family jewels. If this is life in London, then I’ll stay in the country with the cows.”
“Good idea,” the major muttered.
“I heard that,” she said, shining her lantern in his face. “You’re too old to understand what’s good for you. Next thing I know you’ll be killed in the street, and think of how that would look if you’re not properly dressed.”
Gideon cleared his throat, reminding himself that he had an appointment in the morning that he could not miss. “I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Major. And your daughter. I didn’t realize she was still here.”
“It’s quite all right. I am fortunate to have a neighbor who concerns himself with my welfare.”
“Think nothing of it,” Gideon said, bracing himself for a sprint across the wet street. And as he hit the sidewalk he heard Major Boulton call down at him before he closed the door, “Two in one night! You keep it up for them, and keep ’em apart if you don’t want to start a war!”
Chapter 31
The adversaries met at daybreak in Hyde Park. Gideon wore a top hat, a new white neck cloth, and a gray morning coat for the occasion, so that he looked suitable to attend breakfast afterward. The wet grass brushed his boots as he walked toward the group of— Dear God, the marquess and his towering footman, Sir Daniel, Drake, as well Devon and Kit, who would serve as his seconds and had been invited. A line of fashionable carriages had already parked for a bird’s-eye view of the duel.
He lifted his brow at Grayson. “I don’t suppose you thought to bring along an orchestra?”
“I didn’t,” Grayson replied. “I will next time.”
Sir Daniel gave Gideon a reproachful look. “I would like to remind you that dueling is illegal.”
“Noted. Remind me, sir, that I would like to talk to you after the match.”
Gideon did not look at Phillip. He did, however, glimpse Gabrielle standing behind Charlotte’s brother. Apparently his almost-mistress hoped to witness his death. It was a shame he would disappoint her yet again. He had no intention of losing.
The seconds were checking the firearms for the last time. The surgeons stood at the ready with their instrument cases. Gideon smothered a yawn behind his fist.
“Here,” Devon said, handing him his pistol. “It was nice knowing you.”
“Well, I can’t say the same.”
It was time for the combatants to walk their twelve paces and await the signal. Gideon finally glanced at Phillip and thought the man looked a bit green around the gills.
“Fire!”
Gideon lifted his arm, took aim, and— A shot rang out. To his disbelief he realized that Phillip had discharged his pistol before he even raised his hand. Gideon blinked, firing his own gun into the air as his rival released a bone-chilling howl of pain and reeled full circle before collapsing to the ground.
“Good God,” Grayson said in disgust. “The nitwit has not only broken protocol. He’s shot himself in the foot.”
Devon winced. “It must hurt like the devil. I go mad when I step on a thorn.”
The surgeons ran to the spot where Moreland had fallen. Gideon sighed, handed his pistol back to Devon, and walked forward to take stock of the situation. Moreland noticed him and struggled into a sitting position, throwing Gideon a look of pain-laced resentment.
“I hope this makes you—” He clapped his hand to his mouth. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Not on my boots, please,” Gideon said with a grimace, beating a quick retreat. “My butler takes great pride in their polish.” He glanced at the group of men gathering around him. “Somebody give the wretch a dose of laudanum, tend to his foot, and then load him in a country-bound stagecoach.”
“I told him he should have stopped drinking after midnight,” Caleb said rather unsympathetically.
“The duel is over!” a witness called from the crowd. “Honor has been met!”
Gideon shook his head. “That’s a matter of opinion.”
Caleb stepped over Phillip’s top hat and approached Gideon with a sheepish look. It was unfortunate that his blue eyes reminded Gideon of Charlotte and therefore predisposed him to liking the young man in spite of the company he kept.
“I had to stand as his second, Your Grace. I hope you understand. The hothead has no other friends in London.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.” Gideon thought again of Charlotte, and some of his irritation melted away. “I do understand. It’s an admirable trait to stand beside a friend even when one knows that the friend is wrong.”
“I trust it will not taint our association in any way, Your Grace?”
“Not in the least. I’ve a feeling I will need all the male support I can muster after I wed your sister.”
Caleb nodded in gratitude. “It’s a comfort to know that Charlotte has found such a staunch protector. She has always been rather timid in the company of gentlemen.”
She hadn’t been timid last night. In fact, Gideon was beginning to question whether the entire world had misread her character. It was true that he’d underestimated her—at his peril, not to mention his pleasure. To think he’d avoided the quiet type all his life.
But this was not a subject to discuss with his future brother-in-law.
“The family has been afraid that she might be vulnerable to a rogue’s pursuit,” Caleb added.
“Dear, dear. That would have been tragic.” He glanced at the men carrying a stretcher th
rough the park. Then he turned to find Sir Daniel, but the agent had already disappeared from sight before Gideon could talk to him at length about his investigation.
Charlotte had fretted and paced through Jane’s bedchamber until light streaked the sky and the city’s steeples assumed their familiar hodgepodge on the horizon. But finally the weight of fatigue and worry were too much to fight. So she pulled a chair to the window and waited. She had wanted to be with her family in case anything happened to Gideon.
Chloe stretched her arms across the pillows, slowly opening her eyes to stare around the bright room. She looked at Jane slumbering in the bed beside her and sat up to stare at the figure sitting desolately at the window. “Is it raining?” she asked, combing her hand through her black curls.
Charlotte sighed. “There isn’t a cloud in the sky. Nothing but sea-coal smoke.”
Chloe swung her feet to the floor, the bed creaking slightly. “It will be over soon.”
“What’s over?” Jane murmured drowsily.
“The duel.” Charlotte sprang off her stool. “It’s Weed,” she said. “It must be over. He’s waving up at me from the back of the carriage.”
“Is it a wave of relief or one of distress?” Jane asked, looking anxiously at Charlotte.
“How can you tell?” Charlotte was putting on her slippers. They weren’t hers and she had to force them onto her feet.
Jane crawled around Chloe and sprang from the bed to the window, her honey-colored hair streaming down her back. “It’s relief. Gideon must have won the duel. Which isn’t a surprise.”
“Oh, thank…” Charlotte straightened. “I don’t suppose you can tell from Weed’s wave whether Phillip survived or not.”
“No. But Grayson is getting out of the carriage.” Jane opened the window. “Grayson! What happened? We are dying to know!”
“The idiot shot himself in the foot!”
Jane bit her lip, drawing back against Charlotte. “I think it’s safe to assume that he isn’t talking about the duke.”
Gideon had asked Grayson to reassure Charlotte that both parties had survived the duel. He would have called on her himself, but on the drive back from the park it suddenly occurred to him that the major’s parting words to him last night were rather odd.
The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series Page 20
