How to Ruin a Duke: A Novella Duet

by Grace Burrowes

  His inflection was polite, his tone merely conversational. He rose and the birds fluttered into the boughs, much like Edith’s sense of composure had flitted off to who knew where.

  She had nothing to lose. He’d be discreet, considerate, and gentlemanly. “I am interested.”

  “You’re certain this is what you want?” Emory asked. “That I am who you want? I haven’t gone about the business in the manner you’re entitled to expect, but I am very sure of my choice. I make this overture to you in good faith, knowing we still have much to discuss.”

  He was paying her a compliment—several compliments. Giving her the latitude to change her mind, apologizing for a blunt approach to a topic most people handled delicately, and assuring her of her desirability in his eyes.

  “I am certain of my decision too, Your Grace. We have the house to ourselves for the afternoon. Let’s go inside.” She led the way. Emory gathered up the food and followed.

  Edith had never envisioned that she might one day indulge in a friendly tryst with Emory. On the one hand, she was closer to destitution than she’d ever been. On the other, having been entirely forgotten by polite society, she had enormous freedom. She could think of no one with whom she’d rather share that freedom than her almost-ruined duke.

  Whoever wrote the dratted book would be furious to know that its publication had resulted in Thaddeus happening across—for the second time—the woman ideally suited to be his companion in life. Lady Edith had duchess written all over her, in her poise, her dignity, her patience, her sense of humor, her honesty, and her common sense. She even got along with Thaddeus’s mother, for heaven’s sake.

  Thaddeus had kept a distance when Edith had been his mother’s companion, but thank benevolent Providence he could make a different choice now.

  That he’d embark on an engagement with Lady Edith so precipitously, without the expected folderol, and then consummate the understanding immediately suggested the fictional duke and the real man had a few characteristics in common.

  Boldness in the face of a challenge.

  A fine appreciation for physical pleasure.

  Indifference to convention when convention stood between him and somebody he cared for.

  Thaddeus had no sooner set down the parcels of food than Lady Edith stepped near. “My circumstances are humble, Your Grace.”

  “What do I care for circumstances when I’m about to kiss you?”

  This earned him a smack on the lips. “I care. I’d like for this encounter to be the stuff of fairytales and pleasant memories.” That admission caused her to blush.

  So would I. “Very well, fairytales and memories it shall be. I am duly challenged.” Though this was only the first of many encounters, most of which would happen beneath the velvet canopies covering his various ducal beds. “I will be content if you enjoy yourself enough to invite me to another such encounter.”

  She slipped away and headed for the steps that led from the foyer. “Are you coming? My bedroom is upstairs.”

  He trundled along after her, up the narrow steps, down a short, dim corridor that nonetheless hadn’t a single cobweb.

  Her bedroom, like the rest of the house, had seen better days, and yet, she’d made this space her own. The quilt was a bright patchwork of green, lavender, and cream squares. The floor polished enough to reflect the afternoon sunlight onto a tarnished mirror hung over a walnut washstand that, given a good oiling, would have been attractive. A sliver of hard-milled soap sat on a folded flannel, and a bound copy of How to Ruin a Duke sat by the lamp on her bedside table.

  The rug was thick, though the pattern had faded, and the colors might once have complimented the hues in the quilt. A few dresses hung on the line of pegs along the wall, a worn pair of boots arranged beneath them.

  What cheered Thaddeus most was a bouquet of half-bloomed irises in a green glass jar sitting on the windowsill. Lady Edith had gathered into the place where she dreamed what comfort and cheer she could find, and now she was to gather Thaddeus near as well.

  “I can hardly believe my good fortune,” he said. “I awakened focused on that blasted book, but also knowing I had dreamed of you. Again. Lovely dreams they were too. Shall I undo your hooks?”

  She gave the irises a drink from the pitcher on the washstand. “We’re to undress?”

  “One often does, in the circumstances.” Though Thaddeus had nothing against the occasional hasty coupling against a wall. The moment didn’t seem appropriate to air that bit of broadmindedness.

  “Then yes,” Edith said, “I would like you to undo my hooks.” She set the pitcher on the washstand. “Please.” She turned her back to him, posture as stiff as if she were bracing for a scold.

  Thaddeus began by kissing her nape, where a faint scent of roses lingered. She was to be his intimate companion in every sense, and only a fool would rush what should be savored.

  “You do that well,” she said, when Thaddeus had managed to undo all of three hooks.

  “My lady is entitled to fairytales.” Three more hooks, and he could brush his lips along the top of her shoulder. Such soft skin she had, and how still she stood, like a cat reposing in a shaft of spring sunshine.

  Three more hooks and she turned to face him. “Are you entitled to fairytales too, Emory?” She followed her question with a kiss, this one a lingering press of her lips to the corner of his mouth. The off-center starting point left him wild to taste her, but he made himself wait.

  To be savored was lovely and precious, and a perfect beginning to all that he hoped would follow.

  “Shall I undress you?” she asked, slipping the pin from his cravat.

  Her décolletage gapped, revealing the top of her chemise and a hint of cleavage. Thaddeus had to focus his mental faculties to comprehend her question. Something about tearing off his clothes…

  “Assistance disrobing would be appreciated.”

  She smiled the smile of a woman who knew her lover to be more nervous than the Flying Demon of Lady Edith’s Boudoir ought to be.

  Thaddeus’s sexual education had begun the week he’d arrived at university, and he’d applied himself diligently to that course of study. Today the curriculum had shifted, from the pleasurable and fascinating business of erotic skill, to the rare privilege of being Lady Edith’s intimate and devoted companion. To excel at that scholarship, Thaddeus needed to learn her.

  She drew off his cravat and draped it over the washstand. His coat came next, and she hung that over one of her dresses.

  “I like that,” he said, holding out his wrist for her to remove his sleeve buttons. “My morning coat sharing a peg with your frock. It’s… friendly.” The first word to come to his mind had been domestic, but for his prospective duchess, domesticity would mean greater comfort than these surrounds had to offer.

  Edith removed his second sleeve button and set both on the bedside table. “Shall you remove your boots?”

  He put his everyday handkerchief on the table beside his sleeve buttons. The only place to sit was on the bed, which took up nearly half the room. Lady Edith’s chamber must have been the master bedroom at one time, for in all the house, no other piece of furniture was half so imposing.

  He sat on the bed and tugged off the first boot. “Are you nervous, my lady?”

  “Yes, also… determined.”

  “Determined? If you think I’ll climb out the window to elude your charms, you are very much mistaken.” He set his boots beside her bed and stood before her. “Determined on what, exactly?”

  “I’m not sure.” She stared hard at his chest. “And I can’t seem to get my mind to focus on the question when you’re about to remove your shirt.”

  He bent near. “Actually, I’m about to remove your slippers, if you’ll permit me that privilege?”

  Determination was an interesting quality to bring to the start of relationship, or the start of a new phase of a relationship.

  “I am determined as well,” Thaddeus said, going down on one kn
ee. “I am determined that you will enjoy yourself, that you will never have cause to regret joining me in these intimacies.”

  He untied her slippers, which were so worn at the heel as to barely qualify as shoes. Her stockings were neatly mended, her garters plain. With each article of stitched, faded, and worn clothing, Thaddeus’s respect for Edith grew.

  She was allowing him to see her reality, to see the evidence of her poverty, and her dignity in the face of adversity. That trust, given to a man whom half of London now regarded as beyond the pale, laid him bare as a lack of clothing never would.

  He rested his forehead against her knee. “I want to buy you every frilly garter and silk stocking in London, every…” Everything. The world. Whatever her heart desired. Her trousseau would be the delight of every modiste and milliner in Mayfair.

  She ruffled his hair. “You will buy me nothing. I’ve been hard at work on a new literary project, and I have high hopes for its success. I’d very much like your opinion on the whole undertaking, but we can discuss that later.”

  Thaddeus rose. “Once my breeches come off, you won’t get a sensible word out of me.”

  She undid the first button of his falls. “A duke rendered speechless. How often does that happen?”

  More buttons came undone. “My guess is, it will happen frequently when I’m private with you.” What a revelation that was. For so long, Thaddeus had regarded his duty to marry as only that—an obligation hovering near the top of his long list of obligations, but never quite ascending to the highest position. He had an heir and a spare, and while marriage might entail some pleasant aspects, as a dinner obligation might include a good selection of wines, he’d never imagined himself in a match that involved passion, much less…

  Lady Edith stepped back, having undone the falls of Thaddeus’s breeches.

  “Your dress next?” he asked.

  She nodded and reached for her hem, but Thaddeus stopped her. “Allow me.”

  He drew the dress up slowly, careful not to catch any hooks or buttons on her hair. Her chemise was worn to a whisper, remnants of white work embroidery still visible about the hem. She’d tied off her stays in front, which made untying them simple.

  “That moment when a woman is freed of her corsetry has to count among the most pleasurable of her whole day,” Edith said, folding her stays and laying them on the shelf of the washstand. “You mustn’t tell anybody I said that.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. I feel the same way about shedding evening attire.” They shared the sort of smile lovers often exchanged, not erotic, but pleased and trusting. “Shall we to bed, my lady?”

  He longed to remove her wrinkled shift and behold the naked whole of her, but that decision was hers.

  “Bed in the middle of the day seems so decadent,” she said, climbing onto the mattress. “But it’s not as if we’re to indulge in the nap, is it?”

  “A nap would be more indulgent than lovemaking?” Thaddeus pulled his shirt over his head and draped it over another one of her dresses.

  “In some regards, yes. Napping is the ultimate indulgence. I’ve been tempted to climb under the covers and not wake up until…” She scooted beneath the quilt. “My brother has a play under consideration. The theater told him they’d make a decision last week, but they’ve put him off again.”

  Thaddeus wanted to offer her reassurances. His wealth was considerable. He could buy her brother a theater, guarantee her the right to nap all day when she pleased to, and promise her a world where waking up would be, if not a joy, at least not a sorrow.

  The lady was all but naked amid the pillows. She did not need fine speeches from him now—more fine speeches.

  Instead, he peeled out of his breeches and linen and stood naked beside the bed. “Are we agreed, that if I doze off after our exertions, you will do me the great honor of joining me in slumber?”

  Her smile was sweet, naughty, and wistful. “We are agreed. Naps all around in the middle of the afternoon. Won’t you please come to bed, Your Grace?”

  Thaddeus stroked the erection already at full salute. “Perhaps now would be a good time to abandon proper address?”

  She patted the bed. “You may call me Edie. Come to bed, Thaddeus.”

  He came to bed.

  Chapter Six

  “Some scandals are infinitely more diverting than others.” From How to Ruin a Duke, by Anonymous

  “Mama, your lap desk has become an appendage of late.” Jeremiah took the wing chair facing Her Grace’s loveseat. “Don’t you collect enough gossip during the Season to sustain you?”

  She did not so much as look up from her scribbling. “If you were more attentive to correspondence, you might have a diplomatic post by now. One never knows when an old school chum or his papa might hear of a vacancy.”

  “Preserve me from a post where I must eavesdrop over cheap wine at some pumpernickel court, or worse, perish of lung fever in St. Petersburg.”

  The duchess dipped her quill. “And yet you long to perish of malaria in the jungles of India. How like a male to bring not a jot of logic to his own situation. Emory could likely get you a position in France or Belgium. Possibly Italy. Even the Germans have excellent wine, if that’s the criteria by which you evaluate an opportunity.”

  She was in a mood, as only Mama could be in a mood. “Why hasn’t Emory hired you a new companion? It’s been what, three months, since Lady Edith quit the field?”

  Now Mama looked up, her gaze suggesting Jeremiah had told a ribald joke at a formal dinner party, a transgression he hadn’t committed for three dreary, well-behaved years.

  “Her ladyship left this household six months ago, sir. She refused to remain even when I offered to increase her salary by half. Perhaps you know why that might be?”

  “Haven’t a clue. Women are fickle. Witness, nobody was willing to marry the old dear, were they?” He’d stretched the facts a bit with that remark. Lady Edith wasn’t old, wasn’t even close to old, more’s the pity.

  “And nobody is clamoring to marry you either, my boy. They aren’t even clamoring to marry your brother these days, and that is a problem I had not foreseen.”

  The afternoon was taking a tedious turn. “Angels defend us, when a duke has to work at winning a woman’s favor. He should be able to simply wave his… hand, and line up potential duchesses for parade inspection, is that it? A title acquits a man of all faults, from lack of humor to lack of humility and everything in between. Emory doesn’t even trouble over his wardrobe overmuch, and yet, you claim he’s to have any duchess he pleases at the snap of his fingers.”

  Mama went back to her writing. “Jealousy is such an unbecoming trait in a man who wants for nothing and never has.”

  “Spite is no more attractive in a woman who has everything she desires and more. And as for my wants, what would you know of them? You are too busy summoning your coven to choose the next hapless bachelor and giggling demoiselle to consign to wedlock. I want more than dancing slippers and good wine for my lot, Mama. A man can make his fortune in India, he can escape the thankless tedium of perpetual heir-dom. He can live his own life.”

  “I have given birth to two idiots, though you, as the better looking and more charming of the two give me the greater sorrow. Marry an heiress if you don’t care for heir-dom. Stop whining about India, where you can be felled by fever within a week of strutting off the boat. Emory will stand firm against buying you your colors until his own nursery is in hand. If you haven’t the patience to serve out that sentence, then do something productive.”

  Perhaps only an idiot could give birth to idiots. Jeremiah ought not to hold such sentiments toward his only surviving parent, but Mama ought not to be such a shrew.

  “I am now responsible for serving in Emory’s stead on no less than four charitable boards.”

  “And you find,” Mama said, setting aside her letter, “that what you thought would be great fun—impersonating the duke—is so much tedium. Why do you think I did not
offer to serve in his stead?”

  Mama was at her most vexing, which was very vexatious indeed, when she was right. “You declined the honor of supporting charitable causes because you’re too busy running the realm from your lap desk.”

  She also hadn’t a companion to drag along with her to the meetings, and doubtless, Lady Edith had done any real work associated with those gatherings. A twinge of guilt had Jeremiah on his feet.

  “Off to mind the press of business?” Mama asked. “Or the press of Mrs. Bellassai’s person to your own?”

  “For your information,” Jeremiah said, making a decorous progress toward the door, “I haven’t frequented her establishment for some weeks. My family is already battling enough scandal that I needn’t stir that pot.” Besides, the lady had made it plain he wasn’t welcome, of all the nerve.

  Mama took out another sheet of paper. “Jeremiah, I despair of you. I truly do. It’s a wonder you weren’t the subject of some scandalous book: How to Waste Good Tailoring and a Generous Allowance. Find a decent woman with adequate settlements who’ll have you, and perhaps Emory will follow your example. Lord knows you seem unable to follow his.”

  India was not far enough away from such maternal devotion. The Antipodes were not far enough away.

  “Would you have me follow him onto the pages of the tattlers, Mama? Though I do believe his reputation is improved by the mischief recounted in that book.”

  “You think so because, as noted, you haven’t an ounce of sense. That book went too far, Jeremiah, and I’m learning that many of the incidents recounted weren’t half so madcap as they’ve been portrayed.”

  This appeared to worry the duchess. Well, good. Without a companion to vent her spleen upon, Her Grace was clearly in need of something to occupy her. Fretting over Emory would serve nicely.