Never a Bride

by Megan Frampton

  “I had a season,” she said. “I went to parties and spoke with gentlemen and wore pretty gowns. It wasn’t all awful. I got to dance, and I do love to dance.” She emitted a rueful laugh. “Which is what got me in trouble.” She paused. “But I do not want to speak of that now.”

  He knew it would be a matter of simply asking someone, anyone, what her scandal was, but for some reason he wanted to hear it from her. And he wouldn’t press until she felt comfortable enough to tell him.

  “What do you wish to speak of, then?” he asked. “Or we can sit in silence. I will leave the decision up to you.” He wasn’t trying to tease her now.

  For a moment, he thought she had made her choice because she was silent.

  “Thank you,” she said at last, sounding surprised. “Not many men—that is, no man of my acquaintance—would leave any kind of decision up to a woman. Which is why I insisted upon it. But I hadn’t guessed you’d be so amenable.”

  “As you’ve noted, I am a remarkable man,” Griffith couldn’t help but reply.

  “A remarkably conceited one,” she said in a dry tone. “But I can’t fault you for that.” More silence as he wondered what she could possibly mean by that. “Which is why I choose to do this.”

  And then she moved closer to him, putting her fingers on his jaw and turning his head toward her, bringing his face down to hers until, at last, she pressed her mouth against his.

  Lady Della was kissing him.

  Oh. She’d been thinking about doing just this, honestly, since the first time she saw him in that dingy pub by the docks. Even though she hadn’t wanted to admit it, not even to herself.

  About how all that strength and size would feel in a moment of passion.

  But her imagination could not live up to the reality.

  Her fingers slid up from his face to his hair, and she tugged on some of the long strands, eliciting a soft chuckle in his throat. She could tell he was smiling against her mouth, and she drew his bottom lip between her teeth, biting gently before sliding her tongue inside.

  His tongue met hers, but he didn’t immediately take over in the kiss; instead, he allowed her to explore, holding himself still as she devoured his mouth.

  But she could tell he was affected, and holding himself back, because his hand was on her arm, his fingers gripping her so tightly she knew he would leave a mark. A mark she would bear gladly, a reminder that this attraction was mutual, and she had instigated it. He wouldn’t have, she knew that. Just as she knew that he felt it as strongly as she did.

  Oh, but she’d missed this. Focusing entirely on a kiss, a caress, as though there was nothing else in the world. Nothing but the rumble of the carriage, of how his mouth was warm, and his tongue was now on the offensive, ravaging her mouth as though he was laying waste to all of her defenses.

  Which she had to admit he was.

  It was a good thing they were in a moving carriage or she would have torn his clothing off already. Her breasts felt sore and achy, but in a yearning way, while lower down that place throbbed, clamoring for attention. His attention.

  It had been far too long since she’d been touched like this. Her own ministrations were fine, but there was nothing to compare to having a passionate partner.

  She heard a moan, low in her throat, as his fingers moved up her arm to her neck, teasing in between the fabric of her cloak and her bare skin.

  She shifted, thrusting her body up closer in an implicit wish for him to touch her more, on her breast. Squeeze her nipple, if he were so inclined.

  Oh, please be so inclined, she pleaded.

  He stroked her skin, his thumb resting on the pulse at her neck. She ran her hands down his neck, rubbed the broad expanse of shoulders. Goodness, he was huge.

  Was he huge everywhere? If forced to guess, she would say yes.

  Dear Lord.

  And then his fingers were dipping into the top of her gown, sliding down to the curve of her bosom, and she wanted everything. She wanted him to strip her bare, to plunge into her, to ride her to climax. Her climax, of course. He would have to wait for his.

  The thought would have amused her if she weren’t so focused on what he was doing—his fingers had found her nipple, and he was playing with it, sliding his fingertip across the taut peak. She shuddered, and arched her back, her mind frantically trying to do the necessary equation for coupling inside a coach.

  He was too big to manage it satisfactorily, she would imagine.

  Although he would likely take her up on the challenge, which would be pleasurable in and of itself—to watch as he twisted that huge body to successfully enter her. To push her into the carriage seat as he thrust into her.

  He was kissing her more urgently, his fingers rubbing her nipple, then sliding around the globe of her breast as she ached and yearned and wanted everything from him right now, despite the logistical problem.

  And then she couldn’t take it any longer, not without feeling as though she were going to explode, and not in the way she longed for.

  She drew back from him, staring up into his face. He was gazing intently at her, his eyes sparking with passion, his mouth wet from her kiss.

  “That was even better than I’d thought it might be,” she admitted. She was annoyed that she was speaking in a breathy voice.

  “So you’ve been imagining this?” His voice was ragged, the masculine equivalent of breathy.

  Good to know they were equally affected.

  “Yes, of course,” she replied. He closed his eyes for a moment, as though savoring her words.

  “And how was it?” he asked, his voice resuming its usual arrogant tone. Although she couldn’t fault him, not now. It was tremendous.

  “You know how it was.” She took a deep breath. Reminding her, as she inhaled, that his fingers were still on her breast.

  She didn’t want him to take his hand away. Even though they should be nearly home soon.

  “It was.” He paused, and then he extricated his hand from her gown in as graceful a manner as was possible, given the circumstances. “What do you propose we do about it?”

  She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze forthrightly. “I propose that we have an affair.”

  Chapter 7

  “It’s the only thing to do,” she continued. For the first time in possibly ever, Griffith felt unable to speak.

  “We are clearly attracted to one another,” she pointed out. “Also, neither one of us wants to get married, so there is no danger of a continuing relationship. We can give in to our attraction in the most logical way with neither one of us getting hurt.”

  It sounded so reasonable, how she put it. So naturally he wanted to object, since the last thing he ever aspired to be was reasonable.

  But if it got him into her bed—and her into his—he’d swallow his objections, no matter how reasonable they were.

  “How would this work?” he said. He was pleased he could manage to utter a complete sentence, given how startled and intrigued and, of course, aroused he was.

  “Are you saying you don’t know how it works?” She spoke in a teasing tone, and he felt even more flustered.

  “Not that,” he said through his clenched jaw. This woman was the only person who had managed to get under his skin, for both good and bad.

  He had the strange suspicion that it would take more than an affair to get over his obsession with her.

  “Ah, I had thought your skills particularly . . . persuasive,” she said in a low, knowing voice.

  He resisted the urge to preen.

  “But as to your question.” She spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, not as though she was suggesting anything shocking at all. “I suppose we will look for Mr. Wattings, get you accepted into Society—as we’d agreed to—and we can also add a physical relationship to our agreement. It is that simple, there isn’t much to it working. It either is pleasing to us both, or it isn’t. If it’s the latter, then no hard feelings.” She stuck her hand out between them and he took it, allowing
her to shake on the bargain. Another bargain on top of the first one.

  This one was far more compelling.

  The coach slowed, and she glanced out the window, her face lighting up at whatever she saw out there. Well, he knew it wasn’t another gentleman; her desperate kiss had made it more than apparent that it had been as long for her as it had been for him, if not longer.

  “I will see you at ten o’clock tomorrow,” she commanded as the coachman swung the door open for her to alight. “To hunt for your first mate as well as Sarah’s husband.”

  “Good evening, Lady Della,” Griffith replied, but she was out of earshot long before, bounding up the steps to her house in clear excitement.

  He saw the ladies peering out from the door; Mrs. Wattings and two small girls. One of them was obviously Mrs. Wattings’s child, while the other one must belong to Lady Della. Or Della, he should think of her; it wouldn’t do to address her so formally when he was about to embark on a clandestine relationship with her.

  Unless she wished to be formally addressed: May I ravish you, Lady Della?

  You may, my lord Handsome, she might reply in that peremptory tone of hers.

  Her proposal was making his being an heir to a dukedom rather than aboard his own ship much more pleasant. Although eventually the affair would pass, and he would be left on shore with responsibilities and steady land under his feet.

  Still, it would do for the moment.

  “Why do you look like that?” Sarah asked. They had gotten the girls to bed at last—Nora and Emily had peppered Della with questions about the party because parties were not a usual part of their lives.

  That hurt. Not so much because she was missing out on the parties, she didn’t care one way or the other, but that her reputation and situation made it impossible to be social. Although the tiny town they’d lived in until about six months ago, Haltwhistle, didn’t have any kind of Society to speak of anyway, so even if Della’s reputation had been pristine, there wouldn’t have been anywhere to go.

  They were sitting in the small parlor where they took their afternoon tea. It was cozy, and much more pleasing to Della than her father’s enormous town house.

  Or that could be because of all the love and warmth she had here as opposed to what she had felt there.

  “Look like what?” Della replied, knowing her friend would not be deterred.

  “As though something happened.” Sarah narrowed her eyes as Della tried to repress a reaction. Even though Sarah knew her better than anyone, sometimes better than Della knew herself. “Something did happen! You have to tell me everything.”

  Della exhaled and looked away from her friend’s face. “Uh—I might have accidentally kissed Captain Enormous.”

  Silence, and then Sarah whacked Della on the arm. “What do you mean, accidentally kissed him? Did you mean to whisper something in his ear and your mouth accidentally collided into his?” Sarah’s voice let Della know that her friend did not actually think that occurred. “Did you like it, at least?”

  “Oh yes,” Della said. “It was tremendous.”

  Sarah blinked at Della’s enthusiastic tone. “Well. So there is that, at least. Did he like it?”

  Della thought about how he had caressed her, how he had kissed her so thoroughly that she still felt the ripples of pleasure flowing through her body. “Yes.”

  “And . . . ?” Sarah prodded.

  Della winced. “Well, I might have suggested we have an affair.”

  Sarah’s sharp inhale was about the reaction she expected. “Good for you!” her friend cheered, which was absolutely not what she had expected.

  “Good for me?” Della repeated. She leaned forward to place her palm on Sarah’s forehead. “Are you feeling quite well?”

  Sarah swatted her hand away. “I’m not feeling as well as you are, apparently, but yes. I think it’s a wonderful idea. As long as . . .” she said, her words trailing off as she made a vague gesture in the air.

  “No, of course not,” Della replied hastily. She did not want to have another child, even if its father was Lord Captain Handsome.

  “Then it’s wonderful,” Sarah concluded, settling back in her seat with a smile of satisfaction.

  “But why? I mean, shouldn’t you be warning me about doing something so reckless and scandalous?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “As though I could stop you from doing any such thing. You are the most recklessly scandalous person I know, and also the person I love most in this world.” She shrugged. “This adventure will keep you from doing something even more reckless, I imagine.”

  Della felt her eyes widen. “What could possibly be more reckless than embarking on an affair with a sea captain–viscount?” She shook her head. “I wish he were just a sea captain. It would make things much simpler.” And might also make it possible for them to have a future together, although she wouldn’t share that judgment with Sarah. If her friend so much as suspected that Della wanted more—not that she did, she assured herself—she would go to extreme lengths to see to Della’s happiness.

  But Della knew Society much better than Sarah did, and though they might accept her initially because of the novelty of Lord Stanbury, eventually they would realize that they could not stomach seeing the duke’s most disgraced daughter in a respectable position. It would be a relief to everyone when she and Lord Stanbury revealed that they were no longer engaged.

  So their time together would have a very specific end date—namely, when he was comfortable enough in his position not to need a buffer against the young ladies. Or when they grew tired of one another.

  But she strongly suspected the former would happen a lot earlier than the latter. She felt a twinge of sadness, but shut that away. She hadn’t even started to have her scandalous affair with him, so she shouldn’t already be mourning its ending.

  Perhaps he would end up being a terrible lover?

  Although she knew, even as she thought it, that there was no possible way that was the case.

  “Griff! Look who is here,” Frederick said as Griffith entered the room that seemed to serve as Frederick’s office and bedroom all at once.

  Griffith had been surprised when the butler had told him Frederick was still up and was asking for him. That Clark was here explained all of that.

  Clark rose from the sofa, a warm smile on his face. “I tracked you down, and now I find that you’re some sort of lord?” Clark stuck his hand out to Griffith, who took it and shook it vigorously. “Why didn’t you ever say?”

  Griffith released Clark’s hand. “Would you have said in my position?”

  Clark considered it. “No, I suppose not.”

  “Your first mate has been regaling me with stories of your adventures at sea. I didn’t realize you were such a rascal, Griffith.”

  Griffith grinned at his cousin. “Sure you did, Fred. Your Grace,” he amended, at which Frederick shook his head. “You were the one who rescued me when we were young.”

  “Sit down, sit down,” Frederick commanded. Griffith and Clark both sat on the sofa, Griffith crossing one leg over the other.

  “Where did you come from anyway?” Griffith asked Clark. “I went to the docks to see if I could find you, only nobody knew where you’d gone after that pub.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “You mean my heir left you on your own without a word?” Frederick demanded, his eyes glinting with humor.

  Griffith had missed his cousin. Even though being with him required being on dry land.

  “He did, Your Grace,” Clark replied, shooting a wry glance toward Griffith. “But I was a bit under the weather at the time, so it wasn’t as though he had much of a choice.”

  “Not to mention I was being pulled away by the naval police,” Griffith added. “If it had been possible to stay there until you awoke, Clark, I would’ve.”

  “Ah, so that’s when you were arrested.”

  “Arrested?” Clark echoed.

  Griffith shrugged, shooting a
conspiratorial glance toward his cousin. “Arrested because of what happened in Africa, I believe. Once they found out who I was, the charges were dropped.”

  “The benefit of Griffith’s position,” Frederick said pointedly.

  “Oh,” Clark said. “But if the case did go to court, then you’d have the opportunity to share what terrible things they did over there. Despite all of us being allies.” His face darkened, and Griffith felt the injustice of it all over again.

  “It’d be easier to enact change if you’re in a position of power,” Frederick added.

  The only solace to his current situation was that as a duke he might be able to address some of the problems with far more effectiveness than as a renegade captain.

  “Well, since you won’t be heading out to sea again, my lord, would you mind writing me a letter of recommendation?”

  Griffith shook his head. “No.”

  Clark leaned forward, his expression confused. “No?”

  “No, because I want you to come work for me as my valet or secretary or whatever it is you think you’d like to do.”

  Clark’s face cleared, and it was obvious the notion pleased him. “Yes, absolutely! I have no obligation to the Royal Navy as of the moment we came ashore.” He grinned. “As long as I don’t have to climb rigging any longer.”

  “There is a scarcity of rigging involved in being a duke,” Frederick said dryly.

  Griffith took a deep breath. His friend, his closest friend for the past five years, would be on hand for him to talk to. To work out just what this new life might mean. It had only been a few days, but he’d felt strangled with all this new responsibility. Not knowing what to do, or how to do it.

  Clark’s presence would help that, even though Clark had no idea how to be a nobleman either. As far as Griffith recalled, Clark came from a family of turnip farmers or something.