by Reid, Stacy
Amber liquid splashed into the glass, and he held it out to her. She took it and tentatively sipped. It was the same liquor as the last time, so she was better prepared to handle the hot slide of the whiskey down her throat.
“Let’s play,” the duke said with evident pleasure.
She assessed the board keenly and the moves which had been made. Her style was one of patience, but she saw an opportunity which she could explore. She moved a pawn to capture his pawn, strengthening her control of the board’s center. The duke smiled, his hand darting with speed to claim her pawn with another pawn, balancing the power in the board’s center. His strategy was decisive ruthlessness, whiles hers was of deep contemplation, of plotting her moves and his ahead by several steps.
At times he sent her quick smiles of admiration which warmed her insides.
“You are an excellent player,” he praised. “I declare I am glad you broke into my library.”
A shock went through her, hot and delicious. Pippa gripped her glass of whiskey, needing an anchor against the invitation to banter in his eyes. She lifted the glass to her lips, and with one long swallow finished the fiery drink, her gaze never leaving his.
He paused, reaching behind him for something. He lit a cheroot, bending his dark head and cupping his hands over the flame. He dragged long into his lungs and exhaled from his nose, curling smoke around them. She liked the smell of it, and she subtly inhaled secretly titillated. She'd never seen a gentleman smoke before. They'd always hidden away with their ports and cigars. It was a bit of a disappointment to know that it was not more of a ceremony.
He held it out to her. “Smoke?”
Pippa almost fainted. “No.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
The familiar phrase sent her heart to pound in its fiercest beat since he’d revealed himself.
After a half-hearted attempt to convince herself it was too improper, she reached for the cheroot. It felt so delightfully wicked to indulge in something so simple. Pippa belatedly realized she should have been finding out things with which she could ruin the duke, or blackmail him into doing right by Miranda, but she was enjoying the freedom of not being so proper and perfect as dictated by society.
She inhaled quickly and regretted it immediately. The smoke burned her throat, and she dissolved into a fit of coughing which transformed into choked laughter.
“Your first time?” he asked with devilry dancing in his eyes.
Of course, he knew! “Yes, and while it is excessively diverting, I do not believe I shall try it again,” she uttered, furiously aware of flaming cheeks.
They played for several minutes, before he said, “What kind of burglar are you? I saw no interest in the candlesticks or monies I had in my drawer."
Her fingers paused on the bishop. There was a short silence, broken only by her ragged breathing. “What kind of man has a dual reputation?”
He stiffened perceptibly. "Do tell."
She shivered at the dark throb of warning in his tone. “You are the duke of saints are you not? That is what many in society call you. I am sure you are aware of your moniker. Yet you have a book…that is decidedly not saintly.”
Dear God, she needed to find a way to control these urges to blush. Her entire body felt too warm recollecting the wicked, wicked images. The awareness of how alone they were seeped into the air.
He reached for his glass and tipped it to his lips. “A most extraordinary thief. Your intimate knowledge of me says you are familiar with the ton.”
She lifted a shoulder in a deliberately casual shrug. “I read the scandal sheets with the best of them.”
“Even more curious. An educated thief. My interest is snared.”
Drat! To avoid responding she swallowed the remainder of her drink, distantly realizing this was her second glass, and she felt…tingly and hot, and there were butterflies in her belly.
This is dangerous. The knowledge slammed into her with the power of a careening carriage. She swayed before catching herself. Pippa lifted her gaze from the board, and the predatory gleam in his eyes had her faltering into stillness. Waves of shock and tension poured through her. “You know I’m a girl,” she said huskily. “That is why you’ve not called for help!”
Chapter 6
The duke’s sensual lips curved in a small smile. He reached out and touched her chin with a finger. That slight touch felt like a carnal assault on her senses. Pippa felt his touch through the handkerchief—an unmistakable possessive caress she did not understand. She regarded him speechlessly. Something impossibly heated slid through her veins.
His bright silver eyes burned with desire, and her body trembled in reaction to the knowledge. He plans to ravish me. A strange stirring began in the pit of her stomach and drifted lower. She felt as if she were falling…endlessly into a moment she did not understand but wanted. Pippa had never felt like this in all her years, and she slid an accusing stare at the empty glass still clutched in her hand. It must be the whiskey.
Pippa did not like the way his stare riveted on her. His intention pulsed in the air around them. She leaned away from the intimate caress, and he lowered his hand. She tugged the cap lower, hiding her face. “I cannot stay,” she whispered, settling the glass on the carpet. This had to be handled with care lest she trapped herself in a situation wholly unfamiliar to her. Games of seductions and temptation were not known to Pippa.
A decidedly imperious brow rose. “Our game is not over.”
“I can tell that you want to kiss me!” she burst out. So much for handling the matter with delicacy. It was impossible to pretend ignorance and now was not the time to be naïve. She felt frightened…and also tempted. Many nights she had wondered about the stranger who had offered his brand of comfort and had pulled a smile from her when her heart had been numb with pain.
“I want to…desperately.”
Her mouth dried. I want to kiss you too. She shook her head, fighting the awakening realization. Pippa feared she was on the verge of doing something truly stupid. She searched for a clever and witty response but could not find her tongue. She cautiously lifted her head and peered upward at his impenetrable mien. “Your Grace—”
“You broke into my house, we are drinking and smoking together. I daresay you may call me Christopher.”
She took a shuddering breath. “You may call me…Miss Beaver.”
He chuckled, the sound low, deep, and frightfully appealing. She inched away from him.
“You have nothing to worry about, Miss Beaver. I do not take unless I’ve been offered, no matter how tempting your plump lips are.”
“I must beg of you to guard your tongue!” Lest he tempted her to irresponsible wickedness.
He reached out and tugged the handkerchief down to her neck. She lowered her head, so the cap would hide her face from full view. His thumb stroked along her jaw, and then her chin, and her heart rate tripled as he caressed the side of her neck. This was wrong, so wrong, and yet…her lips parted.
The loveliest breeze glided through the open library window, cooling the odd heat fluttering in her stomach. She glanced desperately at the clock above the mantle. “We’ve been playing over an hour, Your Grace...Christopher. And I predict we have several more hours to go to end this match. I…I cannot stay until dawn.”
“I will let you go…if you promise to finish this game with me.”
He asked the impossible, yet something wild burned inside her to say yes. “I will think on it.”
“I will accept that for now.”
She pushed to her feet, hurrying to the windows.
“I shall escort you to your carriage.”
She glanced over her shoulders, regarding him with some amusement. “You believe I took a carriage to infiltrate your home?”
He looked enquiringly across at her. “I’ve seen odder situations. Allow me to escort you to your equipage.”
“I walked.”
“You must live nearby then,” he murmured, wa
tching her keenly. “Have we met? You seem familiar.”
Why did she feel as if he mocked her? Was it possible he knew her identity? Pippa suspected that he was merely amusing himself at her expense and was mischievously enjoying her discomfiture. She was amply disguised, and they had only met once, and that was three months ago. Yet, Pippa could still recall with startling clarity every detail of their first encounter in Lady Peregrine’s library. What if… “No, we’ve not met.”
“Please, take the front door. And I shall walk with you until you are safe.”
Panic beat in her breast. “I am obliged to you, but it is quite unnecessary, I assure you!”
“I insist,” he said in a tone of tolerant amusement. “All sorts of dastardly elements walk the streets at these hours. Even Grosvenor Square has hopeful footpads lurking at these hours.”
Unable to think of any suitable rejoinder, she ignored him and slipped through the windows before he could protest, lightly running along the footpath to the side gate. Once away from his townhouse, she felt relieved. Pippa glanced around, hating that the duke had been correct. Even though the area was so fashionable, it could be dangerous. She had to walk a reasonable distance before a hackney carriage could make itself present. Keeping her head low she hurried forward on to Brook Street. Home was in Russell Square and would be at least a half hour walk.
The deliberate click of a cane on cobbled steps had her whirling around. Her heart sank. It was the duke. Dual needs of relief and trepidation clutched at her heart. If he followed her, he would uncover her address. Conversely, she felt decidedly safe to have him with her. There was a nip in the air, and with a querulous sigh, she tugged the cap lower over her head, wishing she had worn more than the tweed jacket borrowed from Miss Tilby.
They walked in silence for several minutes, and her thoughts considered how to disguise her abode. Miss Tilby lived in a most modest area, and if Pippa ventured there, she would be forced to spend the night. How would she explain that to mamma? Pippa had been at Lady Grayson's ball, and she'd complained of a headache to return home. When her mother had wanted to accompany her, Pippa had insisted she stayed and enjoyed the ball.
They turned left onto Hanover Square and then right onto Princes Street. A young boy loomed ahead, and he had the roughest look. She inched closer to the duke, and she could feel his amusement. But she was grateful for his company and suddenly furious with herself for the risk she had taken. Though she had intended to only be in his home for a few minutes and not over an hour!
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He shot her a look of undisguised surprise. “What have I done?”
"Many other gentlemen would have called the runners or magistrates to collect me. Instead, you gave me a night of experiences unlike any I've ever had and will cherish."
She kept her head down, but she felt his stare as it touched on her.
"Take off the cap and let me see your face," he murmured.
Pippa laughed lightly. "I shan’t, and I do not believe you truly expect it of me.”
The boy approached, and Pippa stiffened. He was older than she’d first thought, his face was covered with soot and a touch of desperation. The duke stepped forward, cutting him off from being too close to her. His protective gesture warmed her, and she peered at him.
What she saw was a kindness so rare, for a second, she doubted its genuineness. The duke was shrugging from his coat. When he was free of it, he handed it to the lad. Instead of appearing grateful for protection from the cold night and the slight drizzle of rain, the boy assessed the material critically, no doubt considering its worth. The duke said something to him, and the boy stared. The duke also handed him something she could not see, but when the boy flicked it, she discerned a sovereign.
Then the boy hurried on.
“Why did you give him your coat and money?”
“He was cold, and perhaps hungry. The money is an advance for working in my stables.”
This astonished her. “He works for you!”
“No, but if he is interested, he will start tomorrow.”
She absorbed this in startled silence. Who was this man? “So, you can be compassionate.”
“You say this as if you know me to be cruel and callous, my intrepid thief.”
“No,” she murmured. “I have no experience with the manner of your character.”
She glanced in the direction the lad had disappeared. Even if that boy sold the coat, and he would be smart if he did, food would be in his belly and his family for several weeks from the profit. It was a kind thing the duke had done, and acknowledging it, shook Pippa. In her experience, those who were selfish users did not have the withal to perform acts of charity and kindness. She was tempted to believe in what she saw, but she could not let the dratted man deceive her of his true character. Beneath the heart of the charming, fascinating man tonight was the morals of a snake!
The clip-clop of hooves had her glancing down the street. How fortunate! A Hackney was delivering someone home. The duke generously hailed the man for her, and she made her way to the small carriage.
“Thank you,” she said, careful to keep her features shadowed by the hat.
“Until we meet again,” the duke said, sounding very confident it would happen. Then he paid the driver and stepped back.
She glanced at the driver. “I will inform you of where to take me when we are away.”
The small rotund man shot her a curious stare before shrugging as if to say whatever she wished. She hopped into the carriage, genuinely appreciating the freedom trousers provided. The carriage rumbled away, and she opened the small window and shouted her address to the coach driver.
Several minutes later, Pippa snuck into the countess’s townhouse, grateful to see everyone was still at Lady Grayson’s ball. She hurried to her room, ripping the hat from her head as soon as she made it inside. One thought had dominated her musings on the quick ride over. The duke wanted to kiss her…and she had ached for him to do it.
Recall what he did to Miranda, Pippa reminded herself fiercely as she jumped onto her bed with a gusty sigh. The man is not to be trusted. Yet the feelings in her heart did not want to listen to her logical mind. Who are you…and why do I want to know you?
Quite irritated with herself, she scrambled from the bed and hurried over to her small writing desk, grabbing a small lamp from the mantle as she went by. Opening the drawer, she retrieved a sheaf of paper, quill, and an inkwell.
The Duke of C is a jaded libertine, and not all society believes him to be. A rake of the first order, a man scandalous in his musings and deeds hides amongst society, a dangerous wolf…a jackal in sheep’s clothing. This author has it on the first most authority he is not to be trusted, he is a man with little honor and no regard for the innocent, and he shamelessly seduced a fine, wonderful girl at a particular garden party a few weeks ago and then refused to marry her.
He is a wicked, unprincipled libertine…a dangerous wretch. All young ladies of virtue should steer clear!
Taking a deep breath, Pippa wrote every reason she should not trust the duke or allow her foolish heart to be compromised. She must redeem Miranda’s honor. Pippa could not fight a duel on her behalf, nor did she have the power to disrupt his business and investments. But this she could do, warn other unsuspecting debutantes of his vile, wicked, and rakish behavior.
And I must keep my heart and reputation intact while I do it.
With a sigh, she glanced down at the writing in her hand, knowing she would not be able to publish it. For though Miranda was her friend, Pippa hadn’t witnessed his dastardly deed first-hand, so she needed evidence to corroborate Miranda’s painting of his character. Which Pippa had failed to do tonight. All she’d confirmed was the duplicity of the man. She folded the paper neatly and slipped it between her diary. Instead, she drew another sheet and recalled the scandalous drawings she had seen in his book.
A blush heated her cheeks. Pushing down the flutters in her heart
and the peculiar heat in her belly, she started to write.
A duke by any other name! This author…
Chapter 7
A duke by any other name! Touted as honorable, and a sterling example all young bucks should emulate. This author has it on the highest authority that a certain duke is nothing but a libertine who believes his lovers should be spanked. Grab your weekly features of the tattle to keep abreast with the duke of disgrace.
There were only a handful of dukes within society, and most were old and doddering. Only two other dukes were within his age, but it was he, Carlyle, those other young men were often urged to emulate. But the most heart-pounding fact was he had sensually spanked his lovers in the past. How many other dukes in society had such sexual urges and predilections they kept ruthlessly hidden as he did with his desires?
And how would this author—he glanced down at the signature—Lady W be privy to it? Worse, it was by sheer bloody chance, the headline which screamed Duke of Disgrace caught his attention. He did not live his life by chance or happenstance. His days and evenings were carefully planned and inked into a calendar, so there were no errors, no breaches in expectations, no possibility of scandal. It was the least he could do. For his father and his forefathers before, whose reputation had been the bedrock of their motto.
Duty and honor above all.
Another glaring fact he could not ignore: Miss Pippa Cavanaugh had seen his book of erotic drawings. Might it be that she had informed this Lady W of the explicit and lusty images? Was it that Miss Cavanaugh was prone to gossip and revealed their encounter? Christopher frowned. That assessment felt wrong. She had been so nervous he hadn’t the heart to inform her he knew her identity. He’d allowed her the disguise, charmed by her bravery, and delighted by her skill in playing chess. It was unlikely this woman would dare tell anyone she had been improper and broken into his home and found the scandalous drawings. The only other conclusion he could reasonably draw was that Miss Cavanaugh and Lady W were the same.
