Once his mother had been banished to Devonshire, Max had asked Charlie to redecorate both Exmoor House and Devereux House to suit her own taste. But he hadn’t yet invited her to do the same at Heathcote. Not because he didn’t want her to make her mark on this particular home. Far from it. It was simply because he’d wanted to surprise his wonderful wife with some changes of his own.
He’d wanted to spoil her because she deserved it.
Drawing a deep breath, he pulled open the doors. “Happy anniversary, my love.”
As soon as Charlie stepped across the threshold into the sumptuously appointed sitting room, her eyes widened in wonder.
“Oh, Max,” she breathed as she crossed the rose-patterned Aubusson rug, then spun around, taking everything in. The crystal chandelier and intricate plasterwork above her head, the amber damask curtains at the windows, and the delicate cherrywood armchairs and chaise longue upholstered in cream brocade. “This…this is beautiful. I’m practically speechless. I had no idea you’d been planning anything like this.”
“I’m so pleased you like it,” he said, watching her lovely face. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure, and her eyes shone with delight.
“And it goes on forever…” Charlie wandered through to the adjoining bedchamber. “You’ve moved everything about. Combined the rooms.”
“I might’ve,” he said as he followed her toward the enormous tester bed. “We always share the same bed, so I didn’t see much point in maintaining separate bedchambers. Do you mind, though?” He grimaced. “I know I snore sometimes.”
Charlie picked up one of the cushions from the elaborate arrangement at the head of the bed and hugged it to her bosom. “Of course I don’t mind. I think it’s an eminently sensible idea. And your snoring doesn’t bother me at all. It’s music to my ears.”
“Ha ha, my love. I’m certain you’re lying,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But I do appreciate the fact that you are happy to sleep beside me every night.”
Charlie met his gaze over the gold brocade counterpane. “There’s no place I would rather be.”
Her voice was low and soft and as rich as silk, and Max’s loins tightened with longing. “I feel exactly the same way,” he murmured.
Ignoring the urge to crawl across the bed and pull her down into his arms, he held out his hand instead. “Come, I have something else to show you.”
He led Charlie past their new dressing rooms and into a brand-new addition to Heathcote: a high-ceilinged bathroom that resembled an airy conservatory. The dome above them was constructed from glass and wrought iron, and there were a series of tall arched windows that looked out upon the lawns and the lake. Gauzy curtains provided a modicum of privacy during the day, and heavier curtains of silk damask could be drawn at night. Everywhere one looked, there were fragrant white blooms, leafy green palms, and ferns.
But the main attraction—aside from the elegant white marble fireplace and a chaise longue at one end piled with snowy white towels—was the large sunken bath in the center of the room. As per Max’s directions, it had already been filled with steaming hot water.
“Max…” Charlie pressed her hands to her cheeks. “This room, the bath, it’s all simply stunning. But how on earth have the servants managed to fill such an enormous tub with hot water? It would have taken them all day.”
“That’s a very good question,” said Max with a grin. “I consulted the architect Sir John Soane, who installed a similar tub for Lord Hardwicke at Wimpole Hall. Water is pumped in from the lake and after it’s passed through a filter, it’s heated via a boiler beneath the floor.”
“That’s…I’m amazed.” Charlie turned and threw her arms about his neck. “Max, this is the most wonderful surprise. Thank you. I’m overwhelmed with gratitude. This is the best, indeed the most magnificent gift I’ve ever received.”
He laughed at that. “I’m glad you approve.”
Her eyes were soft with love as she said, “I do.”
“Well, shall we make use of it, my sweet wife?”
A wicked smile played about her fulsome lips. “We shall.”
It didn’t take them long to divest all of their clothes, then Max assisted Charlie down the short set of wide, porcelain-tiled stairs into the water.
As soon as Max sat on one of the steps, he gathered Charlie into his arms. Her warm, wet skin slid against his, and the desire that was already flowing through his veins headed straight to his groin.
“The temperature of the water is perfect,” murmured Charlie, sliding her hands over his shoulders. “It reminds me of that time we visited those Turkish baths in Brighton last year.”
“Yes. In any event, this is much better than naked sea bathing in Brighton.”
Charlie laughed, and her breasts with their succulent nipples bobbed in the water in the most tantalizing way. “I agree. Sea bathing wasn’t how I imagined it would be. Even though it was July, the water was freezing.” She gave an exaggerated shiver, and when her breasts jiggled again, Max couldn’t help but groan.
Cupping her face, he whispered in a voice frayed with lust, “As much as I’d love to spend time lathering soap and fragrant oil all over your delicious curves, sweet Charlotte, I don’t think I can wait a moment longer to be inside you.”
Her gaze locked with his. “I want you inside me too,” she murmured. “Only…I want to share my anniversary gift with you first.”
Anticipation curling through him, Max began to rub his thumb in idle circles over one of her nipples. The tip immediately stiffened into a tightly furled peak, tempting him to take it between his lips. “I have you, my love. That’s the only gift I need.”
“That’s very sweet of you, but no matter how much you taunt me with your wicked fingers, I will not be deterred.” Charlie clasped her hands about his neck, and an emotion he couldn’t quite place lit her honey-brown eyes. “Maximilian Devereux,” she murmured with grave sincerity, “you and I are going to have a baby.”
Max blinked. His breath hitched. When he spoke, his voice was little more than a rasp. “Charlie, do you mean it? Are you sure?”
She touched his jaw, and her mouth curved with a tender smile. “Of course, I’m sure, my darling husband. Haven’t you noticed that my bosom is a little larger and my waist is a little thicker?”
“I…I suppose…” He frowned. “Actually, no, not really.” And then his vision blurred as the most incredible feeling of unadulterated joy flooded his heart. Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against Charlie’s. “My darling. My love. This news…I can barely speak. I’m practically incoherent with happiness.”
“So am I.”
When Max lifted his head, Charlie’s beautiful, tear-bright eyes gazed back at him. “Make love to me, Max.”
Despite the fact his cock was still hard and ready, a frisson of worry slid through him. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
She smiled. “Of course it is, you darling, silly man. None of my friends have remained celibate during their pregnancies. I mean, can you imagine any of your friends going without for so long? Aside from that, I recently spoke with a midwife Arabella recommended, and she also confirmed that all will be well.”
He gave a soft chuckle. “You make a compelling argument.” His hand slid to her belly, and he caressed her silken skin beneath the warm water. “When is the babe due, do you know?”
“I’m only eight weeks along, so it will be a while yet, but both Arabella and the midwife think he or she will arrive around Christmastide.”
“I can hardly wait,” Max whispered. And then, because he could no longer contain all the wondrous feelings brimming inside him, he kissed Charlie, the duchess of his dreams.
Desire surged again, hot and insistent, yet Max resisted the impulse to take Charlie hard and fast. He wanted to make these glorious moments last.
He wanted to celebrate their love.
His tongue slid softly between Charlie’s lips, tasting her sweet warmth. Her soft sighs and the way she stroked hi
m back with her own tongue made him ache to possess her even more.
He settled his mouth upon one breast, and while he suckled, he slipped his fingers between her thighs. The delicious moan that spilled from her throat as he teased her slick sex made his cock jerk with appreciation.
“Max, I need you,” she whispered huskily. She rose, straddling him, the water lapping at her hips. With her face flushed with desire and her damp chestnut curls clinging to her neck, she looked exactly like a goddess. Like Venus rising from the sea.
“Sweet Jesus, Charlie,” he groaned as she gripped his throbbing shaft and took him—all of him—inside her. He cupped her delicious derriere. How well she filled his hands. How well she clasped his thick, throbbing length. So hot. So wet and silken. Tighter than a fisted glove. He would never grow tired of her. Of this.
He tightened his arms about her, and she undulated her hips, gently loving him with her body and her eyes. Her whispered words and breathy moans.
Max couldn’t hold back as urgent lust pulsated through his veins. Gripping her waist, he pumped his hips until pleasure claimed them both in a great rush. As he cried out Charlie’s name, her fingers twisted in his hair, and when she was spent too, she collapsed against him, her sweet breath fanning against his neck.
Max wrapped his arms about his wife. His chest was so full of love, he didn’t know how his body could possibly contain it.
Drawing back, he caught her drowsy, sated gaze. “How I love you, my darling,” he said, his voice filled with tender awe. “You bring me so much joy, I’d give you the whole world and everything in it if I could.”
Charlie’s eyes glowed, and when she smiled, he basked in the warmth of it. “Oh, Max, I love you too,” she whispered. “With my entire heart. And you don’t need to give me the world, or even the moon and the stars, because when I’m with you, I’m in heaven.”
And then she kissed him, and Max knew without a shadow of a doubt that they’d both find everything that they’d ever want or need right here in each other’s arms.
Author’s Note
From what I can fathom, John Anster’s poem, The Everlasting Rose, wasn’t published until August 1819 in The London Literary Gazette, although it may have been in private circulation prior to this. In any event, the quote that appears at the beginning of Chapter Eleven, fit my story so well, I just had to use it. I hope readers can forgive me using a little poetic license.
* * *
Likewise, John Keats’s well-known love sonnet to Fanny Brawne, Bright Star, wasn’t published until 1838, quite some years after the poet’s death, but there are accounts that he perhaps began to pen an early version of the poem in April 1818. Mr. Keats’s words are just so beautiful, I couldn’t resist including a quote in my book.
* * *
Lastly, all of the artworks mentioned in the story (apart from Madame de Beauvoir’s two entirely fictional paintings) actually do appear in the 1819 Royal Academy of Arts Exhibition’s guidebook. The quote by Sir Francis Bacon at the beginning of Chapter Twenty-three is featured in the 1819 guidebook as well.
Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed How to Catch a Devilish Duke, please help other readers find it too. Consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book.
And don’t forget the other books in the Disreputable Debutantes Series!
* * *
How to Catch a Wicked Viscount, Book 1
How to Catch an Errant Earl, Book 2
How to Catch a Sinful Marquess, Book 3
Also by Amy Rose Bennett
Visit Amy Rose Bennett’s website for all the purchase links…
Steamy Historical Romance Titles
Disreputable Debutantes Series
How to Catch a Wicked Viscount, Book 1
How to Catch an Errant Earl, Book 2
How to Catch a Sinful Marquess, Book 3
How to Catch a Devilish Duke, Book 4
Scandalous Regency Widows Series
Lady Beauchamp’s Proposal, Book 1
The Ice Duchess, Book 2
A Most Unsuitable Countess, Book 3 (Coming 2021)
Improper Liaisons Novella Series
An Improper Proposition, Book 1
An Improper Governess, Book 2
An Improper Christmas, Book 3
Highland Rogue Series
The Master of Strathburn, Book 1
The Laird of Blackloch, Book 2
Hot Winter Nights Novella Series
My Lady of Misrule, Book 1
My Lord of Misrule, Book 2 (Coming 2021)
A Wicked Twelfth Night Wager, Book 3 (Coming 2021)
* * *
Standalone Titles
Long Gone Girl
Sweet Regency Romance Titles
All She Wants for Christmas
Dashing Through the Snow
About the Author
Amy Rose Bennett is an Australian author who has a passion for penning emotion-packed historical romances. Of course, her strong-willed heroines and rakish heroes always find their happily ever after. A former speech pathologist, Amy is happily married to her very own romantic hero and has two lovely, very accomplished adult daughters. When she’s not creating stories, Amy loves to cook up a storm in the kitchen, lose herself in a good book or a witty rom-com, and, when she can afford it, travel to all the places she writes about.
Amy loves to hear from readers. You can contact her via her website or other places she hangs out on social media.
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How to Catch a Devilish Duke: The Disreputable Debutantes Page 35
