Dukes by the Dozen

by Grace Burrowes

  “You want me?” She sighed again, long and purposeful.

  His gaze lowered once more, and he swallowed. “There’s nothing I want more in my life.”

  “I believe you said I’m owed a prize still.” She shifted in the tub to arch her back. “Is that correct?”

  He nodded.

  The swish of water against her skin went from soothing to sensual, each sway and brush against her skin made her body hum with pleasure.

  “In the bed?” She tilted her head in a wicked grin. “Or in the tub?”

  He hesitated. “Are you sure? This night has not been kind to you.”

  “Then make it so and answer the question.” She slipped a wet, naked leg from the water and let it dangle over the edge in front of him.

  His stare followed the action. “Definitely in the tub.”

  “Not with your clothes on,” she chided.

  If he’d removed her attire with haste, he did so doubly fast with his own until he stood before her, chiseled with muscle and wonderfully nude. The firelight flickered golden shadows over his beautiful body. He was perfect. Even the scars crisscrossing jagged lines over his arm made him even more so, a symbol of his survival, of what he’d lived through and overcome. Julia’s gaze trailed down the expanse of his chest and lower still to where the hard maleness of him jutted in anticipation.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he promised.

  “Don’t be too careful, either.” She curled her finger to beckon him closer.

  He obeyed, stepping carefully into the tub and sinking into the fragranced bath with her. Waves slapped against the side of the copper tub, but she scarcely noticed. Their knees were pushed against one another, everything touching in the snug confines of the otherwise large tub.

  She sat up as he leaned forward, their mouths coming together in hungry, panting breaths, their bodies slick and hot pressing to one another.

  The light sprinkling of hair on his chest and legs crinkled against her skin, sending lovely ripples of pleasure through her.

  “You’re so beautiful, Julia.” He trailed kisses down her chest.

  She pushed her bosom toward him, hungry for the heat of his mouth on her again. He suckled first one nipple, then the other, his tongue flicking teasing circles against the little nubs. Her hands moved beneath the water, seeking and ultimately finding, the hard staff of his desire.

  He grunted against her breast.

  She froze. “Does that hurt?”

  “Only as much as this.” His hand slid up her inner thigh to cup the apex of her thighs. A finger slid up her center, gliding with the most delicious friction.

  She gripped him more firmly and slid her hand from length to tip. She explored him thus as his fingers deftly brought her to the brink.

  “Not yet.” He dragged his mouth from her breasts to her neck, kissing, nipping. His breath rasped in her ear, his voice silky when he spoke. “Part your legs for me.”

  His arm slipped behind her shoulder blades, softening the hard edge of the tub. She did as he bade, spreading her knees to accommodate the weight of him between her thighs. The tip of his staff bobbed clumsily at that intimate place.

  With one hand in the water, he watched her carefully with eyes so dark they appeared black. The clumsy bumps ceased and something firm pressed at her entrance. She gasped in delight.

  The banded muscles of his stomach clenched, and he slowly flexed his hips forward. His length eased into her, only an inch or so. But it was enough to make her want more. She whimpered in frustration and lifted her hips higher to meet him.

  He took her mouth in a kiss where teeth scraped lips and tongues stroked with abandon. The gentle push inside her worked into small thrusts, each one sinking deeper than the last. Waves undulated the water, lapping and sloshing as he filled her one careful inch at a time.

  She locked her legs around him, holding him to her. He drew out and back in, pumping pleasure through her while she rocked against him to catch every sensation. His hand moved between her thighs to stroke the bud of her sex. Her body tensed, knowing what was coming, and welcoming it.

  “I love you,” she panted. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” On the last phrase, the exhilaration overwhelmed her. She flew over the edge of her climax as William’s thrusts shortened into hard, fast jerks.

  He buried his face against her neck and groaned. The fullness inside of her pulsed and she knew she had what she wanted. Only this time, she did not wish for a child so she could have a life on her own. She wished for a child to begin the family they would build together.

  William cradled Julia against him. Long after the bath had been cleared away, and the house had gone quiet with sleep, they had lain awake together. Sometimes touching, sometimes talking, learning one another in every wonderful way imaginable.

  “Country estate, or London?” he asked in her ear.

  “Wherever I’m with you.” Her voice was slurred with the need to sleep.

  “I like that answer.” And he did. She had faced her own fear and pushed through it to trust him. It was a tender, fragile thing he held in the cradle of his heart. One he would never break.

  Her cheek moved against his and he knew she was smiling.

  He pressed a kiss to the shallow dip just below her ear. “Thank you.”

  “Hmmm?” she hummed in a lazy tone, clearly somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.

  “For giving me your trust.”

  She rolled over and lazily regarded him with tender affection. “And thank you.”

  He lifted his brow for her to go on.

  She chuckled. “For teaching me to love so beautifully.” Her wink was coquettish. “For saving me. Twice.” She stroked a hand over his jaw. “For letting me discover you.”

  “My love.” He pulled her into his arms and lay her head on his chest. “It has been my pleasure.”

  Epilogue

  May 1816

  London

  Julia opened the small card with anticipation. Lady Bursbury’s notes always included welcome news and invitations. This one was no exception.

  “We’ve been invited to attend a musical featuring Lady Penelope,” Julia said to William as she scanned the neat script. “I cannot believe she’s come out already. It makes me feel positively ancient.”

  William peered at her from the edge of his paper. “You’re far from ancient, darling.”

  She smiled at him. He was always ready to compliment her, even when two years had passed without her producing any children. “And Lady Jane is getting married.”

  William scoffed. “Poor Hesterton.”

  “No, to Lord Mortry,” Julia corrected.

  “Then poor Lady Jane.”

  “Hesterton hasn’t been excluded, it appears.” Julia read on. “Nancy is attempting to set up a match between Noah and the Craig heiress.” She set the invitation on the table with a flick of delight.

  This time the paper did not move a single crinkle. “It would take an extraordinary woman to edge her way into Hesterton’s heart. If he has one.”

  “Oh, come now. Everyone has a heart, and there’s one perfect person for the edging.”

  William turned the page.

  The invitation was not the only thing that made Julia’s stomach flutter with excitement. She bit back a grin. “Kittens or puppies?”

  “Puppies.” Another page turn.

  “Kittens have their own qualities: slender little tails that jut out like shaky sticks, squeaking mewls, tiny paws. Are you certain?”

  “Puppies. Always.”

  Her heart tripped over itself. “Boys or girls?”

  “For puppies or kittens?”

  “Neither.” A smile curled at her lips as she spoke. “Children.”

  Whump! Hands and paper dropped at once to the table. William regarded her with tentative excitement, his brows poised halfway up his forehead. “Dare I ask what could inspire such a question?”

  She rose from her seat and let her fingers tenderly stroke
her lower midsection. “I’m sure you can guess.”

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  “Our family will be growing by one more in the next few months.” The emotion bubbled up from Julia, and she laughed at the sheer joy of sharing such news. “We’re going to be parents, William.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I waited two months after I missed my courses to be certain.” She stopped beside him.

  His gaze fell to her stomach. “The physician never came.”

  “He did.” She moved her hand, took his, and placed it over the very small bump. “I waited until you would be out. I didn’t wish to worry you, and I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for certain.”

  “You clever minx.” He cupped his large hand over her stomach. His brow furrowed, and he was silent for an extraordinarily long moment.

  A trickle of fear nipped at her enjoyment. “Happy? Or displeased?”

  “Happy.” He looked up at her with a glossy gaze. “Immeasurably happy.”

  This small baby within her womb had moved her brave and powerful husband to tears. She felt her own eyes prickle with heat.

  “I love you, Julia.” He got to his feet and pulled her into his arms. Immediately he snapped back and regarded her stomach.

  She laughed through her tears. “You won’t hurt him.”

  He drew Julia against him once more, this time tender and tentative. “Or her.”

  “Oh? Is it a girl you want, then?” Julia snuggled into her husband’s strong arms.

  He held her to him and cupped the slight swell of her stomach once more, cradling his entire family in one embrace. “That depends.”

  “On?”

  “On what this baby is.”

  “I think that’s the perfect answer.”

  And it was. The perfect answer, for the perfect life and the perfectly wonderful husband she was grateful to have taken the time to discover.

  From Madeline Martin

  Thank you so much for reading Discovering the Duke. I hope you’ve enjoyed it! This was such a fun project to take part in and I am honored to have been included. To find out more about me and my books, you can go to my website: http://www.madelinemartin.com

  Or sign up for my newsletter: http://eepurl.com/biji1j

  I love hearing from my readers, so please feel free to reach out to me.

  * * *

  If your curiosity is piqued about Noah, you can read his story in Mesmerizing the Marquis:

  A reclusive marquis.

  An heiress determined to save him.

  A passion neither can deny.

  Amazon: http://hyperurl.co/mtmamz

  Nook: http://hyperurl.co/mtmnk

  iBooks: http://hyperurl.co/mtmib

  Kobo: http://hyperurl.co/mtmkobo

  About the Author

  Madeline Martin is a USA TODAY Bestselling author of historical romance novels filled with twists and turns, adventure, steamy romance, empowered heroines and the men who are strong enough to love them. She lives in sunny Florida in her own happily ever after with her two daughters and a man so wonderful, he’s been dubbed Mr. Awesome.

  THE DUKE AND THE APRIL FLOWERS

  April

  Grace Burrowes

  Preface

  The Duke of Clonmere must marry one of the Earl of Falmouth’s three giggling younger daughters, but Lady Iris—Falmouth’s oldest, who is not at all inclined to giggling—catches Clonmere’s eye, and his heart!

  Chapter 1

  “Your sainted papa promised you’d choose your duchess from among my daughters, Your Grace. They are the loveliest trio of young ladies to waltz through Mayfair’s ballrooms in ages, so you needn’t bother fuming about your fate. Polite society will feel not even a scintilla of pity for you.”

  The Earl of Falmouth, father to that trio of young ladies, bent to sniff a pot of daffodils. Henning, Duke of Clonmere, barely restrained himself from shoving his lordship’s face into the flowers.

  “The pity,” His Grace said, “should be reserved for a woman yoked to a partner who comes to the union unwillingly.”

  Falmouth was a lean, white-haired fellow with an easy smile and shrewd blue eyes. Clonmere’s father had claimed that as a boy at public school, the earl had befriended every ducal heir he’d ever met, and let not a one of them forget it.

  Amid a back garden coming into its full spring glory, Falmouth looked benign, just as his daughters probably looked demure and biddable.

  Clonmere had sisters and a mother. He knew better.

  “You are young,” Falmouth said. “You might come to the altar unwillingly, but you’ll come to the marriage bed readily enough. If you’re anything like your father—”

  Clonmere rose from the bench rather than let that reminiscence blunder into the light of day. “I am nothing like the last duke.” For one moment, he loomed over the older man, which was not well done of him. Six feet and three inches of duke should be too well mannered to loom over even a schemer like Falmouth.

  The earl had turned one old letter into a binding promise of a proposal. Papa had probably sent half a dozen such letters, drunken, sentimental maunderings that posited a desire to see “my dear boy with one of your sweet, lovely girls at his side…”

  Fortunately for Clonmere, English law considered bigamy a felony.

  “You are more your father’s son than you know,” Falmouth said, pushing to his feet. “You think he engaged in one mad lark after another because he was bored and self-absorbed. In his way, he was as stubborn as you’d like to be. All that wagering and wenching was a refusal to be guided by wiser heads. You’re tempted to err in the very same direction, to ignore your father’s wishes out of simple pique.”

  Clonmere was tempted to leave for Portugal, where the spring sunshine was wonderfully hot, not this thin English light that the merest breeze could turn chilly.

  But he’d spent the past five years in Portugal, and Mama had put her foot down. Clonmere was stubborn, had a good opinion of himself, and had invested in a few risky ventures, but he wasn’t stupid enough to thwart the duchess on the topic of the ducal succession.

  “A desire for marital harmony is the farthest thing from pique,” Clonmere said, striding down the gravel path. “As a father, you should want at least that for your offspring.”

  Falmouth chortled, the condescension in his mirth scraping Clonmere’s last nerve. “My daughters are paragons, Your Grace, but they’re also sensible. Give them a tiara, give them the opportunity to count a duke among their in-laws, and they’ll be more than content.”

  Falmouth would be content, in other words, because he would have scored a social coup.

  “How old are they?” Clonmere asked, regretting the question as soon he’d spoken.

  “Lily is twenty-three, Holly and Hyacinth are twenty-one. Old enough to be sensible, young enough to present you with plenty of sons.”

  Portugal wasn’t far enough way. Peru wasn’t far enough away. The ladies might indeed be paragons, diamonds, incomparables and all that other twaddle applied to pretty women with titled families, but Clonmere was horrified to think of having Falmouth as a father-in-law.

  Women were not livestock, and children were not proof of virility. They were noisy, expensive, messy, and loud, and one heir and one spare were all that duty required of anybody. And yet, duty did require that much. Clonmere was thirty-two, neither of his younger brothers had married, and Mama’s patience was at an end.

  “I’m willing to meet your daughters, Falmouth, but I won’t have them paraded before me like fillies at Tatt’s. I’ll send you a list of the social engagements I’ll attend over the next few weeks, and you can make introductions to me and to my mother in the normal course.”

  Falmouth plucked a sprig of rosemary from the border beside the garden gate. “You’ll rely on your dear mother’s judgment in this matter?”

  “I’ve agreed to be introduced to your daughters, my lord, nothing more. There is no matter, there is no engag
ement, there might well be no proposal. If you indicate otherwise to your daughters, I’ll know it, and find myself forced to attend to pressing business in the Antipodes.”

  The piney scent of rosemary filled the air, supposedly an aid to memory. Clonmere might have already met Falmouth’s paragons, but if so, they’d made no impression on him.

  Being a duke, particularly a wealthy, single duke, required the ability to make small talk while considering whether to plant the Surrey estate in flowers or corn, and to play cards while deciding which eager young cleric should be awarded the living in Derbyshire.

  Clonmere might have stood up with every blossom in Falmouth’s bouquet at some point. At least one of them had been out before he’d gone to Portugal. As he took his leave of Falmouth, he had the sense that he’d neglected to ask some important question or establish some salient fact…

  The niggling, where-are-my-spectacles feeling stayed with Clonmere on the short walk to his townhouse. He kept mostly to the alleys, because the day was sunny, and the carriage parade would start within the hour. Bad enough he would be waltzed off his feet for the next month; but then… Falmouth had only the three daughters, and most hostesses only planned two waltzes per evening.

  Perhaps the next month wouldn’t be that taxing after all.

  “But Papa,” Lily wailed, “what did you tell him about us?”

  “And what did he say about us?” Hyacinth asked, gesturing with her fork.

  “Did you let him say anything at all?” Holly added. “You aren’t his papa, you know. Clonmere is a duke. He doesn’t have to listen to you. Hy, please leave me at least a teaspoon of apple compote or my breakfast will be incomplete.”