The Ice Duchess: Prequel to the Duchess Society Series

by Tracy Sumner

  “You’re vexed with me,” she said, tugging the lapels close to her cheek. The deep breath to capture the masculine scent hidden in the woolen folds was unnecessary as it lived in her memory alongside the second kiss in her life he’d gifted her. She would take the last twenty-four hours to her grave, an experience to top all others. Tears pricked her eyes to imagine anything better than being with Dex again, the brief return of her childhood. Only Anthony sharing this time with them could have increased its appeal.

  Dex opened the door and waited wearily for her to step through it. “I’m vexed with the world, Georgie. But never fear, I’ll get over it.”

  He didn’t try to stop her as she made her way down the stone steps, assisting with a light grip on her elbow to keep her from slipping, his touch restrained, his manner polite but distant. He’d gone back to his island, and she might not see him leave it. She turned as she was climbing into the carriage. “Dex, the other young lady I planned to introduce you to…”

  His gaze shot to a window high above them. His father’s bedchamber, she assumed. Stepping back, his hands dove into his trouser pockets as his lips flattened. “Send me a note with the date and time, and I’ll be there. Looking very ducal and pretending to feel happy about this process. No one will have any clue it’s you I want.”

  With this astounding statement released to the cosmos, he slapped the roof of the carriage and turned without another word, leaving her staring out into the starlit nightfall, her wishes, her feelings, in utter disarray.

  His rash declaration a short hour ago rolled through his mind.

  That you could make a list of what you want to know, what you want to do, how to touch me, how I should touch you, and I’ll eagerly strike each off…

  He lifted the glass to his lips, certain his decision to dive into a brandy bottle following Georgie’s departure would solve no problems, although it was taking the sting out of the evening’s closure. In the distance, thunder rumbled, and the acrid scent of an approaching storm churned and sizzled. He smelled burning pine and, somehow, her. Which was impossible as he sat on Markham Manor’s stone steps in a puddle of slush that had chilled until he could no longer feel his buttocks.

  He wanted to be nothing but part of the night, silent from the roar in his mind, the ache in his heart. He wanted neither dukedom nor love, messy entanglements, childhood affection traps, eyes the color of lapis, the tug of slim fingers through his hair, lips that felt familiar but should not, or the weight of despair over a pledge he should have made years ago and hadn’t the courage to.

  He’d mucked up everything.

  He’d known Georgie had an attachment to him when they were children, though he’d considered it infatuation. Charming, until he started to return the sentiment.

  And now…she didn’t want a husband, feared taking a lover.

  Did he want to be simply an experience even if he persuaded her? Her teacher in lovemaking but nothing more, which did make his cock twitch to envision, he wasn’t denying.

  He shuddered, the glass quaking in his hands. One more minute of this excruciating bliss, then he’d return to the house before he expired from the cold. Check on his father, whisper words of encouragement and promise, lay his hand on an unresponsive brow, and question why he didn’t feel more for the man when the man had never endeavored to feel more for him.

  Dex smiled without joy, brandy a lingering burn. Maybe he’d threaten to marry the next suitable, no matter how repellant she or her family. Put Georgie to the test. A dare like none he’d placed before her. A true wager.

  Her heart for his soul.

  What would she do if he asked another woman to marry him while knowing he wanted her?

  What would she do?

  Nothing was a strong possibility.

  He huddled into his coat, not his best, it had gone with Georgie, but good enough to keep out the worst of the foul weather.

  He didn’t want her gratitude or her compliance. He didn’t want her to come to him because she’d decided she might like to be a duchess, a title he gave two figs about himself. Or because she was curious about what he could show her about the physical side of life, which from her stunned expression after he’d kissed her, was likely a lot.

  He wanted her to come to him because she trusted him in the way she once had. Like a close friend she also happened to be frantically in love with.

  The truth was, he wanted her to bet on him even if she believed she shouldn’t.

  Chapter 7

  The package arrived on Christmas Eve.

  A simple white box wrapped with twine, no note accompanying it. With butterflies erupting in her belly, Georgie took the parcel to her chamber and laid it on the bed, staring at it in pained silence before wrapping the end of the string around her thumb and giving it a hesitant tug. Inside was a hooded cape the color of the lapis stone she’d nearly worn to dullness from her fretting caresses. Trimmed in fox fur and gold cord, the cape was more lavish than any she’d ever owned. More lavish than she needed. An intimate gift meant to send Dex’s jarring avowal like a dart straight into the fleshy center of her heart.

  Make a list of how I should touch you, and I’ll eagerly strike each off…

  Georgie pursed her lips and nudged the package closer. In the folds of tissue surrounding the cloak, she’d seen a flash of color. She lifted the beetle fossil from the box, brought it to her breast, and closed her eyes in anguish. Amusement. Fondness.

  Blast him, the mischievous cad.

  And a thief, she concluded, laughing until her stomach hurt. Because the fossil wasn’t being returned to a German museum. Along with her lapis stone, she’d never relinquish it.

  Dexter Munro, what am I going to do with you?

  “You’re going to find him a duchess, that’s what,” she answered, blinking the hearthfire into view. A mere hour from now, Edward Mullen, Viscount Lindley, and his family were arriving for a dinner party to introduce his daughter, Letitia, to the heir to the Duke of Markham. Lovely, lively, wholly appropriate Letitia. Handsome, clever, wholly available Dex.

  They would make a gorgeous couple, have gorgeous children.

  Live a gorgeous life.

  The only wrinkle in the plan being he’d told her he wanted her. Georgie. His childhood friend. The scrap of a girl who’d tripped along behind him on a thousand artless adventures, hanging on his every word, recording his every move until she knew him better than she knew herself. In the end, she’d married out of necessity, like Dex was set to do. She’d survived her heart being smashed to bits. In any case, he couldn’t possibly feel for her what she’d once felt for him; he would survive her gentle rebuff. The love she’d felt then could only belong to an impressionable girl, someone able to give entirely without knowledge about how vile relationships could be. Under the guise of matrimony, how much one had to lose.

  How one could be hurt, damaged, changed.

  You’re bitter, Georgiana comprehended with a pulse of astonishment that had her slumping to the bed. You’re letting that horse’s arse win. She flopped to her back, arms outstretched, the fossil still clutched tightly in her fist. The ceiling had a tiny spider crack she traced with her eyes to the dark corner of the room. Her fury was fierce and precipitous, cleansing as well as harrowing. Three years after his demise, Arthur still had his fingers circling her wrist and was squeezing as she dropped to her knees. She flexed her hand, almost able to feel the pressure.

  Dex’s passionate response, lips sliding along her neck, warm breath stealing into her ear, returned to her on a wave of regret and yearning. He’d told her while they organized his fossils: experience in every aspect of life lies in the details, and I love details.

  Georgiana palmed her quivering stomach and swallowed deeply. What if, when she fantasized about lovemaking, images of Dex seized her mind instead of images of Arthur? Not the man of her dreams but the real man.

  The resolution was easy.

  Dex was a passionate man, and he, for his own reasons
, wanted her.

  She was passionate, she hoped, and she wanted him.

  She could give him what he wanted, one night to satisfy both their needs. One night to wash away Arthur and her unhappy marriage for good. One night to show Dex she was a dream he’d created in his mind to ease the loneliness of being back in Derbyshire, the heartache of watching his father die. She was merely a woman he’d once known well, no more, no less. They could come together with no business arrangement attached, no contracts, no ticking clock, no weight of a hundred tenants on their shoulders. Simple want and desire allowed out of a cage, if those things were ever simple.

  Passion for passion’s sake.

  Then he would be free to marry without worry he’d left anyone behind, and she would be free to never marry again.

  For a potentially life-changing event, this dinner party wasn’t any better than the last.

  The lady was lovely. Excellent teeth and nice hair. Lavinia, Dex silently asked and sent a frowning glance into his wineglass. Lydia? Not that he could address her this casually even if they were appraising each other like horses at auction. He wouldn’t be surprised if Viscount Lindley asked to see his molars. Dex threaded his fingers through his hair and gave the strands an exasperated tug. Lord, he was surviving on little sleep and too many damn questions he couldn’t answer. Dex thought of his father rapidly failing in his massive tester bed at Markham Manor and realized the solution to his Twelfth Night promise did not reside in Georgie’s leased dining room.

  Unless you counted Georgie, and Dex didn’t think he could.

  She seemed anxious for this match to take.

  The veranda door opened, and he stumbled back into the shadows, a rough smack against chilled stone.

  “Dexter Reed Munro, you’d better come out right now!” Georgie said in an angry hiss.

  Dex finished his wine, placing the glass on the ledge at his side. When Georgie stalked past him, he slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her into the darkened alcove. “Don’t scream,” he said in her ear, his body moving in to protect her from the fierce wind. “It’s me.”

  Her breath caught, her arms clenching. “I’m going to murder you.” She tipped her head, gazing at him from a circle of fox fur and gold trim. “A disappearing marquess is not reassuring, Dex. She’ll think you don’t want her.”

  “I don’t.”

  Her curse was one he was surprised she knew.

  “You’re wearing the cape,” he mumbled like a man waking from a dream. His world dissolved into shades of blue and silver, a winter wonderland. “This was the real Christmas present, a little early. The stone was an impulsive gesture.”

  Her mouth kicked, just the one side, so delightful a response his knees weakened.

  “I don’t want her,” he echoed on a rushed breath, knowing he might as well be honest since Georgie was already mad about the entire evening. “I’m sorry. I know I must let my father know by Twelfth Night, and I’m running out of time, but Lydia wasn’t the one for me.”

  “Letitia.” With a sigh, she let her head fall against the stone, her eyes drifting closed. Her breath fogged the air, tepid gusts melting over his skin. “I told them you received a note about your father and had to rush home. Apologies were made, ones befitting a duke.”

  “It seems I’m not ready for polite society. Better with a pickax and a pile of rocks, as you said. Beneath the titles, there lies a humble geologist, though no one wants to believe it.”

  “I don’t think I can help you with this,” she whispered and lowered her gaze. “Your search for a duchess.”

  “Because I’m making it difficult?”

  She paused for so long his ears started to sting from the cold. He had to get them inside before they froze to death.

  “I would call it a conflict of interest,” she finally murmured.

  Blowing out a dumbfounded breath, Dex grabbed Georgie’s hand and tugged her behind him through the slush, back into the house and into the first vacant room, which happened to be a cramped linen closet. Pushing her inside, he closed the door and leaned against it, darkness swallowing them. “We’re not leaving this cupboard until you explain your comment.”

  “You said you wanted me.” He heard her swallow, throat clicking. She exhaled softly, licked her lips if he wasn’t mistaken. “The other day, by the carriage.”

  Like he didn’t remember slicing a vein and bleeding in front of her?

  He walked forward, bumping her back into the shelves. Grasping her hips, he drew her against his body, where it was very apparent he wanted her. A flash decision, he resolved to quit hiding the way he felt about her. He only had pride to lose, which wasn’t much when compared to losing her. “I remember. I did. I do.”

  She gasped at the blatant feel of him, arching her back, a languid abrasion which made everything worse. “I can’t think when you’re touching me like this.”

  “And your point is…?” His hands curled around her waist as he pulled her deeper into the curve of his body. She wiggled with a staccato sound of pleasure, silky softness settling against his pulsing hardness. Regrettably, he was fast losing his focus. Take her, his body shouted while his mind grappled with more sensible options. “Hold a sec. I’ve forgotten my question.”

  “Oh bloody fine, Dex,” she whispered, bounced up on her toes and slanted her lips over his.

  They staggered into each other, seeking, awkward, off-balance. Then he lifted his hands to cradle her head, tipped his and…suddenly it was perfect. She moaned when they found the fit, and he drew the rushing cry into his mouth, because even ten seconds out, he’d never experienced a kiss like it. Hand sliding to the back of her neck, he bent over her, deepening the exchange, his tongue circling, mating, engaging. His other arm went low, where he lifted her from her slippers and against him. Her body strained, seeking. Closeness, closure. The scent of lavender and starched linen and Georgie wove a silken web around his awareness until he felt unattached, floating in space.

  She shoved his chest, pushing him away from her and into the door. “A deal, Dex,” she said, her breathlessness pleasing him to no end. “A pact. We make it here, agreed upon…by both parties.”

  He dropped his hands to her shoulders, slid them down her arms. Linking their fingers, he pulled her into him, whispered against her lips, “Do I need my solicitor for this negotiation?”

  She fell into the kiss for a long, hypnotic instant, then wrenched her head to the side, sending his lips trailing along her cheek. “Dex, stop,” she gasped. “Fight fairly for once.”

  He cursed beneath his breath and released her so abruptly he stumbled into a stack of folded towels, sending them scattering to the floor. His vision had adapted to the darkness, and she flooded into view, a curvaceous, irresistible shape eclipsed in shades of violet and gray. “Apologies. It’s the wine.” He loosened his cravat with a jerking pull, his breath flowing free in an aggravated gust. “Or my intense attraction to you. Or my loneliness.” He slipped the length of silk from his neck and wadded it in a ball in his fist. “Take your pick.”

  “Or your need to win. Can I choose that option?”

  His head came up, gaze finding her obscured one across the short distance. “Are we going to eradicate our desire with an argument? An age-old trick. Well done.”

  Her lips pressed, released. “I want to control for once. I lead, you follow. I deserve it after a lifetime spent shadowing you.”

  He shoved his cravat in her hand. “Tie my wrists to the bedpost, and I’ll let you control everything.”

  Her head dropped, her fingers clenching around the silken square. Then she asked the most unexpected question of his life, “Could you get loose?”

  Astuteness or insight born from sympathy, something, saved him from approaching Georgie in the wrong way in that cracker box of a closet on a blustery Christmas Eve. Too forcefully, too selfishly, as most men would have with their cocks hard enough to bust buttons, fierce desire and greed racing through their bodies. He took a me
ntal step back, examining the details he’d gathered about her. “Not if you didn’t want me to, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”

  “I won’t marry again,” she murmured, the words so low he had to strain to hear them. “It’s too late for me, that life.”

  His heart pitched in his chest, a deep, winded dive. He struggled to imagine what her declaration meant when he wanted more, and she knew it. He was, in turn, seduced and wounded. “Is that the deal? You gain experience. I teach. We part as friends when you return to London?”

  Her hand settled over his thumping heart. “It’s much more. I missed you dreadfully when you weren’t a part of my life. Spending even this short amount of time with you here, at home, in Derbyshire….it’s been wonderful. My first proper Christmas in years. I want your friendship. Forever, I want it. But I want this, too. I want you. I always have. I desire you as I desire no one.” She halted his move to gather her close at her impassioned avowal, her fingers splaying over his chest. “Let me say this while I have the courage. So you understand.”

  “Georgie,” he whispered, a plea, because he was falling swiftly in dire love with her—and he worried what she told him would further connect them in a way he’d be unable to break despite any promise he might make.

  “When I said Arthur was cruel, I mean…” Her arm trembled, but she didn’t release her hold on him. “When I close my eyes and imagine making love, I see nightmarish images instead of erotic ones. I want you to help me wipe those away. Replace ugly with beautiful. In turn, I want you to see what we share, you can find with another. You’ve already shared with another. This night will release us in different ways. Burdens of the past removed.”

  His teeth clenched in frustration, but he reigned the emotion in. “I’m trying very hard not to be insulted by this discussion, while the disreputable part of me is amenable to anything allowing me to tear your clothes off.”