Blame It on the Duke (The Disgraceful Dukes #3)

by Lenora Bell

  “Sanskrit?” He cocked his head.

  Alice bristled. “You think me incapable of such a skill?”

  “I was merely startled by your choice of languages,” he said smoothly, recovering his seductive smile. “I see nothing objectionable about you translating some dried-up, boring old texts.”

  The Kama Sutra was hardly dry and boring, but he could believe what he wanted.

  “I know you must think translating texts an unsuitable occupation for a lady.”

  “But don’t you see?” He caught her hand again and stroked a thumb across her knuckles. “This is perfect! If you marry me you may trot across the entire globe and you won’t hear the slightest protest. In fact, I would do my utmost to encourage such endeavors.” He placed his free hand over his cravat. “I swear it.”

  She searched his face suspiciously. “You would?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t want a wife in London. I’d rather have one in India.”

  She considered that for a moment. It sounded plausible. He was such an unrepentant rake that, if he were forced to marry, he wouldn’t want a wife to interfere with his disreputable life.

  He waved a careless hand through the air. “Publish dry, scholarly tomes. Found a female colony of bluestockings in the Amazon, for all I care. I can see you are highly intelligent and highly motivated. Go forth, Dimples, go forth and conquer the world!”

  This man sitting next to her was conceited, promiscuous, and cared only for his own pleasure, but she sensed he was speaking the truth.

  She was even beginning to wonder whether his arrogance masked something more substantial and interesting.

  In her years of peer repelling, Alice had learned that a gentleman couldn’t feign respect for a lady. Alice always saw through their feeble attempts to placate her, their belittling “aren’t you clevers” and their amused smiles when she explained the origin of a word, or made a comparison between cultures.

  He might call her Dimples, but Lord Hatherly wasn’t threatened by her goals, mostly because they were convenient for him, but also because he wasn’t threatened by intelligent females.

  Which was extremely refreshing, and almost made her want to respect him back.

  But of course that was out of the question. The man kept dozens of mistresses. Her friend Charlene had been inside Sunderland House once. She’d said there were scantily clad women and poppy-addled poets around every corner.

  Still . . . she’d never considered that a particular type of husband, a disinterested one, wouldn’t be a hindrance to her plans at all.

  When Hatherly had stormed into the study, she’d seen him as another hurdle to clear—an impediment to her plans.

  Could he be a pathway, instead of an obstruction?

  Could marrying him actually be the fastest route to making her dreams come true? A respectable matron could choose to voyage. She wouldn’t be breaking any major societal rules.

  Hatherly lightly stroked her palm. “Marry me and sail off into the sunset.”

  “You truly wouldn’t care what I did, as long as I left you alone?”

  A slight smile tilted his lips. “That’s about the sum of it.”

  “You’ll continue having affaires.”

  He shrugged. “I’m a man.”

  His infidelity shouldn’t concern her. It was exactly the manner of marriage preferred by elegant society; a convenient arrangement, nothing more.

  They would be separated not only by a lack of affection but by the distance of mountains and oceans.

  His fingers continued stroking nonchalantly, as if by accident.

  What he proposed was more freedom than she’d ever imagined.

  A lifetime of freedom. A married female could come and go as she pleased. Travel unmolested.

  Excitement danced between Alice’s shoulder blades as she thought about all the adventures she could have. The whole world open to her exploration.

  Alice loved Fred dearly, but he was supremely unsuited to traveling. He hadn’t wanted to go to the Continent—he’d even begged their father not to send him—and Alice had sat by, holding her tongue, as her brother attempted to refuse the adventures she so desperately craved.

  While Fred toured Europe, Alice had been sequestered behind closed doors with Mrs. Grissingham-Porter, the thin-lipped widow charged with the unenviable task of transforming Alice into a fine lady.

  The humorless widow had quickly learned that bookish country mice do not diamonds of the first water make. Nor even of the third or fourth water, whatever that meant.

  While being fitted for ridiculously frolicsome bonnets and restrictive kid gloves, Alice couldn’t help thinking that if she’d been born male it would have been she on that ship, sailing off for adventure.

  The only journey her mother fervently longed for Alice to make was the short distance from the entrance of a church to the altar. It was all she spoke of—finding a titled husband for Alice so their family might raise themselves up from the mire of their origins in trade.

  Another thought occurred to her.

  Her parents wouldn’t be satisfied unless there was a betrothal today. But that didn’t mean a wedding must necessarily follow. If she found another way to travel to India, she could always break off an engagement.

  Lord Hatherly’s father owned at least five houses. She wouldn’t feel too badly depriving him of one. It was expedient to go along with the engagement . . . at least for now.

  “Well then, sensible Miss Alice Tombs, do we have an agreement?” He traced a line along her palm. “You go your way.” His finger stopped moving, pressing the center of her hand. “And I stay right here.”

  His touch made her shiver with something halfway between fear and desire.

  She’d never wanted a man to touch her before.

  Never held her breath, waiting for the next playful, teasing swirl of a finger on her palm.

  “We’ll have a quiet wedding in your parlor,” he announced.

  “Pardon me.” She pulled her hand away and waved it in front of his face. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “You will. I’m exactly what you need, Dimples. A title for your parents and nothing more. No demands. No expectations. A one-way ticket to adventure. Think of the lands you’ll see. The languages you’ll learn.”

  “It’s quite a momentous decision to make. I already sent one suitor away today.”

  “Really?” His fingers tightened around her hand again. “Who was it?”

  “Lord White.”

  “White?” he exploded. “That frilly fop?”

  “I dispatched him with a hairpin.”

  “A hairpin?”

  She nodded. “He attempted to kiss me, and he received a swift jab with a hairpin for his troubles.”

  Hatherly chuckled. “I wish I could have seen his reaction.”

  “He was rather put out.”

  When he smiled a real smile, not a mocking one, Alice noticed his lips were full on top, as well as on bottom, which would have been too pretty on another gentleman, but lent his lean, masculine features a hint of sensual softness.

  “I’ve been meaning to kiss you,” Hatherly said. He eyed her coiffure. “Will I receive the same treatment?”

  “I suppose . . . in the interests of making an educated decision . . .” She couldn’t very well decide to marry the gentleman without sampling his kiss. What if it were as damp and uninspiring as Lord White’s unpleasant embrace?

  “It might be prudent, Miss Tombs,” he agreed, with a serious expression.

  “Very well, Lord Hatherly. You may kiss me now.”

  He didn’t jump right in and start pawing her, as Lord White had done.

  The heat in his eyes surrounded her—like entering a warm house on a frozen, snowy night.

  Rough, strong fingers caressed her cheek and he dragged a thumb across her lower lip.

  He touched her with confidence and self-assurance so profound that every lineament of his body, every brush of his fingers, proclaimed: Wors
hip me.

  His large hand cupped her chin and tilted her head back.

  Still no kiss.

  It was the anticipation that made her tingle. The utter certainty that she was in the hands of a master and would soon receive her first lesson in the practical application of the principles of pleasure.

  Finally, his lips touched hers softly, only a subtle pressure . . . a whisper.

  He stroked the back of her neck with both his large hands, his thumbs tilting her jaw into the embrace. He kissed her neck, her jaw, her dimples. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, asking her lips to . . . open?

  Gracious. Well, if that’s what rakes expected . . .

  She opened for him and his tongue slipped inside her mouth. It felt so foreign to taste him inside her. Ripe, sugary fig flavor of sherry. Warm, firm lips.

  She’d read about the pressing kind of kiss . . . when tongues met and conversed . . . but what on earth was she supposed to do with her tongue?

  He deepened the kiss, angling her head back, his hands bracketing her cheeks, positioning her lips, his tongue stroking hers with sure, commanding movements.

  Oh. My. No more time to think. This kiss was becoming serious.

  She clasped her arms around his neck, showing him that she approved.

  She opened her mouth wider. He entered deeper and made a low moaning sound that traveled through her body and settled somewhere in her belly.

  His hands moved to her waist, shaping and squeezing through the layers of lace and muslin, and his thumbs grazed the underside of her breasts.

  The warm, bubbly sensation in her chest heightened, made her press against him, wrap her arms tighter, seeking . . . something.

  When his lips left hers, she made a disappointed noise in the back of her throat. She didn’t want the kiss to end. Not when it was becoming so promisingly educational.

  He gazed into her eyes, his lips tilted up at one corner. “Well?”

  You’re hired, Alice thought. “Ah yes . . . that was . . . quite satisfactory. I will marry you, Lord Hatherly,” she blurted.

  You ninny, she thought. Don’t make him even more conceited.

  Why did he make her so uncharacteristically flustered?

  He set her away from him and readjusted his cuffs. “I’ll pound on the door until your enterprising father arrives and then we may inform him of the glad tidings.” He offered her his arm. She slid her hand over the solid steel muscles beneath the fine fabric of his coat. How did he keep himself so very fit? she wondered. And was he this solid . . . everywhere?

  She’d thought of him as a map earlier, and she’d been determined to cross him, outwit him, and rid herself of him swiftly. Now it appeared he could be a map of an entirely different variety.

  A new land she would soon have the opportunity to explore. And, if his kiss was any indication, the exploration would be very enlightening, indeed.

  This was the perfect convenient arrangement for both of them.

  Alice smoothed her skirts and jabbed her hairpins back into place. “Please don’t mention my travel plans to Papa.”

  “It will be our little secret.”

  “We’ll let him think you kissed me into compliance.”

  “Oh, but I did, Dimples,” he said with a thoroughly wicked smile.

  “Ha!” Well, it was only partially true. “You may tell yourself so, Lord Hatherly, if that’s what you need to believe.”

  Chapter 4

  Friends should possess the following qualities: They should tell the truth. They should not be changed by time. They should not reveal your secrets.

  The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

  “Please, please tell me you did not agree to marry Lord Hatherly because of a kiss,” exclaimed Alice’s dear friend Charlene, Duchess of Harland. “I thought you were more sensible than that, Alice.”

  “Must have been one monumental kiss,” laughed Thea, Duchess of Osborne, her lively blue eyes dancing with mischief.

  The three friends were curled up in comfortable velvet armchairs in Thea’s chambers at Osborne Court, drinking chocolate and baring their souls.

  They gathered as often as possible given Charlene and Thea’s many familial and societal obligations, but this time it had been Alice who had difficulty leaving her house.

  Her mother was already frantically planning the wedding. It was to be a grand pageant designed to proclaim to the world that their daughter was marrying a marquess, she would be a duchess someday, and the doors that had remained closed to the Tombs family must now miraculously swing open.

  “This truly is the most delicious chocolate,” Alice said, taking a sip of the richly spiced Duchess Cocoa that Charlene and her husband created. “Has Harland changed the recipe?”

  Charlene’s blue eyes narrowed. “Do not change the subject.”

  “Details,” Thea said, bouncing in her chair. “We want details.”

  “Well,” said Alice, “when Lord Hatherly arrived I could see that he was as displeased about the marriage as I was, perhaps even more so, and then . . . something changed.” What had changed? Why had he suddenly become so eager for the betrothal? She’d been so busy kissing the man she’d ceased to wonder about his sudden reversal.

  “I meant details about the kiss, you ninny,” Thea said.

  “Oh. It was . . .” Alice’s heart sped, remembering the kiss. “It was like running as fast I could across a field with the wind in my face. It made me feel reckless and . . . alive.”

  A wrinkle appeared between Charlene’s curved brows. She shook her head, and her long, golden curls tumbled over her shoulders. “This isn’t good, Alice. Not Hatherly. Anyone save Hatherly. You can’t fall in love with an actual rake, sweetheart. He’ll never love you back. And he’s bound to break your heart.”

  “Who said anything about love?” asked Alice. “We came to a mutually expedient business agreement.”

  “Even worse,” Charlene muttered.

  “He wants to keep Sunderland House and I need to be a respectable matron in order to journey to India as planned.”

  “But what happened to Fred?” Thea asked. “Wasn’t he supposed to accompany you to India this summer?”

  “Fred married a Parisian opera singer.”

  “Truly?” Thea blinked. “Stolid, dependable, horseman Fred?”

  “Good for Fred,” said Charlene. “Marrying for love.”

  “It may be good for Fred, but it’s not good for me,” Alice replied.

  Thea nodded. “I see exactly why. Fred made an imprudent match and so your mother is even more desperate for you to make a brilliant one. So you’re marrying Hatherly to please your parents. It’s very noble of you, Alice, but you shouldn’t let your parents dictate your life. You have a choice in the matter. Think carefully. You can always run away to India.”

  “A young, unmarried lady, alone on a merchant ship to India, against the wishes of her parents? I’m not as bold as you, Thea. And honestly, my mother may be silly, flighty, and overpious, but I don’t wish to see her humiliated further, now that Fred has disappointed her so keenly.”

  Alice didn’t care about social ranking, but to her mother it meant the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Her mother, the small-town girl from Yorkshire, born a vicar’s daughter, was now poised to climb the highest rungs of society. Alice didn’t want to dash her mother’s dream.

  “Still, you mustn’t marry Hatherly only to please your mother,” Thea scolded.

  “I’m not. I’m marrying him to please myself.”

  Both of her friends stared at her from blue-gray eyes gone wide with questions.

  Sometimes it still astounded Alice how very alike the two half sisters looked—although once one knew them better it was impossible to mistake one for the other.

  Charlene was the fierce, scandalous one; Thea was the passionate, artistic one; and Alice . . . well, she had been the sensible, pragmatic one, until she’d decided to throw caution to the wind and marry Lord Hatherly.

  “You want to
wed him? But . . . but you’ve been repelling suitors for years now. Why Hatherly?” asked Charlene.

  “His kiss couldn’t have been that monumental,” agreed Thea.

  “I’m marrying him for two very sensible reasons,” Alice explained. “The first is that he doesn’t care anything about me and will encourage me to travel. He said he doesn’t want a wife in England. He’d rather have one in India.”

  Charlene snorted. “Sounds like Hatherly.”

  “Well, I suppose that is convenient,” said Thea. “If you won’t be able to go with Fred, you’ll be free to travel as a married woman.”

  “And I’ll present the translations as Fred’s and say he couldn’t come himself because of his new marriage. It may work to my advantage, as Fred won’t be there to display his utter lack of knowledge of all things Sanskrit.”

  “Why should Fred garner all the credit?” Thea asked.

  “I don’t mind. I want my scholarship to be treated seriously. This is the only way.”

  Thea’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not fair.”

  “What’s the other reason?” Charlene asked. “You said there were two.”

  “Remember how I told you one of the texts I’m translating is rather . . . naughty?”

  Thea smirked. “Ah . . . I see where this is going. You’ve been reading naughty books and now you’re curious about lovemaking. And Hatherly is rather undeniably attractive. So it was the kiss.”

  “Thea,” Charlene remonstrated. “Alice can’t marry Hatherly simply because she’s curious. He’s handsome, and well he knows it. The man mows through paramours like a reaper at harvest time. I don’t want you to get cut, Alice.”

  “I’m more than merely curious, Charlene. I have a scholarly and semantic interest in becoming well-versed in the particulars of physical gratification so that my translation is more nuanced and my technical knowledge more complete. I’m finding that it’s no use me attempting to translate experiences I know absolutely nothing about.”

  Charlene’s eyebrows arched. “The particulars of physical gratification?”

  “Just how naughty is this book of yours?” Thea asked.