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

by Lenora Bell

  “Is that so?”

  “I know that your full name is Nicolas Philip Arthur Hatherly. I know you fence at Angelo’s, have a fondness for steak and kidney pie, and never gamble. You ride fast horses and squire scandalous ladies to the opera, with a preference for buxom brunettes. Your favorite jewelers is—”

  “Not the ordinary details, clever Alice.” Nick drew circles on her lower back. “If we’re truly thinking of marriage I want to be completely honest with you about the fact that I will never sire an heir. I may go mad someday, and I’ve no intention of passing on the curse. My cousin will inherit the dukedom after I’m gone, and during my lifetime I will always take the necessary precautions to ensure I never produce issue. So if you want to have a child, you shouldn’t marry me.”

  “I hadn’t considered offspring,” she said softly, her eyes clouding over. “They were always something that came with the marriage. An eventuality, but a distant one. I always had more pressing things to think about. I think . . . I think maybe if I wanted a child I would have known that by now.”

  He soothed her back with both hands, warming her cold flesh. “I’ll give you time to think it over. As much time as you need. Your father can’t force you to marry me. We could find a way out of this if we worked together.”

  She smiled. “Why, Lord Hatherly, what’s gotten into you? Are you trying to repel me?”

  There were those deep indentations, appearing on either side of her curving lips. Nick realized he’d been waiting for her dimples to reappear like a child promised a pudding.

  “My mother is already planning the wedding,” she said. “It’s to be a grand affair.”

  “I’d rather have a small, private ceremony.”

  “As would I, but this means so much to Mama. She’ll want the world to know we’ve arrived into the upper echelons. And Papa will want to parade you before his investors.”

  “I’ve no doubt.” Nick wondered how his life had changed so much in the space of a few days. Here he was discussing what type of wedding to have with the young, innocent lady in his arms.

  He had to keep his arms around her because the night air held a frigid chill.

  It wasn’t because he never wanted to stop holding her. Or because she really was ridiculously pretty. The kind of pretty that made him feel like a fish out of water, flopping about waiting to be clubbed over the head and served on a platter with a sprig of parsley in his gaping mouth.

  Or because she possessed a radiant, inner beauty and intelligence that glowed from her wide-set aquamarine eyes.

  “I’m not sure if you’re aware, Lord Hatherly, but Papa only inherited the title four years ago and it was a shock to everyone. At first he didn’t even want to move to London, but Mama needled him until he agreed.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “I’ve been miserable here. I loathe balls. I could see that all the gentlemen only wanted my father’s fortune, and they weren’t really asking me to dance. I was even invited to your friend the Duke of Harland’s house as one of his four potential brides. He overlooked my inferior bloodlines in favor of my father’s shipping lines.”

  He’d heard that she’d been there, of course. All of London had followed Harland’s bride hunt with bated breath.

  “Of course I swiftly repelled him,” Alice said, with a note of pride.

  “You’ve been avoiding marriage for years. A gentleman has to admire your resourcefulness.”

  “I was rather successful. I had dozens of dissuasive tactics at my disposal. More than the many suitors after Papa’s vast fortune.”

  “Your dimples may have had something to do with their advances,” he teased.

  “I doubt that. During my years in society, I’ve had plenty of time to think about what I want and don’t want. You may think I’m being forced into this marriage of convenience, but I’ve decided to choose you, Lord Hatherly, because you are perfect for my purposes.”

  “You mean your travel plans.”

  She nodded. “My brother Fred and I had planned to voyage to Calcutta on a merchant ship in my father’s fleet, which departs in two months. I will be on that ship, even if Fred will not be, and I shall be a respectable matron. Perhaps I’ll even hire a respectable spinster as my companion.”

  “You shall?” Nick tried to catch up.

  “Yes. Which means that after we marry, you will have exactly one month to fulfill your end of our bargain.”

  “One month.” Stop repeating everything she says, you fool.

  “If you choose to accept my terms, which I will now enumerate, we may wed. If not, I will find another gentleman.”

  Now who had whom over a barrel?

  She would always surprise him—that much was abundantly clear. “What are your terms?” If she eventually ever wanted a babe, the bargain was over and he’d have to find another way to keep Sunderland.

  “I require a month of instruction in . . .” She swallowed, her throat working nervously. She raised her head and stared him straight in the eye. “. . . in the art of . . . sexual congress.”

  Nick’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t said what he thought she’d said, had she? “Er . . . we will have to consummate the marriage at least once, to be sure.”

  “Not once, Lord Hatherly. On multiple occasions. I wish to learn the finer principles of physical gratification, and I hear you are the gentleman for the job. Though I may not be buxom or brunette enough for your preferences.”

  He couldn’t help giving a surprised snort of laughter.

  She drew her shoulders back, which pressed her bosom against his chest in a most distracting manner. “Do you think that’s funny, Lord Hatherly? Why should it be? Men are never laughed at for seeking experience.”

  “I was merely startled by your forthrightness. I think it’s an admirable goal. Extremely admirable.”

  “I thought you might approve.”

  “I approve, Dimples. I approve.”

  His kiss must have awakened her latent sensuality more thoroughly than he’d at first assumed. Why should he be surprised? The lady was eager for love lessons and he would be more than happy to oblige.

  He touched his lips to her cheek, his body tensing with desire. If they weren’t on the front steps of Osborne Court, in full view of passersby and servants, he would definitely be giving her a lesson right here and now.

  Drawing a thick, glossy curl back from her cheek, he murmured in her ear, loving the way she shivered and pressed closer. “And slender ladies with light brown hair might be my new preference.”

  “I chose you for your wicked reputation,” she stated primly. “And I expect you to deliver thorough instruction in the methods of pleasure.”

  “Have no fear, I’ll rise to the challenge.”

  “I expect you to hold nothing back.”

  “I’ll be more than happy to teach you everything I know.” He couldn’t resist sliding his hands lower and squeezing her bum. “And I’ll hold everything.”

  “Lord Hatherly,” she squeaked, twisting and dislodging his hands. “We are not married yet.”

  “I forgot.”

  “Please do be forewarned that while our persons may be engaged in . . . fleshly pursuits, we must both be careful to refrain from falling in love with one another, as that would be a serious breach of our business agreement.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Nick said, wondering how he could maneuver his hands back to her luscious bum. It had been surprisingly full. He liked a generous arse.

  Hold a moment. What had she just said? Shouldn’t he be the one warning her not to fall in love with him? What did she think him, some panting schoolboy who would fall in love with her if she let him between her long legs?

  This conversation had somehow veered into completely uncharted territory.

  Innocent young misses demanding sexual education. Setting conditions for physical relationships with no emotional entanglements.

  “Haven’t you ever thought of finding a love match like your friends
Osborne and Harland?” she asked with a curious tilt of her chin.

  “Never,” he scoffed. “I’ll never let one lady rule my affections. Where’s the fun in that? How do you think I got my shocking reputation? You want the best instructor . . . Dimples, I’m the best.”

  “Your arrogance knows no bounds. Precisely why I chose you for this assignment.”

  Now it was an assignment?

  “You’re the unrepentant rake who doesn’t believe in the existence of love.”

  “Not true, Dimples.” He smiled lazily. “Sometimes I fall in love six times before breakfast. I worship every woman I bed and I adore them until the moment they leave.”

  “Well, that’s certainly honest.”

  He never allowed himself to become too close to a woman. If the relationship had an expiration date, they never had the chance to leave him, as his mother had left his father after he went mad.

  Each liaison remained a shining memory, perfect and pristine without the mess of emotions, the inevitable sordidness of the shine growing tarnished, like a coin passed through too many palms.

  “Oh, one more term, Lord Hatherly.”

  “What’s that, Dimples?” So far he liked her terms. A lot.

  “I want all your attention during my brief sojourn in your home. I will not share you with courtesans. You will not bed me one night and then go off to the opera. While I reside under your roof you will be faithful to me.”

  “How many females do you think I keep?” he teased.

  “Enough to satisfy your depraved needs.”

  “Ah. Yes. My depraved needs.”

  He wrapped a hand around her neck, keeping the pressure light—the suggestion of a lover’s control.

  He slid his other hand along the small of her back. Soft, feminine curves yielded to his taut frame. A slight thrust of his pelvis, and their bodies met in a new way.

  Her breath caught and she wriggled, almost imperceptibly, a small shift in the angle of her hips. The suggestion that she already instinctively knew how to seek her pleasure with his body had him hard in an instant.

  Oh, he was going to enjoy having Alice in his bed for a month of tutelage.

  Maybe they’d never even leave the bed. He could have all their meals sent to his chambers.

  “H-have your man of business draw up an agreement detailing the terms of our arrangement,” Alice said breathily. “I trust you have one who is discreet?”

  He nuzzled her neck and nipped at her earlobe. “The most discreet in London.”

  Patrick served as his solicitor on occasion. He had a strange history—he’d been stolen as a child and raised in America, but now he was restored to his rightful place as brother to a duke. He could probably have given up his profession as a lawyer, and he had, to a certain extent, but he still helped Nick with any contracts he needed, as well as other, more clandestine activities.

  “Wouldn’t you rather have a special license?” He kissed the hollow in the center of her neck, inhaling the fresh, bright scent of her, like a crushed leaf from a lemon tree. “You could be in my bed within the week. To begin your lessons.”

  She placed a hand on his cheek, stilling his movements. “My mother wants a society wedding. She’s foolish sometimes, she flutters and flaps so, but she means well. She only tried to stop me from traveling because she truly feels the place of a female is by the hearth and home. Her father was a vicar with a meager living and she cared for him until his death. And then she married my father—a wealthy merchant. Now she wants what she never had—a place in the upper tiers of society.”

  She had a glib and persuasive way with words. Now he was even feeling twinges of sympathy for the matchmaking Lady Tombs, something he’d never thought possible.

  “We’ll have to wait at least three Sundays for the banns to be read,” Alice continued. “But this isn’t a love match. You don’t need to court me or take me riding in Hyde Park. Although if we are seen in public together you will have to act besotted. Mama will be so gratified.”

  He lifted his head. “Right. Act infatuated with you, if seen in public, and show up at the church.”

  “Do you think you can manage it, Lord Hatherly?”

  “I’m the gentleman you require, Dimples.” He lifted her hand and touched his lips to her smooth skin. “You can count on me.”

  Chapter 6

  For it is a universal rule that however bashful or angry a woman may be, she never disregards a man’s kneeling at her feet.

  The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

  One month later . . .

  Hatherly was late.

  Beyond late.

  Maybe he wasn’t even coming.

  Alice ripped a pearl off her wedding dress and pressed the hard little globe between her thumb and forefinger.

  She sat in the front pew, back straight, cheeks flaming with humiliation.

  Her parents flanked her. Grim Papa. Nervously fluttering Mama.

  She imagined Mama was wishing she’d agreed to a small, private ceremony, as the whispers behind them grew louder.

  She was marrying in all the pomp and circumstance her father’s fortune was expected to supply. No expense had been spared.

  The church was filled with hothouse roses. The distinguished priest had officiated at the ceremonies of no fewer than three dukes.

  Why wasn’t Hatherly here yet? He’d promised her, over and over, that he’d be here, and she’d believed him.

  Despite her telling him he didn’t need to woo her, he’d visited several times, under heavy supervision from Mama, of course, and she’d thought they’d . . . well, she’d rather thought they had been on their way to becoming if not friends, at least allies.

  They’d spent hours picking apart the frivolous fops of the ton, Hatherly performing a deadly impression of Lord White, and Alice amusing him with her caricatures of the many simpering society misses she’d encountered in her days of self-imposed wallflower-dom.

  Had he only been amusing himself at her expense?

  What if, she thought with a lurching feeling in her stomach, what if he’d planned this entire episode as one of his infamous entertainments?

  Enter the virgin sacrifice, trussed in pink silk and crusted with pearls, like some slab of underdone beef to be devoured by the gossips.

  Admit the aristocratic audience, riveted by the possibility of scandal looming larger with every passing second.

  Supply one very dour-faced priest who glanced up from his prayer book every few moments and skewered her with a disapproving glare, as if the lack of groom were somehow her fault.

  Cue solemn, melancholy music from sonorous organ pipes.

  Send a weak ray of sunshine wavering through the stained glass windows, striking Our Lord as he suffered upon his cross.

  Teach Sir Alfred a lesson in suffering. Teach him that upstart merchants should never aspire to marry their daughters into the true nobility.

  “He’s not coming, Mama,” Alice whispered.

  “He’ll be here any moment now, I’m quite sure,” her mother said with false cheer.

  “He’d damned well better be,” her father muttered. “Or he’ll wish he’d never been born. I won’t just confiscate his bloody house. I’ll strip him of everything.”

  “Lower your voice, sir.” Mama glanced around fearfully lest anyone hear her husband curse.

  Her father’s whiskers quivered with fury. “He won’t have two brass farthings to rub together when I’m through with him.”

  Alice felt like a wilted cabbage under the weight of all these petticoats and pearls.

  It was unseasonably hot for June. The air was stifling and wet with the threat of rain.

  Heat brought out the worst of London. The refuse in the gutters became ripe and rotten. Coal smoke stuck to her skin and the insides of her nose.

  She wished she were back in Pudsey, reading under the shade of her favorite oak tree, with her pet cat Kali curled up next to her.

  She wished she were anywhere excep
t here, in this church, having her hopes crushed.

  She glanced back at Charlene and Thea who sat three rows away. The sympathy in their eyes nearly made her break down in tears. But she wouldn’t cry.

  Not for a man.

  And most definitely not for an arrogant aristocrat who played cruel jokes on trusting young ladies.

  Alice squared her shoulders. “We should leave now. I don’t want to stay any longer.”

  Though she didn’t relish the thought of walking back through the audience past all the people her mother had invited.

  “Have patience, dear,” said Mama. “He will come. He must come.”

  “What’s this? Not at the church? Wake up, man!”

  Loud, insistent voice in his ear. Heavy hands shaking his shoulder.

  “Go ’way,” Nick muttered, slapping the hand away.

  “Wake up, you reprobate.”

  His dream’s long limbs and teasing dimples fled and were replaced by the decidedly less attractive vision of Captain Lear’s darkly whiskered visage looming over the bed.

  “It’s your wedding day, for Christ’s sake,” said Lear. “Thought you’d be at the church by now. Was going to raid your wine cellar while you were out.”

  “My wedding day,” Nick repeated groggily. Of course it wasn’t his wedding day. He was never going to marry. The words made no sense.

  And then they did.

  Awful, stomach-churning, death-knell-ringing sense.

  He bolted upright. “What time is it?”

  “Half nine.”

  “Damn it, man! Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” Nick leapt out of bed, stubbing his toe on the bedpost. “Bollocks!” He gripped the bedpost as pain momentarily hobbled him. “Berthold was supposed to wake me at seven.”

  Nick and Patrick had been out late last night, not carousing, as one might suppose a bachelor with one night of freedom left might do, but following a lead on someone who might have led them to news of the missing Mr. Stubbs.

  They’d made little headway in that regard. The man had vanished. Probably on a ship bound for America by now.

  “Alice is going to kill me. One assignment. I had one assignment. Drag my sorry arse to the damned church. I told her she could count on me. I promised her I’d be there.”