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

by Lenora Bell

  Her trunks were in the corner. Bypassing the frilled gowns her mother had insisted on purchasing, Alice found one of the sensible traveling costumes she would wear on her voyage to India.

  Such a waste, all these delicate, hand-embroidered confections.

  She wouldn’t need them where she was going. On her travels she would wear only serviceable cottons and linens in practical hues that wouldn’t show dust or attract attention.

  Shaking one of the gowns, Alice noted with satisfaction that the dove gray muslin hadn’t even wrinkled after being folded at the bottom of the trunk for days.

  She didn’t need a maid to help her fasten this gown because it had only three concealed hooks in front. Very sensible for ocean crossings.

  Kali rubbed against Alice’s ankle.

  Sinking to the floor, she scooped Kali into her arms, cradling the cat’s warm, squirming body against her chest. She scratched her belly, and Kali flopped back with her legs spread wide in a most unladylike manner.

  Kali’s ears perked up and her body stiffened. She jumped out of Alice’s arms and ran to the glass-paned balcony doors.

  Kali growled, low in her throat, scenting something interesting on the air.

  “If I open the balcony doors, you mustn’t leap off. We’re several floors up, you know.”

  Kali quirked her head. She was quite a clever cat and nearly always followed instructions.

  Alice tried the doors. They finally creaked open after she threw her shoulder against them. Obviously, they hadn’t been opened in quite some time and there was a shameful amount of dust and cobwebs coating them.

  Kali swept past her feet and perched on the edge of the balcony balustrade, staring down at the gardens.

  Alice stepped outside.

  The air smelled of apple blossoms and the clean fresh scent of the world after a good, cleansing rain.

  Nick was helping his gardener repair Gertrude’s enclosure. As Alice watched, he stripped off his coat, tugged off his cravat, and opened the buttons at the top of his white linen shirt, exposing a triangle of tanned skin.

  Next he rolled up his sleeves.

  She probably shouldn’t be watching him like this. Suppose he glanced up and noticed her staring. But she couldn’t seem to look away.

  Especially when he began working, lifting heavy boards and using a hammer and nails to fix them into place.

  Sinuous muscles rippled in his forearms and his large, strong hands moved with swift skill.

  The noonday sun and the hard labor soon dampened his shirt until it clung to his broad back and chest.

  Tonight she would have his hard, muscular frame pressed upon her bosom.

  He would touch her. Here.

  She slid her hand beneath her bodice and lightly squeezed one of her breasts as she watched him lift another board and hold it with one arm as he hammered, swift and sure.

  She snatched her hand away from her bosom and ducked back inside, resting against the wall, shaken by how deeply the mere sight of him affected her.

  She was panting, her chest heaving up and down in the same way it would if she had been running.

  There was no question as to whether she found him attractive. She’d never felt this way before, not even close. She wanted him to touch her. Wanted his hands all over her body.

  This wasn’t mere intellectual curiosity. It was too strong and elemental and it captured her too completely. It was frightening how this longing changed her into someone she barely recognized.

  Could she control her emotions? Would her desire for him end when she needed it to end?

  Her friends had tried to warn her. Yet ladies of the ton made loveless, expedient matches every day.

  But did those ladies receive such thrilling kisses? Did their expedient matches include this odd wobbly feeling at the backs of their knees? Like sealing wax melting over parchment.

  And that’s quite enough of that, you silly thing. You’re as bad as Lady Melinda swooning at his feet. Do at least try to keep your head on your shoulders.

  Kali raced across the room to the door and scratched with her front paws, mewling loudly.

  “I can’t let you explore yet, my sweetling, until I know you’ll be safe. There are wild beasts out there.”

  Some of them were lions.

  And some of them wore tight breeches and had an arrogant gleam in their silvery eyes.

  Chapter 10

  They should then carry on an amusing conversation on various subjects, and may also talk suggestively of things which would be considered as coarse, or not to be mentioned generally in society.

  The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

  “Alice?”

  “Pardon?” Nick must have asked her a question.

  Alice had been thinking about his hands.

  About how they made his wineglass look like a child’s cup. And how, even though his entire frame was constructed on such a massive scale, he moved with a lethal grace.

  They were seated in the formal dining room, Nick at one end of the table and Alice at the other. The duke was sitting next to Nick, with Berthold positioned behind him.

  “I asked how do you find the meal?” Nick called down the long table.

  “It’s very rich,” Alice replied.

  And very unhealthful.

  Veal in cream sauce. Rare beef dripping with blood that had fair turned her stomach to even see it. Nary an enticing vegetable in sight.

  Only an enticing marquess.

  She probably shouldn’t think about those skillful hands of his.

  Holding a hammer. Holding her in place for his kiss.

  It made her own hand tremble as she lifted her fork.

  “You’re not eating your beef, my dear,” said the duke. “Don’t you like it?”

  “I never eat beef, Your Grace,” Alice replied.

  “Never?” asked Nick.

  “I believe it to be insalubrious.”

  “I suppose I should have asked for your preferences to give to Cook.” Nick studied her plate. “You’re not fond of potatoes either?”

  She didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but the potatoes were smothered in such a large amount of butter and congealed beef drippings that she could scarcely force herself to take one bite. “I prefer more colorful vegetables. I am a devotee of Mr. Shelley’s writings on the subject of a frugivorous diet.”

  “Frugivor-what, my dear?” asked the duke, stopping with his fork half raised.

  “The theory that man is by nature more fitted to a purely vegetable diet.”

  Nick scoffed, helping himself to a large slice of pink beef. “All those sensitive poetic types think they can live on air and kisses.”

  “Surely you must have a kitchen garden?” Alice persisted. “You have heard of green vegetables? Leafy, healthful things. Grow in the earth. Broccoli. Spinach. That sort of thing.”

  Nick laughed. “I think we could find you a few green leafy things to chew on.”

  “Don’t like vegetables,” March interjected from his post by the door. “Don’t trust ’em.”

  Alice stared at the man. Footmen were never supposed to interrupt repasts.

  “I don’t much care for vegetables, either,” said the duke.

  His skin did have an unhealthy pallor. Alice would have to do something about that. Before she left for India she would make it her mission to introduce a more healthy diet to the household.

  “The populace of England has a horror of uncooked vegetables,” she said. “Yet a diet must be sufficiently varied with vegetables, fruits, and nuts. Mr. Shelley has published quite a revelatory treatise on the subject, if you would care to read it, Your Grace.”

  “Grow in the dirt, they do, vegetables,” grumbled March. “With grubs and other nasty things.”

  “Precisely why we wash them,” said Alice.

  “I don’t like washing. Don’t trust it,” replied March.

  Alice narrowed her eyes. “I can see that.” The footman needed a good dousing.

>   “Well la-di-da,” he replied, sticking his nose in the air. “Ain’t we fine.”

  “Mr. March, this is my wife you’re talking to,” said Nick. He smiled at her, a private smile . . . a promise, and Alice’s irritation with his unconventional serving staff vanished.

  “Said you’d never marry,” March grumbled. “Wives are too much trouble, you said. She’ll try to change things around here, just you wait.”

  He all but stuck his tongue out. What a churlish little fellow.

  “Are you married, my boy?” the duke asked Nick with a puzzled expression in his watery gray eyes. “Can that be true? Why, you’re only fifteen!”

  Alice blinked. “I think you are mistak—”

  “Actually,” the tall, spindly butler with the long, grave face who seemingly doubled as a footman, said, “he’s thirty years, two months, twenty days and twelve hours old.”

  “Thank you, Bill,” said Nick gravely.

  “Madam, I must protest,” the duke said, setting down his fork with a bang against the table. “The marriage must be annulled. You are robbing the cradle. You are . . .” his voice trailed into silence as he gazed at her raptly “. . . as comely as a cymbidium blooming upon a craggy mountaintop. Just like your mother. Beautiful Agatha. I hope she will dine with us tomorrow.”

  “Why, thank you,” Alice said. “A cymbidium is a genus of—?”

  “Orchid,” Hatherly finished. “And we’d better not encourage the topic or we’ll all be trapped here for hours.”

  “It’s quite rude to interrupt a lady when she is speaking,” the duke scolded. “Didn’t you learn anything at your expensive boarding school, you young rascal? Do forgive my son, dear lady.” The duke inclined his head. “He’s still growing.”

  Alice very much doubted that. If he grew any wider in the shoulders he wouldn’t be able to fit through doorways. She nodded politely. “Of course.”

  “As I was saying, the Cymbidium is a hardy genus of orchids in the family of . . . in the family of . . .”

  “I’ve heard of your celebrated collection,” Alice interrupted, seeing that the duke was flustered by his inability to remember his botany.

  “Beautiful lady,” said the duke, staring at her dreamily. “You remind me of a young Marie Antoinette. She had such melting eyes and rosebud lips. Her dimple was in her chin, though. Such a charming dimple. Ah . . .”

  He plucked a handkerchief from his sleeve and touched it to his nose. “I was a great favorite of hers at the court of Versailles. I once had the distinct honor of presenting her with a rare black orchid for her conservatory. She wanted to run away with me. She was madly in love with me. It’s the nose, you see. She did admire a stately nose. But, alas, she is gone. Too soon. Too soon.”

  He blew the stately article in question noisily into his handkerchief.

  “Ah . . . it is quite an impressive nose,” said Alice.

  “Thank you, my dear. It’s all in the stories a nose has to tell.” He placed a finger on the bump in the bridge of his nose. “Now, this particular bump was received during my first voyage to South America, when our ship encountered the dread pirate—”

  Nick clanged his fork against his wineglass. “I’d like to propose a toast.”

  The duke’s eyes lit. “Oh, I love toasts.” He raised his glass. “What are we toasting, my boy? Wait a moment. Are you old enough to be drinking? Seems to me that young lads in my day were only allowed a thimbleful of claret. And here you’ve had at least three glasses.”

  “Four.” He rose and held his glass toward Alice. “To my wife, the Lady Hatherly, health, wealth, and a westerly wind.”

  “Wind?” scoffed the duke. “One mustn’t wish for one’s wife to pass wind. Manners, my boy. Manners.”

  Alice suppressed a giggle, and March and Berthold grinned widely, but Bill’s face remained impassive.

  Nick frowned. “I said an easterly wind. To fill her sails. On her voyage. She won’t be staying with us for long.”

  “Oh?” the duke said. “Where are you going, my dear?”

  “To India,” Alice replied.

  “Bully!” cried March. “Hear that Bill? She’s leaving soon.”

  Alice chose to ignore him. Really, if she responded to every outlandish or discourteous pronouncement this evening, she’d say something she might regret.

  “India, my dear? Why, how smashing,” said the duke. “Do say hello to the Sultan of Mysore. Do you know they call him the Tiger? But he’s a dear old fellow upon better acquaintance. Are you planning to visit his palace?”

  Alice knew the sultan had died twenty years ago, in the act of fighting off her countrymen. “I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

  “You simply must visit him. I’m a great favorite of his. He’s a devoted admirer of my nose. ‘Such a nose,’ he said to me one day, as we walked in his lovely gardens, ‘such a nose denotes vast wisdom. You should be King of England, Barry old boy . . .’”

  He continued on with his story, barely stopping to breathe.

  Alice was beginning to see why Nick had interrupted his father before.

  He broke into the monologue when the duke finally paused. “She won’t be visiting any sultans, Barrington. She’s a studious lady who plans to visit libraries.”

  “Oh?” The duke’s impressively unruly white eyebrows climbed. “Are you one of those . . . What do they call them? Something to do with stockings.”

  “I rather think her stockings are blue,” Nick drawled.

  “But you must have some real adventures, dear lady,” said the duke. “You can’t spend all your time in musty old libraries.”

  “I’ll have you know I’ve done dozens of exciting things already. I fell into a river once. And I drank brandy.” She’d had a sip from the Duke of Harland’s flask.

  And I kissed your sinful son today.

  “Do you indulge in a nip every now and then, m’dear? How nice to find a lady who’s willing to admit such a thing. March, my boy, bring the lady some of my special supply of ouzo from the Greek isles. What did you say was your name, madam? Have I told you that you remind me very strongly of a young Marie Antoinette? She had such melting eyes and rosebud lips . . .”

  Thankfully, March arrived with the requested bottle before the duke had a chance to expound upon the splendors of his nose again. The footman poured clear liquid into small, thin glasses and passed them around the table.

  “Drink it straight down, my dear,” urged the duke. “I find it takes the bite from the air on these chilly winter evenings.”

  “I believe it’s summer, Your Grace,” Alice said respectfully. “Although it’s always winter in some places. The Northern Pole, for example.”

  “Well said, my dear. Drink it down now. It’s bound to improve your outlook on my son.”

  “I don’t suppose I might have some water as well?” asked Alice.

  “Water?” sputtered Nick. “My friend Captain Lear risked life and limb to bring us this bottle. It’s precious. Every last drop. Watering it would be a crime.”

  Though she rarely indulged in spirits, as the duke had said, a few sips could only improve this meal. And might give her courage for what lay ahead. After the meal.

  In Nick’s bedchamber.

  Alice lifted her glass and gave her father-in-law a cheeky smile. “To your nose, Duke.”

  He chortled. “To your beauty, my dear.”

  The clear liquid burned going down, but it left a very pleasant licorice aftertaste, like the herbal drops Alice’s nurse used to give her when she had a head cold.

  “She’s not a classic beauty, if you ask me,” mumbled March.

  “I did not ask you,” the duke replied. He yawned mightily. “I can’t seem to stay awake these days. I do apologize, my dear. I fear I must leave you.”

  “It’s nothing, please don’t apologize.” Alice could see the duke was not only befuddled, but exhausted as well. He’d barely eaten anything, and what he had eaten was laden with sugars and animal fat. She’d ha
ve to have a talk with Nick about the duke’s diet.

  “Excuse me,” Nick said to Alice as he rose from his seat. He laid his hands on his father’s shoulders. “Shall we go upstairs?”

  The concern and tenderness in Nick’s eyes as he helped his father pulled at Alice’s heart.

  The duke nodded sleepily. “I can’t . . . keep my eyes open. Until tomorrow, my dear.” The duke performed a wobbly bow, propped up on one side by Nick, and on the other by his towering attendant, Berthold. “I hope to have the pleasure of your company for a turn about my orchid conservatory.”

  Alice rose and took his thin, knotty hand in hers. “It would be my pleasure, Your Grace.”

  The duke squeezed her hand. “You know the orchids talk to me. They don’t talk to everyone. But I have a feeling they may be persuaded to converse with you.”

  “Ah . . . that would be quite an honor, Your Grace.”

  “Noon tomorrow?” the duke asked eagerly.

  “Noon it is,” Alice replied.

  Berthold helped the duke from the room. March and Bill followed, leaving Alice and Nick alone.

  Nick took the seat next to her. “Much better. This table is far too long for ease of conversation. Thank you for being so patient with the duke.”

  “I like his adventure stories, be they ever so exaggerated.”

  He smiled, but sadness lingered in his eyes. “Most of his adventures happened only in his imagination. Not all . . . but most.”

  “Does he truly believe the orchids speak?”

  “He’s utterly convinced. Sometimes he brings a quill and parchment to record their speech. It’s mostly harmless. But if he weren’t wealthy, and he didn’t have me to care for him, it would be enough of an affliction to ensure he would be shut away in a private madhouse where he would suffer the worst ill treatment.”

  A shadow passed across his face and was gone as swiftly as it came. “He still fancies himself quite the debonair lady’s gentleman, though.”

  Alice smiled, remembering his courtly compliments. “I’m sure he was quite devastating in his day.”

  “Favors me in that regard,” Nick said with a teasing grin, his careless charm restored.