The Devil Duke: A Nobility Love Triangle Romance (The Demon Duchess Series Book 1)

by Tessa Bowen

  Taking her by the arm, the Duke guided her through the crowd to a small, private balcony. Warm light from the corridor spilled through the window, basking them in a golden glow. Izzy knew she was drunk. It had hit her quick, but she didn’t give a damn. She had never felt so wonderful. He was the most exciting man she had ever met and these last few days with him had been the most thrilling of her life.

  “Just how many glasses of champagne have you had?” he asked.

  Coyly, she held up three fingers. “Plus some fizzy gin cocktail back at the house.”

  He frowned at her. “Damn, girl. You must be soused.”

  “I feel friggin’ faaaaabulous. How did you do that? It was like we were flying. I wish Archie could have been there to see us.”

  “I never let your feet touch the floor—I knew if I did, you’d end up impaling yourself on the ice sculpture.”

  She laughed and then hiccupped and then laughed again. She began to spin in rapid circles. “I wanna dance more!”

  The Duke’s iron grip came down on her wrist. “Stop whirling about—you’ll go flying straight over the balcony.”

  She knocked him down on the bench and fell into his lap, twining her arms around his neck. “Oopzeeee, I think I’m wasted.”

  Trevor was confronted with her jiggling bosom as she guffawed like a drunken sailor. He shifted awkwardly. He was very aware that her bottom was nestled against his groin. The skirt of her dress cascaded over his lap. He wondered how many layers of fabric lay between him and that sweet little backside of hers.

  “I better take you home. Get off me so I can call for the car.”

  “I love how you talk fancy, Your Graaaaaaace. Don’t take me back yet. I wanna dance more.”

  The Duke ground his teeth as she bounced up and down.

  She better bloody not do that again.

  “You’re quite a handful, aren’t you? I thought you were going to behave.”

  She blinked at him and tweaked his bow tie. “Do ya like my dress? I don’t look like a spazz anymore.” Her words were terribly slurred. She broke into a fresh fit of laughter and kicked up her legs. “See my froufrou shoes?”

  Trevor couldn’t resist the urge. He brushed the full skirt aside to reveal her shapely ankles. Red satin heels with tapered toes and a delicate sling back adorned her tiny feet.

  “See the little bows?”

  “I do, indeed.”

  “You’ve probably spent lossa time looking up skirts, huh?”

  He gave her a deadpan expression. “I assure you, I’ve done nothing of the sort.”

  “I like your accent. You make everything sound so fancy. You are like one of those guys in the ruffled shirts.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You know—one of those guys from a Jane Austen or a Bronte novel?” She punched him in the arm when his eyebrows shot up. “I do know how to read, you know! The last foster home I lived in was a really nice place—not like Mrs. O’Leary’s. Mrs. Shiflett had a library.”

  “I have an extensive library in the country. You may borrow any volume you wish.”

  “See what I mean! A library in the country—ha!” She found this hilarious and arched backward, chortling gaily. “Voluuuuumes! I love it! You are just like Darcy…or maybe you are more like Rochester.”

  “Ah yes— the moody fellow who thunders around on a horse.”

  “Uh huh, you’re just like Rochester but even hotter—Hotchester!”

  More inane giggling and wiggling of wee bum ensued.

  “You’re not at all like Jane Eyre. She was a good girl—modest and chaste.”

  “Yeah, until Hotchester got to her!”

  The Duke suppressed a smile. The girl’s whacky humor was contagious and she did look quite pretty tonight—in fact, she was luminous. “All right, Jane Derriere—remove yourself from my lap or we will both be quite embarrassed.”

  His comment blew right past her. She let out a loud moan and collapsed on his chest. “Ohhhh,” she moaned. “I have the spins.”

  “That’s it, you potted twit, I’ve got to get you out of here straight away. Bloody hell, we’ll have to serve you your cocktails in a thimble from now on.”

  The Duke scooped her up and placed her on her feet. Her arms slipped from around his neck and dangled at her sides like a rag doll.

  “Can we go to? I wanna Big Mac and some fries. I’m friggin’ starving. Those canopy thingeeze were a joke.”

  He shook his head at her in disbelief. “What have I gotten myself into with you, Miss De Luca?”

  “Whatza matter? You said you wanted me to gain weight. I’ve been pigging out since I got here. Can’t you tell?”

  “Yes, you’ve filled out very nicely.”

  “You were staring at my scone boobs before. I totally caught you, weirdo pervert.”

  The Duke covered his laughter by clearing his throat. “I beg your complete and utter pardon.”

  “Are you really a sex addict?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  This time she socked him in the arm. “Oh, my Gaaaawwwwd! You arrrrreeeee!”

  “That’s quite enough of that talk. I mean it, Miss Deluca.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “I hate when you call me that. Why don’t you just call me Izzy.”

  “Izzy is something a child would name its pet lizard. You should be called Isabel—it’s a lovely name, but I don’t know you well enough to call you by it.”

  “Izzzzzzzzzabelle—the way you say my name gives me jelly knees.”

  “Jelly knees?”

  “Yeah, Treeeeevorrrrr.”

  “Only my closest friends call me Trevor.”

  “Your giiiiiiirrrrrrl friends call you Trevor,” she mimicked. “Your perfect, tall, big-boobed girlfriends—all ten billion of ’em. What should I call you then? You don’t like it when I call you Your Grace.”

  “It’s the tone I don’t care for.”

  “The toooooooooone. Your accent is so fancy.”

  “Yes, you’ve already said that—haven’t you?”

  “Do your girlfriends call you Trevor when you kiss them? Or do they say, ‘Oh, Your Grace—pleeeeease, pleeeeease kiss me.’ ”

  Izzy attempted an inane kissy face but broke into another round of drunken hysterics. He crossed his arms, regarding her sternly. The smile melted off her face and she stared hard at his mouth.

  “Kissing you would probably be amazing.”

  “You really are drunk, aren’t you?”

  “And your body is totally amazing. I bet you look really good in your birthday suit.” She smacked her hands on his chest and spread her fingers wide, squeezing his pectorals through his tuxedo shirt. “I mean look at this body! You are like an Olympic swimmer!”

  “Paws off, Miss De Luca,” he scolded, taking her firmly by the wrists.

  She gazed at his mouth again with droopy, dopey eyes. “Yeah a smooch from you would be friggin’ amaaaazing.” She turned her face up to him and closed her eyes, puckering up. “Kiss me.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Please, please, pleeeeeeease kiss me. Your Grace, oh pretty pleeeeaaaase…with cherries on top.”

  “Do stop that.”

  “C’mon,” she heckled. “I deserve a kiss from the Devil Duke after what I’ve been through.” She stood on her tiptoes so she could reach him, then gripped his lapels and went for it.

  The Duke flinched. “Good Lord, you are coming at me like a miniature, mad-eyed rapist. You’re quite forward, aren’t you?”

  His tiny assailant closed in, pressing her soft lips to his. When he parted his lips to object, she slipped her tongue in. Trevor allowed her to kiss him, not really doing much to reciprocate. She tasted sweet like champagne and something else…something even sweeter than champagne. A wave of heady sensation washed over him. He slanted his head, deepening the kiss, wanting to know more. Kissing her was not like kissing other females. He could not quite put his finger on what made
it different. Trevor supposed it was the elf in her that made her taste….

  Fresh… intoxicating …like the nectar in a dew-laden daffodil.

  He pressed her narrow shoulders with his big hands. The skin of her back was sleek against his fingertips. He could only imagine the suppleness of her backside if he were to allow his hands to rifle through all that fabric. That bouncing little bottom would fit nicely in his palms.

  Use your brain, old boy. She’s far too young. You can’t let your trousers get tight for this one. You’re not the bloody Devil Duke anymore; you’re a quiet country gentleman now.

  She was so responsive and pliable in his arms he found it impossible to break away. Was it cake she tasted like. Or was it strawberries and cream?

  It’s bloody bubblegum.

  With a curse, Trevor produced a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Spit it out,” he commanded.

  She looked dazed and her lips were all moist from kissing him. “Huh?”

  “You’ve been chewing blasted gum all night, haven’t you?”

  “I pushed it back behind my molars. No one could tell.”

  “You are incorrigible, spit it out at once.”

  She shook her head in refusal.

  “Spit it out and I will give you another kiss.”

  Immediately, Isabel deposited the offending wad into the middle of the Duke’s hand-stitched handkerchief and rushed him. He gathered her up in his arms, lifting her high against him. She kissed sort of like she moved—much like a train coming off its tracks. There was no gentle nipping or languorous twirls of the tongue. This girl was full steam ahead.

  He attempted to slow the frenzied pace of her all-consuming kiss but soon gave in. How could he expect to stop the force of a tornado with the steadiness of his hands? Her distinctive flavor melted across his palette like syrup. It wasn’t the bubble gum this time. It was something sweeter and more complex.

  Honeysuckle…honeydew…honey butter…? My god, man—you’ve gone daft.

  Her skin probably tasted the same way too—that lush golden skin of hers. His trousers tightened at the mere thought of it. She moaned into his mouth like a wanton little beast—the sound riled his male hunger. He wanted to crush her against him, but knew he shouldn’t. She would feel the evidence of his stirring desire and his status as a weirdo pervert would be confirmed.

  Honey lavender…honey rose….honey with cinnamon…tea-biscuits drenched with honey…?

  Her backside had looked like little confections in those ridiculous drawers of hers. His hands moved lower, over her smooth back, and tiny waist. Lower…lower….

  His trousers were choking him now. She tasted better than a dessert trolley. He could inhale her in one breath like a cake crumb.

  Abruptly, he pulled away, placing her on her feet. “Right,” he muttered. “You’ve gotten two kisses from the Devil Duke. Now it’s time to go.”

  She stumbled backward with a little cry. “Holy Crap, you’re a good kisser. How did you do that trick with your tongue?”

  “It’s not a trick, you silly girl. It’s just a proper French kiss.”

  “There is nothing really proper about French kissing is there? And your eyes…they change color. How do you do that? It’s like you can do magic tricks with them too. Sometimes they are grey but other times…” she trailed off.

  The Duke lowered his gaze to the ground. He would wager that his eyes burned a bright, electric blue—they always did when his trousers got tight.

  “I mean everything about you is totally gorgeous,” she went on.

  “Don’t be daffy,” he muttered.

  “You know it’s true. I passed out when I first saw you, remember?”

  Trevor gave the dewy eyed girl a good, hard frown. “Miss De Luca, you are twitterpated with an emphasis on the twit.”

  She licked her lips. “You wanna kiss summore?”

  The Duke took her by the arm and led her into the hallway. “You’ve had quite enough kissing for tonight. Besides, I’m supposed to be swearing this entire mess off, remember?”

  “Mess?”

  “The bloody mess that women bring.”

  “You’re swearing off women?”

  “Yes, quite.”

  She threw back her head and cackled. “Haaaaaaa! Yeah, riiiiiiigggggght! That’ll be the day!”

  Trevor winced as her voice reverberated throughout the building. He placed a hand over her mouth. The other, he wrapped around the back of her head so he could shake her a little. “I forgot the bloody tape, didn’t I? Someone needs to give that mouth of yours a good washing out.”

  She raked his hands away. “Wash it out with your tongue, Your Grace.”

  “No more hanky panky.”

  “Did you just say hanky panky?”

  “I believe I did.”

  “That’s so adorable. Let’s kiss again.”

  The bantamweight maniac lurched toward him. He held her at arm’s length and shook a finger at her. “Don’t you dare come at me again, you little gremlin.”

  “Oh, you’re such a boooorrrrrreeeee!” Isabel said in her best upper crust accent.

  “We have a big staircase in front of us. Don’t hurl yourself down it. Take your time and hold onto me. I’ve got to get you out of here before you disgrace the family name. You are supposed to be helping me improve my tarnished reputation, remember?” His cell rang in the breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “Saved by the bloody bell. Hello, Rex—oh, they are? Blast it. Yes…the back—right. We will meet you there. Very good.” He pulled her out to the fire escape. “The paparazzi are still out front. They already got a shot of us going in. Let’s avoid them, shall we?”

  “Wait! I can’t move that fast in these heels!” Izzy let out a little yelp when he picked her up and flung her over his shoulder. “Holy Crap, whaddaya doing!”

  “I’ve got to get you out of here. The last thing I need is them snapping a shot of me propping you up. They’ll think the Devil Duke has turned his young bride into a blowsy lush.”

  He raced down the rest of the steps with her flopping over his back. The Duke crashed through a side exit and deposited her (flounces and all) into the back seat of the Bentley. The car skidded away just as the photographers came en masse down the fire escape.

  “We escaped just in the nick of time. Good man, Rex.”

  The chauffeur nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Rex, could you please pass through a drive thru on the way back to the country? Miss De Luca is feeling a bit peckish.”

  “What will you be having, miss?”

  “A chocolate shake and fries, please.”

  “Very good, miss.” The privacy window went up.

  Izzy sat across from him, leaning lazily against the head rest. The Duke stared out the window. The passing headlights filled the back of the car, drenching his perfect features in an amber wash.

  “What does it feel like to be so handsome?”

  A crease furrowed his high forehead. “Don’t bloody start with that again.”

  “Why do you get so irritated when people tell you how good-looking you are?”

  “I find it tiresome. There is more to me than just this face.”

  Izzy snorted and pantomimed playing the violin. The Duke crossed his arms and looked quite sullen.

  “You’re sore at me ’cause I got tipsy and planted one on you, huh?”

  He ignored her question and ripped off his bow tie, flinging it on the seat next to him.

  “I’m gonna take my shoes off. I’ve got serious blisters.” She bent forward but she could not find her feet under the dress. “Whoooaaaa, spiiiinzzzz again.”

  “Sit up, I’ll do it,” he said in an exasperated tone. “You are no better than Charlotte.”

  Deftly, he reached under her skirt and grabbed her by the ankles. He stretched her legs out on his lap and slipped the shoes off, tossing them on the seat next to his discarded tie. He looked truly vexed so she drew her legs up to her chest and huddled into a tiny b
all.

  A few minutes later, the privacy window opened and Rex handed back a McDonald’s bag.

  “Yummy!” she hollered.

  The Duke observed her with a mixture of disgust and amusement as she noshed vociferously on her salty fries.

  A fast- food scarfing fairy.

  She held one out to him. “Want one? They’re soooooooo friggin’ good.”

  The Duke held up his hand. “No, thank you.”

  Izzy slurped her shake. The Duke raised an eyebrow when the straw made an obnoxious suction noise at the bottom of the cup. “Ouch, ice cream headache.” She fell back on the seat with a groan. “Ooooh, I’m gonna bust out of this dress.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “I havta unzip it, okay? You gotta let me.”

  “Carry on.”

  He hid a smile in his palm as he heard the zipper go down.

  Zzzzziiiiip.

  She heaved a long, contended sigh.

  Trevor snuck a peek at her. She was curled up in a drunken stupor against the window. The bodice of the dress gaped open. He could make out the top of her strapless bra.

  Hot pink pixie lace. Certainly not part of the duchess’s country wardrobe.

  Damn his tight trousers.

  He shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and threw it across her. She came half awake and looked at him with droopy eyes. “Mmmmmmh. Can I sleep on youuuu? I won’t try anythin…” Before he gave his permission, she fell into his embrace. Her head lolled on his chest. “You smell soooo good, Your Graaaaaace,” she sighed. “Like the forest.”

  She tucked in right under his chin rather neatly. He secured her with one arm around her naked back. The warmth of her skin seeped through his tuxedo shirt. The dress was all around him, billowing and bubbling in satiny waves. Her bare legs were tangled up in his lap—tiny toes curled against his thighs.

  It was too late to deny her. And why should he? She was a fetching little package. Troublesome but fetching.

  BY THE TIME THEY PULLED DOWN THE DRIVEWAY it was after 1:00 a.m. The servants had all gone to bed, he would have to manage her himself.

  “Do you need any...er help, Your Grace?”

  “No thank you, Rex. I will deal with it.”

  “Very good, Your Grace. Good night.”

  Soundlessly, he walked up the winding marble staircase. He held her in his arms the way a parent holds a child who has fallen asleep at the adult’s party. She flopped against him— out cold.