by Tessa Bowen
This quaffing little scamp is going to be my bloody bride. I must be barmy.
He pushed open the door to her room and switched on a small lamp next to the bed. Gently, he laid her down. He couldn’t very well leave her in the dress. The back was already undone, so he pushed the bodice all the way down.
How many women had he undressed in his life? Why did this one feel so different? Holding the gown by the hem, he slowly peeled it down her body. She lay in her bra and panties. He peered through the shadows, studying the strange print on her knickers—red hearts alternated with black X’s and O’s. He shook his head and smiled.
Cherubic hobgoblin.
He admired her ripening female curves. She was still tiny, but there was definitely a bit more flesh to her now, adding to her appeal. Her round breasts looked like ripe little fruits in that silly brassiere. He allowed his gaze to travel down to her flat belly and nicely shaped hips. He liked how she was brown all over—like a fairy who had fallen into the cocoa tin.
Birthday suit, indeed.
With a contented sigh, she flopped over on her belly, lifting one knee high against her body. There it was—her firm, perfectly formed bottom staring him in the face. Her lace-trimmed panties were wedged high between her delicious looking cheeks. It didn’t seem right that a down-on-her-luck waif should have such a remarkable backside.
He supposed she was full of surprises. She had certainly been a surprise tonight, getting soused and making outrageous advances like that. He should be angrier, but he was too amused and too distracted by that bum of hers. The high scone diet had certainly done the trick—she had filled out nicely and turned duckling to swan overnight.
Trevor slanted his head, peering at the place between her legs—that sweet little mound lay scantily concealed by a thin veil of netted fabric. What sort of elfin secret lay between those sleek limbs?
Don’t even think about it, old boy. Erase the thought from your mind at once.
What the bloody hell was the matter with him anyway? She was quite right, he liked tall, leggy women with large breasts—preferably athletic. Now and again a brunette could rattle his cage, but he disregarded small women and black hair had never caught his fancy.
She let out a little snore and burrowed her face into the pillow. She still wore the necklace. He would let her sleep in it. Trevor yanked the blanket over her exquisite hind quarters.
You are lucky I’m a quiet, country gentleman now, Miss De Luca. Or that sticky sweet kiss you gave me would have been the beginning of a very long and sordid evening.
“Bloody country gentleman, indeed,” he muttered.
Now what I need is a good, stiff drink. Perhaps alcohol will help loosen my trousers.
Chapter Nine
Holy Crap. I kissed him.
The snug white pants did little to conceal his long, muscular legs. He wore dark brown riding boots and a black polo shirt that clung to his lean torso. The veins in his arms stood out as he gripped the reins. Expertly, he maneuvered the animal, bending low to crack the ball with the long-handled mallet. Izzy sat with Charlotte and Sir Archibald in the Duke’s section, while the other spectators watched from the lawn below.
“Daddy is the fastest on the field,” Charlotte bragged.
Sir Archibald puffed with pride. “Polo—the Sport of Kings. His Grace was on the 2000 Olympic team, you know.”
He dominated the field. The speed at which he rode was remarkable. He had the bearing and agility of a seasoned athlete. Concentration hardened his features as he worked the heaving animal. The sleek power of his thighs flexed as he stood in the stirrups.
Izzy swallowed hard. Only last night she had plopped her drunken ass down on those long thighs, (or at least she thought she had). She was pretty sure she had kissed him too. The evening was sort of a blur—her head pounded from too much champagne.
Great, I got wasted and threw myself at the Devil Duke. Smooth move, spazzoid.
The crowd erupted into a cheer as the Duke made the final blow, crushing the opposing team.
“Daddy won! Let’s go down and say hello.”
“Um, okay—is that done?”
“Yes, but we must take care not to get trampled.”
I can only pray a horse will trample me. Then I won’t have to face him.
Charlotte led her toward the playing field. People stared at her just as they had the previous evening. She guessed they always would. She was the commoner who had caught the Devil Duke’s eye.
Yeah, right.
Izzy followed Charlotte as she elbowed her way through the crowd. Her stomach did cartwheels as the Duke caught sight of them and rounded the field.
“Daddy! You won!” Charlotte bellowed triumphantly. “You were bloody brilliant!”
Gracefully, he dismounted. “Yes, I was, wasn’t I?”
The Duke yanked on the chin strap of his helmet which fell into the waiting hands of an eager stable boy. Then he pulled his gloves off, one by one. He was a little bit out of breath but otherwise looked composed. Izzy wondered how he did all that exercise without sweating like a pig. He was perfect that was how. Obviously he was from a completely different planet all together.
Planet Perfect.
She was sweating just standing there watching him not sweat. She was awkwardly aware of her appearance. Sir Archibald had told her a summer frock was appropriate attire for ladies at a polo match. Wanting to repent last night’s bad behavior, she had chosen a modest sundress, black with white pin dots. It fell past her knees and had jaunty cap sleeves. She hoped he liked it. She felt like a total dweeb in it.
“Hello,” he said. “Did you enjoy the match?”
She nodded and peeped like a baby chick.
He took a step closer so that she stood in his shadow. “What did you say? I couldn’t quite make that out.”
“Yes...” She squeaked. “I enjoyed it.”
When she swayed a bit, he snatched up her hand in his. “Steady on.”
He turned her wrist and pressed a light kiss against the inside of it. She was aware he was doing it for the benefit of the crowd. Still, a bolt of electricity shot up her arm and tantalizing warmth flooded her limbs.
“Feeling a bit worse for wear today?”
“I’ve never really had champagne before… I think I’m allergic.”
“Ah, yes I’ve heard of this before—a champagne allergy, but I’ve never met anyone who suffered from this affliction. It’s quite rare isn’t it?”
“Yeah…I think so.”
His eyes twinkled but he did not smile. Was he teasing her? Izzy wished the lawn would swallow her whole. He began stroking the horse’s flanks. Watching him caress the giant animal was doing weird things to her insides. Why did her heart feel like it was thumping in her belly? This one was a great big grey beast. He patted the mighty muscles of its chest with long smooth strokes.
“He is a handsome lad, don’t you think?”
“Uh huh.”
Sir Archibald moved to the Duke’s side. “Your Grace, some people are here from British Magazine. They wondered if you and Miss De Luca might pose for a picture.”
“Absolutely not. Tell them they got their shot when I took her hand. They are lucky I let them onto my property at all—bloody vultures.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
The secretary melted into the crowd to do the Duke’s bidding only to be replaced by another servant. “Your Grace,” the groom said. “May I assist you with your horse?”
“Take him on a turn around the field so his legs don’t seize up.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Right away.”
Izzy followed the Duke around the perimeter of the polo field. Onlookers clung to the fence, wanting to catch an eyeful of the Duke and his bride-to-be. He waved and threw a half-smile their way. The people clapped and gawked in awe as they passed. The Duke seemed indifferent to their adulation.
Charlotte hurried after them. “Let’s go have a picnic—I’m famished. I’m going to run a
head, Daddy. I’ll meet you in front of the pavilion.”
“Are you sure you can make it all that way on those little legs, my darling?”
My darling.
Every time she heard him say that her knees turned to jelly.
“I’ll show you I can bloody do it.”
The girl was off—a blur of ribbons and curls.
“She likes a challenge,” the Duke commented proudly. He glanced down at Izzy’s shoes. Her heels were sinking into the grass. “You aren’t wearing the proper footwear for walking. Perhaps, we should take the car back.”
Izzy shrugged. “No, that’s okay. I’ll just take them off.” With a shrug, she slipped out of her shoes, dangling them off the end of her fingers. “I like walking barefoot.”
“My barefoot bride,” he murmured.
“Huh?”
“In a few days we will walk down the aisle together.”
“Oh, yeah.” A fresh wash of scarlet stained her cheeks. “You’re probably really regretting this whole business transaction right about now.”
“Am I?”
“I mean, you’re probably really angry about last night, right?”
“Not angry, more concerned.”
“Concerned?”
“For my virtue, of course—I will have to keep you off the champagne in the future. I mean you really tried to have your way with me.”
Izzy covered her face with her hands and groaned. “I was such an idiot. Can we please forget about last night?”
“I may need to bulk up my security team the next time we spend an evening together.”
“I’m sorry—was it really that bad? The champagne made me loopy.”
“Loopy? Is that what you Americans call it?” Tormenting her was jolly good fun. She was quite cute when she cringed. He wouldn’t mind drawing this out all afternoon. “In any case, you’re quite aggressive when it comes to courtship—especially when you’ve been on the bottle.”
“How do you mean?”
“You groped me.”
“Groped you!”
“Yes, that’s quite right—sort of like a drunken sailor.”
“Nuh uh!”
“All right, to be fair you didn’t exactly grope me but you bloody well tried. I had to beat you off with a stick. A very small stick—holding you off doesn’t take much strength really. Quite like waving away a butterfly.”
She snorted and crossed her arms. “I think you mean like swatting a fly?”
His eyes sparkled again. “No, that’s not what I mean at all.”
“I don’t remember much after the dancing,” she confessed.
“Just as well, maybe.”
“What else did I do?” She held up her hands. “Wait—don’t tell me anymore. I don’t wanna know.”
“You mean before or after you French kissed me?”
“I Frenched you! No way!”
The Duke’s straight face finally cracked. He gave a rich, throaty laugh. “Way, indeed.”
Izzy hid behind her hands again and laughed a little too. “Quit messing with me,” she pleaded. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. I’ll recover eventually. It may take a few years but the scars will fade.”
“I guess you are probably used to it by now. I mean having spazzed out girls throw themselves at you.”
“Yes, I suppose so—but you certainly have your own style.”
“Style? I don’t have any style—I’m hopeless at everything.”
“Not so—you are quite proficient in the art of sweet talk. You told me I was handsome several times.”
She snorted again. “That’s old news. You’re the Devil Duke after all.”
“I was no devil last night. I was a perfect angel—I put you to bed with nary a peek.”
“You put me to bed!”
“We got home late—the servants were asleep. You were passed out cold. This time it wasn’t because I’m so handsome, you were deep in your tiny cups.”
Her enormous eyes widened in horror. “Did you see anything!”
“Just a wee glimpse of knickers.”
She punched him hard on the arm. “Weirdo pervert!”
“You certainly like parading around in your underthings, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t parading, was I?”
“You have very unusual taste in lingerie, all those silly prints and such—skulls and crossbones, hearts and flowers...In all my travels, I’ve never seen knickers quite like yours.” The Duke pinched the hem of her skirt between his thumb and index finger. “What have you got on under there today? Let’s have a look, shall we?”
With a screech, she skittered away from him. “Get away!” When he lunged for her, she took refuge behind a willow tree. “You are a sex addict!”
“Or at the very least a weirdo pervert.”
“I knew it!”
He slung an arm over a low limb and gave her a playful smirk. “You think admiring lady’s undergarments makes me a sex addict and a pervert, do you?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Women like me. They enjoy showing me their undergarments.”
“Uh, duh—no kidding. That’s not all they show you.”
“Some of them show me a bit more.”
Izzy came out of her hiding place and leaned against the tree. “I didn’t show you anything—you peeked.”
“I suppose I did, didn’t I?”
They stood very close, the branches of the trees hung around them in a swaying veil.
“Have you loved any of the women you’ve been with?”
He made a dramatic play at yawning. “I can’t remember.”
“How could you? There have been too many to keep track of. Thousands probably.”
“Thousands, you say? I certainly hope not.”
“Okay—hundreds then. I mean you said you had sex like thirty times a day.”
He didn’t try to deny it. Instead, he looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. “I’ve had as many silly affairs as you’ve had silly underpants, let’s just put it that way.”
Holy Crap, he’s had sex hundreds of times and I haven’t even had it once.
“But you’re all done with that now, right? You are going to walk the straight and narrow.”
“Yes, that’s right. I’ve sworn off women entirely and intend on honing my pinochle skills. Have you had many men, Isabel?”
Her name rolled off his tongue like melted butter. Her throat felt dry with him standing so close. Maybe now that they had kissed she wasn’t Miss De Luca anymore. She felt all hot and tingly in her belly and she didn’t know if it was hearing her name spoken from his lips or his bold question.
Shyly, she shook her head. “No.”
That’s a friggin’ understatement.
Trevor knew her answer would be no, but hearing her say it out loud brought him deep satisfaction. What sort of boy had she let into those silly knickers of hers? And what had he found once he had gotten beyond that scrim of netted fabric?
“Not many boyfriends then?”
“No… I don’t really have good luck with men. I mean… I’m not sexy or anything.”
Her innocence intrigued him. She looked so pleasingly elfin, peering at him between the leaves. She gnawed on her lips self-consciously. He remembered her sweet taste and leaned in, resting the tip of his index finger on her lower lip. He gave the full pad a little tap.
“Are you chewing bubble gum today?”
Her eyes crossed as she focused on his fingertip. “No, why?”
“I’m thinking about kissing you again, that’s why.”
“Yeah, right. As if.”
“You have a very particular taste.”
“I do?”
“When we kissed last night, my senses were bathed in a sort of…sugary nectar. It’s wasn’t just the bubble gum…it was something else.”
“Um, maybe it’s my toothpaste. I use the kind for kids because it tastes better.”
“It makes me wonder w
hat the rest of you tastes like.”
“Whaddya mean? Oh…you mean…?”
“Yes,” he drawled. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
A thrill shot through her. “Holy friggin’ crap,” she whispered.
“Daddy!” Charlotte’s voice echoed across the lawn. “Are you playing hide and seek in the trees with Isabel?”
Abruptly, the Duke straightened and stepped out of the green cove.
“I made it, Daddy! I ran all the way.”
He clapped his hands and the girl ran into his arms. “How utterly astounding!”
“Daddy, were you being naughty with Isabel?”
“Me? Naughty? Of course not.”
“Humans shouldn’t kiss fairies, Daddy.”
“I suppose you’re quite right about that. You’re the one with the good sense, not me.”
The girl panted. “I’m bloody tired now, Daddy.”
“I will carry you to lunch then.”
“Like a prince carries a princess?”
“Precisely.” He lifted his daughter in his arms and glanced over his shoulder at Isabel. He seemed unaffected by the intimate moment they had just shared. “Shall we continue on?”
Isabel trailed after him, heart racing. Had he really been thinking about kissing her again? Why would someone like him want to kiss a total spazz like her?
Charlotte lolled in her father’s arms, flopping weakly against his chest. “You see Isabel—I fainted in Daddy’s arms just like you did. You swooned in his arms and now Daddy is going to make you his duchess.”
“Yes, but remember what we talked about before,” the Duke told her. “It’s not a real marriage. It’s more of an arrangement so that you and I can spend more time together.”
They came to the little fairy pond with the bridge. The pavilion shone white in the afternoon sunshine. A small table had been set up on the grass. Reese, the butler, put the finishing touches on the table.
“Put me down, Daddy. All this talk of marriage is a dreadful bore.”
The Duke glanced at Isabel’s feet as she wriggled her dirty toes in the grass. To her surprise, he took her by the hand and led her to the water.