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

by Tessa Bowen

  “You’ve been acting quite queer ever since that girl arrived. Why don’t you sleep with her and get it over with. Then we can all get on with our lives.”

  The Duke fumed as the Baroness sashayed into the house. His mischievous charge was on all fours now, working the trowel with vigor. He caught a flash of her brightly colored underthings as she hoisted her tiny rear in the air.

  Pink and white bloody candy stripes.

  He rolled up his sleeves, readying for a brawl. “Right, that’s it.” He advanced on the flower bed with blood in his eye.

  The gardener gathered up his gardening tools, dropping a shovel in his haste. “I’ll finish up tomorrow, Your Grace. Good evening, Your Grace.” The young man scurried toward the greenhouse, leaving the two adversaries to face off.

  The Duke crossed his arms and glowered disapprovingly. “Get out of there at once. You are covered in filth.”

  Izzy took off her boots and shook them. “It’s only dirt. Don’t be so uptight.”

  “You are wearing it like a second skin.”

  It was all over her. Spread across the tops of her thighs and forearms, across her cheek—on the tip of her impudent little nose.

  “You should try getting dirty someday,” she told him. “It would do you good. You are so buttoned up. I’ve never seen you with a hair out of place.”

  Was this grimy scamp actually insulting his appearance? Did she think he was a fuddy-duddy? He knew he should laugh out loud but somehow it infuriated him. Had he already turned into his father—starched, somber and old?

  “I’ll show you buttoned up,” he muttered, stepping right into the flower bed. His polished cognac loafers sunk into the ground. He snatched her filthy hand in his and yanked her to her feet. “What are you doing out here anyway?”

  She feigned innocence, blinking her doe eyes at him. “Whaddya you mean?”

  The Duke had a hard time controlling the urge to wipe her grubby face with his handkerchief. “You know what I mean. You are trying to make me angry—you are deliberately tweaking the tiger’s tail.”

  “Your tail is beyond tweaked. It’s bent sideways.”

  “Why are you playing foolish games? You’re still in a snit that I wouldn’t sleep with you last night, is that it?”

  “Not really—I found someone closer to my own age to have a roll in the hay with.”

  He loomed over her. “Don’t you dare think about becoming that bloke’s tart, do you hear me?”

  “Why not?” she challenged. “Are you the only person who is allowed to have sex in this house? Why do you care anyway? You don’t want me. You made that clear last night. You were just passing the time—passing the time with your hands all over my ass that is.”

  The way this girl spoke truly galled him. He stuck a finger in her face. “I forbid it. Do you understand? You will not have relations with that boy.”

  “Relations! God, were you born in 1912 or what?”

  “I will not have my employees fraternizing. And you are supposed to be my bloody wife anyway. I won’t have my wife consorting with the bloody gardener. ”

  “You can’t enforce that rule. You don’t own me. I’ll do whatever I want with Bryce.”

  Bryce, was it? He would be speaking to the butler about this Bryce person first thing in the morning.

  “Haven’t you made enough mischief for one night?”

  “Not quite.”

  Izzy’s eyes narrowed. She hunkered down and grabbed a fistful of mud, launching it at him. It landed right on his collar with a satisfying smack. She had aimed for his hatefully handsome face but was too damned short.

  “You vile brat, I ought to take you across my knee.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you—you warped English freak!”

  He sunk to his knees in the grass and pulled her across his lap so that her grubby bottom was in the perfect position to receive a thrashing. Then, he hiked up the back of her skirt and yanked her panties high, jamming them into her split. She screamed bloody murder when he brought the flat of his hand down hard across her fanny.

  Shock and humiliation slashed through Isabel and a little something else—a dangerous and complex sensation that she did not fully comprehend. His branding touch sent a thrill right through her. His knee pressed hard against her as he brought his hand down again and again, each whack more resounding than the last.

  “Stop it, you sicko!”

  She wriggled furiously in a vain attempt to get free and sunk her teeth into what was available, the side of his thigh. With a curse, he pushed her to the ground and she landed on her back in the flower bed. Her dark eyes flashed while his smoldered an electric blue.

  “You are such a weirdo pervert,” she gasped, rubbing her burning behind.

  Trevor could tell the spanking had excited her as much as it had him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “So, what if I am? You’ve been asking for that ever since you got here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Does the Baroness let you spank her? You probably spank her with a diamond encrusted riding crop and she probably calls you, Your Grace while you’re doing it.”

  “You’ll call me Your Grace when I’m finished with you.”

  When he lunged for her, she grabbed another handful of mud and came at him. This time the Duke was ready for her. He knocked her down, kneeling over her in the dirt. He trapped her body between his thighs and snatched up her wrists, pinning them over her head.

  “Do you want me to continue the punishment? I’ll do it, you know? I’ll flip you over and have at you again.”

  “Ha!” she spit in his face. “You call that lily-liver spanking a punishment? I’ve had harder spankings from arthritic old ladies!”

  He was distracted by her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin veil of that absurd t-shirt. He had a feeling those neat little mounds were as firm as her bottom. He had so liked the feel of her flesh springing back against his palm. She was hot beneath him while the moist soil was cool, soaking through the knees of his trousers.

  Maybe she was right, getting dirty was good for him.

  Izzy saw her opportunity to wreak more havoc. She bucked upward and toppled him backward. Clutching two fresh fistfuls of mud, she opened her palms on either side of his face.

  “Good God, you’re a beast,” Trevor wheezed. “You belong in a bloody cage.”

  Or bent over the desk in my study.

  “Are you gonna cry because I ruined your fancy suit?” she goaded.

  “I don’t care about the bloody suit, you little trollop.”

  She struggled so much she was practically riding him. Her firm body churned atop his. How easy it would be to push those silly striped drawers aside and give them what they both hungered for. He gripped her slick limbs, knowing he had to feel her beneath him, even if just for a moment. He overpowered her, rolling with her until his long, strong body pressed her into the wet earth. He slid his hands up her skirt, caressing her thighs up high.

  “I like you in this naughty little skirt,” he murmured huskily. “It’s very short, isn’t it? Have you ever considered wearing it with a pair of kneesocks?”

  Her eyes clouded over in confusion and then she blinked in recognition. “You’re sucha weirdo pervert! You’re not supposed to be touching me, remember!”

  The air had gone heavy around them. The night was silent save but the sound of their heavy breathing.

  The Duke shifted on top of her. “Do you want me to stop, Isabel?”

  She thought for a moment then shook her head from side to side.

  The Duke slipped his fingers upward until they were tucked in the corner of her panties, just where they stretched low across her narrow hipbones. A simple downward turn would separate her from her knickers. Their noses almost touched as he breathed in the scent of her skin. He was turning werewolf again, sniffing out his prey. Why not do what he did best? He was the Devil Duke, after all. If he w
ere to release the beast from its cage, one thing was for sure, he’d shut this girl up good. That lacerating tongue would be tucked behind her teeth once and for all, and those sweet-tasting lips (so often curled in disdain) would tremble for his kiss. He was a hair’s breadth away from fusing their lips and delving his tongue into that tasty hollow.

  What had this girl done to him? He was wrestling with her in the mud and dirt and it felt bloody good. The Baroness was ten times more beautiful than the girl beneath him and no doubt ten times more trained in the art of pleasing him. Her long, willowy body was a carefully preserved work of art, but she didn’t look at him with such dark, deep eyes and she didn’t taste as sweet. Nor did she surprise him with her unusual choice in undergarments. In fact, she didn’t seem to surprise him at all and she would look quite silly in kneesocks, really. None of the women he knew seemed to excite him anymore. Only this tawny skinned, ill-behaved imp could rile him. Strange as it was, he wanted to tear the clothes from her wet skin and give her a good dose of requited lust. He wanted in those bloody candy striped drawers, damn it all—he wanted in bad.

  “Are we going to have sex now?” she whispered.

  Involuntarily, his body pressed against hers even as he cursed in annoyance. He shook his head to clear it, and rolled off her, tugging at his collar which seemed to be closing in on his windpipe.

  “No, damn you. No bloody sex.”

  She sort of writhed in the mud, biting her lip in frustration. “But we aren’t done fighting yet.”

  He couldn’t stop staring at her legs, twisting in the mud like that. His muddy hand prints decorated her flanks.

  “That’s quite enough fighting for one night.”

  Suddenly, she sprung up from the ground, hurling herself at him. She made a sandwich out of his face with two fresh fistfuls of mud. He growled in anger as she climbed him like a cat on a tree, clawing at his shoulders with her nails. Her legs jammed into his sides, hips heaving and straining—practically gyrating against his needful loins.

  He caught her up against him, squeezing her nubile, young body in his tight grip. “Fighting is like bloody foreplay to you, isn’t it?”

  “If we aren’t going to have sex, then we may as well fight.” She clipped him hard under the chin, her fist slid on the slick mud splattered across his jaw.

  “Enough!” he roared.

  He knocked the wind out of her when he flipped her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She pummeled him with her fists, but her blows made little impact. It was no use to struggle. His arm was like an iron band around her hips, his back a wall of muscle. From the upside down view, she could tell they had made it to the edge of the pond.

  “No! Don’t you dare throw me in there!”

  The water was so cold it sucked the breath from her lungs. The reeds and algae pulled her deep. Something was coiled around her ankle, pulling her deeper. She struggled against it— seconds dragged by like hours.

  I’m gonna drown a friggin’ virgin.

  In the next instant, he was there. He untangled her from the death trap and pulled her through the water. They crashed to the surface, gasping for breath.

  She choked and coughed as he dragged her to the edge of the pond. The Duke gripped her by the shoulders. “Are you all right?”

  “I almost drowned!” she spluttered.

  Gently, he cupped her cheek. “I didn’t realize you couldn’t swim—I’m sorry.”

  She whacked his hand away. “I know how to swim!”

  “Why were you bloody down there so long?”

  “There was a friggin’ monster at the bottom! It had me around the ankle.”

  With an exasperated sigh, he pushed her back against the banks and grabbed her around the ankle, propping her foot against his chest. “There is no monster, you silly girl. A vine had you.” He unwound the leafy coil and dropped her leg back in the water.

  “You’d probably be happy if I drowned, wouldn’t you?”

  “Perhaps. You are a maddening little package.”

  “I can’t believe you tossed me in the pond.”

  “You hurled an entire garden plot at my head. We both needed cooling off, I’d say.”

  Her teeth chattered and she began to shiver.

  “Let’s get you warm. Come along, you nefarious nymphet.”

  She squeaked when he plucked her off the ground, tossing her over his shoulder again. This time she did not fight, but hung limply over his sodden back.

  “Why do you always have to carry me,” she huffed.

  “It is easier to take you by force than wait for you to do as you’re told.”

  She could hear the squishing of his wet feet sinking into the lawn. Her body was being slammed against his as he stalked toward the house. When he threw open the front door and entered the house, the butler was there to greet him.

  “Your Grace…may I assist you?”

  Izzy heard the shock in the butler’s voice.

  “No, thank you, I can handle it—just a little marital spat,” he remarked dryly. “One of many, I’m sure.”

  The Duke brushed past the servants and headed straight for the staircase. He took her straight to the bathroom in his master suite.

  Isabel took in his man cave with fascination. It looked a lot like her room, but was decorated in masculine colors—forest green velvet and grey lacquer—mahogany and rich tobacco leather.

  Hot.

  Trevor turned the hot water on full blast. Then he plopped her right down on the edge of the tub. Her entire body trembled with shakes and her teeth clattered noisily.

  “Take off those wet clothes.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the steam rising from the clawfoot tub. “I’m not taking a bath with you, weirdo pervert.”

  He gave her a look like he meant to throttle her. “Do as your bloody told for once.”

  He removed the rest of his own clothing, ripping off his belt and yanking off his trousers. He snarled in disgust as more mud sprayed across the tile floor. He stalked over to the sink and began splashing his face and chest with water.

  Holy Crap. The Devil Duke is in his boxer briefs.

  He was just as she had imagined—utterly perfect. If she had a camera right now she could sell the picture for thousands of dollars. This was the sight every woman wanted to see. He was tall and extremely well built with long muscled legs, broad shoulders and a lean, nipped in waist. He had the flattest stomach she had ever seen and a sprinkling of russet hair across his chest. A faint wash of freckles ran across his strong shoulders, just like the ones on his nose—a surprisingly boyish trait on a man so manly in every other way.

  “What are you just sitting there for? Come on, get on it with it.”

  “Wow, I’m just looking at you. You’re like…totally perfect.”

  “Don’t start simpering about it, you silly git.”

  Her ravenous eyes devoured him. A flush spread across his body as her gaze travelled lower. The icy dip in the pond had finally cured him of his raging erection. He didn’t want the one eyed beast rising up again. He feared he wouldn’t have the strength to beat it back down this time.

  “Bloody hell, must you gawk like that?”

  “It’s just…you look like a statue. Your body is amazing.”

  “Yes, yes—you’ve already said that.”

  “No, I mean like seriously amazing.”

  “Oh, all right then,” he ground fussily. “I’ll put a robe on. Now get undressed and get into that bath. We leave for Venice tomorrow. I don’t want you catching your death.”

  “Maybe I’ll contract friggin’ pneumonia and die.”

  “That would be a stroke of luck, wouldn’t it? I mean look at the bloody mess you’ve made in here,” he motioned around the mud-streaked bathroom. “I’m bloody exhausted from your shenanigans.”

  Izzy heaved a sigh and rose on shaky legs. Her trembling fingers went to the hem of her t- shirt. Her hands were so cold she’d lost feeling in them. She was having a hard tim
e grasping the thin cotton.

  “Raise your arms,” he ordered. “I’ll do it.”

  Izzy raised her arms. He peeled the shirt over her head, tossing it into the pile with his trousers. He pushed her useless fingers away and unbuttoned the snap button at her waistband, sliding the zipper down. His head was bent close to hers. He smelled so good and looked so good with his robe hanging open that Izzy wanted to melt into his arms and start all over with him. She loved being undressed by him. The feel of his hands on her body sent fresh shivers across her flesh. He pushed the sodden skirt down her thighs. Her butt cheeks still burned from the spanking. She supposed she should be embarrassed to be standing there in her bra and undies, but she was too tired to care. Besides, he had already seen it all.

  “Right,” he said crisply. “You can do the rest. I’m leaving the room for a moment. You better be in that tub when I return.”

  Izzy shucked off her filthy drawers and bra and lowered herself into the piping hot bath. She let out a gasp of ecstasy. Her body immediately turned the water murky beige.

  “Ew, gross.”

  She heard his footsteps and sunk to her nose in bubbles. He carried two glasses and a crystal bottle of whisky. He held the stopper between his straight white teeth. He dumped two fingers into each glass and handed her one.

  “Drink this.” He said, jamming the stopper back in.

  Izzy slammed it down, knowing it would make her warm. She gasped and then gagged. The Duke snatched the glass from her grip just before she dropped it.

  “First taste of scotch, I presume?”

  Tears filled her eyes as she nodded.

  “Bloody hell, look at that bath water. You’re surrounded in a dingy froth.”

  “My ass hurts,” she complained. “I can’t believe you spanked me.”

  “Next time I’ll do it harder.”

  “Will I be wearing kneesocks?”

  “Don’t start with that.” He fretted with the tie on his robe, making sure it was knotted good and tight. Any minute his aroused male appendage would rise as big as an elephant’s trunk. “Let’s just try to survive the rest of this ordeal, shall we? We will make a few public appearances in Venice. After that, you can go home, all right?”