How to Capture a Duke

by Tina Gabrielle

  “No. Just Tristan.”

  Why would he believe it would pass to his children? The answer was as clear as if it was written on the cards before her. Because he refuses to take the risk.

  Finally, she understood why Tristan never wanted to marry, never intended to father a child. She’d come along and he’d been forced to wed her and then forced to live with her. It was bad enough he believed she’d tricked him into marriage. Now she posed a greater threat by residing with him and by tempting him.

  She felt a nauseating, sinking despair. Despite their beginning, she’d never given up hope. She’d come here tonight to help Tristan. Her plan to get close to Lady Ware was solely to help him. She’d believed, deep down, that Tristan would see her value as his wife and gain his approval. That they would overcome their odds, and one day, he would open the door that connected their bedchambers and join her in her luxurious four-poster bed.

  What a fool she’d been.

  If he truly believed his child would suffer as he had, and he refused forever to share her bed, then there was no hope for them or for their marriage. Nothing she could do would change their future or his opinion of her. He’d always resent her, and she’d spend her life in a mansion, alone and desolate.

  Another server walked by carrying a tray of liquor. This time, she reached for one of the tumblers.

  “Olivia? Are you all right?” Jeffries asked. “You seem suddenly pale.”

  She slipped off the stool and forced a smile. “I’m fine. Please, pardon me. I see a lady I’d like to speak with.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Tristan found his wife in the Raven Club’s boxing room, where a fight was taking place. He knew the room connected to the main casino floor and that the fights drew patrons of all ages and both sexes. Putting the boxing room here was the ingenious idea of the Earl of Castleton. Men who won placing wagers on the pugilists would turn around and lose their winnings at the casino.

  Two bare-chested men circled each other in the ring. They punched and jabbed at each other in a brutal athletic dance that energized the crowd. The room was packed with spectators cheering for their favored pugilists. Croupiers wove their way through the crowd and collected wagers. Humid warmth enveloped the air, and the smell of sweat and cigar smoke wafted to him.

  Like a beacon, he spotted Olivia’s fair hair in the midst of the crowd. At least she had the good sense to wear a half mask. But still, he couldn’t believe she was here, in the boisterous boxing room. He searched the crowd around her for Spencer, but he didn’t see his cousin near her.

  Thank God for that much.

  Pushing his way through the throng, he touched her arm. She swung around to face him, her eyes flashing with alarm behind her mask.

  He had frightened her. Good. She shouldn’t be here. It was a rowdy crowd, and anything could happen to her. Was her brother, the earl, even aware of his sister’s presence here?

  “I told you not to come to the Raven Club,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Her eyes glinted, and her chin jutted forward. “You did. And I told you that you have no right to dictate my whereabouts.”

  His goal was to get her out of this room, and he knew he had gone about it badly. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. “I am your husband, remember?”

  She hiccupped and wavered on her feet. “A kiss does not make a husband.”

  He stared at her, really stared, taking in the slightly glassy eyes behind the mask, her pink cheeks, the unsteadiness of her stance. “My God, you’re foxed.”

  “I am not.”

  “Where is Lord Jeffries?”

  Her brow furrowed. “Jeffries? I don’t know. Most likely on the casino floor.”

  “You were to meet him.”

  “I did.” Another hiccup. “We had a very enjoyable time playing together.”

  Jealousy seared the center of his chest like a hot brand. “How enjoyable?”

  “We played a heated game of vingt-et-un.”

  A burst of noise drew his attention to the ring as one of the pugilist’s uppercuts connected with his opponent’s chin. The injured fighter stumbled, attempted to grasp the ring’s ropes, then crashed to the floor. Blood smeared his nose and lip, and the spectators’ cheering reached a fevered pitch. He needed to get her out of this room. Now.

  “Come.” He took her hand and pushed his way through the crowd toward the wooden doors that led back to the main casino floor. Once they passed through the doors and the din of the crowed ebbed, he turned to her.

  She tugged on his hand. “Another match is scheduled for tonight. I want to stay.”

  “No. You drank too much.”

  “You’re wrong.” She removed her mask and looked up at him. “I’m fine. See?”

  Her observed her green eyes, a bit glassy, her flushed complexion, and her full lips. He had an insane urge to kiss her. To suck her plump lower lip into his mouth like a ripe strawberry. To stake his claim and tell her just how badly he wanted to get her home.

  But he couldn’t do or say any of those things, could he?

  His frustration—sexual and possessive—arose, and along with those emotions, his dreaded stammer returned.

  “You are c…c-oming home with me.”

  She cocked her head to the side and studied him. “Why?”

  “What do you mean, ‘Why?’ Because that’s where you belong. And because I demand it, dammit.”

  “Not good enough. There is nothing there for me.”

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Has my cousin said anything untoward? Has he p…p-ropositioned you?”

  “Propositioned me? You cannot mean…” She reached out a hand against the wall to steady herself. “Do you?”

  He prized himself for his self-control in the past. He’d always been adept at keeping himself distant from others, but Olivia had a maddening way to make him feel. To draw him out of his comfortable routine. It was the reason he was here tonight, to fetch her away from his good-looking and damnably charming cousin.

  Now she was looking at him, and he had no idea how to answer. All he knew for certain was that his wife had indulged in one too many drinks and he wanted her away from his cousin, the Raven Club, and all the temptations it offered.

  “You’re wrong. Lord Jeffries did not behave badly. But your cousin did reveal something quite extraordinary about you.”

  “What might that be?”

  She moved away from the wall to press a finger against his chest. “You do not want children because you fear they will be like you. That they will speak like you.”

  He stiffened beneath her finger. He stared wordlessly at her, his heart pounding like a drum. His throat tightened, and his fists clenched at his sides. He couldn’t believe Spencer had revealed that truth to his wife. Betrayal, sharp and bitter, cut through him, and he wondered what the hell his cousin had been thinking.

  Spencer knew only because he’d told his cousin a decade ago after arriving home from Oxford on holiday. Tristan had had a particularly difficult session after a professor had required his students to speak on a topic. He’d known he stuttered worse under stress, but the half hour speech had been intolerable. He’d been convinced that he’d never want his offspring to go through a similar, miserable experience.

  Unwanted, old emotions arose within him. Incompetence. Frustration. Embarrassment. His mother’s voice could never be silenced. He wasn’t good enough, intelligent enough, worthy enough to be her son and his father’s heir.

  It was Tristan’s shame, his cross to bear.

  He’d never been celibate, but the women in his past knew how to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. But Olivia was his wife. He couldn’t take the risk.

  “I do not wish to s…s-peak of it.”

  “Of course not. But your beliefs are unfounded. There is no reason to think that your children will—”

  “I said I do not wish to speak of it.” This time, the words were delivered clearly and harshly.

  Pain flashed
in her eyes. He knew how badly words could hurt, and he wanted to take them back, to pull her into his arms and kiss her, to soothe the sting of his harsh delivery.

  She knows, dammit.

  No one could guarantee a child would not be like him. She’d never understand, could never live a day in his shoes. He knew firsthand that no one could shelter a child for its entire life.

  “You believe the worst of everyone, especially me. That I trapped you into marriage. And you came here tonight believing I’ve seduced Lord Jeffries into having a liaison.”

  At the mention of Spencer, his jaw hardened. He didn’t believe she’d seduced him, more like his cousin had seduced her.

  He reached for her hand. “Enough talk. It’s time to go.”

  She evaded his grasp. “Why? Since I am such a nuisance as your wife, leave me here.”

  “Olivia.” His voice was full of warning.

  “You needn’t worry. I shall find my own way home. I’m sure Lord Jeffries will be more than happy to escort me.”

  His mind exploded with all his pent-up fears and frustrations. He didn’t think. Tossing her over his shoulder, he headed for the back doors of the club.

  …

  Olivia found herself thrown over Tristan’s shoulder like pirate carrying his booty. Shocked, she pounded on his broad back, but doing so was like striking steel.

  He strode out the back doors of the club and into the mews. Even in her unladylike position, she spotted his crested carriage. His coachman’s eyes widened when he saw the duke approach, but he didn’t say a word as he hopped off his perch to open the door. She found herself tossed onto the padded bench.

  Olivia struggled to sit upright and smoothed her skirts. She was inflamed by his highhandedness. “How dare you! What if we were seen? You could have caused a scandal.”

  He settled across from her on the bench and folded his arms across his chest. Dominant and masculine, he seemed to take over the interior of the conveyance. A single carriage lamp illuminated the chiseled planes of his face. The tinkle of harness and the lurch of the conveyance proclaimed they were off for Keswick Hall, just as the duke had demanded.

  “I dare because I don’t want my drunken duchess to cause a scene in a casino.”

  She felt her temper rise. “Your duchess!” she screeched. “You do not want a duchess.”

  He leaned forward, his face inches from hers. “Now that I have one, I’ve decided to keep her.”

  “Keep me? What on earth does that mean?”

  “It means I expect my wife to behave like a lady, not a tavern doxy.”

  He caught her hand before it made contact with his cheek. His dark gaze narrowed. “I suppose I deserve your outrage, but do not seek to strike me again.”

  Perhaps if the world didn’t spin, she would be afraid. But she had never feared physical harm from him. Other things, yes, but not physical harm.

  She licked suddenly dry lips. His gaze lowered to her mouth, and she felt as if he’d touched her there, his stare had turned so heated. The air shifted in the carriage, like a storm that blew away. She was left with a heightened awareness of lightning about to strike. She felt warm all over, as if he’d hauled her against his chest. She should be furious. What was wrong with her?

  “You drive me mad.” He released her wrist but didn’t move, and neither did she. They stayed suspended in their seats, inches apart, eyes connecting.

  “Why do you care? If you refuse to consummate our marriage, am I to stay untouched forever?”

  “No,” he said, his voice rough. “You are young and lovely and should experience passion.”

  It must be the whisky that was making her bold, but she didn’t care. “Do you prefer I seek a lover, then?”

  “No. The thought of you with another does not sit well with me.”

  Her pulse leaped. Oh. She’d never expected him to say such things. Never expected him to make such an admission. “Why?”

  “It’s my right to bed you and your right to be with me. For me to make love to my wife. To make you cry out with passion.”

  Oh my.

  She could get lost in the longing in his eyes. For a brief moment, she imagined things had been different between them. He wasn’t a duke, they weren’t forced to marry, and their pasts had no consequence. They were simply two strangers ensconced in the intimacy of a carriage.

  “I’d start here.” He reached for her hand and drew back her glove to place a kiss on the pulse point of her wrist. She stifled a gasp at his gentleness and the brush of his lips on the sensitive spot. Then, slowly, he peeled off her glove and kissed the center of her palm.

  She watched the top of his head, and she longed to bury her fingers in the dark locks, to see if they were as soft as they appeared. Then he lifted his head and met her eyes. He was close, so close, and she wanted to kiss him so badly she ached.

  “And then?” she asked.

  “Then I’d kiss your lips.”

  She leaned forward across the bench. He met her halfway.

  His lips were soft and coaxing. Her mind flashed back to their very first kiss by the creek with the sunshine on her face and the ruggedly handsome man cradling her in his strong embrace. This was even better. No sun heated the interior of the dark carriage, but the warmth of his lips made her feel ablaze. Her breathing grew ragged, and her corset felt too tight. She slid a hand along his arm, grazed his hard bicep, then touched his shoulder. Her fingers inched up to bury in his hair. The thick strands were soft and inviting. She gave a slight tug to pull him closer. Thankfully, he knew what she wanted and plucked her from her bench to settle on his lap.

  Even through broadcloth and silk, she could feel his searing heat. Clutching his shoulders, she parted her lips and opened to him and met his tongue. This was what she’d craved. She squirmed in his lap and was shocked by his hardness. She felt a burning need for something more, something only he could ease.

  “If I could make love to you, I’d start by nuzzling the delicate shell of your ear.” His lips tugged, and she’d never known how sensitive her skin could be.

  “Then I’d kiss your neck.” Her head fell back, and tremors began to vibrate through her body as his lips devoured her throat.

  “Tristan,” she moaned.

  “Then I’d kiss the tops of your luscious breasts.” His hot breath hovered above her bodice, and it took great effort not to resume squirming on his lap. He pressed his lips to the swell of her breasts above her gown, and she nearly swooned.

  His mouth returned to hers, and she was lost. He’d said he didn’t want to bed her. She couldn’t think about that now, not with the way he was kissing her, like a man who couldn’t get enough. She needed to retain some control, but with a flick of his tongue along her bottom lip, all thought fled.

  She clutched his shoulders and held on for dear life. He was like the summer sun as she galloped across the fields—exhilarating and intoxicating. He moved now. His hands roamed her shoulders, her lower back, and pressed her closer. Her breasts ached beneath the silk, and she arched closer to the hardness of his chest. He groaned.

  If she was wanton—if the whisky made her speak and act more brazenly—she didn’t care. Wouldn’t care. Adventure was in her nature, and the Duke of Keswick brought forth all her emotions. Nothing mattered in this protected, isolated space. They weren’t husband and wife, duke and duchess, and they weren’t at odds. They met in an equal abandon of tongues and lips, and the carriage echoed with longing sighs and the desperation of want.

  His fingers traveled from the swell of her bodice to graze her nipple through her gown. She gasped beneath his kiss and arched into his hand. If it was this wondrous, what would it feel like through the layers of silk and on her naked skin?

  “Tristan,” she said in wonder.

  “Yes, yes. If I could, I’d undo your gown and expose your luscious breasts. Lick your stiff nipples, then suck each one into my mouth until you begged for more.”

  Goodness. Never had she imagined how
much words could arouse and tease.

  He possessed her mouth then turned more savage as he plundered her. She whimpered, desperate for what he offered. She wished they could stretch the moment out forever.

  The carriage slowed and came to a halt. He lifted his head, and she touched her lips, swollen and wet.

  He looked into her eyes and said a single devastating word. “Home.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Olivia reached for the door handle, but Tristan was there first. He jumped out, waved away the coachman, and lowered the step himself.

  “I can walk,” Olivia said.

  He ignored her protests and reached for her hand as she stepped down then teetered up the mansion’s front steps. Gordon opened the door as soon as soon they reached the top step. One glance from Tristan and the butler shrank away.

  Clutching the gilt balustrade, she stumbled on the third step of the winding staircase. Tristan was beside her in a flash, placing a hand around her waist to steady her. She tried not to focus on the strength of his hold or how every inch of her flesh responded to him.

  “Easy up the stairs,” he said.

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “You should know that I never drink to excess.”

  “Why did you then?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “What Lord Jeffries told me was upsetting.”

  His lack of protest confirmed his beliefs about not fathering children. They reached her door. He eased it open and helped her inside. She loved the soft pink hues and the inviting shell-pink coverlet she’d chosen. She turned back to him. He looked entirely masculine standing in the center of the feminine room.

  She hadn’t given up all hope. What they’d shared in the carriage was special and told her they had a chance. Could she follow the dictates of her heart? Would he be willing to as well? Could she change his mind?

  Never one to miss an opportunity, she stepped close. “I need help with my dress. I’d rather not wait to summon my maid. Can you manage?” She turned and pulled her hair to the side and waited expectantly.

  He hesitated. She sneaked a glance back, and the look of desire on his face was plain to see. It made her legs feel weak and her heart pound. He wanted her. It was clear. A battle raged within him. Need versus determination. Which would win?