Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  “But I want to play for Papa now.” A storm gathered in Fi’s blue eyes. “If he can’t go down, then the footmen can bring the piano up.”

  “You know the first footman has a bad back.” As much as she loved her daughter, Gabby wished the girl would think more of others. “It’s not considerate, dear, nor is it practical to ask the servants to haul a heavy instrument up the stairs.”

  Hands curled, Fi yelled, “You always side with Max!”

  As Gabby strove to hold onto her patience, Adam’s baritone cut through the tension.

  “Your mother has the right of it,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “While I appreciate your offer to play, it’ll have to wait until I’m better and can manage those stairs on my own.”

  Gabby’s jaw slackened. The old Adam had cossetted Fiona, indulged her every whim. To hear him gainsay her wishes was nothing short of startling.

  Fiona’s wide eyes confirmed that she, too, was shocked.

  Cheeks flushing, she mumbled, “All right, Papa. I’ll play for you later.”

  “I look forward to it,” he said evenly.

  Seeing the deepening lines around his mouth, Gabby knew that he was getting weary.

  “Say your goodbyes, children. Papa needs his rest,” she said. “You can visit again later.”

  Fiona and Max made their farewells, and Gabby was about to escort them out when Adam’s voice stopped her.

  “Gabriella. Would you stay a moment, please?”

  “We’ll see ourselves back to the nursery,” Fiona volunteered.

  She took Max’s hand, and the pair scampered off.

  Closing the door, Gabby returned to Adam. He indicated that she should share the sofa with him, and she perched carefully by his feet, not wanting to jostle him. As she met his gaze, she felt a quiver in her belly. He was so familiar and yet he was looking at her like a stranger might. His frank appraisal affected her breathing like a quick tug on her corset strings.

  “Do you need more willow bark?” she said into the silence.

  “A hammer does seem to have taken up residence in my skull.” His look was rueful. “How did you know?”

  “You’ve lost your color. And you get these lines around your mouth.”

  “You’re observant.”

  Flushing, she said, “Not really. I just notice things.”

  “That’s the definition of being observant, pet.” He sounded amused.

  Flustered by the casual endearment—one he’d never used with her before—she said, “I’ll, um, fetch the willow bark—”

  “Wait, I wanted to ask…how did I do?”

  She tilted her head.

  “The children,” he clarified. “How do you think that went?”

  Touched that he cared, she answered, “You handled them very well. Fiona especially.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The girl…our daughter, I mean. She’s a handful, isn’t she?”

  “You’ve always been proud of her spirit and ambition,” Gabby said, a bit defensively.

  “Combined with her beauty, she’ll wreak havoc on male hearts when she grows up. I’ll have my hands full warding off her suitors.” He slid her a look. “Takes after you, I suppose.”

  Gabby blinked. Was he saying that he thought she was a beauty who captivated men? While she knew that Adam held her in high esteem, he’d never been one for frivolous compliments or flirtation. His last comment, along with the earlier endearment, made her feel uneasy…as if she didn’t know him.

  How well do you know him? The question escaped from one of her mental boxes.

  “I…I’ve never wreaked havoc in my life,” she said awkwardly.

  “I doubt that. You must have been popular as a debutante. How did I manage to snatch you up before someone else did?”

  Not knowing how else to answer, Gabby gave him the truth. “You were the only one who offered for me.”

  “I was?” His brows inched up. “Were all the gents around you blind?”

  She didn’t know how to answer that.

  “I don’t know how to answer that,” she said.

  “Never mind. Worked out well for me, and I don’t need you having second thoughts.”

  His slow smile pumped her heart, warmth rushing through her veins. This man had Adam’s charisma and intensity, and he was less reserved. His undeniably virile interest filled the room, and she felt caught between longing…and fear.

  She was acutely reminded of the one other time Adam had acted this way toward her. That time when she’d found him drunk and agitated over the death of some mysterious woman. That night had opened up Pandora’s box. Even though she’d slammed a lid on the doubts, kept them at bay for the last few months, they were now rattling to get free.

  The words catapulted from her. “Who is Jessabelle?”

  Dear God, I can’t believe I just asked him outright.

  It was too late to take it back.

  “I don’t know.” Adam gave her a blank look. “Am I supposed to know?”

  Her throat dry, she said, “While you were feverish, you said her name. Twice. I don’t know anyone named Jessabelle and just wondered…”

  She trailed off, not wanting to sound like a jealous fishwife. If the mention of Jessabelle had triggered no response in Adam, then maybe Jessabelle wasn’t important after all. Gabby was making a mountain out of a molehill, working herself into a frenzy over nothing.

  “It’s not important.” She rose, smoothing her skirts. “I’ll fetch your willow bark. Your head must be aching dreadfully by now.”

  As she walked past him, he caught her hand. “You’ll come back to me? Talk with me some more?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, her pulse thrumming. “If you wish it.”

  “I wish it.” He brushed his lips across the back of her hand. The tender abrasion ruffled up her spine, goose pimples prickling her skin, the tips of her breasts tingling. But it was the raw male hunger in his eyes that arrested her breath. “I’m ready to get on with my life, Gabriella. Our life. And I don’t want to waste any time.”

  15

  A Few Months Earlier

  As the longcase clock chimed one in the morning, Gabby paused outside her husband’s study. He’d arrived home earlier than usual this evening, and he’d seemed unlike his usual self. Dark turbulence had swirled in his eyes; when she’d asked him what was the matter, however, he’d denied that anything was wrong. Then he’d locked himself in the present room.

  Hours later, she still hadn’t heard him come upstairs, and concern had made her don a wrapper over her nightgown and come in search of him. Now she saw the light flickering beneath the door of the study and heard the sounds of heavy movement within. Which was also unusual. Adam possessed a predatory grace; indeed, he routinely startled her with his stealth.

  Then she heard the familiar resonance of her husband’s voice. Filtered through the heavy wood, the words were muffled and indistinct. Puzzled, she wondered who he could be talking to at this late hour; no guests had arrived…was he talking to one of the staff? But surely all the servants were abed.

  Curious, she rapped on the door.

  A minute passed. When no one answered, she tried the knob. The smooth brass turned in her hand, and she let herself inside.

  Entering her husband’s domain always sent a tingle of pleasure through her. The vast space suited Adam with its dark masculine elegance and air of tasteful luxury. The rich scents of leather, tobacco, and a hint of Adam’s own delicious spice teased her senses. Her gaze went to the massive desk at the far end of the room, where her husband was usually found.

  He was not there.

  “There was a fair maid named Faye, whom I came upon one day. And she in turn came upon me, her bubbies white and bouncing free…”

  The unmistakably bawdy tune, sang in her husband’s voice, slackened her jaw. It came from the seating area by the flickering hearth. She hurried over, her astonishment deepening at the scene that

greeted her: Adam was lying on the studded leather sofa, his eyes closed as he belted out the lewd ditty. Her usually immaculate husband was in his shirtsleeves, his feet bare. His throat was exposed, his dark chest hair visible in the open vee of his collar.

  His cravat lay in a crumpled ball on the carpet beside him. Next to his discarded neckwear was an empty glass and a nearly empty decanter, the crystal facets glinting in the firelight.

  “What on earth?” she said in bemusement.

  Adam’s eyes opened. The intensity of his dark stare was diluted by the fact that it was out of focus. He blinked up at her…then smiled lazily.

  “’Ello there, my beauty,” he said in slurred tones.

  “Hello.” Flummoxed, she asked, “Um, what are you doing?”

  “Drinking. Brandy,” he clarified. “Join me?”

  He gestured grandly at the decanter, knocking it over and scattering the few remaining drops across the Aubusson.

  She hastened to pick up the bottle, placing it safely out of his reach. Standing by the side of the sofa, she looked down at her husband. His face was flushed, his expression languid. A strand of inky hair had escaped its restrained style to curl upon his brow. She recognized that unruly forelock for he’d passed it on to their son.

  Kneeling, she tenderly smoothed aside the stray hair. “How much have you had to drink, darling?”

  “Dunno.” His wide shoulders hitched against the cushions. “Not enough?”

  He sounded so hopeful that she had to fight a smile. “A decanter of brandy is definitely enough. What has gotten into you, Adam? You’re not one to overindulge.”

  In fact, she’d never seen her husband foxed. He might enjoy a glass of wine with supper and a postprandial spirit with a cigar but, unlike many gentlemen, he stopped there. He approached drinking like he did everything else: with absolute control.

  “Ain’t overindulging. Can ’old my alcohol.” His garbled accents undermined the credibility of his claim. “Back in the day, I could drink anyone under the table. Everyone thought I ’ad a ’ollow leg. Won more than one drinking contest in my time—that’s ’ow I began to build up my stake, y’know.”

  She didn’t know. Aside from his proposal, when he’d told her that he’d been part of a gang in his youth, Adam rarely referenced his past. Any questions she’d asked him had received curt replies. The number of facts she knew about her husband’s history could be counted on one hand. She’d always been curious to know more about his past, however, and now he was volunteering information about himself. What harm could it do to find out more about the man she loved?

  “What did you need stakes for?” she asked.

  “To start my own business, o’ course. Weren’t going to stay under another man’s thumb even if ’e saved my life. Ne’er could convince ol’ Garrity that petty thievery and scavenging weren’t no way to get rich,” he muttered.

  “Garrity?” Surprise percolated through her. “But I thought you didn’t have any living relations whilst you were growing up.”

  “’E weren’t my relation. Thought ’e was a father to us all, though. Thought that since we was all ’is children, we ought to act like brother an’ sister.” He shook his head drunkenly. “But we wasn’t siblings, was we?”

  Gabby’s nape tingled. “Who are you referring to? You…and who else?”

  Adam stared at her, his gaze hooded. The firelight licked lovingly over his features, deepening the hollows beneath his slanting cheekbones and the fathomless pools of his eyes. The scruff of his night beard added to his air of virile wickedness.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He righted his accent the way a gentleman might a slipping hat, clamping it back in place. “The past is irrelevant.”

  Gabby could not agree. She felt as if she were teetering on the edge of discovery. As if she were suddenly looking down into a dark abyss where the unknown lay in wait. Perhaps she’d always sensed its existence. In the sunlit contentment of her marriage, it was easy enough to ignore; but at night, when all was still and dark, it slithered through her dreams, sending tremors through the foundation of her happiness.

  Secrets, secrets, secrets, it whispered.

  She’d never gathered the courage to peer into the darkness. Yet now the danger was staring her in the face; she couldn’t ignore it.

  “It does matter. To me.” She forced herself to stand her ground, not easy when her husband was eyeing her with an odd glint in his eyes. “Adam, who was she? This woman, who wasn’t like a sister to you?”

  Why haven’t you mentioned her before? Did you care for her? Did you…love her?

  Gabby’s heart trembled; with bated breath, she awaited her husband’s answer.

  “You’re the prettiest piece I’ve ever laid eyes on, you know that?” He gave her a leering grin. “Did well for myself, I did.”

  Although flustered, she persisted, “Who is she? Is she…is she why you’re in this state?”

  Was this mysterious woman the cause of her husband’s inexplicable behavior?

  A spasm hit Gabby’s chest.

  “No,” he said solemnly. “In this state on account of you, love.”

  She frowned. “You got foxed because of me?”

  “Not talking about being foxed—which I’m not,” he said with an edge of belligerence. “Talking about this.”

  Her gaze followed the sweep of his hand. Her breath jammed when she saw what he was gesturing at. The thick, straining ridge in the front of his trousers was unmistakable.

  Goodness, he was…aroused?

  A wave of heat swamped her, making her feel light-headed. Yet she couldn’t let him distract her, not when they were engaged in this important conversation.

  Despite the flare of heat in her cheeks and elsewhere, she forged on. “I’ve never seen you in your cups before. What has happened, Adam? Tell me, please.”

  He sat up, pulling her to stand between his splayed thighs. “I love it when you blush. It spreads like a sunrise over your cheeks, your throat.” His knuckles followed the trail of his words, a hot graze against the side of her face and neck, above the lacy ruffle of her high-necked nightgown. “I’d wager that beneath those layers your tits are a pretty pink, too.”

  When he casually cupped one of her breasts, wetness trickled between her thighs. Her head spun…with an uneasy mix of desire and misgiving. Who was this man? Her Adam had never been one to display his affection so boldly; their intimacy was always scheduled and carried out within the confines of their marital bed.

  Yet here he was fondling her in his study. Her breaths came fitfully as he continued to stroke her breast. His other hand slid behind her back, holding her steady against his torturously pleasurable touch. Her nipple poked out rudely, the taut outline visible through the layers of her nightclothes.

  “Ripe as a cherry,” he said in a guttural voice. “You make my mouth water, love.”

  Hanging onto the last vestiges of her sanity, she choked out, “Adam, you must answer my question. Why did you drink so much this eve?”

  His fingers paused upon her breast, although he didn’t release her.

  “If I answer your question,”—his glazed, hungry gaze made her heart bounce against her ribs—“will you be a good wife and let me have my way with you?”

  After an instant, she nodded.

  “Someone important died today. In a workplace fire.”

  “Dear heavens,” she exclaimed. “Who?”

  “No one you need concern yourself with,” he muttered. “The past is over and done with. None of it matters—nothing matters but this…”

  His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, drawing her closer. A gasp left her as his lips closed around the bud he’d teased into stiffness. He suckled her through the layers of silk and lawn, unleashing a wave of molten heat. She knew she ought to question him further about his startling revelation: who had died in the fire? And why was he so agitated over the loss that he’d gotten inebriated? Yet her willpower lessened with each decadent drag of his mouth.

  Goodness, what Adam was doing, with his lips and tongue…

  When he withdrew his mouth, she whimpered. Standing between his spread knees, she felt like a harem girl showing off her wares to an all-powerful sultan, and her intimate muscles fluttered at the naughty fantasy. If only she had the charms and wiles of Scheherazade…if only she had the power to win her husband’s love…

  “Take off your robe,” he said thickly.

  The very idea was wicked. And rather…titillating. Could she be so wanton as to disrobe here, in this public place where her husband conducted his business?

  The burning demand in his gaze made up her mind. Her trembling fingers went to the sash of her robe. Her efforts at harem-girl-like grace were foiled when she couldn’t unknot her belt, which she’d tied rather hastily. She tugged and tugged until finally the silk noose loosened. Grateful to be free, she forgot to be alluring and shrugged off the garment.

  Adam’s dark gaze roved over her. “The nightgown as well.”

  She stared down at the battalion of pearl buttons standing guard along the front of her voluminous nightgown. Good Lord. Without her lady’s maid to help her, the act of getting undressed could very well take a thousand and one dashed nights. So much for captivating her husband. With an inward sigh, she reached for the top button; wedged tightly in its hole, the pearl refused to budge.

  “Allow me.”

  Adam’s long fingers wrapped around hers, her belly quivering as he took over. Even soused, he was dexterous, his fingers deftly undoing her. He whipped the garment over her head, tossing it to the floor. A heartbeat later, she found herself lifted and sitting astride him. The position was novel, astonishing…and utterly depraved.

  She was naked, he fully dressed. Her knees braced his trouser-clad thighs, his manhood an iron bar pressing into her belly. His hand cupped her nape, bringing her face down to his, their noses almost touching. She was mesmerized by the flames of unbridled lust in his eyes. While she’d undoubtedly seen—and felt—his arousal before, it had never been quite like this. He had never let his desire for her show in so raw and primal a manner.

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