The Duke's Privateer (Devilish Dukes Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  He doesn’t desire me. Not when any stunningly beautiful, empty-headed young lady would fall at his feet. But then again, Danby prefers to be promiscuous. As I recall, he was oft seen with that Italian opera singer.

  That whole affair had been a shameless charade. Every time Eleanor had gone to the theater, the tart had sung only to Danby where he sat alone in his extravagant center box.

  Shameful.

  Yet there was nothing illegal about the duke’s behavior.

  Eleanor plopped on her bed and hugged the pillow to her midriff.

  Her privateering endeavors were dangerous, not to mention sidestepped the law at times.

  Was she a bad person? Did she deserve to be imprisoned? Yes, she had smuggled priceless items into England and, by not paying duties, the kingdom’s purse may have suffered a little. But then, on the other hand, she had saved the same kingdom thousands of pounds in duties by providing Prince George with priceless artifacts, his favorite cognac by the barrel, his wine, his Madeira…

  Prinny.

  Eleanor brushed away a tear. Perhaps it was time to call upon the prince and end Danby’s intrusion into her life.

  “Miss Eleanor?” Earnest called from the corridor, rapping on the door.

  “Enter.”

  The young man popped his head in. “I’ve just had word from the furniture makers. Danby’s bed is ready to be installed.”

  Sighing, she carefully replaced the pillow. “I suppose that is a good thing.”

  “Why suppose?”

  “Aside from finding a legal Mandarin chancellor, the bed is the last piece to complete the renovation. The work on the walls will only take a week. Also, the sooner the furnishings are installed and pass my inspection, the better.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Yes, I can.” Eleanor stood and brushed out her skirts. “Earnest, has Danby ever approached you and asked about our importing affairs?”

  “Me?” The lad shook his head. “Thankfully, I’m not lofty enough for the duke to take any notice of.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would. And I’m glad of it. The man makes me very uncomfortable.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “I don’t know. Except…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, ’tis not proper to speak ill of one’s betters, but whenever he’s in the town house, I feel as if he’s playing judge and jury. And he snoops about and does whatever he pleases even though this isn’t his house.”

  Eleanor wrung her hands. The only reason she had allowed the duke to continue to visit was because his reading, albeit lewd and improper, had made a difference to her father. To see Papa returned to even half the man he once was, was worth the entirety of her fortune.

  Chapter Ten

  “We’ve trebled the arrests, Your Grace,” said Mr. Davis, patting Moss on the back. “After weeks of combing through customs ledgers, these men have documented patterns leading to a half dozen arrests in as many days.”

  “Excellent news.” Sher motioned to his footman. “Order a round of fine scotch for the lads, if you would be so kind.”

  “Straightaway, Your Grace.”

  “And how about you, Kenrick?” Sher asked, leaning his backside against the billiards table. “Was your investigation at the customs office fruitful?”

  “A bit perplexing, I say.”

  Sher crossed his arms and his ankles, not certain he wanted to hear anything untoward about Lion’s Imports, especially if it led to Eleanor. “How so?”

  “After you asked me to compile a list of chinoiserie imported by Lion’s, I thought I’d find shiploads of it, but aside from a few items brought in and delivered to the Baron of Derby, there is not a single item recorded by the customs office.”

  “No Mandarin chancellors destined for Brighton?”

  “No.”

  “Then you must return to Brighton and see if you can wheedle your way into one or two of the servant’s graces. Those statues must have been offloaded somewhere. I have it on good authority that they were purchased in Constantinople on behalf of Lion’s.” Sher drummed his fingers against his lips. “What else do you have for me?”

  “From what I can tell, Lion’s is a small, modest outfit, but…”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, because I couldn’t find anything incriminating in two years, I went back four. It might be nothing, but come to discover, the King’s Jewel, a sizable galleon—the same one involved in the Madeira shipment—was fined for not paying duties on five hundred barrels of tobacco.” Mr. Kenrick opened a small book and pointed to a notation. “I double-checked the customs entry and it clearly said the duties and the fine had been paid by a Mr. Millward of Lion’s Imports.”

  Sher’s chest tightened. “But nothing since?”

  “Nothing untoward since the man paid the duties on the Madeira shipment. Though there’s one more thing I find curious.”

  Not certain he wanted to hear it, Sher held his breath and rolled his hand.

  “Lion’s is on record as the owner of the King’s Jewel.”

  “Oh? And why do you find that odd? Many importers own ships.”

  “’Tis a top-of-the-line rig, sir. Outfitted with eighteen guns as well. She’s sleek enough to outrun most ships in the King’s navy. Moreover, she’s equipped to fend off any pirate attack, that’s for certain.”

  “It sounds suspicious to me,” Davis agreed. “Lion’s being a small player, how can they afford to support such a vessel?”

  Sher still didn’t find the news damning. “Where is this ship? Is she in port, perchance?”

  Kenrick shrugged.

  “Well then, find out,” said Davis.

  Sher confirmed the Bow Street runner’s order with a nod of his head. “When you locate her, use the power of the customs office to seize the ship’s log. I want to know if that boat has been to Constantinople and when.”

  When Sher stepped out of his carriage after his meeting at Westgate Gentlemen’s Club, he felt ten years older than when he’d set out this morning. Why had he started down this road? There were so many other questionable importers in London, Lion’s Imports should have been the least of his worries. He didn’t like suspecting any outfit where Eleanor Kent was involved. He didn’t want to think of her as anything but a paragon of virtue.

  Aside from being the most stunningly beautiful woman he’d ever beheld, who commanded his every other thought, she was a truly decent human being. She took care of an invalid father and cared deeply for those less fortunate. How many members of the nobility did Sher know who actually brought foundlings into their homes and gave them honest employment, not to mention food and sleeping quarters? Sure, many wealthy gentlemen donated money to charitable causes, but few actually rolled up their sleeves and got their proverbial hands dirty.

  Hartley opened the door of the Danby town house. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.” Giving a nod, Sher handed his cane, hat, and coat to the butler who, despite his bloodhoundish appearance, was beaming. “You’ll be happy to hear your bedchamber is once again useable.”

  Unable to bring himself to venture down the corridor and check on the progress, Sher had pushed the chinoiserie remodel as far from his mind as possible, given laborers had been traipsing up and down the stairs. “Has the bed been delivered?”

  “Indeed, and might I say it is an heirloom that will pass through the ages.”

  “You like it?”

  “Heavens, like is not a powerful enough descriptor, sir. I’d say I am in awe of it.”

  Hartley in awe? Sher doubted he’d ever heard the man use the word. “It must be an impressive piece, for certain. Has my mother passed judgement as of yet?”

  “Afraid not. Her Grace has been away most of the day.”

  “Well, I’d best go up and have a look. It will be nice to have my chamber restored. Please do something about the bed in the rear guest chamber before some poor, unsuspecting sop uses it. The mattress is about as comfortable
as sleeping on a pallet of chestnuts.”

  Hartley bowed. “I’ll have it replaced straightaway, sir.”

  Growing curious, Sher bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time. After seeing Eleanor’s fabulous chinoiserie at the pavilion, he was baffled that she could have come up with something that might appear as if it had been regurgitated by a dog.

  About to push through the partially opened door, he stopped when footsteps tapped the floor within. Craning his neck, Sher peered inside. Eleanor carried a tall vase painted with birds to the mantel. She placed it off-center and stood back. “No, that’s not quite right,” she mused. Stepping in, the lady moved the vase about a quarter of an inch to the right, then stepped back again. “Better.”

  When no one replied, Sher placed his hand on the latch and searched for the person to whom she was speaking but found no one. Except to his amazement, his chamber had been completely and utterly transformed. Who in all of Christendom would have imagined that red satin panels, lined with mahogany, were stunning atop a moss-green background? Moreover, the yellow in the wallpaper was hardly discernable beneath a jungle of bamboo and exotic birds. But the jaw-dropping transformation was absolutely the bed.

  Though he’d seen Eleanor’s drawings and he’d seen Prinny’s dragon chandelier in Brighton, the four-poster was stupefying. That it was intended for the sanctity of a bedchamber was criminal. The piece ought to be in a museum beside a Michelangelo sculpture. Each dragon wound around a bedpost in different poses, their expressions terrifyingly fierce. Sher had thought they would all be mahogany-stained wood, but they were painted in hues of red, orange, green, and gold, and looked even more ferocious than the fire-breathing dragon holding the prince regent’s dining hall chandelier in its claws.

  The top of each bedpost had been carved into fronds of palms in which sat dozens of colorful birds. But now that it had all come together with the olive-green bed-curtains trimmed with gold silk, the transformation was nothing short of magnificent.

  Indeed, the other pieces of furniture were beautiful as well, tying in the dragon theme, making a potent statement that this was the lair of a powerful man. Yet, given all that, the furniture was not gauche, nor was it overdone or crowded.

  Each piece had a purpose—the cabinet, the writing table, the sideboard. Even the washstand was necessary, though exquisitely carved with a bowl and ewer that absolutely must have been imported from the Orient. And Sher truly cared not if it had arrived with duties paid. Nor would he ask.

  Regardless, the beauty of the chamber was completely outshone by Eleanor as she moved to the window and pulled back the draperies which matched the bed-curtains. Even the tiebacks were fire-breathing dragons.

  “Good Lord, never in my wildest imaginings did I believe this chamber would be transformed into…” Sher stepped inside and let the door close behind him as Eleanor turned with a startle. “…a complete and utter masterpiece.”

  With her exhalation, a mountain of tension vanished from her shoulders, though her expression remained guarded. “I-I didn’t expect you. Ah…Your Grace.”

  Sher spread his hands. “No? Hmm. Last I checked, this was my bedchamber.”

  “Sorry, it was my understanding the House of Lords was in session today.”

  “On that count you are correct.” Due to his involvement with the task force, Sher had been given a reprieve from his duties in Parliament.

  “Oh,” she said as if she didn’t understand at all. She dropped her hands to her sides as her teeth skimmed her lower lip. “Forgive me. I will take my leave.”

  Sher caught her wrist as she walked past. “Did you not hear me? Your chinoiserie project is stunning.”

  A smile played on her lips, though it quickly disappeared as she glanced to his hand and eased her wrist away. “I’m glad you like it.”

  “Would you do me the honor of giving me a tour?”

  She spread her arms. “I’ve only decorated this chamber, sir. I’m afraid a tour is rather pointless.”

  “Eleanor.” He stepped in and cupped a cheek so soft it reminded him of rose petals. “Something is bothering you.”

  “It isn’t obvious?”

  He inched closer. “Not to me.”

  Her breath hitched. “The last time we were together, you had stolen away in my carriage. And now—”

  He brushed his lips across hers. “Hmm?”

  “I-I am in your bedchamber. And you…” Eleanor whimpered as she pulled away ever so slightly. “Are supposed to be out.”

  “But I am not.”

  “No.”

  Using the crook of his finger, he tilted up that delicate chin and applied a tiny little kiss. Could he control himself? After all, the most magnificent bed in all of Britain was in desperate need of christening. “In fact, I was just thinking how fortunate it is to have found you.” He kissed her again. “Exactly in this spot.”

  Sher could have sworn Eleanor swayed in place. “I-I’m afraid I must be going.”

  “With such haste?”

  “It isn’t proper for me…”

  “Something tells me you do not always stand on propriety.”

  “There are some lines that mustn’t be crossed, sir.”

  “You were in Brighton without a chaperone.”

  “On that you are mistaken. My lady’s maid traveled with me. As did my coachman and footman.”

  “Kiss me, Eleanor.”

  Her posture softened as she complied, turning her lips up to his, she slid her fingers around his neck. Their lips met with sweet urgency and the first hungry swipe of her tongue took his breath away.

  As he cradled her head, he moved closer, pushing his erection against the folds of her gown. Sher lost all sense of time. Eleanor was in his arms. Eleanor was beside his bed and he must have her or die.

  Ever so slowly, he eased her to the mattress, his hands everywhere as he trailed kisses down her slender neck and across the creamy breasts tempting him above her neckline. Inch by inch, he slipped the hem of her skirts higher. Until his finger found a garter just above her knee.

  Oh, sweet heaven, as he slid his hand over her pillowy soft flesh, he shuddered with the pulse of his own need.

  “No!” Eleanor scooted toward the headboard, pushing her skirts lower. “You mustn’t take liberties.”

  The truth dawned on him. No matter how worldly Miss Kent appeared to be, the woman in his arms was a virgin. A flower to be admired and not plucked. Never in all his days had Sher deflowered a virgin. At least not to his knowledge.

  And he made a silent vow not to do so now. Yet, he needed her to stay. “You can trust me.”

  Flushed and flustered, a soft chuckle of disbelief rolled from her petite nose. “You? A notorious rake?”

  “I may have a salacious reputation, but I am no cad.” He moved up the mattress and kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead. “You have no cause to fear me.”

  “Sir, I am on a bed in your arms,” she said, not returning his affection yet not fleeing. “Exactly what is not to fear?”

  “Nothing we say or do within these walls will ever be revealed. And I swear to you I will not do anything you do not wish for me to do.” Sher dared to slip a finger to the neckline of her bodice and caress the tops of her breasts.

  “But—”

  Refusing to allow her to utter another word, he claimed her mouth and showed her exactly what he meant.

  Could she trust him?

  Danby had never forced her to kiss him. Presently, no one had ever been as gentle with her as he was being now. Yet he’d rendered her powerless to resist him. Yes, the duke had stolen her sense of reasoning and turned her into a quivering, wanting mess.

  And, oh, how she desired him.

  She gave in to his drugging lips. They consumed her senses. She wanted to feel, she wanted so much, and yet knew not exactly what. Her body took over, moving against his length as if her flesh had a mind of its own. Her fingers found his mane of thick hair as he released her nipple from its hiding
place, sweeping his tongue across the taut peak.

  Eleanor shuddered with delight. “Again.”

  And he didn’t disappoint, making love to her breasts as his fingers again worked their way beneath her skirts.

  “No,” she whispered, weakly brushing them downward.

  “Trust me.” His words came out like silk. “I promise you will not be ruined.”

  Did she care?

  Yes.

  No.

  Yes.

  “I trust you,” she heard herself whisper as her skirts inched higher while Danby trailed kisses lower.

  Much lower.

  His fingers brushed up her thigh, sending a new wave of powerful need rocketing through her. “You are so soft, so exquisite.”

  Eleanor rubbed her hands across his shoulders, sinking her fingers into powerful sinew as he touched…

  Oh, God.

  “Is this where you need me, kitten?”

  Unable to form the word, she nodded.

  “You are so ready, so very lovely, so ripe.” He seemed to know exactly what she needed as his fingers worked magic in the most intimate place on her body. “Imagine me here…sliding inside you.”

  She gasped as he slipped a finger inside her core.

  “I want to be here. I’ve imagined it. Sliding in and out just like this,” he said as he stroked back and forth, in and out.

  Eleanor’s breath caught at the new sensations building within. She arched her back and pressed into him, craving more. Yes!

  Her eyes flashed open as his tongue touched the nub. “What…are you doing?” she whimpered.

  “I’m kissing you, miss,” he growled, sealing his mouth over her while his finger performed wickedly wonderful things inside.

  “Stop,” she cried. She would die on this bed with her skirts raised!

  But Sher ignored her, his tongue licking and sucking, gradually increasing the tempo in tandem with the overwhelming increase of her need. Incomprehensible pleasure wracked her mind, body, and soul as she clutched his hair and rocked her hips, falling further and further under his spell.

  “You are a wicked, wicked duke!”