That Beatrice was doing so filled him with tender amusement.
Lips twitching, he said, “You have an inconvenient visitor, do you?”
“I discovered it as I was changing for bed,” she said in a small voice. “It doesn’t last long. Usually three days or so.”
He hugged her close, kissing the top of her head. “Then we’ll do something else instead.”
“You’re staying?” She angled her head to look at him.
He raised his brows. “Unless you’re kicking me out.”
“No, I’d like for you to stay.” Her smile was shy, unbearably sweet. “I like being with you, like this.”
Christ, he liked it too. He’d spent a fair amount of time in bed with lovers, but never time spent not fucking. There hadn’t been a woman whom he’d wanted to just talk to and cuddle with…until Beatrice.
“I like it too,” he said honestly.
“Even though we’re just talking?”
“Especially because we’re talking,” he told her. “I want to know you, angel, and not just in the biblical sense.”
Cheeks rosy, she asked, “What would you like to know?”
“You haven’t said much about your family.”
Once again, she stiffened, and he wasn’t surprised. He suspected that all was not well in the familial realm. Why else would her kin allow her, a vibrant woman, to live like a hermit? When she’d briefly spoken of her father, her expression had grown distant…as if she were barricading herself off from pain. It was the same expression she’d worn when Knighton had brought up her brother’s name.
“There isn’t much to say.” A wall of remoteness rose in her eyes. “My papa died about a year after my accident, my mama soon thereafter.”
“What about your brother?”
“He and I are…not close.”
Feeling her retreat farther, he switched to a different strategy.
“Are you far apart in age?” he asked conversationally. “My brother Richard is older than I am by seven years, and I think that age difference caused a rift between us for a time.”
“Benedict is a year younger.” Her brows drew together. “What kind of a rift?”
He hesitated because he wasn’t used to talking about his past. One of the primary principles of negotiation was quid pro quo, however. She’d shared about her scar; it was only fair that he should divulge some of his own unpleasant history. The difference was, of course, that she’d done nothing to deserve what had happened to her whereas he’d been the architect of his own downfall.
“Truthfully? One caused by my stupidity,” he said baldly. “In my younger days, I was an arrogant, reckless fool. You couldn’t tell me anything because I knew it all. I got myself into debt with a moneylender and even more serious trouble. When Richard tried to help me, I took out my anger and frustration on him.”
“Why did you do that?” Her tone held no judgement, only curiosity. “Didn’t you know that he was trying to help you?”
“I knew.” Even after a decade, that time in his life—who he’d been—shamed him. “I was just too proud to admit that I was a failure. I’d always looked up to Richard, you see. He was the dutiful son, the one that our father was proud of and rightly so. When I ended up discharging my debt to Garrity, the moneylender, by working for him, Richard did not condemn my choice. Instead, he told me that an honorable man always pays his debts, and he has stood by me, through thick and thin. He even manages to be civil to Garrity—who, by the by, founded GLNR and invited me and our other partner, Harry Kent, to join the company.”
When she remained silent, he felt a stab of concern. Had he revealed too much? He hadn’t shared the worst of his sins…not by a long shot. A wise negotiator always began by testing the waters. Working for a usurer wasn’t exactly a noble pastime, yet he’d never regretted his sojourn in the underclass. It had cured him of his pride and arrogance and given him the skills to make his own way in the world.
But Beatrice, with her distinguished pedigree, might not see it that way. Although his own bloodline and money allowed him to move within the ton, there were the sticklers who looked down their noses at him because of his past profession—or for having any profession at all. He’d learned not to give a damn what they thought, but what Beatrice thought mattered.
“Your brother sounds like a wise and decent chap,” she said with a wistful smile. “Are you close to him now?”
Her matter-of-fact acceptance humbled him. Gave him hope that she might be able to accept his greater trespasses when it came time to share them with her.
“Very close. In fact, he, my sister-in-law Violet, and their three hellions are staying with me in London for the summer. They’re due to arrive at any moment.”
“Shouldn’t you be there to host them?” She looked adorably concerned.
“I sent word that I would be delayed. They’ll get on fine without me.” He stroked her cheek, enjoying the privilege of touching her. “After we deal with the problems at hand, I’d like for you to meet them. I think you and Violet, in particular, would rub along famously.”
“You don’t think…”
“What is it, sweetheart?”
“Will your family find me…odd?” she asked anxiously.
He burst out laughing.
“I’m serious,” she protested. “I’m not exactly a conventional lady.”
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at the notion of Vi finding anyone unconventional.” He grinned at her. “Compared to her, you’re as proper as the queen.”
“How can you think I’m proper given the way we met?”
“You should ask Violet about her first meeting with Richard. It made a splash in the papers.”
She raised her brows. “Then I think I shall enjoy meeting her and your family.”
The idea of introducing Beatrice to his kin filled him with pride. Then he wondered if she’d feel the same way about him. Although descended from aristocratic stock, he was the younger son of a minor Scottish viscount whereas her brother was a duke.
He’d never been introduced to the Duke of Hadleigh, although he knew the man by reputation. Hadleigh was said to be an arrogant hothead, possessed of a vindictive streak. During Wick’s tenure as a moneylender, one of his clients had apparently offended the Duchess of Hadleigh with some off-handed comment. His Grace had avenged his wife by calling the man out and putting a hole in the other’s arm.
Wick cleared his throat. “What about your brother? Do you think he and I will get along?”
Her smile faded.
“I’m not that bad of a catch, am I?” he said lightly.
“It’s not you.” She exhaled. “Benedict is not an easy man to get along with. He wasn’t always that way. I mean, he was quick-tempered even when we were growing up, but he had a kinder, gentler side.”
“What made him change?” Second rule of negotiating: ask the right questions.
“It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got a long night of not making love ahead of us.”
His quip had its intended effect of relaxing her. Particularly her eyeballs, which rolled in their sockets before she continued with her story.
“Before my accident, my family was a happy one. Papa and Mama were devoted to one another. Benedict and I grew up at our country seat, and our days were filled with riding, swimming, and playing with other children. It was a carefree time.” Her expression darkened. “My first visit to London was for my debut at age seventeen. Mama never liked the city, so Papa would go on his own while we stayed at the estate. Benedict and I were both overwhelmed, I think, by our first taste of city life. I was swept into the ballrooms of the ton, and he fell in with a crowd of neck-or-nothings, lordlings who would bet a thousand pounds on whose carriage would win a race.”
Wick understood because the same thing had happened to him. “London is a dangerous place for a young man of means who thinks he’s more experienced than he is.”
“You’ve described Bene
dict to a tee. Those initial months in London fed his recklessness and his temper. Then my accident occurred…” She swallowed before continuing. “It was like a lightning rod for his rage. He insisted my honor had to be avenged, even when I begged him to let the matter drop.”
Wick recalled the details she’d shared. “The man in the park, the one you stopped from abusing the urchin. Your brother wanted him to answer for what happened?”
“Yes. The man’s name was T. Edgar Grigg.”
The name rang a bell. “Was Grigg a coal merchant?”
“You know of him?”
“My partner, Harry Kent, who oversees the technological aspects of GLNR was quite interested in one of Grigg’s innovations. Grigg designed a prototype for a coal drop…essentially a warehouse with a railway running over it so that the train can dump the coal directly into the building. Quite clever, really; there’s a model operating now near Regent’s Canal, although Grigg died before he could see his plan come into fruition…”
Wick trailed off, recalling the rest of Grigg’s story. The man had been a rising star of industry, a middle class businessman poised for great success. Then his fortunes radically turned.
“After Papa’s death, Benedict came into the title.” Beatrice continued her tale in a hollow voice. “He was barely eighteen at the time, immature yet full of pride. He used his influence to ruin Grigg’s business. As it turned out, those lordling friends of Benedict were well connected. All it took was the right whispers in the right ears in the right clubs. Grigg’s investors fled, banks called in his loans, even some of his patents were overturned. It got so bad that…” Her throat worked. “Grigg hung himself.”
“Bloody hell.”
“I couldn’t be around Benedict any longer, so I purchased Camden Manor. Shortly after he came into the title, he got married…to Arabella, the girl who I’d thought was a friend but who I’d overheard calling me Lady Beastly. She has brought out the worst in him. Five years ago, Benedict and I got into an argument, and I told him what I’d heard her say about me to my ex-fiancé, and he accused me of making it up. Said I was jealous of her. And he called me…”
He stroked her hair. “What did he say, angel?”
“He called me…” Her voice cracked. “The destroyer of happiness.”
Seeing anguish darken her beautiful eyes, Wick wanted to punch her idiotic brother. It took all his willpower to keep his voice gentle. “You didn’t destroy anyone’s happiness—he did, the foolish bastard. You bear no fault in any of this.”
She looked as if she might say something more. But she only bit her lip.
Knowing her tender heart, he asked, “Do you miss him, angel?”
“He’s my brother, the only kin I have left.” She heaved out a breath. “At the same time, I want to wring his neck. That sounds absurd, doesn’t it?”
“That sounds like family. But he’s not your only kin.”
Her brow puckered. “He isn’t?”
“There’s the family you’re born with, and the family you choose. And you, angel, have created your own clan here at Camden Manor. The Sheridans, the Ellerbys, the rest of your tenants—they understand how special you are and, because of that, they deserve a place in your life. Hadleigh, it seems to me, has yet to earn that privilege.”
She stared at him as if he’d hung the moon in the sky for her. And, devil and damn, he’d give her the sun and stars as well just to have that look from her. A look that filled that empty well inside him, replaced loneliness with something beautiful and rare.
“How did you become so wise, Wick?” she said softly.
He gave her the truth. “By making mistakes and earning my privileges.”
16
Beatrice opened her eyes. She was lying in bed facing Wick. They must have fallen asleep this way, curled together like a pair of quotation marks or two children sharing secrets deep into the night. The watery light that slipped in through the curtains suggested it was early yet, and she wanted to let Wick sleep on.
Quietly, she eased from the bed and went to use the necessary.
When she rejoined her dozing lover, she curled on her side to face him. He was absurdly attractive, even in slumber. A wave of hair lay over his brow, his lashes thick against his cheeks. A night beard shaded his jaw and drew attention to the sensual shape of his lips. Through the vee of his sleep shirt, she saw the taut, hair-dusted planes of his chest.
He was a beautiful man and not just on the outside. Last night, she’d told him things she’d never shared with anyone. Goodness, she’d even told him about her flux. Yet he made it easy to let down her guard. He listened and understood, sometimes questioned or teased. What he never did was judge.
With Wick, her secrets felt safe. She felt safe.
The currents of trust flowed in both directions. For he carried his own hurts from the past and was unpacking them with her bit by bit. It seemed impossible that a man with his looks and accomplishments could have any insecurities at all, but when he’d talked about his younger self and his older brother, she’d heard his self-doubts. Knowing that he, too, was subject to human frailties made her feel even closer to him.
A tender spasm hit her heart. I care about him. So very much.
The realization was thrilling and terrifying at once. In a week and a half, Wick had slipped through defenses she’d spent years building as easily as he’d scaled her garden wall. And what she felt was not the tendre of a girl—that first blush attraction she’d had for Croydon—but something far deeper. Something that the woman she was now hadn’t thought she would ever feel.
Wick had convinced her that he was attracted to her, that his courtship wasn’t just based on honor. But did his feelings go beyond sexual desire? Might he someday come to…care for her?
Yearning made her reach out and curve her palm around his jaw. The abrasion of his virile scruff made her skin tingle. She explored gently so as not to awaken him. She feathered a fingertip over the firm seam of his lips, the strong line of his chin. He murmured sleepily, and she grew bolder, sliding her hand into the opening of his shirt.
His chest was hard and warm, his vitality thrumming beneath her palm. She enjoyed the contrasting textures of his chest hair and taut skin. With her index finger, she traced the flat disk of his nipple until it pebbled. She wondered if that part of him was as sensitive as the corresponding part of her. Indeed, her breasts were extra sensitive during her menstrual cycle, the tips budded and throbbing against her nightgown. Her gaze drifted downward, and her breath caught at the jutting bulge of his manhood. His cock was a huge, thick bar pressing against the fine linen.
He can get aroused in his sleep? she thought wonderingly.
Fascinated, she couldn’t resist touching him, running a finger along the distended ridge. At his sharp exhale, she jerked her hand away, her gaze darting to his face. He was awake, just barely, his eyes a slumberous gold-green.
Her cheeks hot, she said, “I’m sorry to wake you.”
“As you can see, I’ll get up for you anytime, sweetheart.” His husky double entendre ruffled her senses. “Would you like me to disrobe so that you can see what you’re touching?”
Feeling very bold, she nodded.
His slow smile made her shiver. That shiver turned into a full body tremor as he got out of bed and, in a languid motion, pulled his sleep shirt over his head. The display of rippling muscle and hollowing grooves slackened her jaw. She hadn’t seen him fully naked before and, heavens, he was a visual feast.
She scooted closer, kneeling by the edge of the mattress to get a better look. From his wide shoulders to his sectioned abdomen, he was sleek and muscled everywhere. His hips were lean, girded with a striking vee of sinew. He had the long legs of an athlete, his bulging calves sprinkled with hair. And between his corded thighs…
Goodness, his cock was huge. The heavy lance was aimed in her direction, a pearly bead dripping from the tip. At the base of that enormous weapon, his dusky stones hung in a nest of male h
air.
Her palms twitched, a molten feeling spreading from her core to her pussy.
“Feel free to touch,” he murmured. “And to do whatever else you wish to.”
Images bombarded her brain. Of things he’d done to her…of things she might like to do to him. His permission fanned the wicked flame inside her. She placed her hands on his abdomen, felt the leap of the washboard-like ridges. She slid her palms upward, circling his nipples with her thumbs.
“You’ve kissed me here before.” She looked up into his heated gaze. “Would it feel good if I did the same thing to you?”
“Why don’t you try and find out?”
His question was both a challenge and a tease. It gave her the nerve to rise on her knees and put her lips to his flat nipple. She kissed him, and his half-smile suggested that he liked what she was doing…and perhaps would like something more. Recalling how he’d tended to her breasts, how good that had made her feel, she kissed him again, this time using her tongue.
His shiver told her she was on the right path. She continued to lick him, his flesh budding beneath her soft flicks. She experimented with suction, and that appeared to be a success, if the low purr in his throat was any indication. She moved to his other nipple, licking, sucking, winnowing out pleasured grunts from him.
The scent and textures of him made her feverish with want. She felt like an acolyte worshiping at his altar. She couldn’t get enough of him, using her hands and lips to learn his sensual contours.
Arriving at his jutting manhood, she looked up at him.
“Show me how to touch you,” she said in a throaty whisper. “How you like to be touched.”
The look in his eyes made her throb between her legs. It was strange to realize how hotly her fires burned this time of month. If it wasn’t for her “visitor” as Wick had put it, she would want him to touch her pussy, do all those wicked things he did to make her spend.
The Duke Redemption Page 14