“I have never betrayed a confidence, but I fear my friend has put me in a rather unconscionable position. If his plan succeeds, it will ruin your reputation as a chaperone. My loyalty is being tested, but I know that I have no choice except to remain loyal to you, dear sister.”
“Alex—”
“Hawk intends to compromise Miss Jenny Rose during the sixth waltz. He has arranged an assignation in Pemburton’s library—”
“He what?” she interrupted, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing.
“He has asked her to meet him in the library for a kiss. But I fear it will be more as he has asked me to wait a few minutes. And then I am to bring her brother with the ruse of sampling Pemburton’s fine brandy—”
“No,” she said, glancing at her dance card. The sixth waltz was next. The strains of the music that accompanied the previous dance were fading. “You have to stop him, Alex. This is not the way to do it, to ensure that she marry him.”
“He will not listen to me, and if something should happen and she was caught with both of us—you can well imagine that her reputation would be left in tatters and yours along with it. No one will hire you again to serve as chaperone—”
She waved off those concerns and began to look frantically around the room. She couldn’t see Jenny. She turned back to her brother. “The library, you say?”
“Yes.”
“Do not take her brother there. I will do what I can to extricate Jenny from this situation with no harm to her reputation.” She squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”
He gave her a funny look that she couldn’t quite decipher: one of guilt or shame. Maybe a little of both, but she had no time to contemplate it further. She had to get to the library as quickly as possible and pray that she wasn’t too late.
She slipped into the library. Closing the door immersed her in total blackness, the draperies drawn across the windows, no fire flickering on the hearth. Of course. Illicit assignations required darkness. Well, she was here to put an end to that notion. This was a modern house, with electricity recently installed. She needed only find the—
An arm snaked around her waist and she found herself pressed up against a hard, firm body. Hawkhurst. His scent filled her nostrils, his mouth blanketed hers, and his tongue breached her halfhearted attempt to deny him access.
Lord help her. She’d not forgotten the magic of his kiss, the heat it generated, the sensations of desire, yearning, and passion that it invoked. She should push him away. Instead, with a soft moan, she drew him nearer, raking her fingers up into his hair.
She should break free, make him aware that she was not the woman he sought, not the woman he’d planned to ruin, not the woman he intended to marry.
One more sweep of his tongue, and she would do just that. She would alert him to his mistake.
One more moment…of feeling wanted, of feeling beautiful, of feeling desired.
His kiss stirred at her insides, curled her toes, reached deeply, and sent incredible sensations skimming along her nerve endings. His large hand cradled the back of her head, angled it, as his tongue delved deeper, more frantically as though he couldn’t have enough of her.
Pain speared her heart because she knew it was Jenny whom he thought he could not have enough of. Jenny whom he thought he was holding in his arms. Jenny whom he wanted so desperately that he was willing to compromise her in order to ensure that he possessed her for all eternity.
Breaking off the kiss, he released a feral growl, a low groan as his hot, wet mouth trailed along her throat. She dropped her head back, rasped his name, her voice barely a whisper. One second more, then she would speak aloud, one second more and she would alert him to his blunder—
He began pushing her back—unerringly avoiding tables and chairs—and she realized that he must have memorized the room, become familiar enough with it that he knew the path to his destination. Or perhaps he’d simply been in the room long enough for his eyes to adjust to the deep, lingering shadows.
His hands, his mouth did not stray from their course, even as his legs guided her. The back of her knees struck something, and she found herself falling onto plush cushions. A couch, she realized. Long and wide, crafted for a gentleman’s pleasure and now serving at hers.
Hawkhurst followed her down, his breathing as harsh as hers, robbing them both of words, allowing only the release of muted groans and soft moans. His nimble fingers made short work of lowering her bodice and his mouth closed over her breast. Lost in the sensations, bucking against him, she pressed her head back against the pillows.
This was madness.
She felt as though she were on fire, felt as though she must have him nearer, or she would die. She was barely aware of unbuttoning his waistcoat, his shirt, but suddenly her hands were traveling over the heated flesh of his chest, her fingers enticed by the soft hair.
He shifted, bunching her skirts at her waist. She felt the first probe of hot flesh to hot flesh…was shocked by it, even as she found herself arching toward him, needing, wanting, desiring—
The pain came swift and sharp, the fullness of him filling her as his mouth captured her cry…
Then the stillness, the hush of harsh breathing.
“Next time,” he rasped, “there will be no discomfort.”
She should have told him there would be no next time, but a part of her embraced the promise, held it close as though he’d made it to her and not another, as though he would fulfill it, as though she would again have the opportunity to hold him close and be held near by him, to feel the weight of his body pressing down on her, to thrill at so intimate a joining.
He began moving against her, and the discomfort he’d alluded to began to ease and in its place came sensations unlike anything she’d ever experienced: a tightening that spread out to encompass every inch of her body. She released a tiny squeal, and his mouth returned to hers, hushing her even as it worked to increase her pleasure—
Because that was what this was. Pleasurable. Intensely pleasurable. Almost painful and yet not. It was indescribable. But she wanted it, wanted it with a desperation that almost frightened her—
Felt herself climbing toward a pinnacle—
Then a million brightly colored stars burst through her body in a maze of sensations that had her arching as he threw his head back, his satisfied groan echoing around them.
Dear God in heaven, what had he done?
She was lying beneath him, her breaths coming fast and harsh in the darkness, a woman pleasured, seeking to regain her equilibrium.
While he doubted that he would ever regain his.
He heard the door click open—
“Damnation!”
He rolled off her, barely had time to fasten his trousers before light filled the room. He heard her horrified squeak, sought to move himself into a position to protect her modesty as best he could.
As he turned to face the expected intruders, he was vaguely aware of her scrambling off the couch.
“Alex, I can explain—” she began.
“You have nothing to explain,” Hawk heard himself growl, as he stared at Ravensley and the young Mr. Rose.
To his surprise, Ravensley appeared to be in stunned shock. Rose didn’t even try to hide his fury. It marched over his features like Victoria’s armies set on conquest.
“You bastard,” he ground out as he crossed the room.
Hawk saw the balled fist—damn but the man had large hands—but he stood completely still, not bothering to turn away or duck from what he knew he deserved. Rose’s fist landed squarely against his cheek, beside his nose, beneath his eye. Pain ricocheted across his face, pounded through his skull as he stumbled to the floor. He was vaguely aware of Louisa’s tiny screech, the ringing in his ears muffling the sound.
Hit me again, he thought. I deserve a harder blow than that, damn you. Hit me again.
He watched as Rose removed his jacket and draped it carefully around Louisa’s shoulders, drawing it close, and bu
ttoning a center button, even though she’d somehow managed to straighten her clothing. Still, her hair was askew, and she looked like a woman thoroughly ravished. Perhaps because she had been.
He couldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t bear to see the accusation he was certain he’d find there.
“I’ll inform my father that you’ll be at the house at eight o’clock in the morning to set this matter right,” Rose said. “If you’re so much as a minute late, you’ll get a face-to-face introduction to the firing end of my gun.”
Rose ushered Louisa out through a door that led onto the gardens. Hawk assumed he’d discreetly get her to the carriage and then find his sisters and get them all safely home. He looked over at Ravensley, who was staring at him as though he didn’t know him.
“You said your plan was to be caught kissing her,” Ravensley said slowly, as though needing to search for each word before he spoke it.
Hawk looked away as he pushed himself to his feet. His clothes were disheveled, and he, too, would use the back door to leave the party.
“A kiss!” Ravensley roared.
Hawk wasn’t aware of the fist coming at him until he felt its impact slam his jaw upward, knocking his head back until it slammed against the marble mantel. He dropped to the floor. A blurring Ravensley crouched in front of him.
“She is my sister! May you rot in hell for what you did here tonight!”
He heard Ravensley’s loud, angry footsteps as he stormed from the room, a man who could still exit through the front door. Hawk lay back on the floor, not certain he would ever again be worthy of exiting through anything other than a rear door. Rot in hell? He had a feeling he was going to burn in it for eternity.
Louisa was cold, so terribly cold, even though she sat in a tub of hot water, the mist rising, falling, circling around her. Jeremy had been so solicitous, so kind, assuring her over and over that she was innocent in all of this, not to blame, and that everything would be all right.
Only how could it be all right when they all thought that Hawkhurst was going to marry her? A man in need of money marrying a woman without money? They were all mad not to see the truth of the situation.
She was equally at fault. She shouldn’t have gone to the library alone to confront him. When his mouth left hers after the first kiss, she should have spoken aloud, should have announced that it was her—rather than whispering his name in ecstasy. When he had laid her down on the couch, she should have gotten back up. When he had lifted her skirts, she should have shoved them back down.
While he’d certainly been eager, he’d not forced her. She could have said no at any moment, and she was certain he would have heeded her request. But she’d wanted one more moment, one more touch…a little something to last her a lifetime.
Tears filled her eyes.
“It’s all right,” Jenny said, wiping a warm cloth over Louisa’s face.
With Louisa’s hair draped over the edge of the tub, Kate sat behind her, brushing out the tangles.
“No need to cry. Papa will make everything all right,” Kate continued.
Papa. Their father. Not hers. Because hers was dead. And not her brother, because he’d simply stood inside the doorway like a buffoon and done nothing.
No, not nothing. He’d brought Jeremy Rose to the library, knowing, knowing that Louisa would be there, most certainly alone, with Hawkhurst. Why had he done that when she’d specifically asked him not to? Why had he betrayed not only his friend, but her? The pain sliced through her. A more miserable night she’d never known.
“Nothing needs to be done,” Louisa said quietly. “We are the only ones who know, and if we keep quiet, it need go no further.”
Jenny released a laugh laced with incredulity. “Louisa, the man comprised you in the worst possible way.”
Worst possible way? She could think of worse ways, and she’d certainly not objected at the time. Rather she’d relished his attentions.
Jenny held her gaze. “If you hadn’t gone to meet him, it would have been me that your brother and mine would have walked in on.”
Louisa felt the tears burn her eyes. “Don’t you see? That’s the very reason that I can’t marry him. It was dark. He didn’t know it was me. He doesn’t want me.”
“He doesn’t want me either,” Jenny said. “He just wants my money, and obviously he’s willing to do anything to get it.”
“Well, you did say that you wanted a man who could deliver passion,” Kate said. “And based on the way Louisa looked when we first stepped into the carriage, I’d say the man delivered that without question.”
They’d stopped calling her Lady Louisa, as though tonight’s unfortunate incident—Louisa thought she would always think of it as “the unfortunate incident”—had transformed them into longtime friends, had created a bond that until now had been lacking.
“Kate!” Jenny chastised. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“It’s the truth.”
Louisa felt the continual tugging on her hair cease. Kate came around and knelt beside her. “The encounter was passionate was it not?”
Louisa was no longer chilled as images swamped her. Even though it had been dark she could see him so clearly in her mind, still feel the touch of his mouth and hands, the weight of his body…
“Kate, that’s an entirely inappropriate thing to ask,” Jenny said, but her voice held no conviction.
“You’re as curious as I am,” Kate said. “So don’t be a hypocrite about it.”
“I may be curious, but I would never ask, although I think Louisa’s blush has given you the answer to our continual debate. There can be passion without love.”
And with that truth voiced aloud, Louisa burst into tears. Because all his touches and kisses and sweet murmurings had been intended for another woman. And on the morrow, she would have to face him again. How could she after the intimacy they’d shared?
Chapter 14
“You were supposed to secure a duke for my daughters, not acquire one of your own!”
Mrs. Rose had been ranting, huffing, and puffing ever since she’d joined the somber assembly in Mr. Rose’s study and learned that the Duke of Hawkhurst would be arriving any moment to make his intentions clear regarding Louisa.
It did not help matters that Louisa was harboring such guilt. She did not want to explain that in a darkened room, he’d thought she was another. She did not want to have to confess that she’d willingly allowed him to harbor those thoughts. She’d accused him of being without scruples, and yet it was she who was responsible for bringing them to this devastatingly ruinous moment.
“Now, dear, let’s not be that way,” Mr. Rose said gently from where he sat behind his desk. “The girl is under our protection, after all.”
“She is a paid servant,” Mrs. Rose said.
“A chaperone is not a servant,” Louisa retorted, stiffening her back and sitting up straighter.
Mrs. Rose stopped her pacing. “How badly were you compromised?”
“With all due respect, Mother,” Jeremy said from his place behind his father, where he stood with his shoulder pressed against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, his raw, skinned knuckles visible. “There are not levels of being compromised. One is either compromised or she isn’t. I can attest to the fact that Lady Louisa was compromised.”
“Rather fortuitous that your brother invited Jeremy to join him for some brandy,” Mrs. Rose said snidely. “I cannot help but believe this was all arranged in order to ensure you achieved exactly what you sought.”
“Mama,” Jenny said, exasperation in her voice, “we all know it was arranged—but Louisa was not at its heart, not part of its planning. It was a trap set for me, and poor Lady Louisa sprang it. And unfortunately got caught in it.”
“Unfortunately indeed. It should have been you. He is your duke and Lady Louisa took advantage of the situation to ensure that she ended up with him rather than you! She knew full well what she was getting herself into, and she calc
ulatingly barged ahead—”
“Enough!” a voice barked from the doorway.
Louisa jumped to her feet and spun around, unable to refrain from grimacing. The Duke of Hawkhurst stood just inside the study door—obviously deciding that since he was expected, he needed no servant to introduce him. One side of his face was badly battered and bruised, the area beneath his eye terribly swollen. It had to be incredibly painful.
“You are speaking about the daughter of an earl and my future duchess. I would take care with the words you choose to use, madam,” Hawkhurst said, a warning shimmering beneath his voice that had Mrs. Rose taking a step back, Mr. Rose coming to his feet, and Jeremy taking a step forward.
Jenny and Kate exchanged glances as though Hawkhurst’s words pleased them. No doubt because they gave the impression that he intended to marry Louisa. Well, she needed to set everyone straight on that account.
She cleared her throat. “Your Grace, it seems you and I have several matters to discuss.”
“Indeed we do, and none of them concern these people. I would appreciate their taking their leave.”
Jeremy took another step forward. “You can’t possibly believe after what happened last night that I’m going to leave you alone with her.”
“The damage has been done, and the time for protecting her is long past,” Hawkhurst said. “The rectifying of this situation does not require an audience.”
“The hell it doesn’t,” Jeremy said. “I’m not leaving this room, so you may have the opportunity to intimidate and bully her—”
“I’ve just stated that she’s to be my future duchess. The terms of that arrangement are none of your concern.”
“I have no plans to marry you,” Louisa said.
Hawkhurst swung his gaze around, clearly dumbfounded by her remark. She had to resist the temptation to cross over to him and press her cool palm against his poor cheek.
“I beg your pardon?” Hawkhurst said.
Louisa shook her head. “I won’t marry you.”
“Why ever not?”
Taking a deep breath she walked up to him. Closer to him, she could see that his chin sported an ugly bruise as well. Jeremy had done significant damage. She didn’t resist this time. She reached up and touched the bruise. He flinched. She lowered her hand, blinked back tears.
Duke of Her Own, A Page 15