Duke I’d Like to F…

by Sierra Simone

  “That was before. When it was harmless.”

  “What does that mean? Have I hurt you in some manner?” She didn’t understand. He was speaking in riddles. She had made her position clear, yet could he not do the same?

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. “Before you developed breasts and hips. Not to mention an arse I’d like to sink my teeth into. Have you no looking glass? Your body is made for sin and your face would make angels weep.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You have every man panting after you the second you walk into a bloody room.”

  Violet’s knees wobbled. The air left her lungs and she feared she might faint. This was what Ravensthorpe thought of her? Lord above. She was rounder than most girls her age, with their tiny waists and bosoms that barely peeked out from their gowns. Indeed, she was what her mother called “robust.”

  But Ravensthorpe liked the way she looked. He said she had every man panting when she walked into a room. Did that mean him as well?

  Was this why he no longer talked to her?

  Men were so confusing.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “If you like the way I look, then why ignore me?”

  Something dangerous flashed in his gaze. “You must stay away from me, Violet.”

  “Why? I am not pressuring you for marriage. I merely want . . .”

  Heavy, angry footsteps brought him directly in front of her. “To fuck me. Is that it, little mouse? Do you need me to put my cock inside you and make you scream?”

  Lust rushed through her veins, heavy and thick, and her lips parted as she exhaled. Lord, she wanted that so badly. To experience all she’d seen in those erotic photographs with the man standing in front of her.

  He read the answer on her face. “Have you ever been fucked, Violet? Had a man’s fingers inside your tight pussy? Or maybe a thick cock?” When she said nothing, he barked, “Answer me.”

  “No.” She hadn’t considered even trying with anyone other than the man standing in front of her.

  “Do you even know what it’s like to make yourself come? Do you stroke your clitoris under the covers at night, or perhaps in the bath?”

  Her mouth dried out, speech impossible. Triumph lit his eyes, as if he’d succeeded in exposing her as inexperienced and unsuitable. “Stay away from me. Do not follow me again. Forget you even know me.”

  Ravensthorpe stepped around her, his footsteps crunching on the gravel path as he stormed away. She sagged against the prickly hedge behind her, more aroused than she’d ever dreamed possible.

  Do you stroke your clitoris?

  Was that the place between her legs that she rubbed in order to climax? She might not have learned the proper names, but she had explored her own body. She wasn’t nearly as innocent as he thought.

  And someday, now that she knew their attraction was reciprocated, she would prove it to him.

  Chapter Two

  I am destined for Hell.

  Not that Max was a religious man, but the Devil himself was certain to come collect him for the dirty thoughts he harbored for Lady Violet Littleton.

  He burned for her. So badly he could hardly stand to be in the same room with her. And she was wrong—he always noticed her. Since the moment she’d developed into a woman, Max hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. If they were anywhere in close proximity, his body remained in a permanent state of readiness, arousal simmering beneath the surface.

  That was precisely how he’d known she was behind the hedge, watching him with Louisa. And then he, God forgive him, put on a prurient show meant to scare Violet away.

  Yet he hadn’t scared her.

  Worse, she’d called him Your Grace in the high-pitched, breathy tone used by yielding lovers, those who adored nothing more than getting on their knees and taking whatever he was willing to give them.

  Fuck.

  He straightened his clothing and tried to compose himself. He was forty-one years old. Far too advanced to feel this twisted giddiness, this dark lust for a girl less than half his age. Hell, he had a son who was two years younger than Violet. Max was positively decrepit in comparison.

  Not to mention that he’d fucked plenty of women since losing his virginity at the age of fifteen. Even more after his wife died while delivering their son. He had enjoyed a lifetime of debauchery and pleasure, hardly any of which he regretted. Moreover, he had no plans to give it up, not even for a fresh-faced virgin begging to ride his cock.

  Jesus, her father would skin Max alive if he knew.

  Max would need to adjust his social schedule for the remainder of the season to ensure Violet and he never attended the same event. It was for the best. She was far too tempting, especially now that she’d admitted her feelings for him.

  Because I wished to take her place, Your Grace.

  The statement had made him instantly, painfully hard, and it had been followed by a deep sense of shame. The girl was eighteen. A virgin. His friend’s only daughter.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Max stepped inside the ballroom, not bothering to close the terrace doors. Charles Littleton, Lord Mayhew and Violet’s father, grabbed Max’s arm. “Ravensthorpe, have you seen my daughter?”

  Charles was one of Max’s close friends, a man he’d met shortly after arriving at school, long before he’d become Ravensthorpe. They had crossed cities and continents together, growing up in luxury, as many entitled aristocrats did. They knew each other’s darkest secrets—well, all save one.

  He forced his expression to remain blank. “No.” Max held Charles’s gaze like the competent liar he was, thanks to years in Parliament. “I was, ah, outside with Louisa.” Not a lie.

  Charles chuckled. “Of course you were, you bounder. Never one to pass up the opportunity for quality quim, are you?”

  Uneasiness slid through Max. He reminded himself he’d done nothing untoward out there, at least not with Violet. “Cannot seem to help myself.”

  “I’ve an appointment myself tonight. Going to a little place on Holywell Street, one where they all wear masks. Perhaps you’d like to tag along?”

  “I thought you said you were scaling back on your nocturnal activities after the missus discovered that you fathered a bastard.”

  “Well, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt anyone. So, what do you say?”

  “Afraid I have plans, Mayhew. Have a pleasant time. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Max had to get out of here. His skin was crawling with hunger for a girl he could not have. A woman, he supposed, but barely.

  Violet was the type of gorgeous woman oblivious to her appeal, which in turn made her all the more appealing. An angel’s face with a siren’s body. Lush tits barely contained by any neckline, a round arse that beckoned with every stride. A woman built like a mistress, not a wife. In other words, utterly fuckable.

  However, he was no green lad lacking in self-control. He could not pursue her. Even if the age difference did not bother him, there was the issue of his friendship with her father. While Max may have been a scoundrel, he was a loyal one. God knew he would not want his profligate friends anywhere near a daughter, if he had one.

  No, Charles knew too much of Max’s sordid history. Charles would reach for his pistol the instant after hearing word of his daughter in Max’s bed. And Max wouldn’t even bother to defend against such an egregious breach in friendship. He would deserve a bullet or two for defiling her.

  Do you even know what it’s like to make yourself come?

  No idea why he’d asked such a crude question, other than to frighten her away, but it was clear by her reaction that she had touched herself. In the bath, perhaps? Or, had her seeking fingers drifted beneath the covers at night to stroke and circle her clitoris?

  Blast. He had to stop or else he’d grow hard in the middle of this godforsaken ballroom.

  Tonight, he would see Louisa and do all manner of wicked things to her. Moreover, he would forget about the blond beauty that haunted his dreams.

&
nbsp; “Ravensthorpe.”

  Max stopped and found Louisa’s husband, the Earl of Underhill, at his elbow. Hellfire and damnation. Was he conjuring these men through his illicit thoughts of the women in their lives? “Evening, Underhill.”

  Underhill wasn’t a bad sort, actually. Louisa had been a penniless third cousin to a viscount before Underhill married her twelve years ago. More to the point, he was aware of Max’s sexual relationship with his wife. Underhill might even have been relieved over it, seeing as how the Underhills had stopped screwing eons ago.

  And, as much as Max loathed it, his mistresses enjoyed an elevated social status during their time together. It had nothing to do with him and everything to do with his title. Still, husbands had been known to leverage that status a time or two, including Underhill.

  Sodding aristocracy.

  “Need a favor, Ravensthorpe.”

  Indeed, here came the leverage. “Oh?”

  The skin above Underhill’s cravat flushed, and he cleared his throat. “I suppose it is unusual considering the circumstances, but I, uh . . .”

  Out of the corner of Max’s eye he saw Violet slip into the ballroom. Awareness skated over every inch of him, his flesh hot and itchy under his clothes. He had to leave. Piercing the man across from him with a harsh glare, he barked, “Spit it out, Underhill.”

  The other man leaned in. “I need you to stop seeing Louisa. Just for a time. I’d like to start trying again for a son and, well, you understand.”

  He couldn’t risk raising a duke’s bastard. “Have you spoken to her about this?”

  “No, but it is her duty to provide me with an heir.”

  Max smothered a sigh. He was disappointed, but probably not for the reason Underhill assumed. He needed the diversion of a woman closer in age, one who did not make him randy at every turn. Losing Louisa meant he needed to find another woman, fast. “Of course. There were plans for tonight, so . . .?”

  “I’ll take care of that. Appreciate it, Ravensthorpe.”

  “I wish you luck. She is a remarkable woman.”

  They parted and Max wanted to punch the wall in frustration. All he could do was pray his hand would suffice for tonight.

  Violet’s father found her almost the instant she slipped back into the ballroom. Papa was protective of her, especially in settings such as this. Perhaps it was because he was a rogue himself and knew the dangers that lurked during these night events. In fact, Mama frowned every time he left the house after dinner, as if she knew the illicitness he would seek out in those evening hours.

  Violet and her parents had never been close. She’d never understood her father’s philandering. Mama would yell and carry on, demand he stop seeing other women, and he would settle down for a few months. But the cycle soon repeated itself, her father incapable of remaining faithful, apparently. He never cared about the harm he caused, or the burden on his wife in enduring it.

  For her part, Mama seemed unhappy, angry with everyone. Withdrawn. She refused to attend large social gatherings, even during Violet’s debut, so Papa escorted Violet about instead.

  “There you are,” her father said. “You had me scared half to death. Where were you?”

  Violet caught Ravensthorpe’s tall form across the room where he was speaking with Louisa’s husband. The duke appeared uncomfortable, his shoulders stiff and straight, looking nothing like the man who spoke seductive filth in secluded gardens.

  You have every man panting after you the second you walk into a room.

  “Violet,” Papa snapped. “I asked you a question.”

  “I required fresh air. I went out on the terrace for a moment.”

  “It is unsafe for you to be there alone. Did you . . . see anyone?”

  “No,” she lied. “Not a soul.”

  Her father visibly relaxed. Had he known Ravensthorpe was outside?

  “Good. Shall we leave, then?”

  Ravensthorpe headed to the door, most likely leaving the ball. With the duke gone, there was no reason to stay. “Of course. I’ve had my fill of heated ballrooms.”

  “You are looking flushed. Are you all right?”

  “I am?” She patted her cheeks. Was Papa able to see the lust on her face?

  Lord Patton suddenly appeared at Papa’s elbow. Patton bowed to Violet, his gaze lingering on her bosom in a manner that had her longing for a shawl. She’d never liked the man. He stood too close when speaking with her and found excuses to brush against her whenever possible. It made her skin crawl.

  “The lovely Lady Violet.” Patton reached for her hand, taking it before she could blink, and brought it to his lips. “Good evening to you, miss.”

  “My lord,” she offered with a curtsy.

  “Do you mind if I steal your father away for a moment?” Patton asked. “Then perhaps you’ll honor me with a dance?”

  She said the first thing that came to mind. “We were just on our way out.”

  Her father nodded. “We were leaving, but I’ll only be a moment, Violet. Meet me by the front entrance, won’t you?”

  She excused herself and sighed in relief over evading Patton. Perhaps a stop in the ladies’ retiring room was in order. At least there she could splash water on her face in an attempt to cool herself after the encounter with Ravensthorpe. The man possessed an uncanny ability to send her up in flames at the snap of his fingers.

  The retiring room was empty. She took a moment to relieve herself and clean her hands. When she cracked the door, she discovered Louisa and her husband, Lord Underhill, behind a plant in the corridor, embroiled in what appeared to be a heated exchange. Had Lady Underhill’s husband discovered her affair with Ravensthorpe?

  Violet slowly retreated into the retiring room while keeping the door cracked ever so slightly for sound. Terrible of her to eavesdrop, but how could she help herself? This conversation could provide her with additional insight into Ravensthorpe.

  “You will do what I say, Louisa,” Underhill said, his voice low and sharp. “You will not see him again—not until I have an heir.”

  Violet sucked in a breath, then covered her mouth with a hand. So, Underhill knew of the affair and was forcing Louisa to call it off.

  “Absolutely not,” Louisa hissed. “You have no right to ask me to do so.”

  “As your husband, I do, actually.”

  “We’ve tried for a child twice without success. I have no desire to try again. It’s exhausting.”

  “Understandable, as it’s no picnic on my end, but that does not change the fact that we must do it. I’ve looked the other way on your affairs for years. This is the least you can do. Otherwise I’ll be forced to move you out to the country. Try meeting your paramour way up there.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I’ll have your bags packed tomorrow if you don’t agree.”

  Violet’s eyes widened. Between her parents and this couple, marriage seemed like a nightmare for wives. No fidelity or trust. Just threats and tantrums each way one turned.

  “But I may return to him once I give you an heir?”

  “Of course.” Underhill actually sounded accommodating, as if he were doing her a favor. “Not that Ravensthorpe will wait for you.”

  “We have a bond you could not understand,” she said—and Violet’s stomach sank. Were there legitimate feelings between Ravensthorpe and Louisa? The possibility made Violet nauseous.

  Underhill chuckled, but not with humor. “No doubt his wife thought the same before he caused her death. Besides, the man has screwed his way through the ton for years. You don’t believe you are special to him, do you?”

  “Again, you would not understand. I have kept his interest longer than most.”

  “Even still, do not find yourself surprised when he moves on.”

  “We have plans tonight. When I see him, I’ll inform him that—”

  “No need,” Underhill interrupted. “I took care of it earlier when I spoke to him.”

  Violet leaned closer to
the door, surprised. Lord Underhill had canceled the assignation with Ravensthorpe. Was that why the duke had appeared so uncomfortable on his way out?

  Louisa gasped. “You had no right!”

  “I beg to differ. I plan on getting started immediately, Louisa. And no doubt Ravensthorpe is wallowing in a Covent Garden bordello by now.”

  Was that where Ravensthorpe had gone? Out to visit a bawdy house? Violet’s throat tightened, choking on the possibility that she might never be alone with him again.

  “He despises those types of establishments,” Louisa said. “Which is why I know he’ll wait for me.”

  A group of women came laughing and chatting around the corner, likely headed for the retiring room. To avoid being caught eavesdropping, Violet pushed open the door and walked into the corridor. Lady Underhill brushed by as if headed for the ballroom, while her husband had already turned away, drifting deeper into the house. Violet’s mind spun with possibility as she nodded at the blur of young ladies as they passed, not really noticing them.

  Would Ravensthorpe return to sit in his house, alone? Or would he find feminine companionship elsewhere?

  If he were at home . . . would the side door be unlocked, even with his cancelled plans?

  No, she couldn’t.

  Could she?

  He would never allow Violet inside . . . but what if she didn’t ask? What if she surprised him? He was attracted to her—he’d admitted it outside—and she might convince him to act on it, if they were alone together. Isolated, where no one would find them.

  The moment felt fortuitous. Momentous. Everything she wanted—a chance with Ravensthorpe—was dangling right in front of her like a sweet treat. She merely had to be bold enough to take it.

  Was she content to wait around and hope he noticed her again?

  Your body is made for sin and your face would make angels weep.

  One thing was perfectly clear: he would never come to her. He had ordered her to stay away from him, had pushed her to find a man her age. She would need to take matters into her own hands.

  Did she dare?