“But I would still be involved in ballet.”
“True, though your role would change, would it not?”
“It would.”
“You see, my role cannot change. I am a duke and, as such, there are responsibilities and expectations I must shoulder for the rest of my days.”
“You must produce an heir.”
“Yes, but not only must I sire gently-bred children, I must provide shelter, wages and meaningful work for the people in my care. I am expected to behave like a duke with my every breath. I must sit in the House of Lords, support the king, maintain my lands and my fortune so there will be a legacy for my heir.”
“What would you do if you didn’t give birth to an heir? Doesn’t that happen all the time?”
“It does.” He picked up her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “Either a couple has only female children or the woman is barren.”
She liked to have him hold her hand and with their fingers woven, it was more intimate. “What then?”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed. “The estate passes to the next in line or the title could become extinct.”
Watching his lips, she longed to be back in the carriage where they’d kissed unabashedly for hours. “If you were to perish on the morrow, who would inherit?”
“My nephew. Fortunately, Ada has a son. He’s only three.”
Bria smiled. “I’d like to meet him someday. Children are so dear.”
“They are.” He released her hand and gave it a pat. “But earlier you said you would give it all away for a family.”
Bria’s cheeks burned. Before today, she had never spoken the words aloud, but in her deepest heart of hearts, she wanted a brood of her own. Heaps of children to love and hold. To nurture and cherish. “I don’t always want to spend my holidays alone.”
“Then, you plan to marry.”
“Alors, I know I will not always be young and spry enough to perform. One day I hope to.”
“Then I am already jealous of that lucky man.” Drake stood and offered his hand. “Come. Let us go back to the house. My mother owes you an apology.”
Bria let him pull her up but once she was on her feet, she dug in her heels. “I don’t want to go back there.”
Looking away, Drake rubbed his chin. “I suppose I’m not too fond of the idea either. Especially with Mr. Peters loitering about.”
“’Tis a shame the roles aren’t reversed.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“If you were an elderly widowed duke, and I was a wealthy ballet patroness of some sort and Her Grace young and not yet wed, then we could enjoy each other’s company without all of society being outraged by our every move.”
“Perhaps that’s why I like you so much. You have such a pragmatic way of looking at things.” Drake offered his elbow. “If you are averse to staying under the same roof with Her Grace, our only option is to find a suite of rooms at one of Brighton’s hotels. It is too late to start back to London now. There are, however, many nice places near the shore.”
“But won’t people know you at those places?”
“Indeed they will.”
“What will they think if you book rooms for the pair of us?”
“If I book two rooms, I doubt my reputation will be sullied.” He grinned. “I cannot speak for yours however.”
She gave his arm a thwack. “It is not fair that men can carouse all they want while women are held to an entirely different set of standards.”
“At least you’re not being paraded before polite society every Season looking for a husband. I say, I respect you far more for making your own way while holding on to your principles. It is not easy to do with temptation loitering around every corner.”
“Though I do like kissing you, Duke.”
“I shouldn’t be, but I’m awfully glad to hear it.” He gestured to the footpath. “Shall we?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sitting in front of the hearth in the king’s chamber of the Royal York Hotel, Drake sipped his brandy while he stared at the forbidden door. The portal leading to Miss LeClair’s bedchamber. The place where he ought to be sleeping if it weren’t for Britannia’s presence within. But she’d been rather insistent and if Drake had learned anything, it was to be selective about choosing his battles where she was concerned. If she wanted to stay in the smaller chamber, then so be it. Besides, since it had grown dark, the lovely view of Stein Gardens out the bay window no longer mattered.
He’d sent his apologies to his mother but, honestly, this arrangement was for the best. He couldn’t bear to stay under the same roof when Mr. Peters was having his way with Her Grace.
Drake shuddered.
For the love of God, had Mother mentioned her loneliness sooner, he would have endeavored to find her a suitable companion and husband—a man worthy of her affections. He didn’t know Mr. Peters well, but in no way could the gunsmith be good enough for Her Grace.
Faint noises came from the adjoining room—footsteps followed by a brushing sound. Drake’s ears piqued.
She’s rehearsing.
The sounds of rhythmic movement continued while he closed his eyes and pictured his nymphet. That’s what Britannia had become to him—a very attractive and alluring young woman. Plié, tendu, frappe, rond de jambe. He knew the names of many ballet steps and could execute them, but Britannia made every movement appear effortless as if she’d been born with the grace of a feline—the beauty of a goddess. She did not only execute the steps, she breathed life into them, became one with her surroundings and turned dance into an art. They could be standing on a footpath and, with a gesture of her arm, a dreary day became bright; melancholy melted into joy.
Was the nymph practicing in her gown or in her shift? Were her ankles bare? Drake rubbed the pads of his fingers along the velvet upholstery on his seat. Earlier that very day, he’d savored the silkiness of her slender ankles, the suppleness of her calf, and, heaven help him, her glorious, muscular thighs. Thighs he’d craved to have wrapped around him every time he’d watched her dance. Thighs he glimpsed ever so fleetingly when on stage the Sylph would leap or kick or raise her leg in arabesque.
A loud bang followed by a high-pitched gasp made Drake jolt to his feet. In two steps he barreled through the door. “Brit—”
She stood beside a chair, a sheen of perspiration glistening while her breasts rose and fell with her deep breaths. “It fell.”
“Huh?” he asked dumbly. Staring. The woman wore nothing but a silk chemise.
“The chair. I’m sorry, did I startle you?”
“No. Er, yes. I thought you might have taken a tumble.” Unable to help himself, Drake’s gaze meandered lower. The faint shadow of her nipples teased him from beneath the sheer white fabric. Though the garment was shapeless, it couldn’t hide Britannia’s figure. At his sides, he stretched his fingers, longing to wrap them around her waist, slowly sliding them down the trim arc of her hips.
On a delicate, stockinged foot, Britannia stepped nearer. “It has been a long day. I’m surprised to see you’re still awake.”
Did she have any idea how alluring she sounded? If he reached out, he could grasp her hand and tug her closer, wrap her in his arms and kiss her, potently aware the bed was only paces away.
She took another step, beguiling him further. “Forgive me, Your Grace. Though the hour is late, I mustn’t overlook proper courtesy.”
“Alone, we have no need of convention, you and I,” he rasped.
Near enough to embrace, she placed her palm over his heart. “I wish it were so.”
His heart hammered against the coolness of her fingers, yet Drake was fevered with desire. Every part of his body was rigid, ready for a night of passion, everything but his boneless knees. With whisky eyes, she gazed up at him, her bow-shaped lips shining like cherries in the lamplight.
“Britannia,” he hoarsely whispered. “I want you.”
As if his words became a hypnotic elixir, she
slid her fingers around his waist and raised her chin. “I do, too. I crave you.”
Oh yes, heaven opened her gates.
Before she could change her mind, he devoured her, intently backing her toward the bed.
“But…”
“Yes?” Drake strained to draw air into his lungs. She couldn’t refuse him. Not now. He knew she wanted him.
“Can we take precautions? I desperately want children but not until I am wed.”
Grinning, he pulled a tidy French letter from his waistcoat pocket—one that he’d found in his travel kit—and set it beside the bed. “Do you know what this is?”
“I do.”
He wasn’t surprised. Britannia might be an innocent, but she’d been in the theater for too long not to know…certain things.
“Are you sure you want to do this…ah…with me?” It killed him to ask, but if she wasn’t absolutely sure, he needed to stop now before he was unable.
Though she didn’t answer, a pink tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth while she stepped into him and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. On fire, Drake kicked off his shoes, tore away his neckcloth, unfastened his falls. In the blink of an eye his clothes fell to the floor leaving him standing naked and hard before her.
She made a small sound as she drew a hand over her mouth and stepped back. “You are too beautiful for words.”
Unable to speak, he reached for her chemise and tugged it over her head.
As he beheld the creamy silkiness of her skin, she wound her arms around his neck, tilting her head up, kissing him, plundering his mouth thrusting her tongue deep. By God, her passion on stage was nothing compared to the temptress seducing him.
He drew his mouth away and gazed down. “My word, you are divine.”
Unbelievably desirable, Britannia’s only remaining garments were ivory silk stockings secured by garters with pink bows. Up a tad higher, sleek thighs pressed together, just below the cinnamon tuft of hair covering her most sacred treasure.
Womanly hips—far curvier than he’d imagined, a tiny waist, and breasts the perfect size for his mouth. “No words could possibly describe you,” Drake said, his voice low and gravelly. Sliding his hands along her shapely hips, he dropped to his knees. Awash in the fragrance of woman, a bead of his seed leaked from the tip of his cock.
Britannia sank her fingers into his shoulders, her grip on the verge of painful. “W-what are you doing?”
“This.” He lapped his tongue along her parting.
“Mon Dieu!” she sighed with a quiver.
“I love it when you say that.” Sliding his fingers between her thighs, Drake coaxed her legs apart and licked. Britannia’s gasps drove him mad as he suckled her tiny button, sliding his fingers into her core.
“Please,” she begged, but Drake refused to relinquish control. Her sighs and gasps taught him what she liked.
“Please,” she said again. “I want my hands on your body.”
In one motion, he swept her into his arms and onto the bed. Rolling beside her he stroked himself. “See what you do to me?”
Bria’s thighs trembled as she watched his hand move up and down his shaft. “May I do that?”
“Would you?”
She closed her fingers around him—hard, but velvety soft. “I want to.”
He guided her wrist up and down. “Don’t squeeze, but let it slide in your hand.”
In an instant his breathing grew ragged.
Bria drew her hand away “Are you in pain?”
“God, no. But I won’t last much longer. You are a fast learner.”
“One of the fastest.” She lowered her lips to his and kissed. “I think I’ve mastered this part.”
“And your first one was rather rushed.”
“I’m ashamed to say that fleeting moment whet my appetite for more…you whet my appetite.”
He slid his hand down her side, his finger slowly tracing over the curve of her hip. “I adore this part.”
And then he continued between her legs to the place driving her insides wild for months, the spot that craved more of him. The center of her being that ached deep inside when she looked at him. Bria’s breathing grew faster as he teased her, climbed over her, kissed her lips, her throat, her breasts. Oh God, her breasts.
She bucked when he rubbed his member along her wetness. As she wriggled and gasped, he rocked back and let her gaze upon him. Again, he touched himself. “Do you want this inside you?”
“I will die if you don’t make love to me.”
“It might hurt.”
“I’m no stranger to pain.”
He slid the French letter over himself and tied the pink bow. Bria lay back as he climbed over her, kissing, suckling, rubbing. In an attempt to satisfy the hunger, she writhed beneath him, wanting more, but not exactly certain how to ask.
“Britannia, look at me.”
She opened her eyes and gazed into the most handsome face she’d ever seen. And then he pushed against her, slipping into her just a little. “You are a goddess.”
She tried to talk but her voice caught as he slid deeper. Pain seared inside her—heavens he was enormous.
“And I worship you.”
“I…” she sighed, clamming her fingers into his buttocks.
“I’m filling you completely.”
“I didn’t think you’d fit.”
He held very still and devoured her mouth until she began to move again as if some primitive force deep inside her demanded a seductive dance only for Ravenscar.
“Are you ready for more, my love?” he whispered.
“Yes. More. Yes, yes, yes!” She rocked her hips faster, the raggedness of her voice begging him for more as she held on for dear life.
Drake’s face strained as if he were trying desperately to maintain control.
And suddenly the cravings peaked, making her soar, making her ravenous. “Drake!” she screamed while her body exploded into tremors of euphoria.
His hips pumped like a wild man until with one deep thrust the tension caught in the air like a gasp of breath. He threw back his head and roared as his body shattered.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The return trip from Brighton had passed too swiftly for Drake. Had he known the love of his life would open to him, he would have booked the entire hotel for a month. That one night spent in her arms would stay with him until the day he took his last breath.
But alas, the ballet must go on and the mystery of Britannia’s parentage must be solved. Then perhaps he might find a way to expose her stalker.
Seated at his writing table, Drake read the response from Lady Calthorpe, agreeing to his visit. Pennyworth entered with the morning’s papers. Most likely it wasn’t an accident to see the scandal sheet on the top. Bold, black letters announced: Ravenscar Spotted in Brighton with his Lady Bird.
“Good God.” Drake put the missive aside and grabbed the paper as he eyed his butler.
“Exactly my reaction, Your Grace.”
He quickly scanned the article while the back of his neck burned. He could weather slights against his character, but the damned Gazette referred to Britannia as base-born, a by-blow, and called her “the duke’s bonny ballerina”. Not surprisingly, it went on to bemoan the plight of the ton’s gentlewomen who would “not be waltzing with His Grace this Season, the most eligible bachelor in London”.
Drake slapped the sheet on the table. “Bloody rubbish. I ought to pay a call on the Gazette’s offices.”
Pennyworth sniffed. “If you did, I think they might finagle a story out of it—smear your reputation further if I might be so bold to say.”
“That’s why they can get away with such slanderous drivel.”
“They’ll receive their due, even if they have to wait until Judgement Day.” Pennyworth picked up Drake’s cup and saucer. “Will there be anything else, Your Grace?”
He tapped his finger atop Lady Calthorpe’s response, anxious to gain an audience with her. Needless to say, the
reasons he’d given for the meeting had been rather vague. “Just my hat and cane. I will be paying a visit to Ravenscar Hall.”
“Has Her Grace returned from Brighton?”
“That is what I aim to find out.”
“I could send the lad. You needn’t bother—”
“That will not be necessary. I have my reasons and I will be leaving within the quarter hour.”
Having slipped into Mother’s house by way of the mews, Drake was waiting in the salon when Lady Calthorpe was announced. According to the housekeeper, his mother would be returning from Brighton this afternoon which suited him perfectly. He neither wanted Her Grace to know about his meeting with the baroness, nor did he want her eavesdropping.
After the niceties were exchanged and the tea poured, Lady Calthorpe took one sip, then gracefully set her cup in its saucer and regarded Drake with a sober stare. “I remember you sitting in that very spot when you were but nine years of age.”
“Do you? I was just trying to figure out how long it has been that I’ve known you, my lady.”
“At least sixteen years, I’d say.”
Drake stared at his untouched cup of tea while he collected his thoughts. “I’d like to talk more about the past. It is exactly why I asked you here today.”
“Oh? I thought the missive was rather clandestine of you, especially now that I’ve discovered your mother is not here. Truly, I ought to make my apologies and go.”
“Please don’t. Not until you’ve heard what I have to say.” Having perseverated long and hard about how to broach the subject as gently as possible, Drake produced the miniature from his waistcoat pocket. “Have you ever seen this?”
As Her Ladyship took the portrait in her palm, her mouth dropped with a shocked gasp. “My word.” Her face lost all color then changed to fiery red. “Where did you find it?”
“The piece belongs to Miss LeClair.”
Covering her mouth, she nodded as if she might already know to whom the miniature belonged.
“If I may interject, it is a lovely rendering. I should have recognized the likeness straightaway.” There were so many things he should have noticed, the whisky eye color, both women were petite and lovely though Her Ladyship’s hair was a darker brown.
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