Kiss the Wallflower: Books 1-3

by Gill, Tamara

She shivered at the reminder, her body wanting more of him. At least in this respect. “Then we’re in agreement,” she said, tapping his cheek with the palm of her hand before moving past him and leaving him in the linen closet. Mary started toward her room, not wanting to face anyone, and feeling as though they had both lost a sweet opportunity that was not offered to everyone in life.

  Making her room, she entered and shut the door, stifling a yelp when she found Louise sitting on the chair before the fire. “Oh, you’re back. I wondered where you got off to. Your mama was looking for you and I said I’d come and check on you thinking you’d be in your room. But you were not.” Louise threw her a penetrating stare. “Where were you, Mary?”

  Heat flamed her cheeks and for a moment she fought to come up with an idea that would quell her friend’s suspicions. But at Louise’s knowing stare, she knew it was pointless. Louise had always been able to read her like a book.

  “I was with the Duke of Carlton. In a linen closet. Alone.”

  Louise’s eyes flared in alarm, her mouth gaping like a fish out of water. “And were you talking to the duke in this closet?”

  Mary sat across from her, pulling her legs up beneath her gown. “Oh yes we talked a great deal. He in fact used his mouth a lot.” Heat infused her face at the memory of his wicked mouth that even now her body craved to feel again.

  “Be careful, Mary,” Louise said, her tone serious. “Or you’ll end up married before the New Year, nevertheless the next Season. I didn’t think you wanted a husband at all. Too stifling and controlling for your nature.”

  All true, husbands had always brought forth an idea of selfish, lazy obnoxious beings who would tell her what to do and when. What to wear and how to act. And yet, the duke had not dismissed her lifestyle, or thought it was unbecoming of a woman. Perhaps the duke, as high and mighty as he was, was in fact not so very stuffy after all. He could perchance be different from all the rest.

  “I’m still a maid. There was no indiscretion, Louise, so please stop looking at me so shocked.” Well, there was rather a nice one, but nothing that could ruin her since no one knew of it. Some things should remain private, and her rendezvous with the duke was one of them.

  “You spoke of marriage with the duke?”

  “Well, actually he brought it up, but only to remind me of the fact that he was not looking for a bride any more than I was looking for a groom. So we’re quite in agreement on that score.”

  The thought left a hollow ache beneath her breast. She liked him, more than anyone else before and they were friends. Intimate ones at that.

  But would he suit as a husband? Would he allow her to be who she was? Certainly now that she knew what a man could do for a woman, taking a husband wasn’t so foreign to her. The duke certainly had been the first man to ever inspire desire within her, and so she would not discount him too soon, even after what they’d both said downstairs.

  She shivered, thinking of his touch, his wicked kisses over her body. Perhaps being married would not be so much of a chore after all. Not if they were all like the Duke of Carlton. And not if she were to continue on as she’d always had when not under the condescending gaze of the ton.

  Chapter 11

  Dale lay in his bed staring up at the ceiling, the dark winter night as chilled as his own respectability. He should not have touched Mary. Not one strand on her pretty dark-haired head.

  His cock stirred at the thought of her beneath him, writhing and grinding herself against his mouth and he groaned. Damn it. He shut his eyes, willing the torturous memory away, and yet it did not. If anything, it became more vivid, tempting him to leave the room, stride to hers and finish what they’d started.

  He’d not traveled to Derbyshire to marry a country chit who was too independent and bossy for his nature. He’d always pictured a nice docile woman by his side when the time came, a blonde goddess with angelic features. The harridan that slept only a few doors from his was the antithesis of all that he’d pictured.

  And damn she tempted him. More than any had before.

  Dale sighed, his body taut with unsated desire. He forced himself to stay where he was, not to move and seek her out. To show her more of what a man and woman could do together without compromising her maidenhead.

  A slither of light burst into the room as his door opened, before it was closed just as quick. The snip of the lock had him sitting up.

  “Who’s there?” he asked, trying to focus his eyes on the figure that moved slowly toward his bed.

  He inwardly groaned when he recognized who was present. “You need to leave, Margaret. There is nothing in this bed for you.”

  She came up onto the mattress, a pouty expression on her lips that made her look absurd and a little desperate. “Come Carlton. Let me love you as you like.” Her hand slid over his cock and he pushed her hand away, hating the fact that his body roared for release. But he didn’t want Margaret beneath him. He wanted the maddening miss who slept down the hall.

  Dale pushed away from her, getting off the bed. He clasped her upper arm, pulling her toward the door. “Out. Before someone sees you in here. What we had is long past and I’m sure there are other gentlemen present at this house party who’ll welcome you into their beds.”

  She glared at him, all seduction gone. “You used to be amusing.” He unlocked the door, ushering her out. At her little squeak, he looked up and met the shocked gaze of Mary.

  Mary took a couple of steps backward almost stumbling. “I’m sorry. I’m just on my way downstairs. I left the book I was reading in the library earlier today,” she babbled, moving past them, pulling her robe closer about her and ignoring Lady Hectorville’s giggle and whispered conversation with the duke about being caught.

  What the duke said in reply was lost to Mary as she headed downstairs. That she was actually heading to the duke’s room when he’d escorted Lady Hectorville from his company was not what she’d expected to see. Grateful she had been saved from her own foolhardiness she headed toward the library. She went into the library and picked up the first book she could find, an old tome on gardening in England’s northern lands.

  Mary took a moment to calm her heart. She blinked, breathed in a deep breath to try and halt the tears that blurred her vision. This was why she was not suited to be the wife of any gentleman. They were unfaithful, rotten to the core; people who wanted all and everything without a care as to whom they might hurt in their pursuit of pleasure and vice.

  The duke could have at least waited a day before stooping so low to invite her ladyship into his bed. “Bastard,” she mumbled. That she’d only parted from his company hours before, that he’d had his hands and mouth on her person the same day as her ladyship left a sour taste in her mouth and a dull ache behind her breast.

  The door to the library opened and the duke came in, looking about the darkened space searching for her. Mary didn’t move from her place beside the door, not in the mood to help his cause in finding her in any possible manner.

  He turned and spied her, shutting the door with a snap. “Mary, let me explain.”

  She moved away from him, pulling her robe tighter about herself as if to protect her heart. “What I saw was more than self-explanatory, your grace.”

  He strode over to her, his tall, imposing frame dwarfing her against the bookshelf. “I did not sleep with Lady Hectorville. She came to my room and I told her to leave. What you witnessed was my ousting of her.”

  Mary looked up into his eyes and in the moonlight saw the determination there to make her believe him. He was a renowned rogue, rumored in London to have many lovers. Finding him in such a compromising position at a house party would not be out of character, but there was something in his tone that gave her pause. Stopped her from accusing him of being a liar.

  “Why should I believe you?” she asked, needing him to tell her that she was wrong in her assumptions and he was being honest. “I’ve heard the rumors about you and Lady Hectorville. That she was once your lover.�
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  “That was a mistake that I made one night when I was in my cups. I have not made the error again. What you saw just now was me kicking her from my room.”

  “So you forget often what you do when you’re drunk. Shows a certain type of fickleness of character, your grace.” She shook her head, hating the fact she’d allowed herself to think that there could be a possibility with him. A future. The duke was no different than every other gentleman in the ton. Only out for what they could get, whether it be women or blunt. To be married to a man, allow herself to care for someone who might simply imbibe too much one evening and sleep with someone else was not to be borne. She certainly could not stomach such an insult.

  His grace sighed, looking up at the ceiling a moment before meeting her gaze. “I was not married, Mary. The tryst hurt no one. When I marry, I will be true to my wife. Always.”

  Mary crossed her arms over her chest, her stomach in knots over what to believe. What she saw or what the duke was telling her. She had gone to his room after tossing and turning in bed thinking of him, wanting to see him again, be with him and see what else he could show her.

  Scandalous behavior and not so different from what the duke and many of their set did every night in London during the Season. She held no hope of marrying the man, so to be so offended and upset seemed a silly reaction to have.

  That’s because you do hold a little hope the duke will ask for your hand…because you care.

  Mary pushed the thought aside, dismissing it. “You don’t owe me an explanation, your grace. We’re not betrothed.”

  The muscle in his jaw clenched as he stepped toward her. “I need to explain. You need to understand.”

  “What?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “What do I need to understand?”

  He stepped closer still, his warm, muscled body warming her blood. “You need to understand that the only woman I want in my bed is you.”

  Mary swallowed, clasping the book against her chest as if it were some lifesaving apparatus. Did his grace really mean that?

  He glanced down at the tome in her hand. “Where were you off to really? I would be surprised if your reading desires had turned to gardening in the northern climes of a sudden.”

  She bit her lip, the need to flee, to save herself rode hard on her heels and yet she could not move away. “I find gardening very interesting and engaging.” What on earth was she saying!

  “Liar,” he whispered, leaning down and clasping her cheeks.

  Mary nodded. “Yes. That too.”

  He took her lips in a searing kiss, lifting her quickly to place her on the bookcase shelf behind her.

  “You’ve been haunting my dreams and waking moments, Mary. Only you.”

  That was said with such an edge of frustration she believed him, and something improper inside of her thrilled. His height placed him directly at her core and she melted into his arms. All thoughts of Lady Hectorville fled from her mind, of his roguish ways in Town, all of it. The moment he touched her she knew it was right. What she wanted.

  His hand slid gown to grapple with the hem of her nightgown, the cool night air kissing her legs as he pushed it to pool at her waist. And this time, she would get what she wanted. Him.

  Dale tried to rein in his overwhelming need for the woman in his arms, but he could not. And if he were honest with himself, unless she said to stop, he’d do all and anything that she wanted.

  “Tell me again,” she murmured, a sensual, secretive smile about her lips.

  He ground against her core, the memory of her sweet lips making him as hard as stone. “I want you and no one else.”

  Her fingers spiked through his hair, pulling him close. “Yes.” Her whispered word snapped the thin thread that he walked along, the one all gentlemen should to keep them from despoiling virginal women set on husbands. Mary might not be interested in husband hunting right at this moment, but her family certainly was and that in itself should give him pause.

  But it did not.

  The house was deadly quiet, the falling snow outside masking any exterior sounds, and all he could hear was them. A melody that drove him to part her legs, to tease her flesh with his fingers before fumbling with the front of his pants.

  Their movements were desperate, quick and full of need. Her fingers clawed into his shoulders, her body slick and hot, ready and willing for what was to come. Dale kissed her with a fervor that left him breathless, he’d never been so desperate to sheathe himself within a woman before, to lose himself and forget everything that impacted his life.

  It was simply Mary and him. No-one else and that was enough.

  She begged him, her raspy, seductive tone whispering against his lips and he kissed her, deep and sure as he thrust within her. She stilled in his arms and he held himself motionless a moment, waiting for her to adjust to his size.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her cheek, her chin and neck, reaching down to run a hand over her breast and sliding her puckered nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She relaxed in his arms, her hands pulling at him in silent want, and he slowly eased out, before thrusting back within her again.

  She moaned his name, an elixir that banked a fire burning within him. He took her, laid claim to her body, the slap of skin hitting skin the only sound in the room. Mary didn’t shy away from the ferocious way they came together. Being a maid, they should be on the softness of sheets and bedding, taking his sweet time to teach her how to love, to move and take pleasure. Not this way, hard up against a wooden bookcase, sneaking about in the quiet of the night. Part of him registered the shame of taking her so and he cringed.

  “Dale,” she gasped, her legs high against his hips. She watched him as he pumped relentlessly into her hot core until at last she lay her head back against the cupboard and let go.

  He smothered her cry of release with a kiss, her tight core milking him of his own pleasure. Dale slumped against her, their breathing ragged and his ability to move, to pull out of her and set them to rights lost on him a moment.

  Her legs went limp and he pulled back, helping her off the bookcase and to stand. Righting her nightgown and his own breeches which shamefully he’d not even removed, had simply ripped open at the front. He pulled her into a kiss, needing to hold her in his arms, to taste her sweetness on his lips.

  The door flew open and they pulled apart as if they’d been burned. Dale steeled himself as the furious Peter and Lord Lancaster stared at him, murder most clearly on their mind.

  Dale glanced behind his lordship to the stairs leading to the first floor and didn’t miss Lady Hectorville turning toward her room, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

  “You had better have a good explanation as to why you’re both down in the library in the middle of the night alone, and why I find you kissing my daughter, Carlton.”

  Mary snatched up the book on the nearby shelf, holding it against her breast as if it would somehow protect her. No amount of armor would protect them for what was to come.

  “I wanted to read and so came down to the library to fetch a book. His grace was helping me decide.”

  Dale cleared his throat as both Peter and Lord Lancaster threw disbelieving looks at Mary.

  The need to protect her roared inside of him and he found himself saying, “Actually, I have asked Mary to be my wife and she’s agreed.”

  Mary let out a little yelp, but he didn’t look at her. His lordship gaped at him, and Peter glared. “What have you done to my sister, Carlton?”

  He’d never heard his friend speak to him with such deadly ire before, and he clamped his jaw shut. He wasn’t a fool and he certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone that he’d just shagged Mary within an inch of her life, and damn well enjoyed every delectable moment of it. The thought of marrying her should fill him with regret, with fear and yet it did not. She might test him at times, question his decisions, but surely, she would know how to conform to the role that was required of her as his wife. That he was a duke and she would need
to be a true and elegant duchess. Perform her duties and not cause any trouble.

  “Nothing, Peter,” Mary said. She turned to him, clasping his arm. “Your grace, you do not need to offer simply because we were caught in the library together. A kiss is not such an offence that marriage is the outcome.”

  He took her hand, wrapping it into his, squeezing it a little when he noticed hers was shaking. “We will be married four weeks from now. The banns may be called. We’ll marry here in the drawing room with only close family and friends. Are you in agreement, Lord Lancaster?”

  Mary stared up at him, her eyes wide and filled with shock.

  “Say yes,” he said when she continued to stare at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. “Yes, Mary. Say it,” he urged.

  Chapter 12

  Mary turned to her father. “May I have a moment with his grace, please, Papa? I need to speak to him about his proposal.”

  “Absolutely not,” her brother interjected, slicing a finger through the air. “I think you’ve been alone quite enough already this evening.”

  Her father pursed his lips thinking over her request. “You may speak to the duke, but we shall be present. We will afford you a little privacy by going to stand before the fire.”

  Mary waited for her father and brother to move away, before she turned back to Dale, not quite sure how he could seem so calm and in control of himself. She was beyond confused and her heart seemed to be beating louder than a drum in her ears. “Why me, your grace?”

  “What do you mean, why me?” He glanced at her clearly confused. “After what just happened, I thought you might be a little relieved rather than questioning my declaration.”

  Mary frowned, not wanting anyone to marry her out of obligation. “You know that I wanted to marry someone who, if at all possible, I loved. A man that would allow me to continue in the same vein in which I live now. To remain in the country instead of in Town. You, your grace cannot be that man.”