The Duke of Seduction

by Burke, Darcy

  “Quite. Some of the young ladies could be ruthless in their pursuit of matrimony.”

  He nodded in agreement. “That was my impression. My sister mentioned a couple of those women, but only by their initials—SW and DC. I don’t suppose you recall who they were?”

  She pressed her lips together, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t even have to think about it. They possessed the most acidic tongues that year. In truth, they haven’t improved much over time, particularly Lady Abercrombie.”

  He had a name at last. “She’s one of them?”

  “Yes, she was Susannah Weycombe then, and DC refers to her closest friend, Dorothy Cranley—she is Lady Kipp-Landon now.”

  Satisfaction curled through him, but knowing their identities wouldn’t truly grant him victory. He vaguely knew who they were, but wasn’t entirely sure he could pick them from a crowd. He glanced around, wondering if they were here.

  The duchess gleaned his thoughts. “They wouldn’t be here. They aren’t in this circle. I doubt the Earl of Ware would invite anyone like that.”

  No, she had that right. “True, but sometimes things get out of hand with one of Felix’s events.”

  “Is that so? Well, that sounds like it could be good or bad.” She grinned briefly, then fixed him with a sympathetic stare. “Does it help you to know who those women are? I sense it’s somehow important to you.”

  “My sister had a difficult time of things, and they were part of that. I don’t know that it helps, but I certainly appreciate knowing who they are so I may give them the cut direct. Should the occasion ever arise.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you. They tried to befriend me when I married Titus, but I may have ensured they were excised from my mother-in-law’s considerable sphere of influence.” She shrugged without a bit of concern, provoking Beck to laugh. “And my husband may have punched Lord Haywood, but I daresay he deserved at least that.”

  Beck had met Haywood, who was more than a decade his senior. He was known as a bit of a gambler and a drinker. “Haywood is the man who—?” Beck didn’t want to say and knew she would understand the question.

  “The man I was foolish enough to meet alone? Yes. He possessed an exceedingly charming demeanor. I had no idea he wasn’t sincere in his pursuit of me.” Her lips quirked up into a self-deprecating smile. “It turned out he was pursuing many young women. With no apparent intent to wed any of them.”

  “He strung them along with empty promises.”

  “He certainly did me,” she said. “And I was the perfect target—young, foolish, and desperate to marry.”

  Exactly like Helen. Had she fallen prey to Haywood or someone like him?

  “I’m happy things worked out for you.” Beck smiled at the duchess despite his sorrow at how things hadn’t worked out for Helen.

  She let out a light laugh. “Exceedingly well, thankfully! And now I must be off. I have children to attend at home.” She glanced about briefly before returning her attention to Beck. “First, I must find Ware and thank him for this charming affair. Did you happen to listen to Lady Lavinia talk about the stratification in the sand pit? It was absolutely fascinating.”

  “I did, and I agree.”

  She bid him farewell, and Beck found himself drawn back down to the sand pit. There was no one there at present, and he wondered where Lavinia had gone. He meandered to the exposed layers she’d talked about earlier. Removing his glove, he ran his bare fingers over the lowest band of dirt, wondering at what things might have lived on it.

  His mind turned to a more recent history—that of his sister’s last Season. Now that he knew who those women were, he wanted to ask them why they’d tormented Helen.

  Beck’s family knew little of the circumstances of Helen’s death. Could these women shed any light? Would Beck trust anything they said?

  The satisfaction he’d felt at learning their identity faded away. The helplessness and despair and anger he’d nurtured for years flooded back over him, driving him from the sand pit toward a copse of trees away from the revelers. People were beginning to depart. Good. He’d hide until then. He didn’t want to see anyone in his current mood. He’d leave, but he’d come out with Felix and would have to find someone else to take him back. The only person he thought he could suffer right now was Felix, and so he’d wait.

  The only other person?

  Lavinia filled his mind—her wit, her beauty, her keen intellect and confidence. Yes, he could suffer her quite well. Too bad their courtship wasn’t real.

  Chapter 11

  Beasts in the field fall at her feet.

  The stones of mountains, from their peak.

  Stars from heaven, like rain to sea.

  All wish to be near; close to she.

  -From An Ode to Miss Anne Berwick

  by The Duke of Seduction

  The day went by so quickly that Lavinia hardly knew where it went. She was particularly grateful to Sarah for bringing her food at the sand pit, for she’d been so wrapped up in talking to people about the geology of the place, she hadn’t taken time to eat.

  When things had finally begun to calm down, she’d been attended upon by three different gentlemen, most notably Sir Martin, who’d found her geology discussions enlightening. It was a shame her mother wasn’t here. The countess would be delighted with the attention Lavinia was receiving.

  Lavinia, on the other hand, found herself looking for just one man—the one who was falsely courting her and probably wouldn’t need to do so any longer. She saw him dodge into a stand of trees away from the picnic area.

  Glancing toward where the picnic was being cleaned up, she stole toward the trees. A light breeze stirred her skirts as she stepped behind the shoulder-high hedgerow that stood between the grassy expanse and the copse.

  “Beck?”

  He stepped from behind a tree. “Are you following me?” The question was light, but there was a crease in his brow—she could see because she’d donned her spectacles, something she’d done throughout the day as needed. Indeed, she’d worn them in front of Sir Martin, and he’d said they made her look brilliant.

  “I saw you come into the trees, and here I am, so I suppose I am following you. I wanted to thank you for arranging today.”

  He leaned against the tree he’d stepped around. “You’re wearing your glasses.”

  She adjusted them on her face unnecessarily. “Yes.”

  “I like it when you wear them.” He glanced toward the picnic area, which was shielded by the hedgerow. “I didn’t do anything to arrange today—that was entirely Felix’s management.”

  “But Felix wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t asked.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “True. It seemed a grand success for you. I’m so pleased.”

  The warmth in his tone showed her how much he meant it. “Yes, everyone was quite interested in geology. I can hardly wait to tell my mother.”

  Beck laughed. “Will she believe you?”

  Lavinia shrugged. “Probably not.”

  “Aside from that, I meant success in your marital quest. You seem to have several suitors who may be serious—or have I read that wrong?”

  She reached for the tree next to her and ran her gloved hand over the bark. “No, you are correct. Sir Martin in particular seems as though he’ll come up to snuff. He plans to call on me.”

  Beck pushed away from the tree and took a step toward her, decreasing the distance between them. “Will that make you happy?”

  Happy. She wasn’t sure if that was the right word. “It won’t make me unhappy. I like Sir Martin. He’s certainly not dull to talk to, provided I can keep him focused on science instead of horses.”

  “Do you think you’ll be able to keep him from speaking of horses for an entire marriage?” Beck asked.

  “Of course not, but I can put up with that.”

  “That’s not a particularly favorable perspective of your marital future with him.”

  No, it wasn’t, but ne
ither was it terrible. So she didn’t love Sir Martin, but she was learning that love was perhaps a luxury she couldn’t afford. Better to wed someone she liked well enough than allow her parents to manipulate her into a union with someone she detested. “I’m running out of time, as you know, and Sir Martin is my best option at present.”

  Beck moved closer. “I was hoping you’d find love,” he said softly. “Have you ever been in love?”

  She shook her head, captivated by his sultry gaze and the seductive timbre of his voice.

  “I was—as you know. Her name was Priscilla. She was three years older than me, and so intelligent and so beautiful, it stole my breath. I thought of her night and day. I could scarcely eat or sleep for want of her company. I began to write love poetry—horrendous verses of maudlin tripe.”

  Lavinia’s chest squeezed, and she knew exactly what he meant when he talked about losing his breath. Jealousy, bitter and thick, clogged her throat. She somehow found her voice. “I’ve never felt that way.”

  “Good. When it’s not reciprocated, it’s the worst feeling in the world.”

  “She didn’t love you?”

  He shook his head. “I was too young, too desperate, too bad at poetry, probably.”

  She laughed and immediately clapped her hand over her mouth until she reined in her amusement. “Sorry.”

  He smiled. “Don’t be. I love the sound of your laugh.”

  Every drop of laughter evaporated. When he spoke to her like that and looked at her as he was now—as if she were Priscilla—she only wanted him to touch her, to kiss her again. “Did you ever kiss Priscilla?”

  “Why would you ask me that?” the question was a near whisper.

  “If you had, I’m sure she wouldn’t have spurned you.”

  He took another step toward her, bringing them so close, they almost touched. “How do you know?”

  She couldn’t keep from staring at his mouth. “From experience, of course.”

  “Lavinia, you are tempting me to do it again.” He sounded hopeful.

  “‘Temptation is the marriage ’tween stark curiosity and need.’” It was a line from the first poem he’d written about her.

  His gaze lit with admiration. “You’re quoting myself to me.”

  “It’s a beautiful line.”

  He reached for the ribbon of her bonnet and teased it between his thumb and forefinger. “I wrote it about you.”

  “You barely knew me then,” she breathed.

  “And how well do I know you now?”

  “Not well enough.” She grabbed his coat by the lapels and pulled him against her. Standing on her toes, she pressed her mouth to his.

  His arms came around her and held her tight to his chest as his mouth plundered hers. She’d thought of his kiss for days, and now that his lips were on hers once more, she realized she hadn’t remembered it quite right. This was so much better.

  His body was warm and hard, and he smelled of pine and grass. Or maybe that was just that they were outside. No, it was him. He smelled of outside, and damn if that didn’t make him the most attractive man in the history of men.

  Well, in her history of men.

  Good Lord, could her mind possibly travel down a rabbit hole while Beck was kissing her? Apparently it could, but it didn’t matter. She was drowning in wonder and delight, and she didn’t ever want to come up for air.

  She clutched at his shoulders and neck and pressed herself into him. She’d relived that kiss in the library, plotting what she would do if she were afforded a second opportunity with him. And here it was.

  Tilting her head, she was vaguely aware that she knocked his hat from his head with the brim of her own. She slid her tongue along his, reveling in the sensation of their coming together. Her breasts tightened and her core heated, and she became aware of other ways in which they could join.

  Did she want that?

  Oh, for the love of God, Lavinia, stop thinking!

  She pushed her thoughts away and concentrated on just feeling. His hands clasping her back, his lips and tongue mating with hers, his body urgently pressing into hers. She wanted more.

  Tentatively, she pushed her hips to his. His hand came down and gripped her waist, pulling her into him. He moved against her, and she gasped into his mouth as friction sparked between her legs.

  He pivoted her body and guided her back two small steps until she felt a tree against her back. His mouth left hers, but only to nip and lick at her jaw and ear. She tipped her head back until it met the bark, closing her eyes as he worked magic over her flesh.

  “Your collar is too damned high,” he muttered, pushing it down and away so he could access her neck.

  She had to agree. And yet he was managing quite well, it seemed. His hand moved up her side, gliding over her until he cupped her breast. The touch was woefully inadequate given his gloves and her clothing, but her body reacted as if it were more than enough.

  Her nipple tightened as he caressed her through the gown, all while he kissed her neck. She pulled him harder against her, wanting to feel as much of him as she could. His hand left her breast, and she might have whimpered softly. Yes, she definitely whimpered. And she didn’t care.

  He reached down and lifted her skirt. Cool air rushed over her stocking-clad leg as his hand brushed along her thigh. His fingertips grazed the apex, lightly touching her flesh. Then he stilled.

  “Forgive me.”

  She tugged on the hair at his nape. “Look at me.”

  He lifted his head and stared into her eyes.

  “There is nothing to forgive. At least not if you don’t stop. If you do, I’ll never forgive you.”

  “You want me to continue?”

  “Whatever you were going to do…” She could barely find the words. She felt utterly brazen. But him touching her there was a sensation she didn’t want to let go. “Do it,” she begged.

  “Have you ever done that before?” he asked quietly. “Orgasm, I mean.”

  “I don’t know that word.” She’d talked about sex—briefly—with other young ladies, but until Diana, none of them had possessed any practical experience. And the conversations she’d had with Diana since her marriage had been woefully devoid of exciting details. She’d only said it was marvelous, and she dearly hoped Lavinia was as lucky in finding her husband as Diana had been.

  “It describes what your body does when it releases with sexual satisfaction. Think of pent-up anticipation for an event and the rush of sensation when that event occurs.” While he spoke, he touched her gently, his fingertips sliding over her flesh.

  She opened her thighs, giving him better access because it seemed she should. She wasn’t sure what he meant to do, but knew it had to be more. That anticipation he mentioned was building inside her. She clutched at his neck and held on tight as he slipped his finger along her crease.

  She sucked in a breath just before he kissed her. It was short but wondrous, and his mouth continued across her cheek, his lips dragging across her flesh. He whispered in her ear, “I could try to make you come—to your orgasm, that is—by just touching you here.” He pressed his fingers against the top of her sex and moved them back and forth, creating a delicious friction. “Or I could put my finger—or fingers—inside you and make you come that way. Which would you prefer?”

  Oh God, how could she possibly know? “Can’t I choose both?”

  He laughed softly. “Lavinia, you never fail to surprise and intrigue me. And in this case, excite me. How I wish we had a proper location and far fewer clothes. I would show you all the ways I could make you come. With my fingers. With my mouth. With my cock.”

  Good Lord, he was a rake. His words enflamed her already heated body. She was desperate to come, to feel this thing he was talking about. “I don’t care what you do, but please do it.” She clasped his nape and made him look at her. “Please.”

  His gaze was dark and seductive as his fingers began to move over her sex. He concentrated on that first part, ru
bbing her flesh. With each stroke, the anticipation grew. Then he kissed her again, his mouth sweeping over hers and his tongue driving deep into her mouth.

  A moment later, his finger mimicked his tongue, sliding into her sex. She groaned as lights danced behind her eyes, and her legs began to quiver. He worked his finger in and out of her, slowly at first and then picking up speed. Then his thumb found that other spot, and he pressed while he penetrated her.

  His movements grew faster, then his hand focused on the outside for a moment before his finger—or was it fingers now?—plunged into her again. Back and forth, he alternated his focus, and her passion increased apace. She was so close to what he’d described. She could feel it in her bones, in the blood coursing through her fevered body.

  He broke the kiss and pressed his lips to her ear. “Come for me, Lavinia.”

  He speared into her and pressed the heel of his hand against her. She knew precisely what he meant by the word release. Her body felt as if it were coming apart. Her muscles tightened first, clenching everywhere as sensation rioted through her. Then came the release, a loosening of all the ecstasy that had built within her. But his hand didn’t still, and she tightened again. And whimpered again. She was glad for the tree at her back, for she would surely have slumped to the ground. On and on it went, his hand coaxing her to heights she never dreamed existed.

  Then finally, her body wilted. Spent, she worked to catch her breath. His hand was gone from her flesh, and her skirts dropped down around her legs. He took a step back and bent to pick something up from the ground. His glove, she realized. She hadn’t even noticed him taking it off. And then his hat. That she remembered.

  “That was rather ill-advised,” he said, his voice sounding rather tight.

  “Perhaps.” Lavinia straightened her bonnet, her glasses, and her dress. Her face was probably flushed, but there was no help for that. Hopefully, a breeze would cool her off. “I won’t regret it however, and I hope you don’t either.” She winced. “Unless… I shouldn’t have urged you to do that.” She hadn’t urged. She’d begged. She was completely shameless.