The Duke in My Bed

by Amelia Grey

  He’d thought about coming up with an excuse to go to her house just so he could see her, but every time he thought about it, he’d think again. He didn’t need to kiss Miss Prim no matter how much he wanted to. She was an innocent, and he stayed away from innocents. He couldn’t have her changing that any more than she already had.

  But really, how could he not let her touch him?

  “What do you think he’s doing?” Harrison asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bray answered, shoving Miss Prim to the back of his mind as he did several times a day since he and Harrison had begun their journey. “We might as well ride down and find out. It doesn’t look as if this weather is going to get any better.”

  But thoughts of Miss Prim had made him feel warmer.

  Bray and Harrison nudged their horses and headed down the slope. Adam heard them riding up and turned away from the edge of the cliff. Bray saw a flash of disbelief on Adam’s face when he first saw them, but he just stood motionless and watched them ride up and stop their horses in front of him.

  Adam pushed his wide-brimmed hat up his forehead. “This is Yorkshire, gentlemen, in case you’re lost?”

  “We know exactly where we are,” Bray said, giving a passing glance to the wet, grassy plain on either side of them. “We thought you might have lost your way, so we came looking for you.”

  “I’m not lost either.”

  “You’re a long way from London,” Harrison said.

  Adam shrugged. “Last I heard, you were nowhere near London either.”

  “It was a hell of an adventure,” Harrison said, and then cut his eyes over to Bray. “But as I was recently reminded, there’s no place like England.”

  “This valley is home for me now,” Adam said.

  “I don’t mind finding my way up here once or twice a year, do you, Bray?”

  “I guess not. It’s probably nice country when it’s not cold, drizzling, and foggy.”

  A touch of a grin twitched the corners of Adam’s mouth. “It’s always raining here. The fog and the rain suit me.”

  Bray heard something that sounded like a sheep bleating and looked around. “Where’s that sound coming from?”

  “A ewe fell over the edge,” Adam said, pointing behind him. “I was thinking about tying a rope to my horse and scaling down after her.”

  Bray and Harrison kicked free of their stirrups and dismounted. They walked to the edge and looked over. Bray saw a sheep standing on a small ledge about thirty or forty feet down with at least another fifty-foot drop to the bottom. The ewe looked unharmed. Even with its thick wool coat to cushion the fall, Bray didn’t know how the sheep had made it past all the jagged and sharp rocks without getting killed or breaking a leg.

  “Are you tending sheep now?” Harrison asked in a teasing tone.

  “It keeps me from drinking all day and all night, too,” Adam answered with no emotion in his voice.

  Bray looked down again, and the sheep looked up at him with big black eyes and bleated. “I think you should count that one as lost,” Bray said. “Those rocks look slippery and dangerous.”

  “When have I ever not done something just because it was dangerous?”

  “You probably haven’t,” Harrison said, “but I agree with Bray. Even if you make it down without breaking your leg or your neck, you’ll never get back up with that blasted sheep. She’s not a little lamb you can just tuck under the crook of your arm and hold while you climb up the rope. She looks to be a full adult ewe.”

  “She is, but I can handle her. I’ll tie her feet together and then strap her to my neck and shoulders and climb up. I can’t leave her down there to starve.”

  Harrison and Bray looked at each other, and Bray knew they were thinking the same thing. Their childhood friend didn’t care if he lived or died.

  “How often are you risking your life for sheep?”

  Adam shrugged. “I’ve risked my life for less.”

  “We all have,” Harrison said quietly.

  Bray saw a faraway look in Harrison’s eyes and couldn’t help but think his friend was remembering something specific and not just the many times the trio had thrown caution to the wind and risked their lives in fool stunts over simple dares.

  Since their first year at Eton, the three friends had known they all had their strengths and weaknesses. In their younger years, there were times rivalries had surfaced between them, when one would try to best the others in shooting, racing, fencing, or the attention of a young miss, but they never forgot they were friends.

  “Where’s the damn rope?” Bray said. “I’ll do it.”

  “Then you’ll have to fight me for the chance,” Harrison said. “If you’ll remember, I’m better at climbing on rocks than either one of you.”

  Adam blew out a rueful breath as rain fell on his dark brown work coat. “Neither one of you is doing it. You’re both dressed like dandies. And look at your fancy knee boots. You wouldn’t make it down the first rock before you slipped and broke your necks. What the hell are you two devils doing here anyway?”

  “We told you. We came to see how you’re doing,” Harrison said.

  “And it sounds as if we didn’t get here a minute too soon,” Bray added. “If you are going to try to kill yourself, you’re not going to do it without our help.”

  Harrison clapped Adam on the shoulder and said, “Now, if you’ve set your mind to getting that ewe off that ledge, let’s get it done and go have a drink. It’s damn near freezing out here.”

  Chapter 14

  Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.

  —All’s Well That Ends Well, act 1, scene 1

  He had kissed her. She had kissed him. They had kissed and kissed and kissed again; slow and soft, hard and fast, and over and over.

  And she’d liked it all!

  He had touched her breasts. And she had touched him, too, though at the time, she didn’t know what she was touching. But every time she thought about the intimacy, flaming heat raced to her cheeks.

  Louisa squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t know what manner of madness had come over her that afternoon. It had been more than three weeks since passion had erupted between her and the duke, and still it was all she could think about when she was quiet as she was now. Not just thinking about the duke’s kisses and caresses, but also feeling, smelling, touching, and tasting them. Her senses were haunted almost to the point of madness!

  And worst of all, sensible Louisa Prim wanted to experience all those enticing sensations again.

  She’d tried to rationalize her behavior by remembering the duke’s words that it was all right for a young lady to have a kiss or two before she married. That sounded reasonable. It was probably even expected that a new bride would know a little about kissing, but perhaps not so much as she now knew. The duke had been most thorough in his lesson.

  And she wasn’t sure she was supposed to have enjoyed it so much, and dreamed of more. His kisses had stolen her breath, made her legs feel as if she were trying to stand on water, and made her so light-headed, she almost swooned.

  Swooned!

  Louisa Prim!

  How could the simple joining of his lips to hers make her wish the feeling would go on forever?

  Maybe because there had been nothing simple about their kisses. They had been eager, demanding, and passionate. And she’d been caught up and held in his powerful embrace. She’d felt the hard frame of his body against hers. She was convinced that alone would make any young lady swoon.

  Louisa sighed silently. She now understood how Sybil felt when she was forced to sit still and work on embroidery samples. Standing on a seamstress box while the hem of her gown was being pinned gave Louisa too much time to think. And when she had time to think, it was always about the Duke of Drakestone.

  It was exasperating.

  And thrilling.

  And she must stop thinking about him. He’d admitted that kissing her was a purely selfish act. Surely that was what most men did, but wh
at kind would readily admit it?

  A scoundrel!

  Lord Wayebury’s house had become much busier, now that they had added a housekeeper, two more maids, and a dog. Mrs. Colthrust was getting used to Saint being allowed to freely roam the house. She had stopped trying to shoo him away whenever he came near her. The two of them had fallen into a pattern of avoiding each other. If one walked into a room, the other one usually walked out.

  The chaperone retired early in the evenings to her spacious bedchamber and took most of her meals there. However, she spent an hour each morning going over the names and titles of important people for Louisa and Gwen to remember when they met them at the first ball of the Season, which was now only two weeks away.

  Even with looking after her four sisters, Louisa still seemed to have far too much time on her hands to think about the duke and his kisses. She found herself not just wondering if he would come back to their house, but even wanting him to.

  And that eagerness worried her.

  She didn’t know how to keep the man out of her thoughts, but she did have an idea about how to get him out of her life. And for that she needed help. Unfortunately, Mrs. Colthrust was the only person available to help her.

  This was the fifth day in a row that Louisa, Gwen, and Mrs. Colthrust had boarded their fancy new coach with four matching bays and headed to Mrs. Rivoire’s Fabric and Dress Design Shop. The fitting salon of Mrs. Rivoire’s boutique looked more like a drawing room in one of Mayfair’s most elite houses than a place of business. The draperies were tastefully fashioned from dark green velvet and edged with gold bullion fringe. The feminine furniture was upholstered in a soft shade of pink velvet. The three floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the room were framed in fancy gilt woodwork, and the tea service was silver.

  No expense had been spared to make the shopkeeper’s clientele feel as if they were visiting a dear friend rather than a modiste. It was no wonder the French dressmaker was a favorite of ladies such as the Dowager Duchess of Drakestone.

  Their first day of shopping had been spent looking at fabrics, lace, and all manner of sewing trimmings to make gowns, wraps, and headpieces more stunning and different from any other gown the French modiste had designed before. Gwen and Mrs. Colthrust loved every moment of it, but for Louisa dress shopping had been torture. She would much rather be walking in the garden and seeing what buds had sprouted than trying to decide what shade of green went with what shade of blue. And while lace was pretty on a dress, it didn’t have the same beauty when it was all wound together. They had been measured from head to toe and questioned at length about the colors, styles, and cuts of garments they liked best. Already some of the smaller clothing items were arriving at their home.

  Today the three of them were having fittings for some of the many gowns Mrs. Colthrust had insisted they order. The chaperone and Gwen had gone into the changing room to don another gown, and Louisa was left with one of Mrs. Rivoire’s assistants, who chattered constantly to herself in French.

  Mrs. Colthrust walked back into the salon as Louisa was stepping off the seamstress box. She took one look at Louisa and exclaimed, “This will never do!”

  “What’s the matter?” Louisa asked, thinking something horrible must be wrong with the gown.

  “This,” she said, and pulled down on the neckline of Louisa’s gown. “An aging dowager shows more bosom than you are showing in this gown. What was Mrs. Rivoire thinking? You are trying to find a husband.”

  Louisa looked down at her chest. It looked decidedly low to her. Certainly lower than any gown she’d ever worn before. “I don’t think the height of my neckline matters.”

  “Of course it does. You would think with the woman being French, she would know that gentlemen could not care less if we are intelligent or if we have our health, but they do want to know we have a bosom.” She looked at the assistant and said, “Go find Mrs. Rivoire and ask her to come at once.”

  Louisa looked down again. Right now she couldn’t care less whether her gown passed Mrs. Colthrust’s neckline inspection.

  “I’m sure she will take care of it, but before Gwen comes back in here, may I speak to you in private about something.”

  “All right,” Mrs. Colthrust said in a curt tone while putting on an elbow-length white glove. “But make it quick, as we have three more gowns to try on before we go home. You, my dear, have four more.”

  Louisa wished the woman would sound a little more pleasant when she was speaking. “I would like for you to help me go to the Court of Chancery.”

  “What for?” Mrs. Colthrust asked without bothering to look at Louisa, and sounding very uninterested in any answer Louisa might have.

  “To see about having the duke removed as our guardian.”

  Mrs. Colthrust’s head jerked up, and she looked at Louisa as if her charge had gone mad. She started pulling the glove up her arm. “Absolutely not! Are you daft?”

  “Of course not,” Louisa said, remaining calm.

  “Doesn’t surprise me. Most people who are insane don’t know they are, but you must be. You do know that most people would kill to have a duke be in charge of them.”

  “But his reputation—”

  “Means nothing,” Mrs. Colthrust cut in. “He is a duke, and he is not only willing, he is also taking very good care of us—that is, you and your sisters. Thankfully, since we all went to his house a few weeks ago, he has not bothered us and we are obviously not bothering him.”

  Oh, but he does bother me. His kisses have haunted me. I fear I am falling victim to his charms.

  “I swear, Louisa, I don’t know what to think about you. It’s just not sane for a young lady to want to be taken away from a duke. I will have no part of helping you with such a foolish errand.”

  “Will you keep me from going and talking to someone about the possibility of it so that I can know what could be done?”

  “Of course not. See anyone you wish, but quite frankly, I’m surprised that you are so ungrateful to Lord Wayebury for doing this for you and your sisters.”

  “Turning our welfare over to a rogue is not being good to us.”

  “Of course it is,” Mrs. Colthrust said, tugging on her other glove. “The duke owes you.”

  “I’ve never felt that way,” Louisa said, affronted that anyone would think the duke owed them anything for her brother’s death.

  “Well, you should. Besides, Lord Wayebury wouldn’t thank me when he returns if I did, and my sister would probably never speak to me again. You would do well to drop this ridiculous notion.”

  “That is not for you to decide but for the courts, and I will look into the possibility. My father and brother were viscounts, and so now in my uncle. I am not without standing in the community.”

  “Of course you are. You are young and have never been in Society, Louisa. You don’t realize what you would be up against. A viscount might as well be a tradesman when he’s up against a duke for anything. And just whom would you suggest to the court as a replacement?”

  Louisa hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she said. Her knowledge of qualified people was quite nonexistent. “I thought perhaps the court would know of a kindly old gentleman who wouldn’t mind taking on the task.”

  Mrs. Colthrust laughed.

  Louisa didn’t back down. “I know it won’t be an easy endeavor to take the duke to court. Titles give gentlemen privileges that other men and ladies don’t have.”

  “Exactly. Quite frankly, unless you can show mistreatment at the duke’s hands, no court will deny him the rights your uncle signed over to him. Especially since he has offered marriage to fulfill an oath to your brother and you have had the poor judgment not to try to force him to make good on his promise.”

  “Why would anyone want me to marry a man who was racing my brother when he was killed, a man who is noted for his drunken races through Town, gaming, and—and—”

  Mrs. Colthrust smiled. “And what?”

  “And has liaisons with mistresses,
actresses, and all manner of loose women.”

  “Wait,” Mrs. Colthrust said with a mock look of surprise. “I think you might be talking about our dear Prince, or the Lord Mayor, or perhaps the Lord Chancellor himself and any other gentlemen who reside in London. Please, Louisa, His Grace did most of what you mentioned when he was younger. Besides, none of that is important to anyone.”

  “It’s important to me.”

  “Well, you are the only one. A duke is easily forgiven for his transgressions, much like our dear Prince is and any other man of means. Now, take my word for this—no one will feel sorry for you about being under the care of a duke. He’s doing what is right by you and your sisters, I might add, and that’s all that matters right now.”

  “Then what am I to do?”

  “You could accept it graciously and thank your heavenly angels.”

  Were she and her sisters destined to be under the guardianship of a man whose kisses made her think of starry nights, warm fires, and magical feelings? A man who would never be home, never be faithful, and—worst of all—who obviously had no tolerance for children, either.

  “It’s not in me to do that,” Louisa said.

  Mrs. Colthrust sighed. “But if the duke’s wild ways offend your sensibilities, the only thing I can think of that might work is if you found a nobleman willing to marry you and take on the responsibility of all your sisters from the duke. But even then, the duke would have to agree. Which, now that I consider it, he probably would, don’t you think? I mean, it can’t be an easy task to take on the responsibility of caring for half a dozen girls and see to it that they all make a good match.”

  “There are five us, Mrs. Colthrust.”

  “Yes, yes, that’s what I said.”

  Mrs. Rivoire’s assistant returned and spoke to Mrs. Colthrust in French, giving Louisa time to think on what her chaperone had said. She was a brash and sometimes cold woman, but her advice made sense—even if Louisa didn’t want to hear it.