A Duchess a Day

by Charis Michaels

  “Abduction and foul play.” He exhaled. “My lawyers were able to have the charge of murder removed because there was no body. I’ve been in Newgate since summer, awaiting trial. And then, as I’ve said, Girdleston turned up.”

  “But what could he have to do with any of it?”

  “Nothing. Or rather, I should say, who knows? It was Girdleston who told me Miss Snow’s family had dropped the charges because a cousin had made a sighting of her in France. Which is what I’ve anticipated all along.”

  “And Girdleston knew?”

  “I suppose? Honestly, I cannot say. He arranged for me to leave prison, but he never fails to remind me that if the cousin’s sighting of Miss Snow does not come to fruition, I will go back.”

  “What?”

  “If this cousin cannot locate her—if no one can locate her—then Girdleston suggests that her family will revisit the charges.”

  “But you believe that you could find her.”

  “Yes. I could find her. I was this close!” He held out his thumb and forefinger.

  “But you’ve not been able to search,” she realized, “because you were hired to mind me.”

  “Girdleston offered me enough money to provide for my father and sisters for the rest of our lives. It is an inordinate sum. I need that money, Helena. There was no option but to take this job.”

  “No wonder you resisted helping me,” she repeated.

  “The money did not keep me from helping you.” He stopped walking and ducked into the shadowy gap between two buildings, pulling her with him.

  “The real reason I didn’t help you,” he whispered, taking her by the arms, “is Girdleston’s threat of returning to jail.”

  “But how can he—”

  “The duke’s family is so powerful, Helena,” he exclaimed, his voice a harsh whisper. “This is what I’ve been trying to impress upon you. I’d been fighting for my innocence and he turned up with a story about someone seeing a girl resembling Knightly Snow—and I’m released in a day?”

  Helena said nothing. She shook her head like a person denying the inevitable.

  Declan continued, “I’ve been a pawn in their game since the beginning, and justice and fairness have no meaning. Who’s innocent or guilty makes no difference. Girdleston couldn’t care less about any of it,” he finished, “but he reads the papers; he keeps up with life at court. And when he needed a very desperate man to do exactly as he asked, someone with no sympathy for a very sympathetic young woman who is too beautiful for any sane man to resist, he knew who to ask. And how to manipulate me. His job offer was very clear: ‘Do just as I say or you won’t get paid. Oh, and you might also go back to jail.’ ”

  “No,” said Helena.

  “Yes,” he said. “And now you know.”

  “But is that . . . it?”

  Declan looked at the sky. Only this girl.

  Relentless.

  “What do you mean, is that it?” he asked. “Helena, do you hear? Your husband might spend the next twenty years in prison. I had one job: to see you marry Lusk. I have obviously failed at that job.

  “Whatever machinations Girdleston played to get me out of prison will snap back into place as soon as we’re discovered,” he said. “If you fail to marry Lusk, I’m going to prison, likely the very same day.

  “And that’s why I won’t be able to provide for you or protect you or even bloody see you. I will be locked up. Powerless. My father, my sisters—” His voice broke.

  “Declan,” she said softly, putting a hand to his face.

  “It’s terrible in prison, Helena. It is hell on earth. But I would have done it in a second if it meant keeping you from Lusk. I am running mad, worrying that nothing we’ve planned will work.”

  “Declan,” she repeated. “We will sort it. We will hire new lawyers. We will send an investigator to France. I will go to bloody France. Girdleston is not God. He may’ve gotten you out of prison but there is no guarantee he can send you back.”

  “Helena, you have been fighting him for five years. He hired an accused felon simply to get you down the aisle. The only reason he’s not won so far is because his accused felon is in love with you. But I assure you, our love is no match for the dukedom.”

  “No. Stop saying that. The reason he’s not won is because his greed and entitlement have finally caught up with him. I will turn his nephew against him. See if I don’t.”

  “Helena,” Declan sighed. “We cannot hinge everything on three young women who, based on everything we’ve seen, will be completely ignored by Lusk in a drunken haze.”

  “They won’t be,” she insisted.

  “They might. And then you will be forced to carry on with the wedding, until the terrible moment when you reveal that you cannot marry the duke because you’re already married—to me.” He dropped his head against the wall.

  She slid into his arms, holding him tight. “We’ll run away.”

  “What of your orchard? Or my father? If I return to prison, you must be able to provide for yourself. Your parents will disown you.”

  “Stop,” she said, slapping both hands against his chest. She brought her face nose-to-nose with his. “One thing I will not do, even if you are in prison for the next thirty years, is annul this marriage.”

  “You don’t know what you say.” A whisper.

  “I know exactly what I’m saying. And hear me now: we will consummate this union.” She grabbed his overcoat by the lapels. “Tonight.”

  “Oh God.”

  “Do it,” she demanded. “If you’re bound for prison—which I highly doubt—then we’ll enjoy this before you go.”

  “Helena,” he said.

  “Do you love me?”

  “Helena.”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Yes, I love you.”

  “Then do it.” She kissed him, employing everything he’d ever taught her about kissing, plus eagerness and the earthy sensuality that he associated only with her. It was the most soul-searing kiss of his life.

  He pulled away, panting. “Here? In the alley? Absolutely not.”

  “Then find somewhere.” She kissed him again. “Declan, please.”

  He tried to resist, God help him—he tried—but he hadn’t slept in nearly two nights. His emotions were raw. And most of all, he wanted her. He’d wanted her since she’d come to him in the stable.

  He kissed her, forcing his mind to work. They had little more than an hour before he must deliver her to Lusk House. He refused to make love to her outside, on the streets of London in the cold November air.

  His rented flat in Charing Cross had long since been given up.

  He wouldn’t take her to a coaching inn.

  He saw little help for it but taking her home, to Savile Row.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Declan led her by the hand through the intermittent traffic in Oxford Street and hired another hackney. Again they rode in silence, this time locked in a passionate embrace. When they reached his father’s shop, he threw a handful of coins at the driver and they half ran, half staggered up the walk.

  She fell against the door, breathless and reaching for him. He made a growling noise, falling to her.

  “Shhh,” she breathed, giggling.

  “It’s alright,” he said against her mouth. “The family is next door. This is the shop. These buildings are five hundred years old and the walls are as thick as a fortress. No one will hear.” He kissed her. “I do hate it that your wedding night does not include a proper bedroom.”

  “You stole me out of a perfectly good one,” she said, kissing him back.

  He gathered her up. She had some vague notion of him retrieving a key from among flowerpots and unlocking the door. She stopped kissing him long enough to peer into the dim shop, but he looped an arm beneath her knees and swept her into his arms. He carried her inside and kicked the door shut with his boot.

  Helena let out a little yelp, thrilled by every part of it: the makeshift weddi
ng suite, his strength, even the terrible truths that he’d just shared. They faced so many obstacles, but they would do it together.

  Declan set her down long enough to whip off his coat and peel hers away. Working quickly, he lit a candle, took her by the hand, and tiptoed from the showroom, through a workroom, and finally to a small room stacked with bolts of fabric. The grate had been laid with fresh wood for the morning, and he knelt to start a crackling fire. When the flames took hold, the small room was cast in jumping orange light. The colorful fabric glowed, and Helena pulled off her gloves to run her hands across the bolts.

  Declan was far less reverent. With wild abandon, he began to unfurl the material. Bolt after bolt fluttered to the rug on the floor. Wool, silk, linen, cotton, silk again.

  “This is truly pathetic,” he said, “but the best I can do. Have you changed your mind?”

  Helena shook her head, speechless for once. The fabric and the fire, the small, private room—she wanted for nothing more.

  “I want for nothing more than this.”

  Declan shot her a smile that expanded her heart and huffed out a breath. He put his hands on his hips and stared down at the colorful nest of fabric.

  Helena followed his gaze. “Now . . . ?” she asked, feeling suddenly bashful.

  “Now, Mrs. Shaw,” he confirmed. “And please be aware, you will do nothing. For once, I am in charge.” He clicked the door shut and bolted the lock.

  She laughed, a nervous, breathless sound. She watched him pull off his boots, thrilled by the sight of his determined profile and the athleticism of his body. She thought of him dragging Lusk that first night, inventorying her ridiculous wedding gifts, chasing her down the street in the rain. He was so competent, so certain of his physicality. It was like watching a Greek marble statue come to life.

  Without taking his eyes from her, he dropped the boots to the floor.

  Helena bent to remove her own slippers.

  “No. I will serve you.” A wink. “My lady.”

  She giggled, and he answered her with a smile, whipping his shirt over his head. His bare chest glowed in the candlelight. Helena gasped. His body was a taut, muscular landscape of bulging shoulders and biceps, flat stomach, and razor ribs.

  “Declan,” she whispered, reaching for him. He ignored her, shucking his pants to reveal powerful thighs in loose drawers. His erection was visible through the white linen.

  “Now you,” he whispered, coming to her. “Is my lady warm enough?”

  “I am on fire,” she whispered.

  She wanted to touch him—she wanted nothing more than to touch every part of him—but she felt uncertain. She raised her arms to touch his shoulders, but her fingers hovered just above his skin.

  He chuckled and clasped a hand around her waist. He gave a little yank and she toppled, colliding with his bare chest. Her hands made contact, filling with his muscular shoulders. She squeezed and slid down the smooth hardness to rocklike arms.

  “May I help you with your dress, my lady?” he asked, reaching around to loosen the fasteners at her spine.

  She looked up, and he captured her mouth, kissing her gently as he worked. Helena sagged against him, spent by the sweet softness of his mouth.

  When her dress was open along her spine, he peeled it slowly from her shoulders, moving his mouth from her lips to her neck, nibbling her, grazing her skin with the scruff of his beard. The dress fell forward, rolling from her arms and sagging to the floor. Declan stepped back, his eyes hungry, looking at her body where the dress had been.

  For a moment, he went very still.

  “No corset,” he rasped, staring at her breasts through the thin fabric of her shift.

  She shook her head. “There was no time. No stockings or petticoats either.”

  He nodded, swallowing hard. He drank in the sight of her. Then slowly, reverently, he came to her. The heat of his bare skin singed her through her shift. Every cell of her body went on high alert, throbbing toward him.

  He dipped his head, nuzzled her neck, and then stooped, kissing lower. He pressed his face to her throat, pressing kisses on the indentation above her clavicle. Then he bent lower, sinking, passing over her breasts. He went down on one knee and paused, nuzzling her breasts through her shift. Helena cried out and grabbed his shoulders to stay upright.

  He sunk farther still. She felt his breath on her belly, and lower, past the most private part of her. Here he breathed in deeply, his mouth sliding across her core. She startled; her body pulsed with a bolt of pleasure so intense she almost collapsed. But his hands were on her hips, holding her up, massaging, sinking with him.

  Now he went lower, dragging his lips down her leg, over her knee. He sat up and allowed his hands to finish the journey, sliding firmly down her leg. When he reached her ankle, he encircled it, taking hold like a cuff. After a moment, his palm brushed the top of her foot while his thumb ran beneath her heel. Her slipper loosened, hung, and then popped off. He repeated the movement with the other foot.

  When she was barefoot, he reached for her hand, and tugged her down to sit on his one raised knee. She sunk like an apple falling from a limb.

  “Are you well, my lady?”

  She nodded. Words evaded her. Her hands had been on his back, holding on, but she was secure on his knee and began to feel her way around his chest and belly, tracing muscles. Learning the contours and textures of him.

  From his vantage point on the floor, one knee raised, his lips were too low to kiss her but perfectly aligned with her breasts. He nuzzled and nipped, licked and sucked, teasing her through the shift. Each swipe of his mouth brought escalating waves of pleasure. It was pleasure that begat need; need that shimmered into pleasure. She wanted more, she wanted everything, she was a vessel of want. She made a whimpering noise, digging her fingers into his hair, pressing his face to her breast.

  “What does my lady like?” he rumbled lowly.

  She could but cry out.

  He held her securely at the waist, large fingers splayed wide, but now he slid his hands down, tracing her legs, and caught the hem of her shift.

  “Raise your arms, my lady,” he whispered. She complied and he slid the thin fabric up, up, tugging it from beneath her bottom, dragging it over her breasts, sliding it over her head.

  In her dazed peripheral vision, she saw it flutter to the floor.

  “Now what shall we do?” he teased, returning his lips to her neck.

  Helena didn’t know much of the mechanics of lovemaking, but she knew what came next. Slowly, she unfolded her body from his leg and slid to the floor. His hands caught her, easing her down, handling her with firm, lingering strokes.

  She hit the fabric with a soft moan, his left hand hooked to the inside of her thigh. Helena gasped, pulsing a little in the direction of his wrist, his hand; he was right there, so very near the most desperate part of her.

  Declan chuckled and slid his hand away, grazing her as he let go.

  Helena whimpered, but he placed his hands on either side of her and stretched out, slowly lowering himself across her body.

  “You’re alright?” he asked.

  She nodded.

  “Are you cold?”

  She shook her head.

  “Are you enjoying this?”

  She nodded again.

  “Will you remember it when I am in pris—”

  “Do not,” she said, clamping a hand over his mouth. He pulled it away and kissed her—kissed her like she was accustomed to being kissed. But now there was the added pleasure of the weight of his body, the feel of his naked skin up and down her own nakedness; every nerve ending sung with the contact. His hardness, impossible to miss, nudged hotly in the precise spot she most needed heat and hardness.

  And there was so much of him to touch. His broad back, rippled with muscles. His bottom, hard and round. His hair, his cheek, his back again.

  “Are you—” he rasped, and Helena smiled, because he’d lost some of his teasing control. His voice
was broken. He panted.

  She arched her hips, wordlessly answering him.

  “Yes,” he hissed, and reached between them, jerkily sliding away first her drawers and then his.

  They were naked now, and when he laid back down across her, Helena spread her legs, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. She could not imagine not falling open for him.

  His answer was a growling sound, and he came up on one arm, staring down at her.

  “Helena,” he whispered, all playfulness gone. “My love. I cannot believe that I’ve found you. That someone as singular in every way has been given to me.”

  Her vision blurred; she saw only the shape and color of him through her tears.

  “If you ever leave me . . .” he began.

  “Declan,” she said, her voice clear. “Declan, I will never leave you.”

  “I would understand,” he pressed. “I would be no different from my father. I would welcome you back, simply to be in your realm.”

  “I don’t have a realm, Declan,” she said, cupping his cheek. “I will never leave you. And you will not go to jail. We will prevail.”

  He nodded and lowered himself to kiss her. “I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she whispered into his neck.

  He moved then, entering her in one, forceful thrust.

  Helena gasped, unprepared for the tension and pain and fullness of having him inside her.

  He sucked in a breath and held very, very still, burying his face in her hair.

  Helena bit her lip, trying to redistribute the discomfort. She squeezed her eyes shut. Her fingers dug into his shoulders. She made a whimpering noise.

  Declan began to nuzzle, moving his nose to her neck. He sucked her earlobe. He kissed his way across her jaw to her mouth. He held his body perfectly still.

  Slowly, he began to kiss her, working around her bit lip. In time, she loosened her teeth and he swiped her with his tongue. She kissed back. He swiped again, deeper and deeper, until the pain and pressure subsided. She forgot it or it went away, but it was less important than all the lovely things he did to her mouth, and her ear, and her mouth again.

  Gently, without realizing she moved, Helena’s hips began to rock upward, seeking. Declan’s mouth froze against her lips, and she whimpered a no, don’t stop sound.