The Most Dangerous Duke in London

by Madeline Hunter

  She made introductions. Stratton knew Althea’s brother. Althea remembered Stratton’s mother. Finally, Clara turned to her friend. “I have something I must tell the duke. Will you excuse us for a short while?”

  Althea smiled sweetly and strolled over to a shop window to admire the wares.

  “I cannot go,” Clara said quietly. “I know I agreed, and I want to see the race very much, but no matter how I try to arrange it, I see only gossip spreading fast afterward. There is no way to be discreet.”

  “Discretion be damned.”

  “You cannot mean that.”

  “No, I don’t. At least for your sake I don’t.” He looked past her. “Invite your friend. Have her come with you. Is that your carriage there? Plan to go down in it. I will arrange the rest.” He looked at Althea again. “You may have to confide in her. Can you trust her?”

  “She may be the only person I can trust. She is certainly the only person I know who keeps a secret.”

  He cocked his head. His charming smile sent a tremble down to her toes. “You have secrets besides me? How intriguing. Now I will have to learn what they are.”

  She called Althea back. “We should continue our errands, Duke. Good day to you.”

  He took his leave. She and Althea climbed into the carriage. Althea stuck her head out the window to watch the duke walk away. Then she settled in, set her reticule on her lap, and looked right at Clara.

  “Is there something you want to tell me, darling? Because I think you have shared much more than conversation with that man.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Once Adam learned from Clara that her friend would join her, his plan fell into place. He let a small house in Epsom for the ladies to use. Only they would not both use it, in truth.

  He shared his genius with Langford and Brentworth that night at a gaming hall while they played the wheel.

  “You are daring the devil,” Brentworth said. “At least half the ton will be at the Derby Stakes. The roads of Surrey will be crowded with carriages. Her brother is sure to attend. You could find yourself married at the point of a sword.”

  “Don’t you understand? Stratton isn’t going to be at the Derby,” Langford said. “If you had the woman you wanted alone in a place of privacy, would you interrupt the idyll by wasting a day at a horse race?”

  “Perhaps he wants to see the race. Maybe she does.”

  “I promised she would see the race,” Adam said.

  “She will not require it if you are not clumsy. Do I have to give advice on that too?”

  “Please do not,” Brentworth said. “I beg it of you, and Stratton here insists, I am sure.”

  Langford placed some bets. “I will wager both of you that there will be no nonsense about that race. I am confident that my vast knowledge of women is correct on this. Name the amount.”

  “One hundred pounds,” Adam said.

  Langford paused in laying down his bets. “I withdraw the challenge, if you bet that much. Since you have control on the outcome, I must conclude you will ensure you win even if it is against your interests.”

  “If seduction were my only goal, I would not have to leave London. She wants to see the race, and I am going to considerable trouble to arrange that. So much trouble that even if she insists we forgo it, I will demand we see the plan through.”

  Langford laughed. “No, my dear, we cannot stay in bed all day. We must ride to Epsom soon. Stop those caresses. I will not be persuaded by feminine wiles to change the plan.” He imitated Adam’s voice.

  “Ignore him,” Brentworth said. “Look for my stand at the race. We will watch together and toast the winner, which I fully expect to be my horse.”

  He and Langford began talking odds and competition. Adam watched the wheel spin. Three days until Clara joined him in Surrey. He was sure he would go mad before that.

  * * *

  Clara made a display of entering the house in Epsom with Althea. She stood on the street for at least five minutes while Mr. Brady carried their valises into the house. She greeted several women passing by whom she knew.

  “Well done,” Althea said once they were both inside and the carriage had rolled away. “I will see you tomorrow morning, early. Now, it is almost two o’clock, and time for your rendezvous. Off with you.”

  Clara gazed around the sitting room of the house, vaguely noting it looked cozy and welcoming. Most of her concentration was on everything that could go wrong with this adventure. A bad case of nerves had been building the last five miles.

  “If my brother learns I am staying here and calls—”

  “I will make sure he is none the wiser regarding where you really are instead.” Althea took her hands. “Of course, if you prefer to remain here, I will not accuse you of cowardice.”

  “You would be more generous than I would be with myself. Still, I cannot deny that this is different from the last time. This time I am making a very deliberate decision well ahead of time.”

  “I think this is the better way. Don’t you?”

  Did she? It might be more thoroughly her choice, but it was not easier. She would not be able to pretend she had succumbed to surprise or been swept away by kisses in the magical moonlight.

  She picked up her valise and walked to the back of the house.

  “You should probably bribe the coachman to ensure his discretion,” Althea said, walking alongside her.

  “I raised Mr. Brady’s wages yesterday. I think he knows why.”

  “If not, he will soon.”

  They left the house and walked through a small but tidy walled garden to the back portal. On its other side, her carriage waited. She gave Althea a kiss. “I will return in time to accompany you to the race tomorrow.” She climbed into the carriage and Althea waved her off. She pulled the curtains halfway closed.

  The carriage left the town and aimed west. The roads in this direction showed none of the crowding they had experienced coming down. That crush had slowed travel considerably, enough that at times passengers climbed out and walked to friends’ carriages and climbed in. When they had stopped to rest and water the horses, five of her brother’s Mayfair neighbors took air among the crowd in the coaching inn’s yard.

  Stratton’s property was near Guilford, in the opposite direction. When they were well away from Epsom, she pushed back the curtains and enjoyed the passing countryside.

  After an hour they turned off the main road and up a private lane. When the trees broke away and the house came into view, Clara had to laugh. Stratton’s small secondary property was probably one of the biggest houses in the county. Its size was its most ostentatious feature. Otherwise the gray stone and restrained design indicated it was not very old.

  Stratton came out while the coachman handed her valise to a footman. After welcoming her and giving the footman instructions to seek out the housekeeper, he had a private word with Mr. Brady. Clara could not see what was said, but she thought she saw a coin being palmed from the duke to the driver.

  “Did you tell him about tomorrow?” she asked when Stratton rejoined her and escorted her into the house.

  “With tortured precision. He will meet us at a designated place outside Epsom and be waiting from nine o’clock on.”

  “This will be an unusually lucrative employment for him, I think, since I also paid him extra for his silence.”

  “Not enough. Nor did he misunderstand my expectations and my subtle threat when he took that guinea. He is not a stupid man.”

  A guinea! Whoever knew that sin could be so expensive?

  She had not known what to expect when she arrived. Not the formalities that engulfed her. She found herself treated like any guest. A housekeeper arrived to bring her to her chamber. A maid waited there to unpack her valise and to aid her undressing for a rest. Before leaving, the maid promised to wake her to prepare for dinner.

  She checked her pocket watch and judged there to be at least three hours before the maid would return. Since she felt no need to r
est, being stuck here annoyed her. In the least Stratton could have invited her to explore the house and garden on her own if he did not want her company right away.

  She did not know how lovers were treated when trysts were arranged, but she had never guessed she would be bored.

  * * *

  The butler accompanied Adam upstairs. While he went through the predictable steps of being settled in, his mind timed how Clara’s own welcome was progressing.

  “We have prepared the apartment for you, Your Grace. A footman, Timothy, will serve you. He is experienced as a valet.”

  “Excellent.” They would be showing Clara her chamber now.

  Adam turned on the landing to ascend to the next level, where his apartment spread.

  The butler did not. “Your Grace, we moved everything to the duke’s apartment. I hope we did not err.”

  Her maid is unpacking her valise now.

  “Not at all.” He accompanied the butler to the door of the chambers last used by his father and steeled himself against an onslaught of memories.

  He had not been to Kengrove Abbey since the day his father’s remains were transported north. He had not intended to enter these private spaces on this visit. Now, with the butler on his heels, he turned the latch with foreboding.

  The doors swung wide, revealing a foreign place. He paced inside, accommodating his reaction. Nothing at all remained of the apartment he knew. Nothing of the last duke. These chambers might have been in another house. She is inspecting the chambers and the prospects from the windows now.

  He had intended to avoid the memories, but now he felt robbed of them. “What happened here? Who made these changes?”

  “The duchess, Your Grace. Letters came from France with her instructions, long ago.”

  His own books now filled the shelves in the sitting room. His own garments filled the new wardrobe. He entered the bedchamber. Every item of furniture had been changed and the walls repainted and papered. The bed had even been placed differently.

  “What did you do with my father’s things?”

  “They were boxed and placed in the attic.”

  “And his personal papers?”

  “Sent to Drewsbarrow, Your Grace.”

  “Leave me,” he said. “Tell Timothy I will not want him until dinner.”

  The door quietly closed behind the butler. Adam took one more tour of the foreign apartment. It had been his mother’s decision to do this. She must have guessed that he would avoid making changes himself.

  She might have told him. Not knowing, he had resisted coming here since he returned to England. This had been their true home, not Drewsbarrow in Warwickshire. He had grown up here and in London. It might have been years before he used the apartment if it had not been redone.

  He concluded that he liked the changes. He would not mind using the chambers because they did not hold those memories. They would be found elsewhere, of course. Eventually he would face them, but not for a long while yet.

  Her maid is undressing her and inviting her to rest from her journey.

  He removed his coats and rolled up his sleeves. He returned to the bedchamber and eyed one wall. The panels had been painted, but not removed. He placed his palm on one of them and gently pressed.

  Finally he found the spot where the panel’s edge eased beneath his pressure. A faint click sounded, and the panel swung out.

  Good, safe places, the solicitor had said. This was one of them, and there were others.

  The first thing he saw was a stack of money. Mr. Leland would be shocked to know that many families did in fact keep thousands of banknotes in their homes.

  He pushed those aside, then reached in to see what else hid behind the wall. She is alone now. The maid has left.

  Five minutes later the contents of the hiding place lay on the bed. They included no jewelry. There were other such safekeeping places here at the Abbey that also should be examined.

  He would take care of that later. Right now, other things claimed his attention, like the lovely guest in one of the chambers above.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She wandered around her bedchamber. The maid had turned down the bedclothes and closed the drapes. She pushed the fabric aside so the light of one window would allow her to see the appointments. This chamber must have been decorated fairly recently since it showed gothic elements still coming into vogue.

  The grounds below did not look like a typical garden. Rather, little pools, hills, and plantings created vignettes of great appeal. None of the flower beds looked planned, although she knew great care went into such horticultural designs.

  Hands circled her waist. Warmth pressed her back. A kiss thrilled the side of her neck. Stratton’s face flanked hers and he gazed out alongside her. “It was my mother’s doing,” he said of the garden.

  She leaned against him and he wrapped her in his arms. “I feared I would be a prisoner up here, and all alone.”

  “It was my intention to be a considerate host and allow you to rest from your journey.” He kissed her neck again. “Then other intentions conquered that idea.”

  “Your other intentions are far more interesting.”

  One of his arms moved up her body. His hand stroked her breast, making her gasp. His mouth pressed her neck’s pulse. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the delicious sensations.

  His caresses both soothed and excited her. She no longer wondered about her decision. Of course she had come. For this. For the pleasure and the intimacy. For the chance to feel wanted and cared for.

  The touch on her breast aroused her mercilessly. With her back to him she could only accept the way he teased her toward delirium. Her body tensed with anticipation when his other hand began unbuttoning her undressing gown. His slow progress drove her mad with impatience. Firm from her need, her breasts reacted to the slightest stimulation, even the movement of the cloth of her chemise against their tips.

  He pulled her undressing gown down, and it pooled at her feet. He held both her breasts and gently rubbed the tips with his thumbs. “Is this what you are begging for?”

  She could barely speak, and her mind knew only pleasure and want. As the pleasure grew and spread she flexed against him, her hips pressing his arousal again and again.

  Impatience soon plagued her again, until she wanted to cry. She grasped the shoulders of her chemise and pulled them down, so she would feel his touch on her skin. He stripped it down farther, until she was naked in his arms.

  Her arousal grew and grew until it became a beautiful power that consumed her consciousness. She let him support her and embraced the abandon. The way he touched her felt too good to bear, and each touch and caress only made her want more.

  She ached for what he had done the last time, for his mouth on her breasts and stomach, for his hand pressing up between her legs, for the insanity of having pleasure unhinge her until nothing else existed.

  His teeth closed on her earlobe and nipped gently. “I promise that tonight I will take you slowly, but it has been too long and I need you now.” His hand slid down her body to her thighs. He turned her enough so he could kiss her. He held her like that and ravished her mouth while he stroked at her pulsating lower lips.

  Each long, hidden caress sent a silent reverberation clanging through her entire body, each one stronger and more thorough in gathering her need into a furious demand for something more, something complete, something final.

  He moved her and bent her and pressed her back. He no longer embraced her. Instead she felt brocade beneath her hands. She leaned over the thick arm of the divan face down, her hips resting on its high bulk and her legs dangling down its side.

  It seemed a while that he left her like that, posed so scandalously. Then he caressed up her back and over her bottom. One firm palm remained on the small of her back, but his other hand sought again the source of her madness.

  The sensation undid her. Sharp, deep and intense, it made her scream. She tried to swallow the sou
nd, but she could not.

  She felt him then, entering her, first slowly then hard. The intensity centered on his fullness and his thrusts. She knew relief at first, but then a trembling began and grew, one she could not control. The hard tremors frightened her, and his movements only made them stronger. Her body seemed to disappear except for where they joined, and the intensity tightened into something painful but compelling. It twisted tighter until suddenly the tremor coursed through her in a powerful wave of sensation that submerged her.

  * * *

  Sight returned, but damned little strength came with it. He grasped the arm of the divan with both hands, steadying himself lest he collapse on top of Clara. Limp and silent, she did not make a sound now, but the chamber still reverberated with her howl of joy a few moments ago.

  He bent to press a kiss on the small of her back and then on the soft flesh of her bottom. Even now, sated from a staggering release, the eroticism of her pose entranced him.

  He fixed his garments, then lifted her to her feet. With a scoop he picked her up and carried her to the bed. She nestled onto the pillow while he drew the sheet over her. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm and looked him over through heavily lidded eyes.

  “You certainly know how to make houseguests feel welcome.”

  “I try my best.”

  “If that is your best, it is spectacular.” She rubbed the fabric of his sleeve between two fingers. “You did not undress, and you appear ready to meet the queen. I, on the other hand—” She looked down at the gentle hills of her body beneath the sheet.

  He bent to kiss her. “I will have the maid sent to you in an hour, and a bath as well if you want.”

  “A bath will be wonderful, assuming I can move by then.”

  “I will see you later.” He turned to leave.

  She turned on her side and snuggled the pillow. “I can still feel you. Can still feel what happened,” she murmured sleepily.

  As could he. He gently stroked her cheek and watched her fall asleep, then sought his own chambers.

  Unlike Clara, he did not sleep. He did not even rest. He continued what he had been doing before thoughts of her led him to her chamber.