No Dukes Allowed

by Grace Burrowes

  Everything had changed between them.

  Again.

  Chapter Five

  * * *

  Max watched Belinda over the rim of his wineglass. His attention tonight focused solely on her, despite being in the company of sixty other guests at His Majesty’s small dinner in the Pavilion’s grand banqueting hall.

  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Dressed in a gown of dark blue silk that shimmered beneath the lamplight of the three-tiered crystal chandeliers, she was simply radiant. Her skin was luminescent against the sapphires she wore around her neck and at her ears, made to appear even more satin-soft by the curls of her auburn hair piled high onto her head. Every inch of her was perfection, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d taken such care with her appearance tonight because of him. Because this was the first time he’d seen her in all her formal splendor.

  But knowing Belinda, it wasn’t to show herself off or titillate with how breathtaking she was. No. It was an imperious warning of exactly what he was getting himself into with such a powerful duchess.

  Yet she had no idea how proud he was of the woman she’d become. Or how captivated he was by her.

  She belonged at his side. Tonight proved that. A connection stretched between them like a ribbon tying them together. One that had always been there, even during the years when half the world—and her marriage—had been between them.

  She felt it, too, based upon the way she’d leaned close to him during the reception in the saloon before dinner, when she’d not removed her hand from his arm even as they’d chatted with the other guests. The little gesture was just possessive enough to spin heated arrogance through him to think that every other man in the room wanted to be in his boots tonight when he escorted her home. Alone. Even now, seated by precedence at opposite ends of the massive table, she took surreptitious glances in his direction.

  Another glance… He rakishly raised a brow as his lips curled in private innuendo.

  Caught, she quickly turned away, but not before a flustered blush pinked her cheeks.

  Seated beside her, Pomperly narrowed his eyes in irritation. But Max only gave the man a slow, confident smile, and the duke haughtily lited his nose into the air.

  Her rank as a duchess had put Belinda right beside Pomperly, despite her scheme to be free of him. Against Belinda’s best attempts to keep conversation balanced between guests on her left and right sides, Pomperly was always turned toward her in his effort to monopolize her attention. But he never managed to keep it long before her gaze strayed once more down the table.

  Surprisingly, Max felt not one jot of jealousy toward Pomperly. Belinda was on his arm tonight, and his world pulsed electric because of it.

  The last course finished. Everyone stood, the women to go through to the saloon and the gentlemen to rise in courtesy to the women.

  Seizing the moment, Max circled the table to come up behind her and stopped her with a touch to her elbow. Then he leaned down to bring his mouth close to her ear so that he wouldn’t be overheard.

  With an amused roll of her eyes, she interrupted before he could speak, “If you’re going to say that I’m lovely, then—”

  “Not lovely.”

  That surprised her. She glanced at him, wide-eyed, over her shoulder.

  “Tonight, you’re simply breathtaking,” he murmured. She’d always appreciated bluntness, so… “I’m out of my mind with desire for you.”

  She caught her breath. That soft inhalation pulsed through her and into him, warming him through with a longing he hadn’t felt in ten years.

  “I want nothing more tonight than to get you alone to prove it,” he admitted quietly.

  For a moment, she didn’t move, letting that possibility whirl inside her mind. Then she admonished gently in a breathless whisper, “Maxwell, the pensioners…”

  “Let them find their own women,” he teased, purposefully diverting her from the objection she was about to raise, the problem that now stood between them like a wall. “I want you all to myself, Belinda.” Hospitals and academies be damned. After spending the evening in her presence, seeing the sparkle in her eyes and hearing the soft lilt of her laughter, his patience hung by a thread. It was all he could do not to toss her over his shoulder at this very moment, to march her straight down to the beach and make love to her. “And I intend to have you.”

  He released her elbow and stepped back before he lingered too long and gained unwanted attention from the other guests.

  Not daring to look at her again, now that he’d made a frontal charge and significantly raised the stakes of the attraction between them, he snatched up a cigar and bottle of port from trays carried into the room by half a dozen footmen. But he knew she was staring, because he could feel the heat of her bewildered gaze on him the entire time she slowly left the room to join the ladies.

  “So it’s Brigadier Thorpe, is it?”

  He didn’t recognize the voice at his side as he turned back toward the table. But he should have known—

  The Duke of Pomperly, who had clearly sought him out on purpose during these few moments when the men were all changing seats and settling in for conversation over port and cigars.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Max smiled coolly as he set the bottle of port on the table, claiming a new chair halfway down the table but still toward the bottom of the hierarchy. “I don’t think we’ve yet had the pleasure of being introduced.”

  “Surprising, since we have such a dear friend in common.” He ignored the opening for proper introductions and plucked at an invisible piece of lint on his kerseymere coat sleeve. “Her Grace seems quite enamored of you.”

  Dear God, he hoped so! “We’ve known each other for years.”

  If Pomperly caught the territorial presumption in that casual reply, he didn’t show it. “General Mortimer assures me that you’re very well respected within the ranks. That he knows no one else currently serving His Majesty who is as fine a soldier as you.”

  Max reached for the brazier the footman placed in front of him to light his cigar. “General Mortimer is too generous.”

  “He also feels that you would be the perfect man for the new post in Africa.” Pomperly tugged at his jacket sleeves, his old-fashioned ruffled cuffs getting in the way. “Whoever gets that position will be a very fortunate man. His career opportunities will be endless.”

  A warning pricked at his gut. “A very fortunate man, indeed.”

  And a man who wasn’t him. His future was right here, in Brighton.

  Pomperly’s attention returned to the invisible lint on his sleeve. “You should know that I have connections within the War Office and, of course, as you’ve seen tonight, a close relationship with His Majesty.”

  Max’s gaze flicked across the room to King George, who most likely wasn’t even aware that Pomperly was in attendance.

  “I’m also an old friend of the duchess.” Pomperly’s nose tilted into the air with an arrogant pride. “A very dear friend, you understand.”

  Max tensed at the innuendo that Belinda’s acquaintance with the duke was an intimate one, unprepared for the hot jealousy that flashed through him. And for his pity for the duke that immediately followed, because Pomperly was a fool to think that Belinda would ever give herself to a man like him.

  “I could help you acquire the Africa post.”

  Ah, there it was! The reason Pomperly had sought him out.

  “I would be happy to put in a good word for you.”

  Yes, Max was quite certain of it. After all, it would be damned hard for him to interfere in the duke’s pursuit of Belinda if he was in Africa.

  “I appreciate your generosity, but I’m committed to the Brighton academy.” He puffed at the cigar, sending a cloud of smoke into the air. Then he pointed it at Pomperly and smiled. “But I’ll be certain to let Her Grace know of your offer… when I escort her home tonight.”

  Snatching up the bottle of port, Max walked away, ending the conversation before Pompe
rly said something that made him pummel the man senseless and get himself court-martialed.

  Blowing out a hard sigh, he sank into an empty chair near General Mortimer and poured himself a glass. He nearly laughed to see his shaking hand, which was trembling with equal desire to both punch Pomperly and to caress Belinda.

  Then he leaned back in the chair, letting his pounding heart slowly return to its normal beat. At that he did chuckle to himself. Because nothing about his heart would ever be normal again.

  If he successfully established the academy, he would be promoted, and everything he’d ever wanted would be his. A successful career in the army, a post in England…

  But not Belinda. The one thing he wanted most of all.

  He thought he’d put the past behind him and found a way to move on without her. But that was before he’d seen her again. Before he’d kissed her and remembered all the reasons why he’d once fallen in love with her. And why a part of him had never stopped.

  Yet old scars often gave way to new wounds, and if he couldn’t find a compromise for the hospital and academy—and soon—he feared he would lose her all over again.

  Led by the king, the gentlemen launched into animated stories about horses and hounds, as was to be expected in after-dinner conversation, along with the more bawdy stories that were certain to follow once the port was half gone. In Africa or India or England, whether of rank or not—none of that made any difference whenever a group of men gathered after dinner. The stories were all the same, the boasts just as unbelievable, the jokes just as coarse. Only the fineness of their clothes and the quality of their drink signified any difference.

  Including King George, who was proving himself to be the loudest and bawdiest of all. Max had never been in such close proximity to His Majesty before tonight. Despite being a baron’s son, he’d certainly never moved in the kinds of circles that gave access to royalty, and he wasn’t prepared for the way the king insisted that the men behave as if this were no different from any other after-dinner gathering in any other gentleman’s house.

  The forced sense of casualness should have unnerved him, along with the way Pomperly continued to send him narrowed glares when the duke wasn’t doing his best to ingratiate himself with the king. But all he could think about was Belinda and how beautiful she looked tonight. How flustered she’d become when he said he wanted her. How much he longed to hold her in his arms and caress her, to taste her sweetness and hear the soft mewlings of pleasure that would fall from her lips—

  He rose to his feet. “Would you excuse me for a moment, Your Majesty?”

  No one cared that he’d breached protocol by addressing the sovereign before the king had spoken to him. Least of all King George, who waved a drunken hand in his direction to signal that he didn’t care what Max did.

  “Unable to tolerate all the fine food and drink, eh, Thorpe?” General Mortimer called out. “Thought His Majesty’s officers were made of stronger stuff than that!”

  He laughed good-naturedly, not falling for the bait. “I’d like to catch a bit of air to clear my head before we return to the ladies.” He paused just long enough for effect before adding, “As Her Grace’s escort, it’s best to have all my wits about me.”

  The men laughed at that, having been on the receiving end of Belinda’s razor-sharp wit themselves. Except for Pomperly, whose mouth tightened into a hard line.

  Even as Max sauntered from the room, his mind whirled to figure out a way to clear Belinda from his head long enough to get through the evening without embarrassing—

  He stopped. And slowly smiled.

  Belinda waited in the hallway, as if they’d planned a rendezvous.

  “Tired already of all those pleasures you men insist on keeping secret from us ladies?” Despite her teasing, an unspoken challenge laced through her words.

  He stalked toward her, shamelessly raking his gaze over her. His gut twisted, the urge to possess her so strong that he throbbed with it. “Those aren’t the pleasures I’m craving tonight.”

  As he stepped in front of her, so close that he could feel her body warming his, she replied in a throaty murmur, “What pleasures would those be… exactly?”

  “The kind that will leave you breathless and begging.” Not caring if a passing footman might see, he lifted his hand to shamelessly caress the side of her breast.

  The heated tone to his voice was undeniable, even to his own ears. But then, all of him was on fire as he dared to strum his thumb over her nipple through the silk of her dress and draw it into a hard point.

  She forced out between pants, “I don’t beg… for anything.”

  Grinning at her obstinate pride, he slid his hand down her body to clasp hers and promised wickedly, “You will.”

  Then he strode away, pulling her quickly behind him as he led her deeper into the palace. His willing captive.

  When they reached the end of the long gallery, he shot a quick glance behind them to make certain no one would see where they’d gone. Snatching up the candle from the wall sconce, he led her inside the dark waiting room near the king’s apartments, then closed and locked the door.

  He backed her against the door and kissed her. A whimper fell from her lips, and a glorious sensation of triumph poured through him. She wanted him as much as he did her, both physically and emotionally, her heart eagerly waiting for him to reclaim it.

  He let the fierce possessiveness he felt for her invade his kiss, certain from the way she trembled that she could taste it in him. Good. Because nothing and no one—not a post in Africa, not a hospital or academy, not even another damned duke—was going to take her away from him again.

  * * *

  “I plan on giving you all kinds of pleasures tonight, my love,” Max purred. “But we’ll start with this.” Then he licked his tongue around the outer curl of her ear and sent a shiver of raw need coiling through her to land in a heated ache between her legs.

  A soft moan fell from her lips. She could barely believe this was happening, that he was here with her, kissing her. That he wasn’t simply a dream from which she would awaken into tears, exactly as she’d done countless times before. But he was real, and so were the liquid flames of need heating through her.

  He’d changed. He wasn’t the same man she’d fallen in love with all those years ago—he was better. The connection between them was stronger than ever, so was the desire to physically reveal the emotional bond that had never vanished. She loved him, always had. If possible, she loved him even more than before, now that she’d seen firsthand his dedication to his men, now that she’d experienced first-hand his strength and resilience.

  He’d asked for a second chance, and as the old feelings engulfed her anew, she offered up a silent prayer that he’d take this opportunity to love her… tonight and always. Which was why she didn’t stop him when his hands shoved up behind her to unfasten the tiny pearl buttons holding her bodice snugly in place.

  The silk sagged over her breasts, then fell away completely as he swept his hands over her shoulders and pushed the soft material down her arms, baring her to the flickering shadows of candlelight.

  A low growl sounded from the back of his throat as his hot gaze raked over her. “You’re not wearing stays.”

  She wasn’t wearing anything beneath the silk except for stockings. This dress fit too tightly, its specially made bodice reinforced to lift her bosom and hold it in place. She’d chosen this dress tonight precisely because of that, hoping in the secret recesses of her heart that something exactly like this would happen.

  But now that it was—

  She inhaled a nervous breath and asked softly, “Am I… am I what you’d imagined?”

  “No,” he admitted. That single word seared through her, nearly undoing her before he added, “You’re more beautiful than I’d ever dreamed.”

  Happiness burst through her. The way she’d always imagined this moment was nothing compared to the heated reality of it, with his smoldering gaze lingering
over her flesh as if he’d never seen a woman before. Her nipples drew up taut as he drank in the sight of her, and arching her back as a wave of female power surged through her, she shamelessly let him look his fill.

  Then she granted him the permission he sought. “Give me the pleasure of your touch, Maxwell.”

  “Like this?” He lightly traced his thumb over her nipple. Barely a touch at all, but electricity jolted through her. As he continued to circle her in a reverent, featherlight caress, a damp heat grew between her thighs.

  She bit back a pleading whimper, wanting more. He obliged and claimed her breasts in both hands, her fullness nearly spilling over as he massaged them against his palms.

  She gasped as he lowered his head to take one between his lips and suck. Oh, simply exquisite! She brought her hands to the back of his head and dug her fingers into his soft curls to press his mouth harder against her.

  He laughed at her eagerness, and the deep sound rumbled into her. Her breath came so labored now that her breasts rose and fell fiercely against his mouth, and he suckled at her again, this time drawing her deep with each hard suck that left his cheeks hollow from the ferocity of it. She felt each great pull shoot through her to the merciless throbbing at her core, and a low moan tore from her.

  “You like that,” he murmured against her breast. The tip of his tongue teased at her nipple before he nipped playfully at her.

  Oh, she did! But now that he was hers, now that her love for him could be set free, she wanted so much more and panted out in a wicked challenge, “What… other pleasures… do you crave?”

  In answer, he grabbed her hands and pinned her arms over her head as his mouth captured hers, surprising her with his swiftness and catching her openmouthed. His tongue plunged between her lips to ravish the kiss in great, deep sweeps of possession.