Nothing Compares to the Duke

by Christy Carlyle

  “Nick, say nothing of this to anyone. Not even Mina.”

  He gave one curt nod. “You have my word.”

  They started out of the study and Rhys followed his friend toward the door, but Nick stopped short.

  “Answer one question?”

  Something told Rhys he was going to hate the question, but he nodded in agreement.

  “Do you love Miss Prescott?”

  “Of course.” That was possibly the easiest answer he’d ever given in his life.

  Nick waved his hand in the air. “No, not as a girl you’ve known since you were a child. You know what I mean. Are you beguiled by her?”

  That answer was plain too. Of late, he thought of little beyond the moments they’d shared together and when he might see her again.

  “Never mind,” Nick said with a grin. “I knew the answer from the way you speak of her.”

  “I haven’t gambled in too long. I’m losing my ability to bluff.”

  “Love has a way of getting past our defenses.”

  Rhys tugged at his cravat. The last thing he wanted was a bloody lecture about romance.

  “A bit of advice?” Nick asked. “You did the same for me once, if you recall.”

  “Vaguely.”

  “You must tell her.”

  “No.” Rhys shook his head. On this point, he would not waver. “I’ve been a self-serving bastard for years, but even I have my limits. Bella deserves better.”

  Nick narrowed his gaze but seemed to finally relent. “Very well. Suit yourself. But remember one incontrovertible truth.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Women always discover the truth.” Nick opened the library door and headed into the hallway, calling back, “Especially the clever ones.”

  “The minister’s cat is an adorable, beautiful, coy, delightful, elegant, frisky cat,” Meg said with a triumphant smile, pleased that she’d been able to remember all the other adjectives that had come before.

  The parlor game was a simple test of memory, and Bella’s mind immediately filled with fresh ideas for more challenging memory tests that she could add to her book. She could even add an explanation of how one could employ strategies to aid with memory.

  “Your turn, Miss Prescott,” the Duchess of Tremayne called to her.

  Unfortunately, she hadn’t heard the last word that had been added to the description. Something that started with g.

  Meg cupped a hand around her mouth and with a very bad attempt at subtlety mouthed, Gregarious.

  Bella sat up straight on the settee and steadily recited the familiar sentence, including all of the adjectives that had come before while her mind considered what she might add.

  As she finished Rhys stepped into the drawing room and everything seemed more vibrant. “Handsome,” she blurted, then corrected, “Handsome cat.”

  His grin made her heart tumble in her chest.

  “What are we playing and is it too late to join?” the duke asked his wife.

  “Minister’s Cat,” she told him as she stood to reach for the bellpull. “But we were just at the point when it becomes tedious. A bit of refreshment and conversation seems far preferable now that you two have rejoined us.”

  Rhys glanced at the empty spot on the settee beside Bella, and she scooted closer to the edge to make room for him. The cushions dipped when he dropped down next to her, tipping her toward him. Their bodies came together, his arm against hers and their thighs pressed together. He made no move to pull away. Neither did she.

  “Having fun?” he asked quietly.

  “I am. The duchess seems very intelligent and kind.”

  “Then you have much in common.”

  Bella glanced at him and tried not to let the compliment set her cheeks aflame. She was already feeling exponentially warmer because he was next to her and his body was like a furnace. She’d remembered that from Margate. Other than the waltz dance lesson for Meg, their bodies hadn’t been this close since that day.

  Rhys seemed to be thinking the same. His breath quickened and he licked his lips.

  “Bella—”

  “Will you go first?” Meg appeared in front of them and Bella had missed whatever she’d said before her question to her brother. “You’ve very good at charades and I’ve nominated you to go first.”

  “Meg, you’ve always been better at the game and you know it.” He glanced toward the duchess. “I forfeit my nomination and pass it to my sister.”

  Meg giggled and reached for the first prompt that the Duchess of Tremayne had written on a slip of paper. “Oh goodness,” she said when she read whatever was written there. A moment later she moved to the center of the room and held up three fingers, indicating the number of words in the answer.

  “We should talk,” Rhys whispered, and sat forward on the settee, as if intrigued by his sister’s performance. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I don’t like it.”

  “I haven’t. Not entirely,” Bella whispered back, her eyes fixed on Meg. “But I agree we should talk.”

  “Tonight. Alone.”

  “That’s impossible. You know I’m lodging with the Tremaynes.” Bella laughed at Meg’s antics. “Is it love?” she said when the girl made the shape of a heart with her fingers.

  Meg nodded excitedly.

  “I could feign illness,” Bella told him under her breath.

  Rhys chuckled. “Falsehood is becoming far too easy for you, Miss Prescott. You needn’t lie. I’ll just tell them I want you to see Claremont House and that I’ll return you soon. We are betrothed and are allowed certain liberties.”

  “Labour,” the Duke of Tremayne called out.

  “Love’s Labour’s Lost,” Rhys said before Meg could move on to the third word.

  “Yes, that’s it.” With a look around the room, she added, “Did I not tell you my brother was good at charades?”

  “Perhaps too good. It’s unfair to everyone else,” Rhys said with a hint of his usual bravado. “Rather than stay and ruin the game for everyone, I’m going to steal my fiancée away for a few minutes.”

  “Absconding with my guests isn’t allowed, Your Grace.” Bella couldn’t discern whether the duchess’s tone was serious or amused. “Where exactly are you taking her?”

  Rhys stood and reached behind him, offering Bella his hand. “Home.”

  He said the word at the same moment her fingers laced with his, and both the sentiment and his touch sent a shiver down her arm.

  “If Bella is to live at Claremont House for even part of the year, she should make it her own. I thought a visit was in order.”

  He tugged and Bella got to her feet.

  “I’m sorry to depart so abruptly, Your Grace,” she told the duchess.

  “Well, according to the Duke of Claremont, he’ll return you soon, so I’ll allow it.” She winked and took a sip of her sherry as Rhys led Bella toward the town house’s front door.

  “I fear we were rude,” Bella told him, though he didn’t slow down and neither did she.

  “Honestly, Bella, if I don’t get you alone and to myself soon, I would have been more than rude.”

  Rhys handed Bella up the carriage step and onto a bench.

  She wanted him to sit beside her. Instead he took the opposite bench. In the darkness, his expression was unreadable. He said nothing and that alone was so unlike him that she feared he was cross with her or wished to call off their engagement before her parents had even departed.

  He was right in some respects. She had been avoiding him, but it wasn’t because she hadn’t wished to see him. It was because she wanted to too much.

  Lifting a hand, she twisted her finger around her necklace chain. Perhaps he was angry because unlike simply telling her parents and a few villagers in Essex, the news had spread to London now and tonight he’d had to live out a lie in front of people he knew well.

  “I’m sorry you have to deceive your friends.”

  He’d been looking out the carriage window and snapped his
head toward her. “We agreed we’d do this together. And I didn’t lie to Tremayne. I told him the truth, but you needn’t worry. Nick is a man who knows how to keep secrets.”

  “You told him this is a ruse?” Bella was incredulous. He knew she’d confided in Louisa but they’d both agreed that no one else should know.

  “He knows me better than most. I couldn’t hide anything from him.” He leaned toward her, inching toward the edge of his seat. “I’ve made him vow not to tell anyone, even the duchess. We can trust him.”

  Before Bella could voice her worries, the very short drive to Claremont House was over. Rhys exited the carriage and helped her down. Saying nothing, he led her toward the front door and dismissed the young maid who admitted them.

  “Promise we won’t divulge this secret to anyone else,” she said quietly in case any other servants might be nearby.

  He turned to her, backed her up against the door, and stroked his fingers against her cheek. Then he dipped his head and kissed her.

  It was against the rules they’d made. They’d vowed not to do this anymore. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t lose herself in Rhys Forester ever again.

  Yet all things she knew had nothing to do with what she felt.

  He was what she felt, the firm heated length of his body against hers. And she wanted more of him. She wanted to make him cry her name because of the way she touched him, and she wanted him to use his fingers and tongue to make her unravel again.

  “Yes,” she told him, and the word came out more breath than sound. Yes, to another kiss. Yes, to more lovemaking. Yes, to breaking their rules. She’d thought of little else for days.

  With utmost care, he cupped her face in his hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “You’re so soft. Like warm satin under my fingers.”

  Bella tipped her mouth up to his, waiting for his kiss. She thought she knew now what kissing Rhys again would be, but when his lips came down on hers this was different.

  The kiss began tender, a gentle exploration, sweet and familiar. But when she reached for his waistcoat and worked the buttons free so that she could flatten her palm against his chest, he deepened the kiss. He stroked her with his tongue, slid his hand back to wrap his fingers around her nape.

  He kissed her hungrily, possessively.

  Bella opened to him. She wanted him. She always had, and she reveled in how much he wanted her too. She felt it in every stroke of his tongue and in the way he tugged at her clothes as he leaned his body into hers.

  “Do you have any idea,” he said against her lips, “how impossible it is.” He kissed the side of her mouth, then traced the edge of her lower lip with his tongue. “Bella,” he whispered with a desperation that made her center melt with need. “It’s impossible to be close to you and not do this. Not think about this.”

  “Rhys,” Bella hissed when he licked the spot behind her ear.

  “I know. We should stop.”

  “Yes,” she told him, as she worked the knotted fabric of his cravat loose. “But only so that you can take me upstairs.”

  He stilled, one hand gripping her hip, the other tangled in her freshly mussed chignon.

  “What is it?” she asked him.

  “When you say things like that and I’m in the state I am, I have to take a moment and make certain I’m not dreaming.”

  Bella tugged his cravat until the fabric slid from his neck, baring more of his skin to her view. She couldn’t resist stretching up onto her toes and pressing a kiss at the base of his throat. She was rewarded with a moan and the rapid beat of his pulse against her lips.

  “I can’t be the only woman who’s asked you to take her to your bed,” she said teasingly.

  For a moment, a bit of fire went out of his gaze. Then he reached for her hand, opened two buttons at the top of his shirt and pressed her palm against his bare chest.

  “Feel that? Only you make this happen.”

  His heart pounded erratically under her hand. Hard and wild.

  “This isn’t just impulse,” he rasped when Bella reached up with her free hand to release more of his shirt buttons. “This is desire.”

  Yes, desire, hunger, need. And something more. Feelings she couldn’t yet name and knew he feared too. Words that might destroy this moment.

  Bella swept his shirt aside and explored the muscled ridges of his chest, then dragged her fingertip over his nipple. “If you don’t want to take me upstairs—”

  He stopped with one deep breath-stealing kiss that left her knees quivering.

  “I do.” He stroked a hand down her neck. “Shall we race? For old times’ sake.”

  Rather than answer, Bella ducked under his arm, lifted her skirt to keep it from tangling around her ankles, and bolted for the staircase.

  Chapter Twenty

  He let her win. In the hallway at the top of the stairs, she stopped and swung to face him. She was breathing hard, her eyes sparkling, and she swiped some of the long strands of wavy auburn hair behind her ear.

  “I don’t know which room is yours.”

  For a moment he had the impulse to direct her to a guest room. He’d decorated his own room lavishly, thinking only of his own taste and being excessive and making every inch of the chamber look decadent. Now, for the first time, he cared how someone else might perceive what he’d done.

  But he didn’t want any pretense between them. Bella knew him better than anyone. She knew secrets he’d confided to no other. He wasn’t going to start pretending now.

  “On your left.”

  She immediately twisted the latch and stepped inside. He heard a gasp before he reached the threshold.

  Perhaps he had gone a bit overboard with ostentation.

  He watched her from the doorway. She worked pins from her hair as she explored, running her fingers along the statue of the Egyptian goddess Hathor. In front of the medieval tapestry, she tilted her head to take in the details. The Chinese vase atop a tall carved cherrywood stand seemed to fascinate her, and she reached out and then pulled back as if afraid to topple it.

  “You may touch anything you like.” His body responded the minute the words were out, because there were several aching parts of him craving her touch.

  She smiled at his words and lifted onto her toes to stroke her hands along the fronds of the potted palm in the corner.

  Mercy, how he wanted those hands on him.

  “It’s very—”

  “Overdone. A mishmash. You see what I do when left to my own devices. I need someone with better taste in decoration to advise me.”

  Her. He realized all at once that he wanted Bella to be the one to take the room and make it her own. Theirs. The thought made a shiver slide down his spine.

  She wouldn’t ever be his that way. There would be no wedding. This wasn’t ever going to be their home.

  After circling the room, she came to stand in front of him. “I love it. There’s beauty and history in every corner, and you have excellent taste.”

  Before he could offer any reply, she turned her back to him.

  “Undo my buttons?” With one hand, she swept her hair off of her neck. The other came down on his thigh as she pressed her backside against his groin.

  Rhys inhaled sharply but he didn’t want her to stop.

  “You did say I could touch whatever I want.”

  “Oh, you can.” He made quick work of her buttons and spread the edges of her gown to run his hands down her back.

  She let out a little ah of pleasure and then shifted her hand. With a gentle, tentative touch, she drew her fingers down the length of him, shaping her hand around him.

  He told himself to let her explore, but he couldn’t stop from bucking against her when she stroked her hand up and then down again.

  “That feels perfect but—”

  “I know,” she whispered before letting him go.

  He bent and kissed her shoulder, swept her chemise aside, and kissed the side of her neck. Without intending to, he see
med to have found a ticklish spot.

  She stepped out of his arms and headed for the bed, working at the clasps of her corset on the way. By the time she reached the dais on which the bed stood, she’d shed her corset, and as she headed toward the bed, she stepped out of her petticoat.

  Like a temptress, she watched him while she tugged at the single ribbon closure of her chemise and then let the garment fall from her shoulders.

  Desire hit him like the tide at Margate, sneaking in and threatening to pull him under. There was pure physical need to have her body under his, over his, to be inside her. But there was more with Bella. Always more. Tenderness. Affection.

  Love.

  Allowing himself to acknowledge the feeling made his heart thrash with fear.

  Biting her lip, she loosed the ribbon on her drawers and pulled them wide as if to let them fall too but she didn’t let go of the fabric. She watched him and inched the fabric down as if to tease him.

  He approached and stood below her. With Bella on the raised platform, they were almost equal in height. He stroked a hand along her stomach, then up between her breasts. She shivered and her perfect nipples pebbled under his fingertips. He bent to take one into his mouth. Bella stroked her hand through his hair, pulling him close.

  “Rhys,” she said, almost as a plea.

  He lifted his head, then bent to taste her again, treating the other nipple to the same languorous licks and suckling. Sliding his hand around her waist, he pushed at the fabric of her drawers until he could cup her backside in his hands and the garment slid down her legs.

  “You’re the loveliest woman I’ve ever seen.”

  For the first time, she looked shy, uncertain.

  He wrapped an arm around her waist and the warmth of her bare skin against him seemed the best gift he’d ever been given. Holding her like this was becoming all that he wanted. She shifted and his body was so sensitive and aching for her, he groaned. Apparently, holding wasn’t all that he wanted.

  “You’re wearing an impractical amount of clothing,” she told him when she reached for the fastening of his trousers.

  Rhys grinned. He imagined that being impractical was the worst character flaw Bella could imagine of anyone.