The Duke

by Gaelen Foley

  She widened her eyes. “My goodness, Robert.”

  He gave her a lazy, wicked smile and when he spoke, his words were soft, slow, and lulling. “Isn’t that what you want, Belinda? A man who will kiss your feet? A man who worships the ground you walk on? Isn’t that what you demand, what you deserve? Well, isn’t it?”

  She could only stare at him, enthralled. He sent her a smoldering glance and licked the inside of her ankle, then bent his head and slowly covered her feet in adoring kisses. Entranced, she watched the supple play of muscle in his shoulders, arms, and chest while he caressed her legs, his touch roaming higher up her thighs.

  Her chest heaved with want by the time he lifted his smoldering stare to meet her gaze. When he spoke, his voice sounded husky. “Stand, Belinda, please.”

  She did not even think of disobeying. Every inch of her body sang with tingling sensation as she rose on rather wobbly legs, water coursing down her skin. Crouching beside the tub, he stared up at her body, roseate in the firelight. Her breasts jutted with full arousal in the chilly air. Her aureoles were dark and turgid, her nipples aching for his touch.

  His stare was one of rapt awe. “There is no amount of money that could ever entitle a man to so much beauty,” he breathed.

  She moaned his name and reached for his shoulders to steady herself. He grasped her gently by the hips and kissed her stomach. She raked her fingers through his hair, vaguely astonished that she wasn’t afraid. His hands glided back to her derriere and his lips skimmed the top of her lower hairline—neatly trimmed, as a courtesan’s should be.

  She could feel his warm breath deliciously penetrating her most sensitive core. She ached, wet for him between her thighs even as her skin dried from the bath. She struggled for sanity, knowing it was a losing battle.

  “This is not in our agreement,” she said faintly.

  “I know. God, I know.” He nuzzled her belly with his lips. “I want to taste you.”

  No longer waiting for permission, he dipped his head and pressed a bold kiss to her mound. She groaned. He touched her lightly with his thumb, then caressed with more pressure, and just when she thought the pleasure was too much, he followed with his tongue. She exclaimed aloud in wordless ecstasy.

  His erotic kiss deepened, gently tracing her tiny rigid nub with his tongue. She raked her fingers through his thick black hair with a violent surge of want and steadied herself by holding on to his big, steam-slicked shoulders.

  Harriette and Fanny had told her about this act, but never— never had she felt anything that even remotely resembled the bliss he now gave her.

  At length he ordered her to lift her right foot up onto the rim of the tub. He moved between her spread legs and tongued her deeply. Caressing her with his open hand at first, he eased a finger inside of her and groaned against her belly.

  “God, you’re as tight as a virgin.”

  She almost smiled bitterly at his words, but then all thought lifted and flew like a flock of restless birds as he sucked hungrily on her clitoris, working two fingers into her passage until her moans rose to wild cries in a building crescendo. She moved with him, dropping her head back, holding on to his shoulders for dear life as she felt the swift advance of the imminent storm rolling through her. Thunderous joy tingled down her arms, prickled her very scalp. Shudders of ecstasy racked her and then the explosion of passion split through her like a lightning-clap, blinding in its glory. She cried out, gasping, delirious, nearly falling over his shoulders as he drank of her rain until every last droplet of strength ebbed from her body, leaving her weak and trembling.

  She clung to him. “Oh, God, Robert.”

  As her climax dissipated, he stood and swept her into his arms, carrying her to her bed. He yanked back the covers and slid her under the sheet. Bel looked up at him in alarm, thinking that he would take his pleasure of her now, but he merely reached for the blanket and covered her.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, braced himself on his hands, and leaned down to kiss her softly. Then he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. She felt the struggle in his powerful body to hold his burning need in check.

  “God, what are we doing?” he asked in a ragged whisper.

  “I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around him.

  He breathed her name, half a groan of want, and bent lower to kiss her neck. He skimmed her throat with kisses. “You knew this would happen to me, didn’t you? You knew I couldn’t resist. That all you had to do was wait.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair, closing her eyes in fervent rapture. “Is it a good thing, Robert? Are you happy?”

  “So much it terrifies me.” His lashes swept open and he stared into her eyes. “I’ve been alone so long, but when I’m with you, oh, when I’m with you, Bel, the earth sings and the stars dance and I don’t loathe myself so much for a bore.”

  Amazed, she took his beloved face between her hands, smiling with a shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Oh, Robert. You could never bore me. How many times must I tell you?”

  He pulled back with a slight, rueful smile, his dark eyes glowing like a sunset beneath his long black lashes.

  I love you, she wanted to tell him. You changed my life. But she dared not.

  With a final reluctant sigh, he pushed up, rose, and left her bed.

  She came up onto her elbows, taking pleasure in the play of firelight across his smooth, muscled back. “Where are you going, lover?”

  “To dress for Blucher’s party. Will you miss me?”

  “Terribly.”

  He cast her a half smile and threw his discarded shirt, waistcoat, and cravat over his bare shoulder as he sauntered to the door.

  “Robert.”

  Reaching for the doorknob, he turned to her in question, his seductive face sculpted by the deepening shadows and flickering flame.

  She mouthed a silent thank you and blew him a kiss.

  With a sardonic smile, he bowed. “At your service, Miss Hamilton. The pleasure was mine.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A short while later Hawk waited impatiently while Knowles, his valet, put the final touches on his cravat. All the while he argued with his conscience over why he should not pay off the rest of Alfred Hamilton’s debt and see the old fool out of jail. The more he came to care about Belinda, the more he wanted to help her in every possible way.

  On the one hand, fulfilling her father’s debts would have endeared him to her indefinitely, he knew, but the prospect carried serious risks. She had signed their agreement pledging her help, but how could he be sure she would not quit his company and abandon his scheme to snare Dolph the moment she no longer needed the money to free her father? Was it wise to make a gesture that would so openly admit how deeply attached to her he was growing? Moreover, he feared that if he paid off her father’s debts, it would set a risky precedent that anytime she got into a scrape, never fear, Hawkscliffe and his millions would bail her out.

  Lastly, and perhaps most seriously, if old Hamilton learned of his daughter’s true profession, he might come to his senses and play the outraged papa, dragging her away from Hawk. With that realization he violently brushed off the idea of getting Alfred out of jail. No one was going to take that girl away from him.

  “Very good, Your Grace,” his valet said after a last firm adjustment to the white silk knot, then added slyly, “That should catch her eye.”

  Hawk raised an eyebrow at him.

  Knowles politely masked his amusement and bowed. “A splendid evening to you, sir.”

  “Why, thank you, Knowles. I do look rather smart, don’t I?” he added with a grin, then strode out of his chambers and jogged downstairs to wait for Belinda.

  Descending the gliding curve of the staircase, Hawk heard a very strange sound, one he knew well but had not heard in decades: children’s laughter. Indeed—with a particular note of mischief in it. What the devil?

  The second the marble entrance hall came into view, he paused and squinted
, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. There, beneath the chandelier, two small boys were exploring the ancient suit of parade armor that had been given to an ancestor of his by Henry VIII. They were plucking at the jewels and running their grubby fingers along the dulled blade of the gleaming broadsword.

  “Ooo, wow . . .”

  “Look, this could kill someone!”

  “Ahem,” said Hawk.

  Both children shrieked and whipped around, slamming together as Hawk lifted his chin, clasped his hands loosely behind his back, and proceeded the rest of the way down, eyeing them in displeasure. Probably relations of one of his servants, he thought.

  “Pray, gentlemen, that is not to be touched. It is very old. What are you doing out of the servants’ quarters?”

  They didn’t answer, staring up at him in awe. Their eyes were huge as he came to stand before them.

  Folding his arms over his chest, he towered over them, glanced at the armor, and frowned. “You’ve gotten smudges all over it. Now it will have to be polished again.”

  “We’re sorry,” said the taller one, determined to look brave, suddenly.

  “To whom do you belong?”

  They conferred together in whispers over the question, reminding Hawk for all the world of the twins, his middle brothers, Lucien and Damien. As boys, the pair had shared a language all their own and to this day could almost seem to read each other’s minds.

  “Gentlemen, I asked you a question.” Hawk bent down slowly to their eye level.

  “Uh, what was it again?” asked the taller boy, scratching his head.

  “Who is your mother and where is she?”

  They shrugged. Hawk frowned.

  The taller one seemed to gather himself, squaring his shoulders. “Is that yours?” He nodded to the suit of armor.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you ever put it on?”

  Taken aback, Hawk laughed. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “There hasn’t been much occasion. Besides, I’m too tall.”

  “Could I try it?”

  “No. You’re too short. Children, how did you get in my house?”

  “Miss Bel brung us ‘ere,” the littler one piped up.

  “Miss Hamilton?”

  The taller boy gave him a shrewd once-over. “You ‘er fancy man, then?”

  Hawk stared at him blankly. “How do know Miss Hamilton?”

  “She gave us oranges.”

  “What?”

  “Oranges,” said the elder brother, rolling his eyes at the smaller one’s slight lisp. “She gave us oranges when she used to sell them in a basket.”

  “We don’t get no oranges anymore,” said the little one, looking crestfallen.

  Bel walked down the curved marble staircase, marvelously dressed for General Blucher’s party in a diaphanous tunic gown of a pearly Nakara color. A dashing plumed turban on her head, she swung her seed-pearl embroidered reticule from one gloved wrist, humming to herself. But halfway down the staircase, she heard Robert’s exchange with the children.

  She froze.

  She gripped the banister with one hand and pressed the other to her midriff, feeling an aghast knot form in her belly as she overheard Tommy blurt out that humiliating piece of her past that she had never in a thousand years wanted her protector to know.

  Robert’s back was to her as he crouched before the children. “She sold oranges?” he echoed, sounding amazed, as well he might. In the eyes of a fashionable man, a coster-monger was a thousand times more contemptible than a demirep.

  Bel squeezed her eyes shut in mortification, then flicked them open again and stared down at the unlikely trio, feeling trapped. Before she could flee, Andrew saw her and his eyes lit up.

  “Miss Bel!”

  Abandoning Robert, they ran to her, pounding up the steps. Tommy hugged her around her hips and Andrew grabbed her hand, pulling her down to see the suit of armor, both boys chattering with excitement.

  Robert slowly straightened up, folded his arms over his chest, and watched her with an unfathomable expression.

  Bel saw that look and nearly threw up her hands in despair. Just when everything seemed to be going well in her life—just when Robert was finally beginning to see her as worthy of him—why now did he have to find out that his supposedly elegant mistress was a former orange girl? Blast! It wasn’t fair!

  Meanwhile, the children were tugging her every which way.

  “Tommy, you’re going to throw me down the stairs. Let go!” She looked down impatiently to pry the child’s hug free, only to spy grubby fingerprints on her pearly gown. It was the last straw.

  “Blast!” she cried in a thunderous tone above their giddy laughter. “Do you know how much this gown cost me? You’ve ruined it! Now I’ll have to go back upstairs and change and we’re going to be late for the party and I don’t even want to go!”

  “Boys,” Robert ordered sharply, walking over. “Sit. Here.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to the bottom step.

  They slunk away from her and obeyed, staring up at him. They glanced at Bel anxiously. “It was an accident, Miss Bel—”

  “I know, I know,” she said more gently, already feeling the chagrin that followed inevitably in the wake of her outburst. “It’s all right, Tommy. I didn’t mean to yell.” She wished the earth would swallow her.

  Still bright red in the face, she forced herself to look at Robert, dreading to see the lordly disgust she would surely find in his stare. But when she dared glance at him, she found only patience.

  “We don’t have to go. Do you want to stay home?”

  Home, she thought in misery. Is that where I am?

  He took matters into his own capable hands, sending the boys back to Cook for supervision. They didn’t dare disobey him.

  He walked slowly to her and examined the small fingerprints on her dress. “My valet can probably get this out with white wine. If not, we’ll buy you another.”

  His soft tone was her undoing. She covered her face with her hands and sat right down on the step where she had been standing.

  Robert eased down onto the step below her, giving her knee a caress. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “How could I? I didn’t want you to know what I had been reduced to. I have my pride, Robert. I tried everything before turning to this life, you must believe me—”

  “I don’t mean the oranges, darling. I don’t care about that. Why didn’t you tell me you brought those children here?”

  His question startled her. She lifted her head from her hands and gazed at him uncertainly.

  “I will be solely responsible for them, Robert. I swear they won’t make any trouble. I’ll polish the armor myself—”

  “Hush. Where did they come from?”

  “God only knows. I met them when I was an orange seller, before I resolved to see if Harriette would take me on. I tried to look out for them. Today when I saw them, I tried to enroll them in a charity school, but the headmaster wouldn’t take them. They’ll earn their keep, Robert, I promise you that. It’s just that I’m the only adult they know. They’re good boys, if a little rambunctious, and they have nowhere to go. I feel it is my duty to take care of them—”

  “And right now, it’s mine, to take care of you,” he said, gently catching her hand between his.

  She stared at him. “You’re not going to tell me to send them away?”

  “Of course not. Why are you so upset, Belinda?” His voice was low and lulling. “I feel as though there’s something else bothering you. What aren’t you telling me?”

  She gazed longingly at him. “I don’t want my past to come between us, Robert.”

  “Miss Hamilton,” he chided softly, “I happen to like oranges.”

  “You do?”

  He cupped her cheek. “What’s wrong, sweeting? Confide in me.”

  I can’t possibly, she thought. Her heart wrenched.

  “Didn’t I make you a promise that I would never disappoint yo
u? That first day I came to see you, you didn’t want to tell me about Dolph, but I’ve protected you from him. You didn’t want me to know about Mick Braden, but I was there for you then. You didn’t want me to know your father was in jail or that you used to teach at Mrs. Hall’s, but each time you trusted me with these things, did I ever let you down?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Did I ever frighten you? Betray you? Make you angry?”

  “No.”

  “I’m on your side, Belinda. Can’t we put an end to the secrets?”

  She thought she might well fall apart if he didn’t stop gazing at her so gently and questioning her with such soft intent.

  “I only want to help.”

  “I know. And you have helped me, Robert. More than you know.”

  He petted her knee, his gaze following his hand. “I wish you would let me understand why there is such sorrow in your eyes. I try to chase it away,” he said, “but it always seems to come back.”

  She lowered her head, holding on to her composure for all she was worth. She did not know how much more of his gentle chivalry she could bear before she completely fell apart.

  “I have seen sorrowful things, I suppose,” she forced out stiffly.

  “Like what?”

  “Well—” She could barely speak past the lump in her throat. She cast around mentally for some ready excuse. “Those boys, for instance. There are thousands just like them living out there on the streets in direst poverty.”

  Suddenly she looked at him—Hawkscliffe—one of the most powerful men in Parliament, with the strength and resources to make a difference where mere mortals like her could not. It was so much easier to think about their problems instead of her own.