by Kate Pearce
“Do you require some assistance?”
She jumped and tried to look over her shoulder at him. “I can’t unbutton my gown properly. Something is stuck.”
He strolled over to her. “Indeed it is. Where is Eileen?”
“She’s staying with Phoebe.”
“Then you will have to allow me to be your maid tonight.” Alistair dropped a kiss on the exposed nape of her neck. “It has been quite a trying day, has it not?”
He decided not to mention that his stepmother and her doctor were already pounding at their door. He had other more amorous intentions that such information would destroy.
“It’s even worse here than up at Hellsdown Park. At least the staff there wanted to stay on.” Margaret sighed as he eased the disobedient button free. “Oh, that’s better.”
“You are most welcome.” He kept unbuttoning her, his hands steady, his gaze fixed on the gradual display of her skin. Making love in Frederica’s house had seemed impossible somehow. He suddenly realized how badly he’d missed his wife. “Are you very tired?”
“I am quite tired, yes.” She leaned back against him as her dress fell to the floor. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her throat.
“Would you consider staying awake just long enough for me to make love to you?”
Her deep chuckle made him hard. “I’m sure I could manage that.”
“I promise I’ll be quick.”
She pulled away from him and took off her corset and shift, leaving her in just her stockings before moving over to the bed. She glanced at him over her shoulder.
“Well, come on, then.”
He walked slowly over to the bed and stripped off his clothes, aware that she was watching him and enjoying her reaction. He slid his hand down over his stomach and cupped his balls, his thumb coming to rest on his shaft.
“See anything you like?”
“Oh, yes.” She beckoned for him to join her on the bed. “I have… missed you, and this.”
He pinned her to the sheets, spreading her thighs wide with his knee. “This? Being naked and ready to take me inside you while I kiss and caress every inch of your skin?”
She nodded as he bent toward her and kissed her soft, willing mouth. “I love the way you have no shame in wanting me back.”
“Should I feel shame?” She eyed him uncertainly.
“No, never, not with me.” He trailed kisses over her throat to her bosom and set about making her nipples as hard and wanting as his cock. He slid one hand down over her stomach and settled his fingers against her already slippery flesh. “I love the way you are so wet for me, too.”
She moaned as he plunged two fingers deep inside her and thumbed her bud until she was raising her hips against each thrust. He loved this uncomplicated coupling of mutual need where the world of debts, class, and difference no longer mattered, and she was simply his.
Her strong, capable fingers clasped the back of his neck, holding him fast against her breast as he grazed her nipple with his teeth. She gasped his name, her body convulsing against his thrusting fingers, driving him mad with need.
He eased back and slid his stiff cock inside her, pausing only when he was fully embedded to experience the sensation of her clenching flesh gripping his hardness.
He breathed out slowly and raised his head, only to find she’d shut her eyes and was not aware of his regard.
“Duchess,” he ordered. “Look at me.” She opened her eyes and he smiled down at her. “That’s better.”
“Why?” She sounded almost as breathless as he did.
“Because I like to watch you when you come.”
Her already rosy cheeks took on a darker hue. “I suspect I looked hideous.”
“When you lose control, scream my name, and scratch my back?” He eased away and then rocked into her. “When your eyes go dark and wide, and all you care about at that moment is my cock filling you and the pleasure awaiting you?”
He kissed her slowly and lavishly. “If you hate it so much, then perhaps I should make you wait awhile, delay the inevitable, so to speak.”
She glared at him and he smiled. “Maybe I’ll hold back until you are begging me to finish it, to let you come? Begging me, duchess.”
“You wouldn’t—” She clutched at his shoulder.
“Oh, I would.” He settled himself deep inside her, and drew her hands over her head. “In fact, now I feel compelled to do so. Watch and learn, my duchess, and let’s hope both of us survive the experience.”
Chapter 14
“Well, that at least is settled, Mr. Lang. Tell the agency that we will hire all three footmen, the boot boy, and the four maids we have seen so far.” Margaret smiled at her husband’s new secretary. “I must confess that I expected the process to take much longer than this, but the quality of the applicants is very high.”
“Yes, your grace. We certainly have more choice than we did up north.” Mr. Lang nodded as he wrote something in his notebook. “Now we just need a butler, a cook, a housekeeper, and an entire stable yard.”
Margaret checked the list he had given her. “We are interviewing cooks and housekeepers later this afternoon. Let’s hope we are equally as lucky.”
“You ask excellent questions, your grace.” Mr. Lang looked approvingly at her. “And, if you don’t mind me saying, you have a formidable air about you.”
Margaret stood up and stretched. “I suppose there isn’t any point in asking what might be for luncheon?”
“Unless there is anything left over from that magnificent breakfast you cooked this morning, then we’ll probably have to get something in.” Mr. Lang sighed. “The quicker we find a cook, the better.”
After waking early and going down to the kitchen to make sure the range was still alight, Margaret had ended up cooking eggs, frying ham, and making toast for her husband and the rest of their staff. They’d all sat down together at the kitchen table, marveled at her competence, and enjoyed her food. For the first time in a long while, Margaret had felt really useful. Being able to feed her family had always been important to her.
“I have to go and visit Lady Thule at two,” Margaret said. “But I intend to be back by four. If I am delayed, please go ahead with the interviews. I trust your judgment.”
“Thank you, your grace.” Mr. Lang bowed. “If you are not present, I will draw up a shortlist for you to peruse at your leisure.”
Margaret headed for the door. “Do you know where his grace went off to in such a hurry this morning?”
Mr. Lang paused to hold open the door for her. “I believe he said he was going to Grillons Hotel, your grace. I have no idea why.”
Neither did Margaret, but she had already decided she was not going to be the kind of wife who expected her husband to be dancing attentively at her side at all times. Alistair had many acquaintances in town and a dukedom to maintain, which meant many meetings with financial institutions and their owners. He had also married her for her money.
She had just stepped into the entrance hall when there was a knock on the door, and Clarkson went to open it.
“What do you want?” he growled in a most inappropriate and unwelcoming way.
“Good afternoon, I was wondering if I might leave my card?” The man on the doorstep bowed. “I was a good friend of Farrell’s. I wanted to express my condolences for his death and meet the new duke.”
“He’s not here,” Clarkson said.
“Then will you take my card?”
Clarkson gave a long-suffering sigh. “Give it here, then.” Without giving the man any further chance to reply, he took the card, and closed the door. “Silly bugger.”
Margaret went over to him. “That is hardly the way to behave toward our guests, Clarkson.”
“He wasn’t one of ours. He’s a friend of the bloke what’s dead. From what I can tell, none of those men are worth knowing, your grace.”
“Surely that’s up to me to decide?” Margaret asked.
“Nope
, because you’ve only got to deal with the ladies.” Clarkson gave her a stern look. “No gentleman would come here expecting to speak to you when your husband’s not present. That wouldn’t be proper at all.”
Margaret repressed her thoughts as to the idea of Clarkson telling her what was proper, took the visiting card, and read the engraved script.
“The Honorable Garston Pritchard.”
Clarkson snorted. “He didn’t look very honorable to me.”
“I think that’s a form of address for the son of a titled gentleman.” Since her marriage, Margaret had been avidly studying the old copy of Debretts she had found in the Hellsdown Park library.
“I know that.” Clarkson gave her a look.
He opened the door again and stared out. “He’s buggered off nicely, and there’s a fancy carriage with a crest on the side stopped outside, which I reckon is for you, your grace.”
Margaret glanced over at the clock and turned to the stairs. “It appears that Lady Thule is expecting me to arrive earlier than I planned. Will you inform Mr. Lang that I will be unable to join him for lunch?”
Clarkson chuckled. “Don’t worry, your grace. I’ll take him down the pub with me. He’d probably much prefer it anyway.”
Margaret hurried upstairs to put on her coat and bonnet, checked that Phoebe was awake and that Eileen was aware of her plans, and went back down to the hall.
“You shouldn’t be going off like that on your own,” Clarkson observed as he opened the front door for her. “His nibs wouldn’t like it.”
“I’m sure Lady Thule isn’t planning on kidnapping me,” Margaret said tartly. “And I suspect I can make it unaided from the house to the carriage.”
“Good, because it’s starting to rain.” He looked her up and down. “I don’t have an umbrella, and I don’t want to get my feet wet, so off you go.”
Margaret slammed the door hard after she went through it and picked up her skirts to descend the steps down to the pavement.
“May I assist you, ma’am?”
She startled as a hand came up under her elbow.
“Thank you.” She disengaged herself from the man’s firm grip as one of the footmen accompanying the coach sprang down to open the door for her.
“Am I perhaps, addressing the new Duchess of Thorsway?”
“Yes.” Margaret looked searchingly up at the man’s face.
He bowed. “I apologize for my bad manners, but may I introduce myself? I’m Pritchard. I was a good friend of the late Lord Farrell—in fact I was with him the night he died.”
He paused expectantly, but Margaret didn’t speak, so he continued. “I was hoping to have a quiet word with you about what happened that night.”
“With me?” Margaret wrinkled her nose. “Why not with my husband?”
“Because what I have to say might enrage him.” He hesitated. “I thought that as his wife, you should be made aware of the kind of man you have inadvertently married.”
Margaret stared at him for a long moment, taking in the lines of dissipation already showing around his hard, unsmiling mouth.
“What if I simply tell my husband you have approached me, and that you claim to have information against him?”
Mr. Pritchard shrugged. “Then I will submit my ‘information’ to the correct authorities, and let them deal with him in the courts. I assumed that as a young bride, you would care what happened to your husband, and would wish to protect his reputation, but perhaps I was mistaken.”
Behind her, the Thule footman gave a discreet cough and shifted his feet, reminding her that it was pouring rain.
Margaret made her decision. “Perhaps you could give me your address, and I will write to you for further details.”
“A pleasure, your grace.” He offered her another card. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
She got into the carriage, aware that she was now rather wet, and considered what had just happened. Mr. Pritchard seemed to be implying that Farrell’s death had something to do with Alistair. She already knew her husband had been present that night along with Viscount Grafton, but had heard nothing at Hellsdown Park to implicate him in any dastardly plot to inherit his cousin’s title.
She looked out of the window at the dreary streets. Everyone at Hellsdown had disliked Farrell intensely. Was it possible that they were so glad to be rid of him that no one had thought to inquire as to the particulars of his actual death? Despite their indolent exteriors she couldn’t ignore the fact that both Alistair and Francis Grafton had been in the army and were perfectly capable of killing.
Should she tell Alistair? Or would it be better to extract as much information from Mr. Pritchard before handing the matter over to her husband? She was an excellent judge of character and unlikely to be bamboozled by a man like Mr. Pritchard. In truth, the thought of being useful to Alistair was quite exhilarating.
The carriage stopped, and the footman opened the door for her. Margaret picked up her reticule and prepared to descend, her mind made up. She would deal with Mr. Pritchard in her own way, and hope that Alistair would never have to hear a word about it.
“Good morning, my lady.” Alistair bowed to his stepmother who sat on the sofa in her suite at Grillons. She was still in her dressing robe, if a gauzy confection of ruffles and lace could be considered such a mundane garment. “I apologize for my early arrival. Would you prefer it if I leave and return when you are dressed?”
“Oh, Alistair, sit down and don’t be such a prude.” She laughed and patted the seat beside her. “I swear that you have become incredibly stuffy since you became a duke.”
“I prefer to stand, my lady,” Alistair returned stiffly, aware that he might just be proving her point. “I am wondering why you felt it necessary to follow me to London?”
She opened her eyes wide. “Dear Lord, do you really believe that my every action is dictated by you? If so, I regret to inform you that you are sadly mistaken.” She pushed a displaced curl into place. “With Phoebe safely in your hands, I decided I deserved a trip to London.”
“With Phoebe’s doctor in attendance?”
She chuckled. “He is no longer her doctor, he is my friend, and I am a widow, which means I am quite above reproach.”
“He certainly seems very taken with you.”
“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Frederica asked archly. “Perhaps I should warn your wife that you still have feelings for me, after all.”
“I believe you’ve already tried that. Luckily, Margaret isn’t a fool,” Alistair said repressively. “You asked to see me. What do you want?”
“I merely wanted to advise you of my presence in London.” She bit her lip. “I knew that if you discovered I was here without me notifying you of my intent, you would be angry with me and perhaps force me out of my house even more quickly.”
“I am not ‘forcing’ you to leave,” Alistair said. “I have explained my reasoning quite clearly. If you choose to stay, then you will have to deal with the consequences.”
“You are cruel.” Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away from him, one hand grasping the lace flounces of her robe over her bosom.
Alistair didn’t reply. What was there to say? He was no longer willing to allow her to ride roughshod over him, especially now, when he suspected her involvement in a scheme to poison his sister. At least if she was in London, he supposed he knew where she was.
“I intend to look at property here,” Frederica said, changing the subject with a suddenness Alistair had become used to in the past. She hated to be challenged and had always possessed the ability to quickly move onto something else and pretend the previous conversation had never happened. “Would you be willing to allow the Thorsway solicitors to act on my behalf, if I find something I like?”
Alistair shrugged. “As the affairs of the marquisate are now part of my estate, I can see no harm in that.”
“Thank you,” Frederica said. “Dr. McNeil has offered to accompany me on my search.”
“How kind of him.” Alistair inclined his head.
She looked up at him. “When may we come and visit Phoebe?”
“She is not well enough to receive visitors at this time,” Alistair said.
“I am hardly a visitor,” Frederica objected. “I am her stepmother.”
“After consulting with her new physician, be assured that I will inform you when she is able and willing to receive you.” Alistair bowed. “If that is all you have to say, then I will be on my way.”
“There is one more little thing,” Frederica said hesitantly.
“If you need money,” Alistair said, “I regret to inform you that I have none to spare.”
“Really? Not even after you married a mill heiress? I find that quite hard to believe, but no matter.”
Alistair smiled, but said nothing until she started speaking again.
“I had a letter from Bottomly. Do you know him?”
“I believe he was a friend of Farrell’s.” Alistair tried hard not to let his wariness at this unexpected development show.
“He wrote me a most peculiar letter, offering condolences for Farrell’s death, and asking whether you had attended your father on his death bed.” She peered up at him through her lashes. “Do you have any idea why he might ask me that?”
“Seeing as I wasn’t at my father’s deathbed, surely the question is moot?” Alistair kept his tone light and disinterested. “If you bothered to reply, I do hope you corrected his mistaken assumptions.”
“Indeed I did.” She paused. “He hasn’t replied, so one must assume he was satisfied by my answers.”
“If I see him when I’m out and about, I will certainly ask him why he wants to know,” Alistair said and bowed again. “Good day, my lady.”
“Goodbye, Alistair.” She smiled up at him. “Perhaps you might bring your wife to have tea with me here, seeing as I am apparently barred from my old home.”
“As the house belongs to the dukedom, and Farrell occupied it, I doubt you’ve even set foot in it.” Alistair turned to the door. “But I’ll certainly pass on the invitation, never fear.”