Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel

by Megan Frampton

  So she nodded, and rose, waiting until he came to her side, putting her hand on his arm, allowing him to walk her to the drawing room, aware that the footmen and Hawkins all stood in attendance in the hallway between the two rooms.

  He opened the door and let her precede him, then closed the door behind them.

  It was just them now.

  She should say something, only what was there to say? You haven’t spoken to me at all, and I am irritated by that, only I shouldn’t be, it is just that I have come to think we are friends as well as employer and employee, and that you liked talking with me. That was part of what she was feeling, but not all. You haven’t spoken to me, and I am fascinated by you, and if I can’t find out what your shoulders feel like, I should at least get to converse with you. That was closer.

  “You didn’t talk to me at all during dinner.” Well, that wasn’t precisely how she meant to put it, but there it was. She’d said it.

  He walked toward her, still not speaking, and her breath caught. There was something determinedly predatory about his movements. Something that made her heart start to beat a little faster, and she felt a warm flush creeping up her face. She had to be imagining it, though, hadn’t she? He had never given her any kind of indication he had even noticed she was female. For goodness’ sake, he never even stood when she entered the room unless it was to take her somewhere he wanted her to be, like seated in her chair at dinner.

  Nonetheless. She felt something in the air between them, and she waited, lifting her chin as he approached.

  “I didn’t speak to you,” he said in a low growl, “because if I did, it would be to ask you something entirely inappropriate.”

  Oh. Suddenly her whole body felt warm, and her breasts pressed against her corset as she took a deep breath.

  “Wh-what is that?” Her voice was strained.

  He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could see the faint lines bracketing his mouth, so close that if he wanted to he could—he could—

  “I want to kiss you. Will you allow me to kiss you?” His eyes, his intensely dark green eyes, stared at her, his whole body immobile as he waited.

  If he wanted to he could kiss her.

  And this was up to her, wasn’t it? He wasn’t the type, she knew that, to leverage his title and strength and sheer Hadlow-ness of him to get what he wanted. But all of that was alluring, surprising that she would find it so, having loathed when her late husband had attempted to dominate her in any way.

  But with him? She would welcome it. She wished he hadn’t asked, wished he had just taken her, claimed her mouth with his.

  But that wouldn’t be honest, or fair, and he might be the most abrupt and rude man she had ever met, but he was also the most honest.

  And he was still waiting for an answer, his eyes not leaving her face, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his sides.

  That was what decided her. That clear, expressed need, that want epitomized by the movement of his hands.

  “I will let you kiss me,” she said in a soft voice. “Only if you let me kiss you as well.”

  He smiled then, slowly, the smile of someone who is very, very pleased.

  He’d decided to just say it, to let his want be known between them. The worst that happened would be that she’d slap his face and say no, and leave his employ.

  And then he’d have thrown away a damn good secretary, which would sting nearly as much as her telling him no in the first place.

  But somehow he didn’t think she would. She kept looking at him during dinner, worrying her bottom lip—the lip he wanted in his own teeth—and he knew that it wasn’t just because the conversation was minimal. He’d caught her glancing at his hands as he ate, an expression of something, something very intriguing, on her face.

  So he decided to just say it. If he didn’t, he’d always wonder what would have happened if he did, and he was nothing if not decisive.

  And she’d said yes, and in the most Cheltam way possible—Only if you let me kiss you as well. And he would let her, but only after he’d gotten to plunder her mouth as he wished to. As his whole body was telling him to.

  He clasped her elbows in his hands and drew her closer. Her breasts touched his chest, and he felt the skirts of her gown swirling around his legs. Capturing him. Not that he wanted to be let go.

  He looked down at her face, her gorgeous, vibrant, lovely face. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I met you,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to kiss the beauty mark on the right side of her lips. “And this,” he continued, moving his mouth to hover over hers before closing the distance between them, feeling the soft warmth of her lips under his.

  Her lips were so sweet. He could taste the wine they’d had at dinner, and he just kept his mouth on hers, not doing anything more, just touching her lips with his, savoring the intensity of the moment. Until she put her hands on his waist and drew him in even closer, opening her mouth as she did so.

  And then his tongue dove into her mouth, licking and sucking, their tongues tangling as they kissed. She slid her hands around his waist to his back, holding him tightly to her. His erection pushed against his trousers, she must feel it, his cock throbbed with wanting to be buried inside her. Maybe to bend her over his desk—their desk—and thrust inside, her naked breasts pressed against the leather of the desk.

  But right now this was more than enough. This kiss, with her passion and desire coming through with every movement of her mouth, her lips nibbling on his, her tongue boldly pushing inside his mouth, keeping to her promise of kissing him.

  God, this was the best kiss he’d ever had. He knew that already, and it wasn’t nearly done. At least he hoped not.

  He put his hands to her waist as well, spanning her rib cage, his fingers splayed out just under her breasts. She wriggled so his fingers were on her breast, and he smiled, still kissing her, letting her know that this was entirely what he wanted.

  She had her hands under his dinner jacket, kneading his back, her fingers dropping lower until they hit the upper part of his arse. And then she smiled as well as she clutched him, rubbing his buttocks with her fingers, her mouth open, and hot, and wet, and passionate. As firm and impatient in her desire as she was when she wanted him to answer a question.

  If she asked now, he would have to say yes. To whatever it was she wanted, if it meant she wouldn’t stop kissing him, wouldn’t stop touching his body.

  He palmed her breast, feeling the sharp stab of her nipple, even underneath all the layers of clothing she must be wearing. He wanted to feast on her, to take that nipple in his mouth, to suck and lick her breast as thoroughly as he was her mouth.

  He pinched her nipple, not hard, but just a little pinch, and she gasped into his mouth. And grabbed his arse even tighter, moving in so closely to his body she was touching him at nearly every point.

  This—this was too fast, too soon, too much. He couldn’t stand it, because if things continued he would have her over the desk, and he needed to be certain that this eventuality was something that was eventual and inevitable for her, too.

  So even though he thought he might die from not continuing to kiss her, he withdrew, gasping, leaning his forehead on hers, his hands still on her breasts, his cock still huge and throbbing inside his trousers.

  “Oh,” she said in a disappointed tone of voice.

  “Oh,” he repeated, smiling against her skin. “Thank you.” He drew back and looked at her, noting her flushed face, her mouth wet and reddened from their kiss. Her eyes sparkling and yet also sultry.

  She was beautiful before, but now she was absolutely intoxicating. And he wanted to drink her up, to take her until he was drunk on her, to forget everything that was sensible and logical and anything that wasn’t she.

  He heard her swallow. She released her hold—reluctantly, it felt like—on his arse, but kept her hands on his waist.

  “What now?”

  He shrugged, knowing he was likely going to say th
e wrong thing, the type of thing a less honest, more polished man would never say during such an encounter, but unable to find what it was he should say rather than would say.

  “We now know what it is like to kiss one another.” He wanted to do it again, right now, but didn’t want to pretend that this was anything but what it was—an interlude in their working relationship. A very pleasant interlude, but an interlude nonetheless. “I would like to do it again at some point. If our work is completed, and there is nothing else requiring our attention.”

  She stiffened and withdrew. His body felt the lack of her warmth, of how she felt pressed against him. And he felt the lack of something else, but he didn’t know what that thing might be.

  He was experiencing all sorts of new things since she’d arrived. He thought he liked it, but he wasn’t entirely certain.

  “That sounds pleasant.” Her tone was nearly flat, and he had the urge to take her mouth again, to show her what passion felt like so he could render her as flustered as he felt himself. But she’d replied just as he’d wanted her to, hadn’t she, and so he couldn’t be angry at the result of his words.

  Even though, inexplicably, he was.

  “Excellent.”

  And then they just stood there, looking at each other, him feeling as awkward as he’d ever felt in his entire life. Which wasn’t difficult, since he had never felt awkward before.

  “If you will excuse me, I should go check on Gertrude. Good night.” She ducked her head and walked out of the room without waiting for him to reply. He admired that, even though he wished she had said more. Although what would she say? That was the best kiss of my life? That was what he wanted to say. But what if she’d had better?

  She couldn’t have had better. He knew that.

  I am glad you said what was on your mind, and my goodness, I would like to touch your body all over?

  Again, probably not something she would say.

  So saying good night was probably as close as he was going to come to an acceptable set of words from her.

  Leaving him alone in his study with a raging erection, plenty of . . . feelings, and confusion about what to do next.

  All entirely unexpected.

  And again, he wasn’t certain he liked it. But he did appreciate that it was different. And he didn’t feel quite as alone.

  Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?

  17. Because they can’t help themselves, no matter how hard they try.

  Chapter 9

  Once again, she was shaking as she left his study, only it wasn’t as simple a reaction as having obtained a position that would allow her and Gertrude to survive.

  This was far more complicated than simple life and death.

  This was—what was it, anyway? First she’d been upset that he hadn’t spoken to her, and then she’d been startled that he had asked her for a kiss. Not so startled, of course, that she couldn’t answer.

  She winced as she recalled what she’d said—only if she could kiss him as well. That was so, so forward. Although it was on her mind, and he wanted honesty at all times, didn’t he? He’d just proven that with his comment about doing it again if they had time and their work was done.

  With him, it seemed the work was never done, so she had likely just had the first and last kiss she would ever have with the duke. Her employer.

  She began to ascend the stairs to the floor where her and Gertrude’s bedrooms were. Her mind not thinking about anything but that kiss. That one kiss.

  Which was one kiss more than she should have ever had, despite how she’d come to look forward to their working together, to seeing his impressive mind work at an incredible speed.

  Not to mention seeing his impressive form. She suppressed a groan as she thought about what she’d done, not just the kissing, but the fondling.

  She had definitely put her hands all over his backside. And now she knew firsthand, so to speak, that it felt even better than it looked.

  How was she going to face him the next day? What with having touched him, and kissed him, and accidentally but entirely deliberately moved his hands so they rested on her breasts?

  She began to ascend the second flight of stairs, trying to push all that away so she could concentrate on being a good mother to her child—not a wanton who wanted her employer to touch her everywhere, not just the places he had touched her.

  It would be fine. He would treat her as he usually did, it would be an odd interval in their working relationship, and hopefully in time she would be able to forget it ever happened.

  Probably by the time Gertrude was a grandmother, if Edwina hadn’t died of embarrassment and longing first.

  “Good morning.” That sounded perfectly normal, didn’t it? Not as though she’d spent half the night reliving the kiss, and the other half feeling mortified.

  Gertrude had greeted her at her bedroom door with a blotchy face and an apology letter. Edwina told her daughter a bedtime story—one definitely not involving commanding dukes and stolen kisses—and headed to bed herself.

  He didn’t even look up from his papers, damn him. Didn’t he even think that this would be odd? No, of course he didn’t. Edwina couldn’t repress the snort as she thought about it, which did draw his attention.

  “Is something wrong? You’re not getting ill, are you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I can’t have you getting ill, not when we’ve got so much work to do.”

  She lifted her chin. “I am not getting ill.”

  He didn’t reply, just gave her one long appraising glance—perhaps he was searching for signs of illness, she thought sourly—and returned to looking down at whatever it was that was more interesting than she was.

  And now she sounded like a scorned lover, or someone far more dramatic than she knew she was. If she was going to keep working here, and not cause some sort of unpleasant scene, she would need to learn to keep control of her emotions. Whether her emotions were wanting to kiss him senseless or slap him in the face.

  Sadly, she knew what she would prefer. And it wasn’t to hit him.

  “What are we working on today?” She was delighted to discover she had kept her tone calm and even.

  He pushed some papers toward her, again without even glancing up. Did he regret kissing her so much he didn’t even want to look at her?

  That would be awful, even worse than his thinking there would be a time for kissing, and it would be after work.

  “More railway proposals.” He sounded annoyed. Well, so was she. “I can’t find any substance in any of them, I want you to take a look to see what they’re actually saying.”

  “Of course.” She reached forward, and he clamped his hand on her wrist. He did look at her then, his eyes dark and intense. She nearly forgot to breathe. “And this afternoon we’ll be attending a demonstration of one of the engines. I’ll need you to take notes on the process.”

  “An engine demonstration?” She couldn’t help but sound skeptical. And potentially very bored, but mostly skeptical.

  “Yes, it’s the most amazing thing, Cheltam.” He spoke in a tone of voice she’d never heard from him before—wondering, and happy, and excited. “They didn’t know about any of this when I was a little boy, and now this, this miracle.” He seemed to recall just who he was, and how he should be speaking, because he cleared his throat and spoke in his normal tone. “That is, I wish to review the mechanics of it.”

  “Of course.”

  He darted a quick look at her face, as though daring her to comment on his unexpected enthusiasm, but she just gave him a sweet, and sweetly false, smile, knowing that would irritate him far more than her being amused by his tone of voice.

  He’d done it again. Spoken before thinking. It was getting to be a habit, one he hadn’t had before she entered his employ. And she sat on the opposite side of the desk—that very desk he’d had some vivid thoughts about the day before, thoughts which had haunted him well into the night—and looked as though nothing untoward had happened between them.


  As though she hadn’t sucked his tongue into her mouth, hadn’t let him touch her breasts, hadn’t pressed up against him so thoroughly he could still feel the imprint of her on his body.

  His brain was already processing what he could accomplish in the carriage ride to the engine demonstration. And wasn’t that pathetic? He was a duke, a young, unmarried duke, a man of fortune and, he could say without prejudice, not unattractive. He could have nearly any woman he wanted, and yet he didn’t want any of them.

  Except for this one. Whom he wanted very much.

  Even though he knew full well he shouldn’t want her, that he couldn’t have her in the way she deserved to be had—he’d seen mésalliances before, wondered at how a person could so forgo logic as to make himself a pariah in the eyes of Society. He would never do anything so foolish. But he did want her.

  And he had never wanted anything without eventually getting it. This was going to be another new experience for him.

  The knock came just as Michael was about to suggest they go to the demonstration. “Enter,” he said, not bothering to look up.

  Chester barked, and he heard the pell-mell of little feet, and then the child herself popped up in front of his face, all smiles and eagerness. “Miss Clark said you were going out to see an exhibit, and I asked if I could go, too, and she said it was up to you.” She widened her dark eyes, so like her mother’s. “Can I go? Please?”

  “Gertrude, the duke has not invited you to go, and it is certain to be quite dull.”

  She sounded as though she actually thought that, and he felt a pang of disappointment—disappointment at what, he wasn’t certain. Nor was he certain he wanted to find out.

  Something, that thing inside him that appeared to make decisions entirely without him, supplied his next words. “It will not be dull, Cheltam.” He nodded at Gertrude. “You may attend with us, but you must listen to your mother, and we will bring Miss Clark, because your mother will be working.”