Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?
5. Because they can.
Chapter 11
“That was your brother-in-law. The one to whom your husband entrusted his business dealings?”
It was the day after the engine exhibition, and she was settled into her seat opposite his, her cup of coffee half drunk already. He hadn’t been able to fall asleep until long into the night, his mind blurring with ideas and images of the day—the particulars of the engines, the way Gertrude had asked him questions, how Cheltam had looked when she saw her brother-in-law, how he felt when he thought there might be a threat. It was all entirely disconcerting, and he wasn’t certain he was comfortable with it all.
Not to mention, there had been no opportunity for more kissing, and he had found himself thinking more about that than he reasonably should have. In the past, when he had been pursuing a lady, he had spent only as much time as the pursuit seemed to warrant. Now, he found himself thinking about her at the most inopportune times—when his valet was shaving him, when he was supposed to be reviewing documents, when he was lying awake instead of sleeping.
“The very same,” she said, her tone flat.
He glanced up at her. She wasn’t looking in his direction, but was staring down into her cup, as though it were far more interesting than he was. Given what her daughter had said about her mother’s need for coffee, perhaps it was. But he didn’t like it, even if it was true.
“He cannot do anything to you, can he?” And why did he ask, anyway? Maybe he just wanted to hear her say she felt safe here. That she knew he would do whatever was necessary to keep her and her daughter protected against any potential danger.
Although that would imply a far closer relationship than he should be having with his secretary.
Although to be honest—as he always was—the relationship seemed to have progressed far beyond what he would have expected of the usual employer/secretary relationship.
He did not generally think about kissing his employees as a rule, for example.
Nor did he want to immediately pummel anyone who might seem to threaten anyone in his employ.
No, never mind, he did. It just hadn’t happened all that often.
But still. It was different.
“He did offer to take Gertrude, after George died. George appointed both of us her guardians. But he did not offer a place for me, so I declined. And that was the end of it.”
She didn’t sound concerned at all about her brother-in-law’s potential interference. “Ah, so that is why you were willing to let the position go rather than be separated from her.”
She nodded, biting her lip. The lip he still wished to bite himself. “I suppose that was foolish of me, to possibly decline, but—”
“It wasn’t foolish,” he interrupted, sounding fierce even to himself. “It was what you should have done. It isn’t right that a person in your circumstances would have to even consider making that kind of a choice. Children belong with their parents.”
When had he ever thought about what it would be like for people in her circumstances? He’d have to admit never. He’d never thought about what it would be like to have to confront such a possibility. His parents had of course been wealthy, he’d been sent to school, but those were the only times he had been away from them. He had taken that for granted, he supposed, since he’d never thought about what it would have been like to be on his own, without any kind of parental support. Plus as the heir to a dukedom, he was secure, knowing his place in the future.
To think of Gertrude, all the tiny willfulness of her, having to live with that unpleasant toad of a man—granted, Michael didn’t know him, but he had to assume he was an unpleasant toad—instead of with her mother, who loved and cared for her.
It made something in his chest area hurt. That was unexpected. He hadn’t felt that kind of pain since—well, since many years ago.
“I have you to thank for us being able to stay together without starving.” She spoke in a low, resonant tone. A tone that cut through the hurt in his chest and made it ease. “Thank you. For hiring Miss Clark, and ensuring that your staff is kind to Gertrude, and—”
“Well, I haven’t done that, precisely.” Should he have? He hadn’t even thought of it.
She laughed. “No, perhaps not directly, but the way your staff behaves is the way you wish them to behave—not judging anyone without knowing them first, not being all fussed up about propriety and the honor due your title.”
“That would be just silly,” he said, almost without thinking.
“Mr. Hawkins did take a few moments to come around,” she added, “but now it is just comfortable.” She looked at him, raising her chin. “And uncomfortable, because of, of this,” she said, gesturing in the air between them.
It wasn’t the time he’d deemed appropriate to discuss or engage in the activity, and yet he found he was more than eager to. Mostly because he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.
“This,” he repeated. He steepled his fingers in front of his face and regarded her. Damn, she was so lovely, she made his chest hurt in an entirely different way. A pleasant, anticipatory way. “What are you thinking about ‘this’?” he asked, making the same sort of gesture she just had.
She swallowed, and lifted her chin. Please don’t let her say “this” was a mistake that should not be repeated.
“I think that we are both intelligent adults. And that what we do is our business, and our business alone.” She shrugged, but he could tell she wasn’t casual about her words, not at all. She licked her lips before continuing. “So if we choose to do more of ‘this,’ we should.” She took a deep breath. “Do you wish to?”
“The question isn’t if I wish to, but if you do.” He leaned back in his chair, keeping his gaze riveted on her face. “There is no possibility of this being anything more than what it is, you understand.”
“I wouldn’t want it to be so,” she snapped back. Somehow, even though that was the answer he wanted, he felt disappointed. Odd.
“Then what do you say, Cheltam?” His breath hitched in his chest as he looked at her, as she returned his stare, as he felt the impact of a new event, something to which he would look forward—God, but he’d look forward to it—and anticipate, and savor, and get to have. Her. Her with all her beauty, but more than that, with her wit, and intelligence, and how she challenged him.
He would bet she would challenge him in bed, too, or on desk, or on sofa, or wherever they engaged in “this.” His cock rose in his trousers, and he felt the shock of lust traveling through his whole body.
He’d rarely, if ever, had such a visceral reaction to a woman before. It should make him nervous—hell, it did make him nervous—but it also made him feel somehow more alive than he had a few weeks ago.
“I say we should, Hadlow,” she replied, a wry twist on her lips. She dropped her gaze to her coffee cup, that siren’s smile playing on her mouth. The mouth he was going to be able to kiss, when their work was done, of course.
Except—“Damn it,” he muttered, getting up and striding over to her side of the desk. He clamped his hand on her arm and drew her up out of her chair, his other hand going to her waist to pull her into him.
And then he lowered his mouth to hers, claiming it, branding it with as clear an agreement to their bargain as if he had signed a legal document.
Oh, he was kissing her again. How had she gone so many days without this? She was awkwardly twisted, standing in front of her chair, him to the right of her, devouring her mouth with a ferocity she fully reciprocated. She broke the kiss for a moment, and he looked at her as though he was devastated she had stopped it, but she just pushed at his chest, pushing him backward toward the sofa behind him. His expression eased, and he walked backward, his hands on her elbows drawing her with him.
He sat down and reached up to draw her onto his lap. She felt his hardness underneath her bottom and it made her ache, deep inside, lower down where the activity generally
took place.
George had rarely kissed her, and she had been fine with that, since he tended to slobber and maul at her mouth in an entirely unpleasant manner.
If the duke didn’t kiss her, however, she thought she might cry. Thankfully, she was able to spare her handkerchief since he resumed kissing her, his hands touching her as though he couldn’t feel enough of her, his tongue inside her mouth, exploring, licking, sucking.
Owning. She grasped his shoulders—those broad, strong shoulders she’d been admiring, along with the rest of him—and wriggled closer, making him groan low and deep in his throat.
She had made him like this, made him needy, and wanting, and groaning, for goodness’ sake. Not the precise, logical duke she worked for, but the man she was kissing, the man whose mouth was ravishing hers, whose hands were sliding their way to the top of her gown, his long, elegant fingers working at the neckline of her bodice. She pushed up into his hands, wanting, nearly desperate to have his hands on her body, on her breasts, bare, without any kind of fabric between them.
She wanted to feel his naked skin on hers, also. She yanked on his cravat, untying it with impatient hands, sliding it off his neck and dropping it to the floor. She slid her fingers under the collar of his shirt, touching his collarbones, the strong slide of his shoulder. Her fingers undid the first few buttons of his shirt, and then her palm was on his chest, rubbing the hard planes, feeling the soft prickle of his chest hair on her skin.
He wasn’t able to reach her nipples, not with her gown laced as it was—at least, she assumed that was what he was working toward—but he’d slid his fingers as low as he could and was rubbing her skin, making her achy and hot and needy as well.
His erection was a hard throb against her, and she shifted so it was resting against the part of her that seemed to practically be clamoring for it—she’d never felt like this before, that was for certain. No wonder some married women looked so thoroughly smug all the time, if this was what they got to feel every evening.
With George, she’d gotten to feel pressed down into the mattress and then somewhat messy. That was about the sum of her marital experience.
But this—this was already way, way better than anything she had done or experienced before, and they were both still fully dressed.
He withdrew his mouth, his breathing loud and ragged in the still room. “I have never,” he began, only to shake his head as though he couldn’t even find the words.
“Me neither,” she said in a murmur. She looked at where she’d bared his skin, wanting to rake her teeth on his neck, nip at his collarbones, run her hands all over his naked chest.
But this was—this was too fast, too much, and she was acutely aware that just beyond this room was his staff, and her daughter, and her daughter’s governess, and even his dog. None of whom would understand what was happening here, not if they discovered it.
“We should go slowly,” she said, unable to keep her fingers from stroking his neck.
He looked as though he were about to argue, and she couldn’t blame him—she didn’t entirely agree with herself, either, but it seemed as though it was the best way—but then he nodded his head. “I do not wish to push you into anything you are not comfortable with,” he said at last, his words coming out slowly, roughly, as though it hurt to speak.
“You will not,” she said. She knew that, just as she also knew she felt as though she were on the verge of losing control, of losing herself in finding him. She couldn’t allow that, and what was more, her priorities—or priority, since Gertrude was everything on that list—demanded it. She needed to treat “this” as it was—something that was enjoyable, but not all-encompassing.
Which meant, unfortunately, she should remove herself from his lap and they should continue to work together.
She couldn’t resist kissing him one last time, just a soft, gentle kiss as she redid his shirt buttons.
He could find his own cravat; there was only so much that was required of a secretary, she thought wryly.
She let out a deep breath and rose, feeling how shaky her legs had gotten and how it felt as if she’d been running for an hour—all breathless, and hot, and trembling.
He kept his gaze on her, stretching his arms out along the length of the sofa. Looking every inch the aristocrat he was, each indolent, comfortable inch of him.
And, she couldn’t help but notice, quite large in that area as well. And not at all seeming to be embarrassed by it.
Of course he wouldn’t be. She doubted he was ever embarrassed, except she had seen him that way, hadn’t she? When he was with Gertrude, holding her hand, of all things.
If she bet on such odd things, she would bet that was the first time he’d actually been embarrassed. The thought made her smile.
“I suppose you are about to tell me we should get back to work, since we won’t be doing this for a while.” He frowned, as though the thought that it would be a while bothered him.
Or maybe that was just her.
“Yes, we have to make the final decisions on which company, if any, to invest in. Isn’t that what you said a few days ago?” Not that she had much of an idea of what she was saying—honestly, she was still thinking about his that, and wondering when would be the next not as entirely inappropriate time to investigate things—but she was trying, at least.
“About that,” he said, and she gasped, wondering if he was talking about the same “that,” only of course he wasn’t. “I think we should take a tour of some of the factories that are manufacturing the engines. To see for ourselves rather than relying on papers that anybody could write anything on.” He stood and returned to his desk, moving as unself-consciously as ever, as though it was habitual for him to be doing these kinds of things during the day.
Maybe it was. What did she know about him, anyway?
Although she doubted he had ever done this sort of thing with anyone in his employ, she imagined he found his pleasure elsewhere, outside his home.
It was just her luck that the man with whom she most wished to be intimate was also her employer. She had to keep that in mind as she continued the “this” they were doing.
Although he had just mentioned a trip. A trip away from the house, from his servants, from Hawkins, from Gertrude—Miss Clark could watch over her, Edwina knew that—not to mention the dog.
Just them and the no doubt dozens of servants necessary to see to the duke’s comfort. Well, they wouldn’t be precisely alone, but they’d be more alone than they were presently.
That conjured up many terrifying, intriguing, exciting, and altogether dangerous ideas. Not all of which she had the temerity to think the duke had thought of when he’d suggested—no, not suggested, ordered—it. He probably thought it was the most efficient way to make his decision.
As well as the most efficient way for her to get her naked skin closer to his. Not that she should be thinking about that, but to deny she was would be lying to herself. And as she had told Gertrude repeatedly, a lady does not lie.
Unless it is down with a duke, her treacherous mind added, making her turn pink all over and utter some sort of strangled snort, at which point the duke looked at her with one eyebrow raised as though to ask what in heaven’s name she was doing.
Well, she couldn’t answer that, so that made two of them.
Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?
84. We prefer to say we step deliberately and with honor, with no falling.
Chapter 12
Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It was the most practical solution to his various and respective problems—he could go see things for himself rather than relying on literature and salesmen, and he could be alone with her without being encumbered by anything but his valet, his coachman, a few footmen, and the unpleasantness of travel.
Which, since he was a duke, was as close to pleasant as possible, but was still not being at home with his own things and his own comforts.
Except he’d be bringing the comfort he most want
ed with him—her. Although he was not comfortable when she was around. He was aroused, intrigued, fascinated, and piqued, but not comfortable.
That feeling of comfort would likely come in time, probably close to the end of their—whatever this was—their relationship, right before he devolved from being comfortable to being bored. That was inevitable, he’d found, no matter how interested he’d been at the outset. There was only so much sexual relations could compensate for, things like a lack of intelligence, a greedy nature or, in one case, a grating laugh. He hadn’t yet discovered what Cheltam would do that would annoy him, and eventually bore him, but he had no doubt it was coming.
That was why he had never married. Even though it did make some sense to do so. He knew that people who were filled with more propriety than he was would say it was his duty to produce heirs to his title. And he would say if he could find a person to spend the rest of his life with who would then produce more persons he had to spend the rest of his life with, he would. But he hadn’t, and he wouldn’t sacrifice his own comfort just because it seemed somehow more proper to leave his holdings and title to a son rather than to the cousin who currently stood to inherit.
His cousin was a genial man, not slavering to become the duke, but not skittish about it, either. He and Michael saw each other approximately once a year at Michael’s country estate when he went there for the annual holiday party that had been a tradition several dukes earlier. He saw most of his family, few though they were, at the event. He could tolerate them all only every twelve months.
That was one task he wouldn’t stop doing, even though it did add to this discomfort; he recognized the greater good in presenting himself to his family, tenants, and staff at least once a year to achieve the goodwill he knew was essential to keeping his estate working as well as possible. And his family from thinking he was a completely arrogant ass.
Although they probably thought he was nearly a completely arrogant ass. Which he was; he knew that about himself.
Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel Page 11