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

by Megan Frampton

  Of course it wasn’t enough to do it just once; he did it two more times in the course of the night. Because if there was something to be done, it was inevitable that the Duke of Hadlow would do it better and more often than anybody else.

  Not that she was complaining. How could she complain when she could barely speak? And each time after he’d drawn her close, his arm held her, as though she was likely to go anywhere. His long limbs tangled with hers, seeming as though he was on alert even though he was naked and in her bed.

  At long last she could tell he’d fallen asleep. She raised her head cautiously to look at him, to drink her fill of his beauty in the early hours of the dawn. He didn’t look much less intimidating when he was sleeping, but it was easier to stare at him. This close she could see the scruff of his stubble, the strong planes of his face, the sharp angle of his nose.

  If she were to think about it much more she’d realize she seemed almost . . . desperate staring at him like this. But he was in her bed, so wasn’t it her right? If they were in his bed, he could stare his fill at her.

  And wouldn’t that be lovely.

  She didn’t pretend to be asleep when he stirred, opening his sleepy green eyes to look at her. “I should go back to my room,” he said in a much more rumbling tone than he normally had. She felt secretly thrilled that she got to see him like this, less than entirely awake, his voice a bit scratchy. Surely only his valet ever got this treat, and she didn’t think his valet enjoyed it nearly as much as she did.

  Instead of getting up, however, he gathered her in his arms and lowered his mouth to her shoulder, kissing her softly as his hands roamed over her back, to her arse, onto her hip. As though he was assessing his possession, which normally would have made her balk, but with him—with him she wanted him to own her. If only for a short time. Mostly because she knew he wouldn’t ever truly own her, not as her late husband had presumed to, nor any other man might if he found himself in her bed. The duke wasn’t like that, she knew that, and she knew he was a rarity among men for it. And so she took it, craved it, the feeling that she belonged to him, that her body was his, and vice versa.

  He ran his hand once more over her curves and kissed her mouth, then drew back, a look of desire on his face. Again, she thought? The man was a modern sexual miracle.

  But it didn’t seem as though he felt he could act on that desire, since he rolled away from her and leaned down to gather his clothes, flinging his shirt on over his head and stepping into his smallclothes and trousers.

  All that lovely naked skin hidden away behind his clothing. His admittedly luxurious clothing, but nothing compared to the splendor of him.

  He ran his hand over his face and glanced out the window, frowning. “You have kept me here too long, siren,” he said with a sly grin.

  In answer, she sat up and threw a pillow at his head. He ducked it easily, grinning wider. “I kept you here!” she exclaimed. “I’m not the one who wanted to—to—three times,” she sputtered, feeling her face heat at talking about it.

  He placed his hands on the bed and leaned toward her, an amused look on his face. “You’re saying I’m the one who wanted to fuck?” His eyes drifted to her mouth when he spoke, and she felt her whole body tighten, as though he had kissed her. And he had used that word, a word she knew of, but had never heard anyone she knew say. It sounded so erotic the way he said it, the F so forceful, the final K sound so emphatic.

  Just like he was—forceful and emphatic. And yes, she did want to fuck him.

  Honesty. “No, I wanted to—to fuck as well,” she replied, faltering as she spoke, but liking the way he reacted when she said that word, his eyes blazing, his hands reaching for her even before she finished the sentence.

  “Damn it, siren, I have to go, or my valet will think I’ve been stolen in the night.” He smiled and leaned closer to kiss her. “And then he would likely insist on sleeping in my bedroom to ensure my safety, when I am hoping that tonight you will come to me.” Another kiss. “Will you come to me?” he asked in a longing tone of voice.

  “Mm-hm,” she murmured, swatting his hand away when it reached for her breast. “You have to go, or else we can’t do this again,” she said, biting her lip at the thought.

  “Then I will. I’ll see you at the breakfast table in a few hours.”

  He left quickly, only giving her one final glance as he left, a heated look that made her glance at the clock and calculate how long it would be before nighttime when she could do it all again. With him.

  “Good morning, Cheltam.” He just barely glanced up as she sat down on the bench opposite him. He gestured to the cup in front of her, blissfully full of coffee. “I ordered that for you, I don’t want you falling asleep in the carriage when we’re working.”

  Since I kept you up all night, she thought he would add if he could. Actually, he would say that if he’d thought it, so perhaps it was good that only she had thought it. There was only so much honesty the employer/employee relationship could handle, after all.

  “We’ll be heading out in half an hour,” he continued. She picked up the cup and took a sip, feeling the heat of the coffee slide down her throat. It felt good, but not as good as that.

  Well, nothing felt as good as that. Would tonight be a disappointment, then? Because there was no way the second (or, to be correct, the fourth) time with him would be as good as the first (three)?

  Would she forever be comparing everything to that? Well, this cake is scrumptious, but it’s not as wonderful as when I had sexual relations with the Duke of Hadlow. That is a marvelous hat, but not nearly as beautiful as the Duke of Hadlow’s backside. She snorted to herself as she thought of it, and now he did look at her, one eyebrow raised as though he knew precisely what she was thinking.

  Please don’t let him know precisely what she was thinking, because that would be very bad. Or very good, because then he might just sweep everything off the table and pick her up and lay her on it and enter her with one heavy thrust, and then—

  And then she would be the subject of so much scandal she would have no choice but to abandon Gertrude.

  So no on the table thought.

  “We’ll be touring the Powers and Smith Corporation today,” he continued, keeping his gaze on her. Did he know how it made her squirm? Judging by the amused glint in his eye it did, the scoundrel. “You will present your assessment of that company while we travel. It should be two hours before we get there, plenty of time for us to discuss.” A pause as she just looked at him. Stared at him, to be honest. “Cheltam, are you there?”

  She jumped in her seat, feeling her face flush. “Yes, Your Grace, I am. The Powers and Smith Corporation.”

  “Don’t ‘Your Grace’ me, especially after last night,” he muttered. His hand reached across the table, almost as if he were going to take hers, but he let it lie there, between them, an awkward reminder of what they had done and what they could never be to each other, all in one gesture.

  She swallowed. That hand—that hand had been on her body, inside her, holding her legs apart as his mouth . . . She had to put what happened into a tidy box inside her mind or she wouldn’t be able to do her job, and she had no illusions that he would keep her in his employ if she couldn’t do her job properly, no matter what she had done with him the night before.

  “What kind of information are you looking for?” She picked up her cup again with a hand she willed not to tremble, or grab his, or do anything that indicated they were more than admittedly unorthodox employee and employer.

  He shrugged. “You know what I require.” As though she did, when she had no clue, having just asked him that very question. Not to mention, or God forbid even think about, what he might require elsewhere.

  Oh, what else might he require? She could not think about that. Or else her already flushed face would explode, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Humiliating immolation, that’s what it would be.

  She would just have to think about that later. When they we
re together not being employer and employee, but lover and . . . lover. Both of them equal. And she wanted to take as much as give, and wanted the same from him as well. Equals in bed, if nowhere else.

  Which was why she had to keep her mind on what she needed to do now, not what she might possibly be looking forward to later.

  “I will just run up to my room and collect my things, then,” she said, draining the coffee. If she couldn’t kiss him good morning as she secretly wished to, at least there was coffee.

  Even though coffee was not nearly as satisfying. But much less shocking.

  “Excellent,” he replied, waving his hand as though in dismissal. Which shouldn’t smart as much as it did—she was his employee, after all, and he had given her orders for the day. But still.

  This was going to be difficult to navigate, wasn’t it? But she had to, unless she wanted to be either unemployed or without a lover. And she wanted neither.

  So she would have to figure it out.

  Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?

  10. Why not ask why the sun shines, or the rain falls?

  Chapter 16

  “Your Grace?”

  Michael did not bite his valet’s head off, but he did have to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t. It wasn’t Collins’s fault that Michael had gotten very little sleep the night before, and now was chafing because he couldn’t have her again, right now, right in this bed.

  He was getting more reasonable, wasn’t he?

  “I need nothing else, just get yourself into the carriage as soon as you can. Cheltam will settle the bill.”

  Cheltam. He had to remember that during the day, she was Cheltam. Not Edwina. Not his lover. He was normally quite good—excellent, in fact—at compartmentalizing his feelings, ensuring that nothing bothered his emotional distance.

  Mostly because he had never allowed anyone to bridge his emotional distance, save for Chester, and Chester was relatively easy to please.

  But Edwina—he had thought of her even before he had seen her that morning, he’d asked for a cup of coffee so it would be waiting for her when she arrived downstairs. He was never ever thoughtful, he knew that, and yet—and yet he found himself wanting to do things for her, to bring that quick, pleased smile to her mouth.

  And bring other things to her mouth as well; he wasn’t that thoughtful. But he had never found himself thinking at all when he’d been involved with anyone. Mostly because he wasn’t involved at all—his affairs were transactions, a simple matter of releasing sexual tension, nothing more.

  This was entirely different, and it scared him. Terrified him, in fact. But that didn’t mean he was going to put a stop to it. He wasn’t that thoughtful.

  It did mean he would have to work harder than usual to maintain his emotional distance to ensure that this was simply what it was, and that they both knew it would inevitably end.

  It had to. There was no way he could see any way for it to continue forever without changing who he was.

  Although he couldn’t quite persuade himself not to take the stairs down to the carriage at less than a hurried pace, or feel a pang of disappointment when she wasn’t already inside.

  The door opened just as he was settling in, and she glanced around, as though there would be someone else waiting inside. He felt a pang of jealousy toward the unknown person, which was ridiculous since there was no person. And ridiculous because he was never jealous.

  “There you are.” He spoke without thinking it through, then wanted to smack himself in the head for uttering something so nonsensical. There you are? Of course she was there, as though if he hadn’t said it she’d have been somewhere else.

  She did not comment on his inanity, thankfully, just tucked herself onto the seat opposite, the one where she’d be riding backward. And not next to him.

  Before he even realized it, he’d reached out and grabbed her, hauling her over to his side before pulling her into his arms and kissing her with all the passion a few hours of separation required.

  Which was, apparently, a lot.

  Her mouth opened immediately, and her hands reached up to clasp his shoulders, then on up to plunge themselves into his hair. She made a little noise in the back of her throat, and he wanted to take her, here, in the carriage, rucking up her skirts and having her, even though intercourse in a carriage—particularly for a tall person—seemed highly impractical.

  Not that he’d ever had intercourse in a carriage, but of course he’d considered the logistics before. Because he was he, and things needed to be thought through before acting on them.

  Except for all of this, which he was thinking about hardly at all, just feeling, and doing, and—

  She drew away from him, her eyes already dreamy and soft, her mouth redder than normal. “We’re not moving.”

  No, because they weren’t fucking.

  “Oh, the carriage?” he said after a moment when he realized what she meant. He leaned up and rapped on the roof. The carriage lurched right away, sending them on their journey. Although not to where he ultimately wanted to be, which was—

  Stop it, Michael, he chided himself. This was just a momentary feeling, it would pass.

  Although since he’d never had this kind of “momentary feeling” before, he wasn’t so certain it was momentary. Nor what he should do with all of it, what with the wanting, and the not being able to have, at least not right away. The perplexing need to discuss it, which he’d been burning to do since leaving her bed.

  But not only could he not do that, he would not. He would not admit to anyone—much less himself—that this was more than what it appeared to be. It would end, she would be his extremely efficient secretary, and that would be it. There couldn’t be anything else.

  “Are you—are you ready to hear my report?” she asked, her voice shakier than he was accustomed to. No doubt because you have just mauled her in the carriage, you idiot.

  But she seemed to like the mauling.

  Never mind that now.

  “Yes,” he replied, settling back against the cushions of the carriage and folding his hands in his lap. Trying to will his erection to subside, since he did not wish to test the limits of the interior of his carriage. Even though he absolutely did.

  “Excellent.” She picked up a sheaf of papers she’d laid on the seat and rifled through them, making a little huff of exasperation as she reviewed each paper. “Here it is. The Powers and Smith Corporation. Founded just five years ago, now projecting to supply twenty percent of the country’s engines. Mr. Powers is the engineer in the enterprise, whereas Mr. Smith is the businessman.”

  “We should require Mr. Powers to show us around then,” Michael said. “The last thing I want to hear is more vagueness about how this company is more forward-thinking and efficient than that company, without hearing any actual facts mentioned.”

  “No, that would not please you at all, would it?” she replied in an amused voice. “It must be so frustrating to be you.”

  He folded his arms over his chest and glared at her. “And what do you mean by that?”

  She looked as though she wanted to laugh at him, but thankfully kept herself to a slight smile. She put the paper back down on her lap and looked at him, tilting her head. “It is just—just that for you, things are so simple. They should be this way, everyone should know they should be this way, and people are idiots if they do not see it this way.” She shook her head. “And yet not everyone—let me say hardly anyone—sees things the way you do. You must walk around being aggravated all day when people aren’t what you expect them to be.” She did laugh then. “It is a good thing you are a duke, because imagine how horrible your life would be if you had to answer to anyone? If you were, say, a banker who had to deal with stupid people worrying about their money, or a fruit seller and people would argue with you about the freshness of your peaches, or what have you,” and then she just stopped, clamping a hand over her mouth as her eyes danced.

  He’d never been laughed at before as much a
s he had with her, and yet he didn’t mind it, even though he was already explaining to his mythical customers why the peaches weren’t rotten, they just got bruised in the course of shipment, and they were still fresh, and he could throw in an extra peach for their trouble.

  But he didn’t say any of that, thank goodness, or she might very well explode in laughter, having just proven her point.

  “I am very fortunate to be a duke, yes,” he said in his most arrogant, aristocratic drawl. He raised an eyebrow for emphasis. “Because instead of having to discuss one family’s business, I have to oversee all the business ventures of all my family’s holdings. I have to tease out which person’s reporting is suspect, where best to invest my money so as to provide proper return for future generations, and I have to pretend excitement at rubbing elbows with my peers, most of whom are useless drains on their own holdings and constituents.” He hadn’t realized just how resentful those responsibilities made him. But he wouldn’t shirk them. He couldn’t. It wasn’t who he was as a person.

  She’d narrowed her gaze on him as she spoke, no more humor in her expression, and she nodded after he’d finished, looking thoughtful. “I did not mean to be glib,” she said, and he shook his head, wanting to let her know that no, she hadn’t been, she’d figured him out entirely, and it was such a relief to have someone understand just how he felt, why he wanted to scream at everyone he encountered—save her and Chester, oh, and also Gertrude—and why he felt some days as though he swallowed more words than he spoke.

  “It’s just,” she continued, and he could see by her expression that she thought she’d offended or hurt him, “it just must hurt to be you is all I was trying to say.”

  “It—it does.” He was surprised at just how hard it was to say the words, even though they were what he thought. Them, and so much more. “I know I might seem like I am an unfeeling, arrogant . . .” and he paused as he tried to think of the right word.