A Deal with the Duke

by Patty Bryant

  “You?”

  “Of course, I was only five at the time.” The duke looked back at her, one eyebrow raised, to see how she would take that.

  Savitri had never been one to back down from a challenge. She raised her own brows. “One might argue, Your Grace, that it shows more discernment to be impressed by a library as an adult than as a child. Children are easily impressed, after all. But how many adults feel the love of books so strongly that they would allow themselves to be overcome?”

  “And is that how you would describe yourself? As a lover of books?”

  Savitri shook her head.

  “Then how?”

  “It is not the books themselves, Your Grace. It is what they hold. I would describe myself as... as a passionate seeker of knowledge.” As soon as the words were out, Savitri regretted them. They were too intimate, too grand. They were better suited for a philosopher in Classical Athens, or a poet on some obscure mountaintop than for her, a mere governess.

  But the Duke of Clermont didn’t laugh at her. He merely hummed thoughtfully and tilted his head to better consider her. His gaze raked over her with an almost physical weight, and she felt that he could read her as easily as any of the books on his shelves. She was not used to such intense consideration. Governesses were often ignored, quickly ushered away with the children they taught. In many households, Savitri had felt herself to be little more important than the wallpaper.

  Not here. Not with this duke. She felt like the more he studied her, the more there was to study, as though she was deepening, her limbs filling out, in his presence. Her flesh seemed to take on more warmth and weight; her voice acquired new timbres. No one could possibly mistake her for a shadow now.

  He pointed toward one of the overstuffed chairs set near the windows to catch the light, though the curtains were closed now. “Take a seat, please.”

  She did so, carefully, not knowing what would come next. He sat across from her. “Your name is Miss Booth, is it not?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  He waved his hand again, that same fly-chasing gesture. “You may dispense with the formalities. We are in private.”

  Alexander, she almost said, but stopped herself just in time. Private or no, she would never be on first-name terms with a duke. Even the thought of speaking his name raised goosebumps on her skin, the feel of it on her tongue surprisingly affecting. She only nodded, grateful for the chance to escape his eyes, however briefly.

  “What are you teaching my nieces?”

  “The usual subjects. Drawing, music, French – ”

  “No calculus? No Latin?”

  Savitri blinked in surprise. “Those are not considered typical matters for a young lady of breeding to be instructed in,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “Their parents never mentioned a desire for them to learn anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Of course Bernard didn’t.” The duke shook his head, frowning fiercely. Savitri sympathized with his exasperation at Bernard’s absentmindedness, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice it. The duke was so grand, so regal, that any comparison between the two of them must be considered laughable. As much as she felt in her heart that here was someone who might understand her, all she had to do was look around herself to remember the differences between them. He had an entire room of books, and she had five tattered, second-hand volumes carefully carried from Calcutta.

  The duke leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What if I ordered you to teach them more? Could you do it?”

  Savitri’s heart leaped at the opportunity, but she forced herself to be cautious. “I never received much instruction on these matters myself –”

  He scoffed. “No one who calls herself a passionate seeker of knowledge would let that stop her. I saw how you looked at those shelves. You’ve taught yourself, haven’t you?”

  Savitri bit her lip, irresolute, then nodded. “I have.”

  “And so? Are you willing to take on this task?”

  “I am. Thank you, Your Grace.” She finally allowed the smile that had been growing inside her to burst forth.

  “I said there were to be no formalities. Now, let me see what you will need....” He sprang from his chair and began to peruse the shelves while muttering to himself. He selected a book here and a book there, adding to the stack that quickly began growing beside Savitri’s chair.

  She eyed the pile with some trepidation, appreciation of the size of this new project slowly dawning on her. She wasn’t a woman to be put off by a little hard work, but it was always best to be prepared. “There may be some... gaps in my knowledge,” she said, as the duke added a book titled Vollständige Anleitung zur Algebra to the top of the stack.

  “That’s all right. I will tell the servants that you’re to have free run of this room. If there’s anything more you need to know, simply come here, and I’m sure you’ll be able to find a book that will explain it. Or you may ask me. I would rather discuss geometry with you than perform many of the tasks to which a duke must attend.”

  “The ball!” Savitri rose from her chair, feeling as though she’d had a bucket of cold water dumped on her. She’d been so comfortable in this library that she’d entirely forgotten what was going on outside of it. “You mustn’t allow me to detain you any longer. I am sure we can discuss your nieces’ education tomorrow, or, or – whenever you are free. But you can’t abandon your guests for my sake.”

  The duke looked over his shoulder toward the door, frowning deep enough to cut furrows down each cheek. She could see him weighing the choices in his mind, and then he shrugged and looked back down toward the book he was currently holding. “Bernard can handle them. I would prefer to remain here.”

  “With me?” she blurted.

  He held her once again in that weighty gaze. “Yes,” he said, calm and assured. “Is that so strange?”

  “That a duke would prefer to associate with a... a governess? Yes, it is strange.” Savitri knew she should be more polite, but after all, he’d asked. It was only proper to answer. She flung up her hands in frustration, then pointed to the door. “There is an entire ball out there, the cream of London society all here in this house in your honor. I saw you dancing with an elegant young lady – won’t she notice your absence? Surely you have friends, relations, obligations. And yet you would ‘prefer to remain here’. Why?”

  “Because you are more interesting than any of them.”

  There was nothing she could say to that. Savitri realized her heart was pounding again and her heavy wool dress felt hot and confining. She felt sure that her cheeks were flushed, her voice raised unbecomingly, probably her hair was frizzing out of its tight bun for all she knew. She had spent years learning to maintain the quiet and poise demanded of a well-bred woman – and enforced all the stronger when one was poor and half-Indian. And yet one conversation with this man and she was coming undone. It’s only agitation, she told herself. I’m annoyed because he behaves so strangely.

  She forced her voice back to a respectable volume and told him, “You don’t mean that.” It was a struggle to seem calm; passion burned in her breast, urging her to demand answers from him again, to shout, to storm about and wave her arms. She couldn’t put a name to what she felt. There was anger in it, yes, irritation, but also something more. An ache for what he said to be true – that a duke could prefer her to all the superior choices awaiting him back in the ballroom.

  “What possible motivation do I have to lie to you?”

  “I don’t know!” she shouted, frustration momentarily winning the battle against her poise. She drew a deep breath and continued at a lower volume. “Politeness, I suppose. Surely a duke is thoroughly trained in the correct decorum for everyone he might meet. Respect to those above you in the social hierarchy – and for a duke, that’s only the royal family themselves – and… and putting at ease those below.”

  He scoffed. “And that is how I know you are indeed recently
arrived to these shores.”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “They call me Clermont the Cold, the men and women out there at my ball. Their servants too, most likely. I suspect there are urchins on the streets of St Giles whom I have never seen who know of Clermont the Cold. And it is not, I am sure you understand, because I have a love of snow or cold baths or chilled wine. I am well-known for following the rules. But I have never heard of a book of etiquette that recommends a duke should prefer the company of a governess over that of his peers. As you said, I have obligations out there. And yet I am here instead. Therefore it must be due to preference alone.”

  “I see,” Savitri said. She felt like she had been thrown off-balance.

  “So you see, you must never think that I am being polite to you. Politeness would advise I spend as little time with you as possible.”

  She summoned enough strength to say tartly, “Indeed, Your Grace. I see that Clermont the Cold is an accurate nickname.”

  “I consider it to be a compliment. Oh, I know that whatever clever wag first came up with it didn’t intend it to be, but look closer. It means I do not bend. It means I stick close to what is proper. It means I am upright, unyielding, and rigorous. There are worse things to be.

  “Miss Booth, I am sure you know that one receives many benefits from following the rules. In my case, I wanted to be respected, to be given the deference and honor due to my position and family name, and therefore I have always behaved according to the strict standards set out by London society. I have played their game, and in return I receive respect. It’s a simple quid pro quo. I am not a man likely to break from convention from no reason. And therefore if I say that I am interested in you, if I say that you are beautiful, you must assume that I mean it.”

  God, how could he be so handsome? Savitri felt she should argue with him, that she should point out that it was easy to be respectable when one was a duke, that matters were different for those in her position. But these points slipped out of her grasp, unimportant in the face of his final words.

  Cold, she thought, one of the few clear words she could manage to think. All the rest of her mind was lost in the burning conflagration of his gaze on her, the rough note in his voice, the way his fingers had twitched in irritation when she called him ‘Your Grace’. How ridiculous. He’s not cold at all.

  What she wanted was impossible, and yet – he had called her beautiful. He had called her interesting. Those were the only two things that seemed real in all this conversation, in this fantasyland of a room.

  She took a step toward him. “Be direct with me, Your Grace.” His jaw tensed but she plowed on before he could interrupt her. “You do not intend to go to the ball. Again I ask, if you prefer to remain here, with me, alone… why? What is it that you want?”

  He took a startled breath – surprised at her boldness even though he had all but dared her to this point – and his eyes dropped from her face. She felt the touch of his gaze on her breasts and hips, and her skin seemed to answer his pull, like metal to a magnet. She pressed her thighs together, aware of the ache between them, but not ashamed of her physical desire. How could any woman stand before this man and not want him?

  But he raised his eyes once more to hers and gave a slight shake of his head. “There are some things which are too much to ask,” he said gravely.

  This was her last chance out, she knew. The last moment when she could back away and still be a virgin tomorrow morning. The proper thing, the polite thing, would be to agree with him – that was what Savitri Booth had been taught all her life to do.

  Instead she raised her chin and stepped forward. “You can’t know what is too much unless you ask,” she said. Heady anticipation, excitement just on the edge of fear, made her voice breathy and soft. Just saying the words took all her courage; she didn’t have any left to speak louder.

  He closed the distance between them and raised a hand to her cheek. His fingertips brushed feather-light over her skin, sending a wave of goosebumps down her spine. If the wool of her dress had not been so thick, he would have been able to see how he affected her: her nipples hard points, her core slick with desire, her hands too tightly clasped to shake. “Savitri Booth,” he said, “may I kiss you?”

  She drew in a shaking breath, caught on the edge of terrifying, delicious possibility, then closed her eyes and whispered, “Yes.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Miss Booth – Savitri, he had to think of her now, since anything else would be ridiculous – had a mouth like a summer day: warm and soft and infinitely inviting. Her lips parted for him with a gentle sigh, and he swept inside, wanting all of her that she was willing to give. She tasted like tea and butter, innocent tastes that were utterly appropriate for a governess who had recently shared supper with her charges, but the way her mouth moved against his had nothing innocent about it.

  She moaned – a quiet, easily missed sound, but it set fire to the tattered remnants of his manners. His hands moved down her back and took hard hold of her waist, yanking her tight against his body.

  Savitri gasped, but made no move to get away; instead she looped her arms around his neck, her fingers digging into his hair and dragging him down into another kiss. Her quick breaths pressed her breasts against his chest, maddeningly soft. He let go of her waist with one hand to fumble with her fichu, struggling with the knot for a moment before he worked it free and tossed the whole thing aside. The pale brown skin of her collarbones and the upper swells of her breasts were revealed, and for a moment all Alexander could do was stare.

  Savitri blinked up at him, appearing suddenly uncertain. She drew one hand back as though to shield herself, but Alexander gently caught it and pulled it aside before she could block his view. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice even deeper than usual in the rush of his desire.

  Savitri’s mouth twisted, caught between pleasure at the compliment and suspicion that it was mere flattery. “I bet you say that to all the maids.”

  “No,” Alexander swore, looking her firmly in her eyes. What he felt was no casual dalliance, no forgettable tumble with a willing maid. He wanted to be sure that Savitri understood that. Of course, the best way to prove his sincere intentions would be to wait – to refrain from from pawing her in the library – but the idea of stopping now, after only one kiss, was simply impossible. Alexander could sooner fly about the room, could sooner stop the sun from rising, than he could put an inch of empty space between Savitri and him. “I told you that you can trust me to tell you the truth. This isn’t what I should do, Savitri. It’s what I want to do.”

  She nodded slowly, her eyes warming as she took in his words. “I understand. Then I too will be direct. Kiss me again, Alexander.”

  The sound of his first name in her mouth was like a lash of sweet shock, and he leapt to obey her command. She was soft in his arms but her kisses were eager, passionate, and demanding. Each one increased his need for her, like a hunger that could never be satiated. His cock grew hard in his trousers, and he knew that she must feel it too, pressed together as tightly as they were. It was uncouth of him, utterly inappropriate – and then Savitri rocked her hips forward, grinding herself against the hard length of him, and all words were driven from his head.

  He tore his mouth from hers to explore more of her body, dragging his lips across the silky skin of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the swanlike column of her throat. She made a startled, wordless sound into his ear, and he knew that he had found a sensitive spot. He latched on and sucked hard, reveling in the little high-pitched gasps his lips drew from her. When he finally pulled back there was a red circle marking her skin, and the thought of his sign upon her flesh made his cock twitch in the tight confines of his trousers.

  He needed her with an animal fury and cursed at her modest dress with its thick cloth, its dozens of tiny buttons, and the corset laces that he knew waited beneath. Instead he simply took hold of great handfuls of her skirts
and hauled them up, revealing her legs in their white stockings. They were tied off just above the knees with satin ribbons, shockingly white against the brown of her skin.

  Alexander dropped to his knees and pressed his mouth right there to her thigh, feeling the smoothness of the ribbon under his lips, warm with the heat of her body. Savitri jerked in surprise, but she put her hands to his shoulders and urged him closer. She was so daring, so confident; this was the woman who could be his match.

  “I want to kiss you everywhere,” he growled, lifting his mouth from her ribbon to her bare skin just above it. He nipped her gently, nearly overwhelmed at the sensation of his teeth pressing into her soft flesh. He felt as though he could devour her, claim her, make her inescapably and permanently part of himself.

  “Oh, yes,” Savitri said, her voice as unsteady as her legs. He reached under the last few inches of her dress to take hold of her ass, supporting her even as he took the opportunity to feel every curve and valley of her body. “Yes, please. Do just that.”

  He slid his mouth up and up her thigh, taking the time to kiss every inch of skin as he went. He nudged her knee with an elbow, wordlessly asking her to spread her legs wider to make room for his broad shoulders. She did eagerly, sending another pulse of wanton pleasure to his cock. When he reached the very top of her legs, he licked the seam between her thigh and her mound and closed his eyes to drown in the taste. Salt and soap and the clean cotton of her petticoat; she was the purest thing he had ever touched, and he never, ever wanted to let her go.

  But nonetheless he forced himself to hold back for one more moment, to be certain that her desire matched his own. He stroked the soft curls that covered her mound, and then curled his fingers to just barely brush against the wet folds beneath. “Everywhere?” he asked, applying gentle pressure with the pad of his thumb to make it clear what he meant. “You’re certain?”

  “I’ve never been this certain of anything in my life. Go on.” Her fingers tightened in his hair, the only part of him she could easily reach.