From France, with Love: League of Unweddable Gentlemen, Book 1

by Gill, Tamara

  “Shush, no-one knows and she’s only hired Lady Clapham so she can put a wedge between Ava, I mean Miss. Knight, and myself.”

  “So you do care for her still. I thought as much when I saw you were not listening to me and your mind was elsewhere. While I did not know it was Miss. Knight in particular that troubled you, I knew it had to be someone from the opposite sex.”

  Tate sighed, gesturing a footman over to deliver them some more wine. “It was not long after I returned to London. Miss. Knight knows of some of the rumors that circulated Society about my shenanigans, but not all. Lady Clapham is one of them, but somehow my mother has found out and is setting out to cause trouble.”

  “You will have to put your mother in her place,” Duncannon said, taking a glass of wine from the footman and smiling his thanks. “I care for the dowager of course, but she cannot rule your life as she is setting out to do. You’re a grown man, Tate. You must let it be known you’ll not have anyone in the family treat you with so little respect.”

  Tate clenched his jaw, knowing everything that Duncannon said was true. His mother had overstepped her bounds, and he would ensure she was settled in the dower house before he returned to Berkshire. But that did not mean she would not cause mischief between himself and Ava even located there.

  He glanced to his left and inwardly swore. Lady Clapham strolled toward him, her best friend and one of the biggest gossips in the ton lodged firmly by her side. Feeling all the ton’s eyes on him, he looked back to where he’d seen Ava last on the ballroom and found her watching him with her group of friends.

  “Talk of the devil,” his friend said, bowing to the two ladies who joined them momentarily.

  Tate had never wished to be anywhere else in the world than right at that moment. He did the right thing as was expected of a duke and bowed slightly to the ladies as they stopped before them. Lady Clapham smiled up at him, all sweetness that he knew was only skin deep. The woman had ice running through her veins if she had chosen to join forces with his mother.

  He could only thank Providence that he’d learned this now, and had not offered for her last year when he was muddled and lovesick for a woman he’d not seen for a half a decade.

  “Your Grace. Lord Duncannon.” Both women curtsied and Tate fought not to glance back toward Ava to see if she was watching this all play out. Hell, he hoped she’d looked away, was once again dancing with another gentleman.

  “Are you enjoying the ball?” Lord Duncannon asked, sipping his drink and seemingly enjoying Tate’s awkwardness over the situation.

  “We are,” Lady Clapham smiled, sidling up closer to Tate. “We were just saying that the next dance is to be a waltz.”

  If that was an attempt by Lady Clapham to suggest that Tate to dance with her, she would be sorely disappointed. There was only one woman he wanted to dance with and that was Miss. Knight. Unable not to, Tate sought her out once more and watched as the Marquess of Boothby bowed before her, taking her hand and placing it on his arm as he led her out onto the floor.

  Tate drank down his wine, placing the glass on a side cabinet behind him. Damn the man. Anger spiked through his blood at the genuine smile that played on Ava’s lips. Not to mention his lordship’s hold was too low upon her back, and he was holding her far closer than he ought.

  Bastard.

  A hand clasped his upper arm, and he’d not known he’d taken a step toward the dance floor. “Let it go, Tate,” his friend whispered. “She’s only dancing. I think you have bigger issues at play right now than Miss. Knight.”

  Duncannon’s words doused his temper somewhat and he nodded, willing himself to trust in what he and Ava felt for one another, even if she were so very put out with him at present.

  “Well, since I’m a widow and quite scandalous already, I shall have to take matters into my own hands. Will you dance with me, Your Grace?” Guests turned, some gasped at her ladyship’s words. Tate narrowed his eyes, hating the game she played to his cost.

  He clamped his jaw shut, before pulling his temper into line. To save her blushes and be a gentleman how could he not dance with her now? He held out his arm, smiling through gritted teeth. “Of course, Your Ladyship. Shall we?”

  She took hold of him and lifting her chin, strolled beside him as he negotiated their place within the already waltzing couples. He did not enjoy the dance, his troubles only doubling with each moment Lady Clapham was in his arms. The music continued, people floated about them, swirling and laughing, and all he could see was Ava. Her attention engaged with the Marquess, not a moment spared for him.

  How could she not leave one dance open for him? No-one knew that he and Lady Clapham had been lovers, unless she’d been told more gossip than he was aware. The thought did little to calm his unease. It would certainly explain why she had left his London home so eagerly.

  Damnation.

  * * *

  Ava fought not to look in the direction of Tate dancing with Lady Clapham, the very woman who had once been his lover and now resided under his roof. They made a striking pair as they waltzed about the room, the duke’s steps effortless and perfect, making her ladyship look like she floated about like an angel.

  The night had turned into one she’d sooner forget. With Lord Oakes’ presence, it had started the night off on a downward spiral, but to see Tate dancing with a woman who was beyond beautiful, titled and liked by his Mother, left her less than pleased to be in Town witnessing it all.

  When she’d heard that Tate had returned from America, his flouncing about in London hadn’t affected her as much as it did now. She’d distanced herself from caring about what he was doing, and who he was associating with. Ignored it as best she could, or at least her heart’s reaction to such news. Eventually she’d hardened, learned to rely on herself, look out for her workers and her horses and forget the duke who’d once claimed her heart.

  But now, seeing him among his set, as the ladies fawned at his feet like some Greek god was unsettling. She took a calming breath, well it wasn’t to be borne, and was certainly not something she would put up with. Not if the tears that threatened, each time she glanced in his way, was anything to go by.

  Ava tried to concentrate on what the Marquess was talking to her about, but her mind was engaged elsewhere. Namely, the duke who now gazed down at Lady Clapham, deep in discussion. Thankfully the dance came to an end, and swinging her to a stop, she curtsied and thanked his lordship for the dance.

  He bowed, and Ava didn’t stay long enough to hear his final words, as she was already heading toward the retiring room. The last thing she needed was the ton to see her physically upset over a man that she herself had said she did not want to marry. Had not wanted that life for herself any longer, so why the upset? She shook the thought aside, angry at herself for being weak. For caring more than she’d wanted to.

  Tate could dance with anyone he wished. He was free to court and marry and she’d made it as plain as day that she was happy with her life as it now stood. So why did the thought of him making someone else his wife bring out the worst of her character? The part that seethed made her stomach churn with dread, wonder what he was up to and with whom. The part of her that was jealous. So jealous that she could not act rationally or think clearly when that jealousy was baited, as it had been with the duke dancing with Lady Clapham.

  “Ava,” the duke called from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, not altering her pace and certainly not willing to stop, lest she argue with him in public, where anyone could come upon them at any moment.

  “Go back to the ball, Your Grace,” she said, slipping into a room that had its door ajar and finding a vacant sitting room of some kind, the only light guiding her way from the bank of windows that ran the opposite length of it.

  “Ava,” he called again, following her into the room and closing the door behind him. The snip of the lock was loud in the space and she lifted her chin, meeting his gaze.

  “Why did you lock the door? Actually, for th
at matter, why did you even follow me? Are you not supposed to escort your dance partner back to your Mother’s side where she belongs?” She cringed at the envy that tinged her tone that would be evident to anyone listening.

  He sighed, his shoulders slumping a little at her words. “I could ask the same of you. Why did the Marquess not take you back to your friends and the viscountess? You seemed to enjoy your dance very much, from what I could see.”

  Her temper soared and she growled, actually growled at the duke, before rounding on him. “Tell me what role Lady Clapham holds in your life? Your mother seems to like her very much and from her triumphant glances my way during your dance with her ladyship. I can only assume that she thinks you will be thrown together enough that you’ll fall in love with her.”

  He frowned, shaking his head. “I do not care for Lady Clapham in any way other than a mutual acquaintance of my Mother’s. If you must know she asked me to dance. I did not wish it.”

  Ava scoffed. “It did not look that way to me. In fact, you seemed quite happy to have her in your arms. I suppose I should not expect less since it’s rumored you enjoyed having her in your arms very much last Season.” Tate flinched but Ava stood by her words. She was not blind to how attractive Lady Clapham was, and why nearly every gentleman present sought her out.

  “You’re jealous.” It was a statement of fact, and one Ava had to deny, even though it was as true as the sun rising in the east each morning.

  “I am not jealous,” she stated, the falsehood making her words come out thick and strained. “You may do as you please.”

  “Really?” he said, taking a step toward her. Ava stepped back. “Anything at all?” he asked again. He took another step.

  She stopped moving knowing it was futile to try and outrun Tate. “Anything,” her whispered word broke what restraint she held, and if Tate thought that it would be he who would decide what happened next, Ava would lay that thought to rest.

  She closed the space between them, reached up and took his lips in a searing kiss. The moment they touched a wave of rightness swamped her and she knew this was where she wanted to be. Not dancing with anyone else, or alone in Berkshire training horses, but in the arms of the boy whom she’d always loved, had lost and found once again as a grown man.

  His arms wrapped about her and he hoisted her up against him, his lips as insistent as her own. She could sense the desperation and need in each stroke of his tongue, of his hands against her back that couldn’t seem to get her as close as he’d like.

  Not that there was very much distance between them. For Ava could feel every line, every curvature of his body, including what strained against her belly and made her all shivery inside.

  He walked her backwards until the settee hit the back of her knees. But not stopping there, they collapsed onto the cushioned seat, Tate’s weight pinning her to the chair. Their kiss didn’t stop, and nor did she halt Tate when his hand slid down her leg to lift the hem of her gown.

  Cool air kissed her ankle, her calf and finally her thigh. Tate lifted himself a little, adjusting to lie fully between her legs and liquid heat swamped her core. Being here with Tate in such a way did not bring forth the fear she thought it would. To be held down beneath him with their intentions clear, she thought that maybe panic would assail her, but it did not. Not with Tate. Delicious desire and never-ending need that only he could sate, was all she felt and longed for.

  He glanced down at her, his breathing ragged, but even so Ava trusted that should she say stop, he would do as she asked.

  “Is this what you want, Ava? You know, I would never do anything that you did not desire.”

  She reached up, running a hand over his cheek, the faintest growth of stubble prickling her palm. His dark hair flopped over his forehead giving him a wicked air, and she sighed, her heart full with the affection that she felt for the man before her.

  “I don’t want you to stop.”

  He kissed her again, deep and sure and she lost herself within his arms. Let herself go to enjoy all that he could give her tonight. He sat back and reached beneath her gown, sliding her drawers out of the way. Tate’s eyes darkened and Ava shivered as the soft cotton slid over her legs, leaving only her stockings and silk slippers on.

  Not willing to deny herself him any longer, Ava reached across and clasped his breeches. With fingers that shook, either from nervousness or expectation, she wasn’t sure. Ava flicked the buttons open wanting this for them, to lie in his arms and be the woman who brought forth all the desire and need she could read in his eyes, in his touch and every kiss.

  Flipping the final button open on his breeches, Ava reached inside and clasped his hard member. She sucked in a breath at the softness of the skin that encased steel. His eyes met hers, dark and swirling with an emotion that left her heady and drunk on expectation. That is was her who made Tate react so. That it was her he desired and no-one else.

  Not the beautiful Lady Clapham or any other woman he’d been linked with over the past five years, but her.

  “Kiss me,” she asked.

  She need not ask again. Tate took her lips in a searing kiss and Ava wrapped her legs about his hips, wanting him with a craving she’d never felt before. His sex slid against hers, teasing and torturous. She moaned as warmth rushed between her thighs. Tate reached down between them to guide himself into her.

  “You’re ready for me,” he growled against her lips. “Tell me you’re sure.”

  “Mmmm,” she said, wiggling a little to try and get him to finish what they’d started. “I want this.” She could not wait too much longer. She’d already waited years to have him just so, his delaying tactics, his teasing was not warranted. “Don’t make me beg, Tate,” she said, pushing against him and eliciting a need to pulsate through her abdomen.

  “Oh, I won’t make you wait at all.”

  * * *

  Tate ran his fingers over the cleft of her cunny, soft and wet and ready for him to make her his own. She undulated against his hand and his cock twitched, hard as stone and dripping with his own need to have her.

  Their location was not ideal, and vaguely Tate could remember snipping the lock on the door, but nothing and no-one would move him from where he was right now. He’d waited so long to have Ava. He had dreamed of them being together in such a way.

  She glanced up at him, her eyes dark with unsated need and trust and his heart gave a thump in his chest. How he adored her. She was everything he wished for in a wife, a lover and friend and there was no chance in hell that he’d let her go now that he had her back.

  After today, after they gave themselves to each other in this way, he would marry her. Love her and ensure that Miss. Ava Knight became the next Duchess of Whitstone.

  “You’re so wet,” he said, slipping a finger into her hot core. He groaned when she tightened her inner muscles about his fingers, pulling on him, drawing him in.

  “I am,” she gasped, clutching at his shoulders while he pushed a little further inside. “I want you, Tate. I want you so much.”

  Unable to wait a moment longer, he pulled out, hoisted her legs higher on his hips and guided himself into her.

  She lay back, closing her eyes and sighed her pleasure that only made his cock harder. There was little resistance, and he was thankful for it, not wanting to mar this time with anything painful that could tarnish her memory. Their joining was something to celebrate and relish and he would make it everything she’d ever hoped.

  “Oh, Tate,” she sighed, leaning up to kiss him. “You feel so good, so right.”

  Tate pulled out a little before thrusting forward and her words had never been more true. Hell, this did feel right and good and everything else he could think of. They moved into a synchronized rhythm and he fought not to lose himself before she found pleasure. He wanted to see her shatter in his arms, to clench and spasm about his cock that would pull himself into climax.

  Their movements became more frantic and Ava’s breathy moans and sig
hs of pleasure were too much. He would spill himself if he did not do something to bring Ava to climax and soon.

  Tate pulled out and kneeled between her legs, pushing her knees apart.

  “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, trying to close her legs a little. He clasped her hands and placed them behind her head. “Hold the settee’s arm rest. I want to taste you.”

  “Taste me? Whatever do you mean?”

  He didn’t answer, merely leaned down between her legs and licked Ava from core to clit. Her sweet musky scent made him moan, and licking her again he settled to tease the little nubbin that begged for release.

  “Oh, my,” she gasped.

  Oh, yes… Tate looked up to see her place her hand across her mouth. He slid his tongue back and forth over her sex, loving the taste of her, that without guidance she undulated against his lips, seeking release. He didn’t let up his assault on her sex, wanting to give her pleasure before he made love to her. She gasped his name and letting go of the settee’s arm rest, spiked her fingers through his hair, holding him against her.

  Tate felt the contractions against his fingers and smiled, kissing her fully, enjoying the moment as she climaxed against his mouth.

  When he’d followed Ava into the corridor he had never dreamed this is where they would end up, but by God, he was thankful they had. The last thing he wanted was for them to be at odds over other people’s reactions or plans.

  He kissed her mons before coming up to settle between her legs once more. She opened for him, her eyes half closed and sleepy with satisfaction.

  Tate guided himself into her heat, and she merely closed her eyes, sighing. “Are you well, my darling,” he asked, lifting her chin with his finger so she would look at him. He slowly pumped into her, wanting to drag out his time with her as much as possible.

  She met his gaze and smiled dreamily. “Oh yes, I’m more than well. Don’t stop,” she said, wrapping her arms about his shoulders and lifting her legs to sit about his back.