The Duke's Daring Debutante (Regency Historical Romance)

by Ann Lethbridge

  ‘Shouldn’t I be the judge?’ The determined set of her chin said she would not be denied. And, besides, having revealed the worst of it, she may as well satisfy her curiosity now as later. If she found it disconcerting, he could as easily keep it from her sight in future, as he had this evening.

  He flung back the sheet. ‘Look your fill.’ He leaned back against the headboard so he wouldn’t have to see her face. He’d seen both pity and disgust, depending on the woman. He didn’t need to see either in her face.

  When a warm hand skimmed down his calf, his leg jerked with the shock of her touch. He glared down, seeing the ugliness of his foot and ankle next to the white perfection of her hand. He jerked away. ‘What are you doing?’

  Hand in hovering in mid-air, she looked at him, puzzled. ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘It aches a bit in cold or damp weather.’

  A finger traced the place where his foot went awry, turned inwards. ‘What did the doctors say?’

  ‘Doctors can do nothing.’

  ‘Are you saying your parents did not have it looked at by a surgeon?’

  Anger. On his behalf. Surprising. And very dear. Something inside him warmed. ‘If they did, I do not recall. We never speak of it.’ They had done nothing, because they had known the outcome. One of his mother’s uncles had undergone surgery and had been worse after than before.

  A palm smoothed over the crooked bone. The touch a shocking pleasure. His body reacted. He made a grab for the sheet but she was kneeling on it.

  ‘This leg is shorter than the other, yet it barely hinders you.’

  Admiration, yes, but also strangely an admonition.

  ‘My boots are specially made. It doesn’t hamper me at all.’

  ‘You don’t dance or play cricket.’

  ‘I am a duke,’ he said. ‘I have my dignity.’

  She gazed at him aslant, across her lovely shoulder. ‘How is that relevant?’

  ‘It would not suit me to go capering and hopping about, though others might find it amusing.’

  ‘Have you ever danced?

  ‘No.’

  ‘Too bad.’ Her gaze dropped to his pelvis. A brow arched. ‘It is one of life’s pleasures.’

  His relief at her common-sense practical acceptance, Heaven help him, her touch where he didn’t recall anyone ever touching him before was almost more than he could stand. ‘Enough about my foot’s shortcomings.’ He grinned when she got the joke and wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. To distract her, he slid his palm over his own arousal and watched her gaze follow the up and down motion of his hand. ‘There are many pleasures where it makes no difference at all.’

  She smiled brightly. ‘So I see, but it is not better alone, surely?’

  The purr in her voice, the wicked gleam in her eyes, the flush across her skin caused his body to further harden. She eyed him and licked her lips.

  ‘Tease,’ he growled, entranced by her unselfconsciousness and obviously rising passion. What man would want an innocent when he could have this?

  She knelt up, straddling his calves, gazing down at him stroking himself.

  He let his hands fall away, leaving himself open, wanting her to come to him, to prove that she was not horrified by what she had seen. Not disgusted. Or fearful. Or, worst of all, prurient. All these reactions he had seen from one woman or another. She circled her fingers about him, taking over where he had left off. Without his volition, his hips pushed up, welcoming the heat, the tightness, the sensuality of her touch. He swallowed the urge to plead for more, fisting his hands in the rumpled bedclothes each side of his hips. Gently, she cupped him. He groaned. Eyes alight with mischief, she gazed down at him. ‘Too much?’

  ‘Never,’ he ground out. He pushed himself up on his elbows, kissed his way across each breast, teasing her nipples with teeth and tongue until she moaned and arched against him. He flipped her over onto her back. The gold in her eyes sparkled. Her lips curved in a welcoming smile. Never had he felt so comfortable with a woman.

  ‘What now?’ she asked, her voice teasing.

  What came now was pure pleasure. Hers. If she’d allow it. He made his way down her belly to the nest of black curls. He sat back on his heels and parted her delicate rosy pink folds. So achingly beautiful and pearly with her moisture, and perfumed by her arousal.

  He licked.

  She moaned.

  He found her tiny bud already knotted and ready, and licked and flicked with his tongue, learning what had her writhing and what made her so weak she couldn’t do any more than cry out her pleasure, and he tormented and teased until he could no longer see for wanting to be inside her.

  He lifted her legs over his shoulders, leaving her deliciously open to his gaze. So beautiful. So enticing. He rose up on his knees, pulling her onto him. Pushing into her hard, burying himself deep.

  ‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘Harder.’

  Hard and fast, he pounded into her, their bodies coming together in hard slapping sounds, his grunts of pleasure-pain mingling with her softer cries of approval. Her inner muscles tightened around him, milking him in steady pulls. Seared by flame, he lost control. He heard his name on her lips, felt the flutters of her orgasm around him and pulled out, spilling his seed on the plain of her belly.

  In time. Heaven help him, had he been in time?

  He collapsed to one side, grabbing for the sheet to wipe her belly and his, and rolled on his side. She rolled to face him, kissed the tip of his nose. ‘Next,’ she said, breathing hard, ‘we will try dancing. At our ball.’

  Did that mean she intended to honour their engagement? If so, it was a battle won. Or did she only mean what she had said? If so, it was a battle lost. For he would not dance.

  Above all else, right at this moment he needed what was left of his brain to get her back to her room and quickly, before the house began stirring.

  * * *

  Stiff and sore in a very satisfying way, Minette wended her way down the grand staircase to breakfast. Freddy rose to his feet as she entered and greeted her with a smile, but there was fatigue in his eyes.

  The butler hovered over the sideboard. ‘Tea, miss?’

  ‘Coffee, please.’

  While he poured her a cup and set it on the table, she helped herself to rashers of bacon and a scoop of fluffy scrambled eggs, along with a couple of slices of toast.

  She took the seat to Freddy’s right, added cream and sugar to her coffee. Her first sip was delicious. Hunger gnawed at her belly, and she attacked her food.

  ‘That will be all, thank you, Patterson,’ Freddy said.

  The man looked down his nose, but left swiftly.

  Minette spread butter on her toast and looked at Freddy in enquiry.

  ‘Barker arrived early this morning.’

  ‘You have seen him already?’ No wonder he looked tired.

  Freddy gave a terse nod, his face thoughtful. ‘Yes. He’s setting up camp.’

  Minette glanced out of the rain-streaked window at the scudding clouds. ‘Poor man. Could he and his men not stay at the farm?’

  He shook his head. ‘He’ll keep an eye on it as well as Falconwood.’

  ‘You think Moreau might take advantage of its vacancy?’

  ‘It would be wonderful if he did. But the man is as slippery as an eel.’

  He was right about that. Moreau was also devious, self-serving and conscienceless.

  ‘I’m going to ride out shortly to confer with Barker.’

  ‘I will come with you.’

  He raised a brow, looking grave.

  She opened her mouth to object to what was clearly going to be a refusal.

  He grinned at her. ‘I’ve asked for your horse to be saddled for ten.’

  Teasing. He was teasing her. Astonished, she
gazed at him and grinned back. ‘Très drôle.’

  ‘I’m glad you are amused.’

  There was a softness in his voice. Affection. Did he think last night had changed things between them? While he hadn’t said much about her lack of virtue, surely he wouldn’t want to marry her now? How did one approach such a question? Inwardly, she winced. One didn’t. Besides, there was no need. In this matter she was the one in control. He could not stop her from crying off. Could not force her to the altar.

  The regret causing her stomach to squeeze uncomfortably was foolish in the extreme. Appetite gone, she put down her knife and fork. ‘I will be ready.’

  His expression changed to one of concern. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said lightly, rising to her feet, forcing him to rise also, noticing the way he adjusted his stance for balance. She’d never really noticed that little adjustment before, and now it made her heart ache sweetly. She forced a smile. ‘If I am to go riding in the rain, I must change. Please, excuse me.’ She left without a backward glance, but she had the very real sense his gaze never left her until she disappeared through the door.

  * * *

  He’d taken them across country, but with the ground wet and heavy their progress was slow. Freddy glanced over at the lady riding beside him, rain dripping from drooping feathers, face set in a determined but cool expression. She wasn’t going to make his wooing easy. Rain hadn’t brought on her dark mood. So busy was she with her own thoughts, she barely seemed to notice her surroundings, or him. Whereas last night she had seemed so full of joy.

  Perhaps it was the thought of Moreau holding her attention. Or memories of the man he had betrayed. Pierre. Did she still love him? Her first love? And if she did, why would he care? He took a deep breath and enclosed himself within the familiar chill of feeling nothing. It didn’t work. Too many fissures ran through his defences, old hurts and new leaking through him like acid.

  He glanced up at the sky. ‘It’s raining harder. Do you want to turn back?’ He leaned closer so he did not have to raise his voice and so he could bring the scent of her deep into his lungs. The smell of jasmine and wet summer mornings.

  She shot him a brief glance. ‘No. Who can tell when it will end?’ She lifted her face to look at the sky and lowered it swiftly, using the wide brim of her hat to shield her from the slash of rain.

  ‘Let us hope it lets up before the night of the ball,’ he said for something to say, some way to keep the conversation going. Clouds and rain would mean only those who had been invited to stay overnight would attend. ‘The locals will be disappointed.’

  When Mother had observed the weather this morning, she’d suggested a postponement. He’d vetoed the idea immediately, despite his betrothed’s hopeful expression. Something he hadn’t anticipated after their intimate relations. Clearly they had not meant as much to her as they had to him. A bitter thought.

  ‘I would have thought you would have preferred a postponement,’ she said, as if she had read his thoughts.

  The words were delivered in a light tone but they were edged with wariness. He bared his teeth in a predatory smile. ‘Certainly not. The sooner we celebrate our engagement, the sooner we can be married.’

  She leaned forward to pat the dripping-wet neck of her mount, hiding her expression. ‘Are you sure you want a wedding?’

  So they were going to have this conversation now. He stared at the track ahead, taking account of the deeper ruts and higher spots, while he formulated words little more civilised than You’re mine, which had risen instantly to his tongue. ‘There is no reason I know of why I should not.’

  Her head whipped around, her eyes wide. ‘You don’t care, then, that I do not come to you intacta?’

  He gave her a hard look, because she was right. Under society’s rules, lack of virginity was grounds for a man to walk away, and no doubt that had been her plan in giving in to his importunity. He, however, wasn’t going to let her use it as a weapon or an excuse. ‘Do you care that I do not come to you that way?’

  ‘A different thing for a man,’ she muttered. Then smiled a little ruefully. ‘Though I cannot help feeling it is unfair.’

  A chuckle pushed past his reservations. Her ability to surprise him shook him free of dark thoughts. ‘It seems we are well matched in our experience. And given a choice between the pleasure of last night and the task of teaching an innocent, I would take last night every time.’

  Her eyes showed relief, quickly hidden by a brittle smile. ‘All you care about, sir, is winning.’ Her expression froze as she realised the import of her words. She winced and gave him a worried look that told him she believed he could well have deliberately forced his brother off the road.

  The joy went out of the day. It was back to rainy and chilly and dark and the dull ache deep in his ankle. He held her gaze. ‘Never forget it.’

  They reached the entrance to the woods and he urged his horse into a trot that made further talk impossible.

  * * *

  Nom d’un nom. She had not intended to imply that she thought he was responsible for his brother’s death. She didn’t believe it for a moment. Her ill-thought-out words had sounded too much like the doubts he had expressed the previous evening and he had jumped to the conclusion she had doubts, too.

  It would be so easy to use his guilt against him. His mother did it all the time. A horrid female trick she would not resort to in order to get her way. It was too cruel. Too destructive.

  No. When she cried off, the flaw would be hers. He had never been anything but a gentleman. Even last night, when he had learned she was not pure, he had treated her with respect. As well as given her more pleasure than she had ever experienced in her life.

  Pierre had been an expert lover, astonishingly so, and had taught her much. How to be wanton. How to be bold. How to use her femininity to achieve goals she had never dreamed of. His ultimate betrayal. Because she’d thought him her knight in shining armour. Her saviour. When, in truth, he had been the apple in the Garden of Eden.

  Freddy led them between large oaks and beech, the ground carpeted with loam and old leaves that muffled the sound of their horses’ hooves. When they slowed and entered a clearing, a man appeared from behind a tree, pistol at the ready, an alert expression on his face.

  His eyes widened a fraction at the sight of her then twinkled. He bowed. ‘Miss Rideau. A pleasure to meet you again.’

  ‘Mr Barker,’ she said, inclining her head. ‘Good day.’

  ‘Hardly,’ he growled, passing a hand down his face as if to sweep the raindrops away. Then he beamed at her. ‘But it does seem brighter for your presence.’

  Freddy dismounted, pulled at the strap fastening a saddlebag and a rolled bundle behind his saddle. He tossed them to Barker. ‘Do you have all you need?’ Freddy said, chill in his voice.

  The man opened the packs, sorting quickly through the contents. ‘This is everything I asked for.’

  ‘Good. Any sign of anything untoward?’

  ‘Nothing so far.’ Barker’s gaze returned to Freddy. ‘I’ll send the lad to you if we see anything out of place.’

  ‘You are letting a small boy sleep out in this weather?’ Minette was scandalised. She knew what it was to be cold and wet for hours at a time. She’d seen children die of chills.

  Freddy stiffened.

  ‘Now, then, missy,’ Barker said, his face glowering. ‘Think I don’t know how to build a bivouac? Nice and snug we’ll be. And the best of oilskins money can buy, too, thanks to His Grace.’

  Oh, dear. It seemed she’d insulted their competence. Both of them. ‘I should have known the two of you would be prepared for rain,’ she said by way of apology. ‘It always rains in England.’

  Barker bristled. ‘We get our share of good days.’

  Hopeless.

  ‘W
atch your step,’ Freddy warned his man. ‘When they come, they will no doubt scout the area. They won’t want anyone straying onto them by mistake. I’ll ride out again after dark to inspect the perimeter around Falconwood that you’ll spend today setting up.’

  A small figure entered the clearing with a couple of rabbits strung on a stick over his shoulder. ‘Guv’nor.’ He strode over to his employer with a flash of crooked teeth and displayed his catch.

  Barker rolled his eyes. ‘I told you no hunting. We can’t light a fire. The coves we’re after will spot the smoke as quick as a wink. It’s cold beef and beer for us for the next couple of days.’

  The boy grimaced and held out his catch to Freddy. ‘You want them?’

  ‘I can see you want me hanged for poaching,’ Freddy said, taking the offering.

  ‘Nah,’ the lad said. ‘They’ll be your rabbits, I’m thinking.’

  ‘Yes. And don’t let my gamekeeper catch you snaring them, or you’ll find yourself in the local lock-up and that won’t suit my purposes at all.’

  ‘Sorry, Guv.’

  Freddy whipped off the lad’s cap, ruffled his hair. The boy backed up and smoothed his neatly cut hair, looking indignant but secretly pleased.

  Freddy tossed him his hat. ‘You’ll have your chance to catch rabbits when we are done here.’

  A grin split the lad’s face. ‘You mean it?’

  ‘Yes. If you manage to stay out of trouble and do exactly as Barker says for the next day or so.’

  ‘Agreed,’ the boy said, and stuck out a grubby paw.

  Freddy shook it without a flinch.

  He was good with the child. Kind. He would make an excellent father. Surprising when one considered his mother’s coldness. He was also an honourable man. A woman would be lucky have his love and his children. Little black-haired imps of Satan if they were anything like their father—or her, if she was honest. A pain speared her heart. They couldn’t be hers. Must not be. He would stick to his word and marry her, if she let him. But it wouldn’t be right.

  She’d lived the wrong sort of a life for a duchess. If any of it ever came to light, it would reflect badly on any man she married. Duke or otherwise.