His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  As he continued to show her all of the delights of slow, erotic caressing—with both lips and hands—she lowered her own hands to his cravat, unraveled the simple knot and tossed the linen aside. Her dainty fingers continued to travel down his body, undoing the buttons on his waistcoat as they went. When she began to pull his shirt out of the waistband of his pantaloons, he pulled his mouth from hers.

  At first he couldn’t discern much, but then another bolt of lightening brightened the gallery and he caught the gleam in her eyes.

  “You are so beautiful, Victoria.”

  As the hall fell into darkness once again, he turned and pulled her by the hand over to the chaise beneath the oversized window.

  She settled herself in a reclining position without a word passing between them. Reaching up, she grasped his hand and tugged him closer. He lowered himself beside her and his lips found their way to hers as if drawn by a magnet. He lost himself in that kiss—and didn’t care if he was ever found.

  The touch of her hands on the flesh of his back shocked him out of his reverie. A new flare of want shot through him as her fingers traversed the skin beneath his shirt. The intimate contact abruptly turned their kiss into one filled with expectant hunger. He drank from her lips again and again. Throwing one leg over hers, he pressed his hard length into her thigh. She pressed back and dug her fingernails into the muscles in his back.

  Gliding his hand over her stomach, his fingers feathered across the top of her breast. She pulled her lips from his and sucked in a breath as his thumb slid inside the dress and over her chemise-covered nipple. He set his lips upon a trail—down her jaw, her neck, her shoulder, breathing in the intoxicating mixture of lavender and woman that was her scent. He arrived at the top of her breasts and placed his lips on the freckle he had spotted from across the drawing room.

  It was a challenge but by deftly reaching around to her back and unhooking the top of her dress he was able to loosen her corset and free one breast from the confines of the garish garment and her chemise.

  “Taviston,” she rasped. He didn’t think she herself knew what she was asking for, but he did.

  His lips outlined a circle around the outer edge of her creamy breast. Then he opened his mouth and took the nipple inside. He teased it with his tongue and then suckled.

  She gave a soft moan and pushed her thigh harder against his arousal. He wanted this moment, this potent desire, to last forever. He also wanted to bury himself inside her right this very minute and expire from the sheer joy of release.

  His eyes were closed but the lightening outside the window penetrated his eyelids and—

  “Taviston!” A deeply appalled masculine voice echoed down the hallway.

  “Oh, goodness!” A truly horrified female voice trailed off at the end.

  “Oh dear!” Another female voice, quieter, but equally taken aback, chimed in.

  “Good God, man!” A very deep, male voice shook with outrage.

  VICTORIA WENT COMPLETELY still at the cacophony of voices barreling down the hallway. Still tingling with the fervor of their passion, she actually felt a sense of loss when Taviston withdrew his mouth from her breast.

  He hung his head over her chest and let loose some very choice curses.

  She lifted her head slightly and said with a nervous laugh, “I daresay your curses are more colorful than mine!”

  He wouldn’t even raise his head. Apparently now was not the time for humor. Well, they were both idiots not to have heard the others or noticed lights flickering off the walls.

  Lord Northfield’s loud voice shot out of the semi-darkness. “I think we should all stop right here.”

  “See here, Northfield—” That would be Mr. Browne.

  Jane and Louisa began talking at the same time.

  “Quiet!” the marquess said with deadly force and the others hushed immediately.

  Taviston surreptitiously pulled her bodice back over her breast. Victoria was afraid to take a breath.

  “Taviston?” Thankfully his lordship’s voice still sounded as if he were down the hall a bit.

  “Yes?” Taviston said with a chill in his voice that made her shiver.

  “There is a sitting room right off this gallery. I’m sure you remember it. We will gather there, and you and Miss Forster will join us within five minutes.” Lord Northfield didn’t ask, he commanded.

  “Very well,” came Taviston’s quiet reply.

  He still lay half atop her and his port-scented breath fanned her face. As humiliating as this was, she still wanted to pull his lips back to hers. Who would have guessed such a wanton nature lay beneath her skin?

  She heard the rustle of the ladies’ skirts as they moved off to the nearby sitting room.

  The marquess spoke again. “Five minutes, no more, Taviston.” There was not a hint of friendship in his tone. He could have been speaking to a stranger.

  “I heard you the first time,” Taviston replied between clenched teeth. His mouth hovered directly over hers.

  Victoria couldn’t help herself; she lifted her head and kissed him squarely on the lips, somehow hoping to make all of his tension disappear.

  Removing himself from the chaise rather hurriedly, Taviston reached out a hand to help her up. In the dimness she couldn’t make out his expression, but as he stuffed his shirt back into his pantaloons, he never turned his eyes to her and anger hung in the air around him.

  She spotted his cravat on the floor as he began working the buttons on his waistcoat. Picking up the linen square, she pushed the cravat into his hand and began buttoning up the shiny green and yellow waistcoat herself. He stood stock still for a moment and she fully expected him to protest. But he didn’t. He quickly tied a simple knot around his neck and tucked the cravat into his shirt.

  Victoria finished with his buttons and turned to attend to her hair. Keeping herself as busy as possible, she avoided any semblance of thinking. She didn’t trust herself to do so right now. Taviston’s fury did not sit well with her at all. What right did he have to be angry with her?

  He stepped closer to her and gently turned her so her back was to him. After fastening up her gown with steady hands, he walked away and picked up his lamp from the table. He came back to her side and raised it, casting a glow on her face. She lowered her lashes. She had no idea what she was feeling, but whatever it was, she did not want to reveal it to him.

  Raising his hand, he tenderly tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers trail down the side of her neck. In that moment she realized he wasn’t furious with her; he was incensed with himself.

  Finally, he spoke. “Shall we?”

  Still not comfortable speaking, she nodded. He led her a short way down the gallery then flung open a closed door. Victoria stepped around him and entered.

  The sitting room was awash in light. Someone had lit every single lamp and candle in the room. Lord Northfield, Jane, Louisa, Mr. Browne, and oh dear, Lady Smitherton, had formed a circle in the center of the room.

  Though she knew her hot cheeks must be red, she held her head high and walked around to one side of the group. Jane and Louisa made room for her. She averted her eyes from them all. Taviston walked around the opposite way and stood between Lord Northfield and Lady Smitherton.

  The marquess was the first to speak. “Miss Forster, I apologize. This is my home, and I am responsible for what goes on here.”

  Victoria had only ever seen his golden eyes alight with pleasure and humor, but now they glittered with anger, disappointment, and embarrassment.

  Taviston opened his mouth to speak, reluctantly it seemed to her, but Mr. Browne intercepted him.

  “See here, Taviston. This is an untenable situation. I am deeply appalled at the indignities you have forced upon my ward. This is utterly beneath a man of your standing.”

  She had never heard her guardian speak with such a noble voice before and the hypocrisy of it had her indignation growing exponentially. Now was not the time for
him to finally come to her defense.

  Taviston looked anything but the staid and proper duke right now. She had wrought havoc with his short hair and much of it now stood on end, shooting off in different directions. His jaw was stained red as well, no doubt from the humiliation of being caught like some school lad behind the stables. Nevertheless, he looked her guardian right in the eye and said, “I apologize, Mr. Browne, for my behavior. Everything you have said is true.”

  The older man huffed, stiffened his spine and replied, “Your apology is appreciated, but it is hardly sufficient under the circumstances.”

  Oh, dear God, what had got into the man? Mr. Browne hadn’t paid her this much attention in the last two months and now he wanted to be her defender?

  Lord Northfield broke into the conversation. “Mr. Browne, surely we should let Taviston and Miss Forster—”

  “Northfield, it’s quite all right. I am fully prepared to resolve the matter in any way Mr. Browne sees fit.” While the words were said casually enough, Victoria noted the duke’s clenched jaw. How to stop this insanity?

  “I think you are well aware of how this incident needs to be resolved,” Mr. Browne declared with an air of authority.

  Louisa, who stood beside Victoria with a knowing little smile on her face, interjected herself into the situation. “Now, Mr. Browne. I don’t believe there is any reason for all of this fuss. Before you go making demands on His Grace, let me offer another solution altogether.” She paused to make sure she had everyone’s attention. “We can easily send the girl back to the country. She’s hardly known in society. None will miss her. No one outside of this circle ever needs to know what transpired here this evening. She lived in Rippingale for ten years; it would not be a hardship for her to spend the rest of her life there.” Her cousin finished with a brilliant smile.

  Victoria trained her eyes on Taviston. She had a morbid fascination with seeing exactly how he would respond to this offer of an escape. There was a third option, an option that Victoria had hoped to hear from his lips in the beginning. It was the only option she was willing to even contemplate.

  No one spoke for an eternity. When Taviston finally did open his mouth, she saw how he struggled to form the words. Resignation filled his grey eyes, which he kept on her guardian. “I will marry your ward, Mr. Browne.”

  That more than satisfied Mr. Browne. He positively beamed as he said, “Excellent. Just excellent. I knew I hadn’t misjudged your character, Taviston.”

  Beside her, Victoria sensed Louisa’s frustration and anger intensifying. She could see that her cousin desperately wanted to add something, but after the duke’s offer, any other protests from her would be very suspicious.

  The marquess turned to his friend. “Taviston...”

  “Northfield, the matter is resolved. To everyone’s satisfaction.”

  He still hadn’t looked her way since this ridiculous conversation began. Apparently, he wasn’t going to offer the third option, which was to find out what Victoria wanted. That fact, plus his obvious reluctance to marry her, made her own indignation and wrath boil over.

  “I hardly think so, Your Grace.” The brittleness in her voice finally brought his eyes around to her. “I am not satisfied. It is my life you all speak of. I will not marry you. I shall return to my quiet life in the country.”

  Why didn’t that speech give her more satisfaction? She turned to her guardian while the others all gawked at her. “I wish to leave now, Mr. Browne.”

  She didn’t give him time to answer but headed for the door straightaway.

  Within ten minutes she and the Brownes had braved the storm and made it safely into their carriage. Not a word was spoken.

  Her guardian once again sat staring out the window. Louisa sat next to him, looking smugly satisfied with the turn of events. Victoria huddled in the opposite corner, willing her eyes to contain their tears.

  TAVISTON CHARGED THROUGH the door of Northfield’s library and wheeled on his friend, who followed.

  “Hell and damnation, Northfield! What an inopportune time for you to make an appearance. How could you drag all those people through the house, looking for us? A scandal such as this is one of my worst nightmares!”

  He let all of his feelings of anger, frustration and mortification spill out of him. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to heap all this on his friend and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he would need to ask Northfield’s forgiveness.

  “Bloody hell, Taviston! If I had known you needed more time to complete your ravishment of Miss Forster, I would certainly have delayed discovering you.” Northfield’s rarely used sarcastic tone sapped most of the fury from Taviston’s blood.

  “I wasn’t ravishing her.” A stretching of the truth, but he did wonder how much further things would have gone if they hadn’t been discovered.

  “You were doing a good imitation of it,” Northfield muttered. He made his way over to the liquor cabinet and poured them each a brandy. After handing a glass to Taviston he stood before the fireplace in a challenging stance. “What the devil were you thinking? You cannot disappear from a dinner party for almost an hour and not expect someone to come looking for you.” Northfield ran a hand through his longish hair. “I had no idea you had even gone to visit the nursery until Jane questioned what was keeping you, Miss Forster, and Lady Smitherton. The other guests were leaving, hoping to take advantage of a lull in the storm. So Jane, the Brownes, and I made our way upstairs.” Edmund watched him pace around the room. “I, in my innocence, assumed you were all still in the nursery, agog over my son. However, when we arrived there and discovered Lady Smitherton dozing in the corner, and you and Miss Forster missing, things became a bit more panicked.” He caught Taviston’s eye. “I thought it would be infinitely better to have everyone search for you together, in case the Brownes tried to embellish whatever situation you were found in. Turns out there wasn’t much chance of that.”

  Taviston leaned against the back of one of the chairs before the fireplace, hanging his head. “I did not plan any of this, on my honor. When Miss Forster and I left the nursery, we were intent on returning to the drawing room. Lady Smitherton must have completely slipped our minds. On the way I remembered the portrait of your great-great grandfather and I wanted to show it to Miss Forster.” He raised his head. Northfield did not look pleased at this bit of information. “She found it amusing and then... I don’t know. We stopped thinking and things just happened.”

  With a rueful smile Taviston said, “Would that I had remembered the sitting room off the gallery earlier. We might have been able to avert disaster.” He stood more upright and faced his friend. “I apologize, Northfield. Please forgive me for my behavior this entire evening. It has not been one of my finer hours.”

  Northfield broke into a smile. “I would have to say I haven’t ever seen you like this before. Your apology is accepted, of course. And you should consider yourself damned lucky, with the way things turned out.”

  “Lucky?” His bitter mood returned full force. “More like cursed. She came to town specifically to find a husband and escape her cousin’s household. And yet she refused my offer of marriage. What, exactly, does that say about me?”

  “Taviston, you are being ridiculous,” Northfield admonished, somehow without conveying as much confidence as he should have.

  “Am I? You yourself were attempting to arrange a match for her. Yet she would go back to the country with a ruined reputation, rather than marry me.” He mumbled as an afterthought, “A duke, no less.”

  He thought briefly about Miss Forster and her bright personality moldering in the countryside, forced to live on the charity of the Brownes, and suppressed a pang of guilt. Taviston glanced at Northfield and was not pleased to see a look of pity in his friend’s eyes. Ah, well. He probably deserved it.

  He swallowed the last of his brandy and set his glass down on the table, with a snap. “Think about it, old chum. I compromised a woman in front of five witnesses and yet I
cannot get her to agree to marry me. This does not bode well for my future.”

  He turned and headed out the library door. After a moment, Northfield followed him. “Taviston, where are you going?”

  “Home.”

  “Let me call my carriage for you. It’s still storming outside.”

  “No, thank you. I will walk.” Still striding toward the door, Taviston grabbed his hat from Jackson and headed out the door without a backward glance.

  “Taviston!” Northfield called after him, futilely.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The library door stood open. Taviston hesitated before going in. His brothers had called a family meeting, on this, the third morning after the worst night of his life. Peyton and James had extracted the whole sordid story from him that first evening, after he had been plied with a copious amount of brandy. Surely they couldn’t want to hear about it again, but heaven only knew what they did want. All Taviston wanted was to be left alone.

  Taking a deep breath, he entered the room. James stood by the unlit fireplace, while Peyton lay sprawled on the sofa, looking like the rakehell he was.

  Taviston mumbled a good morning and sank into an overstuffed chair.

  Peyton sat up and stared at him a long time before speaking. “What is the matter with you? For someone who told me just a week ago he had no interest whatsoever in Miss Victoria Forster, you are taking this rather hard. I would think you would be nothing short of jubilant since you have escaped marriage to a most unsuitable woman.”

  Taviston glowered at his brother. “Is this what you called me in here for?”

  James cleared his throat and shifted the shoulder that rested on the mantel. “Taviston, I think what Peyton is trying to say, in his own way, is that it’s time for you to carry on. This incident, however horrible it may have been, is in the past.” James looked over at Peyton, obviously seeking confirmation.