A Devil of a Duke

by Madeline Hunter

  “I think there may be a way to compromise how we try to find your mother,” he said. “It may be possible to do it both ways. Go to Devon as you want, but also follow the dagger.”

  “I suppose if we separate in our actions, that might work.”

  “We will not separate. There is no telling what waits at the end of the search.”

  “You are being stubborn again.”

  “Did you think a good rut would change my mind? I appreciate the effort to seduce me to your plan, but it failed.”

  She laughed and kissed him. “I wanted to seduce you for my own pleasure. Of course, if it made your thinking more pliable, all the better.”

  “It did that, but not in the way you wanted. I have concluded that you and I should go to Devon once the directions come. Someone else should make the delivery and follow the dagger. If it is as we suspect, we will all end up in the same place. If it is not, we will still have the location where the dagger went.”

  After a moment of consideration, she said, “I suppose you intend to have Vincent follow the dagger.”

  “You sound skeptical.”

  “He is green and rash. He will never be careful enough. If it is merely posted by a go-between to its destination, he does not have the skill to learn where it is going. He is not clever enough to find a way to get a look at the direction on the box.”

  “Vincent would be insulted by your lack of confidence.”

  “He has the heart for such work, but not enough experience. You should tell him to apprentice himself to a runner if he thinks he wants to become an investigator. It is a skill not unlike thieving. One must learn the trade.”

  “I was not thinking of Vincent. This requires someone whose discretion I trust without question.”

  Which meant only one person.

  * * *

  The horses charged at a hard gallop across the park’s hills, pulling far away from the carriages and walkers on the Serpentine. At the tree designated as the end of the race, Gabriel pulled up his horse in a pivot while Brentworth closed the last few yards.

  “Damnation,” Brentworth cursed. “If this horse can’t beat yours, he will hardly do well in a real race.”

  “You bought him without my advice. That was a mistake.”

  Brentworth frowned darkly, then acquiesced the point. “It was an impulse at an auction. One which you did not attend.”

  He would have gone if requested. However, Brentworth prided himself on knowing horses. He owned several strong winners that he raced all over England. Gabriel had been with him when he purchased those.

  Brentworth usually approached horse trading the same way he arranged for a new mistress—with little emotion. That he had bought on impulse was surprising.

  “I am perplexed that you succumbed to auction fever for this animal. It has good lines, but I can see nothing special that would provoke such a reaction.”

  Brentworth patted the chestnut’s neck. “I think he reminded me of the first horse I had as a boy.”

  “Then keep him for riding. It is a better life for him anyway.”

  They walked the horses to cool them down. Gabriel made sure they moved far away from any other riders who might choose to race to the tree.

  “I have another favor to ask,” he said.

  “I thought you might. Can I ask questions this time?”

  “You probably should.”

  “Is this dangerous?”

  “Unlikely, but that is difficult to say. Your discretion is also required.”

  Brentworth stopped his horse. “Explain yourself.”

  He had considered giving Brentworth only half the story. Instead, on that hill, while the remnant of society gathered for the fashionable hour, he told him everything. He owed Brentworth the whole truth.

  Brentworth heard him out in silence. “When do you expect to receive this letter?” he asked when Gabriel was finished.

  “Any day now.”

  “Send the directions to me and I will have the dagger delivered. As for following it, I will recruit Stratton to join me. It will do him good to have a purpose besides fatherhood for a few days.”

  “That is not wise. Even alone and in disguise you will be . . . notable.” He found himself using Amanda’s word for that which can never be disguised. Brentworth was one of the most notable of the notables in England. “Better one than two.”

  “I’ll be damned if I will wear a disguise, Langford. The culprit is sure to wonder why some odd fellow uncomfortable in his old coats is always about. Stratton and I will go as we are, and the man will be none the wiser. In a hundred years, he would never think two dukes had any interest in him.”

  “Bring Stratton if you will, and tell him what you must.”

  “I shall tell him everything, of course.” He vaguely shook his head. “You are going to a great deal of trouble for this woman. I hope you know what you are doing.”

  Gabriel turned his horse and they rode on. Brentworth’s last comment had not been about the plan or the search. He really meant I hope that you know that you risk compromising all that you are for this woman.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Amanda learned that Langford left the house early the next morning. Vincent told her they would not have to check the mail drop because His Grace intended to do so before he returned. That had happened a few times in the past.

  She was in the garden when he returned midday. He found her there and held out his hand. “Come with me.”

  He led her up the stairs and into her chamber. She waited for the embrace and kiss that would initiate their passion. Instead, he kept leading her, into her dressing room.

  Muslin bundles covered the divan. Confused, she went over and poked at one. It squished and gave out a subtle sound.

  “What is this?”

  “Open it and see.”

  She pulled the muslin apart. A lovely cream day dress fell out. She held it up to admire it. “It is delicious.”

  “It is yours. So are the others. Did you know that some modistes make dresses without a commission? I had no idea.”

  “I expect they hope to entice a client with a dress already made when she comes to commission others. Or have a few for emergencies.” She opened another bundle. An evening dress this time, in the palest gray, richly decorated with silver-toned lace.

  “There are shoes in that one, and a reticule, and a rather practical carriage ensemble in this one here.”

  “How did you find all of this?” She pulled out the shoes and reticule and laid them with the evening dress. The carriage ensemble might be practical, but she almost drooled when she saw the superfine blue wool mantle that formed part of it.

  “I have a friend who makes an art of discretion. He knew the names of modistes who do not share the names of their patrons even with their seamstresses. I paid them some early calls.”

  She gazed down on the gifts, still stunned. “Why?”

  “I have wanted to do this, but there was no time to order a wardrobe, nor a way to send you without your being seen.”

  No time. “You wanted me dressed thus?”

  “Ever since you showed up in those pantaloons at Harry’s.”

  “Thank you. They are all perfect. Beautiful.” She had never owned dresses like these. She probably never would again. It was the sort of wardrobe that made a woman more beautiful than nature decreed.

  “You can wear the evening dress tonight at dinner. I will enjoy seeing you in it.”

  She embraced him. She showed him with her kiss how much she appreciated this surprise.

  Her reaction pleased him. “I will leave you to do whatever women do with new garments.”

  He left her to play with her new toys. She sat with the dinner dress on her lap, fingering the lace.

  She wondered if he had given all of this to her for reasons besides his own enjoyment or her delight. Perhaps he wanted her to have better than her remade garments when she left England. Maybe he wanted to give her the sort of advantage t
hat fine clothes create.

  His thoughtfulness touched her deeply.

  She dressed for dinner with great care. She had her woman do something new with her hair. She pinched her cheeks to bring up their color.

  When she entered the dining room, she saw he had done the same. His cravat gleamed with stark precision. He examined her in the dress with a scandalous gaze, looking down slowly, then up again until he stopped at her neck. “It needs something more. Something to set off the color just so. Perhaps this will do.” His hand emerged from his pocket with a little velvet sack. He took her hand and poured out the contents.

  She stared, speechless. A necklace of gold filigree draped over her palm. The fine lines expanded their loops and swirls toward the center until they supported a clear stone there. A diamond.

  He took it from her and stepped around to fasten it on her neck. Then he led her to a chair at the table.

  She fingered the necklace. “You are too generous.”

  “I found myself regretting that you have asked nothing of me. It was an odd reaction to have. Normally I regret a woman’s lack of subtlety in reminding me what gifts she thinks she deserves.”

  “I’m sure I could be as avaricious as anyone in the right circumstances.”

  Champagne arrived. He set a glass by her hand. “I know why you did not. I know why you left the locket on the carpet that night. Things are different between us now, so I decided you might agree to accept a few gifts from me.”

  Gifts given in affection. She did not doubt that. His delight in giving them said as much. Yet she suspected this necklace, like the wardrobe, was also a way to ensure she would not be impoverished when he sent her off to America.

  There had been no letter today. There might be none tomorrow. With each day that passed, the likelihood of it arriving the next increased, however. That meant each night might be the last one of freedom, when only the anticipation of “someday soon” shadowed her.

  He admired the champagne after he drank some. “You will have to sing tonight. A happy song, though. Not that sad ballad from last time.”

  “I will sing if you promise not to fall asleep.”

  “I won’t fall asleep.”

  “You can’t be trusted with champagne. You enjoy it too much.” She pretended to ponder the matter.

  “I will find a way to make sure I stay awake.” He lowered his voice because a footman arrived with some food. “A wonderful way.”

  She laughed. “That probably means a naughty way.”

  “I am not sure naughty does it justice.”

  * * *

  She held the looking glass so she could see the necklace again. She had spent half an hour admiring herself in it. Normally she let the woman help her into her nightdress before sending her away, but tonight, upon retiring, she had told her to leave at once.

  It was a diamond, she was almost sure. A real one. In this light, it gave off blue sparks. Mama had taught her the difference between real jewels and paste. That she had seen few real jewels during the last ten years did not mean she could not still see the difference.

  She moved the looking glass so she could see how the dress looked on her too. The fine fabric hugged her form. It felt almost as though it had been made for her. She wondered how he had known it would.

  They had shared a wonderful dinner and evening. One of laughter and joy. He’d regaled her with stories about the trouble he and his friends had made when young men on the town. She’d told him about leading midnight raids on the kitchen at school to steal cakes from a tin that held them. The trick was to take one from each layer, not grab all the ones right on top.

  Not all was laughter. He’d confided that he resented that he’d inherited when only twenty-three. I thought that very unfair, that I should be saddled with those obligations so early, long before any of the others in my generation. So I ignored them as best I could. She could tell that he knew that had been wrong. He had been born a duke’s son, after all.

  She reached behind her neck to unclasp the necklace. Firm hands joined hers and took over. She lifted the looking glass to see him in the reflection. He wore the brocade banyan, buttoned at the waist.

  He had grown familiar to her, so she did not think so much about his beauty anymore. If he possessed a face far less handsome, she did not think she would notice that either. Now, however, in the odd objectivity created by the looking glass, she saw his features as if for the first time.

  An astonishing face, with firm jaw and chiseled planes, and sapphire eyes as deep as the sea. His reckless dark curls softened him, as did his ready smile. She had seen him angry, though, and knew his good humor could not be taken for granted.

  He spied her watching him while he concentrated on the clasp. It released just then, and he allowed it to drip down into her waiting palm. “You were beautiful in it,” he said. “And in the dress.” He raised her up and turned her. “It is time to remove it, however.”

  He released the tapes, then took her hand and led her into the bedroom. He threw himself into a chair and sprawled there. “I will let you do the rest, so I do not ruin the fabric in my clumsiness.”

  “Somehow I don’t think you are clumsy in the task. I think you had much experience and are an expert in handling fine fabrics.”

  “I am all thumbs with it. Truly.” He flashed a devilish smile. “It would be better if you did it yourself. You can sing one of your songs while you do, so I don’t get bored.”

  “A woman undressing bores you? You are jaded, aren’t you?”

  She lowered the bodice, then eased the silk down her body. She stepped out with great care. While she laid it on a chair, she began a song popular in London, a rather bawdy one.

  Used to doing for herself, she managed the stays on her own, but it took some time to release the laces. Hole by hole, she slid them out.

  It became a performance with her dropping garments at the suggestive lyrics. He watched closely, laughing at her antics. He clapped when the chemise went down, leaving her in only her hose.

  The laughter stopped with the last garment. She stood naked in front of him. He gazed at her the way he had earlier in the dress, slowly.

  “Come here.”

  She walked to him, excited from the eroticism of the game. She resisted when he tried to pull her onto his lap. “There is one more verse,” she admonished. She sang it slowly, quietly, while she unbuttoned the banyan. Its sides fell away, revealing his body.

  She leaned over him and kissed his lips, then his neck, then his chest. She lost herself in the way all her senses dwelled on his presence. His scent filled her head. She heard nothing but his breathing. She tasted his skin and touched his chest and held his head for the deepest of kisses. He touched her too. When he stroked her breasts, it increased her arousal.

  Lost in the sensuality, lost in him, she kissed and licked and tasted the skin on his chest. She dropped to her knees and continued on the hard planes of his stomach. Not thinking, not choosing, she ran her tongue up the length of his arousal. All of him tensed, but not in surprise. Rather, he braced himself and she knew that he wanted more. His voice, so perfect in the night, quietly told her what to do to vanquish him entirely.

  * * *

  He threw on his banyan and returned to his chambers. He washed and dressed slowly, stoking the last embers of the night’s fire with memories. A long night. An astonishing one. Again and again they woke and came together until, finally, at the first sign of dawn breaking, he had held her while she fell into a deep sleep.

  Still in that bed in his mind, still in her embrace and in her body, he went below for coffee and food. He barely saw the letters he read or the words in the newspaper. Finally, he checked his pocket watch. He would prefer to let her sleep for hours, but it was time to wake her.

  He returned to her chamber. She lay in abandon, her legs bared to the knees and the sheet hardly covering her breasts. He pulled the drapes open at the windows. An overcast day meant gray light found her, making her
appear ethereal.

  He hated waking her. He sat on the bed and stroked her face until her lids moved, then rose. “You should be up. You need to dress.”

  She closed her eyes and looked ready to sleep again. “Why?” she murmured.

  “You need to pack. We will leave today.”

  A good minute passed before she understood. Her lids rose again, this time in surprise. “Have you already checked if a letter came? It is early still.”

  “It came yesterday.”

  “And you did not tell me.”

  “No.”

  She did not ask why. “You are right and we must leave.”

  “I will return in an hour. The carriage will be ready soon after. I told your woman to bring breakfast to you here. She should arrive with it soon.”

  He left her to go below where his horse waited. He would not apologize for delaying this departure a day. The dresses, the necklace, the dinner, the whole night had been expressions of the rebellion he’d experienced in his spirit when he’d seen that letter yesterday morning.

  He had decided he would not tell her right away. He would have one more day, one more night, before the end began.

  * * *

  Amanda threw off the bed linen as soon as the door closed. She padded into the dressing room and grabbed her nightdress and pulled it on, then set her valise on the divan and opened her trunk.

  He’d had the letter yesterday. He had not told her. She tried to work up some anger at his deception, but her heart refused to upbraid him, even silently.

  She lifted the necklace off the dressing table. He had known when he’d bought this, and the dresses, and given her champagne. He had known all of last night.

  She closed her eyes and was in his arms again, her separateness melted away so that she felt a part of him in all ways. She had not thought it possible for a man and a woman to go on and on like that, hard and furious, then sweet and poignant, then shocking and scandalous, then—

  She’d never objected. Never questioned. She’d accepted and taken and given, enthralled again and again. It was if he could not get enough and he made sure she could not either.