My Once and Future Duke (The Wagers of Sin #1)

by Caroline Linden

  Then Jack looked away, his expression unchanged. Sophie made herself do the same, turning back to Giles Carter. “If you’re asking if I harbor hopes of attaching the Duke of Ware,” she said evenly, “the answer is no. The very thought defies disbelief. His presence here is very much a surprise to me. The last thing I want to do is cause another scene and revive any unpleasantness. I am thoroughly aware of how rashly I acted that evening, and have resolved never to do so again.”

  Mr. Carter listened attentively. Sophie’s heart twisted; he was a good man, one for whom she had hoped to develop true affection. If Philip hadn’t been so stubborn . . . if Jack hadn’t swept in, furious and out of patience . . . if she hadn’t lost her temper and given in to the temptation of winning all that money . . . She would probably still be doing her best to flirt with Mr. Carter and bring him up to scratch. He met all of her husband requirements, and she genuinely liked him.

  But he was not Jack, and he never would be. Those few fleeting days at Alwyn House had changed something inside her, like clay being fired in a kiln, and she couldn’t go back to the way she was before. She didn’t have it in her to deceive Mr. Carter any more than she had room in her heart for anyone but Jack. Perhaps in time that would relent, but for now . . .

  She made herself smile. “You asked how I have changed. I believe I’ve become more calculating. Tonight I feel like winning a great deal of money, and I like you far too much to make you my prey. Shall we say farewell until a more genial evening?”

  His face eased, and he even laughed. “I might say that’s proof you hold me in high regard,” he teased. “Warning me away to spare my purse—­and my pride!”

  “The very highest regard, sir!” She tapped his arm with her fan. “Although you do lose so graciously . . .”

  “Only to you.” He offered his arm. Sophie took it and let him lead her to the faro tables. Whist was too tame after all; tonight she did feel restless and reckless, and damn anyone who got in her path.

  Her luck held through the evening. By the time the clock chimed two, she had won a tidy sum, just over one hundred pounds. She should have been pleased, and instead she only felt drained. It was time to go home. She bade her companions good-­night and headed to the reception hall to send for her cloak and have Forbes summon a hackney.

  The hall was quiet at this time of night. Vega’s doors were open until dawn, but most people who meant to play tonight were already in the main salon. The hardened gamesters in search of excitement had usually departed for more depraved haunts by now, and the competition for hackneys at this end of St. Martin’s was minimal. The front door stood open, and a fresh breeze swept through the elegant hall as she entered. Sophie took a deep breath gratefully. “Mr. Forbes,” she began, approaching the tall fair-­haired man with his back to her.

  He swung around. She stopped in her tracks with a gasp. It was not the major-­domo.

  Jack’s face was as still as marble. “Mrs. Campbell.”

  Of course. She mustn’t know him and he mustn’t know her. “Your Grace,” she murmured, dipping a curtsy. “I beg your pardon.”

  “Forbes has stepped out to summon a hackney. They seem in short supply in this street.” His tone was cool and remote—­ducal.

  She flushed. “Yes, they often are.”

  They stood in awkward silence for a minute. She longed to say something to him, anything, but didn’t dare. All it would take was one overheard word, one sign of connection, and the rumors would roar back to life. And yet . . . standing here so near him was almost more than she could bear, especially tonight.

  Fortunately Mr. Forbes stepped back inside, his brows rising at the sight of her. “Mrs. Campbell! Are you in want of a hackney?”

  “Yes.”

  He nodded once. “I’ll send for one immediately. Your carriage is waiting outside, Your Grace.” He motioned to Frank, the servant in charge of the cloakroom who was just hurrying back into the hall with a greatcoat over one arm and a hat in the other hand—­Jack’s, no doubt. “Fetch Mrs. Campbell’s cloak,” Forbes told him.

  Jack shrugged into his coat and took his hat from Frank. “Nonsense,” he said coolly. “The lady must take the hackney.”

  Forbes bowed. “As you wish, sir. I shall summon another at once.”

  “No.” Jack set the hat on his head. “I find that I am in want of some fresh air. I shall walk.”

  Sophie kept her chin up, but her gaze carefully away from his face. “That is very kind of you, sir.”

  He tipped his head in regal acknowledgment as he tugged on his gloves. Without another word or glance he strode out into the night. Sophie inhaled sharply as the breeze swirled around him, carrying the faintest whiff of his shaving soap back to her.

  “Are you well?” asked Forbes, watching her far too closely. “Was His Grace importunate?”

  “What? No.” She gave a quick shake of her head. “I’m merely tired. His Grace was very kind to let me take his hackney.”

  Forbes didn’t look entirely convinced. “If you’re certain . . .”

  “Yes.” She smiled in genuine relief as Frank reappeared with her cloak. “Quite certain. And now I shan’t have to wait while a carriage is summoned, which makes me feel even better.” She tied the ribbons on her cloak, and Forbes offered his hand to escort her down the steps to the waiting hackney.

  A covert glance up and down the street revealed no sign of Jack. Sophie stepped into the hired carriage, thanking Mr. Forbes for his assistance with a silver crown. The carriage started off, and she tried to calm her still-­leaping pulse. She would have to get used to seeing him, if Giles Carter were correct that he had become a member. When she had asked him to stop Philip harassing her, she hadn’t guessed he would do it personally. If she had known, she wasn’t sure she would have asked. It was a great relief not to see Philip watching her all the time, but it would be even more unsettling to catch fleeting glimpses of Jack. She leaned her head against the narrow window, thinking how farcical her life had become lately.

  The hackney turned into the main road, and abruptly she jerked upright, then lunged forward. “Stop a moment!” she cried to the driver. He slowed the horse, and she groped for the handle. She pushed open the door just as the hack drew even with Jack on the pavement.

  He stopped and faced her. Breathless, gripping the handle for dear life, she stared back at him. “This was meant to be your carriage, sir.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I would not have accepted your offer of it if I had suspected it would force you to walk.”

  He took a step closer and laid his hand over hers on the door handle. “Perhaps we might . . . share the carriage.”

  Her mouth was dry. She smothered the little whisper in her head, warning that this was a mistake. Jack’s voice had lost the cool, aristocratic drawl. Once more he sounded like the man who’d laughed with her at Alwyn House, and the way he looked at her made her heart leap. She nodded yes, sliding over on the seat to make room for him.

  Chapter 18

  She barely heard Jack tell the driver to drive on; her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. The hackney started forward with a small lurch, and it unstuck her tongue. “I was told you’re now a member of the Vega Club.”

  “Yes.” Under cover of her cloak, his hand slid over hers on the seat between them. His fingers rubbed across her knuckles before drifting to her wrist, where he slipped loose the buttons of her glove. “It was the only way I could keep my word to you.”

  “That’s far beyond what I expected,” she said unsteadily. He was peeling the glove from her hand, sending tremors through her whole body.

  “It shouldn’t be.”

  “I know how you feel about gambling . . .” The glove came off, and his bare skin was against hers. When had he removed his own glove? Sophie’s voice choked off as his fingers speared between hers, his palm to h
ers.

  “No one said I must gamble while I’m there,” he murmured.

  “It must be a terrible inconvenience. I cannot ask—­”

  He squeezed her hand. “Perhaps I wanted an excuse to be there.” He glanced at her, his eyes catching the light of a street lamp as they passed it. “Despite what people say about me, I am not made of stone, and it’s been a miserably long week.”

  She made an odd gasping noise, hardly aware she’d been holding her breath. Even dukes are men of flesh and blood. Her own blood seemed to sizzle in her veins. “It has.”

  His hand tightened over hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles.

  She was a fool. Not only had she gone and lost her heart to the wrong man, she didn’t care. If this moment with him, with no more contact than his hand around hers, cost her every hope of a respectable marriage, she couldn’t regret it. Sophie had lost too many people she loved to take any second of joy for granted. She turned her face into his shoulder, breathing deeply to imprint the scent and feel and warmth of him indelibly on her memory.

  All too soon the hack stopped in Alfred Street. Jack opened the door and stepped down, reaching back to help her. He gave her his arm and walked her the few steps to her door. He tipped back his head, studying her house and glancing left and right to take in the street. It was modest but clean, and relatively safe. “So this is where you live.”

  “Yes.” She took out her latchkey, trying to prolong the moment. “I thought you might have found out.”

  “No.” He gave her a searing look. “If I’d known where to find you, I never could have stayed away.”

  God help her. All her resolve to move on, to keep their days together a secret hidden in her heart, drained away. “Come inside,” she whispered before she could stop herself. “Stay with me.”

  His fierce smile sent her heart soaring. “One moment,” he said, turning on his heel. Sophie jammed the key in the lock as he spoke to the hackney driver, who snapped his whip and drove off just as she got the door open. She turned, but Jack was already behind her, his expression taut. He pressed his finger to her lips and slid one arm around her waist as he urged her over the threshold before closing the door and sliding home the bolt. He put his cheek next to hers. “What about your servants?” he breathed.

  “There’s only one,” she replied. “My maid, Colleen. She can hold her tongue . . .”

  “Excellent. Where does she sleep?” His lips were brushing the sensitive skin below her ear, and Sophie felt in very real danger of swooning.

  “Upstairs. She’ll be sound asleep now . . .”

  She caught the white flash of his teeth as he grinned, just before he kissed her. Her key made a tiny ping as it hit the floor. She clung to his jacket, holding him to her as she returned his kiss. Her entire being seemed to light up with pleasure as his fingers—­both hands bare now—­cupped her jaw as his tongue met hers. When he lifted his head, she swayed and almost stumbled, drunk on the taste of him.

  “Take me to bed,” he whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe. “I told the hack to return in two hours.”

  Because he could not stay. It should slap some sense into her, but instead she took his hand and led him up the stairs. There was no time to waste.

  She barely got her bedroom door closed before he caught her again. With one hand he untied her cloak and let it fall to the floor. “Do you know,” he asked as he removed her bonnet, “how close I came to ravishing you on my desk when you called?”

  “I wouldn’t have objected.” Her efforts to strip him were hampered by the frequent touches of his hands on her skin. Her pulse was leaping so erratically it was a wonder she hadn’t fainted.

  Jack’s laugh was quiet. He let her push off his greatcoat and jacket, then spun her around to start working at the fastenings of her dress. “It was damned difficult to see you walk away from me yet again. I nearly didn’t let you.” Her bodice sagged loose and he pressed his lips to the back of her neck. Sophie put her hands on the wall in front of her for support; her bones seemed to turn soft when he did that. “Every day I look through the post, hoping there will be a message from you,” he went on, his voice low as he divested her of the gown. “Every time I go out, I can’t help hoping to catch sight of you.”

  Her breath shuddered as his arms went around her and his body pressed against hers. “We agreed—­” she choked, trying to cling to sanity. “It’s not wise for either of us—­”

  “No, it isn’t, but I don’t bloody care,” he growled. “My God, Sophie, I want you more than ever.”

  She let out a whimper; her skin prickled, and her heart wobbled in her chest. I love you, she thought again, helplessly. She turned in his arms and seized his waistcoat in both hands. “I don’t bloody care, either.”

  His mouth was on hers almost before she finished speaking. With urgent fingers they stripped each other before falling into bed. Jack’s weight atop her made Sophie wild with hunger. His hands ran roughly over her skin as if he couldn’t believe she was real. She unabashedly parted her legs and wrapped them around his hips, straining toward him.

  He resisted her efforts. “I thought of having you like this the moment our eyes met at Vega’s,” he whispered. One by one he extricated her arms from around his neck and spread them wide, clasping her hands as he levered himself above her. “You were with another man, and it took all my control not to march over and knock him senseless.”

  “A friend,” she gasped. “Nothing more.” She could never marry Giles Carter now.

  “Hmm.” Jack didn’t sound convinced. “Does he know that?” He kissed the side of her neck, right where her pulse throbbed, his lips sucking at her skin until she felt faint. “I wanted him to know. I wanted everyone to know you were mine.” He moved, sliding over her in imitation of lovemaking.

  It was the perfect invitation to ask what he meant by that. It was rapidly becoming clear to her that they couldn’t stay away from each other, nor did they want to. Philip and his jealousy could go hang; Giles Carter and his honorable intentions would have to slip away. This man was in her head, in her heart, and she wanted to be with him. Lover, mistress, or something else, she didn’t care, so long as they were together.

  But that was too somber for the moment, when her body ached for his. “Jack,” she pleaded. “Make love to me.” She rocked her hips upward again, and his breath caught with a perceptible flinch.

  “Have you thought of me?” He held her pinned to the bed, although his mouth wandered all over her face and neck. “Like this?”

  “Yes.” Her breath was coming in ragged gasps now. His hips were sliding against hers, hard and slow, but denying her what she wanted. “All the time. You know I do . . .”

  “Good.” He adjusted his weight and pushed inside her. Sophie sucked in her breath and dug her heels into the mattress, wanting to draw him into her so completely, he would never leave. He released her arms and cupped one hand behind her nape until she focused her gaze on him. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He withdrew, only to thrust home again, harder and deeper this time. “I can’t stop wanting you.” Another slow withdrawal, another strong thrust. She clasped her hands on his backside and tried to urge him faster, harder, deeper. Instead, he pushed himself up on straight arms, his electric blue gaze boring into hers. “I’m utterly mad for you.” One hand stole between them, his thumb gliding between her legs. Just that light, probing touch sent a shudder through her that got stronger and stronger until it crested and broke like a wave over her. Jack cut off her sobbing gasps of release with a deep kiss, his body driving urgently against hers until he threw back his head and went stiff in his own climax. And when he rolled onto the bed beside her, gathering her tightly against him with still-­trembling arms, she rested her cheek against his chest, listened to the pounding of his heart, and silently mouthed, I love you.

  “If every night at Vega’s ends this way, the
y won’t be able to keep me out,” he muttered.

  She giggled. “It’s the first time I’ve ended an evening at Vega’s in bed with a duke.”

  He started plucking at the pins in her hair, which was in a terrible state. “As long as I am that duke, I heartily recommend you do it more frequently.”

  She smiled, but with a tiny clutch of apprehension at her heart. She put back her head so she could see his face. “What does that mean? We agreed it was over when we left Alwyn House.”

  “Yet here we are.” He’d got all the pins out, and now he swept them off the mattress onto the floor. Her hair unbound, she settled more comfortably against him, her cheek pillowed on his arm. “It means . . .” He paused, searching her face. “It means what we want it to mean,” he finished. “What you want it to mean. I’ve already admitted I have no command of myself where you’re concerned. Whatever you will give me, I will take.”

  The words Take all of me blazed across her mind, but only for a moment. Her sense and reason were slowly reasserting themselves as the fever-­tide of passion receded, and she chose her words with care. “I want to see you.”

  “Done,” he said at once, a lazy smile softening his face.

  “As often as we can manage,” she went on. “I realize you don’t wish Philip to know—­”

  Pique flashed over his features. “Only for your sake. For my own sake, and for his, I don’t give a damn.” Her eyes widened, and he brushed a stray wisp of hair from her temple. “I am well aware that this is not so easy a choice for a woman. The only thing that would keep me away from you is fear of what consequences you would suffer if it were well-­known. Philip’s pride will mend in time, but I won’t let him ruin your reputation in a fit of bitterness.”