“And one is that we pretend last night never happened and go our separate ways,” she whispered.
Keeping a tight hold on her fingers, he shot her a sideways glance, holding her gaze hard. “That is not an option.”
Never seeing her again was simply out of the question now after tasting the passion inside her.
No, the problem was keeping her.
He refused to make her his mistress. True, most men of the ton kept mistresses, and many didn’t bother to hide them. He was the Duke of Strathmore, for heaven’s sake, and the gossip wouldn’t be that he’d taken a mistress but wonder at why he hadn’t taken one sooner.
But not Kate. He cared too much about her to make her an object of ridicule just to satisfy his own desires. Not that she would ever have agreed to the proposition in the first place. Not her. Most society ladies wore an air of propriety that was nothing but pretense—women who would cut a lady direct for daring to speak to a rake in public were the first to lift their skirts for the same scoundrel as soon as they could get him alone. But Kate’s sense of propriety was real, and he found himself wanting to protect that. And her.
He supposed he should marry her. After all, that was what proper gentlemen did after ruining well-bred ladies, and he had to accept his responsibility.
Yet he hadn’t planned on marrying and having a family of his own, resolved to leave Strathmore to his cousin. But that was before he met Kate. She was a woman who knew how to wield both charm and wit, who was kind to a fault, intelligent, and beautiful. And as last night proved, they were also well matched physically. Most society marriages were based on less.
But…marriage. Good God. Could he bring himself to do it?
Even if he were willing to wed her, Kate was very clear about her unwillingness to marry anyone. Society didn’t let its ladies birth babies, heal sick men, or tend to contagious orphans, and she certainly couldn’t continue her medical work if she were Duchess of Strathmore.
Yet he wasn’t willing to let her go. She was his now; he’d claimed responsibility for her life when he arrived on her doorstep, and last night, he’d claimed her body.
He had no idea what he was going to do with her, but he knew he didn’t want to be without her.
“Come back to London with me,” he offered abruptly.
“London?” she squeaked, clearly not expecting that.
It wasn’t a long-term solution, he knew, rather an avoidance of having to make a decision. But taking her back to London would give him time to make a proper decision and allow him to keep her close until he did.
“Aunt Augusta will be thrilled to meet you. You’ll be able to get the new wardrobe you need, and you can enjoy the remainder of the season.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “And you’ll be with me.”
“But I can’t leave,” she protested somberly. “I’m needed here at Brambly.”
Rolling onto his side to face her, he reached to cup her cheek against his palm. Distress flickered across her face, and he felt a pang of guilt that he was forcing her away from her home for his own selfishness. But the alternative, of leaving her behind when he didn’t know when he could see her again, was unbearable.
“Come with me to London,” he tempted, “and I’ll make certain you can visit Brambly every month until the season’s over.”
“You…really?” She gazed at him in wonder.
“It’s not a long ride from the city, and—”
Catching him by surprise, she slipped her hand behind his neck and tugged him off-balance toward her, leaving him no choice but to roll over on top of her unless he wanted to fall off the cart. Her lips melted against his, and for a moment he was too stunned at her boldness to react. Then he responded in kind, and the sweet taste of her kiss increased greedily into full promise of more.
When his mouth opened beneath the tentative slide of her tongue across his lips, she plunged inside, and his cock stiffened instantly. He inhaled sharply. He’d never experienced such a swift reaction before, especially to a woman so unpracticed. Did she realize the effect she had on him, the power she wielded? Heaven help him if she ever figured it out.
“Keep doing that,” he warned, raising his head to check that the driver was still blissfully unaware of what was happening in the hay behind him, “and we’ll get caught.” He cupped her breast against his palm and teased her nipple through her dress. “And then you’ll have no choice but to flee for London to save your reputation.”
“When do I have to decide about London?” A whimper escaped her, and she bit hard into her bottom lip, keeping the rest of the moan in check.
As she arched with arousal beneath his hand, he wanted to demand an immediate answer. Instead, he offered, “I won’t leave until Brannigan arrives.”
“Oh, that’s good…that’s very good,” she murmured. He grinned, uncertain if she meant her compliment for having time to decide or for having his hand fondling her breast. Either way, he’d gladly take it.
He shifted away, knowing they’d already pushed their luck too far. Damned propriety. What he wanted to do was roll her over on top of him, shove inside her, and let her ride him off right there in the hay.
With a growing frustration, he returned to his original position, his arm tucked beneath his head, staring up at the endless morning sky and already scheming for how to get her alone in the hayloft.
The cart passed along the river, and soon, the stones marking the lane leading to the house came into sight. The driver stopped the wagon.
Edward hopped down, then helped Kate to the ground, letting his hands linger around her waist longer than necessary. Kate waved good-bye to the driver, who tipped his hat, flipped the ribbons, and rolled on down the road.
Edward looped her arm around his, and together, they started up the drive. But when the path curved and the house came into view, they halted.
The house buzzed with activity. Several wagons blocked the front door where Dorrie directed the crowd of men unloading the goods and carrying them into the house. Large pieces of furniture, dozens of barrels and burlap sacks, bolts of fabric—it looked as though someone was moving into her house and bringing every one of his belongings with him. Along with the inventory of the entire British Museum. And most of Bond Street.
Old Arthur must have thought the same as he stood at the bottom of the front steps and fretted as four men passed him on their way into the foyer, carrying a tall armoire.
Even the barns were caught up in the commotion. A gray saddle horse grazed in the paddock next to his chestnut colt and Kate’s black mare, which had returned home during the night, and another two black horses stood tied near a small gig. Two men unloaded a wagon heaped high with bags of oats, hay bales, and horse tack. Chickens scratched in the barnyard, milk cows drank at the trough, a sow oinked noisily over her six piglets at a brown goat—
Kate’s mouth fell open. “What on earth…?”
“Brannigan’s arrived,” he answered blankly. With a knowing glance, he unwrapped her arm from his, then walked on alone toward the house to welcome the estate agent to his new position.
* * *
A shout went up from the front steps as Kate came into view. When Dorrie spied her, she ran from the house to throw her arms around her and hug her so tightly she nearly squeezed the air out of her. “Thank the angels in heaven, you’re alive!”
Kate tried to pull Dorrie’s arms away from her and catch her breath, fearing for a moment that the old cook would burst into tears. “I’m fine.”
“When the horses came back last night without you, we were all so worried.” She finally let Kate peel her arms away and stepped back. “Arthur was set to go after you, but Mrs. Elston put herself right in the doorway to his room to keep him home. Slept right there, she did!” Her eyes swept over her, then paused. “Are you all right?”
She forced down a blush, worrying for a moment that Dorrie had somehow learned to read minds and knew exactly what happened last night. Twice. “We lost the horses nea
r the river and had to spend the night near the village.”
Dorrie shot her a questioning look. “But—”
“Oh!—Emma Mulderry has a beautiful baby girl,” Kate interrupted, desperate to distract her. “Both mother and baby are well.”
“Thank goodness.” Dorrie frowned and darted her attention back to Edward. “And the duke? Where did—”
“Look!” Kate pointed at the house. “What’s going on? An entire storeroom is being unloaded into the kitchens. My goodness! Is that a double armoire?”
The cook muttered in wonderment and shook her head. “Miss Kate, you simply won’t believe what all’s arrived.”
Successfully distracted from asking any more probing questions, Dorrie linked her arm through Kate’s and led her toward the house. With each step, the old cook detailed the wagonloads of goods that began to arrive just after dawn, along with a man named Brannigan who claimed to be the new estate agent.
“True,” Kate admitted quietly. “His Grace hired him. But no worries.” She patted her arm reassuringly. “He gave me his word that no major changes would be made without my approval.”
“Did you approve that?” Dorrie scoffed and jerked her thumb toward two men carrying a blue velvet sofa hoisted over their heads. “Seems to me that promise’s already been broke.”
Kate frowned. Dorrie was right. She hadn’t approved any of these supplies or goods, yet here they were, being unloaded into her house with the precision of an army maneuver.
“There’s something more, too, miss.”
“Oh?” Kate steeled herself, uncertain she could handle anything more happening to her this morning.
“When that Brannigan fellow arrived and you weren’t home, me and Mrs. Elston thought maybe there were instructions ’bout him left in the study. So”—her shoulders slumped with guilt—“we went through the papers on the desk.”
“I see.” Now she would no longer be able to keep secret from the servants all of Edward’s plans to renovate Brambly, all the disruptions to their previously quiet existence.
“We found this.” Dorrie withdrew a paper from her apron pocket.
Kate glanced at the paper. Edward’s handwriting, scrawled out in the same bold scratches he’d used to make notes in the estate’s ledger books, detailing what conditions he wanted included in a pension agreement, and across the bottom, in a much more legible hand, Will complete as you requested, Your Grace. Agreements sent by messenger within the sennight. Meacham.
Kate stared at the letter as sudden tears of gratitude welled in her eyes. A pension agreement for Arthur, Mrs. Elston, and Dorrie! And quite a generous one at that, with stipulations she never would have been able to afford on her own. They were to have cottages, allowances, clothing stipends, and all well deserved for their love and service to her.
“Oh, Miss Kate—I’m so sorry!” Guilty horror flashed across Dorrie’s face at the sight of her tears. “We didn’t mean to cause no trouble. We thought there might be some explanation or instructions ’bout the deliveries—”
Smiling through her tears, Kate placed her hand on the cook’s arm and squeezed to reassure her. She tried to read the words again but couldn’t, her vision too tear-blurred by Edward’s kindness and charity.
He had to have initiated the process at least a week ago, not to garner favor with her or seduce her into his arms last night, but simply because he wanted to help her and do right by the servants. Her chest warmed with unabashed happiness that she finally knew the real man behind the hard surface he showed to the world. To her, he’d revealed his heart, and his heart was good and beneficent.
She called to one of the men carrying in a bag of cornmeal on his shoulder. “I need to speak to the duke. Do you know where he went?”
“Aye, miss, into the study.”
Kate thanked him.
Walking through the house, she felt as if she were in a dream. A wondrous, happy dream! In less than twenty-four hours, everything had been turned completely on end. Brambly was becoming a real farm again, the servants had a fine retirement waiting for them, and she…well, everything about her was different now, too. All because of Edward.
Unable to hide the bounce in her step and her eagerness to reach him, she turned toward the study. The double doors were pushed open wide to the hall, and the bright morning sunshine flooded through the tall windows, making the white-painted trim and bookcases glow brilliantly.
Edward stood behind the cherry desk with several papers in his hands and a mountain of paperwork covering the surface before him, and she paused in the doorway, shamelessly letting her eyes linger on him. He looked as if he’d always belonged there, in charge of the house and in control of every inch of the property. Powerful. Commanding. Delectably masculine. A smile pulled at her lips. She knew now just how kind and good his heart, just how wicked his body.
Was this what it was like to have a husband’s presence in the house? She couldn’t imagine living under the same roof with this much strength and determination, but after spending the last few weeks with him, she couldn’t imagine not having him here. And now, after last night, she realized with a joyful thrill, there would be no reason for her not to have him in her life.
Happiness tingled softly through her as she considered the possibilities of what that meant.
When Edward glanced up and his dark gaze heated at the sight of her, her pulse raced with instant arousal.
“Close the doors, Katherine,” he ordered huskily, “and come here.”
Doing as he bade her, she slid the doors shut and circled the desk until she stood next to him. Her body hummed with electric anticipation, already beginning to heat and pulse. Maybe, she considered as she breathed deep the wonderfully masculine scent of leather and soap, it wasn’t so bad to be ordered about by him after all.
“You’re responsible for all”—she waved her hand, indicating the chaos unfolding around them—“this. Aren’t you?”
“I told Brannigan to order everything necessary to establish a household. He follows orders well.”
“Apparently.” She folded her arms in feigned annoyance, knowing if she didn’t tuck her hands away she’d reach for him. And that would only lead to trouble. Wicked, wanton trouble. “A velvet sofa? Really, Edward—”
In one fluid motion, he captured her by the waist and set her on the desk.
He leaned over her, his mouth temptingly close to hers. “Angel, that sofa is the second-best piece of furniture in this house.” He pulled her skirt up past her knees and hotly murmured, “After my bed.”
Heat cascaded through her, pooling between her legs as she remembered the wonderful slide of him inside her, how feminine she felt when engulfed by his masculinity. She whimpered softly, desperately wanting him there again.
“You’ll like it, I promise.” He tucked a finger beneath the neckline of her dress, and with a gentle tug bared her shoulder. “That creamy skin of yours rubbing naked against soft velvet…”
When he lowered his mouth to lick across her shoulder, she moaned.
“Did you lock the door?”
“Yes,” she breathed, shivering at the sinful implication in his voice.
“Good girl.” As he nipped at her throat, his hands slipped behind her and quickly unfastened her dress. “Because I have to have you.”
“Here?” she squeaked.
“Right here.” He stepped between her thighs and leaned over her until she had no choice but to lie back across the desk, then followed down on top of her. “Right now.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Edward kissed her, hot and possessive, his tongue shoving apart her lips to plunge deep inside and coaxing her to return the intensity of his desire. With a shuddering sigh, she responded, invading his mouth the same way he had hers.
He groaned and captured her tongue between his lips, sucking hard and drawing her deeper into his mouth. Sweet Lord, she was delicious, and he thrilled at her eager response. He’d been half-hard since fondling her breast in the
hay cart, and now his cock flashed instantly rigid at the way her body so quickly aroused, shivering with need for his. He tore at the pins in her hair to set her waves free so he could fist the fiery curls in his hand and hold her lips tight and still beneath his, relentlessly ravishing her kiss the same way he planned on ravishing her body.
She tore her mouth away, gasping for breath, but her panting only excited him more.
“So beautiful.” He wiggled her skirt up to her waist. “So unusual…so unlike any other woman I’ve ever known.”
He reached both hands beneath her skirt and stripped off the boy’s breeches. Her eyes flew open.
Grinning at her from between her now-bare thighs, he held up the garment like a captured flag. Her hands flew to cover her mouth as a surprised squeal exploded from her, then she laughed with abandon as he tossed them over his shoulder.
He’d wanted her before, but after watching her eyes sparkle with laughter, he’d combust if he didn’t have her now.
He slid his hands up her inner thighs and tantalizingly spread her open to him. His fingers found her center, plunging deep into her moist heat, and with soft moans and mewlings rising from her lips, she writhed against the desk beneath the sweet torture. She belonged to him now, and he planned on claiming every inch of her.
He lowered his head to nuzzle his face into her triangle of curls and breathed deep the feminine scent of her, of sweet honeysuckle and spicy sex, which had already been imprinted into his mind.
“I’m going to taste you, angel,” he warned darkly, his breath hot against her.
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders. “Edward—”
He licked her, and whatever protest she’d been about to make dissolved into a throaty moan of intense pleasure. Her body relaxed beneath the feel of his mouth against her as his tongue took long, deep strokes into her succulent folds before his lips found her nub, already sensitive and swollen with arousal, and closed around it.
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