Tears streamed down her cheeks. How could she turn down the proposal of the decade? The century! “Yes,” she whispered, gazing into his beautiful blue eyes. Then she projected her voice. “Yes, I will marry you. I love you so very dearly. And I will honor, protect, and love you all the days of our lives.”
He rose, snatched her up in his arms, and swung her round and round. The crowd roared.
Then he set her down. She smiled up at him, feeling like a fairy princess after all. In front of all society, he captured her lips in a very unseemly, naughty kiss.
The crowd at the ball had thinned by three o’clock in the morning. Tessa hugged Anne, who promised to call the next day. Afterward, Tessa squeezed Amy’s and Georgette’s hands. When she promised to find them husbands, the duchess groaned.
Tessa laughed. “I suppose I should consult my fiancé first.”
The duchess sniffed. “By next spring, you will be too busy with my first grandchild for a matchmaking career.”
Tristan smiled at Tessa. “My duchess can have a career and a baby if she likes. She’s perfect, you know.”
Hawk clapped Tristan on the shoulder. Then he kissed Tessa’s hand. “I am heartbroken.”
“Careful, I may let her arrange a courtship for you,” Tristan said.
Hawk held up his hands as if to ward her off. “Have mercy on this bachelor.”
A few minutes later, Tristan took her aside. “At last, we have a moment alone.”
“How did you know I would say yes when you proposed?”
“You told me you loved me,” he said. “And I knew then what I’d denied for weeks and weeks. I had fallen headlong in love with you, and I could not live without you.”
Her heart squeezed. “I love you,” she whispered.
The duchess approached. “I have a confession to make. Really, I thought the pair of you would catch on, but then you only seem to have eyes for each other.”
“What?” Tristan said.
“Son, you were appallingly easy to manipulate. All I had to do was threaten to find her a husband. You were wild with jealousy. It was clear to me the two of you were mad for each other. All you needed was a little push. The carriage arrangements were a near thing, however.”
Tristan scoffed. “Mama, you refused when I first asked to ride with her.”
“From the moment you spoke your first words, you said no when I said yes. I knew if I refused, you would tell a bald-faced lie to get her alone.” The duchess lifted her nose. “Never let it be said I didn’t arrange your marriage.”
Tessa laughed. “Duchess, I never suspected a thing.”
“You must call me Mama now,” she said. Then she whispered in her ear. “I could not have chosen a more perfect bride for him.”
Tessa’s eyes misted a little. “Thank you, Mama.”
Soon the ballroom emptied of all the guests. Mama claimed she couldn’t find her spectacles. She couldn’t see too well in dim corridors without them, especially near her son’s bedchamber. Then she collected Julianne and quit the ballroom.
Tristan drew Tessa into his arms. “Today is my thirty-first birthday, but I didn’t make it to the altar,” he said.
“Close enough,” she said.
His blue eyes heated. “Duchess, do you have a gift for me?”
Her lips twitched. “Did you lie about your birthday?”
“Yes.” He wrapped his arms round her and captured her lips. He opened her mouth and did wicked, wicked things with his tongue. And his hands. She felt him harden against her belly. Desire inflamed her.
When he lifted his head, she felt breathless. He gazed at her with that intent, seductive expression she knew so well.
“I hope your bedchamber isn’t far,” she said.
“Let’s make a run for it,” he said in that velvety, chocolate voice that made her crumble like cake. Then he grabbed her hand, and they ran to the stairs, laughing like a pair of naughty children.
Once inside his bedchamber, he started working on her ball gown feverishly, but she knew a moment of self-doubt. “I wish you were the first,” she whispered.
He turned her round and cupped her cheek. “If you had gone to London all those years ago, another man would have snatched you up. Back then, I had nothing but a hardened heart and debts, nothing to offer a wife.”
“Uncle George told me things happen for a reason.”
“I love you,” he said. He sought her lips. The initial soft kiss heated quickly. He kept peeling off the layers of her clothing, stopping often to kiss her skin. She got his coat, cravat, waistcoat, and shirt off. They both laughed as he struggled with the laces to her stays. Finally he pitched it to the floor and lifted her shift over her head. When he cupped her breasts, she made an ardent sound. He growled. She ran her hands over his chest, kissed him there, and made short work of his trouser buttons. When she clasped him, he hissed in a breath, and then he shed the rest of his clothing.
He stripped back the covers and tumbled her to the bed like a starving man. “I dreamed of this so many times,” he said, breathing heavily. The heat between them ignited. She cried out as he suckled her, caressed her, and then kissed his way down her belly. He spread her thighs and did the most amazing things with his tongue. She arched her back, crying out with the pleasure.
He rose over her. “I want you. I crave you. I will never get enough of you.” He slid one finger, then two inside her, stretching her. “I’ll go slowly. You’re really tight.”
“My big, strong man,” she said.
He made a male sound of pleasure in the back of his throat. Then she clasped him, guiding him. He entered her inch by inch, and the whole time, he never took his eyes from hers. She loved him very much for it because she needed that reassurance this first night of their lives together.
It was beautiful to watch him, to feel him stroke her inside, to be one with him. To be his. She swept her hands down his back, smoothing over his hips, and a hoarse sound came out of his throat. She pressed against him, rocking her hips. He reached between them and caressed her in a place that made her wild. “Like this?” he said.
She panted, “Yes.” He angled higher within her and withdrew. He did it again and again and again. Then she stilled and cried out. He growled near her ear, “I can feel you clenching all around me.”
He thrust inside her faster and faster. She clung to him, wrapping her arms and legs round him, because she never wanted to let him go again. A deep, male sound came out of his throat, and when he collapsed atop her, she kissed his cheek, slightly scratchy with his heavy beard. She was so happy and stunned by the intensity of it all. “I love you,” she whispered.
When Tristan awoke, she still clutched him tight with her arms and legs. He thought he must be crushing her, so he disentangled himself. She made a little mewing protest. With a chuckle, he pulled her back to his chest, nestling her bottom against him like an inverted spoon. Then he filled his hand with her breast. As he drifted between wakefulness and sleep, she laughed.
“What is so amusing?” he mumbled.
“When I decided to make you a love match, I never dreamed it would be me.”
He nuzzled her neck. “Mmmm.”
“Tristan? I’m too excited to sleep.”
“Must be your nervous disposition.” He closed his eyes.
She turned to face him. “Oh, you’re sleepy.”
He rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him. “Wake me up, darling.”
“I think I like this,” she said, as he helped her figure out how to ride him. Bless her, she caught on quickly.
A few hours later, a ray of sunlight pierced through the crack in the drapes. Tristan eased out of bed and found paper and pen at the corner desk. After he had sanded the ink, he slipped into bed, tucked the folded note beneath her pillow, and watched her sleep. His heart filled with joy. “You are my one and only, for all eternity,” he whispered.
Lady Julianne Gatwick has written
a single girl’s guide to en
ticing
unrepentant rakes.
The only problem: No one
can know she wrote it.
Please turn this page
for a preview of
How to Seduce a Scoundrel
Available in mass market
in July 2011.
Chapter One
A Rake’s Code of Conduct: Virgins are strictly forbidden, especially if said virgin happens to be your friend’s sister.
Richmond, England, 1817
He’d arrived late as usual.
Marc Darcett, Earl of Hawkfield, twirled his top hat as he sauntered along the pavement toward his mother’s home. A chilly breeze ruffled his hair and stung his face. In the dwindling evening light, Ashdown House, with its crenellated top and turrets, stood stalwart near the banks of the Thames.
Ordinarily, Hawk dreaded the obligatory weekly visits. His mother and three married sisters had grown increasingly demanding about his lack of a bride since his oldest friend had wed last summer. They made no secret of their disappointment in him, but he was accustomed to being the family scapegrace.
Today, however, he looked forward to seeing that oldest friend, Tristan Gatewick, the Duke of Shelbourne.
After the butler admitted him, Hawk stripped off his gloves and greatcoat. “Are Shelbourne and his sister here yet?”
“The duke and Lady Julianne arrived two hours ago,” Jones said.
“Excellent.” Hawk couldn’t wait to relate his latest bawdy escapade to his friend. Last evening, he’d met Nancy and Nell, two naughty dancers who had made him an indecent proposition. Not wishing to appear too anxious, he’d promised to think over the matter, but he intended to accept their two-for-the-price-of-one offer.
The fastidious Jones eyed Hawk’s head critically. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but you might wish to attend to your hair.”
“You don’t say?” Hawk pretended to be oblivious and peered at his windblown locks in the mirror above the foyer table. “Perfect,” he said. “Mussed hair is all the rage.”
“If you say so, my lord.”
Hawk spun around. “I take it everyone is waiting in the gold drawing room?”
“Yes, my lord. Your mother has inquired after you several times.”
Hawk glanced out at the great hall and grinned at the giant statue next to the stairwell. “Ah, my mother has taken an interest in naked statuary, has she?”
The ordinarily stoic Jones made a suspicious, muffled sound. Then he cleared his throat. “Apollo was delivered yesterday.”
“Complete with his lyre and snake, I see. Well, I shall welcome him to the family.” Hawk’s boots clipped on the checkered marble floor as he strolled toward the cantilevered stairwell, an architectural feat that made the underside of the stone steps appear suspended in midair. At the base of the stairs, he paused to inspect the reproduction and grimaced at Apollo’s minuscule genitalia. “Poor bastard.”
Footsteps sounded above. Hawk looked up to find Tristan striding down the carpeted steps.
“Sizing up the competition?” Tristan said.
Hawk grinned. “The devil. It’s the old married man.”
“I saw your curricle from the window.” Tristan stepped onto the marble floor and clapped Hawk on the shoulder. “You look as if you just tumbled out of bed.”
Hawk wagged his brows and let his friend imagine what he would. “How is your duchess?”
A brief careworn expression flitted through his friend’s eyes. “The doctor says all is progressing well. She has two more months of confinement.” He released a gusty sigh. “I wanted a son, but now I’m praying for a safe delivery.”
Hawk nodded, but said nothing.
“One day it will be your turn, and I’ll be the one consoling you.”
That day would never come. “And give up my bachelorhood? Never,” he said in a flippant tone.
Tristan grinned. “I’ll remind you of that when I attend your wedding.”
Hawk changed the subject. “I take it your sister is well?” His mother planned to sponsor Lady Julianne this season while the dowager duchess stayed in the country with her increasing daughter-in-law.
“Julianne is looking forward to the season, but there is a problem,” Tristan said. “A letter arrived from Bath half an hour ago. Your grandmother is suffering from heart palpitations again.”
Hawk groaned. Grandmamma was famous for her heart palpitations. She succumbed to them at the most inconvenient times and described them in minute, loving detail to anyone unfortunate enough to be in the general vicinity. Owing to Grandmamma’s diminished hearing, this meant anyone within shouting range.
“Your mother and sisters are discussing who should travel to Bath as we speak,” Tristan said.
“Don’t worry, old boy. We’ll sort it out.” No doubt his sisters meant to flee to Bath, as they always did when his grandmother invoked her favorite ailment. Usually his mother went as well, but she’d made a commitment to sponsor Julianne.
A peevish voice sounded from the landing. “Marc, you have dawdled long enough. Mama is waiting.”
Hawk glanced up to find his eldest sister, Patience, beckoning him with her fingers as if he were one of her unruly brats. Poor Patience had never proven equal to her name, something he’d exploited since childhood. He never could resist provoking her then, and he certainly couldn’t now. “My dear sister, I’d no idea you were so anxious for my company. It warms the cockles of my heart.”
Her nostrils flared. “Our grandmother is ill, and Mama is fretting. You will not add to her vexation by tarrying.”
“Pour Mama a sherry for her nerves. I’ll be along momentarily,” he said.
Patience pinched her lips, whirled around, and all but stomped away.
Hawk’s shoulders shook as he returned his attention to his friend. “After dinner, we’ll put in a brief appearance in the drawing room and make our escape to the club.”
“I’d better not. I’m planning to leave at dawn tomorrow,” Tristan said.
Hawk shrugged to hide his disappointment. He ought to have known the old boy meant to return to his wife immediately. Nothing would ever be quite the same now that his friend had married. “Well, then. Shall we join the others?”
As they walked up the stairs, Tristan glanced at him with an enigmatic expression. “It’s been too long since we last met.”
“Yes, it has.” The last time was Tristan’s wedding nine months ago. He’d meant to visit the newlyweds after a decent interval. Then Tristan’s letter arrived with the jubilant news of his impending fatherhood.
Hawk’s feet had felt as if they were immersed in quicksand.
After they entered the drawing room, Hawk halted. He was only peripherally aware of his sisters’ husbands scowling at him from the sideboard. All his attention centered on a slender lady seated on the sofa between his mother and his youngest sister, Hope. The candlelight gleamed over the lady’s jet curls as she gazed down at a sketchbook on her lap. Transfixed, Hawk let his gaze roam over the filmy scarf tucked into the neckline of her bodice. The tantalizing glimpses of the tops of her pert breasts heated his blood.
Good Lord, could this delectable creature possibly be Julianne?
As if sensing his stare, she glanced at him. His heart drummed in his ears as he took in her transformation. In the past nine months, the slight fullness of her cheeks had disappeared, emphasizing her sculpted cheekbones. Even her expression had changed. Instead of her usual impish grin, she regarded him with a poised smile.
The sweet little girl he’d known all his life had become a woman. A heart-stoppingly beautiful woman.
The sound of his mother’s voice rattled him. “Tristan, please be seated. Marc, do not stand there gawking. Come and greet Julianne.”
Patience and his other sister, Harmony, sat in a pair of chairs near the hearth, exchanging sly smiles. No doubt they were hatching a plot to snare him in the parson’s mousetrap. And why wouldn’t they? He’d reacted to Julianne like one of the
numerous smitten cubs who vied for her attention every season. Determined to take himself in hand, he strode over to her, made a leg, and swept his arm in a ridiculous bow of a sort last seen in the sixteenth century.
When he rose, his mother grimaced. “Marc, your hair is standing up. You look thoroughly disreputable.”
He grinned like a jackanapes. “Why thank you, Mama.”
Julianne’s melodic, low laugh reverberated along his spine. “Hawk,” she said.
All the air squeezed from his lungs. The raspy quality of that one word captivated him. Helen of Troy’s face had launched a thousand ships, but Julianne’s voice could fell a thousand men.
The silence in the drawing room recalled him to his senses. He set his fist on his hip and waggled his brows. “No doubt you will break a dozen hearts this season, Julie-girl.”
She regarded him from beneath her long lashes. “Perhaps one will capture my affections,” she said in her sultry voice.
Christopher Marlowe’s infamous words echoed in his head. Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Where the devil had that foolish thought come from? He’d best watch out. The bewitching Julianne was strictly off-limits and not for the likes of him.
Especially not him.
Hope stood. “Marc, take my seat. You must see Julianne’s sketches.”
Uh-oh. The narrow space meant he’d be seated hip to hip with her, but he could hardly refuse without seeming churlish. The moment he sat beside Julianne, his temperature heated several notches at the feel of her thigh next to his. Her light floral perfume muddled his brain. Naturally his groin tightened. He’d best play the clown to divert his thoughts from leaping into the gutter where they were wont to land. So he tapped the sketch. “What have you got there, imp?”
She showed him a sketch of Stonehenge. “I drew these last summer when I traveled with Amy and her family.”
How to Marry a Duke Page 33