A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle

by Catherine Gayle

  Which brought him back to Miss Matthews. Blast it.

  But damnation, he most certainly could not throttle her. At least, not at the moment.

  Perhaps later.

  In the meanwhile, she needed to be handled. Luckily, Peter doubted anyone else had seen her leave for the gardens with Utley. He had followed them out himself as soon as he saw where the cretin was taking her, though the throng of revelers certainly didn’t make the task of moving through them very easy for him.

  And she had looked as though she needed a bit of air when he was taking her out, so any who had seen their departure would surely assume as much. She’d looked ready to fall over from the vapors at any moment. This little fiasco wouldn’t necessarily cause her ruination. At least not immediately.

  He took a breath to calm himself. There was no reason to lose his temper in front of Miss Matthews. Doing so once in his lifetime had certainly been more than enough.

  But before he was entirely certain he had a firm rein over his anger, she interrupted his concentration with an imperiously arched eyebrow, tilting her head and pursing her lips. “Pardon me, Your Grace. I was just returning to the ballroom.” The fear had fled her eyes, leaving only unveiled anger behind. Still, a slight tremor sounded in her voice. That likely irritated her to no end.

  He deliberately kept his response low, cool. The last thing he needed was to alarm her further. “Were you? And might you also inform me of the reason you took it upon yourself to leave that very ballroom with Lord Utley only a few moments ago?”

  “Why, no, I don’t believe I shall. I have no intention to do any such thing.” The anger in her gaze turned to a haughty glare. “I see no reason to explain my actions to you, sir.”

  “Don’t you? And why, pray tell, is that?” Bloody infuriating woman.

  “Because my business is my own. Pardon me, if you please.” She tried to skirt around him to the right, but he shifted to block her progress. She rewarded his efforts with a disgruntled frown.

  “I beg to differ, ma’am. You see, while you’re in London, you are my mother’s charge. And as I am the head of our household, you are therefore my charge as well, however much we may both desire otherwise.”

  Her eyes flashed. “Indeed. Nonetheless, you fail to remember that I’ve obtained my majority. I may certainly speak with any gentleman with whom I see fit, and even go for a stroll in the gardens of a night, should I so deem it appropriate. Without deigning to request your permission, Your Grace.”

  “And you call that scoundrel a gentleman, do you?” A raging fire was building in his chest, boiling like a kettle over a fire, and he fought to tamp it back down. Miss Matthews was becoming a devilish nuisance, causing reactions within him that no one had ever done before, damn it all. “Do you know who he is, ma’am? Do you know anything about Lord Utley at all? Or any of the myriad gentlemen present at the ball this evening, for that matter?”

  She started to pipe in with a response, but he cut her off.

  “No. You don’t. And since you are so dreadfully unaware of anything related to these gentlemen’s reputations, you have been relegated to my mother’s chaperonage. For your own protection, ma’am.” Peter’s voice had risen so loud, surely someone within the ballroom would hear him soon. He deliberately lowered it again, taking a deep breath to regain control. “You’re to do as she says in order that you don’t make an unwarranted mistake. If left to your own devices, you’d likely ensure your own ruin if this jaunt into the gardens is any indication. You’re most certainly not to take it upon yourself to accept a dance with one of the most notorious rakehells in Town, nor are you to then proceed to situate yourself entirely alone with said ‘gentleman’ without the knowledge of your chaperone, or anyone else. Yet you thoroughly ignored her on this matter—”

  “I most certainly did not ignore Cousin Henrietta on any matter,” Miss Matthews spat out at him with sparks in her eyes. “She introduced me to Lord Utley, and she saw no harm in my dancing with him since you had sent him over for an introduction. We both complied with your guidance, Your Grace.” Miss Matthews took the tiniest step forward until she stood only a hair’s breadth away from him, wagging a finger in his face. “If anyone here is to blame for anything, it is you. You’re the one who set this all in motion.”

  “You and my mother were both terribly mistaken if you think I’d have sent anyone like Utley for an introduction. How she could possibly think I would approve of such a thing, I’ll never be able to fathom. But I’ll deal with her later. You, on the other hand, must be dealt with immediately.”

  “Dealt with. Dealt with? Why, you arrogant popinjay!” She took another step toward him, stepping on his toes in the process and shoving him backward with no small amount of force—a fact that surprised him—and matching him step for step as he backed away. “I am not some green chit barely out of the schoolroom. Nor am I one of your siblings. You have no right to order me about in any way. You will kindly remember that in future.”

  Never in his life had he struck a woman before, not even one of his sisters when they were children, yet he found it difficult to restrain himself from that very atrocity at this moment. Her impudence stung.

  “And you would do well to remember, Miss Matthews, that as long as you live beneath my roof you are under my protection and therefore must abide by my decisions.”

  “Well, perhaps I should not live beneath your roof any longer, then.” She crossed her arms over her chest, which only served to plump up her already breathtaking bosom before his eyes.

  “Perhaps not. Nevertheless, you currently do, so my word is law.”

  Her fury shone through in a great huff and a flash of her eyes. Dear Lord, she was beautiful when she was angry. Almost like a siren.

  Peter shook his head, as though to rid it of such thoughts. Thinking along those lines would get him nowhere. “And my word is that you are to avoid all contact with Lord Utley from this moment on. For that matter, you’d better reject any attentions from Mr. Aldous Forster or Lord Tansley, should they attempt to pay you court. Maybe a few others as well. I’ll let you know as I think of them. But I might never secure you a husband if some nefarious scoundrel ruins your reputation before you have a chance to make a decent match.”

  And the sooner she was married, the sooner he could set aside the way her ire bewitched him and move on with his life—without the chaotic wake that seemed to follow her everywhere that currently had his head in a twist.

  “I see,” Miss Matthews murmured with narrowed eyes. Thank heavens. “So I should avoid and blatantly ignore Lords Utley and Tansley and Mr. Forster. Would you like to add anyone else to that list, Your Grace?” Her heated glare could fell an entire army. But instead of sounding a retreat, Peter’s only thought was to advance.

  His eyes slid to her lips, which were darkened from the furious pinch she had kept them in for several moments. He wanted nothing more than to kiss them, to press his own lips against their angry pout until the heat in them turned to passion and promise instead of anger.

  “Well?” Miss Matthews placed her hands on her hips in a posture much like an overbearing governess—which he found disturbingly alluring.

  Christ, he ought to walk away now. But for some confounding reason, he couldn’t. “Yes. There is one more.”

  “And? Who might this dreaded gentleman be?”

  Peter advanced toward her, closing the small gap between them. “Me.” Before he could stop himself, he leaned in and captured her mouth in a kiss.

  Chapter Seven

  His mouth landed on hers, hard, hot, and demanding. The golden flecks in his eyes—one blue and the other green—shimmered and came alive.

  She blinked. After several moments, Jane still had difficulty fathoming what was happening. Even then, why he was doing it remained a perplexing mystery.

  He drew her closer—one hand tangling in her hair, the other firm against the back of her waist. His clean, earthy, musky scent poured through her body and down to her
toes and his warmth invaded her, leaving her feeling drugged.

  When his tongue slid across the crease of her lips—softly at first, like silk, and then more insistently—she heard a low, ragged feminine moan that could only have been her own. Good God. What was happening to her? The animalistic growl that followed, however, unmistakably came from him.

  When his tongue pressed against her lips with even more fervor, Jane succumbed and parted them for him. He swept inside, stroking against her, and a rapid, clanging series of tingles assaulted her stomach. She wanted to move closer to him. To feel more of him. Blast, what was happening to her? When he sucked, pulling her tongue into his mouth, an aching pang that bordered on pleasure built between her legs, alongside a fair amount of heat and moisture. Oh, dear.

  And then his mouth left hers to trail wet kisses over her face, down her neck, across the exposed part of her bosom. Cool air danced over the wetness he left behind, and she shivered. Such a delicious juxtaposition, the burgeoning heat radiating between them and the shivery, shuddery moisture on her skin.

  “So sweet,” he murmured, his mouth hovering over the cleft between her breasts. Strangely enough, they were heaving with her frantic breaths, as though from some unexplainable exertion.

  Again, the duke’s mouth joined with hers. Her legs were weak and wobbly beneath her, and she fell into him for support, her hands taking up a feeble grip at his neck. If not for his arms wrapped around her like bands, she would undoubtedly be on the ground.

  His pulse beat an erratic pace against the flat of her palm.

  Just as suddenly as he had begun the assault against her senses, he broke off the kiss and pushed away from her. Jane stumbled backward, trying to regain her balance—not to mention her sanity.

  He looked down upon her with an irate scowl that bordered on belligerence.

  If he thought for even one second he could blame her for that encounter—

  But then he spoke. “I’m sorry.” His words were short, clipped. “That was inexcusable.”

  “Er...I...” Jane shook her head like a simpleton. Coherent thoughts were in rather short supply at the moment. Luckily, he didn’t appear to care one whit.

  His eyes darted about, scanning the darkness of the garden. Placing an arm about her waist, he guided her back toward the lights and gay sounds coming from the ballroom. He faced her, his eyes grave, almost ominous. “It won’t happen again.”

  Then he opened the door to the ballroom, gave her a gentle nudge to get her feet moving inside, and closed the door behind her. No one seemed to notice Jane’s entrance, which was just as well—she had no desire to explain how she had left with one gentleman, been gone for an inordinate amount of time, and reappeared with another, different gentleman.

  Still, it would have been more appropriate for him to escort her back to his mother. She peeked through the window where he’d left her, nonsensically hoping for some sort of reassurance, but the Duke of Somerton was gone.

  Bloody coward.

  And he was a downright overbearing brute, to boot. To think he could order her about, to tell her who she could and could not converse with. She was a grown woman, and he was not her father or brother. The man had no claim over her to insist on any sort of behavior.

  Well, to be fair, since she was staying in his home, perhaps she should conform to his requests. Or at least some of them. Well, she should if he had ever requested anything at all of her, instead of issuing terse commands.

  But that was the whole problem—he hadn’t made a single request. He’d done quite the opposite at nearly every turn. Any man with half a shred of decency would understand that issuing orders willy-nilly was no way to treat a lady.

  Then again, Jane wasn’t technically a lady, was she? Merely a miss. She was so far beneath his touch that perhaps he knew no other way of interacting with her.

  Nevertheless, his kiss left her shattered. She had never expected to feel so...so...wanted. So beautiful. Especially not with him, a man who obviously thought so little of her.

  For him to kiss her like that, to make her feel as though the world could end at that moment and she’d feel nothing other than intense pleasure (and—dare she admit it?—desire), and then to break it off with a callous shove and apology—it was the most demeaning thing she’d ever experienced in her life.

  Jane wanted nothing more to do with him.

  Why, if her mother wouldn’t be so upset, she would hire a coach and return to Whitstable this very instant. Living under this man’s ‘protection’ and facing his constant scorn and derision was almost more than she could bear.

  But she couldn’t do that to Mother. Mother would be devastated. Nor was Jane willing to upset Cousin Henrietta and her daughters in such a way. She would simply have to suffer the damned duke’s condescension.

  Drat. Now, more than ever, she needed to move forward with plans for her modiste shop.

  The music came to an end and the crowd shuffled toward the dining room for supper. She slipped in amongst crush and forced all thoughts of the Duke of Somerton aside.

  ~ * ~

  Utley ducked back behind his bush out in the garden as Somerton stalked past him.

  He had to smother the chuckle that was threatening to release. Shaking his head, he reached into the inside pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a cheroot, then moved back to the lighted path to light it with the flame of a lantern.

  This was even better than he’d imagined possible—Somerton had feelings for the woman. Utley took a drag of his cheroot. He had never been prone to bouts of luck before, but perhaps his fortunes were finally beginning to change.

  Adding her dowry, as generous as it was, to his coffers certainly wouldn’t be a hardship on him. He might even be able to take up with a mistress on the forty thousand Somerton had boasted for her.

  Why would the bloody duke offer such a sum for her if he wanted her for himself? Not that it mattered. The only part that really was a concern to Utley was that Somerton did want her. And Utley wanted her dowry, and a chance to take something Somerton wanted right from under the duke’s nose.

  Now he needed a plan. Something more concrete.

  Utley tossed his cheroot to the ground and stubbed it with the toe of his boot, then made for the back alley and the hack waiting for him. He had revenge to plot.

  ~ * ~

  A chorus of female squeals and childish giggles coming from the downstairs parlor interrupted Peter’s concentration. Yet again, he was attempting to settle the accounts for Carreg Mawr in his office. Each time he began to make some small semblance of progress, another shout burst through.

  On the fourth instance, he glared at the closed door, wishing he could extend it through the panels and into the other room.

  After the seventh interruption, he pushed his ledgers aside for a moment and stretched his legs, sure that clearing his mind would also clear the path for a return to work.

  By the time the twelfth peal of giggles reached him, he had moved all of his materials from the library to Spenser’s office at the end of the hall. Surely that would give him enough separation from them that there would be no more distractions from his task.

  Obviously he was wrong.

  Peter slammed his butler’s office door closed. He’d make damned sure it was loud enough to alert the perpetrators of his displeasure. Then he stalked back to the makeshift desk he had created by pulling a chair close to an empty shelf. After all, he didn’t want to disturb the stacks of papers Spenser had arranged just so.

  When the fifteenth bout hit his ears, Peter threw his head back and took in a breath. Accomplishing anything of import was quite out of the question today. He set off to discover why his family felt it necessary to make as much noise as a room full of wild animals.

  Upon nearing his drawing room, he was assaulted by more of the same, along with a myriad of competing floral scents warring with each other for domination. Peter’s mother sat on a chaise in the middle of the room, surrounded his two sister
s, his children, and Miss Matthews with her furry, orange cat—not to mention dozens of bouquets of flowers in every variety and color possible.

  None of them, he noted, paid Peter’s arrival any attention at all.

  He cleared his throat, but to no avail. Charlotte, who was carrying a large bouquet of yellow blossoms to a waiting vase near the hearth, continued to gush nonsense. “And this one is for Jane, as well. Very lovely, don’t you think?”

  “Quite, dear. And who sent those?” His mother looked like a proud mother hen.

  Charlotte settled the flowers into their new home and then fussed with the card. “From Lord...Lord Eldredge! Oh, Jane. He’s absolutely divine, and terribly handsome. I think he would make for a rather advantageous match, if you ask me.”

  Miss Matthews flushed rather becomingly, at least in Peter’s estimation. “Might you remind me which gentleman Lord Eldredge is? I don’t seem to recall.”

  At that comment, Sophie tittered with laughter and Charlotte gasped. “How could you not recall him? He’s as handsome as a god, or at least as handsome as the devil himself.”

  “Charlotte, that’s more than enough, thank you,” Mama said, interrupting his youngest sister before she could make even more of a cake of herself than she had already managed.

  The cat, up to that point, had been entertaining Sarah by following along under her legs as she toddled about the room and using its paws to swat at the underside of her skirts. Then it decided to cuddle with Miss Matthews. It jumped up onto her lap and proceeded to knead its paws—against her bosom. Her cheeks pinked even brighter than before and she shoved at the cat’s paws. “No sir, Mr. Cuddlesworth,” she whispered in a heated tone. “You know that is entirely inappropriate behavior in front of anyone.”

  The cat refused to be deterred, however, and purred its response to her.

  “You naughty, naughty boy.” Her look of sheer mortification was entirely too attractive on her for Peter’s comfort.