Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham)

by Lorraine Heath

  “I prefer Ashe,” he said, his gaze never leaving her. “And while I am fascinated by the topic, I’m more interested in a dance with Miss Dodger. I was wondering if there might be a space for me on your dance card.”

  Several spaces remained unclaimed. That hadn’t been the case during her first few Seasons, when men had been lining up for a chance at her dowry. But as they’d learned she had no tolerance for fortune hunters, the dances claimed had become fewer. “I’m certain I can fit you in, but after the attention you were receiving from the other ladies, I’m surprised you have an open dance.”

  “You noticed that, did you?”

  “It was a little difficult to miss. So which dances are you available?”

  “All of them.”

  She was very much aware of her half brother snapping to attention, his gaze darting between her and Ashe. She could hardly blame him. His answer wasn’t at all what she’d expected. For a moment, she was giddy, but then her practical nature kicked in, and along with it her suspicions regarding his interest. As far as she knew, he wasn’t in debt. “I’m free the next dance.”

  “Then I shall just wait here, shall I? With your brother serving as chaperone?”

  “Actually, I think all these gents were about to go search for their dance partners.” She gave them each a stern look. “Weren’t you?”

  After bidding her and the duke farewell, they wandered away, leaving her alone with Ashe, or as alone as one could be in a crowded ballroom. The Duke and Duchess of Lovingdon were one of the most popular and beloved couples in Great Britain. No one declined their invitations.

  “Why not commit to any other dances?” she asked Ashe.

  “I enjoyed our dance at the Twin Dragons the other night. I wanted to ensure I had another opportunity to circle about the room with you in my arms. I’ll fill in a few dance cards once we’re done. Otherwise, tongues might wag.”

  “They’ll probably wag anyway.”

  “Probably.”

  “Why have I your attention of a sudden?”

  “You’re quite blunt.”

  “It’s one of my many faults.”

  “I don’t recall describing it as a fault.”

  “Other men have.”

  “I think we established previously that some men are arses.”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “Yes, I believe we did.”

  It was easy to enjoy his presence when she wasn’t burdened with the desire for a marriage proposal. She could be herself although perhaps it was more that he didn’t seem to sit in judgment, so she felt freer. Or perhaps it was just that they’d already shared an intimacy that had revealed their true selves. Not that he was aware of that, but she was. It affected the way she looked at him, the comfort she felt with him. He’d kissed her birthmark, kissed her in ways and places that she’d never considered that a man might.

  “I’m given to understand that you’ve written a book on identifying fortune hunters,” he said.

  “It was more of a collaboration between myself and the Duchess of Lovingdon based on her husband hunt.”

  “What of your hunt?”

  “I’m not on the hunt.”

  “But you were.”

  She considered … “I don’t think so. Not really. Not for a husband, anyway. Some ladies want a husband over love. I want love over a husband. I’m not convinced it’s something you can hunt for. I think it just happens. If you’re lucky.”

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  She might have told him the question was too personal, but he’d shared his story of love. Not that he knew he’d shared with her. But where was the harm in answering? “No. Quite possibly I analyze too much. Right now, I’m not quite sure why I have your attention.”

  “You don’t trust men.” He said it as a statement rather than a question.

  “I don’t trust their motives.”

  The music drifted into a silence that seemed incredibly loud as she waited for him to provide some explanation other than he’d enjoyed a dance with her. Why had he come after her in the first place that night? Why was he standing here now?

  “Then I shall have to work doubly hard to ensure you trust mine,” he finally said, as the strains of a waltz started up, and he offered her his arm.

  “What is your motive?”

  “I’ve told you. I like you.”

  “No, you said you enjoyed dancing with me. Those are vastly different things.”

  “You’re quite literal.”

  “Unfortunately, I am, yes.”

  “Then let’s return to my original answer and grant me the pleasure of a dance.”

  She hesitated for all of two blinks before placing her hand on his arm and allowing him to lead her onto the dance area. Why did she have an insatiable need to understand his presence? She was attracted to him, and once again, she would be in the circle of his arms. Why couldn’t she be content with that for now?

  He wasn’t one to give a lady attention for overly long. She should enjoy it while she had it.

  DID he like her? He certainly liked her legs, the way passion burned within her, the echo of her cries at the moment of climax. He enjoyed dancing with her, watching the way she carried her own in a conversation or poorly disguised confrontation. He appreciated the way she studied his photographs. If he were going to marry for money, it wouldn’t be a hardship to take her to wife. It came with the added advantage of having the luxury of bedding her—without a blasted mask, without absolute darkness.

  But did he like her?

  Dammit all, she deserved someone who did. He could make that claim because he did enjoy her company, but he also knew that she wanted to be more than liked. She wanted to be loved.

  Every woman is worthy of love and should accept no less from a man she agrees to marry.

  The opening words to her blasted book. He had known about it before Edward mentioned it, had in fact gone round to a shop and secured a copy once he made the decision to pursue her. He’d felt somewhat guilty when he’d announced he was available for all the dances. If he hadn’t read The Lady’s Guide—it wasn’t overly long; apparently fortune hunters could be identified in short order—he’d have signed his name to several of the dance cards bumping his nose earlier and given her the scraps. Only according to her, “a lady deserved more than scraps from any gentleman who was in serious pursuit.”

  If she weren’t willing to reveal her identity at the Nightingale, it seemed only fair that he not reveal his true purpose here: to fill his coffers. She’d taken advantage of him in the shadows—not that he was complaining. He was taking advantage of her in the light. Although knowing what an incredibly carnal creature she was, he knew she would gain a great deal as his wife: He could satisfy her in bed as no other man could, as no other man possibly wanted. He might not love her, but within his arms, she would never find herself lacking for attention. And she would find herself in his arms a good bit of the time.

  This evening she wore a lilac gown trimmed in deep purple that brought out the warmth in her brown, almost black eyes. Her arms were bare, except for the ridiculously long gloves that went past her elbows. Why did Society have such an aversion to the display of skin? Well, not all displays. It was perfectly acceptable to tease a man with a showing of cleavage. His body tightened as he remembered the feel of her nipple in his mouth. Other thoughts began to line up like good little soldiers determined to take him through every minute that she’d been in bed with him, and if that happened, he’d barely be able to stagger off the dance floor.

  “What was the reason?” he asked.

  Her eyebrows drew together ever so slightly. “Pardon?”

  “Your reason for not wanting to go to Texas. What was it?”

  Her lips flattened, her nostrils pinched together. “It’s not that I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t want to travel there for the reason that my brother suggested I should.”

  She licked those lips that he suddenly had an insane urge to kiss. “Women are s
carce,” she continued. “He thought I would have better luck finding a husband. I know he means well—”

  “It was insulting, to think you can’t compete.”

  Her head jerked back slightly as though she were surprised by his conclusion. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was insulting. A bit hurtful perhaps. Mostly, it just irritates. I’ve had six Seasons and with each one, more well-meaning people are offering me advice on how to obtain love. Some of it is absolutely ridiculous.”

  “Such as?”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Do you really want to know?”

  Strangely, he did. “I might need it, as I’m getting up in years.”

  “Men needn’t marry young. That’s a burden foisted only on women as though, at a certain age, we curdle. That I find insulting, but you don’t want to hear my rant on that subject I’m sure. As for what I can do in order to find love: hang a wishbone over the door to my bedchamber. Cook even provided the chicken bone when she offered that bit of tantalizing advice.”

  He smiled. “And it didn’t work?”

  She scowled at him. “I didn’t hang it up. My lady’s maid is always slipping a hand mirror beneath my pillow. Apparently, it will cause my true love to be reflected in my dreams. But he’s there anyway, so I always remove it when I discover it.”

  There was that tightening in his gut again, that sense of jealousy he’d had earlier with Edward. “Who is he?” he heard himself asking, striving not to lock his back teeth together as he did.

  She shook her head. “He’s not any one person, but more of an ideal. Kind, generous, charming. Unrealistic. His breath is never foul, his body never odorous. His feet never stink.”

  Ashe chuckled. “Very much like the women in my dreams. They never nag, they’re never ill-tempered, and all they want to do is … well, let’s just say they’re quite biddable.”

  A deep pink blush crept up her face, and he made note of its journey. If he were to ever see her with a mask again, he would now know the hue that might appear beneath it, how quickly it traveled, how it disappeared into her hair.

  “I can’t believe I told you all that,” she said. “Spinsters are cautioned against drawing attention to their spinsterhood.”

  “You wear yours like a badge.”

  “I’m realistic.” She gave him a gamine smile. “Well, except in my dreams.”

  It was with a measure of regret that he realized the music was fading, their dance was coming to an end. He enjoyed talking with her. She didn’t bore him. “Take a turn about the garden with me.”

  She studied him as though she were searching for something. Was he moving too quickly? Was she going to deduce his motives?

  “Yes, all right,” she finally said. “I can see no harm in that.”

  If she didn’t see the harm, then she didn’t know men very well at all.

  Chapter 13

  AS they wandered through her brother’s elaborate gardens with its maze of paths, Minerva couldn’t help but wonder if he’d figured her out. But if he had, wouldn’t he announce it? Wouldn’t he simply say, “Aha! I’ve deduced that you are Lady V!”

  If he hadn’t figured her out, then why were they here? Rich, powerful, devilishly handsome men did not escort her through gardens.

  She wasn’t accustomed to having a man’s attention like this. Oh, she’d certainly gone on her share of walks, but they’d always left her in low spirits when her partner unwittingly—or in some cases wittingly—remarked on her “fetching” dowry as though he were seeking to court it rather than her. She didn’t want that to happen here, didn’t want him to tarnish her memories of last night.

  “At the Dragons you mentioned a marriage proposal,” he said. “Have you had many?”

  “A few.”

  “None were to your liking?”

  “I liked one of them rather a lot until he informed me that I was to make sure that I got with child quickly and produced a son. He would not tolerate any daughters. After he had his spare, we would be done.”

  “Done?”

  Because she had liked him, his words had been particularly hard to hear. “Yes. After that, I was free to take a lover, as he intended to keep his mistress. He didn’t care for me or my feelings on the matter in the least.”

  “He should have at least pretended.”

  His words gave her pause. Was he pretending? When they were at the Nightingale, what passed between them seemed more honest than what she usually encountered with men. “I prefer the honesty. I wrote my guide because some men are ever so good at pretending, but it’s very difficult to hold on to that pretense for a lifetime. When it fades away, a lady might find herself surprised by what she’s left with.”

  “Well, I can certainly understand your caution.”

  “I’m a spinster by choice because I refuse to be burdened with a man who doesn’t love me. I’m fortunate to be blessed with parents who don’t believe my singular purpose in life is to be a wife.”

  “Is that why you seek out opportunities like cattle ventures?”

  She laughed lightly, striving to play down her talents. “I have a head for business and numbers. Too many in the aristocracy fail to comprehend there is a change in the wind. The gents within my intimate circle do understand, and they appreciate my business acumen. Unfortunately, some men are threatened by it. And I fear it makes me a dreadfully dull strolling partner.”

  “On the contrary. You fascinate me, Miss Dodger.”

  She tamped down the joy his words brought. Other men had taught her to be vigilant, not to take compliments at face value. Yet she believed him, wanted to desperately. More than that, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted the intimacy they’d shared, but how could she acquire that without revealing she was Lady V?

  Perhaps he sensed her yearning. He began leading her off the path. A harsh clearing of a throat stopped him in his tracks. He glanced over his shoulder. “Is that your brother and his wife walking toward us?”

  Minerva looked back, sighed. “Yes, he’s a bit protective of my reputation. He doesn’t want me to be forced into marriage because a gent behaved badly.”

  “Have some behaved badly?”

  His question surprised her, even more so the tone of it, as though he was angered by the thought. “One did rip my bodice, thinking if it appeared I was compromised, we’d have a hasty trip to the altar.”

  “Dear God, you can’t be serious.”

  “I’m afraid I am. The next time I saw him, he was quite bruised and battered. I’m not certain who meted out the punishment: my father or one of my brothers. Lovingdon has been a hovering hen ever since.” Turning slightly, she called back, “I’m fine.”

  “Grace was in need of some air,” Lovingdon said, as they neared.

  “I’m sure she was,” Minerva muttered.

  The couple stopped, and she was very much aware of Lovingdon sizing up Ashebury. “Should probably avoid the shadows,” her brother said. “Might find yourself slamming into a fist.”

  “I have no plans to compromise your sister,” Ashebury said, and Minerva wondered at her disappointment. Nor did the irony escape her—he’d already compromised her. He just didn’t know it.

  “Plans can sometimes go awry,” Lovingdon said flatly.

  “For God’s sake, Lovingdon,” Minerva snapped. “Nothing is going to happen that I don’t want to happen.”

  “What exactly do you want to happen?” he asked sharply.

  “Sweetheart,” Grace said, flattening her palm against his chest. “We should probably return to our guests right about now.”

  “Not until I have an answer.”

  “It’s truly not any of our business.” He looked at his wife as though she’d gone mad. She cradled his cheek. “She’s old enough to know her own mind. Now come along.”

  Glaring at Ashebury, he gave a long, slow nod. “Yes, all right.” Then he tilted his head at Minerva. “Remember what I taught you.”

  “Enjoy the gardens,” Grace said before urging her
husband back toward the residence.

  “That was interesting,” Ashe said.

  “I’m sorry. He can be a bit much sometimes.”

  “It’s not a problem. If I had a sister, I would probably want to look after her as well.”

  She couldn’t help but think that his sister would be a very fortunate girl. “Shall we carry on?” she asked.

  “What did he teach you?”

  The heat of embarrassment rushed up her cheeks. “How to double a man over with my knee.”

  His eyes widened. “I see. Not trusting men seems to be common in your family.”

  “Again, it’s not that we don’t trust men. We question their motives.”

  “Quite right.” He offered his arm, and she took it. They’d taken merely three steps when he said, “You didn’t answer his question.”

  “Which question was that?”

  “What exactly do you want to happen?”

  IT was too soon. He knew that. If he didn’t take into account their time at the Nightingale, it was too soon. But that lay between them, whether or not she admitted it. The remnants of last night lingered, sharpened the senses, made him more aware of her than he might have been otherwise. He couldn’t help but believe that she was experiencing the same desires, the same needs.

  He waited, when all he really wanted was to usher her into the shadows and kiss her senseless. Give her a reminder of why she should return to the Nightingale, what would be waiting for her there with him. She glanced around as though searching for an answer.

  “It’s not that difficult a question,” he said.

  She looked past him, and only then did he become aware of the footsteps nearing. A couple, talking low, walked past them, took a path to the left.

  “If we carry on in this direction,” she said quietly, “we’ll reach a small arched bridge that crosses a shallow fishpond. I would like to go there. I think you might find it of interest.”

  He offered his arm, welcomed the feel of her gloved fingers grasping it. As they began walking along, he was half-tempted to glance back over his shoulder to ensure that Lovingdon wasn’t traipsing along behind them.