by Gaelen Foley
“Besides, if it turns out the threat against you goes beyond just O’Banyon,” he added, “I don’t want you in a situation where any stranger can walk in off the street and get to you.”
Her expression instantly sobered. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
He shrugged. “Anyway, starting a business, especially in London, takes a huge amount of capital at the outset, which I’m afraid you do not have.”
“Hmm.” By the way he described it, it did not sound the shopkeeper’s life was the choice for her. She brightened. “Perhaps I could teach somebody’s children! Become a governess.”
“Children . . . hm.”
“What?” she prodded, seeing his guarded look.
“Oh, nothing.”
“You obviously have an opinion.”
“Well, they’re noisy little vermin, aren’t they?” he drawled. “Hard to concentrate on your books with them thundering about—and then there are the parents. Constantly criticizing the nanny’s efforts to raise their little darlings for them—even while they’re too lazy to do it themselves.”
“Oh, you’re awful!” she gasped, laughing at his irreverent observations.
He shook his head. “It’s true.”
“Do you intend to shoot down every option I have to save myself? Or perhaps you have a better idea?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Aha. What is it, oh, wise one?”
“I thought you’d never ask. I already told you, Kate. You should just let me take care of you.” He held her gaze with a seductive frankness in the gray depths of his eyes, and ever so slowly, his meaning began to dawn on her.
“You mean—even after we’ve dealt with O’Banyon?” she asked gingerly.
“Yes. Even after.” His stare was locked on her. “Do you understand, Kate, what I am offering you?”
“I think so,” she said faintly. It was certainly not marriage. Not that she expected that. Not from a duke, especially one who believed he was doomed by some old family curse to slay his future wife.
It was a surreal moment as she realized he was offering her his carte blanche.
She dropped her gaze, blushing fiercely, shocked by the offer, and by him.
It was only because of all that he had done so far to protect her that she immediately knew that, in reality, he was throwing her a lifeline. But it was breathtakingly ruthless of him to lay this devil’s bargain at her feet just when she had come to the end of her rope.
“You’ll want for nothing,” he murmured in a low, velvety voice. “Do not mourn the loss of your cottage too much. It was a cage for you. But now you are free. No tiresome husband, no nagging customers, no screaming brats. I can give you a very good life, Kate. London, Paris. Anywhere. All you need to do is fulfill the desire that I think you already feel. We both do.”
Her heart was pounding, her cheeks flaming crimson.
Never in all her life did she think she, Kate Madsen, would receive an indecent proposition from a worldly, gorgeous, and fabulously wealthy duke.
At first, she was so embarrassed and confused she could not even look at him. She did not want him to see in her eyes that he already had her half-seduced, and had since the night of her arrival.
She swallowed hard. “Your Grace—I am a virgin.”
“I realize that,” he purred, “and it pleases me. You do not doubt that I can be gentle with you?”
“No—it’s not that.” She couldn’t believe he was doing this to her, putting her in this position—and worse, that she didn’t mind that much. Indeed, nothing sounded sweeter than for him to lay her down tonight and make all her problems go away in a luxurious night of pleasure.
But he was offering her far more than just one night.
The chance to keep him in her life for some period of time into the foreseeable future was a thrilling prospect. It was the proof she had been seeking that this hard, unyielding man did care for her, in his own way.
“What are your thoughts?” he asked.
Kate peeked at him shyly from under her lashes.
It wasn’t marriage, which she believed she could probably find without too much trouble. Safe, boring, biddable men were easy enough to come by—but Rohan?
A fierce, wild creature like a wolf?
“Belong to me,” he whispered, staring into her eyes.
She stood up quickly from her chair and moved away, dizzied by the potency in his stare.
Think.
His magnetism was nigh irresistible.
Of course, if she went the decent route, she was still going to have to sleep with some man anyway. At least like this, she’d keep her treasured independence.
Having lived with Rohan for a fortnight, she had seen that, aside from being slightly paranoid about her safety, he placed no real demands on her.
He respected her studies. They got on well.
Then belatedly, she realized she was fooling herself if she imagined that any nice, biddable husband was ever going to overlook the fact that she had stayed at Kilburn Castle for a fortnight as the personal guest of the Beast.
Certain assumptions would be made.
Blazes, I forgot. I’m already ruined.
The fact that it was not her fault that she was here and that he had hardly touched her would not matter.
It all meant that her choices now were more limited than she had assumed. Henceforth, the only respect she could probably hope to command from the world was the shady sort that could come to her as an extension of the respect due him on account of his rank.
Truly, her fate was in his hands. It sank in that Rohan already knew this. Therefore, as shocking as his offer sounded, the protection he was offering was more than physical. He was offering her a place inside an exclusive little niche that she had heard existed in society but which she knew little about.
The world of rich men’s ladybirds.
Dear God, Caleb Doyle is a prophet.
Her heart was pounding, and Rohan was waiting for an answer. Gathering her courage, Kate decided to press for information. Having paced across the solar, she turned around to face him, leaning her hips back against the chest of drawers. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I must be pragmatic.”
“Yes? ”
She swallowed hard. “Well . . . in short, what are you willing to pay for it?”
The question brought a glimmer of sardonic approval into his eyes. “Hm.” Drumming his steepled fingertips together, he looked her over in a slow, cheeky appraisal. “Oh, say, fifteen hundred pounds per annum.”
Kate’s eyes widened, but she quickly masked her astonishment. It was a staggering fortune—but only a fool accepted any first offer. “Two thousand.”
He flashed a wolfish grin. “Done.”
“What if there is a child? Or several?”
“Five hundred a year for each until the age of maturity.”
She raised an eyebrow. He certainly had a speedy answer. Perhaps the world was littered with illegitimate baby Warringtons.
“It’s what the Regent pays, Kate. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”
“You sound like you’ve done this before,” she murmured, folding her arms across his chest and searching his face sharply.
“Actually, I haven’t. But of course, I am familiar with the workings of the world.”
“You’ve never had a mistress before?” she asked skeptically. “Healthy strapping fellow like you?”
He shrugged. “I don’t usually hold with getting attached to any one particular woman.”
“And yet you see fit to make an exception for me.”
“You were given to me as a gift. I merely believe in taking good care of my possessions.”
She narrowed her eyes. Obviously, he did not care to explain himself, nor was he accustomed to doing so, but, for her part, she was not content to let him sidestep the issue. “The stakes could not be higher for me, Rohan. Please understand. I am not fishing for flowery compliments, I just need to know if you are serious about this. If I am goi
ng to depend on you—”
“Of course I’m serious,” he cut her off with a mild scowl. “Very well, if you must know, you impress me, Kate. You are, perhaps, I think, in some ways . . . good for me,” he conceded haltingly. Then he quickly returned to his usual brusque manner, sending her a lustful look askance. “Besides, I think you know how badly I have long wanted you.”
His aggressive male sexuality intimidated her, but then it occurred to her that perhaps it was supposed to.
By leering at her, he could succeed in driving her off the path of asking about his feelings. Little did he know she was beginning to figure out all of his tricks.
She decided to try a rather brazen experiment, refusing to be rattled by his hungry stare. “Believe me, Your Grace, the feeling is mutual,” she replied. “But I confess, I’m a little confused by this about-face, considering how you pushed me away last night.”
The flicker of curiosity in his eyes told her that her new tactic intrigued him. One corner of his mouth lifted wryly. “At least one of us was trying to behave.”
“You did not want to get involved with me at all, did you?” she murmured, studying him in fascination.
“No.” He shrugged, holding her stare. “But after tonight, frankly, I give up.”
“It does seem inevitable,” she agreed in a quiet tone.
He nodded. “The ideal solution for us both.”
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Kate held her deep breath. “Very well, then. I accept.”
“Good! Then come over here and give us a kiss,” he ordered in sudden, rugged cheer. When he slapped his muscled thigh, inviting her to sit there, she refused to smile.
“Write up the agreement first,” she chided archly, perhaps just to buy a wee bit more time. “And I’ll want your ducal seal beside your signature, to make it doubly official.”
He laughed, low and hearty, like a pirate. “Katy girl, don’t you trust me?”
“If I’m going to sell you my body, Your Grace, at least I want a legally binding receipt.”
“Quelle femme,” he murmured, rising from the ottoman. But he eyed her admiringly. “As you wish.”
A small corner of her soul was panicking, but Kate refused to let fear run amuck. This was her best option.
And look at him, she thought. That magnificent warrior physique was about to become her playground.
She let her stare roam boldly over his tall, broad-shouldered frame as Rohan lifted a portable desk down from atop the armoire. He took out a quill and ink and scrawled the particulars of their agreement on a sheet of foolscap; he finished their contract a few minutes later by pressing his bronze seal into the melted wax medallion at the bottom of the page.
“Here you are. Signed, sealed, and legally binding.”
With the ink still drying, he brought the paper over to her. She accepted it, glancing it over by the glow of the hearth fire.
“Satisfied?” he murmured with a hint of worldly amusement in his deep voice.
She nodded. “I believe so.”
“Then I’d like to seduce you now, unless there are any more questions?”
“Only one.”
“Yes? ”
“You know I’m not as experienced as you are, Rohan.” Blushing at his nearness, she kept her gaze down. “I might not be as able as you to separate my feelings from the things we do.”
“And?”
“What if I fall in love with you? What then?”
He laughed idly as he collected her hand from her side. “I consider that highly unlikely.”
“Would it irritate you?”
“I don’t think so. Not too badly. As long as you don’t make a spectacle of us like Caro Lamb. Other than that—” He shrugged. “It’s your prerogative.”
“Who’s Caro Lamb?”
“Oh, some Society woman who fell for Lord Byron a couple of Seasons ago. Daft chit smashed the punch bowl at a ball and threatened to slit her wrists with the shards of glass if he continued to ignore her. You wouldn’t do anything silly like that, now, would you?”
“Over you?” she retorted. “No. For Lord Byron, maybe. Not for you.”
“Well, you’ve already threatened to throw yourself off a cliff in the short time I’ve known you,” he teased in return, laying his hands gently on her shoulders. “Now, my little present, be quiet and let me unwrap you.”
She stared at him, his jest reminding her of how he had saved her life that day on the cliffs. “We’re really going to do this?” she ventured softly. “You’re serious, you want me for your mistress? You could have anyone.”
His gaze strayed to her lips. “Kate, my sweet enchantress, I’ve dreamed of you from the moment you walked through my door.” He leaned down and kissed her with a tenderness that amazed her as he gathered her into his arms. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, ending the kiss. “Trust me.”
She nodded, lifting her face to offer her lips again.
He claimed her mouth, his expert kiss dizzying her senses. Her heart hammered as she lifted her arms around his neck; crossing her wrists behind his head, she stood in his embrace. As she leaned against him, the feel of his body pressed to hers ignited long-suppressed fires in her blood.
It would not do to think about this too much. But as he caressed her gently, skillfully, kissing her again and again, her ability to reason began dissolving, anyway, into sheer pleasure. The problems that had loomed so insolubly a short while ago now seemed to belong to someone else.
Sensuality stole over her, awakening her senses. He was everything. She loved the taste of his mouth, his soft lips stroking hers, his hard body under her hands. The scent of winter clung to his long, sable hair, and the soothing way he touched her made her toes curl, his large, warm hand cupping the back of her neck beneath the cascade of her hair.
He continued kissing her, laving her tongue with his own, but she grew breathless when his fingertips left her nape and skimmed over her collarbone, then began trailing down her heaving chest.
The male-styled shirt that was part of her footman’s uniform still hung open in a deep V to where the top of her vest started. Kissing her all the while, his simple touch kept her temperature rising as he began patiently unfastening each brass button on her waistcoat.
An offhand realization occurred.
Though at first it had seemed cold-blooded of him, seizing the very low point of her life to make his scandalous offer of taking her for his mistress, Kate now understood that at least he had given her a choice.
Now that she was in his arms, already becoming intoxicated by his kiss, she saw how easy it would have been for him to seduce her first and impose the same arrangement on her afterwards. He could have dictated the terms, and she’d have been none the wiser.
But instead, he had been open with her about his intentions, giving her a thorough opportunity to think it through and decide for herself.
The truth was, he was right. She wanted this as badly as he did.
“There,” he breathed as he undid the last button.
“Y-you make a good valet,” she praised him shyly. Then she caught her breath as his fingers grazed the valley between her breasts.
“Your coat, sir,” he teased in a whisper as he turned his attention to the frock coat that was part of her borrowed livery. Taking hold of the bottom of one long, cuffed sleeve, he helped her ease free of it, first her right arm, then her left.
He tossed her jacket aside and took off his own, then led her over by her hands to the armchair by the fire. Without a word, he made her sit down. Kate held his stare, her heart pounding as he reached down and removed her borrowed boots, freeing her feet from their cold leather casings. With the firelight from the hearth behind him casting a ruddy halo over his black hair, he paused and cupped his warm hands around her stockinged feet.
As he did so, Kate slid the waistcoat off her shoulders, increasingly eager to be rid of her clothing. Then Rohan trailed his hands up her legs and hips
until he reached her waist; he discreetly unbuttoned the placket of her livery breeches while she lay back in the leather wing chair, watching him in avid fascination.
“Lift your hips for me,” he whispered.
She bit her lower lip and reached above her head, hooking her hands over the top of the chair’s back to brace herself; when she followed his instructions, arching up from her seat, he slid the breeches off her slowly.
There was nothing underneath.
Her skin was hot now, though all that remained on her body was the long, white shirt and her thick wool stockings. He stripped her of the latter, one by one, then bent his head and pressed a worshipful kiss to her bare knee. He stayed like that for a long moment, his head bowed before her, his lips against her skin.
She petted his head, hesitantly at first, running her palm over his snow-dampened hair, as black as the night.
Then, gently, she molded her fingers against his roughened cheek and rugged jaw. He lifted his head and gazed at her with a passionate near adoration that took her breath away.
Without warning, she sat up and lifted the shirt off over her head, offering herself to him in virginal, tongue-tied silence.
Surely he knew she’d have done this for free.
Just like she knew he’d have protected her, expecting nothing in return. He breathed her name, heartily accepting her gift of herself. He rose to claim her lips once more, enfolding her in his arms.
She gloried in his mouth on hers and the smooth warmth of his hands caressing her bare back, her arms, her sides. She returned his kisses in wild, reckless abandon, burning for him now, touching him everywhere, relishing the sleek iron hardness of his broad shoulders, massive arms.
There was no one left to disapprove, no claims of respectability left to salvage. Besides, if her aristocratic French mama had ditched respectability for passion, then why should she not follow in her footsteps?
Deepest hunger was driving her to become one with him tonight as she returned his kisses in fevered desperation. She began undressing him, too, her hands shaking, her skin burning after all the cold outside. Cravat first. When she had bared his throat, she stroked his neck, eagerly exploring. His skin was rough like the scruff on his jaw after their long day.