When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

  She shook her head. “You’re mistaken there. The duke and I are merely friends.”

  “The advantage to being a wallflower, even a gentleman wallflower, Miss Trewlove, is that one becomes a keen observer. May I introduce you to my sister? I think she might benefit from knowing you.”

  When their dance ended, he did indeed introduce her to his sister, Lady Caroline, and two of her friends, Ladies Georgiana and Josephine.

  “Miss Trewlove is a woman of business,” he told them. “An independent sort.”

  “How intriguing,” Lady Caroline said, while her friends nodded. “Are you a dressmaker, then?”

  “No, I own a tavern.”

  The ladies’ eyes widened. “Scandalous,” Lady Georgiana finally uttered. “Utterly scandalous.”

  “Yet intriguing,” Lady Caroline said, and Gillie was beginning to suspect the lady and her brother led boring lives since they found everything “intriguing.” “I daresay, Mitford, we shall see Miss Trewlove safely delivered to her chaperone if you wish to go on.”

  “I don’t wish to be rude,” he said.

  “I’m actually of an age where I don’t need a chaperone. I can see to myself, my lord. Thank you for the dance.”

  “My pleasure, Miss Trewlove.” And he walked away.

  “Conversation is such a chore for him,” Lady Caroline said. “I am impressed, Miss Trewlove, that you managed to put him at such ease he didn’t stutter. Now, he’ll go search out a corner where he can read whatever small book he has tucked away into a pocket.”

  “I found your brother a delight, Lady Caroline. He cares for you immensely.”

  “And I for him. So how is it that you know Thornley?” the lady asked.

  Mrs. Smythson had taught Gillie that one did not ask personal questions, and Lady Caroline’s seemed rather personal. The ladies in this group were more girls than women, so perhaps they hadn’t learned all the proper niceties yet. If anything, they were only a tad older than Fancy’s seventeen years. She had a difficult time envisioning Thorne with any of them, but then that was no doubt spurred by jealousy. These girls were marriageable; she was not. “Our paths crossed one evening near my tavern.”

  “Tell us more about your tavern,” Lady Georgiana demanded. “However did you come to own it?”

  “Well, I purchased it.”

  “Why?” Lady Josephine asked.

  “Because I’m a bit stubborn and find working for others to be disagreeable.” While the Smythsons had been fair to her, she’d longed to be in complete charge of things.

  “But the wrong sort of people go to taverns,” Lady Caroline said.

  Angling her head in surprise, Gillie held the woman’s gaze. “Laborers, merchants, seamen. I suspect a good many of the gentlemen here stop by a tavern now and then. Do you not find the Duke of Thornley upstanding?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we do.”

  “He has visited my tavern. As has my brother. He owns a hotel and a good many buildings and other businesses.”

  “He’s as rich as Croesus from what I understand,” Lady Georgiana said. “Are you wealthy as well, Miss Trewlove?”

  The two other ladies gasped. “Georgie!”

  The lady slapped her hand over her mouth. “My apologies, Miss Trewlove. I forget myself. You have no airs about you which makes you rather easy to talk to.”

  “I’m not offended, Lady Georgiana. I’ve been asked worse.”

  “Still, I was rude beyond measure. Lovely weather we’re having of late.”

  Gillie smiled conspiratorially. “Do you really enjoy talking about weather?”

  “I abhor it. I’d rather discuss you. You must have incredible freedom.”

  “I can do whatever I like, but mostly I work, because I like that people come to my tavern at the end of the day to relax. I’ll pour them a pint and they’ll tell me their troubles, and mine then become insignificant.”

  “My troubles always seem so great, perhaps I should open a tavern,” Lady Josephine said.

  “Don’t be a silly goose, Josie,” Lady Caroline said. “Marriage is in your future, my girl.”

  As if on cue, three gentlemen approached. Lady Caroline introduced Gillie to a marquess, an earl, and a viscount. Then the gents escorted the ladies onto the dance floor. Gillie turned to find Aslyn standing nearby.

  “I was keeping watch in case I needed to step in, but that seemed to go well,” her sister-by-marriage said.

  “I’m a curiosity.”

  Aslyn smiled. “As am I. The daughter of an earl who married a commoner. People speak to me as though they’re not quite sure who I am any longer.”

  “I’m sorry you had to come on my account.”

  “On your account and Mick’s. As much as he claims otherwise, he still has a desire to be accepted by the nobility. Attending affairs such as this one will eventually lead to that acceptance.” She wound her arm through Gillie’s. “So let’s mingle, shall we, and speed that acceptance along.”

  Aslyn introduced her to several other girls, and while each name was preceded by the word Lady, Gillie couldn’t quite view them as anything other than lasses. They were so deuced young.

  Had she ever in her life appeared so innocent, so fresh faced? She wasn’t comfortable when she was the topic of conversation, even though, like Lord Mitford’s sister and her friends, they seemed intrigued by her independence, but she was always grateful when the conversation drifted onto other matters. Inevitably they tittered about how handsome Lord F was or how funny Lord G could be or how witty Lord K was. While she had nothing of consequence to contribute to those conversations, she knew madness would take hold if her evenings were spent doing little more than discussing the attributes of gentlemen.

  But then these ladies were searching for a husband, and perhaps that was the way one went about it. What she did know was that the individual attributes these lasses practically swooned over in one gentleman here and another there, all came together in Thorne. That he had their attention and the yearnings of their young hearts. That if he were to ask any one of them for her hand in marriage, she wouldn’t hesitate to accept.

  That whatever time with Thorne remained to her would be short-lived.

  “I’m pleased to find you’re still here,” Thorne said quietly as they strolled along the garden path where the occasional burning torch provided a modicum of light.

  He’d invited her for a turn about the gardens, and since her next few dances were free, she’d gladly accepted. Three other gentlemen had approached Aslyn for an introduction to her and had then proceeded to ask Gillie for a dance. While she enjoyed circling the floor, no one else brought her the pleasure Thorne did. So she was glad she was available to stroll through the garden with him. It was torment to watch him waltzing with one woman after another, even as she understood he was expected to do so.

  As soon as they’d gotten outside, he’d draped his jacket over her shoulders, and she welcomed his warmth seeping through her skin. Perhaps there was an advantage to having so much exposed after all. “Talking with nobs isn’t as taxing as I thought it would be, especially when I can turn the conversation from weather to liquor. Even the ladies seem to be intrigued by the notion of my freedom to do as I please.”

  “I daresay you’ll have them all traipsing off to run businesses if we’re not careful.”

  “Would that be such an awful thing?”

  “A lord’s wife has a good deal of responsibility: overseeing the management of various households, depending on how many properties her husband holds, making morning calls, which might seem trivial, but they create alliances through which their husbands benefit. They wield a great deal of power over Society, which is not to be discounted. They are also engaged in charitable works. Who would do all that if they were occupied with business?”

  Occupied with business as she was. “It does seem overwhelming, but I think you underestimate how much they could oversee.”

  “Perhaps. But then they are also
to produce an heir and a spare.”

  “I understand why you need a son, but a child should be wanted for more than that.” She didn’t think he had been. And a wife should be wanted for more than land and her womb.

  “You seem to have caught the attention of a few gents. I noticed I’m not the only one with whom you’ve waltzed.”

  “Nor am I the only one with whom you have.”

  “True. It’s obligation on my part.”

  “To pass the time on mine until the final waltz of the night arrives,” she said provocatively.

  His grin flashed in the darkness. “Why, Miss Trewlove, I do believe you’ve mastered the art of flirtation.”

  “I merely speak what’s on my mind.”

  “I like that about you, Gillie. I always have.”

  They walked along in silence for several minutes, and she could almost envision doing this every night instead of sitting on her steps.

  “You should see these gardens in the daylight,” he said. “They’re quite colorful.”

  “They smell lovely.”

  “Over here, they smell even better.”

  He led her off the path, through a maze of hedgerows where no torches danced with flames to show them the way. She imagined as a young boy, he’d made his way through them many a time, pretending to be an explorer or perhaps to simply escape from the rigid demands of his parents.

  “Was your father as standoffish as your mother?” she asked.

  “You are kind with your words. She is hard and brittle. I remember my father being strict and stern, but I don’t recall him ever being intentionally unkind. But after he took ill, he was never quite himself.”

  “That can’t have been easy.”

  “But we carry on, don’t we?”

  They did have that in common. They reached a dead end. Moonlight glittered faintly along the top of a tall brick wall. Suddenly she found her back against it, his jacket shielding her skin from any abrasions as his mouth landed on hers with surety and purpose. She wound her arms tightly around his neck, loving the press of his body against hers, knowing she would never get enough of this even as she understood a time would come when she wouldn’t have his nearness, when he would be pressed up against someone who knew how to properly serve tea and select correct utensils for eating.

  But not tonight. Tonight he was hers as much as it was possible for him to belong to her, for her to belong to him. He lived in a world of refinement and polish, not quite as foreign as she’d imagined it. Still she felt like a mermaid following a unicorn into the woods, all the while knowing that at some point, she would have to return to the sea.

  He dragged his mouth along the column of her throat, and she dropped her head back to give him easier access.

  “Dear God, I’ve wanted to get you alone ever since you descended those stairs,” he growled, low and feral, his chest reverberating against hers, causing her nipples to pucker in spite of all the ridiculous layers of material separating their skin.

  “I’ve wanted you to get me alone,” she confessed, taking satisfaction in his dark chuckle that sent his heated breath skimming along her bared collarbone. This style of frock was becoming more appealing by the minute. As he trailed his mouth over the exposed swells of her breasts, she was actually regretting that the neckline wasn’t lower.

  “I would take us from here this very minute if it wouldn’t be the height of rudeness,” he said, nibbling along the side of her neck until he nipped at her earlobe.

  In his position, he had to consider things like that, had to always be conscious of his reputation, his standing among his peers. He couldn’t simply run away or escape. He couldn’t dance every dance with her, couldn’t spend time with only her. Duty, responsibility, expectations guided him—as they should. She was impressed with his discipline, that he didn’t do what he wanted, but did what was required, what was necessary. He put his own wants and desires aside.

  A time would come when he would put her aside as well. She understood that, accepted it. No matter how much it saddened and devastated her, she would hold her head high when the moment came.

  He began gathering up her skirts and petticoats, bunching them at her waist, even as his mouth continued to play havoc with her skin. His hand slid down to her knee and wrapped around it. He lifted her leg and anchored it around his hip, his back. She was grateful for her height, for the ease with which she could stand there, holding him near with her calf and foot.

  His fingers danced over the outer portion of her thigh, up and down, up and down, until he moved to the tender and sensitive inner edge, his fingers no longer frolicking but slowing to a meander until they reached the haven that was already moist and aching for him. “You’re so wet,” he rasped.

  Moving her hand down, she rubbed the swollen length of him. “You’re so hard.”

  “Aching with need, actually, need that will go unsatisfied until later. But you, princess, you need not wait.”

  He stroked, slowly, determinedly, applying pressure to the small, swollen bud with his thumb, even as he slid two fingers inside her. A tiny cry escaped, and he took possession of her mouth with an urgency, capturing her moan, her whimper, her sob as the pleasure became too much, as the sensations rioted until she shattered in his arms. She clung to him as the spasms rocked through her, wave after wave, with the night breeze wafting over her skin and moonlight washing over her, over him. She thought he’d never looked more beautiful standing there so pleased and happy as though in giving to her, he’d given to himself.

  He pressed his forehead to hers. “My mother, blast her, offered chambers to some of our guests who didn’t want to reopen their London residences for only a few days. I won’t be able to leave until they are all abed, but I will come to you as soon as I am able. Wait for me, but don’t remove this gown. I want to take it off you.”

  How easily those words aroused her all over again. She was a wanton of the first order, and she didn’t care.

  After they’d returned to the ballroom, she’d danced with Mick, who she suspected, based on the way he studied her, knew exactly what they’d been up to in the garden. Although she wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he and his wife had been in another part, up to the exact same thing. It didn’t escape her notice that Mick touched his wife whenever she was in reach—her hand, her shoulder, the small of her back. Before, it had amused her to see her brother so smitten, but now that she was suffering through the same condition, she didn’t find it at all humorous.

  Once their dance was finished, and it became obvious he wanted to take a turn about the floor with Aslyn, she assured them that she was at ease in her surroundings and had received enough introductions they didn’t need to hover around her. She could handle herself. She hadn’t needed to tell them twice. It brought her a great deal of joy to watch her brother gliding over the floor, his wife in his arms, his gaze never leaving hers, to know he was well and truly in love and loved.

  Not wanting them to find her there, mooning about, when they were done, she decided to go in search of Lady Caroline, as she’d enjoyed visiting with her, or maybe even Lord Mitford, to determine if he was truly sitting in a corner somewhere reading a book and to thank him for his earlier kindness. When a footman offered her a tray with coupes of champagne, she didn’t hesitate to take one. While enjoying a sip, she glanced around and spotted a small shadowy alcove, palms standing guard on either side of it, their leaves partially hiding the entry, a perfect place for a timid lord to seek a momentary escape.

  The greenery had just brushed against her arm when she heard a feminine whisper, “. . . deuced odd, I tell you. The way he looks at her. I’ve no doubt she’s the reason Lady Lavinia cried off.”

  Gillie stopped in her tracks, was about to reverse course when another lady, her voice somewhat raspy, said, “She’s a tavern owner. She can never be more than his mistress.”

  “I rather liked her,” a third voice chimed in.

  “If he asks for my hand, I’ll let
him know straightaway I’ll not put up with him being involved with another woman.” The first voice.

  “Lady Lavinia no doubt gave him the same ultimatum.” The third. “And you see what that got her. No wedding whatsoever.”

  “But she was ill. That’s the reason there was no wedding. Thornley announced it. I’ve called upon her twice and been informed she is indisposed. I fear she’s deathly ill, and he feared she’d be unable to conceive,” the raspy-voiced one said.

  “No.” The first voice. “Something odd is afoot with this Miss Trewlove. No other woman garnered his attention upon her arrival. But for Miss Trewlove, he walked right up to the stairs and waited for her to descend. Kissed her hand. Mark my words, ladies. The Duke of Thornley will not be taking a wife anytime soon.”

  Not wishing to be spotted eavesdropping, Gillie turned on her heel and began walking away. She couldn’t identify who those voices belonged to, but also had no desire to know. Aslyn had warned her gossip abounded, and she’d come here knowing full well a good bit of it might revolve around her, but she hadn’t much liked hearing what they’d said about Thorne. None of them were deserving of him.

  In need of more fresh air to clear her thoughts, she stepped out onto the terrace with its bricked wall and steps—with lounging stone lions on either side of them—that led down into the gardens. Walking along the lighted path through the rhododendrons and roses was probably not the thing for a woman alone to do, so she meandered over to a corner of the terrace, leaned against the waist-high wall, and sipped the excellent champagne, wishing she could take a peek at the cask in order to determine its origin and vintage. Perhaps Thorne would give her a tour of his wine cellar before she left. She imagined he had an excellent array of the finest vintages that would put her own small stores to shame.

  “A lady risks her reputation by slipping out of the ballroom alone.”

  Gillie twirled around to face the duchess. “I was growing quite warm.”

  “I daresay wearing a gentleman’s jacket will do that to a woman.”