At The Duke's Pleasure Page 31

  “Lemonade!” Claire said. “Oh, you are too good.” Taking the glass, she drank enthusiastically. “And it’s so wonderfully cool. Are those ice chips?”

  Grace nodded and took a sip from her own glass. “The servants just brought out a new pitcher and I was happy to spirit away the first two glasses. Come, why don’t we have a seat.”

  “You aren’t dancing?”

  “No,” Grace said. “I never really enjoy standing up with anyone except Jack and he’s in the card room. No doubt he’s winning every hand too, even if they are only playing for penny stakes.”

  Claire had learned that Jack had quite the affinity for cards. She would have to play him one of these times to see just how good her brother-in-law really was, and if she could hold her own against him.

  Finding chairs, they sat down.

  “I shouldn’t ask, since it’s really none of my business,” Grace began. “But are you feeling all right?”

  “Of course. I’m a little tired, but that’s because of so many parties, I’m sure.”

  “Quite likely. Then again, it could be something else.”

  “Something else? What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” Grace sipped her lemonade. “But if you start feeling queasy in the mornings, we should talk again. Before I had Nicola, I was lamentably ignorant about such matters. It took me weeks to figure out I was enceinte.”

  Stars above, does Grace think I’m with child? But no, it’s impossible. Well, not impossible, she amended, thinking how often she and Edward made love. But far, far too soon.

  “I’m not,” Claire told her.

  Grace gave her a look, then smiled. “Probably just this stuffy room. Still, if you have questions, remember my offer.”

  “I shall. Thank you.”

  A baby, Claire thought. The very idea made her giddy and nervous. Did she want Edward’s baby?

  Yes, came the resounding answer. She would like to have his child, his heir. If she was expecting, she hoped it was a boy in spite of Edward’s earlier assurances that the baby’s gender wouldn’t matter. Even so, she was certain Grace’s concerns were premature and that she wasn’t with child.

  Without realizing, her gaze went in search of Edward, scanning the thick crowd for his familiar dark head and powerful shoulders.

  A smile curved her lips as she found him. Then fell away seconds later when she noticed him deep in conversation with a beautiful brunette. But not Lady Bettis, who she knew had left for the country some days ago.

  Since her marriage to Edward, she’d come to realize that she had no reason for jealousy on that score. Felicia Bettis might still want Edward, but he’d made it plain he didn’t return her feelings. In fact, when Lady Bettis had approached one evening to offer congratulations on their nuptials, he’d seemed bored at first, then annoyed when she lingered longer than ordinary manners demanded. To Claire’s delight and relief, he’d given the other woman the cut direct, abruptly turning his back to lead Claire away.

  But now there was another brunette, a woman she did not know. An unpleasant tightness lodged in her chest as she watched him smile at the other woman. But I am only being ridiculous, Claire told herself. They were at a ball. It was only natural he would talk with any number of women, no matter how attractive they might be.

  Still, that didn’t mean she had to like it.

  “Grace,” she asked, striving for a casual tone. “Who is that woman chatting with Edward?”

  Claire watched as Grace sought him out. Suddenly Grace’s back grew stiff, an expression of intense dislike crossing her face. “That is Philipa Stockton, and I can say without reservation that you do not want to make her acquaintance.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Grace met her gaze. “I am sure you do not, but since you’re bound to hear the news at some point, I might as well tell you that she used to be Jack’s mistress. It was before he and I were married and makes no difference now. Jack loves me and I trust him implicitly, but still, I can’t help but detest her.”

  “Of course you do.” Reaching out, she patted Grace’s hand. “If I were you, I’d scratch her eyes out.”

  Grace stared for a moment, then laughed. “I like the sound of that.”

  Their conversation moved on to other subjects, and outwardly Claire relaxed. All the while, though, she couldn’t help but be aware of Edward and Lady Stockton. What were they talking about? For that matter, why was he talking to her at all? Unless there was something between them. It wasn’t unknown for a pair of brothers to be attracted to the same woman. Once Philipa Stockton had broken up with Jack, had she gone into Edward’s arms instead? Claire had always suspected he had a mistress, but she’d assumed the liaison was over.

  But what if it wasn’t? What if they’d only been taking a break while he got married and attended to his duty?

  Abruptly, nausea churned sickeningly in her stomach, the lemonade she’d drunk burning beneath her breastbone.

  Grace gave her a probing look. “Are you all right? You seem awfully pale of a sudden.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re sure?” Grace didn’t look convinced.

  Claire nodded.

  But suddenly, she realized, she wasn’t sure of anything. Not anymore.

  A few hours later, Edward sat on the pale almond green velvet divan in Claire’s dressing room and watched her brush her hair.

  She wore a pink, summer-weight dressing gown with a matching diaphanous silk nightgown underneath. He was also dressed for bed, attired in a dark blue silk robe that Claire had once said she liked because it complemented his eyes.

  After he’d strolled through the door that connected their rooms, she’d sent her maid away, saying she would finish her toilette on her own. Her cropped locks had grown about an inch this past month, but were still short enough that a few brushstrokes were all that was required to tame them. Even so, she kept brushing, as though she was using the rhythmic movement to calm herself.

  “You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Edward observed, as he lounged against a pair of the decorative feather pillows that matched the divan. “Is anything wrong?”

  The brush hesitated for a fraction of an instant before she resumed the stroke. “Only tired. It’s late,” she said.

  “So it is. Although no later than it often is after we’ve returned from a ball.”

  She didn’t reply.

  Taking five more strokes, she stopped and laid the brush on her satinwood dressing table. Her hair settled in short, luxurious waves, shiny and gleaming with the warm, rich colour of the sun.

  Getting to his feet, he moved behind her, then ran his fingers over her hair, savoring its full, silky texture. Bending down, he placed his lips against her neck to nuzzle a spot just under her jawline where he knew she loved to be touched. An answering shiver rippled over her skin before she leaned slightly away.

  “I saw you talking to a woman tonight,” she said.

  He paused, gliding his thumb over the delicate curve of her ear. “Did you? And who is it you mean, since I believe I spoke with any number of ladies this evening?”

  “Don’t be flippant, Your Grace. I was told her name is Stockton. Philipa Stockton.”

  His fingers paused ever so briefly. “I may have spoken with her for a few minutes.”

  “About what?”

  He paused again. “Nothing of any particular interest. Small talk, as I recall.”

  Actually, he’d been probing for information, using a variety of conversational gambits in an effort to persuade Philipa to reveal something about her association with Dumont. But she’d proven irritatingly closemouthed, leaving him unable to garner anything useful—at least not without having to completely tip his hand. All in all, their conversation had been an utter waste of time.

  “Just small talk, hmm?” she said.

  “Yes. Why do you ask?” Gliding the edge of one finger over her cheek, he pressed a kiss to her temple.

  She shrugged. “No reason. Curiosity,
I suppose.” A small silence descended. “She’s very comely, isn’t she? Some might even say beautiful.”

  “Some might, I suppose.”

  “But not you?”

  “No, definitely not me.” Straightening, he turned her to face him. “What is this all about, Claire?” When she wouldn’t meet his gaze, an absurd thought occurred. “Surely you’re not jealous?”

  “Me, jealous!” she retorted. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “My God, you are jealous!”

  Tossing back his head, he laughed. From her expression, though, he could tell that hadn’t been the right thing to do.

  “I see nothing the least bit humorous about this.” Her blue eyes blazed with temper.

  “Well, you would, if you knew what I thought of Philipa Stockton.”

  Jumping to her feet, she moved away. “Oh, and what is that?” Swinging toward him, she folded her arms across her chest and locked her gaze with his.

  “That she may bear the title of lady, but that she doesn’t often behave like one. She has the morals of a cat and the claws to go with them, however pleasing a façade she may try to present to the world.”

  Claire gave a delicate sniff. “Some men like that, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, some do. Quite a few, in fact, if the rumors about Lady Stockton are to be believed.” Reaching out, he tugged her into his arms, her body rigid against his own. “Claire, I don’t know why you’ve gotten this maggot in your head, but you have nothing to worry about. The only thing between Philipa Stockton and me is the fact that we occasionally attend the same balls and share an infrequent bit of mundane conversation.”

  A measure of the starch came out of her shoulders, her fingers lifting to slide over the lapel on his robe. “You just seemed rather…attentive to her.”

  Did I? Claire is far too perceptive for her own good, Edward thought.

  He wished he could simply tell her the truth, but his secret dealings on behalf of the War Office were not something he was at liberty to discuss. Nor did his work for the government have anything to do with his marriage—or at least it wasn’t supposed to.

  Catching hold of her hand, he pressed a kiss against the centre of her palm. “If I did seem attentive, it was only because I was trying to listen politely. With some people, that takes more effort than others.”

  Her lips twitched, and before she could quash the impulse, she smiled. “I suppose that makes sense.”

  The corners of his own mouth curved upward, his hands moving slowly over her supple curves. Angling his head, he dropped a line of kisses across her cheek and down the slim, soft column of her throat.

  “Anyway,” he murmured, cupping her lush bottom to pull her against the hard length of his erection. “When would I have time to be with anyone but you? Or the energy?” Capturing her mouth, he gave her a long, decadent kiss that made the blood rush straight out of his head. Need throbbed insistently in his groin, tempting him to take her right where they stood.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said on a low, breathless sigh. “You can be awfully energetic when the mood suits you.”

  Slipping her hands inside his robe, she stroked his bare chest, pausing to play with his flat nipples in a way that drove him wild.

  “Well, it suits me now,” he told her, his voice rough with desire.

  Sliding the dressing gown off her shoulders, he let it drop to the floor. Her nightgown followed seconds later, together with his robe, leaving both of them naked. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her across to the bedroom in a few long strides.

  Lowering her onto the mattress, he came down next to her, taking her mouth with an amorous passion that left both of them shaking. He caressed her, glorying to the sensation of her small hands as they roamed over his skin with the same abandon as his own.

  Then he couldn’t wait a moment more, want pounding inside him, leaving him gasping beneath its merciless grip. Parting her legs, he thrust inside, sighing as her sleek, wet warmth closed around him.

  Setting a relentless pace, he plunged deeper, harder, faster, listening to her pleasured cries as he drove her higher, then higher still. She was moaning, her nails digging in painful half moons into his back, when she claimed her release.

  He followed quickly after, thoughts dimming as the most profound pleasure swept through him, pulling him down like an undertow from which he had no will to escape.

  Lying together in a tangle of limbs, he fought for breath, for sanity, hearing Claire do the same. Rolling her over so she lay on top of him, he lay with eyes closed.

  Five minutes passed.

  Then ten.

  In spite of the late hour, neither one of them fell asleep. Neither did his body, which began to stir again, seemingly as hungry as ever.

  “Apparently, I am full of energy,” he remarked.

  Smiling, Claire arched against him. “In that case, I think we should find out how much fire you’ve got left.”

  Grinning, he showed her.

  Chapter 26

  Claire settled into a happy routine over the next couple of weeks, content in the knowledge that Edward wanted her—and only her—even if he still never made any mention of love.

  But surely he must feel some deeper regard for me, she found herself thinking as she dressed for the evening. After all, how could a man show such sweet devotion and not care? How could a man make such tender, soul-stirring love and be without real affection?

  That was the problem, however. Did he feel only affection? Or was it possible that he might finally be falling in love with her? With all her heart, she wanted to believe he loved her. But cowardly as it might seem, she couldn’t bring herself to ask him.

  Every day the question rose to her lips. Do you love me, Edward?

  But what if he said no?

  What if he looked at her with regretful resignation and told her to be a good wife, a dutiful duchess, and not worry herself over such foolish emotions as love? They were getting along well these days, he would say. What more did she need?

  And so, rather than confronting him, she remained silent, patient and secretly hopeful, allowing herself to drift in a pleasant limbo that demanded no more than what each day might bring.

  This evening, for instance, Edward was taking her to the opera, an outing she’d been anticipating for days. Once there, they would be able to sit together in the ducal box, listening and relaxing, and if she had her way, holding hands beneath whatever concealing shadows they might find.

  For the excursion, she’d chosen an elegant gown of dramatic ruby silk that revealed a rather shocking amount of bosom. When she’d purchased the dress as part of her trousseau, she’d worried it would be far too sophisticated and revealing. But tonight the gown seemed exactly right. Just what she wanted in order to earn Edward’s admiring, sensual gaze.

  Drawing on her long white opera gloves, she crossed to pick up her gold opera glasses and slip them inside a tiny beaded reticule. She wore a small diamond tiara, the piece one of a multitude of stunning jewels that belonged to the Duchess of Clybourne. She was just turning to go downstairs when a quick tap came on the connecting door and Edward strolled inside.

  Claire barely noticed her maid quietly depart, her attention focused squarely on Edward. Stopping, he took a moment to rake her with a hungry gaze she’d come to recognize and enjoy.

  “My, don’t you look exquisite,” he said in a throaty voice. “Delicious enough to eat.”

  Her smile widened, her body growing loose and warm despite all her exposed skin—or maybe because of it. But then she noticed his attire. As usual, he was elegantly turned out. Instead of black evening attire, however, he wore a brown superfine coat, white linen shirt, cream waistcoat and fawn trousers—smart-looking, but in no way appropriate for the opera.

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” she asked, approaching him on a sibilant rustle of skirts. “We’ll be late, if you don’t hurry.”

  His features grew even. “About the opera, I’m sorry,
my dear, but I’m going to have to beg off this evening.”

  Disappointment wiped the smile from her lips. “But why? I thought everything was arranged.”

  “And so it is.” Reaching out, he took her hands in his. “Jack and Grace will be here any minute, and Drake has agreed to act in my stead as your escort.”

  Drake?

  She liked Drake a great deal and under any other circumstances would be very glad for his company. But she’d planned to spend the evening with Edward, and she certainly hadn’t worn this dress for Drake.

  “And where will you be?” she asked.

  “Out on a matter of business.”

  Her brows drew tight, wondering what could be so urgent that it couldn’t wait until morning. “What sort of business?”

  “The unavoidable kind.” Tugging her closer, he claimed her mouth for a kiss that was both slow and sultry. “Have a good time,” he said, as he eased back. “And I truly am sorry that I won’t be with you this evening.”

  “It’s all right.” She forced a smile. “How late do you expect you’ll be?”

  “I’m not sure, so don’t wait up.”

  “You’ll join me though, when you get home?”

  He kissed the centre of her palm. “Of course. There’s nowhere else I’d want to be.”

  Abruptly reassured, she sent him on his way.

  Of course Edward has business concerns, she told herself. In addition to the substantial number of landed interests and estates he owned, she knew he had an extensive portfolio of investments. She’d even heard him mention interests in a few plantations in the Caribbean and South America.

  She imagined that while she was at the opera listening to arias, he would be at one of his clubs. He and several stuffy gentlemen would sit around a table, smoking and drinking port as they pored over a variety of dry facts and figures.

  Realizing the two of them couldn’t live in each other’s pockets, she determined to enjoy herself in spite of Edward’s absence. Forcing a new smile, she left the room.