At the Duke’s Pleasure (31 page)

“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 center 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.

C
laire 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 center 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.

Hours later, Edward let himself into Clybourne House. Covering a yawn with a hand, he started up the stairs, glad to be home after spending half the night in the Seven Dials neighborhood, one of London’s most notorious and dangerous slums.

Earlier, he’d received a report about fresh activity going on in the row house on St. Giles Street, the one known to have once hidden French operatives. For months it had remained abandoned. But all that had changed two nights before when the bored team set to watch the place had suddenly noticed candlelight coming from within, and the shape of shadowy figures moving behind the ragged curtains.

Before notifying him, they’d made sure the individuals going in and out of the property weren’t simply vagrants or prostitutes who’d decided to use the space without the bother of paying rent. Assured the house was indeed being employed as a rendezvous point once again, they had sent word Edward’s way.

Hoping he might see something—or someone—of interest, Edward had made the trip across Town. Seated this evening with one of the men in an upstairs room across the bleak street that stank of refuse and other unmentionables, he’d watched for renewed signs of life. But to his frustration, no one came. Only desperate, hollow-eyed doxies walked the streets and alleys, along with drunks, thieves and other unsavory types, who weren’t up to anything good at that time of night.

At four in the morning, Edward decided to give up and come home.

Yet his gut told him he’d been close tonight and that the revived activity in the house had something to do with his search for the mysterious Wolf.

And the mole?

With persistence and a bit of luck, perhaps he would soon find them both.

Inside his bedchamber, Edward stripped off his clothes, then washed with the water his valet had left out for him. Toweling his face and hands dry, he pulled on his robe and walked barefoot and silent to Claire’s room.

Slipping into bed beside her, he tugged the covers over them both before easing an arm around her to pull her close.

“You’re home,” she murmured, rousing slightly.

“Shh, go back to sleep.” Brushing a gentle kiss across her forehead, he stroked a hand along her arm.

She rested her head on his chest and snuggled closer. “How was your meeting?”

“Long and boring. How was the opera?”

“Long and boring too, without you there.”

“I’m sorry I was away,” he said.

And Edward realized that he genuinely was sorry. Always before when he’d returned from conducting surveillance and hunting spies, he’d been left with a deep sense of excitement and satisfaction. He was doing something worthwhile for his country. But more, he was doing something for himself, the game and the chase providing a kind of thrill he’d never found anywhere else.

Yet tonight, he realized he would rather have spent the evening with his wife at the opera than sit in that lonely room in a depressing section of London, watching for potential French spies.

Of course, he wasn’t about to give up this assignment; he’d invested far too much of himself in it to quit now. He wanted to see it through with as much haste as possible.

But if there was no assignment, if he was free to leave Town, he knew he would close up the house tomorrow and take Claire away. They’d go to one of his estates in the north to enjoy the rest of the honeymoon he’d had to cut short. Then he would take her to Braebourne and let her enjoy the beauty of her new home.

Their home.

Needing her with a sudden, almost violent ache, he rolled her to her back, his hands sliding beneath her nightgown to pull it up and off her body. She gave a murmur of surprise, then pleasure, sighing as he caressed her with ardent strokes and frenzied kisses that quickly roused her desire to a fevered pitch. Sheathing himself inside her with a deep, penetrating thrust, he wrapped her securely in his arms. Then to his delight and hers, he proceeded to make up for every moment he’d been gone.

The final days of the Season arrived with a wave of oppressive early August heat that persuaded many of the Ton to pack their bags and depart for their country estates.

Claire and Edward remained at Clybourne House, however—Edward’s continuing business concerns keeping him in the city.

Far too frequently for Claire’s taste, Edward would excuse himself from whatever evening entertainment had been scheduled and be gone late into the night. When she pressed him for more details, his answers were often vague and unsatisfying.

Even when he did attend a ball with her, as he had this evening, he seemed distracted, as if his thoughts and interests lay elsewhere. At first, she hadn’t let his absences trouble her, but now she was beginning to wonder, and worry.

Where was he going?

Worse, with whom?

She waved a fan over her face, savoring the small breeze the painted silk-covered staves made. She ought not to have come tonight, since she was feeling less than her usual robust self. Of course, she suspected the cause, and if the advice she’d ended up seeking from Grace and her own calculations proved true, then she was with child.

She’d missed her menses this month and her breasts were unusually tender, both signs, Grace assured her, of early pregnancy. Bursting with excitement over the news, she’d wanted to tell Edward. But he’d been away again the evening she’d realized she might be enceinte, and in the couple of days that followed there never seemed a good time to share her thoughts. So she hugged her speculation to herself, even as she concealed her increasing worry over Edward and his nighttime sojourns.

Gazing at him where he stood across the room, conversing with a trio of gentlemen, she wondered if tonight might be the right time to try again. He’d been in a good humor on the carriage ride over. Maybe she would tell him on the way back.

Accepting a drink from a passing servant, she took a sip and was instantly sorry. The beverage was far too sweet, almost sickeningly so. Turning to set the punch aside, she noticed a footman approach Edward and hand him a note. Excusing himself, Edward moved away to read the missive. Without a change in expression, which oddly enough she found disconcerting, he tucked the note inside his coat, then rejoined the others.

When the time for supper arrived, Edward approached her to ask if she would very much mind leaving early.

“No, of course not,” she said. Actually, she would be relieved, since a few extra hours’ sleep sounded wonderful.

Inside the coach, she thought again about telling Edward her news, but each time she opened her mouth to speak, she closed it again. Edward’s mood was quiet and preoccupied, as if he was deeply lost in his own thoughts. Unsure what sort of reception she might get, she decided to wait a bit longer.

Rather than stop in the family drawing room for a dish of tea for her and a glass of port for Edward, as was their usual custom, they instead each went to their respective bedchambers. She half expected not to see him again that night, but he came to her right after she’d climbed into bed.

Moments after he joined her, he pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it toward the foot of the bed. “I don’t know why you bother with these, since I just take them right back off,” he murmured.

Then, before she had time to respond, he was kissing her, his hands and mouth moving over her body with a skill that made everything but him fade away. Breathless and floating on a surfeit of pleasure a while later, he spooned in behind her so they could both go to sleep.

She’d just drifted off, when she awakened again to the sensation of him easing slowly from the bed. Her lips parted to call out, but she held back, listening as he gathered up his robe and left the room.

Getting to her feet moments later, she pulled on her nightgown, robe and slippers, then moved silently across the room. Cracking the door open just enough to see into the hallway beyond, she waited. She was beginning to feel like a complete simpleton and was about to return to bed, when Edward appeared, exiting his bedchamber dressed in dark trousers and coat.

So he is going out!
she thought with a lump in her throat.

Waiting until he was far enough ahead that he wouldn’t notice her, she followed, tiptoeing after him on silent, slippered feet. Her pursuit led her to a quiet side entrance that went out to the mews. Watching him through a small window, she saw him stride into the stable. A few minutes later, he rode out, Jupiter’s hooves clattering against the bricks.

Whirling, she pressed a hand between her breasts and drew in a ragged breath.

Where has he gone?

And who is he meeting?

Two questions whose answer she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Trembling, she returned upstairs.

A short while before dawn, Edward let himself into his bedroom. Striding into his dressing room, he peeled off his clothes and washed, bathing away all traces of horseflesh that might linger from his evening ride. Flinging his used towel into a corner, he reached for his robe and pulled it back on.