The Trouble With Being a Duke (26 page)

“If I can do it, so can you,” he murmured as his fingers went to work on the back of her gown. It didn’t take long for him to loosen it enough to pull it down, freeing her breasts to his reverent gaze.

She heard him suck in a breath, and in the next instant she felt hot air teasing her perky peaks, dizzying her mind against the onslaught of pulsing energy that strummed through her, pushing her to finally do what she so desperately longed to.

Tugging at his shirt, she freed it from his breeches and ran her hands beneath. With a groan of pleasure he settled his mouth against one breast and began to suckle. She kissed his neck, nibbling carefully while her hands continued to explore. But it wasn’t enough—she wanted more—needed to calm this growing desire that pooled at her core, so she did what instinct told her to do and ground herself against him.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped, releasing her breast and squeezing his eyes shut.

For a moment she almost paused, fearful that she might have done something he did not like, but then his eyes opened and she recognized the hunger that was there, and with her gaze locked on him, she rotated her hips again. It felt good—really good.

“That’s it,” he said on a breath of air as a sigh escaped her lips. “I knew you had it in you.”

Encouraged by his words and aroused to the point where whatever inhibitions she’d had had been tossed right out the proverbial window, she pulled her skirts up higher and placed her hand between them. God, she felt wicked, but the fire in his eyes told her that he more than approved of this newfound, wanton behavior.

Gazing at him from beneath her lashes as she stroked them both with her fingers, she found herself saying, “You asked me once if I ever touch myself here, and I said no. I didn’t lie to you, but since then, I must admit I’ve done it . . . often.”

His breath grew ragged when he lowered his gaze to watch the progress of her movement, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he also grew harder. “And what do you think about as you give yourself pleasure?” His voice was rough as he posed the question.

Bringing her free hand to his cheek, she brushed her fingertips lightly against him and whispered, “You—always you.”

With a groan he swept her into his arms and carried her toward the bed, settling her gently on the edge. He didn’t speak as he pulled her arms from the sleeves of her gown and lowered the garment to her waist. Getting up, she allowed it to fall at her feet. Her chemise was next, and Anthony didn’t hesitate a second to whisk it over her head and toss it aside. Stepping back, his eyes trailed over her, and the look of appreciation she saw there made her feel silly for ever worrying that he might not approve. It was blatantly obvious that he did, his eyes practically sparkling with glee.

“I believe it is
your
turn to undress, Your Grace,” she said, offering him a cheeky smile as she stepped toward him. “And I would be more than happy to assist.”

He did not move as she pushed his jacket from his shoulders, nor did he flinch as her fingers pulled away his cravat and worked the buttons of his shirt. But when she traced the waistline of his breeches, she heard him suck in a breath and she raised her gaze to meet his in question.

“Allow me to remove my boots before you continue,” he said as he went to work on the task—tugging on the stubborn footwear until they were tossed in quick succession across the floor, where they landed with a thump.

Straightening himself, he allowed her to continue where she’d left off. A surge of excitement coursed through her at the prospect of what she was about to do. This man would soon be her husband, and she had every intention of getting to know his body as well as she knew her own.

No sooner had she unfastened the last button holding his breeches in place than that hard length of him sprang free. Curious, she hesitantly curled her fingers around the smooth surface and slowly ran her thumb back and forth, cautiously eyeing him to ensure that he didn’t mind her taking such liberties.

“Oh my God,” Anthony muttered. The sensation of her fingers upon him like this was divine—she was divine. Heaven help him, but he’d never experienced anything close to this before. No other woman could possibly measure up. In his mind there was only Bella. He took a steadying breath as he looked at her, the expression upon her face so full of passion and focus.

Whatever he’d said or done to bring out the vixen in her had certainly worked. She was incredible, and as she tugged him ever so gently, a surge of heat rushed to his groin while sparks of desire flittered across his skin. He’d never been this aroused before in his life!

Capturing her mouth in a hot and fervent kiss, he ran a hand over her hip, across her bottom and down to the soft flesh of her womanhood. “Yes,” she gasped as she parted her legs to grant him further access.

Trailing a finger along her center, he abandoned her mouth in favor of her ear, nibbling gently on the lobe as she trembled against him. “You’re so wet, Bella, so ready and . . .” He dipped a finger inside her. “So tight.”

“I suppose I want you quite badly,” she murmured.

“There can be no doubt about that, and while I want you just as badly, I’d also like to taste you.”

“
What?
” she squeaked, eyes wide as she tried to pull away.

He refused to let her go, leading her to the bed instead. “Trust me, love, you’ll enjoy this more than you can possibly imagine.” Once he’d settled her against the plush pillows, Anthony proceeded to kiss his way along her outstretched body, chasing away the tension that had filled her when he’d told her what he had in mind. It took a while for her to relax, but he enjoyed every moment, relishing the opportunity he’d been given to simply adore each and every part of her. When he eventually flicked his tongue against her place of desire, she gasped and groaned with such pleasure that he almost found himself undone.

He wanted her pleasure as much as, if not more than, he wanted his own, and the more he laved her, the closer he sensed her coming to her climax. Pulling back, he couldn’t help but smile at the dazed look upon her face as he climbed up between her legs. “This is bound to hurt a little,” he warned.

“That’s all right,” she said with sincerity gleaming in her eyes as she raised her hand to caress his cheek. “I want this—I want you.”

Anthony didn’t need a second telling, but he was determined to make this good for her and therefore took his time, no matter how difficult it was for him to stop himself from forging ahead. When he reached the proof of her maidenhood, he stopped, catching his breath as he braced himself above her. His body screamed for fulfillment, but he ignored it, focusing all of his efforts on her instead. “How do you feel?” he quietly asked.

“Strange . . . full, I suppose, and oddly complete.”

Reaching between them, he started to stroke her. “How about now?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her fingers splaying across his back as she tried to pull him closer. “Oh, God, yes. Please, Anthony . . . I need . . .”

And then she arched her back, pushing herself against him, and he complied, thrusting himself forward, burying himself to the hilt. A small groan of discomfort escaped her lips and he stopped to ask if she was all right. “Yes,” she said as she pulled him back for another breathless kiss.

With a sigh of relief, he withdrew from her a little, then plunged back inside. She groaned her pleasure, and he repeated the process until he felt her moving with him, their rhythm carrying them both on a wave of ever-increasing passion as they climbed the steep slope that would take them to the eventual place of ecstasy.

It didn’t take long before Anthony felt Isabella shudder as she tightened around him, crying out his name. He followed close behind, the rush of sensation that whipped through him at the moment of climax more powerful than any he’d ever experienced before. Breathing hard, he collapsed on top of her, spent and satisfied as he breathed in her scent.

“That was really quite . . . remarkable,” she said as he turned his head to place a tender kiss upon her temple.

Anthony smiled, his lips still pressed against her head. “Indeed it was, Bella, and do you know, I believe it’s only the first remarkable moment of many between us.” He could feel her skin grow warmer and knew she had to be blushing. Rolling off her, he scooped her up against his chest and hugged her close.

They remained like that for a while, and Anthony was just beginning to close his eyes, thinking her asleep, when she suddenly twisted herself around to face him with a rather pensive frown. “I would like to meet my grandparents,” she said, looking him squarely in the eye. “I know that you know where they live, and I . . . well, I’d like to make their acquaintance at the first opportunity.”

“I believe you ought to discuss that with your mother, don’t you? After all, she’s the one who had a falling out with them and ran off. It would probably be best if she makes the first conciliatory step.”

Isabella sighed as she relaxed back down against his arm. “She’ll never do it. It’s a matter of pride for her now, I believe, and while I can understand her reasoning, they’re my grandparents.” Her eyes met his again in an imploring way. “Don’t you think I should have the right to make my own decision—form my own impression of them? Not to mention what they must be going through. They probably think their daughter dead!”

“I can’t say that I disagree with you, love, but it’s a delicate situation. If you go behind your mother’s back she may feel betrayed.”

“And what about me?” Isabella asked, her voice filling with annoyance. “Ought I not feel betrayed for being lied to my whole life?”

“You have a point there,” he conceded.

“Besides, if I mention it to her she’ll only try to stop me—I’d rather she doesn’t know until I’ve met them myself and decided whether or not I’d like for them to be a part of my life.”

Anthony nodded. “Very well, then,” he said. “I shall send word to them. They are no doubt in London by now, but I can invite them up for the weekend . . . together with my mother and sister, perhaps, since I doubt your parents will allow you to come here alone and unchaperoned.”

“But if your mother or Lady Louise ask me to join them for tea, she’ll have no cause for protest,” she said, warming to the idea.

“That’s the plan, I suppose.”

Raising herself on her forearm, she gazed down at him and smiled the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen. His heart lurched. “Have I told you how much I love you?” she asked.

He pretended to consider that for a moment before saying, “I believe you may have, though I wouldn’t mind hearing it again.”

She grinned. “Well I do—enormously.” And then her gaze turned hot and she lowered her lashes to offer him a seductive gaze. “Do you suppose we might have time for another remarkable moment before I have to return home?”

Blood pumping in his veins at her suggestion, he flipped her onto her back in one fluid move, eliciting a squeal from her as he placed his lips against her breast and quietly muttered, “I believe we might.”

Chapter 25

I
t took no small amount of organization for Anthony to pull off his plan of reuniting Isabella with her grandparents. He’d sent word to his mother and Louise first, but as eager as they’d both been to jump to his assistance, they’d had social functions that had been difficult for them to back out of without coming across as rude.

Eventually, it was decided that as long as the Deerfords were in agreement, they would come to Kingsborough Hall the following week so they could return to London in time for the Darwich Ball. Anthony’s mother had written to him, suggesting that if Lady Margaret and her parents were to reconcile as well, then the ball presented not only a good opportunity for Anthony and Isabella to announce their upcoming nuptials, but to welcome Lady Margaret back into Society with her husband by her side.

His mother signed off by saying that with the limited time available to them, she would place all responsibility of finding appropriate gowns for both Isabella and her mother on his shoulders.

Setting the missive aside, Anthony rolled his eyes and groaned. He detested anything to do with modiste shops, fashion plates, fittings and the like—hell, he himself was barely reasonably dressed at any given time, and his mother wanted him to help Isabella select a ball gown. Eyeing the side table, he decided that there wasn’t enough brandy in the world to make this task any more appealing.

Blast!

He loved Isabella, of course, and would do anything for her, but fabric selection at a modiste’s? Gah, but it was a most unpleasant thought. Still, it was important that she look her absolute best when she made her first appearance before the
ton
. With this in mind, Anthony found himself escorting both Isabella and her mother to Madame Bertrand’s, where he took a stand against a green silk—not that it wouldn’t have suited Isabella immensely, but the frost blue he’d seen the last time he’d been there would suit her better. Her mother, thankfully, agreed, and together they convinced Isabella to acquiesce.

For Lady Margaret, Isabella suggested a burgundy satin, and when her mother protested, it was Anthony to whom Isabella turned for support, which he happily gave, since it was a lovely fabric. “A bold color for a bold woman,” he said to his soon-to-be mother-in-law with a wink.

In the end, their errand was accomplished in record time—a feat for which Anthony gave the ladies full credit. To show his appreciation, he invited them both for tea at Mrs. Wilkes’ Tearoom, ensuring that they both selected a tart and suppressing a smile when Isabella deliberately avoided the one with apples. Seating themselves in a small nook, they each proceeded to enjoy their treats.

“Thank you again for ordering those gowns on our behalf,” Lady Margaret said as she took a sip of her tea. “The fabric was very dear, not to mention how much it will probably cost to—”

Anthony waved away her concerns with his hand. “My dear lady, you really mustn’t worry about that. It is my pleasure to ensure that you will both be equally stunning at the Darwich Ball. Tomorrow I will send my valet over to your house so he can discuss your husband’s attire with him.”

Lady Margaret leveled him with a frank stare. “You still haven’t told us what you intend to say when people start asking about Isabella’s identity and heritage.”

“I’m working on it,” Anthony assured her, though she didn’t look the least bit convinced. All he could do was thank his lucky stars that she didn’t know what his plan entailed, for she would undoubtedly quit the country before allowing him to reunite her with her parents or make a public appearance as the long-lost Lady Margaret.

Casting a sidelong glance at Isabella, he steeled himself. This was what she wanted, and he had to concede that if this situation could be resolved, Lady Margaret’s reputation could in all likelihood be restored, allowing her daughter to be accepted into Society with honor and dignity. It was most assuredly a battle worth fighting.

W
hen Lady Louise and her mother the duchess stopped by the Chilcott residency two days later, Isabella was about to collapse into a bundle of nerves. She’d been looking forward to this day for almost a week, but now that it had finally arrived, something odd had begun happening to her stomach—as if it had suddenly decided that it didn’t belong in her body. Attempting bravery, she donned a bright smile as she wished her mother a pleasant afternoon, promising not to remain too long in her hostesses’ company. On quaking legs she then made her way toward the Kingsborough carriage, which stood waiting, and allowed the driver to help her up.

“Dear me,” Lady Louise said as Isabella seated herself across from her. “You look as if you’re heading to the gallows! I hope your parents didn’t notice, or they’ll think we have ulterior motives.”

“Which we do,” the duchess reminded her daughter.

“What I meant is that they might believe we’re trying to offer Anthony some time
alone
with his future bride,” Lady Louise said.

The duchess snorted. “As if that might be any worse in this instance. As it is we’ll be lucky if Lady Margaret doesn’t murder all of us once she discovers what we’ve been up to.” Isabella winced, and the duchess immediately turned a kind smile on her. “Not to worry, though. I’m confident that everything will work out just fine, and as for your jitters, they’re really unfounded. Your grandmamma and grandpapa are equally anxious to meet you.”

“Truly?” Isabella asked.

The duchess nodded, still smiling, and a quiet sense of relief washed over Isabella, which was silly, really, considering how anxious the Deerfords had seemed on the night of the ball when they’d almost blown her cover. She was their granddaughter, for heaven’s sake. They would have to be beasts not to want to meet her.

Drawing a fortifying breath, Isabella leaned back against the backrest and braced herself for the afternoon ahead. She had asked for this, it was her idea, and there was no turning back now without looking like a coward, and a coward she was not—she’d meant to marry Mr. Roberts for the sake of her family, after all. As far as heroics went, that ought to count for something.

Eventually, Isabella managed to calm herself, and when she stepped into the parlor at Kingsborough Hall, only to be swept into an immediate embrace by Lady Deerford, she knew her concerns had been unfounded.

“Look at you,” her grandmother cried, stepping back for only a fraction of a second before pulling Isabella against her once more. Given the portly woman that Lady Deerford was, Isabella was forced to admit that she did give rather good hugs. “You’re ravishing, my dear—a diamond of the first water and I’ll shoot anyone who says otherwise.”

“Now, now, my dear,” a male voice said with a good-humored ring to it. “It wouldn’t do for you to kill her when we’ve only just found her—perhaps you will allow the girl to breathe?”

“Nonsense, Hugh—I’ve no intention of ever letting her out of my sight,” Lady Deerford replied, though she did disengage herself from Isabella and stand aside enough for her to get a better view of her grandfather.

Deerford chuckled. “I daresay Kingsborough may have a thing or two to say about that.” He stepped right up to Isabella and smiled—eyes warm and welcoming as he took her hand and raised it to his lips. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Leaning closer, he whispered, “Please go easy on her—she’s been waiting so terribly long for this moment and is full of excitement.”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” Lady Deerford asked, attesting to the fact that there was nothing wrong with her hearing. “She’s my
granddaughter
—fully grown and practically with children on the way, and I’ve only just set eyes on her now! Of course I’m excited!”

A cough sounded and Isabella caught Anthony’s eye. He was trying very hard not to laugh, so she shot him a bit of a scowl, for she actually liked what little she knew of Lady Deerford so far and was touched by her enthusiasm. Lord Deerford seemed equally amicable—not at all the sort of man whom she would imagine to trick his daughter into an engagement by arranging to have her publically seduced. Certainly an explanation was in order.

“Come,” the duchess said. “Let’s sit and have some tea.”

Moving toward the seating arrangement, Isabella purposefully seated herself on one of the sofas, allowing her grandmother the obvious delight of sitting next to her, while her grandfather seated himself in one of the chairs, with Anthony in another and the duchess and her daughter on the opposite sofa.

“Allow me to pour,” Lady Louise said, reaching for the teapot while the duchess picked up a plate of scones and passed it to Lord Deerford, who took one with a smile and a thank-you before offering it to his wife.

“So, I understand that congratulations are in order,” Lady Deerford said as she took a scone and placed it carefully on her plate, “since you are soon to be married to the duke—handsome fellow that he is. You’re a lucky woman.”

“Thank you, my lady, I—”

“Oh no, we’ll have none of that, my dear. I’m your grandmother—I think we ought to forgo the honorific, don’t you? Why not call us Grandmamma and Grandpapa instead?”

“Very well, Grandmamma,” Isabella said slowly, gaining an instant squeak of approval from the lady herself. “Your wishes are greatly appreciated, and well . . . it is in part because of our upcoming wedding that I wanted to meet with you. You see, I am hoping that you will be able to join us as our guests, but in order for that to happen, there is a certain . . . situation . . . which will require not only some attention but a great deal of delicacy as well.”

“Your mother?” It was a simple question posed by her grandfather and one that cut straight to the point.

Isabella nodded. “Precisely.”

Silence reigned as her grandfather stared back at her with a thoughtful frown. He eventually turned to the duchess and said, “Would you mind affording us a moment alone, Your Grace? I would like to explain myself to my granddaughter.”

The room must have cleared in less than five seconds, with Isabella catching only a fleeting nod of reassurance from Anthony before the parlor door closed behind him and she was left alone with her newfound grandparents. Not knowing quite how to respond, she decided to do the British thing and offered them both some more tea.

“How much do you know?” Lord Deerford asked, his voice solemn as he leaned slightly forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his lap.

“Enough, I suppose,” Isabella said. Her grandmother had lost her vibrant demeanor and was now sitting very still on the seat beside her. There was no question that this was a subject she’d rather have avoided. Isabella knew that for any possible relationship to flourish between them, they could not ignore the issue. In a steady voice, she began to relate what her mother had told her.

They sat for a while in silence after she finished until, with a great sigh, her grandfather stood, went to the side table and proceeded to pour himself a brandy. “It’s all true,” he finally said, meeting Isabella’s gaze unflinchingly, though the tension that gripped him was visible in his posture. “But you have to understand—I was at my wit’s end. She’d just made her debut with great success, garnering no fewer than ten suitors in the space of a week. One of them was even a duke, if I recall. We were thrilled for her—positively thrilled!”

Lady Deerford shifted uneasily in her seat and promptly asked her husband if he would please pour her a sherry. When asked if she would like one as well, Isabella heartily accepted, hoping it would be enough to get her through this painful conversation.

“But would she have any of them?” Lord Deerford asked rhetorically, glancing sideways to where Isabella sat as he poured the dark brown liquid into two separate glasses. With a resigned shake of his head, he set the bottle aside, picked up the glasses and carried them to the table, where he placed one before each lady. “No, she claimed to be in love—with my stable master, for Christ sake.”

“Hugh!” Lady Deerford admonished.

“My apologies,” he muttered, resuming his seat and leaning back as he balanced his glass on top of the armrest.

Isabella bit her lip. The situation was not an easy one, made only more difficult by the fact that she understood both sides. Her mother had good reason to be upset with her parents, though it would of course have been unheard of for them to encourage a relationship with the man she’d eventually eloped with. “You know,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “I think what hurt my mother the most was not so much your disapproval of my father but rather the way in which you tricked her. She felt betrayed, and forgive me for saying this, but she was right to do so.”

“What would you have us do?” Isabella’s grandmother asked. She shifted a little so she could look directly at her granddaughter. “We’d like to make amends if possible.”

Lord Deerford started to say something, but his wife cut him off. “You had your say twenty years ago, Hugh.” Her eyes glistened with emotion. “It’s my turn now—tell me, Isabella, what do you think would be the right approach?”

The desperate longing on her grandmother’s face tore at Isabella’s heart, and she found herself reaching for her grandmother’s hand and squeezing it within her own. Her grandfather looked almost equally affected. “I believe an apology would be a good beginning, and then, of course, accepting my father as your son-in-law.”