Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel (9 page)

He clasped her elbows in his hands and drew her closer. Her breasts touched his chest, and he felt the skirts of her gown
swirling around his legs. Capturing him. Not that he wanted to be let go.

He looked down at her face, her gorgeous, vibrant, lovely face. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I met you,” he murmured,
lowering his mouth to kiss the beauty mark on the right side of her lips. “And this,” he continued, moving his mouth to hover
over hers before closing the distance between them, feeling the soft warmth of her lips under his.

Her lips were so sweet. He could taste the wine they’d had at dinner, and he just kept his mouth on hers, not doing anything
more, just touching her lips with his, savoring the intensity of the moment. Until she put her hands on his waist and drew
him in even closer, opening her mouth as she did so.

And then his tongue dove into her mouth, licking and sucking, their tongues tangling as they kissed. She slid her hands around
his waist to his back, holding him tightly to her. His erection pushed against his trousers, she must feel it, his cock throbbed
with wanting to be buried inside her. Maybe to bend her over his desk—their desk—and thrust inside, her naked breasts pressed
against the leather of the desk.

But right now this was more than enough. This kiss, with her passion and desire coming through with every movement of her
mouth, her lips nibbling on his, her tongue boldly pushing inside his mouth, keeping to her promise of kissing him.

God, this was the best kiss he’d ever had. He knew that already, and it wasn’t nearly done. At least he hoped not.

He put his hands to her waist as well, spanning her rib cage, his fingers splayed out just under her breasts. She wriggled
so his fingers were on her breast, and he smiled, still kissing her, letting her know that this was entirely what he wanted.

She had her hands under his dinner jacket, kneading his back, her fingers dropping lower until they hit the upper part of
his arse. And then she smiled as well as she clutched him, rubbing his buttocks with her fingers, her mouth open, and hot,
and wet, and passionate. As firm and impatient in her desire as she was when she wanted him to answer a question.

If she asked now, he would have to say yes. To whatever it was she wanted, if it meant she wouldn’t stop kissing him, wouldn’t
stop touching his body.

He palmed her breast, feeling the sharp stab of her nipple, even underneath all the layers of clothing she must be wearing.
He wanted to feast on her, to take that nipple in his mouth, to suck and lick her breast as thoroughly as he was her mouth.

He pinched her nipple, not hard, but just a little pinch, and she gasped into his mouth. And grabbed his arse even tighter,
moving in so closely to his body she was touching him at nearly every point.

This—this was too fast, too soon, too much. He couldn’t stand it, because if things continued he would have her over the desk,
and he needed to be certain that this eventuality was something that was eventual and inevitable for her, too.

So even though he thought he might die from not continuing to kiss her, he withdrew, gasping, leaning his forehead on hers,
his hands still on her breasts, his cock still huge and throbbing inside his trousers.

“Oh,” she said in a disappointed tone of voice.

“Oh,” he repeated, smiling against her skin. “Thank you.” He drew back and looked at her, noting her flushed face, her mouth
wet and reddened from their kiss. Her eyes sparkling and yet also sultry.

She was beautiful before, but now she was absolutely intoxicating. And he wanted to drink her up, to take her until he was
drunk on her, to forget everything that was sensible and logical and anything that wasn’t she.

He heard her swallow. She released her hold—reluctantly, it felt like—on his arse, but kept her hands on his waist.

“What now?”

He shrugged, knowing he was likely going to say the wrong thing, the type of thing a less honest, more polished man would
never say during such an encounter, but unable to find what it was he should say rather than would say.

“We now know what it is like to kiss one another.” He wanted to do it again, right now, but didn’t want to pretend that this
was anything but what it was—an interlude in their working relationship. A very pleasant interlude, but an interlude nonetheless.
“I would like to do it again at some point. If our work is completed, and there is nothing else requiring our attention.”

She stiffened and withdrew. His body felt the lack of her warmth, of how she felt pressed against him. And he felt the lack
of something else, but he didn’t know what that thing might be.

He was experiencing all sorts of new things since she’d arrived. He thought he liked it, but he wasn’t entirely certain.

“That sounds pleasant.” Her tone was nearly flat, and he had the urge to take her mouth again, to show her what passion felt
like so he could render her as flustered as he felt himself. But she’d replied just as he’d wanted her to, hadn’t she, and
so he couldn’t be angry at the result of his words.

Even though, inexplicably, he was.

“Excellent.”

And then they just stood there, looking at each other, him feeling as awkward as he’d ever felt in his entire life. Which
wasn’t difficult, since he had never felt awkward before.

“If you will excuse me, I should go check on Gertrude. Good night.” She ducked her head and walked out of the room without
waiting for him to reply. He admired that, even though he wished she had said more. Although what would she say?
That was the best kiss of my life?
That was what he wanted to say. But what if she’d had better?

She couldn’t have had better. He knew that.

I am glad you said what was on your mind, and my goodness, I would like to touch your body all over?

Again, probably not something she would say.

So saying good night was probably as close as he was going to come to an acceptable set of words from her.

Leaving him alone in his study with a raging erection, plenty of . . . feelings, and confusion about what to do next.

All entirely unexpected.

And again, he wasn’t certain he liked it. But he did appreciate that it was different. And he didn’t feel quite as alone.

Once again, she was shaking as she left his study, only it wasn’t as simple a reaction as having obtained a position that
would allow her and Gertrude to survive.

This was far more complicated than simple life and death.

This was—what was it, anyway? First she’d been upset that he hadn’t spoken to her, and then she’d been startled that he had
asked her for a kiss. Not so startled, of course, that she couldn’t answer.

She winced as she recalled what she’d said—only if she could kiss him as well. That was so, so
forward
. Although it was on her mind, and he wanted honesty at all times, didn’t he? He’d just proven that with his comment about
doing it again if they had time and their work was done.

With him, it seemed the work was never done, so she had likely just had the first and last kiss she would ever have with the
duke.
Her employer.

She began to ascend the stairs to the floor where her and Gertrude’s bedrooms were. Her mind not thinking about anything but
that kiss. That one kiss.

Which was one kiss more than she should have ever had, despite how she’d come to look forward to their working together, to
seeing his impressive mind work at an incredible speed.

Not to mention seeing his impressive form. She suppressed a groan as she thought about what she’d done, not just the kissing,
but the fondling.

She had definitely put her hands all over his backside. And now she knew firsthand, so to speak, that it felt even better
than it looked.

How was she going to face him the next day? What with having touched him, and kissed him, and accidentally but entirely deliberately
moved his hands so they rested on her breasts?

She began to ascend the second flight of stairs, trying to push all that away so she could concentrate on being a good mother
to her child—not a wanton who wanted her employer to touch her everywhere, not just the places he had touched her.

It would be fine. He would treat her as he usually did, it would be an odd interval in their working relationship, and hopefully
in time she would be able to forget it ever happened.

Probably by the time Gertrude was a grandmother, if Edwina hadn’t died of embarrassment and longing first.

“Good morning.” That sounded perfectly normal, didn’t it? Not as though she’d spent half the night reliving the kiss, and
the other half feeling mortified.

Gertrude had greeted her at her bedroom door with a blotchy face and an apology letter. Edwina told her daughter a bedtime
story—one definitely not involving commanding dukes and stolen kisses—and headed to bed herself.

He didn’t even look up from his papers, damn him. Didn’t he even think that this would be odd? No, of course he didn’t. Edwina
couldn’t repress the snort as she thought about it, which did draw his attention.

“Is something wrong? You’re not getting ill, are you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I can’t have you getting ill, not when we’ve
got so much work to do.”

She lifted her chin. “I am not getting ill.”

He didn’t reply, just gave her one long appraising glance—perhaps he was searching for signs of illness, she thought sourly—and
returned to looking down at whatever it was that was more interesting than she was.

And now she sounded like a scorned lover, or someone far more dramatic than she knew she was. If she was going to keep working
here, and not cause some sort of unpleasant scene, she would need to learn to keep control of her emotions. Whether her emotions
were wanting to kiss him senseless or slap him in the face.

Sadly, she knew what she would prefer. And it wasn’t to hit him.

“What are we working on today?” She was delighted to discover she had kept her tone calm and even.

He pushed some papers toward her, again without even glancing up. Did he regret kissing her so much he didn’t even want to
look at her?

That would be awful, even worse than his thinking there would be a time for kissing, and it would be after work.

“More railway proposals.” He sounded annoyed. Well, so was she. “I can’t find any substance in any of them, I want you to
take a look to see what they’re actually saying.”

“Of course.” She reached forward, and he clamped his hand on her wrist. He did look at her then, his eyes dark and intense.
She nearly forgot to breathe. “And this afternoon we’ll be attending a demonstration of one of the engines. I’ll need you
to take notes on the process.”

“An engine demonstration?” She couldn’t help but sound skeptical. And potentially very bored, but mostly skeptical.

“Yes, it’s the most amazing thing, Cheltam.” He spoke in a tone of voice she’d never heard from him before—wondering, and
happy, and excited. “They didn’t know about any of this when I was a little boy, and now this, this miracle.” He seemed to
recall just who he was, and how he should be speaking, because he cleared his throat and spoke in his normal tone. “That is,
I wish to review the mechanics of it.”

“Of course.”

He darted a quick look at her face, as though daring her to comment on his unexpected enthusiasm, but she just gave him a
sweet, and sweetly false, smile, knowing that would irritate him far more than her being amused by his tone of voice.

He’d done it again. Spoken before thinking. It was getting to be a habit, one he hadn’t had before she entered his employ.
And she sat on the opposite side of the desk—that very desk he’d had some vivid thoughts about the day before, thoughts which
had haunted him well into the night—and looked as though nothing untoward had happened between them.

As though she hadn’t sucked his tongue into her mouth, hadn’t let him touch her breasts, hadn’t pressed up against him so
thoroughly he could still feel the imprint of her on his body.

His brain was already processing what he could accomplish in the carriage ride to the engine demonstration. And wasn’t that
pathetic? He was a duke, a young, unmarried duke, a man of fortune and, he could say without prejudice, not unattractive.
He could have nearly any woman he wanted, and yet he didn’t want any of them.

Except for this one. Whom he wanted very much.

Even though he knew full well he shouldn’t want her, that he couldn’t have her in the way she deserved to be had—he’d seen
mésalliances before, wondered at how a person could so forgo logic as to make himself a pariah in the eyes of Society. He
would never do anything so foolish. But he did want her.

And he had never wanted anything without eventually getting it. This was going to be another new experience for him.

The knock came just as Michael was about to suggest they go to the demonstration. “Enter,” he said, not bothering to look
up.

Chester barked, and he heard the pell-mell of little feet, and then the child herself popped up in front of his face, all
smiles and eagerness. “Miss Clark said you were going out to see an exhibit, and I asked if I could go, too, and she said
it was up to you.” She widened her dark eyes, so like her mother’s. “Can I go? Please?”

“Gertrude, the duke has not invited you to go, and it is certain to be quite dull.”

She sounded as though she actually thought that, and he felt a pang of disappointment—disappointment at what, he wasn’t certain.
Nor was he certain he wanted to find out.

Something, that thing inside him that appeared to make decisions entirely without him, supplied his next words. “It will not
be dull, Cheltam.” He nodded at Gertrude. “You may attend with us, but you must listen to your mother, and we will bring Miss Clark,
because your mother will be working.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you,” Gertrude replied, bouncing up and down in her glee.

“You’re welcome, just stop that, you’re making me dizzy.”

Gertrude turned to address her governess, who was standing just inside the door. “Did you hear? We can go, too!”

“That is wonderful. You must thank His Grace.”

“I did already,” Gertrude pointed out, not incorrectly.

“Of course, well, we will go get ready.”

“We will be leaving in seven minutes,” Michael added. “If you’re not there, we will go without you.”

“Oh!” Gertrude left the room with a shriek, Chester trotting along behind her, leaving them alone. Again.

“That is very kind of you,” she said in a soft voice. “I know it is not what you would have preferred.”

Not at all, since I was scheming how to continue what we began the night before
, Michael thought grumpily. But didn’t say it, of course, since he still had work to do, and now he had a demonstration to
attend with a six-year-old, an easily startled governess, and the woman who was driving him mad.

That was all. A simple matter, really, for someone with his brainpower. Even though he wasn’t thinking with his brain at the
moment.

“Tickets,” the guard standing at the entrance to the exhibit hall said in a bored tone of voice. He took the tickets Michael
handed him without even bothering to look at them.

Edwina smothered a snort at the thought that this might be the only time someone was not impressed with the duke’s very presence.

“Over here,” the duke said, using that enthusiastic voice she’d heard only for the first time earlier that day. Gertrude trotted
along behind him, her hand reaching up to take his. He took it, and Edwina felt her heart begin to get a little soft.

Awkward-sounding, but that was the truth of it.

“How do you stand it?” Miss Clark said in a whisper.

Edwina turned to look at the younger woman. Her eyes were darting around the room, her face lit up with excitement. Of course,
she probably had never been to something like this before. And didn’t seem to be anticipating the massive amount of boredom
Edwina was.

“Stand what?” Because there were a lot of things she couldn’t stand—how Gertrude pouted when she didn’t get her way, how her
late husband had been such an idiot about women, about how she was unable to stop thinking about the duke, and how he’d kissed
her—but she didn’t think Miss Clark would be asking about any of that.

“Working for him.”

Because I’ve kissed him?
Because I seem to be unduly obsessed with him?

She feigned ignorance, mostly because she
was
ignorant. For all she knew, Miss Clark could be talking about the fact that he was so very tall, it would be difficult for
someone as short as Miss Clark to look him in the eye.

Although that did seem rather unlikely.

“I don’t understand.” Edwina tried to keep her demeanor casual. As though it didn’t matter at all that she was working for
a remarkably attractive man who happened to seem to find her attractive as well. Not anything to concern herself with.

“He is so—so scary,” Miss Clark replied, lowering her voice even more. Given how noisy it was in the exhibition hall, it wasn’t
necessary, but Edwina appreciated the girl’s discretion.

“Not to me.” And she knew she was telling the truth—she found him attractive, almost excruciatingly so, but he didn’t frighten
her. If anything, she found she looked forward to the challenge each morning. It felt . . . invigorating to work with him,
to ask him the kind of questions that would result in one of his very rare nods of approval, to present him with what he needed
even before he realized he needed it. To tease out his kindness that lurked under all his logic. To watch as he revealed tiny
fragments of who he really was, but only to her. “He is a bit”—
rude
—“abrupt, but that just means he is direct in what he wants.”

Miss Clark’s eyes narrowed in thought. As did the rest of her face—it looked compressed, as though someone were screwing it
up tightly.

“I suppose that is better than having to work for someone when you don’t know what they mean. With him, at least, he says
what he means.”

“Yes, he does.” She shivered as she recalled it—
I want to kiss you. Will you allow me to kiss you
?
—and had to shake herself when Miss Clark continued to speak.

“Are you getting ill?” she said in a concerned tone.

Edwina opened her mouth to reply as rudely as the duke ever had—
No, I’m not, and I wish people would stop asking me that
—only that was rude, and she wasn’t quite at Hadlow-level rudeness yet.

Maybe if she spent more time in his company she’d have that to look forward to.

She grinned as she walked up to where Gertrude and the duke were examining some sort of mechanical equipment.

“That piece there,” he said, pointing, “that is the reach rod.” Gertrude nodded. The duke glanced at her before returning
to his perusal of the engine. Which looked, to Edwina’s eyes, like a bunch of odd-fitting metal parts put together. Apparently—at
least judging by the two of their faces—fascinating odd-fitting metal parts put together.

“And that one?” Gertrude pointed to another piece of metal.

“The radius rod.”

“And that part?”

Edwina held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t lose patience with Gertrude’s eternal questions.

“The cylinder. It’s circular, see?”

And let her breath go.

“What is that one?” Gertrude pointed again.

The duke shot a quick glance at Edwina, looking pained. Maybe he was annoyed? She was just beginning to step forward when
he spoke. “The eccentric crank.”

The eccentric crank.

She stopped dead in her tracks as she started to laugh. Laugh so hard, in fact, she snorted, a very unladylike sound that
made his eyebrows raise and a few people nearby look at her.

She waved her hand at him apologetically, unable to speak in the throes of her giggles.

Gertrude turned and glowered at her, as though peeved at her mother for interrupting her time with the duke and the engine.

The duke cleared his throat, his jaw clamped shut, his lips pressed into a firm line. But Edwina knew his expressions well
enough to know he wasn’t upset—a faint flush had stolen over his cheekbones, and he was staring determinedly at the engine,
so she could tell he was just embarrassed.