A Duke of Her Own (14 page)

Louisa shook her head, more than a little uncomfortable with what she was about to reveal and resenting Hawkhurst for putting her in this uncomfortable position. “He demonstrated quite skillfully.”

“Who demonstrated what?” Jeremy asked.

Louisa squeaked, flung herself back, her hand knocking the glass and causing some of the brandy to spill.

“Damnation,” Jeremy said, stepping back, somehow avoiding having any brandy splash on him. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It seems Lady Louisa has firsthand experience with the duke’s kisses,” Jenny said.

“I’m not sure I like hearing that,” he said. “Did he take advantage in the garden?”

Louisa reached up and took the glass from Jeremy. “Please let’s not discuss it any further. He merely wanted me to plead his case. Which I will not do.”

“Because you disapprove of him?” Jenny asked.

“He tends to take pleasure in late nights, heavy drinking, and dallying with an assortment of women. From what I understand, he is unable to commit to even one for any length of time. I think you would be miserable.”

“But shouldn’t Jenny make that determination?” Jeremy asked.

Should she? And if she chose Hawkhurst, what then?

Why did it bother her so to think of him belonging to another? He would never belong to her. Surely, was there not some small part of her that had begun to enjoy his company, had begun to think of him as hers?

H
e stood in the corner, watching, waiting, a predator that had sighted its prey.

He did not try to convince himself that he was not the lowly scoundrel that Louisa had accused him of being. He did not pretend not to know that his soul would rot in hell for eternity because of the actions he was about to take.

He was not proud of his plan, but then pride was a luxury that a desperate man could ill afford. Jenny Rose was in no hurry to wed, others were in danger of capturing her interest, and Hawk needed to marry in order to provide adequately for those he loved and ensure that he keep his distance from Louisa.

Fortunately, as a result of some information Ravensley had shared, he knew that Jenny consid
ered it a lark to escape her chaperone for an opportunity to experience a lover’s kiss. While he’d been dancing with her, he’d whispered near her ear that during the sixth waltz of the evening, he sought an opportunity to prove his prowess with a passionate kiss and would be waiting for her in the library to deliver said kiss.

Ravensley was also aware of the rendezvous. He would lure Jenny’s brother to the library partway through the sixth waltz with an invitation to join him in a glass of Pemburton’s finest brandy. Instead, he would find his sister in Hawk’s arms, his mouth latched upon hers, with the shoulder of her gown pushed down just enough to leave no doubt that his actions, if permitted to continue, would be far from honorable.

Young Mr. Rose would be incensed on his sister’s behalf. Ravensley would feign being appalled. Miss Rose would be duly embarrassed by being caught in the arms of a cad…and Hawk would be honor-bound to preserve the lady’s reputation.

Jenny was presently dancing with Falconridge. The next dance was the sixth waltz. It was time for him to prepare to meet his prey. To take the final step toward fulfilling his obligations, to ensuring that he was in a position to protect Caroline.

“Louisa!”

The harsh whisper came from behind her. She turned to see her brother barely visible behind the broad leaves of the potted frond. She’d been relieved to see him at Pemburton’s ball. He’d even
danced with Jenny. She didn’t like the idea of his moping around simply because Mrs. Rose didn’t think him worthy, and while Louisa might not have considered him acceptable a few weeks before, she was beginning to reassess her evaluation of him as a potential husband.

He pressed his lips together, rolled his eyes, and jerked his head back, obviously having a desire to speak with her in secret. What was this then?

She glanced around; everyone was otherwise occupied. She slipped around behind the plant. “What is it?”

“I needed to speak with you privately.”

She pressed her lips together. “Obviously. I need to be watching my charges, so what is it?”

“Actually, it has to do with them.” He closed his eyes. “One of them at least. Jenny.”

She touched his arm, and he opened his eyes. “I know you must still be feeling the sting of Mrs. Rose’s unkind words—”

“No, no,” he said hastily cutting her off. “I’m beyond that. My concern now is you.”

She furrowed her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

He took her gloved hand in his, his expression earnest. “I know this position means a good deal to you, and that you need nothing untoward to happen, nothing that will challenge your reputation as a trusted chaperone. What you said about my being unsuitable, it was true. I can see that now. I can also see that if you recommend a gentleman who is not of the highest caliber, you risk your ability to continue to serve in this capacity.”

“I accept your apology.”

“I’m not apologizing, Louisa. I’m striving to convince myself that what I’m about to do must be done. For Jenny’s sake, but more for yours, because it simply would not do for this travesty to happen under your watch.”

She furrowed her brow, alarm beginning to skitter through her. “What are you rambling about?”

“I have never betrayed a confidence, but I fear my friend has put me in a rather unconscionable position. If his plan succeeds, it will ruin your reputation as a chaperone. My loyalty is being tested, but I know that I have no choice except to remain loyal to you, dear sister.”

“Alex—”

“Hawk intends to compromise Miss Jenny Rose during the sixth waltz. He has arranged an assignation in Pemburton’s library—”

“He what?” she interrupted, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing.

“He has asked her to meet him in the library for a kiss. But I fear it will be more as he has asked me to wait a few minutes. And then I am to bring her brother with the ruse of sampling Pemburton’s fine brandy—”

“No,” she said, glancing at her dance card. The sixth waltz was next. The strains of the music that accompanied the previous dance were fading. “You have to stop him, Alex. This is not the way to do it, to ensure that she marry him.”

“He will not listen to me, and if something
should happen and she was caught with both of us—you can well imagine that her reputation would be left in tatters and yours along with it. No one will hire you again to serve as chaperone—”

She waved off those concerns and began to look frantically around the room. She couldn’t see Jenny. She turned back to her brother. “The library, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Do not take her brother there. I will do what I can to extricate Jenny from this situation with no harm to her reputation.” She squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”

He gave her a funny look that she couldn’t quite decipher: one of guilt or shame. Maybe a little of both, but she had no time to contemplate it further. She had to get to the library as quickly as possible and pray that she wasn’t too late.

She slipped into the library. Closing the door immersed her in total blackness, the draperies drawn across the windows, no fire flickering on the hearth. Of course. Illicit assignations required darkness. Well, she was here to put an end to that notion. This was a modern house, with electricity recently installed. She needed only find the—

An arm snaked around her waist and she found herself pressed up against a hard, firm body. Hawkhurst. His scent filled her nostrils, his mouth blanketed hers, and his tongue breached her halfhearted attempt to deny him access.

Lord help her. She’d not forgotten the magic of
his kiss, the heat it generated, the sensations of desire, yearning, and passion that it invoked. She should push him away. Instead, with a soft moan, she drew him nearer, raking her fingers up into his hair.

She should break free, make him aware that she was not the woman he sought, not the woman he’d planned to ruin, not the woman he intended to marry.

One more sweep of his tongue, and she would do just that. She would alert him to his mistake.

One more moment…of feeling wanted, of feeling beautiful, of feeling desired.

His kiss stirred at her insides, curled her toes, reached deeply, and sent incredible sensations skimming along her nerve endings. His large hand cradled the back of her head, angled it, as his tongue delved deeper, more frantically as though he couldn’t have enough of her.

Pain speared her heart because she knew it was Jenny whom he thought he could not have enough of. Jenny whom he thought he was holding in his arms. Jenny whom he wanted so desperately that he was willing to compromise her in order to ensure that he possessed her for all eternity.

Breaking off the kiss, he released a feral growl, a low groan as his hot, wet mouth trailed along her throat. She dropped her head back, rasped his name, her voice barely a whisper. One second more, then she would speak aloud, one second more and she would alert him to his blunder—

He began pushing her back—unerringly
avoiding tables and chairs—and she realized that he must have memorized the room, become familiar enough with it that he knew the path to his destination. Or perhaps he’d simply been in the room long enough for his eyes to adjust to the deep, lingering shadows.

His hands, his mouth did not stray from their course, even as his legs guided her. The back of her knees struck something, and she found herself falling onto plush cushions. A couch, she realized. Long and wide, crafted for a gentleman’s pleasure and now serving at hers.

Hawkhurst followed her down, his breathing as harsh as hers, robbing them both of words, allowing only the release of muted groans and soft moans. His nimble fingers made short work of lowering her bodice and his mouth closed over her breast. Lost in the sensations, bucking against him, she pressed her head back against the pillows.

This was madness.

She felt as though she were on fire, felt as though she must have him nearer, or she would die. She was barely aware of unbuttoning his waistcoat, his shirt, but suddenly her hands were traveling over the heated flesh of his chest, her fingers enticed by the soft hair.

He shifted, bunching her skirts at her waist. She felt the first probe of hot flesh to hot flesh…was shocked by it, even as she found herself arching toward him, needing, wanting, desiring—

The pain came swift and sharp, the fullness of him filling her as his mouth captured her cry…

Then the stillness, the hush of harsh breathing.

“Next time,” he rasped, “there will be no discomfort.”

She should have told him there would be no next time, but a part of her embraced the promise, held it close as though he’d made it to her and not another, as though he would fulfill it, as though she would again have the opportunity to hold him close and be held near by him, to feel the weight of his body pressing down on her, to thrill at so intimate a joining.

He began moving against her, and the discomfort he’d alluded to began to ease and in its place came sensations unlike anything she’d ever experienced: a tightening that spread out to encompass every inch of her body. She released a tiny squeal, and his mouth returned to hers, hushing her even as it worked to increase her pleasure—

Because that was what this was. Pleasurable. Intensely pleasurable. Almost painful and yet not. It was indescribable. But she wanted it, wanted it with a desperation that almost frightened her—

Felt herself climbing toward a pinnacle—

Then a million brightly colored stars burst through her body in a maze of sensations that had her arching as he threw his head back, his satisfied groan echoing around them.

Dear God in heaven, what had he done?

She was lying beneath him, her breaths coming fast and harsh in the darkness, a woman pleasured, seeking to regain her equilibrium.

While he doubted that he would ever regain his.

He heard the door click open—

“Damnation!”

He rolled off her, barely had time to fasten his trousers before light filled the room. He heard her horrified squeak, sought to move himself into a position to protect her modesty as best he could.

As he turned to face the expected intruders, he was vaguely aware of her scrambling off the couch.

“Alex, I can explain—” she began.

“You have nothing to explain,” Hawk heard himself growl, as he stared at Ravensley and the young Mr. Rose.

To his surprise, Ravensley appeared to be in stunned shock. Rose didn’t even try to hide his fury. It marched over his features like Victoria’s armies set on conquest.

“You bastard,” he ground out as he crossed the room.

Hawk saw the balled fist—damn but the man had large hands—but he stood completely still, not bothering to turn away or duck from what he knew he deserved. Rose’s fist landed squarely against his cheek, beside his nose, beneath his eye. Pain ricocheted across his face, pounded
through his skull as he stumbled to the floor. He was vaguely aware of Louisa’s tiny screech, the ringing in his ears muffling the sound.

Hit me again,
he thought.
I deserve a harder blow than that, damn you. Hit me again.

He watched as Rose removed his jacket and draped it carefully around Louisa’s shoulders, drawing it close, and buttoning a center button, even though she’d somehow managed to straighten her clothing. Still, her hair was askew, and she looked like a woman thoroughly ravished. Perhaps because she had been.

He couldn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t bear to see the accusation he was certain he’d find there.

“I’ll inform my father that you’ll be at the house at eight o’clock in the morning to set this matter right,” Rose said. “If you’re so much as a minute late, you’ll get a face-to-face introduction to the firing end of my gun.”

Rose ushered Louisa out through a door that led onto the gardens. Hawk assumed he’d discreetly get her to the carriage and then find his sisters and get them all safely home. He looked over at Ravensley, who was staring at him as though he didn’t know him.

“You said your plan was to be caught kissing her,” Ravensley said slowly, as though needing to search for each word before he spoke it.

Hawk looked away as he pushed himself to his feet. His clothes were disheveled, and he, too, would use the back door to leave the party.

“A kiss!” Ravensley roared.

Hawk wasn’t aware of the fist coming at him until he felt its impact slam his jaw upward, knocking his head back until it slammed against the marble mantel. He dropped to the floor. A blurring Ravensley crouched in front of him.

“She is my sister! May you rot in hell for what you did here tonight!”

He heard Ravensley’s loud, angry footsteps as he stormed from the room, a man who could still exit through the front door. Hawk lay back on the floor, not certain he would ever again be worthy of exiting through anything other than a rear door.
Rot
in hell? He had a feeling he was going to
burn
in it for eternity.

Louisa was cold, so terribly cold, even though she sat in a tub of hot water, the mist rising, falling, circling around her. Jeremy had been so solicitous, so kind, assuring her over and over that she was innocent in all of this, not to blame, and that everything would be all right.

Only how could it be all right when they all thought that Hawkhurst was going to marry her? A man in need of money marrying a woman without money? They were all mad not to see the truth of the situation.