How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days (7 page)

“I’m engaged this morning—
all
morning, I’m afraid. Besides, I don’t much care for shopping
or
the theater—the shops and the theaters are both far too crowded for my taste. I prefer green grass and wide-open spaces.”

It was a challenge—he could see it in her eyes, in the way her lips curved upward impishly. She had no plans. She simply wished to dismiss him.

“Very well.” He lowered himself onto a rather uncomfortable settee. “I shall wait. I should like to discuss the details of the marriage contract with your father, in any event.”

She blanched at that, just as he suspected she would. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’ve been told.”

She blew out a defeated breath, then something mischievous glinted in her eyes. “Very well, but I
insist
on a chaperone.”

She was up to something, but if her chaperone were anything like the maid she’d installed as her guardian yesterday, he’d have little trouble evading her. No one told him what to do or when to do it. Propriety was required of those whose positions were less secure. He was a duke of the realm, a powerful man in his own right. He yielded to no one, and most certainly not to a chaperone.

“Done.”

Let her believe she had the control.

She left the room for a moment and then returned with a bonnet in her hand and an older woman—swathed in all black, her gray hair pulled beneath an equally bleak-looking bonnet. The woman frowned as she entered the room, her gaze sizing him up.

“This is Mrs. Maddox. She’ll be joining us.”

As they moved from the parlor into the entryway, Miss Welby whispered, “A fair bit of warning, she has a hatpin, and she has been known to use it on gentlemen who overstep their bounds.”

“Your concern is most heartening.”

She glared at him as she tied her bonnet. “Suit yourself. You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His carriage waited for them outside on the curb. He’d been sure to bring the large carriage, painted in the family colors, their gold crest emblazoned on the side. Everyone would know he’d been to see her this morning—everyone including Mr. Charles Hurst.

Inside the carriage, Miss Welby leaned against the squabs, Mrs. Maddox beside her. Lucas settled into his seat, his back to the horses, and rapped on the roof of the carriage.

As they lurched into motion, Lucas sat back, his legs stretched out in front of him as he studied Miss Welby openly. Red curls tumbled out from her bonnet in a chaotic mess, and he wondered if it was a deliberate attempt on her part to appear unappealing. She couldn’t have made a graver mistake. If anything, it made her look more enticing, more wild and unrestrained.

He liked that about her. As aggravating as it was, she was open, honest, and completely at ease in his presence. Few people were at ease around him.

Miss Welby was diverting in more ways than one—a rare quality in a woman. Perhaps it was because she was born in trade, without the trappings and predisposed opinions of a true lady. Whatever it was, he found her utterly intriguing.

“Sit beside me,” he said.

Her gaze flicked to the old woman, then back to him. “I’m fine where I am, thank you.”

He reached across the compartment, lifted her up, and deposited her onto the seat beside him. She squeaked, then smacked him hard on the shoulder. “Must you toss me around like a ragdoll?”

He brushed one finger down her soft, flushed cheek. Madame Devy’s shop was only a few short minutes away, and he needed to make use of the relative privacy while he had it.

Mrs. Maddox drew in a shocked breath. “Miss Welby, return to your seat at once!”

Miss Welby glanced at him and swallowed, curiosity shimmering in her vivid blue eyes. She glanced at his lips, then back up into his eyes.  Her gaze collided with his. “It’s all right. He won’t hurt me.”

He inched closer. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

He had every intention of hurting her, in the most primal and exquisite ways. Images of her bent over his knee, his hand gliding over her pretty little arse, flooded his mind. He’d spank her, and bite her, and
fuck
her until she was writhing beneath him, begging for more. 

Yes, he’d hurt her. And she’d enjoy it.

Reaching out, he brushed a tendril of silky hair off her shoulder. His fingers lingered, smoothed across her collarbone. Heat sparked where their skin touched, and her eyes widened. She felt it too.

Just as the carriage jerked to a halt, a sharp implement jabbed him in the thigh. Pain shot through his leg, and on instinct, he bolted to his feet, hitting his head—
hard
—on the ceiling of the cab. “Ow, damn.
Christ
.”

Clutching his thigh, he removed his hand just enough to see a red pin-sized mark forming. He was bleeding. That old witch had thrust a hatpin into his thigh! Damnation.

Miss Welby laughed, just a trickle of sound that filled the small space.  “I tried to warn you.”

Still standing—which was no simple feat—he turned and snatched the hatpin from the dragon’s hand. “You’ve just stabbed a duke of the realm, madam,” he seethed. He waited for the realization of what she’d done to come over her.  It didn’t.

Lips pressed into a firm line, she scowled at him. “You will kindly keep your hands to yourself,
Your Grace
.” 

Who in God’s name was this woman? Had she absolutely no sense of self-preservation? She was a damned servant. He could crush her, and everyone she loved, before breakfast. But if she felt any fear, she gave no indication—eyeing him sternly as though he presented no more danger than a fly at her picnic luncheon.

He turned to Miss Welby. “This woman is in your employ?”

Miss Welby nodded. “She was my governess years ago. When it was clear I’d need protecting from a certain roguish gentleman, I offered her the position. She was more than happy to accept, as you can see.”

“A bodyguard. Excellent,” he said, rubbing the injury on his thigh. “Precisely what I need.”

They had arrived at Madame Devy’s in mere minutes, it seemed. Her small shop was situated in Bond Street, just one of many elegant establishments frequented by the
haute ton
. Pippa had always longed to own one of Madame Devy’s exquisite gowns, but Father had forbidden it on the grounds that they were too revealing—which, as it happened, was precisely the point. The low necklines and form-fitting cuts of her dresses were quite admired in fashionable society. 

Inside the shop, bolts of fabric lined the walls—a riot of colors, from oranges and reds to deep blues and purples, in every sumptuous texture imaginable. Wooden drawers lined the far wall, all the way up to the ceiling, perfect for ribbons, fine lace, and other trimmings.

The moment they stepped through the door, a woman rushed forward and greeted Arlington. She was beautiful, her graying hair pulled up into an elegant knot. Her figure veered toward curvaceous.

“Your Grace,” the woman said with a curtsey. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Arlington made introductions. As soon as he mentioned Pippa’s name, Madame’s face lit with excitement. “I understand I am to congratulate you both! The newssheets reported your engagement only two days past.”

“That’s the very reason we are here, in fact. I’d like my intended fitted with a wardrobe that befits her future title.” 

Through some miracle, Pippa managed not to scoff at the words “my intended” and “her future title.” If he wanted to buy her a new wardrobe, then that was fine with her, but she certainly wouldn’t be wearing it. Surely there was some poor soul in London who needed the gowns far more than she did.

“Oh, but of course!” Madame crooned. “Allow me to show you my latest designs.”

Madame led them into the back, to a small, private room that was elegantly furnished with two upholstered chairs, a long mirror, a dressing table, and an ornate, gold-leaf dressing screen angled in the corner. Arlington and Mrs. Maddox each took a chair, while Madame Devy led Pippa behind the screen and began unlacing her gown.

Within a quarter of an hour, Pippa was pinned into a sea green gown with cap sleeves and intricate gold embroidery along the bodice and hemline. The cut was simple yet breathtaking and clung to her figure perfectly.

“It was made for the Duke of Westin’s daughter before she ran off to the Continent with her father’s groom,” Madame explained. “Her shape is similar to yours.”

Just Pippa’s luck.

As Pippa emerged from behind the screen, she saw Arlington lounging in the chair, tapping his cane on the floor. The moment he saw her, his gaze raked over her with interest, and a little shiver of awareness washed over her.

She swallowed and spun around sharply, her heart beating a tattoo in her chest. 

Her thoughts were immediately cast back to that moment in the carriage. There’d been hunger in his eyes, and despite herself, a thrill of desire had skipped down her spine. She’d
wanted
him to kiss her, had been waiting for it, in fact, just before Mrs. Maddox had stabbed him with her hatpin. 

Thank heavens for stern, unflinching chaperones. There were few people who’d have the gall to
stab
a duke of the realm, but Mrs. Maddox had always been a sort of mother to Pippa, and as such, she was excessively protective. 

Madame Devy tugged at Pippa’s bodice. “A little lower, I think. Then it will be perfect.”

Mrs. Maddox scowled from her chair by the door, her lips pursed. “That gown is
highly
inappropriate for a woman of your distinction. Your father will never approve.”

Madame Devy glared at Mrs. Maddox, then took Pippa by the shoulders and turned her to face Arlington. “What are
your
thoughts, Your Grace?”

His eyes darkened as his gaze raked over her again, from head to foot. It felt it like a physical touch and it made her skin prickle. Heat bloomed in her cheeks and she itched to turn away, hide herself. Instead, she lifted her chin a notch and tried to ignore the way his eyes devoured her.

“Exquisite,” he said smoothly, though she had no idea if he was referring to the dress or her. His gaze drifted to Madame Devy, and he lifted an elegant brow, as though communicating some unspoken message.

Madame Devy turned to Mrs. Maddox. “Perhaps you are correct, Mrs.…?”

“Maddox.”

“Yes, Maddox, of course.” Madame Devy smiled. “Would you be so kind as to join me up front? There are a few patterns I’d like your thoughts on—we wouldn’t want Mr. Welby’s disapproval.” 

“Can you not bring them here to me?”

Madame Devy laughed. “The patterns perhaps, but the bolts of fabric would be impossible to carry, not to mention all the trimmings.”

Mrs. Maddox glanced between Pippa and Arlington. “I shouldn’t—”

“Nonsense,” Madame interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. “We’ll be as quick as a wink.”

Mrs. Maddox pressed her lips together, clearly hesitant. Finally, she said, “Very well, but I will be within hearing distance.” Her stern, disproving glare rested on Arlington for a full half-minute, it seemed, before she turned and left the room.

Madame winked at Arlington, then followed Mrs. Maddox, shutting the door with a
click
behind her, leaving Pippa and Arlington alone. 

Pippa turned to Arlington, hands on her hips. “Would you care to tell me what that was all about?”

Arlington remained seated, one leg stretched out, head tilted to the side, his gaze hungry, intense. Dark. He wanted something; she could see it in his eyes,
feel
it in the tense silence that stretched between them.

But he wouldn’t compromise her, not here in such a public setting. He was a gentleman, after all. Here, she was certain she would be safe.

Still, her heartbeat ratcheted up as he slowly rose to his feet and moved toward her like a stalking predator. She stood utterly still, unable or unwilling to move, she wasn’t sure which. Perhaps she didn’t move because deep down, she wanted to see what he would do, if he would touch her, kiss her again…

“Perhaps Mrs. Maddox is right.” His gaze dipped to her neckline, then back up. He brushed his index finger across the upper swell of her breasts gently, just a barely-there touch that made her heartbeat jolt to a halt, then race. “Perhaps this dress is too revealing. I can’t have men leering at my wife. I’m far too possessive to abide such behavior.”  

The words
my wife
filtered slowly through her head, but she chose to ignore them. “Need I remind you, this whole business was
your
idea, not mine?” She flicked his hand away and smiled with nonchalance she didn’t quite feel. “I was perfectly content with my modest blue gown.”

He chuckled, his hands coming up around her waist. He tugged her against his powerful body. “My duchess deserves the very best, and she will have it.”

She fought hard to keep her voice even, stern. Perhaps this was a mistake. Allowing him to purchase her a wardrobe was sending the wrong message. “I cannot accept this gown from you, or any others, I’m afraid.”

“I insist.” He dipped his head and kissed her collarbone, then brushed his lips ever so slowly up the column of her neck. When he spoke again, the deep rumble of his voice made her breath catch. “Accept the gown, or I shall have dozens of them made and presented to you each day until you relent.” 

She shivered at the intimate contact, biting her bottom lip to keep from moaning aloud. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was wrong, wicked, shameful, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to protest. Not yet, anyway.

Just one minute longer. 

His hand slid up from her waist to cup her breast, his thumb brushing over her left nipple through the fabric of her gown. He continued to kiss her neck and his touch felt heavenly, utterly sublime. She couldn’t think straight. Her thoughts were muddled, disorderly. All she could focus on were his lips and the riot of sensations rushing through her body.

Voices filtered through the thin oak door.

Good God, what was she
doing
?