The Rusticated Duchess (14 page)

Mrs Sinclair tightened her lips and shrugged then said, “If anything happens, Brody will bring Eynon out the back of the cottage and come up to the Castle with you.”

Gloria opened her mouth, then shut it. She shook her head and said, “How would you know—” She stopped, remembering Colman’s resigned demeanour. “What did he say to you?” she demanded instead.

Mrs Sinclair sniffed. “Only that we were to come to him at once—any of us that could—if you or the boy got into trouble, and that you’d be safer at the Castle but wouldn’t do it because it isn’t proper. Of course it isn’t proper, but with your safety at sake, my lady, and no telling what that wicked Earl might do—”

Gloria didn’t hear the remainder of Mrs Sinclair’s reasonable explanation. Her head burned and her throat ached with the need to scream. She’d been suborned by Clare with her own servants. It was interference and he had no right.

She would eat his lunch graciously and let him think he’d won. Only after he was fully confident that he had her measure would she step back and give him a piece of her mind. When she was through, he’d understand he had absolutely no right to interfere.

With that purpose written in blazing letters on her mind, Gloria set about dressing.

* * * *

Clare was uneasy. He didn’t know if he was having a premonition of difficulties to come, or if Gloria’s formal manners aggravated his suspicion. He much preferred her flushed with passion or even bristling with anger. At least then he knew what she was thinking. The mien she presented was too perfect and as the meal went on, Clare came to dislike it intensely.

His staff, on the other hand, found her delightful. She’d arrived with Colman and her driver in train—both were being entertained in the servants’ hall, no doubt conscious of every word they spoke. But it was Gloria herself who was charming them. Clare knew they were predisposed to approve of her, because she was the first female in whom he’d taken an interest in a dozen years. They’d even accepted her glib explanation of him tripping and hitting his head without question, as well as her organisation of his rescue.

But now, she smiled and prettily thanked Whitaker for seating her to Clare’s right, when Clare should have remembered to do so himself. She didn’t flinch when the goddamned footman—Clare thought his name was Finch—looked down her bodice in his attempt to remove her place setting and bring the second course. Only Clare’s glare brought the footman’s attention back to where it belonged—on the table—and Whitaker kept the man from serving at the table after. She passed her compliments to Cook so charmingly that Mrs O’Hara and Cook themselves appeared in the intimate morning room where Clare had ordered lunch served, for no other reason than to acknowledge her thanks and send their compliments to Mrs Sinclair for a gift of plum jam that had apparently accompanied her to the Castle.

Clare wished they would all go away and leave him alone with his angel.

When the meal was over, Gloria beamed a smile at Whitaker that made Clare see red and looked coolly at Clare. “I suppose you’ll want to show me your art now. Etchings or portraits?” She raised a brow and leaned in intimately as she said it, and Clare knew a moment of dizzying gladness that he hadn’t seated her in the centre of the giant dining room table, yards from his side. The aroma of sweet pea washed over him, a subtle scent he already associated with her. He struggled to string together a sentence. During lunch he’d told her stories from centuries of castle history, both familial and military, but now he couldn’t think what to say. All he could imagine was the big bed in his room.

The portrait of Sarah he’d looked at in guilt only last week was formally and finally hung in its proper place in the gallery outside the ducal chambers, and he felt much better for it.

Gloria was here. Now. And she was vibrant and alive and responded to him with a passion he’d not expected. Sarah had experienced pleasure in their bed, loved him devotedly and had never failed to respond to him, but Gloria was gorgeously explosive.

Clare cleared his throat, then huskily answered. “The portraits are rather dull, to be honest. And I have no etchings. But perhaps you’d still enjoy a tour?”

Gloria offered him a secret smile that was almost a smirk and Clare felt the blood rush from his brain. Where it ended up—well, they needed to leave the room before Whitaker and that bastard Finch saw the evidence. Gloria, at least, would be amused if she noticed, but the bulk of her skirts would mostly hide the bulge in his trousers if he kept her on his arm.

He stood and moved behind her, nearly groaning when he was properly treated to Finch’s earlier viewpoint. She shifted and moved to stand. Instantly and possessively he drew her arm inside his and escaped the room, thanking his stars that they’d avoided the servants.

It wasn’t until after they’d stood in the watchtower and walked within the crenellated parapet of the outer wall that she said anything more personal. She had asked curious questions about the castle, the architecture, the art, but after they stared down at Blessing Cottage in the distance from the castle walls, Gloria finally broke the barrier she’d thrown up between them since her arrival at the castle.

“You’ve been keeping an eye on me,” she ventured, as Clare ushered her indoors. The tender skin of her displayed bosom had been reddened by the chilly wind, Clare observed, suppressing the urge to bend his head and to rest his lips against it.

He nodded, guided her down to the gatehouse and through the forecourt, past the inner wall and into the keep. Still silent, he led her up the stairs towards his study before answering. “Yes,” he agreed eventually. “It’s hard not to,” he added. “You saw how vulnerable Blessing Cottage is, in the open. The Castle overshadows it.” She would hardly be able to argue. Blessing Cottage was surrounded by the Castle’s fields and pastures, not to mention the sea.

Alone in the study with him, the door locked, Gloria watched without comment as he poured her a glass of wine. He guided her towards a chair by the fireplace, hovering as he waited for her to sit, knowing he’d want to perch at her side.

The better to peer down her bodice
, he taunted himself.

Gloria seemed unwilling and moved away from the chair, sipping without surprise from the fine crystal glass filled with imported, rich red wine. She paced towards the fireplace, then turned and returned to him, lifting her eyes only in the last moment. For the first time the pale orbs reflected an emotion he hadn’t expected.
Anger.
It struck him a mere moment before her voice did. “And suborning my servants to do your bidding? Is that hard not to do as well, my lord?”

Clare blinked in fascination, only partially aghast, as the pretty lady before him transformed into a flushed, indignant, inflamed virago.

He knew Gloria would resist, but Clare was in no mood for an argument. Clare wanted her beneath him, her mouth open to his tongue and her thighs open to his fingers and cock. With her temper stoked, however, the need clawed at him acutely and suddenly, and he spoke without thinking. “Your household and I are very interested in your safety,” he growled. “You refused to take my advice and remove here within the castle walls, so I will do what I can, welcome or not. I gave you my word—”

“Not to tell my secret!” Gloria broke in. Clare watched her fingers curl tightly around the glass, distracted by them, and hardly heard her next blazing words. “You had no right to interfere!”

Clare paused and replayed the audacious claim in his mind. His head rang and outrage equal to her indignation rose in him. “No right? I have every right!” Glaring at her he added, “Or do you claim to not remember what passed between us just yesterday afternoon in your front parlour?”

Gloria’s mouth momentarily fell open and she slammed it shut. “Being intimate does not give you the authority to interfere in my life or my household!” she burst out.

Clare reeled inwardly. Setting his jaw, he lowered his glass and crossed his arms in front of him, glowering at her with every ounce of dominant, ducal arrogance bred and drilled into him from birth. “Of course it does. And if it did not, we will correct that oversight right now. I am
claiming
the right to
help
you. And
you
will accept that help.”

“No,” she returned stubbornly, setting her chin and glaring at him.

He took two steps closer, using his size to tower over her. “Don’t be foolish, Gloria. You know very well I could have you locked here in the keep within the next quarter hour and there’s not a damn thing you could do about it.”

Gloria’s brows rose, her skin darkened to a dramatic shade of red and her mouth opened and gave an indignant huff. “You are nothing more than a cocksure ass!” To Clare’s astonishment, her arm moved and suddenly her wine was flung at his shirt and face.

He sputtered, moving to wipe off his face, but she was already stomping towards the study doors.

Clare had no intention of letting her escape. Ignoring the sopping ruin of his shirt and coat, he flung himself after her and grasped Gloria by the upper shoulders, turning her to him forcefully and holding her in place before him. “The only thing I’m sure about,” he shot back, his eyes on hers, “is that you are
not
one to be free with your affections. Taking me to your bed was not a meaningless whim to you.”

She blanched, as if he knew something she had not herself acknowledged or thought was a deeply-held secret, so he gave her no time to respond with either a denial or shame. He lowered his mouth to hers and pressed his tongue forwards to taste the flavour of the red wine that lined the inside of her lips. Clare’s tongue traced the outline of her teeth and he cupped her breasts shamelessly in his hands, squeezing them with his palms through the thin layers of her gown. Her décolletage was displayed so generously that his fingers and palms burned against her chilled skin, the contrast enough to immediately distract them both from their mouths to his hands.

To his delight and relief, a helpless moan rolled off Gloria’s tongue.

“I’m taking you to my chamber, to a proper bed,” he murmured against her lips, convincing his shaking limbs that they’d walk calmly down the hall to the large room he used while in residence.

“No,” she breathed. Clare felt a cold numbness strike him, but then he flared to life again when she whispered, “Here.”

Chapter Ten

Clare couldn’t force an objection past his throat. He did want her in his bed, for hours and days if he could organise it. The throaty huskiness in her voice was enough, though, for him to give in with ease. Here, she’d said. He’d have her here now, and in his bed afterward.

His desk was empty. In truth, his business at Killard Castle was finished. He’d stayed on only for Gloria, something he knew the Castle staff understood. It was another reason they had been so enthusiastic and hospitable all day.

Clare lifted her in his arms before he could reconsider.

He carried her behind the desk, amused by her gasp of surprise and her frantic look back at the settee. The wine soaking the front of his shirt had seeped into her bodice and dripped from her bosom down between her breasts, so Clare settled her bottom on the wooden desktop, lowered his head and tasted the ruby red vintage with his tongue.

She responded beautifully, her spine bending to press her breasts into his chest. Clare looked up between his lashes to see a glazed passion dulling the usual sparkle of her green orbs. Encouraged, he rucked up her skirts enough to step between her thighs and began unfastening her gown.

Gloria hardly seemed to notice when her breasts were freed from the clinging fabric of her gown and chemise. Of course, when he fastened his mouth on the high, pink teat and sucked, she knew. An inarticulate sound of pleasure spilt from her lips and slammed into his body, nearly paralysing him with need.

“Lean back on your hands,” Clare growled, guiding those silken fingers behind her and urging her to the position he wanted. When the weight of her upper body rested on her splayed palms and fingers and she was arching upwards in desire, Clare ran his palms over her sides and captured both breasts and nipples in his palms, squeezing them and fondling them.

Gloria’s reaction lived up to her name. She tried so valiantly to keep her head up, to watch him as he ministered to those responsive globes, but as the effects of passion spread through her body, her head fell backwards.

Clare knew how she felt. His body burned, and his cock was heavy and aching with the desire to step forwards and thrust into the heaven he’d discovered the day before.

He kept one hand and his mouth on her breasts, using his teeth to worry a nipple and elicit another helpless noise from her throat. He dragged his free hand up her skirts in front, and was delighted to find she wore only one heavy petticoat and warm stockings held by garters above her knees.

Bunching the fabric up over her stomach, he stepped close again, lifting his head to stare at the treasure he’d uncovered. Her pubis was covered with delightful gold curls, a testament to the shade of her hair.

Gloria, undoubtedly aware that he had stopped ministering to her breasts, lifted her head to see what had distracted him.

Automatically, she tried to close her legs, but Clare’s hips prevented it. She groaned in mortification and tried to lift herself up, only to find Clare looming over her, his hands urging her back.

“Don’t you dare try to conceal this gorgeous skin from me,” he growled.

“It’s indecent,” she fussed.

Outrage pulsed through Clare. “
It
is beauty personified,” he shot back, then stepped back, determined to teach her this lesson. “Stand up, I want all of your clothing off. Now.”

Why had she asked to stay here, when he had been so willing to take her to his bed? She had assumed it would be harder to escape from his bedchamber, but on the desk?
The mere idea was illicit, shocking.

Clare untied her laces and stripped her while Gloria stood dumbly thinking. She blinked, gathering her wits, but then he lifted her back onto the desk. This time, her bare bum rested on the wooden surface. She gasped in surprise as the cool, polished surface met her skin, blushing when Clare chuckled.