When Seducing A Duke (17 page)

Chapter 14

“I
should have told you,” her mother readily admitted a few sips into her tea. “I’m sorry.”

They sat together at the hearth, cups in hand, sharing a footstool as they tried to ease the tension between them.

“I appreciate that,” Rose replied, finally daring to look at her. “Why didn’t you?”

For the first time since sitting down, her mother looked at her. Her dark eyes were bright with regret and sorrow. “I knew how dearly you loved and respected your father. I did not want to change that.”

Rose nodded. She understood. She didn’t agree with what her mother had done, but she understood.

“Is it true Grey found him?” It wasn’t a question she truly needed to ask. She already knew the answer.

“Yes. I can still remember the horrible anguish on his face when he came to fetch me.”

God. Poor Grey. Poor Mama. “I’m sorry you had to go through that alone, Mama. Had I known I could have comforted you.”

Her mother reached over and patted her arm, a sage smile curving her lips. “You did, my darling. You did.”

Her mother didn’t stay long—there wasn’t any reason. Rose forgave her, of course. There had never been any doubt of forgiveness. The moment her mother acknowledged that she should have told her, it didn’t seem so awful anymore.

The concealment had been done out of love. An attempt to preserve Rose’s love for and good opinion of her father. The truth didn’t make her love him less, but it did change the opinion she’d always held of him. She used to think him so strong. Now she knew the truth.

Of course what her father had done was awful, but she wasn’t going to hold that against her mother. If she was going to be angry at anyone, it was her father. How dare he go and leave the two of them like that! Making them face the scandal of both his ruination and death. And how could he force his dearest friend to pick up the pieces and take on not only his widow, but his daughter as well?

Knowing all that she did now, Rose couldn’t help but wonder why Grey wanted her in the first place. How could he be attracted to her given how little choice he’d been given in having her dumped into his lap?

He could have turned them away, but he hadn’t. He could have simply given them money and forgotten about them, but he hadn’t. He’d done so much for them, and until now Rose had thought that maybe she might someday repay him for all he’d given them. Now she knew that would never happen. There was no way she could repay his friendship.

Knowing that made it so much harder to resent him for not braving society, especially since she was now made to realize what a coward she could be as well.

It was after midnight. She was alone in her bed, unable to sleep. She was restless, and uncertain. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something she had to do—an itch just under her skin that she couldn’t satisfy no matter how hard she scratched.

There were amends to be made.

Rose slipped out from beneath the blankets and donned her wrapper. Barefoot, she crept from her room and padded softly down the corridor, into the opposite wing to Grey’s chamber.

She knocked quietly, even though there was no one else in that part of the house to hear or see her scandalous behavior. Though, it didn’t feel scandalous to go to Grey. It hadn’t felt scandalous to seduce him either.

He answered within moments, opening the door to face her in nothing but a pair of dark trousers and an open dressing gown of dark blue paisley. “Rose.” He didn’t sound surprised. He didn’t sound disappointed either. More like he had hoped she would come but he expected her to have the sense not to.

“May I come in?” she asked in a low voice.

He glanced past her into the corridor. Rose didn’t have to look to know that it was as dark and empty as it had been two minutes earlier. “It isn’t proper.”

She smiled slightly. “Does that really matter?”

Grey didn’t reply, but he stepped back to let her enter.

“I spoke to Mama,” she told him as she moved into the rich warmth of his bedroom. “I’m not angry at her, if you were concerned.”

“I wasn’t,” he replied bluntly as he closed the room, sealing the two of them away from the rest of the world. “I knew you would make things right.”

Rose turned. Clasping her hands in front of her to keep from fidgeting, she forced her gaze to his. “I feel as though I need to make things right with you as well.”

He shook his head. The lamp light cast reflections in the dark waves of his hair. Was that silver she saw at his temples?

“You don’t.”

Her hands were fists now, tight at her sides as she walked toward him. “No, I do. You had Mama and I forced upon you and yet you’ve been so good to both of us while I’ve been a complete hellion toward you.”

He smiled at her choice of words.
“Hellion.
I wouldn’t have chosen that particular description, but all right. I’ve never viewed either you or your mother as a burden, I want you to know that.”

It was difficult to believe, but she wouldn’t argue that point right now. “I’ve been awful to you, and for that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have seduced you as I did.”

Amusement softened his features. “I was a willing participant.”

“But not anymore,” she reminded him, succeeding in wiping all humor from his face. “Not since the masquerade ended.”

He looked way. “No. Not since.”

Another tentative step. “I thought only of my own wants and I deceived you, knowing you’d do the honorable thing and refuse me if you knew the truth.”

His gaze locked with hers. “I knew the truth the second time. I think I knew it that first night. Rose, I simply didn’t want to admit it.”

She frowned. This wasn’t a new revelation, but they hadn’t really discussed it before. “Why? What is there about me that makes me the least bit desirable?” She wasn’t fishing, she truly wanted to know. Right now she didn’t feel very attractive.

There was no joy in the laugh that seemed to catch in his throat. He closed the scant distance between them, taking her face between the warm hollows of his palms.

“Foolish girl. You are everything that is good in life. Don’t you know that?”

She would have shaken her head were she not afraid that he would release her. “No. I’m manipulative and spoiled. And I think only of my own happiness.”

“You are good and sweet and true.” His thumbs brushed the apples of her cheeks. “Everything I am not. Everything. I want you so badly I may go mad before the Season ends.”

Breath caught in her throat, unable to squeeze through the tightness there. “I don’t feel good or sweet or brave. I feel awful, Grey. Just awful.” She wrapped her hands around his wrists. “My father doted on me, never denied me or my mother the smallest whim. He lost his fortune because of us. He took his own life because of us.”

He pulled her against his naked chest, but not before she saw the anguish in his expression. He was warm beneath her cheek and she slid her arms around his narrow waist, closing her eyes in bliss. This was safety. This was home.

“Your father, God rest his soul, died because he didn’t have the smallest inkling as to how to handle his affairs, not because of anything you did. And he died because he would rather give you up than have to face you. That was his fault, not yours.”

Tears leaked from her eyes, searing her cheeks. She’d cried so much that night her eyes actually ached, but she couldn’t seem to help it. “He told me to stay away from you.”

Strong hands roamed her back in the most comforting fashion. “You should have listened.”

Rose raised her face to look at him. “But then I would not have known what it was to be truly happy.”

Grey’s eyes widened, and for a moment he looked young and vulnerable. “Don’t say that. I’ve made you miserable.”

She smiled sadly. “True, but those nights with you at Saint’s Row? That was happiness for me. The most I’ve ever known.”

His mouth opened and she pressed her fingers against his lips to close them. “You don’t have to say anything. I already know it’s not what I want to hear.”

Grey frowned, and reached up to move her hand from his face. He held her fingers within his. He gave off more heat than the fire she’d dried herself in front of earlier. Heat that went straight to her bones, right to the very center of her being, radiating out into her limbs. There was nothing seductive about their embrace and yet she ached inside, that wet and willing part of herself desperate to take him inside once more. She wanted to claim him, mark him.

Ruin him for anyone else.

“I was happy too,” he said softly. So softly she wouldn’t have known it was him who spoke were she not watching his beautiful lips as they formed the words. “God help me, you make me forget every vow and promise I’ve ever made.”

Heart pounding, Rose didn’t resist as he dropped her hand to thread his fingers in her hair, pressing against her scalp. “You make me feel like someone else,” he told her gruffly. “A good man. A worthy man, and not a selfish bastard too corrupted to ever be loved.”

Her eyes burned, but Rose managed to hold the tears at bay. She bit her lip, staring at him, she knew, with her heart in her eyes. She didn’t care. “You are a good man,” she whispered. “The best I know.” Who else would cut himself off from almost all contact with people simply to keep himself from returning to a way of life he wanted to leave behind?

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Why not? I believe them.”

“Because when you say them,
I
want to believe them.” And then he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his own.

She didn’t hit him this time, didn’t try to pull away. It wouldn’t matter if she had—Grey had no intention of letting her go.

It was folly to kiss her, even more so to go any further than that, but he was beyond caring. Nothing felt more right than holding Rose in his arms, kissing her lips, feeling her body yield against his.

She tasted sweet, her mouth hot as she let his tongue inside. Grey’s fingers massaged her scalp as his lips moved lazily against hers. Hunger built inside him, demanding that he satisfy the craving his body had for hers.

Rose was all softness and ripe curves in his arms. So trusting and giving. He’d known that about her years ago when she’d looked after him after the attack. She’d heard the stories about him, seen him at his worst and yet she wanted him. What redeeming qualities she found in him, or how she’d found them, remained a mystery to him wrapped in the fear that she saw him as something he wasn’t—a man he could never be except in her mind.

And yet, those fears didn’t keep him from kissing her as though it was his last day on earth. And when her strong, slender hands roamed over his back in a gentle caress, he groaned against her mouth.

Those same hands slid around to his front, parting the opening of his robe to settle softly on his torso. Christ, her touch was like the sweetest agony. Nimble fingers caressed him, explored him, sliding up to push the fabric from his shoulders. He released her long enough to let the dressing gown fall off his arms. It pooled at his feet in a warm heap.

Rose touched him like he was a marvel of nature—something wonderful she’d never seen or experienced before. That was heady stuff, even for a man as experienced as he was. Women had treated him as a favored lover before, but none had ever made him feel as Rose did. Perhaps if one had, he wouldn’t have moved aimlessly from lover to lover searching for that elusive emotion.

An emotion he refused to name at this moment.

His naked arms closed around her, pulling her lush body against his. She was wearing too many layers, but he would remedy that soon enough. He kissed a trail from her forehead to temple, cheek and jaw, tasting the delicate salt flush of her skin. His hands slid down to cup her full, round bottom, squeezing the succulent cheeks. He was going to kiss her there, where her thigh met her ass. He was going to kiss her in so many different, delicious places until she begged him to shove his cock inside her.

He wanted to hear her cries as he made her come, wanted that surge of masculine power knowing that he had given her pleasure no other man ever had. And for tonight he would let himself believe that no man ever would ignite her blood the way he did.

This one last time. Just this once and then he’d let her go.

“Undress me,” came her whispered command.

Grey shuddered at the seductive throatiness of her voice. He was powerless against it, not once thinking about disobeying her every whim. Holding the molten chocolate of her gaze with his own, he brought his fingers up to the sash of her wrapper, giving it a tug that sent it floating to her sides.

Easily, the heavy garment slid from her shoulders and dropped to the floor, leaving her in a thin nightgown of fragile peach satin that clung to her curves, hinting at the delectable flesh beneath. Her nipples stood, rosy and tight beneath the fabric, begging for his touch. And touch them he did, dragging the pad of his thumb over one sensitive peak as his other hand pulled the strap down her arm.

“I could look at you forever,” he admitted roughly as the gown joined her wrapper on the floor.

“Looking is very good,” she replied, kicking the garments aside with a flick of a slender foot. “But I would much rather you touch.”

There was no artifice in her tone, no knowingly seductive notes—only an honesty that shook him to his soul.

He picked her up and carried her the few steps to his bed. He placed her naked body on the sheets and stood back. He took his time studying the lush splendor of her as he opened his trousers and pushed them over his hips and thighs. When he straightened, the full length of his arousal jutted in front of him, revealed to her bright gaze as her nakedness was to his.

“Are all men as beautiful as you are naked?” she asked with a hint of a smile.

Grey grinned back. “No,” he replied. “I am an exceptional specimen of manly perfection—how the hell should
I
know what other men look like naked?”

Rose shrugged as she chuckled. “You stand a better chance of knowing than I would.”

He climbed on the bed, easing his body onto the sheets beside her. “I cannot tell you. All I know is that I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you.” He kissed the tip of her adorable nose as he placed his palm on the gentle curve of her stomach.

Soft pink suffused her cheeks. “You lie.”

He shook his head, solemn as the grave. “Not about this.” And then he kissed her again, because he didn’t want to risk ruining the moment with silly chatter.

Or risk saying something better left unsaid.

Grey couldn’t get enough of touching her. He could barely keep his hands in one spot for longer than a few seconds, he was so anxious to explore every silky inch of her. Finally, he braced himself on one forearm and slid the other hand between her thighs. He could wait no longer to feel her slick, wet heat.

Rose parted her legs for him, giving him full access to the sweetness between. He eased a finger into her, groaning as her body clutched at him, welcomed his intrusion. His thumb slid between her damp folds, finding the hooded nub that stiffened at his touch. Her hips lifted, heels digging into the mattress as she whimpered against his lips. Christ, it was music to his ears.

He kissed her jaw, her neck, and shoulders before lowering his head to her breast. He closed his lips over one puckered nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth with a gentle pressure and a sharp flick of his tongue. She gasped and writhed beneath him, thighs spreading even wider as he worked his finger in and out of her.

“This is frigging,” he growled as he lifted his gaze to her heavy one. She looked like Aphrodite—a goddess of desire and pleasure. “They do this in those stories you like to read, don’t they?”

She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, arching her hips once more.

He smiled. “Would you like a little gamahuching, Rose?” Personally, he thought the term ridiculous, but he loved the heat ignited in the depth of her eyes when he said it.

“Yes.” Her voice was little more than a strangled whisper.

Grey flicked his tongue over her nipple. “Say please.”

Rose gasped. “Please.”

Smugly, Grey was about to slide downward when he heard a ruckus outside in the hall. He barely had time to register the sound of voices before the moment was shattered.

The door burst open, and Grey reacted without thought, trying to shield Rose with his body. He lay on top of her, bare arsed as four men stormed into the room.

“Grey, we have a problem. Bronte has—oh, shit.”

Grey looked up, glaring at his brother over his shoulder. Oh shit was right. Archer wasn’t alone. Westford was with him, along with two men Grey didn’t recognize. An older man, obviously of the upper middle class, and a younger one of similar rank.

Shit. Shit. And more shit.

His brother was already trying to steer the strangers out of the room, but the damage was done. Westford obviously recognized the woman beneath him, as did Archer. It wouldn’t take much for the other men to put it together either, especially since they could easily see Rose’s hair and part of the lower portion of her face. A social meeting with the Duke of Ryeton’s charge and they’d put it together.

There was no escaping it now.

He was going to have to marry Rose.