When You Give a Duke a Diamond (13 page)

He took. Without thinking, he took, lowering his mouth to that impossibly soft flesh and that exquisitely hard nipple. He took her in his mouth, tasting, lapping, sucking gently until she was crying out. He moved her toward the couch, wanting to feel her beneath him, wanting to see her supple body inch by inch.

They took two steps, three, and then there was a crash.

She jerked, and he was instantly on alert. Had Lucifer somehow managed to gain entrance to the house? Pelham had posted additional men to guard the perimeter. He didn’t believe the man could make it through his security, but he was taking no chances. He pushed Juliette behind him and looked about for something to use as a weapon. The fire poker was closest.

“Will.”

He could lunge for it and—

“Will.”

He turned.

She pointed to the floor. His glass of port was upturned, the dark liquid spreading on the floor in a small pool. “It was only the glass. I knocked it with my foot.”

“I see.” He looked up at her, and she pulled the bodice of her nightshift up to cover herself. The moment was awkward, and he remembered why he avoided entanglements with women—hell, with anyone—there was always that awkward moment when one fears one has revealed too much.

What was he supposed to say now? What was he supposed to do? Why the bloody damn hell had he kissed her in the first place?

“Since now would be the appropriate time to apologize”—she bent and retrieved her robe—“and we both know you won’t do that, I suppose I should take my leave.” She wrapped herself in the robe and tied it securely. She didn’t appear the least disturbed he’d just had his hands all over her—not to mention his mouth and tongue. His hands were still shaking with arousal, but her fingers were as steady as a tumbler on a high rope.

It came to him this meant nothing to her. And why should it? She was a courtesan. This was her nightly routine. Had she felt
anything
when he touched her?

“We’ll make an early start tomorrow,” he said, his own voice sounding surprisingly calm in light of the pounding of the blood in his ears—and other regions.

“Yes, and I know what happens if I’m not dressed and ready on your schedule.” She gave a laugh and waltzed from the room.

Pelham watched her go then sat and put his head in his hands. Now that she’d gone, he could not understand what he had done. He could be logical and reasonable and tell himself touching her was a mistake. Kissing her was an egregious mistake. Anything further was utter catastrophe.

But when she was near…

He raked his fingers through his hair. When she was near, he knew he was making a mistake, and yet he did it anyway.

He glanced at his desk, at the portrait hanging to the right of it. There was really no excuse for it, he thought, staring at the portrait of his father. It was weakness and behavior not befitting a duke.

It would cease now. Tonight.

He would not touch her again.

But that didn’t mean he could stop wanting her.

***

The man was stone, Juliette thought as they raced along in the well-sprung ducal carriage. He sat across from her, reading the
Times
and completely ignoring her. He’d been doing so for the last six hours.

True, she hadn’t tried to make conversation, but then she was playing the role of the Duchess of Dalliance. She was supposed to be used to this sort of thing, not be clamoring for attention the morning after a liaison. Not feeling insecure and wondering what she had done wrong.

She’d been wondering since last night. As soon as they’d been interrupted, he’d looked at her with such ferocity it had scared her. She’d thought it best to make a hasty retreat, all the while hoping he would stop her.

Hoping she’d been wrong about him.

Hoping…

She could picture Lady Sinclair’s face in her mind, and the countess was frowning. Hoping was what naïve young girls did, not independent women. Hoping for something did not make it come true.

She could hope Pelham felt something for her all she wanted, but his actions said something very different. His very words said something completely different.

Why had she even kissed him? From the start, he’d done nothing but insult her. Lady Sinclair would raise a brow and ask, “Now Juliette, why would you kiss a man who obviously detests you?”

Because he didn’t detest her. He just thought he did. Really, he needed her, needed someone to wrench him from his mind-numbing routine and introduce some fun into his life. He said he did not want her, did not like her, but his eyes said something altogether different.

When he looked at her, his gaze—hard and dangerous as it was—made her ache. Suddenly her skin was so sensitive even her softest silks itched and chafed. And she might be standing in the cold morning—arguing with him as to whether or not they should take a carriage with a ducal crest when they were trying to be inconspicuous—and he could look at her, and she would feel as though she were in the middle of a desert.

And…

I
know! I know! I know!
she told Lady Sinclair in her mind. This was folly. She wanted him to need her, and she wanted his gaze to reflect what she felt for him. But it was nothing more than lust.

It was not love, not even romance.

She had been celibate too long. Spent too many long, lonely nights wishing she had someone to hold her. Pelham had made it clear he would not be that man.

And she didn’t want him to be. She wanted a man who loved her, who accepted her for who she was, not one who would judge her.

And most certainly not a duke, who was the center of attention wherever he went. She would never be able to live down her past married to a duke. Though she often wondered if she could live it down regardless of whom she married.

And Pelham was so cold, obviously completely unaffected by all that had passed between them last night. Did he know how rare it was to feel that kind of spark, that kind of passion? She’d talked to dozens of courtesans, and very few actually felt anything at all when they bedded a man. It wasn’t something that happened for everyone. She herself had kissed her fair share of men and usually felt only mild disgust at their slobbering all over her.

She could not have said what Pelham did differently. She could not have said why his touch, his kiss, his very voice made her melt inside. But they did, and it wasn’t right.

“It’s not fair!”

He lowered the paper. “What was that?”

She pressed her lips together. Had she spoken aloud? He blinked at her, those dark eyes working their spell on her. She took a shaky breath. She would not be a foolish woman any longer. “I said, are we almost there?”

He raised a brow. “We’re traveling to Yorkshire.”

Perhaps she would be foolish, but she would not behave like a lovesick ninny. “But we will stop for the night, won’t we? We’ve only paused at posting houses, and I’ve been out of the carriage once in six hours, and that was for all of five minutes.”

“It was almost a quarter of an hour,” he said.

“You should know, as you had that ridiculous watch in your hand the entire time.”

He frowned. It was the kind of frown that would make even the prime minister relent. But Juliette wasn’t afraid of him. She’d been married to Oliver, and she’d been threatened by Lucifer. A mere
Dangerous
Duke didn’t scare her.

“Someone must keep us on schedule,” he said. “Clearly, it won’t be you.”

“You and your schedules and your routines!” And your cold, cold heart, she added silently. “Do you ever vary from your routine? Have you ever asked your coachman to simply stop the carriage so you could get out and walk through a field of wildflowers?” She swept the drapes apart and pointed to a pretty meadow. There were no wildflowers, but there was a low fence and a brown pony craning its neck to reach the tender grass on the other side. “Why not stop now and go feed that pony some apples? The sun is out.” She pointed to the sky, which was actually rather cloudy and gray, but at times the sun had peeked out. “The day is warm.” If one wore a warm spencer. “We might never have this chance again.”

He was looking at her as though she were mad. And she was. She was completely mad. She needed to get out of this carriage before she said or did something she would regret.

“We will not stop the carriage and feed that pony because—” He held up a finger. “It is bad for the horses to stop and start. They have to be cooled off and rubbed down and walked. One cannot just stop and start at will on a long journey such as we are taking.” He held up another finger, and Juliette sighed. “We have no apples to feed the pony.” He held up a third finger. “We are not on a pleasure ride.” He slammed the curtains closed again and lifted his paper.

Juliette huffed and lifted the book she had taken from his library. It was
The
Knights
of
Calatrava
, and she should have been enjoying it, but then nothing was enjoyable in Pelham’s presence. As if to prove her point, a half hour later it started to rain. Not a small shower, but a gusty, thundering downpour of a storm. At the first crack of thunder, Pelham lowered his paper.

Juliette gave him an accusatory look. “Now see what you’ve done.”

He tried to make some response, but she raised her book and ignored him.

Insufferable
ass.

Pelham stood in the rain and supervised the inn’s grooms as they stabled his horses. An hour in the storm, trudging through thick mud to reach the inn, had left the horses tired and hungry. Pelham himself was soaked through, chilled to the bone, and annoyed beyond measure. He’d wanted to travel the better part of the day and evening, and now his carefully planned schedule was ruined.

And Juliette saw fit to blame him for the storm. He would just as soon pin it on her. After all, his life had been perfectly scheduled, perfectly routine before she entered it.

When the horses were tended to his satisfaction, he clomped through the muddy inn yard. It wasn’t a bad inn. He didn’t typically stay here, because many members of the
ton
did, and he didn’t relish their company. The inn was far from luxurious, but he could trust the proprietor would provide a warm bath, hot food, and a clean bed. He had the urge to check his pocket watch, because he was not certain if it was time for a meal, but he resisted. He would eat no matter what the time.

And Juliette said he couldn’t be spontaneous.

Pelham pulled open the door of the inn and stopped short. When he had escorted Juliette into the public room, it had been quiet and subdued, a few men and women sitting quietly over cups of tea at small wooden tables. Now raucous voices and—was that singing?—assailed him. He stared at the group of men in the corner of the room. Most of them had a leg propped on a wooden bench, and from the looks of them they were vying for someone’s attention.

The rest of the room was empty except for a few serving girls.

He looked back at the group then back at the room.

Not a single woman remained in the room, if one didn’t count the serving wenches. Not even Juliette. Pelham marched to the group of men, knowing what he was going to find before he even saw her.

With his height, it wasn’t long before he spotted her. She was seated, pretty as a picture, on a chair surrounded by half a dozen or more men. They offered her food and drink, clamored for her attention, and she bestowed it on each with a smile and a moment’s glance.

He would have been suitably impressed at her management skills if he hadn’t been furious. His fury must have radiated from him, because several of the men closest to him took steps back, and Juliette’s gaze met his. “Will!” she said and smiled.

His fury turned to rage as all attention focused on him. “What are you doing?” he ground out.

“Waiting for you,” she answered, as though this were patently obvious.

“And what is this?” He gestured to the men surrounding them.

“Oh, these are friends. Surely you know Lord—”

“I told you to wait for me, not to ply your trade.”

Her face went pale, and her eyes narrowed. She rose, slowly. “I beg your pardon. I was conversing with friends. Nothing more.”

He stepped closer to her, aware they were making a scene, and though he abhorred scenes he was too angry to stop himself. “And all of these
friends
want to take you to their beds.”

“What do you care?” she said, hands on hips. “You don’t own me. You have no say in what I do or do not do. Whom I do or do not bed.” Her expression told him into which category he had been placed.

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came forth. She was correct. But just because he didn’t want her—which was a bald-faced lie—didn’t mean he wanted another man to have her. He glanced at the men surrounding them. It seemed to Pelham they were smirking, waiting for him to give up his claim so they could step in.

Well, he wasn’t going to do it.

He grasped Juliette’s arm, pulled her to him, wrapped an arm about her waist, and kissed her. She sputtered a protest against his lips, but he silenced it with the flick of his tongue. She didn’t go limp as she had in his library. He could feel the indignation in her rigid spine, but she did surrender to the kiss.

When he broke away from her, applause and cheers erupted. He kept his gaze resolutely on her face. She gave him a look that would have made a lesser man burst into flames and descend into hell. “Innkeeper!” he called.

“Yes, Your Grace.” The man scurried beside him, ready to do his bidding. “Escort the duchess to my room. I’ll need only one chamber after all.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

He didn’t expect Juliette to argue or fight. That wasn’t her way. She was a duchess in the truest sense of the word. She kept her head high and made a regal exit, following the innkeeper with cool, measured strides.

She was a much better duchess than he was a duke. His father would have been proud of her comportment and mortified at his own son’s behavior. Pelham shook his head to silence the ringing in his ear.

A hand slapped him on the back, making him stumble forward. “That’s the way, Pelham. Show her what’s what.”

He turned to the man, ready to put him in his place, when he realized he knew the gentleman. It was Viscount Marfham, an inveterate gambler. He’d all but depleted his family’s fortune.

Since he had no reply, Pelham moved toward the steps—and was accosted by another man, the reprobate son of an earl. They’d been together at Eton. Was the whole
ton
here tonight? “You’re a lucky man, Pelham. When you’re done with her, you know where to find me.”

“And me!” another man piped up. Pelham felt sick. What the devil was wrong with these men? She was a woman, not a hat one tired of and gave to someone else when one was through with it.

Was this her life? Being passed from man to man? His lip curled in disgust, and he pushed his way through.

“I don’t suppose you’re the type to share?” another man asked, and Pelham turned and hit him. He hadn’t meant to strike the man. It seemed as though his fist acted of its own accord. Pelham stared as the man went sprawling across the floor, knocking a chair over and landing against a table leg. Blood poured from the injured man’s nose, and Pelham stood, feeling as though he were a mere bystander.

And then the injured man sputtered and jumped to his feet. “Who the devil do you think you are?”

The earl’s son rushed to his friend and held him back. “He’s the Dangerous Duke. You’d best hope that’s all he does to you.”

Pelham looked at the other men. Several took a step back. “We didn’t mean to offend you,” Marfham said.

“In the future, try some respect,” Pelham said and marched away.

He was halfway up the stairs before he realized what he’d said.
Respect
and
courtesan
didn’t belong in the same sentence. And why did he expect anyone to respect her when he’d shown her the worst disrespect of any of them a few moments ago?

He met the innkeeper at the top of the stairs, and the man offered to show him to his room. Pelham declined, nodded when the innkeeper directed him, and ordered a bath and a hot meal brought to the room.

His feet had never felt so heavy as he made his way down the hallway and stopped outside the chamber. He heard nothing from within. Not a scrape, not a rustle, not a whisper.

He wondered how much of a fool he would appear if he asked the innkeeper for his own room. But no. He was a duke. He need not worry about some courtesan’s hurt feelings or avoid her wrath. And it was better if she was near him. He could keep her safe from the wolves below.

Of course, it appeared she’d been doing just fine without him, but that was beside the point.

He tugged on the handle and pushed the door in. Juliette was standing before the fire. She glanced over her shoulder at him then back at the fire.

He shrugged off his greatcoat and pulled off his gloves, and still her silence continued. He should have been glad she was not speaking to him, but he found he wanted her to say something. He was primed for battle.

“Aren’t you going to chastise me for treating you like that in the public room?” he asked, sitting on a chair to work on his boot. It was completely inappropriate for him to undress before her, but what was the sense in propriety now? The entire
ton
was going to hear about the incident below and assume he was bedding her. If she saw his feet, it was nothing compared to the rest.

“I’ve been treated worse,” she said, not looking at him. “It doesn’t affect me.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Are you saying I have feelings?”

“Of course you do.” He held one boot and stared at her back, not certain where this conversation was going or why he was taking it in that direction.

“I’m a courtesan, a woman of pleasure.” She turned to him, gave him a quick, seductive look. “What I feel doesn’t matter.”

Pelham clenched the boot in his hand. “How can you let men like—like that”—he gestured to the door—“touch you? Kiss you? Come to your bed?”

“Does it offend you? And this after you disgrace me in front of those men and then order me to your room?”

He began loosening his other boot so he wouldn’t have to look at her.

“And what will you order me to do next? Take off your boots?” She crossed to him, presented her back, bent, and easily pulled off his boot. He tried—not very hard—not to admire her backside.

“Loosen your cravat?” She inserted a finger and loosened it with a quick flick. The material tumbled down his shirt. He was about to speak when a knock thudded on the door.

“No, no!” she said, hurrying to it. “I shall answer.” She pulled it open and gave him a look. “A bath. Perfect. Now I can scrub your back. Put it near the fire,” she directed the men. It was a huge copper tub, not the hip bath he was used to. It took three men to carry it, followed by a bevy of maidservants. The men clunked the tub down, and the women filled it with enormous buckets of steaming water. One handed Juliette a towel and soap, bobbed, and exited. “Well, at least you shall be clean when I service you. I—”

“Cease!” he roared.

She started, blinked at him.

“You’re not going to service me or scrub my back.” He crossed the room to her. “I wanted you with me to keep you safe.”

“Ha! You wanted me with you because you were jealous.”

“Jealous?
Jealous?
I am a duke. I do not feel jealousy.”

To his utter amazement, she put her hands to her ears and screamed. “If I hear you say
I
am
a
duke
one more time, I will not be responsible for my actions. Dukes are not gods, Will. They are people. They make mistakes, apologize—or at least they should—and feel all sorts of emotions.”

“I suppose you are the expert on such matters.”

“I have known several dukes.”

“Yes, and I am a duke—”

Her eyes widened, her lips pursed. “I.” She shoved him. “Warned.” Hard. “You.” Backward.

“Juliette—”

She shoved him again, and he stumbled against the lip of the tub, faltered, and fell, sloshing warm water all over the floor and soaking his clothing worse than the rain had done.

He stared up at her, water dripping in his eyes. He expected her to apologize, to look horrified, to beg his forgiveness.

Instead, she laughed.

***

Juliette knew she shouldn’t laugh. She knew it would affront Pelham’s dignity, and he clung to it so tightly, but what else was she supposed to do? He looked like a waterlogged rat with his hair plastered in his eyes and his clothes soggy and limp about him.

He sputtered, tried to rise, and slipped back again. She laughed harder.

And then she felt his hand clamp on her wrist, and she stopped laughing. She glanced at him, saw the glint in his eye, and shook her head.

“No.”

He tugged.

“Will!
No!
”

He tugged harder.

“Your Grace!”

“Oh, that won’t save you now.”

He gave one last hard tug, and she fell, splashing into the water on top of him. She got water up her nose and sputtered a curse, then dissolved into a fit of coughing. Finally, she pushed back and managed to sit, rather awkwardly. Her bottom was on Pelham’s lap, and her legs were around his waist.

“See,” he said, slicking the hair back from his face. “How do you like it?”

“I think it’s wonderful.”

He gave her a look as if to say he knew she was daft and this only proved him correct.

“Will, you’re being spontaneous! Doesn’t it feel refreshing? Doesn’t it feel wonderful to do something unplanned for once?”

“I’m soaking wet,” he grumbled.

“Of course you are. You’re in a bathtub.” She gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “I believe you are making progress. One day you might even go an entire hour without looking at your pocket watch.”

“My watch!” He fumbled under the water for it. He pulled it to the surface, opened it, and gave her a dark look. “It’s ruined.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not! This is exactly what you need. A break from your routine. I’m only sorry Lucifer and poor Lady Elizabeth had to be the reason for it.”

“You’re the reason for it,” he said. It was an accusation, but his tone wasn’t accusatory. In fact, it made shivers race up her spine. Her gaze flicked to him. His eyes were on her, and she could have sworn the water temperature increased ten degrees.

“Are you blaming me again?”

“I’m giving you credit,” he said. His hand caressed her arm, leaving tingles in its wake. “You have brought me out of my routine.”

“Kicking and screaming.”

“I didn’t say I liked it, just that I’m giving you credit.” His hand was on her shoulder, tugging the sleeve of her gown down so her skin was exposed.

“Do you think—?” Her voice was husky in her ears. “Do you think you might come to like it? To like me?”

“I do like you, Juliette. I like you far too much.” He kissed her bare shoulder, and she had to suppress a moan.

“Far too much?” she whispered. “Because I’m a courtesan and you’re a duke, and I’m oh so far beneath you?”

“There might be ways in which you’re the superior.”

She raised a brow. “You mean in intelligence?”

He laughed. It was a full, throaty laugh, and she admired it. She’d do anything to make him laugh like that again. “No. I mean, I have rather limited experience with this sort of thing.” He gestured at the tub.