Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel (14 page)

She was more than he’d expected. Yes, she was a lovely, intriguing woman, but he found himself wanting more than just pure
sexual satisfaction. He wanted to assuage her concerns.

He’d never had that impulse before; either his bed partner wanted what he did, or they just . . . stopped. He’d never spent
the time to explain himself before, nor had he found himself caring.

But meanwhile, she did want what he wanted, and he’d given her more than it seemed she knew to expect. He couldn’t help but
feel stupidly proud of that, as though triumphing over her past husband and his obvious shortcomings was something he could
crow over rather than take in due course.

He ran his hands over her body, relishing the curves and softness of her. His cock appreciated it as well. He didn’t know
if he’d ever been so hard before, nor had he wanted so desperately to enter a woman, and yet—and yet, he wanted to continue
to make it good for her, not just thrust his way home and come to the inevitable conclusion.

It seemed as though she had different thoughts, however, since she reached her hand between them and clasped him, tightening
her grip on his shaft and running her hand up and down, guiding him to her entrance.

He’d never been so grateful to be directed where to go in his life. He normally did not take direction well, nor was it something
frequently offered, but this? Yes, he would gladly go where she wanted him to, if it meant he could enter her.

And when he did it was better than he’d imagined. She was tight, and wet, and he slid home so fully his balls touched her
skin. She wrapped her arms around him and drew him even closer, wrapping her legs around his hips and beginning to move.

“Just like that,” he said as she began to rock. He drew out halfway, then pushed himself back in, liking how he slammed his
body onto hers, knowing—by her groan—that she liked it as well.

He raised himself up on his arms and looked down at her face, her gorgeous, expressive face. “Kiss me,” she whispered, and
he lowered his head to hers as he began to move, pushing in and pulling out in an intoxicating rhythm.

Then he couldn’t kiss her anymore, he couldn’t do anything but feel, and he lowered his mouth to her shoulder and buried his
face into her neck, continuing to move, in and out, faster and faster, her hands grabbing his arse, her husky breathing in
his ear.

Until—“Aah,” he groaned as he came, thrusting in one final time, shuddering as the intensity of his climax seemed to reverberate
through every fiber of his being.

He fell onto her, panting, unable to move, barely able to breathe. Certainly not able to think about anything but her, and
this, and how amazing it felt.

Like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Which, when he thought about it later, would likely terrify him. But for now, he
was content to let the bliss wash over him, to just be and not think, something he had little to no experience doing.

“That was . . .” and she paused, and he had the very unfamiliar feeling of uncertainty. It was terrible? Unexpected? Never
to be repeated?

“Amazing.”

He smiled into her neck and nodded in reply. For once, he was in complete agreement with someone.

Of course it wasn’t enough to do it just once; he did it two more times in the course of the night. Because if there was something
to be done, it was inevitable that the Duke of Hadlow would do it better and more often than anybody else.

Not that she was complaining. How could she complain when she could barely speak? And each time after he’d drawn her close,
his arm held her, as though she was likely to go anywhere. His long limbs tangled with hers, seeming as though he was on alert
even though he was naked and in her bed.

At long last she could tell he’d fallen asleep. She raised her head cautiously to look at him, to drink her fill of his beauty
in the early hours of the dawn. He didn’t look much less intimidating when he was sleeping, but it was easier to stare at
him. This close she could see the scruff of his stubble, the strong planes of his face, the sharp angle of his nose.

If she were to think about it much more she’d realize she seemed almost . . . desperate staring at him like this. But he was
in her bed, so wasn’t it her right? If they were in his bed, he could stare his fill at her.

And wouldn’t that be lovely.

She didn’t pretend to be asleep when he stirred, opening his sleepy green eyes to look at her. “I should go back to my room,”
he said in a much more rumbling tone than he normally had. She felt secretly thrilled that she got to see him like this, less
than entirely awake, his voice a bit scratchy. Surely only his valet ever got this treat, and she didn’t think his valet enjoyed
it nearly as much as she did.

Instead of getting up, however, he gathered her in his arms and lowered his mouth to her shoulder, kissing her softly as his
hands roamed over her back, to her arse, onto her hip. As though he was assessing his possession, which normally would have
made her balk, but with him—with him she wanted him to own her. If only for a short time. Mostly because she knew he wouldn’t
ever truly own her, not as her late husband had presumed to, nor any other man might if he found himself in her bed. The duke
wasn’t like that, she knew that, and she knew he was a rarity among men for it. And so she took it, craved it, the feeling
that she belonged to him, that her body was his, and vice versa.

He ran his hand once more over her curves and kissed her mouth, then drew back, a look of desire on his face. Again, she thought?
The man was a modern sexual miracle.

But it didn’t seem as though he felt he could act on that desire, since he rolled away from her and leaned down to gather
his clothes, flinging his shirt on over his head and stepping into his smallclothes and trousers.

All that lovely naked skin hidden away behind his clothing. His admittedly luxurious clothing, but nothing compared to the
splendor of him.

He ran his hand over his face and glanced out the window, frowning. “You have kept me here too long, siren,” he said with
a sly grin.

In answer, she sat up and threw a pillow at his head. He ducked it easily, grinning wider. “I kept you here!” she exclaimed.
“I’m not the one who wanted to—to—three times,” she sputtered, feeling her face heat at talking about it.

He placed his hands on the bed and leaned toward her, an amused look on his face. “You’re saying I’m the one who wanted to
fuck?” His eyes drifted to her mouth when he spoke, and she felt her whole body tighten, as though he had kissed her. And
he had used that word, a word she knew of, but had never heard anyone she knew say. It sounded so erotic the way he said it,
the F so forceful, the final K sound so emphatic.

Just like he was—forceful and emphatic. And yes, she did want to fuck him.

Honesty. “No, I wanted to—to fuck as well,” she replied, faltering as she spoke, but liking the way he reacted when she said
that word, his eyes blazing, his hands reaching for her even before she finished the sentence.

“Damn it, siren, I have to go, or my valet will think I’ve been stolen in the night.” He smiled and leaned closer to kiss
her. “And then he would likely insist on sleeping in my bedroom to ensure my safety, when I am hoping that tonight you will
come to me.” Another kiss. “Will you come to me?” he asked in a longing tone of voice.

“Mm-hm,” she murmured, swatting his hand away when it reached for her breast. “You have to go, or else we can’t do this again,”
she said, biting her lip at the thought.

“Then I will. I’ll see you at the breakfast table in a few hours.”

He left quickly, only giving her one final glance as he left, a heated look that made her glance at the clock and calculate
how long it would be before nighttime when she could do it all again. With him.

“Good morning, Cheltam.” He just barely glanced up as she sat down on the bench opposite him. He gestured to the cup in front
of her, blissfully full of coffee. “I ordered that for you, I don’t want you falling asleep in the carriage when we’re working.”

Since I kept you up all night
, she thought he would add if he could. Actually, he would say that if he’d thought it, so perhaps it was good that only she
had thought it. There was only so much honesty the employer/employee relationship could handle, after all.

“We’ll be heading out in half an hour,” he continued. She picked up the cup and took a sip, feeling the heat of the coffee
slide down her throat. It felt good, but not as good as that.

Well, nothing felt as good as that. Would tonight be a disappointment, then? Because there was no way the second (or, to be
correct, the fourth) time with him would be as good as the first (three)?

Would she forever be comparing everything to that?
Well, this cake is scrumptious, but it’s not as wonderful as when I had sexual relations with the Duke of
Hadlow
. That is a marvelous hat, but not nearly as beautiful as the Duke of
Hadlow’s
backside
. She snorted to herself as she thought of it, and now he did look at her, one eyebrow raised as though he knew precisely
what she was thinking.

Please don’t let him know precisely what she was thinking, because that would be very bad. Or very good, because then he might
just sweep everything off the table and pick her up and lay her on it and enter her with one heavy thrust, and then—

And then she would be the subject of so much scandal she would have no choice but to abandon Gertrude.

So no on the table thought.

“We’ll be touring the Powers and Smith Corporation today,” he continued, keeping his gaze on her. Did he know how it made
her squirm? Judging by the amused glint in his eye it did, the scoundrel. “You will present your assessment of that company
while we travel. It should be two hours before we get there, plenty of time for us to discuss.” A pause as she just looked
at him. Stared at him, to be honest. “Cheltam, are you there?”

She jumped in her seat, feeling her face flush. “Yes, Your Grace, I am. The Powers and Smith Corporation.”

“Don’t ‘Your Grace’ me, especially after last night,” he muttered. His hand reached across the table, almost as if he were
going to take hers, but he let it lie there, between them, an awkward reminder of what they had done and what they could never
be to each other, all in one gesture.

She swallowed. That hand—that hand had been on her body, inside her, holding her legs apart as his mouth . . . She had to
put what happened into a tidy box inside her mind or she wouldn’t be able to do her job, and she had no illusions that he
would keep her in his employ if she couldn’t do her job properly, no matter what she had done with him the night before.

“What kind of information are you looking for?” She picked up her cup again with a hand she willed not to tremble, or grab
his, or do anything that indicated they were more than admittedly unorthodox employee and employer.

He shrugged. “You know what I require.” As though she did, when she had no clue, having just asked him that very question.
Not to mention, or God forbid even think about, what he might require elsewhere.

Oh, what else might he require? She could not think about that. Or else her already flushed face would explode, and wouldn’t
that be embarrassing? Humiliating immolation, that’s what it would be.

She would just have to think about that later. When they were together not being employer and employee, but lover and . . .
lover. Both of them equal. And she wanted to take as much as give, and wanted the same from him as well. Equals in bed, if
nowhere else.

Which was why she had to keep her mind on what she needed to do now, not what she might possibly be looking forward to later.

“I will just run up to my room and collect my things, then,” she said, draining the coffee. If she couldn’t kiss him good
morning as she secretly wished to, at least there was coffee.

Even though coffee was not nearly as satisfying. But much less shocking.

“Excellent,” he replied, waving his hand as though in dismissal. Which shouldn’t smart as much as it did—she was his employee,
after all, and he had given her orders for the day. But still.

This was going to be difficult to navigate, wasn’t it? But she had to, unless she wanted to be either unemployed or without
a lover. And she wanted neither.

So she would have to figure it out.

“Your Grace?”

Michael did not bite his valet’s head off, but he did have to bite his tongue so he wouldn’t. It wasn’t Collins’s fault that
Michael had gotten very little sleep the night before, and now was chafing because he couldn’t have her again, right now,
right in this bed.

He was getting more reasonable, wasn’t he?

“I need nothing else, just get yourself into the carriage as soon as you can. Cheltam will settle the bill.”

Cheltam. He had to remember that during the day, she was Cheltam. Not Edwina. Not his lover. He was normally quite good—excellent,
in fact—at compartmentalizing his feelings, ensuring that nothing bothered his emotional distance.

Mostly because he had never allowed anyone to bridge his emotional distance, save for Chester, and Chester was relatively
easy to please.

But Edwina—he had thought of her even before he had seen her that morning, he’d asked for a cup of coffee so it would be waiting
for her when she arrived downstairs. He was never ever thoughtful, he knew that, and yet—and yet he found himself wanting
to do things for her, to bring that quick, pleased smile to her mouth.

And bring other things to her mouth as well; he wasn’t that thoughtful. But he had never found himself thinking at all when
he’d been involved with anyone. Mostly because he wasn’t involved at all—his affairs were transactions, a simple matter of
releasing sexual tension, nothing more.

This was entirely different, and it scared him. Terrified him, in fact. But that didn’t mean he was going to put a stop to
it. He wasn’t that thoughtful.

It did mean he would have to work harder than usual to maintain his emotional distance to ensure that this was simply what
it was, and that they both knew it would inevitably end.

It had to. There was no way he could see any way for it to continue forever without changing who he was.

Although he couldn’t quite persuade himself not to take the stairs down to the carriage at less than a hurried pace, or feel
a pang of disappointment when she wasn’t already inside.

The door opened just as he was settling in, and she glanced around, as though there would be someone else waiting inside.
He felt a pang of jealousy toward the unknown person, which was ridiculous since there was no person. And ridiculous because
he was never jealous.

“There you are.” He spoke without thinking it through, then wanted to smack himself in the head for uttering something so
nonsensical.
There you are?
Of course she was there, as though if he hadn’t said it she’d have been somewhere else.

She did not comment on his inanity, thankfully, just tucked herself onto the seat opposite, the one where she’d be riding
backward. And not next to him.

Before he even realized it, he’d reached out and grabbed her, hauling her over to his side before pulling her into his arms
and kissing her with all the passion a few hours of separation required.

Which was, apparently, a lot.

Her mouth opened immediately, and her hands reached up to clasp his shoulders, then on up to plunge themselves into his hair.
She made a little noise in the back of her throat, and he wanted to take her, here, in the carriage, rucking up her skirts
and having her, even though intercourse in a carriage—particularly for a tall person—seemed highly impractical.

Not that he’d ever had intercourse in a carriage, but of course he’d considered the logistics before. Because he was he, and
things needed to be thought through before acting on them.

Except for all of this, which he was thinking about hardly at all, just feeling, and doing, and—

She drew away from him, her eyes already dreamy and soft, her mouth redder than normal. “We’re not moving.”

No, because they weren’t fucking.

“Oh, the carriage?” he said after a moment when he realized what she meant. He leaned up and rapped on the roof. The carriage
lurched right away, sending them on their journey. Although not to where he ultimately wanted to be, which was—

Stop it, Michael
, he chided himself. This was just a momentary feeling, it would pass.

Although since he’d never had this kind of “momentary feeling” before, he wasn’t so certain it was momentary. Nor what he
should do with all of it, what with the wanting, and the not being able to have, at least not right away. The perplexing need
to discuss it, which he’d been burning to do since leaving her bed.

But not only could he not do that, he would not. He would not admit to anyone—much less himself—that this was more than what
it appeared to be. It would end, she would be his extremely efficient secretary, and that would be it. There couldn’t be anything
else.

“Are you—are you ready to hear my report?” she asked, her voice shakier than he was accustomed to.
No doubt because you have just mauled her in the carriage, you idiot.

But she seemed to like the mauling.

Never mind that now.

“Yes,” he replied, settling back against the cushions of the carriage and folding his hands in his lap. Trying to will his
erection to subside, since he did not wish to test the limits of the interior of his carriage. Even though he absolutely did.

“Excellent.” She picked up a sheaf of papers she’d laid on the seat and rifled through them, making a little huff of exasperation
as she reviewed each paper. “Here it is. The Powers and Smith Corporation. Founded just five years ago, now projecting to
supply twenty percent of the country’s engines. Mr. Powers is the engineer in the enterprise, whereas Mr. Smith is the businessman.”

“We should require Mr. Powers to show us around then,” Michael said. “The last thing I want to hear is more vagueness about
how this company is more forward-thinking and efficient than that company, without hearing any actual facts mentioned.”

“No, that would not please you at all, would it?” she replied in an amused voice. “It must be so frustrating to be you.”

He folded his arms over his chest and glared at her. “And what do you mean by that?”

She looked as though she wanted to laugh at him, but thankfully kept herself to a slight smile. She put the paper back down
on her lap and looked at him, tilting her head. “It is just—just that for you, things are so simple. They should be this way,
everyone should know they should be this way, and people are idiots if they do not see it this way.” She shook her head. “And
yet not everyone—let me say hardly anyone—sees things the way you do. You must walk around being aggravated all day when people
aren’t what you expect them to be.” She did laugh then. “It is a good thing you are a duke, because imagine how horrible your
life would be if you had to answer to anyone? If you were, say, a banker who had to deal with stupid people worrying about
their money, or a fruit seller and people would argue with you about the freshness of your peaches, or what have you,” and
then she just stopped, clamping a hand over her mouth as her eyes danced.

He’d never been laughed at before as much as he had with her, and yet he didn’t mind it, even though he was already explaining
to his mythical customers why the peaches weren’t rotten, they just got bruised in the course of shipment, and they were still
fresh, and he could throw in an extra peach for their trouble.

But he didn’t say any of that, thank goodness, or she might very well explode in laughter, having just proven her point.

“I am very fortunate to be a duke, yes,” he said in his most arrogant, aristocratic drawl. He raised an eyebrow for emphasis.
“Because instead of having to discuss one family’s business, I have to oversee all the business ventures of all my family’s
holdings. I have to tease out which person’s reporting is suspect, where best to invest my money so as to provide proper return
for future generations, and I have to pretend excitement at rubbing elbows with my peers, most of whom are useless drains
on their own holdings and constituents.” He hadn’t realized just how resentful those responsibilities made him. But he wouldn’t
shirk them. He couldn’t. It wasn’t who he was as a person.

She’d narrowed her gaze on him as she spoke, no more humor in her expression, and she nodded after he’d finished, looking
thoughtful. “I did not mean to be glib,” she said, and he shook his head, wanting to let her know that no, she hadn’t been,
she’d figured him out entirely, and it was such a relief to have someone understand just how he felt, why he wanted to scream
at everyone he encountered—save her and Chester, oh, and also Gertrude—and why he felt some days as though he swallowed more
words than he spoke.

“It’s just,” she continued, and he could see by her expression that she thought she’d offended or hurt him, “it just must
hurt to be you is all I was trying to say.”

“It—it does.” He was surprised at just how hard it was to say the words, even though they were what he thought. Them, and
so much more. “I know I might seem like I am an unfeeling, arrogant . . .” and he paused as he tried to think of the right
word.

“Syllogist?” she supplied.

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘caviller,’ or perhaps just the more succinct ‘prig,’ ” he said, smiling as he spoke.
“ ‘Syllogist’ is so much kinder.”

“You should be kinder to yourself,” she replied, surprising him. He hadn’t realized he wasn’t.

“How so?”

She shrugged. “I can tell, you think poorly of yourself for coming close to berating Hawkins when he dares to question you,
or snapping at me when I’ve not done something you expected would be done. But that is you. You are not always a nice man”—and
that hurt, oddly enough, even though he knew that about himself—“but you are an honest one, and that is valuable, and far
rarer, I believe.”

“So you think I should snap?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, that is not what I am saying. I am saying you should give yourself more credit for not snapping,
but for heaven’s sake, don’t take it up just because it is easier. You are the last person I would ever expect to do something
because it is easier, anyway,” she finished.

“True.” It felt right, and oddly satisfying, to have her understand him so thoroughly. When had that ever happened before?

Oh right,
never
. His closest friend was canine, and his next-closest friend was probably—her. It was so lonely, being him, and so being with
her, both in the daytime and now in whatever nighttime activities they were embarking on, felt so special.

But what if they weren’t? What if this was how people who were normal, who weren’t he, behaved all the time? How would he
know that?

“You’re thinking about something. Did you want me to continue with this report, or do you have enough information?” She frowned.
“How long is the journey to the factory anyway? We should be there soon, if Smaxton is correct.”

Michael felt a twinge—or more than a twinge—of jealousy at hearing her speak about someone else. “And who is Smaxton?” he
said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

She rolled her eyes again. Apparently his tone wasn’t neutral enough. “Smaxton is your coachman, the one with the wife and
five children, who smells of tobacco.”

“Oh.” Sad, truly, that he didn’t know his coachman’s name. Perhaps if he did know it, his coachman would end up being his
closest friend, supplanting his dog, and making her his third-best friend.

Although he highly doubted that.

“I have enough, thank you.” Although he really didn’t, but she wouldn’t be able to provide what it was that he most needed
to know when considering an investment—what the ultimate costs would be, if it felt as though it were the right decision,
if he thought it would make the world a better place for his having done so.

Not unlike taking a lover, he thought, suppressing a grin. He did not think she would appreciate the comparison, so he did
not mention it. Even though he dearly wished he could share the thought with her, as it seemed he wanted to share so much.

“Since we do have some time, tell me about yourself.”

He blinked. Nobody had ever asked him to talk about himself, mostly because they knew all the relevant facts: He was a duke,
he was thirty-four years old, he was so many inches tall, and he was brutal when he encountered stupidly curious people.

Probably the last item was the one that meant nobody asked him anything.

“What do you want to know?” He sounded stiff.

She shrugged. “I know who you are now, but tell me more about yourself in general.” She smiled. “I can’t imagine what you
were like as a little boy.”

“Younger,” he replied quickly.

She looked at him and rolled her eyes. “Of course you would say that. That I would know, since I do understand how time works.
What were you
like
?”

She stressed the last word, and he allowed his mind to travel back, to remember things he hadn’t deliberately recalled in
years.

“I had an older brother,” he began, and he saw her expression change into one of concern, because of course he wouldn’t be
the duke if his older brother were still alive. “His name was William, and he was my hero. I followed him around as soon as
I could walk, and he only got frustrated with me a few times, which is remarkable given how annoying I was.”

“I am guessing you asked loads and loads of questions,” she said in a fond tone.

He snorted. “Yes, my mother said it was a good thing I went to sleep, since otherwise she’d have to answer questions twenty-four
hours a day.”

“What happened to your brother?”

His chest tightened. “I didn’t know then, but he had a weak constitution. We went fishing one day, I was only four, and he
fell into the water. Not enough to drown him, but it was nearly winter, and the water was cold.” A pause. “He died a few months
later.”

She reached forward and placed her hand on his arm. “I am so sorry.”

Just those few words eased the feeling in his chest. He didn’t doubt she was sorry. He could hear it in her tone of voice.
He believed it, unlike when other people offered their apologies for something or another.