A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty (19 page)

He raised his head a little and his eyes questioned her.

Did she want more?

Henrietta’s lips found his in an instant. She opened her mouth, and his tongue darted inside to tease hers.

His lips moved smoothly, confidently, and effortlessly over hers, and she savored the sweet taste of wine in his kiss as her body melted closer to his. She was swept away with the new sensations twirling and curling inside her.

His hand slid down to her buttocks and cupped her against his hardness. His other hand slid up her waist to cup and caress her breasts. Henrietta gasped at the sheer desire that flooded her entire body. She moaned softly at the exploding pleasure filling her. It was as if she had been yearning for his magical touch since she first saw him.

Henrietta’s stomach, her abdomen, and between her legs tightened at the thrilling rush of need cascading through her. Sensations that she had never experienced before shot to the core of her being, and she was filled with a tingling warmth.

Their kisses became more passionate with each second that passed. His tongue lightly stroked in and out of her mouth, teasing her. His kisses filled her with a hunger she didn’t understand, but she knew only the duke could satisfy.

His hot, moist lips trailed down her neck and along her chest to the swell of her breasts. His lips and teeth nipped softly at her skin as his hand kneaded her taffeta-covered breast, sending delicious shivers of ecstasy to the center of her womanhood.

With urgency, his hand slipped inside her dress and beneath her undergarment to caress her bare breast. With his thumb and finger, he softly rolled her nipple back and forth, driving her mad with desire.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this all evening.”

Henrietta wasn’t sure if she moaned a “Yes” aloud or in her mind. She only knew she wanted the wonderful feelings the duke was creating inside her to last forever.

Blakewell lifted her breast from the confines of her clothing and covered it with his warm mouth, teasing it and wetting it. Her arms tightened convulsively, and she pressed closer to him.

She felt as if she were ready to explode when suddenly the duke tore his lips away from her breast and buried his face in her chest.

Gasping for breath, he lifted his head and whispered, “We must not do this. You tempt me to the breaking point.”

Henrietta felt bereft. She was overflowing with sensations that needed a release she didn’t understand. She didn’t want him to stop kissing her, touching her, and making her feel as if she would burst from all the pleasure building inside her.

“Why?” she whispered against a ragged breath.

“I must keep you pure for your husband. I can’t let this go any farther between us.”

Henrietta went limp. Nothing had changed between them. He still wanted to find her a husband.

“I understand,” she said, though it broke her heart to say it. “You are right. I didn’t mean to tempt you.”

“Don’t move,” he whispered. “I need to remain in control of myself, and to do that, I need you to be very still.”

Not fully understanding, but not needing to, she nodded, sighed, and slowly melted into his strong embrace and went still.

She cupped his head to her chest and ran both her hands through his thick, beautiful hair. She wanted to stay this close to him for as long as he would allow.

Henrietta closed her eyes and gloried in the feel of being so close to the man she loved. As the seconds ticked by, his body relaxed and his breathing slowed to normal. As the minutes ticked by, she once again remembered the fear, the pain, and the desolation she had felt the night the coach toppled end over end down the soggy embankment.

Though she’d never admit it to His Grace or anyone else, there were still times she’d wake in the night silently screaming. She would never forget the horrifying sounds of the splintering wood and the screams of her mother, or her own.

And she would never forget this night when she brought comfort to the duke and, in turn, he held her close, kissed her passionately, and calmed childhood fears that never seemed to go away completely.

Fifteen

Dear Lucien, My Dearest Grandson,

You will want to ponder these famous words from Lord
Chesterfield: “Is it possible then that an honest man can
neglect what a wise rogue would purchase so dear?”

Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder

IT WAS ALMOST DARK WHEN BLAKE CLIMBED INTO HIS carriage the next day and told his driver to take him to the Harbor Lights Club. He was supposed to meet Gibby for a light supper before returning to his town house to escort Henrietta and Constance to the ball being held at the Great Hall.

There were really only two reasons for London’s Season: to see, and to be seen. If a match happened to occur between an eligible gentleman and an expectant young lady, it was considered a successful Season for the couple.

A light rain misted the air, and a heavy chill settled over London. Spring was late coming to the city. Twilight was just dreary enough to match his mood. He was restless, and he really didn’t know why. It was unlike him to be so unsettled. He had always been the most carefree of Lady Elder’s grandsons. Responsibility wasn’t a word he’d ever paid much attention to, until Henrietta showed up at his door.

He had come so close to saying to hell with convention, to hell with what was right. He had been desperate to take their loving all the way and make her his lover. Fortunately, he had come to his senses in time to stop.

His shoulder felt better today, but there was still enough pain in the joint to let him know it was by no means healed. Blake had spent most of the day in his office attending to his correspondence and the mountain of papers his solicitor had sent for his suggestions, approval, or signature. Fortunately, Henrietta had made the long and tedious task much easier by arranging his mail in order of importance.

She seemed to know what needed immediate attention and what letters were mere idle ramblings that some poor soul wanted him to read. She had even mastered the mountain of invitations he had received by putting them in order of who he least needed to offend by not attending their function, be it a party, a tea, or the opera. Had Constance helped her with that?

Several gentlemen had called on him at different times during the day, obviously wanting to solicit him about Henrietta. He told Ashby to tell them all he wasn’t available for a visit but to leave their cards. He certainly wasn’t ready to talk with any man about making a match for Henrietta. Just the thought of that wrenched his gut.

Especially when he saw cards from men like Count Vigone and Lord Snellingly, as if he would ever consider letting her marry either man! Did they think him a dolt? He had heard gossip around the clubs that both men were looking for a wife with a large dowry.

Blake shifted in the carriage seat. Thinking of Henrietta had his loins stirring with desire and longing. Longing? Blake winced. When had he ever longed for a certain woman?

Never!

However wrong or perverted it was, because he was her guardian, he still wanted her. He had desperately wanted to comfort her with all the kisses and loving she’d wanted last night after her tears. But he couldn’t take advantage of her when she was so emotional from reliving the tragedy of her parents’ deaths. She would have let him, but she was an innocent young lady. He couldn’t change that no matter how badly they had both wanted to finish what they had started.

It was a good thing he had been in a hell of a lot of pain last night, or he might not have been able to hold himself in check when he pulled her onto his chair and cradled her in his arms. She had made him desperate to make her his.

He breathed in deeply and remembered the heavenly, womanly scent of her. He smiled just to think about her. It amazed him that he couldn’t get her off his mind.

She had felt so good, so right, snuggled warmly against his chest, her legs and stocking-covered feet curled on top of his lower body. When she first lay against him, he felt her breaths coming fast and hard. He could tell she had never been that close to a man’s desire before. She didn’t understand how close he was to the edge when he asked her to be still. But within moments, she realized he only wanted to hold her close and offer comfort. She had slowly turned her face into the crook of his neck, her body relaxed against him, and her rapid breathing had returned to normal.

Even now he ached to hold her close and pull the tight bud of her breast into his mouth again.

Blake shook his head and stared out the small window into the misty, early evening as the carriage rolled and bumped along the streets. The pane was foggy, but he could see that several businesses had already lit their gaslights for the evening. The rain reminded him of what Henrietta had told him last night about her parents’ deaths. What a terrifying ordeal for a child to go through! He had known by the look in her eyes as she related the details of the accident that she was reliving the horror and the terror of that dreadful night.

It was difficult for her to talk about, and he had hated to put her through that, but he needed to understand her fears. He wanted to understand this curse she talked about. Obviously, she was spared in the crash by an act of God when all others, including the horses, were killed. So why would anyone say she was cursed or put a curse on her or her guardians?

One thing was certain, Henrietta was brave, confident, and resilient, even as a little girl. His stomach knotted at the thought of a little blonde-haired girl trying to wake her parents, gathering pieces of a broken carriage in the rain, and wanting to put her life together again.

Henrietta had been so gentle, her hands calming, when she helped him take off his neckcloth and coats. Blake smiled to himself as he remembered every touch. Had she actually hummed a soothing melody for him?

She had known just what he needed to relax and rest his shoulder. When he pulled her into his arms, he had only meant to offer her some of the comfort she’d so generously given to him. He hadn’t intended the passion that flared between them. His good sense, along with the wine and the previous sleepless nights, had proved too much for him, and he’d fallen asleep shortly after her breathing slowed to an easy rhythm.

He had no idea how long she had stayed with him or when she had left him. He had awakened in the predawn hours slumped in the chair, covered by his coat, his neck stiff and his arm paining him once again. But what bothered him the most was Henrietta’s absence. It made him feel lonely.

That was a new feeling for him. It was as if someone or something was missing in his life. Blake couldn’t remember feeling lonely, not even when his parents died. How could he? He was a duke. He was always surrounded by people. He was never alone. But he didn’t want just anyone with him. He wanted Henrietta. He wanted her touch. He wanted to touch her. And worst of all, he wanted to make love to her.

Blake quickly brushed that thought aside. That wasn’t a feeling he wanted to examine too closely. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so frustrated, so in need of Henrietta, if he bedded a woman. His time with the tavern wench in the village near Valleydale had been the briefest, most unsatisfying romp he could remember experiencing. Maybe he would have better luck tonight finding a willing widow who would make him forget the growing desire he had for Henrietta. He had to do something since he couldn’t seem to find the time to make inquiries about a mistress.

He laid his head against the velvet squabs and let the clinking and clanking of the carriage and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves drown out his thoughts of Henrietta. He had to concentrate on Gibby and his involvement with Mrs. Simple.

Blake looked forward to the quietness and the exclusivity of the private club. It was early enough in the evening that none of the regulars would be around—so, with any luck, he should have plenty of time alone with the old dandy.

A few minutes later, Blake gave a shudder as he shrugged out of his wet cloak and hat and handed them to the servant inside the Harbor Lights Club. Blake walked toward the taproom, thinking a tankard of ale and a bowl of chicken stew sounded good. He stopped in the doorway and saw that Gibby had already arrived, sitting in his usual place by the window and enjoying the last shards of twilight. Blake couldn’t help but wonder if Gibby ever felt lonely and, if so, how he handled it. Blake didn’t know Gib’s exact age, but the man had to be in his seventies.

Gibby had had his share of mistresses over the years, some of them quite famous. There was the gorgeous actress who stunned the audience by waving and blowing him kisses from the stage; King George’s scandalous, married cousin who flaunted convention and openly cavorted with Gibby in public; and then Blake’s own infamous grandmother, Lady Elder. But even with the excitement that came with those women and others, had he missed not having a wife and children?

Blake walked over, pulled out the chair opposite the old man, and sat down.

“You are late.”

Blake frowned. “Am I? I don’t think so.”

Gibby pointed to the tall clock standing in the far corner. “By half an hour, at least.”

“Don’t complain, old man. Half an hour is not late.”

“It is to anyone but you. Now tell me, did you want me to meet you here so you could mind my business yet again?” Gibby asked.

“Mind your business is exactly what I want to do,” Blake said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve been doing it for so many years that it would be a shame to stop now, don’t you think?”

“Not really. Contrary to what Lord Chesterfield said, you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

“I’m not so sure the arrogant bastard said that, but if he did, I’m sure he would have finished the quote with, “You’re not old, and you’re not a dog.”

Gibby grinned. “Well, somebody said it.”

“My grandmother always attributed every quote she ever heard to Chesterfield, and in your old age, I think you’ve fallen into the habit of doing the same.”

“Your grandmother taught me a lot of things. I remember one time we were—”

Blake held up his hand and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t go any further. You obviously spent too much time with her when she was alive, and the last thing I want to know is all that she taught you.”

Gibby’s aged eyes sparkled with memories. “I loved every minute I ever spent with her.”

“I have no doubt about that, or about the love she had for you.”

Gibby shrugged. “You know, you’re intelligent enough to find something better to do with your time than worry about what I’m doing.”

“Sure, I could find something better to do, but it wouldn’t be as much fun or as time-consuming as aggravating the devil out of you.”

“But I’ll be glad when it happens. I’m looking forward to some time alone with my own thoughts.”

“You wouldn’t enjoy it. I’ve tried to spend time with your thoughts, and they’re boring as hell.”

They both laughed.

“God loves a simple mind,” Gibby quipped.

Blake breathed in deeply. It felt good to banter with the old geezer. “Have you ordered anything yet?”

“No, just got here.”

“I thought you said I was late?”

“You were. I was late too, but I still got here before you did.”

“Damnation, Gib, I don’t know why I bother with you.”

“I don’t know either, but since I can’t get rid of you, what are you drinking?”

“Ale.”

Gibby motioned to the server and told him to bring a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

Blake wrinkled his forehead and leaned back in his chair. “I asked for ale, and you order champagne? Proof you are fast losing your sanity.”

“Don’t get too excited; my mind is splendid. I’m going to propose a toast to the next successful mode of travel, and I need champagne to do it.”

Blake tensed. “I think you would have more success with the new steam locomotive George Stephenson is working on at Newcastle than with balloons. Mark my words, Stephenson’s invention is an idea that has merit.”

Gibby dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand as he said, “He thinks he can power a huge chunk of iron and make it go faster than eight horses. Nothing can go faster than the wind when it starts blowing.”

“Stephenson has made great progress.”

“So has Mrs. Simple. What did you think of her?”

“I thought her pleasant enough.”

“Only pleasant enough?”

“Yes.” Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Gib, I can only be honest with you. Mrs. Simple is very nice, lovely, in fact; she seems intelligent enough to me, but the idea of ballooning as a way to develop travel is downright ludicrous.”

“It’s achievable,” Gibby argued.

“It’s madness.”

“It’s going to happen.”

“You saying it won’t make it so,” Blake argued.

“Mrs. Simple wants to set up a schedule where she’ll have balloons traveling to all of the ten counties nearest London. She figures she’ll need at least thirty balloons to get her business started.”

“Thirty? Bloody hell, Gib, that is a lot of balloons and will cost a damned fortune.”

“Not so many when you think of it as three balloons for each county. They’ll only make one trip a day. She needs one for the people, one for their luggage, and an extra in case one is broken and unable to go up.”