Dusk With a Dangerous Duke (21 page)

“Enthusiastically?” she added, not sounding too happy about the prospect.

He fought back a grin as he untied his cravat. “Don’t fret, my dear. You will never have to feign your eagerness.” The cloth landed on top of his discarded waistcoat.

Her eyes narrowed at his arrogant boast. “You think not?”

“No lady has ever complained,” he replied flippantly just to see her eyes flare with indignation.

Grace did not disappoint him. Even with a wet sheet wrapped around her, she managed to look like a duchess sitting in a fashionable drawing room. “Should I ask for references?”

Hunter coughed, practically choking on his own spit. He could think of several former lovers who were outrageous enough to offer his new duchess their recommendations. “Quite unnecessary since I’m willing to prove myself.” He braced his backside against the edge of the bed while he set to work on removing his boots. “And I have been more than patient. What shall it be, Duchess? Will you leave your cooling bathwater willingly, or shall I join you?”

She hesitated at the choices presented to her. Either way, he would have her. “The tub cannot accommodate both of us,” she protested, staring at him warily as his second boot struck the floor.

Ah, she was such the little innocent. “It might be snug, but I believe we both will fit. I’m willing if you are.”

“No!”

He halted at her emphatic command and gave her an expectant glance.

“If you leave the chamber, I will tend to myself.”

Barefooted, he padded over to her. “If I leave you alone, you are bound to escape through the window.”

“I most certainly would not,” she said, insulted by the very suggestion that she was a coward. “We are married, and I have no intention of shirking my duties as the Duchess of Huntsley. I do, however, deserve a measure of privacy while I prepare myself for you.”

Hunter was tempted to acquiesce to her request. His bride was no coward. Even so, anger kept the fear at bay, and he preferred to keep Grace’s mind off what was to come. No, if he left her alone, she would only fret over matters that were beyond her control.

“No,” he said flatly.

She seemed taken aback by his response. “No?” She gestured at the pile of towels on the chair along the wall. “Very well. I need something to cover myself.”

Her command was not unexpected, but her maidenly modesty was not welcome in the bedchamber. Hunter had always insisted that his lovers be experienced to avoid the predictable complications of bedding a virgin. Grace was the exception to this specific rule, though he had no intention of offering her explanations.

“You might as well drop the sheet, Duchess. The only place you are going is my bed.”

Grace rose unsteadily in the tub. No doubt her legs had grown numb folded beneath her like a hen on its nest. “Then I shall get the towels myself,” she said imperiously, though she made no move to get out of the tub.

It was then that Hunter noted that his bride was trembling. He lost all patience with this particular battle of wills. “I’ve had enough of this.” He marched over to the tub and swept her into his arms.

Grace gasped as the world tilted sideways. Without thinking, she slipped her arms around his neck to prevent herself from falling. “Put me down—”

A strangled scream escaped her lips as Hunter carried her to the bed. The soggy sheet that had been protecting her modesty fell away and landed onto the floor with a distinctive
plop.

Grace surprised him by tightening her hold around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder. She mumbled something but her words were unintelligible to him. His poor little bride was probably affronted by her predicament. However, one way or the other, he would have stripped her of the sheet when they had reached the bed since he had no interest in sleeping with a bundle of wet linen between them.

“Don’t fret about the sheet, Duchess,” he said, lowering her onto the mattress. The servant had already turned down the bedding, which made his task simpler. “A dry bed … more comfortable than the tub, is it not?”

His furious bride rolled onto her side, muttering to herself while offering him a generous view of her unblemished back and buttocks as she tugged at the blankets to drag them over the lower half of her body. His grandmother had often told him that Grace would grow into a ravishing beauty. Good breeding, she had said, not that he cared at the time.

Now that Hunter had gone ahead and married her, he was appreciating his good fortune. He reached his hand out with the thought of caressing her back. He wondered if her pale flesh felt like silk.

Grace abruptly turned back to confront him, her eyes blazing with silent fury. “I may be your wife,” she said crisply. “However, I deserve more respect and consideration than you carting me about the room like a wicker hamper!”

Hunter tossed his head back and laughed heartily. It was a perilous thing to do in front of an enraged female. More than once, he and his friends had gotten into various scrapes for their inappropriate sense of humor.

“Trust me, Duchess,” he said, rubbing away the pain in his side. “Even foxed, I can tell the difference between a naked wench and a hamper.”

Grace drew the blanket higher over her breasts. “I cannot tell you how much better I feel, knowing that I have such a clever husband,” she said, managing to appear haughty even though she sat in the middle of the bed with only the bedding to protect her modesty.

Not that it was much of a shield. Hunter had gotten quite a good look at her body, and he was looking forward to doing more than just admiring her beauty. He wanted to spend the night caressing her skin with his fingers, learning the curves of her body. With his tongue, he would soon taste her most sensitive flesh and inhale the unique scent of her as he enticed her to arousal. And, finally, when he had claimed her innocence and showed her what awaited her beyond the discomfort, he would hear the soft sounds she made when she discovered the joys of the marriage bed.

It was time.

Tugging the final button on his shirt free, Hunter pulled the fabric over his head and tossed it with the rest of his attire.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice softening with sudden wariness.

“Nothing sinister, I assure you,” he said, striding over to the nearest table and snuffed the candles. “Just preparing for bed.”

Hunter left the candles near the tub burning as he returned to the bed. He assumed his shy wife might prefer the darkness, but he would not be doing her any favors by allowing her imagination to escalate her fears of him or their marriage bed.

He gave his chest a passing glance as he casually rubbed his flat stomach. Although he was not prone to vanity, his former lovers had often admired his body and his skills at bringing them pleasure. For some odd reason, he wanted Grace to find his physique praiseworthy as well. Possessing a reputation as an unselfish lover, he was prepared to demonstrate there were certain benefits gained from his rakish ways. He had every confidence that his wife would find their marriage bed quite satisfying.

Unfortunately, his duchess did not seem to appreciate her good fortune. Her face took on a chalky cast at his approach. She was unused to seeing so much bare male flesh, and he had not considered that his virility might overwhelm her. Perhaps it would have been prudent to leave his shirt on.

“Will you be dousing all the candles, Your Grace?” she asked in a weak voice.

“Hunter,” he absently replied. “I think it is best that we keep the remaining ones lit. Are you not curious about your husband?”

Grace audibly swallowed.

“Here.” He captured her hand and pressed her palm to his stomach. “You are free to explore me at your leisure.”

In response to his invitation, Grace’s eyes fluttered upward into her skull and her body slumped back against the pillows.

The little innocent had fainted.

Chapter Twenty-one

Grace felt a slight sting to her cheek. Bringing her hand to her right cheek, she opened her eyes and glared at the gentleman hovering over her.

“If you persist, I will have a nice bruise to complement the healthy color in my cheeks come morning,” she said, attempting to sit up. When the duke refused to move, she simply pushed him away. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Hunter said grimly.

“Truly?” she said, sounding as surprised as she felt. She had knocked the wind out of her lungs a time or two when she was a child, but she could not recall a single incident when she had actually lost consciousness.

“Does this happen often?”

“I beg your pardon? Oh, the fainting, you mean.” Grace shook her head. She adjusted the sheet covering her breasts, briefly wondering if her husband had peeked while she was indisposed. “No, I am not prone to the vapors. How long was I insensible?”

“Not very long,” he replied, studying her face. “A minute, or so. How are you feeling?”

Grace pretended to ponder the question as she silently debated telling him the truth. If she lied and told him that she felt unwell, the deception would most likely allow her to hold on to her innocence for another day. It was the least her husband deserved for his high-handedness on this marriage business.

“Well…” She made the mistake of meeting his gaze. His eyes narrowed at her hesitation, and she sensed that the duke was expecting her not to tell the truth.

As if she was the kind of person who habitually uttered falsehoods to get her way!

Naturally, a little creative fibbing to get her way was one thing, but no one had ever accused her of being a coward or shirking her duty. The notion that he thought her capable of it was unbearable.

“It is kind of you to inquire, Your Grace. I am feeling quite better, thank you.”

Her declaration did not appease him. “At supper, you barely ate enough to sustain a bird. Perhaps I should summon the innkeeper and have him prepare a tray.”

“I am not hungry.” Grace reclined back against the pillows, a willing sacrifice. “Forgive me for interrupting you. Pray continue.”

She closed her eyes and awaited his ravishment.

What sounded like a cross between a groan and a muffled laugh rumbled in Hunter’s chest. Grace tried not to cringe as she felt the mattress dip and squeak with his weight as he sat down beside her. She regretted not pressing Regan for details about what would transpire this evening. It seemed rude to inquire about something so intimate between a man and woman, but not knowing what was expected of her was unsettling.

Grace was used to being in charge of her life. Hunter seemed to be usurping everything, including her peace of mind.

Her thoughts quieted at his touch.

Instead of tearing away the sheet and climbing on top of her like a mindless rutting beast, Hunter lightly brushed his thumb over her lower lip. Without thinking, she moistened her lips with her tongue and tasted the salty essence of his caress.

“Open your eyes.”

Her eyelids lifted at his soft command. Hunter was leaning over her, his right arm keeping his weight off her. She had expected to see amusement in his expression, but the unguarded tenderness was a revelation.

“You have nothing to fear from me, Grace.”

As if to prove his point, he lowered his head and lightly kissed her parted lips. This was not her first kiss. Lord Sey’s youngest boy seized that honor when he pressed his advantage one autumn afternoon in the orchard as he planted a quick one on her lips. She had been fourteen, and spent weeks fretting about her ardent companion’s fate once the Duke of Huntsley learned of the incident. Of course, her concerns were unwarranted. The duke and his friends had been too busy scandalizing the
ton
to give a thought to his young betrothed.

Hunter paused, his mouth only an inch from hers. “A frown? That was not quite the response I had hoped to elicit.”

Grace had not intended for her thoughts to wander, or for her husband to watch her so closely. Too many years had passed to allow an old disappointment to ruin a kiss she had been anticipating for most of her life. “On the contrary,” she said, her lips molding into a rueful smile. “It was a lovely kiss.”

He seemed to doubt her compliment. “Really?”

“Oh, most definitely,” she hurriedly assured him. “One of the best I have ever experienced.”

His eyes lit up with interest at her admission. “And how many rivals have sampled your sweet lips, Duchess?”

Grace casually shrugged. “I never bothered counting. Is the number important?” She widened her eyes and gazed innocently up at him.

He wondered if she was deliberately attempting to annoy him. “It might be,” he grumbled. “If you are thinking of another gent when I have my hands on you.”

“An impossibility, Your Grace,” she assured him. “Dealing with you requires all of my wits.”

Her answer pleased him. “Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

“And what of you?” she asked in a challenging tone. “Do you pine for another when you kiss me?”

Hunter gave her an impatient glance. “What are you implying, Duchess?”

“Nothing at all.” She appeared to be mildly offended by his question. “I just want things to be fair between us. If I am not allowed to recall another gentleman’s kiss, then the same rule applies to you as well.”

Unused to having anyone dictate terms to how he lived his life, Hunter was not going to surrender his independence to a wife he never wanted in the first place. “And if I refuse?” he asked silkily.

“Then our wedding night will be rather uneventful,” she said as she sat up, causing him to draw back. “For I refuse to share our marriage bed with another woman, especially with one who might have a special place in your heart.”

A woman’s logic, Hunter thought with frustration. At its core there was more heart than brain. Grace was less concerned with the notion that he had kissed other women than the thought that he might have held tender feelings for them.

Her concerns were utter nonsense since she had been the lady he had married.

“I see no other woman in this bed, but you,” he said, striving for a soothing tone and likely failing. He had little experience in dealing with such trifles. Most of his lovers would have never dared to complain or question him.