The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series (30 page)

“It’s supposed to be a secret.”

“Then I won’t tell.”

He felt her body tighten as he guided the crown of his shaft between her thighs to penetrate her cleft.

Not all at once. Not her first time. He set a measured rhythm, sank into her a little deeper each time, then withdrew. Too late, he realized he was caught in a trap of his own invention. The teasing stabs of pleasure brought him to the edge so many times he began to rely on instinct alone, to surrender to sheer feeling. He rubbed his belly against her backside and heard the low moan that caught in her throat. No need for French letter. This was his wife.

“Charlotte, forgive me.…”

The cords in his neck knotted with the control he exerted to keep from embedding himself completely in her warmth. Deeper. Slowly. His hands clasped her hips, stilling her as her body accepted, absorbed the length of him.

“Gideon,” she whispered, and he glanced again at their reflection in the oval glass, transfixed by the raw beauty of her submission. “Be fire to fire.”

He drew his fascinated gaze from the looking glass. “And flesh to flesh. I’ll remember this moment forever,” he said. “Let me make it unforgettable for you.” He went still so that she couldn’t breathe before he drove
back inside her with a force that breached her last defense and filled her to overflowing and made her his own at last.

Audrey had entertained the earl from the previous evening to the present one, a privilege granted only one of her former lovers. She had awakened before him that afternoon and noted in relief the patch of cloudless blue sky she could see through the curtains.

Even the weather had bowed to a Boscastle wedding, she thought as she drifted back to sleep. She could have wangled an invitation if she had wanted to attend. She hadn’t. She was too closely associated with the woman the duke had almost made his mistress.

His bride did not need to be reminded of his sins. Which reminded Audrey that her nemesis hadn’t visited in three days. Perhaps she was free of him once again.

What was the point in plotting revenge when the other party refused to participate? As evening fell she eased from the bed, her eyes avoiding the naked earl who was sprawled across the sheets in all his blatant nude splendor.

She put on her moss green silk robe and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She saw a strange woman gazing back at her.

The earl rolled onto his stomach. She glanced at him and quickly escaped through the door to her receiving chamber. Sir Daniel was studying the painting of Venus on the mantel above the pink marble fireplace in which a small clump of sea coals smoldered.

“Mrs. Watson,” he said cordially, turning toward her arrested figure. “I hope my visit is not inconvenient.”

She resisted the urge to tighten her robe, wishing
she’d at least brushed her hair. “How did you get in here? I left instructions that no one was to be admitted.”

“I have an excellent memory.” A smile creased his close-shaven cheeks. “Don’t you recall leading me through the secret passages of the house?”

“No. I don’t.”

He glanced around the room as if he hadn’t had plenty of time to nose around. His gaze went from the Chinese vase on the sideboard to the brandy decanter on top of the black cabinet. Then his eyes lit on the hat that sat on a corner chair.

He lifted his gaze to hers.

She wanted to scratch his eyes out, to pummel his face and chest and feel his arms enfold her. But she had made the mistake of showing that she cared for him once.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

Her lips firmed. “Did you have a reason to come here?”

He smiled. “Yes. I have received word that Miss Boscastle’s diary has been returned to her.”

“The Duchess of Wynfield,” she said. “She was married this morning, wasn’t she?”

The clink of a pitcher against a washbowl came from the adjoining room. Sir Daniel stared at the closed door in unconcealed contempt.

“Good evening to you then, ma’am,” he said, turning before she could obey the impulse to stop him. “Do give the earl my regards, won’t you?”

Millie twirled around the room in her new dress. “You really didn’t steal it, Nick?”

“No,” he said flatly, one of his frequent black moods coming over him. “Don’t spin like that. My ’ead’s splittin’ open.”

“It’s all that gin. I really don’t have to work alone on the corner?”

“Do I ’ave to repeat myself again? I will approve of your client first and insist you take along one of the boys to stand guard in case things turn rough.”

He heard a banging through the passageway and he glanced up. It was only a friend, an oaf named Hollis who didn’t know his head from his behind.

“What do you mean barging in ’ere like the cavalry, I’d like to know?”

“Millie.” Hollis whistled through the gap in his front teeth. “I’d like some of that, please.”

“Say that to me again and I’ll poke your eyes out with this”—she fumbled and raised her hand—“comb.”

Hollis leaned against the wall, waiting. “All right. I’d like some of that, please.”

“Go eff yourself,” Nick said, his hand slipping under his pillow for his gun.

The man snorted. “There’s a shipment just been unloaded at the wharves.”

Nick sat up. “Yeah?”

Millie turned, in a temper, and tears filled her eyes. “You promised we was going to Vauxhall tonight.” She threw the comb on the bed.

“I’m sorry, Millie,” Hollis said. “It’s business.”

She shrugged. “Don’t stand there lookin’ all Friday-faced. ’Elp me out of this silly dress. It feels like a shroud.”

He swallowed, and she turned her back to him. His huge paw fumbled a bit before he said, “I’ll take you to Vauxhall, Millie. And we’ll eat there, too.”

“Who’d you rob?” she said sourly.

“No one. I got a job at the wharves. That’s ’ow the boys know about the shipment.”

She turned slowly. “You’re a nitwit. You think that they’ll keep you on at the wharves once they realize you’re behind a lay?”

“It’s all right. There’s other jobs that need a man with brawn.”

“Stuff it, the pair of you,” Nick said, pulling on a pair of trousers over his bare rump.

“Will you come out with me or not?” Hollis asked Millie.

Nick jammed his gun in his waistband and a knife into his boot. “Let’s go.”

Nick was back.

He wouldn’t change.

He’d fancied a glimpse into another world, but now he needed a fresh infusion of danger. He ruled the rookeries. There wasn’t a dark alley, a back wynd, a path to the illegal gambling hells that Nick didn’t know. God help the sod who crossed him. Or the female who hoped to leg-shackle him for life with a child that couldn’t be his.

He was back. And it was only a matter of hours before he began to forget what Charlotte Boscastle had even looked like.

C
harlotte woke up in stages the morning after the wedding. Her body resisted. She felt warmth, a stinging ache in unfamiliar places. Memories flooded her mind. Gideon making love to her until neither of them could move. His dark silhouette overshadowing her. His weight and heat stealing her sanity, unleashing needs that he satisfied almost before she was aware of them herself.

She shifted closer to his body and listened to the even cadence of his breathing. The tips of her bare breasts pressed against his shoulder blades. Would he awaken if she touched him?

He’d wanted her to last night, and she had loved him with abandon, the wanton Charlotte who had confessed her passion for him not long ago in words. She wasn’t sorry she had written them now. She wasn’t sorry that Harriet had played a role in making Charlotte’s wicked dreams come true.

The door opened. A little girl’s head looked into the room.

“Wake up,” she said. “I’m here.”

Charlotte gasped. “Wake up, Gideon,” she whispered.

“I’ve been waiting forever to meet you,” the voice added. “Our coach wheel broke. Then the driver took the wrong road. We got lost and missed the wedding. Please wake up or I’m going to pull all the covers off the bed and then you’ll be very cross and embarrassed.”

Gideon grunted and lifted his head. “Who in the dickens do you think—
Sarah?
”

“Sarah?” Charlotte said, studying the serious face that stared at her from the doorway. “Is this her?”

“I don’t know,” Gideon said with a glint of fondness in his eye. “I can’t tell if she’s a girl or a performer in a traveling circus. What are you wearing?”

“Those are my clothes,” Charlotte said with a laugh, pulling the sheet up to her and Gideon’s shoulder. “And my wedding slippers. And my grandmother’s pearls.”

“She’s wearing your hair band too,” Gideon pointed out.

“Don’t you want to go for a walk with your governess in the garden?” Gideon asked his daughter softly. “I know you arrived very late last night. We have a cat that you might like to meet.”

She averted her head. “I want to go to Madame Devine’s and see the dresses that Cook says the tarts wear.”

“Cook is an old busybody,” Gideon said. “She ought to concern herself with tarts that are to be eaten.”

“Do you want to go shopping with me today?” Charlotte asked her, examining the girl’s odd mode of dress. “We’ll buy you a new gown.”

“I already have enough dresses. I need slippers and a bridal fan.”

Charlotte looked impressed. “Can you speak the language of the fan?”

“Oh, yes. And I can hit someone with it, too.”

“Oh, that’s lovely,” Gideon said. “That and spitting on people will make you very popular in the world.”

“I don’t spit anymore,” she said. “You said you would teach me how to swordfight.”

“Did I? Well, maybe I will, but I don’t think this is the right time, darling. How tall you’ve grown.”

Charlotte studied the girl in wonder. She had Gideon’s dark hair and strong chin.

“I have a diary,” Sarah said. “And I’ve already written about your marriage, and the mistresses our father had before, and what the maid saw them doing in his bedroom.”

“I’m sure she means playing cards,” Gideon said, frowning at his daughter.

“Oh, of course,” Charlotte said with a touch of sarcasm. “Why do you refer to him as ‘our father’?”

“Mrs. Stearns calls him that because he thinks he’s God.”

“Oh. I see,” Charlotte said, biting her lip. “Look, what do you say the three of us spend the day alone together? Maybe we can buy you the slippers you want. Or go to the fencing salon. Gideon?”

“It will be an honor to entertain the two most important ladies in my life. But, Sarah, you must wait outside.”

Sarah clapped her hands in delight. “Will you tell me about how you shot Charlotte’s lover in the foot?”

“That isn’t at all what happened,” Gideon said quickly. “He shot himself in the foot. And he was never her
lover.” He gave her another frown. “Furthermore, she is now your mother and should be addressed as such.”

“Are you her lover now?”

“She is my wife,” he said, rubbing his unshaven cheek. “How old are you?”

“Five.” Sarah was quiet for some time. “Are both of you naked?”

“Absolutely not,” Gideon and Charlotte answered at the same time.

“Then why was she holding that sheet up to her neck?”

Gideon made a choking sound at the back of his throat. “Because it’s…it’s cold in this room, that’s why. And you were not supposed to come in without knocking.”

“I did knock. You didn’t answer.”

“Sarah,” Charlotte said, her lips twitching, “wait for us belowstairs. Your father and I will come down to have breakfast with you.”

“I’ve already had breakfast. And luncheon.”

Gideon and Sarah looked inquiringly at Charlotte, challenging her to address the issue. “Then we shall have a tea party together,” she said in an unflustered voice.

“May I dress up?”

“Of course you can,” Charlotte said, her tone softening. “That is the proper approach to a party. Would you like me to come and help you?”

Sarah shook her head, backing toward the door. “Not unless you put your clothes on first. I’ve never seen a naked person in my life. Mrs. Stearns said that I would turn to stone if I did.”

“Mrs. Stearns is quite right,” Gideon said, assuming a moral tone that might have been effective if he weren’t
cowering stark-ballocks under the covers. “Now go and find her.”

“She’s standing in the door,” Sarah said. “She’s been there the whole time.”

“Great God in all His mercy!” Gideon exclaimed. “Can a man not have privacy in his own bedchamber?”

The door was immediately pulled shut.

“Oh, Gideon,” Charlotte said with a sigh. “You did not handle that well at all.”

“I know, I know. But I couldn’t let the child see me in my natal suit. But you, on the other hand—”

She slipped out of his grasp, rewarding him with a flash of creamy skin and streaming blond hair before she escaped behind the screen. “Don’t look at me, Gideon.”

“Why the blazes not?”

“I heard the warning that you gave our daughter. You will turn to stone if you gaze upon my nakedness.”

He stared at her reflection in the cheval glass standing beside the dressing screen. “I know what she means, madam. I am turning to stone as I look upon you now.”

Twenty minutes later Charlotte and Gideon were in the drawing room with Sarah. At first she appeared to be uncomfortable in her father’s company. And he looked as if he felt the same way about her. Then the next thing Charlotte knew Sarah flung herself into his arms and he caught her, lifting her up by the waist as she playfully pummeled his head.

“Sarah, stop that. I have missed you.”

She hit him again, giggling as he scowled and tried to dodge her attack. He glanced at Charlotte. “I told you she had a wicked side.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Then I shall have to improve her behavior…as well as yours.”

G
ideon dropped off Charlotte and Sarah at the crowded emporium the next afternoon. He asked two of his youngest footmen to accompany them and carry whatever furbelows and fripperies the ladies chanced to purchase. He chose to wait in the coffee shop across the street.