The Duke of Morewether’s Secret (8 page)

She was intoxicating.

He wished the kiss would be enough, but he feared, with Thea, one kiss would never be enough.

Chapter Seven

Thea had been running out of ways to try to get Christian to kiss her. She had no business wanting him to kiss her, and it was damn inciting that he wouldn’t do it. She did have to admit, though, he was quite charming and had a talent of putting her at ease. She talked with him without constraint, which was a nice change from so many of the
ton
with their upper class airs and calculated boredom.

What was wrong with these people? Until she’d met Anna’s circle of friends, she despaired of finding any amusement in the capital. The Greeks knew how to have fun, for all their lack of worldly sophistication. So many Londoners reminded her of her father, both in looks and in mien. It was almost like he wasn’t even gone. Stuffy and better than everyone, all because of a title which meant less than nothing on her island, yet he had lorded it over everyone, and they’d let him because of his air of complete authority. Even her mother had been completely intimidated by him. She was certain his other lovers had been as well. It was only his children who defied him.

But Christian, even with all his fears of embarrassment, knew how to have fun. He was an interesting study, and the more she got to know him the more transparent his motives became. He had a well-cultivated reputation as a hellion, but he wasn’t one at all. A profligate lover, certainly by all accounts and gossip that was a true statement, but she’d never met anymore more concerned about what people thought of him and those he was connected to than the Duke of Morewether. His lovers and the, oh-so-scandalous, tales of his derring-do were exactly what was expected of him, a handsome, wealthy, titled man of society. Even as she thought back to the scores of tales she’d heard told, none of them were truly awful. They were all related with a chuckle and wink and were accompanied with coveted invitations to every social event in the land.

So what his reputation really amounted to was that of a lothario, but none of the gossips ever hinted at any spoiled young maidens. The duke busied himself with married women, merry widows and courtesans. Now in the pleasant cool of the garden surrounded by privacy inducing shrubbery, Thea wanted to learn what he knew. At least, she wanted to taste what had every other woman in London yowling after the man like cats in heat.

And that, it would seem, would be Thea’s undoing. It was intellectual curiosity that would cause her to look at him in the darkness with want in her eyes. Surely it must be her desire for truth and knowledge that had her lean against him in the fragrant darkness and tilt her head and kiss him back. Yes, a quest for knowledge of all things is what drove Thea to slide her hand behind his neck and cling there like the bodice of her dress was stitched to his suit coat.

The Duke of Morewether was simply one more cryptic English mystery to solve while she was in London.

It would seem by the expertise of his kiss he knew about a lot of things.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her closer still until her skirts crushed against him and she felt his knee come between her legs. Simultaneously, the soft caress of his tongue slid inside her mouth, filling her with velvety softness.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she inhaled deeply through her nose adding the scent of his cologne to the aroma of primroses that draped over her and brought all her senses alive.

“You taste like a sea breeze,” he murmured into her ear before taking the lobe in his mouth and giving a soft bite.

“Oh?” She wanted to believe his fanciful complement.

His lips brushed over the sensitive skin of her throat. “And warm sunshine,” he whispered. “I knew you’d taste this good.”

She felt a tug on her sleeve, and then he was kissing her bare shoulder. His lips feathered across her collarbone, and she tilted her head back and to the side to grant him easier access. He paused at the indent at the base of her throat, skimmed his tongue in the hollow before placing an open-mouthed kiss at the swell of each breast. A cool breeze chilled the warm dampness left by his mouth and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” Christian whispered in her ear.

“No,” she sighed. She was decidedly not cold. Heat steadily rose within her, and Thea was certain her cheeks must be inflamed with it. The warmth of his hands skated along her bare shoulder, heated breath fluttered over her nape where he lifted the hair which had come loose. Christian whispered words against her skin, words she couldn’t discern but that sounded sweet and compelling.

Mindlessly, Thea swayed against him. Oh, she understood what everyone was going on about now. She never wanted this heated feeling to stop. No, she desperately wanted to ride the waves of feeling, feelings that must be desire, to completion.

Christian’s head lifted from her skin, and she missed his lips keenly. “No, Christian, don’t stop.”

Suddenly, his mouth was gone. His lips were gone. She swayed from the absence of his steadying hands. Thea blinked, her eyes opened, bewildered. Christian stood several paces away, his face white and his visage a mask of panic.

Thea extended her hand. “Are you all right?” She advanced a timid pace with her arm outstretched toward him, certain he must be ill and require her assistance.

“I need to go,” he blurted and shied away from her hand. “Go straight back the way we came, around the hedge. You’ll see the terrace lights.” All the while Christian backed away from her. One step, then two before he caught his heel on the foot of the bench and tumbled backwards. He swore bitterly, a word Thea was unfamiliar with but was certain wasn’t normally meant for ladies ears. Again, Thea leapt forward in an attempt to aid him, but he sprang to his feet. “Hurry, you’ll be safe.”

“I don’t understand.” Truly she didn’t. The man almost acted afraid of her. And things had been progressing so swimmingly.

“Just go,” Christian almost yelled and pointed towards the house. He positioned himself with the bench between them.

“Fine. Fine I’ll go.” Thea adjusted her dress to cover her shoulder and turned on her heel to stalk back to the house.

What in Hades is wrong with these English and that man in particular?

Thea snorted. London’s greatest lover acted like he was terrified of her and that didn’t make her feel especially desirable. Not at all. She might not be exactly what the English men wanted in a wife, or apparently a lover, but she wasn’t hideous. His rejection hurt and that thought made her angrier with each step across the damp grass. Around the sculptured hedge and she saw the terrace just as he’d said. She heard his steps and hard breathing from behind her. Her breathing was as rapid, but now it was from ire and embarrassment. Before, as she’d melted into his touch, she’d obviously misinterpreted the shape in his trousers as arousal matching hers. What an ignorant fool she’d been.

She would have no more to do with him.

After all, she reminded herself for the millionth time, she wasn’t in England looking for a husband.

Christian had made it to White’s on foot.

No matter how many swigs of whiskey he swallowed, not even when they came directly from the bottle, could he forget the look of shame that replaced the lazy look of ardor on Thea’s face when he pushed her away.

Earlier, some damn fool had laid the blunt from his winning wager on the table before him, but his foul mood had quickly chased the idiots away, scampering back to the pack of moronic, wet-behind-the-ears youths playing cards across the room. Was it possible he’d ever been so young and full of himself? Had he ever been so indiscriminate? And loud? And asinine?

Christian had reached the point of drunkenness where a certain clarity crystallized before him. For the first hours spent in the squat leather chair in the dark corner of his gentleman’s club, he was able to deny the truth, but time and alcohol ferreted out the lies.

He took another long swig and ignored the servant who came to tend to his needs.

He liked her. Thea. The Greek. He took another long pull of amber truth. She was gorgeous, but that wasn’t why he liked her. She was also intelligent and witty, but that wasn’t why either. The chit fascinated him. Everything about her drew him to her. It would be much easier if it was only lust, but no. Her brain, that quirky sense of humor, and damn it all to hell, the aloofness she’d exhibited up until tonight.

The bottle was empty when he went to refill his glass. He eyed the wary waiter from before and a new bottle appeared within minutes. It was good to be a duke. Sometimes.

It didn’t seem to matter to Thea he was a duke. For probably the first time, a lady wasn’t seduced by his title. In fact, as far as he could tell, the fact that he was a peer lowered her opinion of him. How ironic really that she was the first woman he’d wanted to seduce in a very, very long time, and he’d have to work hard at it.

And yet, he was totally unnerved by her. She perturbed him in a way he couldn’t remember happening since he was in school. His well-worn reputation peeled away from him like bark from a tree, leaving him unsure of himself and discomposed. Afterwards, after he’d fled their latest encounter, he’d found himself completely obsessed with the conversation, every word, every look, every pause must have some significance.

“Good God.” Christian knocked back another hefty swallow of whiskey. “You’re turning into a woman.”

“It’s a good thing you have that pretty face then, isn’t it?” Lord Dalton, settled uninvited into the matching leather chair to his right. “What are you drinking?”

“Everything,” the servant answered before Christian did. “What may I bring you, My Lord?”

“A brandy, Hobson.” Dalton crossed his ankle over his knee and gave every appearance of settling in for a long tenure. He leveled his blue eyes at Christian in a steady, curious stare. “Whom are you drowning?”

Christian made a herculean effort to return the stare, but it seemed one eye kept wandering over to the left. He blinked hard and gave up the attempt. “Me. I’m drowning me.”

“Well, you smell like you’re making an outstanding run at it.” Dalton’s gaze trained on him, taking his measure and giving every impression the man was reading his mind.

The quiet stare continued until Christian couldn’t take it anymore. “What?”

Dalton shrugged. “Nothing. I didn’t come here to reenact the inquisition.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Why are drunks always so full of themselves? My being here has nothing to do with you. For your information, Olivia threw me out. She told me my fussing was driving her insane and insisted I go pester someone else for a while.”

“I’m not available for pestering right now, but thank you very much.” Christian didn’t know anything about pregnant women, well, nothing about them after the original encounter anyway, but he understood how the man’s wife could grow tired of Dalton’s old hen act.

“You’d think she’d like the attention, but no.” Dalton shrugged. “Francesca says I shouldn’t take it personally.”

Christian shrugged. “I make it a habit to take everything personally.”

Dalton chuckled. “Then take the following any way you will. You look like shit.” Christian sat still while Dalton did a more thorough job of assessing his person. The man’s gaze traveled over him, taking in his rumpled dress blacks and unraveled neck cloth, but lingered for an extra heartbeat on his face. Dalton waved his hand in front of him. “What’s going on with this?”

“With what?” Christian demanded, even though he knew full well what his friend was referring to. “A man can’t sit comfortably in his club and enjoy a drink by himself?”

His friend shrugged and took a thoughtful sip from his own glass. “Certainly. Many men in fact do. However this is not typical of you, my friend, so it makes me wonder.”

Christian’s only answer was another long pull at his glass. The amber liquid no longer burned as it went down, but left a warm, comforting trail of soothing punishment in its wake. His stomach roiled a bit, and it occurred to him briefly perhaps he should eat something or suffer in the morning.

“Are you angry at someone?” Dalton asked.

“No.”
Yes
. Oh, yes, and he’d make that person suffer for it, too. He was an idiot.

“All right, don’t bite my head off. I only asked because you’re usually a fun drunk and tonight you seem sort of, I don’t know, argumentative.”

“A fun drunk? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You mean like those idiots?” Christian pointed a wavering finger at the idiotic herd of young men across the room.

Dalton swiveled in his seat to see to whom Christian referred. He turned back with a look of mild disgust. “I said fun, not a horse’s ass. You know if I wanted to be yelled at for being complimentary, I could have stayed home.”

Christian should apologize for being so surly, but there was only one person he wanted to tell he was sorry and who knew if she’d ever speak to him again. Once again, thinking of Thea conjured her face, the feel of her lips, the taste … An immediate response found its way through his drunken haze followed by an all encompassing regret that flooded through him.

“Don’t go. I could use the company of a good friend.”

Dalton grinned without reproach. “Indeed. Besides, your problem I might be able to fix. Olivia on the other hand —” Dalton shook his head “— I have no idea what to do with my beautiful wife. She acts as if her current predicament is all my fault.”

Christian was not too drunk to see the irony of Dalton’s statement. He lifted his eyebrows in wordless comment.

“So what is
your
trouble?” Dalton settled back into his chair and watched Christian expectantly.

“It’s complicated,” he told him. Christian’s thinking was a bit fuzzy at this point, and he couldn’t really remember why he’d pushed Thea away. All he recalled was she was pliant in his arms and had yielded to his kiss with an easy passion he hadn’t expected. Whatever his problem had been, certainly it was foolish.

Dalton nodded. “It’s always complicated. What is it? One of your mares?”