The Third Duke's the Charm (11 page)

“Good morning then, sir.” He walked to the doorway and then turned, “I hope you will be kinder to Louisa than you were to me.”

Silence was the only response as his wife’s father began to finally light his pipe.

C
hapter Eleven

“What would you like for a wedding gift?”

Vivian reached up to grasp the strap when the spirited horses leading the curricle weaved around a hay cart. Her fiancé didn’t drive recklessly, but he certainly enjoyed the speed provided by the sleek vehicle and the fine animals pulling it along what had turned into a more rural venue. She didn’t recognize the area, but it seemed to her that they were nearly out of London proper.

“Shall I repeat the question?”

“I beg your pardon?” She glanced up, distracted by the unfamiliar scenery.

“A wedding gift? Forgive me, but it doesn’t seem to me you would like the usual most females seem to enjoy, such as rubies or diamonds even . . . you wear little to no jewelry. Perhaps I am wrong and you just don’t have any, and if so—”

“I have all of my grandmother’s,” she interrupted, wondering where he was taking her. “And no, I don’t particularly care to wear heavy earrings or bracelets. I dislike the feel of it, and simplicity appeals to me more.”

“Your beauty needs no adornment,” he agreed with his usual facile charm, his dark hair ruffled by the wind, his smile a slow, fascinating curve of his lips. He was resplendently handsome as usual in just his shirtsleeves, as he had removed his coat before they even departed. “But you have yet to answer my question. What does a man gift to a woman who has no interest in precious gems or fripperies of any sort? I might have asked Charles were he available, but for all I know, he is still in Scotland, so just asking you outright might not be subtle, but at least it is expedient. With the wedding in such a short time, I should think at least a hint would be in order.”

“I don’t need a gift, my lord.”

“Ah, you miss the point of it all, Miss Lacrosse. The joy is for the one who bestows it. Would you deprive me of that?”

The devilishly entertained look in his eyes didn’t escape her, and she laughed. “Quite an interesting view, I admit.”

“Well?”

They were definitely heading out of London, the houses thinning to countryside. Distracted, she changed the subject. “Where are we going?”

“A small surprise.”

His expression was angelic, almost suspiciously so. Lucien was not ingenuous by nature . . . he was far too complex for that, so she eyed him with some degree of caution. “Of what sort?”

“My sweet, if I told you that, it would not be a surprise.”

The endearment could be sincere, but more likely she reminded herself, his usual reaction to a question from a woman. Vivian merely considered her answer for a long moment. “You seem to be focused on surprises today.”

“That is all too correct.”

It was said so smoothly she might have missed his response except that he slowed the horses to a trot. “How so?”

“I thought we might have a small picnic. It’s an extremely lovely afternoon.”

It was actually a bit overcast, the sky the color of polished steel, but he was right to the extent it was warm enough, with a soft breeze. “It’s going to rain later,” she predicted.

“I happen to like rain.”

“Essential,” she agreed.

“I suppose you mean for plant life.” His voice was amused.

She had, of course, but pointed out, “For people as well.”

“Nice of you to think of us now and again.”

“On the whole, I do prefer plants,” she said primly.

“Present company excluded, dare I hope.”

Quite naturally, as she had been able to think about little else, that devastating kiss from the night before came to mind. It would be nice if she could think of a witty, lighthearted reply, but that had never been her forte, so she simply said, “Yes.”

“I am gratified to hear it.”

Glancing over, she saw he was looking at her intently. “Are you perchance laughing at me, my lord?”

“Never. I’m more admiring the way the light gives your hair a hint of red, rather like a fine claret. I am sure you have been told this before, but the contrast with your fair complexion and green eyes is quite striking.”

She’d been the recipient of a number of compliments on her eyes and even her hair now and then, but for whatever reason—well, it was the open sensuality in his gaze—coming from Lucien it made her pulse quicken. Before she could respond, he said, “Ah, almost there. I, for one, am looking forward to a nice glass of cool wine and a short escape from the bustle of London.”

As she loathed the city in the first place, that sounded lovely to her as well but she was curious as to how he managed to get her parents to agree to such a prolonged time alone together. Even with the engagement, not having a chaperone in a less than public venue was certainly questionable. When they’d passed into the countryside and he’d just turned the curricle onto what appeared to be a small country lane that ambled through a meadow, she was certain her father would not approve of the isolated locality. “Out of curiosity, where do my parents think we are?”

He shrugged. “I merely suggested I take you on a picnic.”

“I feel confident they thought you meant Hyde Park.”

“
I
feel confident this will be much more relaxing.”

Of course he was right, but that was hardly the point. However, he didn’t seem to be worried over it, and even if they were gone much longer than was prudent, she supposed her upcoming marriage was something her family wished for enough they wouldn’t take issue. “I take it you have a particular destination in mind?”

“I own some land along the river. I bought it years ago, when I was just out of university and had come into my majority.” He shrugged. “I like to fish.”

The notorious Lord Stockton liked to fish. There was an interesting tidbit she did not know. Or perhaps she did by proxy, for Charles certainly enjoyed the sport. “So does your brother. He taught me, right down to baiting the hook.”

“Did he now? What else did he teach you?”

Was there the slightest edge to his voice? she wondered. Uncertain, she watched him competently guide the horses along the narrow road, the ribbons sliding through his long fingers. It was impossible he could be
jealous
.

Of her and Charles? Besides, this was Lucien.
Ridiculous
.

“To ride, or essentially so. My father has no patience whatsoever unless it is with growing things and any skill with horses did not come all that naturally to me.” Her smile was rueful. “I realize all Englishwomen are supposed to take to it easily, but I didn’t. Charles taught me how to not be afraid of my pony when I was eight or so.”

“Good of him.”

It had been. If anything could be said of Charles, he was good-natured and generous, and though she was almost two years younger, he’d endured her company with remarkable tolerance quite often throughout their entire childhood.

What she might have said was cut short as Lucien turned the horses expertly and brought them to a halt by a small meandering river near a copse of trees. “Here we are.”

***

He had to give his housekeeper credit. The basket held a nice assortment of cheeses, freshly baked bread, some fruit, and two bottles of his favorite wine. Lucien deftly uncorked the second bottle, and poured it into a cut-glass goblet that he was fairly sure he’d inherited from his grandmother, who, if the story was correct, had been given the collection by the queen. Though he was sure Mrs. Donaldson would have fainted dead away to know she had included something so valuable, much less handled them, it was a nice touch.

Vivian sat across from him on the blanket he’d spread on the grass, her legs properly to the side, sipping from her glass and eyeing him cautiously.

So she should
. His intentions were distinctly dishonorable and he didn’t care at all. What he wanted—what he needed—was to bind her to him forever. He didn’t wish to own her—that had never appealed to him, but her sense of independence was both beguiling and frustrating from a male perspective. Vivian didn’t feel the need to marry. He understood that to a certain extent, because besides his duty as the future duke to provide a lineage for the title, he wouldn’t be anxious either. Except he very much wanted her—in his life, not just his bed.

“I feel as if I should promise you something.”
Where the hell did that come from
?

“More than your name and your protection?” She smiled, her mouth curving in what he could swear was a wistful smile. “What else, pray tell is there, my lord?”

What did he mean?

Love. He meant
love
but he had a sense that if he said it impulsively out loud, he would seem altogether too sentimental, and Charles was the one who was supposed to be impulsive and romantic.

In an obviously new gown no doubt selected by the duchess because it was fashionable and flattering to her slender figure, Vivian was enchanting in green lute string, her rich, dark hair only casually upswept, but then again, she didn’t favor elaborate coiffures, and he already knew that she wasn’t concerned with appearances.

It suited her. Natural, enticing . . . beauty without artifice.

An untouched beauty.

Though not for long.

It was ironic to realize she was already suspicious of his intentions from the wary way she looked at him as he lounged there, propped on one elbow. No doubt she should be. They were hardly pure.

So he didn’t answer. “Are you still hungry?” He indicated the platter of cheese and bread.

“No. But it was delicious.”

What
was
delicious was the way her lashes fluttered down when he looked at her directly, and the color in her cheeks. Were he more inclined toward biological studies he would find it interesting that in some way she already knew just from his presence and demeanor that he was bent on seduction.

The innocent female sensing a predatory male: It certainly wasn’t a new story, but it was new to both of them. Unique, that. He’d had his share of sexual encounters; however, he’d never seduced a virgin.

Yet he wanted to very much.

Would she be afraid? He didn’t think so after her response to his kiss. Tentative perhaps, but then again, a new experience was always a bit intimidating and to a woman giving herself to her first lover—her
only
lover, he corrected silently, uncharacteristically territorial—was supposed to be the most memorable experience of her life.

“More wine?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “I’ve no doubt had more than enough already, my lord.”

“Very well.” Sitting up, he reached out and took her empty glass, setting it aside, all the while holding her gaze. He placed his glass next to hers and deliberately looked at her mouth. “I want to kiss you again.”

He wanted quite a bit more, but she would discover that soon enough.

Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips first, grazing the back with his mouth and then turning it over and kissing the inside of her wrist, his lips feathering over the sensitive skin.

She shivered.

“We are quite alone,” he reminded her, tugging her toward him, circling her waist with his arm, “and I find you enchantingly difficult to resist.”

“I think I am the one who is supposed to resist,” she murmured in her typically frank way, but her eyes drifted closed as he lowered his head and she came willingly into his arms. Lucien lifted her onto his lap, the softness of her bottom nestled between his thighs, and brushed his tongue into her mouth. She tasted sweet, like the wine, and one small hand came to rest on his shoulder.

The kiss was long, a journey of intimacy unfettered this time by the constraints of possible discovery and the curious crowd whispering over their departure from the ballroom. When he finally released her mouth, he explored the graceful line of her jaw, nibbled on her earlobe, and then kissed her throat while sliding the pins from her hair. “These will make you uncomfortable,” he said by way of explanation as the mass tumbled free, warm and fragrant, her scent like an exotic flower, her hair like rich silk as he ran his hands through it.

Inexperienced she might be, but unintelligent she was not. When he lowered her to the blanket, her eyes widened in undisguised maidenly alarm. “Lucien.”

He kissed her again as he settled over her, but softly this time, in reassurance. “You may stop me whenever you wish.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I prefer demonstration to explanation. I want you. Surely you’ve noticed.” The rigid length of his erection was not precisely comfortable where it strained the material of his fitted breeches and he was sure she could feel it even through their layers of clothing. “If you wondered about a kiss, surely as an intelligent and inquisitive woman, you have wondered about the rest of it. Let me teach you about pleasure.”

“I . . . I . . . we . . . shouldn’t.”

“Why not? When you are my wife in a matter of days, trust me we will.
Often
.” His smile was a slow and sinful curve of his lips, just inches from hers. “Now then”—his fingers toyed with the top button on her bodice, expertly slipping it free—“shall we proceed with our first lesson?”

“Has any woman ever refused you?”

That halted him for a moment, the frank question not quite the response he anticipated. It was also a query a man should answer carefully, especially when it came from his intended bride. After a moment, he said honestly, “Not that I can remember. But then again, I’m selective and this isn’t a game to me.”

“You are far too handsome, my lord.” Her smile was tremulous. “And this isn’t a game to me either.”

He licked her lush lower lip. “There is more to me than how I look, Vivian. Just as there is much more to you that draws me than your beauty.”

“Is there?” She touched his cheek, her beautiful eyes soft, her face framed in the glossy spill of her outspread hair. “Oddly enough, though I am not quite sure why, I believe you truly
wish
to marry me.”

This would be the perfect time, he thought, to tell her that it was even more than that. To tell her she’d been haunting his thoughts for the past six years, to admit that her relationship with his brother made him jealous as hell, to explain he found her not just attractive physically, but on other levels also . . .