The Third Duke's the Charm (4 page)

“I know.” Her silvery eyes were luminous. “That is part of why I love you. When, well . . . you know I would have succumbed. It isn’t a secret I cannot resist you.”

Yes, she’d have no doubt given him his heart’s desire even without an offer of marriage despite that it would have gone against not just her view of morality, but also the beliefs of her family. He hadn’t wanted it to be that way, which he’d told Vivian, pacing in the garden one evening, his turmoil unbearable enough he had to confide in
someone
, and of course, his best friend had seemed the right and only choice. Vivian had not only understood, but she’d suggested he marry Louisa if she had touched him so deeply. Until that moment, he’d thought his obsession just sexual, but he’d been wrong. It was deeper—much deeper.

“We don’t seem to be able to resist each other. Isn’t that what love is?” Charles pressed his wife’s lips with his fingers, stilling whatever she was about to say. “You deserve no less than everything I have to give.”

“So do you.” She slipped her arms around his neck and tentatively fitted her body closer, though he was sure his erection gave her pause. “But I am af
raid, Lord Charles, you are going to have to guide us on this journey for I have never sailed these seas before.”

He kissed her then, slowly, savoring the opportunity with no interruptions in sight, her mouth warm and soft against his, his tongue dipping in and tasting, flirting, retreating as he let her get used to their mutual state of undress.

Sexual adventure
was
a voyage and in response he lowered his head and kissed her throat, pressing his mouth to where her pulse fluttered in the delicate hollow just above her collarbone. “We will catch the wind together.”

He meant every word. More than anything else, he wanted to make sure Louisa never felt sorry for her decision to run away with him. Starting right at this moment.

Charles began a systematic seduction of her delectable body, touching her breasts, learning the supple curves, the weight and firmness of each one in his palms, the texture of skin and form. At first Louisa tensed, then she allowed him the liberty, and then, to his gratification, she actually exhaled in a soft arousing sound as he lightly licked a luscious pink nipple, her lashes drifting downward. The crackle of the fire in the background, the light tap of the rain, all faded as he embarked on a tender exploration of paradise.

He’d find it for both of them. No, he wasn’t innocent and if anything good had come of those casual couplings that always left him vaguely dissatisfied and restless, he hoped some expertise was the reward.

“You taste incredible,” he murmured, slipping his arms around her as his mouth roamed freely over sensuous, smooth skin. “Like in my dreams, my love.”

“I dreamt of you, too.” She touched his hair. It was just a brush at first, but then her fingers truly slid into the strands as he teasingly licked her nipple again in a playful brush of his tongue. “Charles! Should you?”

“Should I touch you like this?” he countered with a small grin, the arch of her spine bringing her more firmly against him. “What do you think? Doesn’t it feel good?”

Then he closed his mouth over the crest of her breast and gently suckled, hearing a satisfying gasp.

She didn’t answer, which he took as a good sign, as she held his head more firmly and her breast pressed into his already hungry mouth.

Definitely a yes. Why was it he’d sensed from that first meeting when their eyes had met in that life-changing instant that she was passionate under her demure exterior? Forbidden also, he knew that was part of the attraction. The vicar’s daughter and the duke’s rakish son . . . it sounded like a ribald story, but though her extraordinary beauty had drawn him, not as much as her serene demeanor, at odds with the hint of adventurous curiosity in her remarkable eyes. What man didn’t want to seduce the prim and proper maiden, especially if he sensed she’d enjoy it? He certainly did now, though before her, it had never occurred to him. Prim and proper hadn’t ever appealed, but then again, he hadn’t met Louisa.

Perhaps Vivian’s sense of the romantic had finally gotten ahold of him, too.

“I want to touch you, to taste you, everywhere,” he said in soft murmur, relishing the way her slender hands caught his shoulders as he trailed his lips across the plane of her stomach.

He did so; the sensitive inside of her knee, his hands lightly exploring the womanly curve of her hips, her slim waist, learning every silken inch, letting her grow accustomed to the intimacy, rewarded when she gradually relaxed and gave a telling sigh.

Moving back up to kiss her again, this time he let her feel the hot pressure of his rigid sex against her thigh. “I want you, but you need to be ready.”

“Ready? I am here naked with you, Charles, how could I be more ready?”

Explanation was not nearly as enjoyable as a demonstration, so he slid his hand downward, following the curve of her breast, and lower, across her ribcage and stomach to the juncture of her thighs. He murmured, “Trust me and open, my sweet.”

She tensed at the brush of his fingers between her legs, the flush in her face deepening. Frantic fingers shackled his wrist in a panicked clutch. “What are you doing?”

“Trust me,” he said again with persuasive inflection. “I want to give you pleasure, Louisa. Let me touch you.”

Reluctantly, she spread her legs a fraction and he kissed her in reassurance as he parted the soft folds of her labia and tested her opening. She was exquisitely tight as he slipped a finger inside her—but he’d expected she would be—and gratifyingly, while not wet enough for penetration, at least slick and yielding. With his thumb he put pressure on just the right spot he knew would bring her pleasure and immediately her inner muscles tightened.

Perfect.

He knew how to do it, how to make a lady sigh, gasp, and even moan in pleasure. Too many hours had been devoted to hedonistic pursuits that no longer mattered now that he’d met Louisa. But if she had married a rake, at least she deserved the entire experience.

“I can do even better,” he promised her, kissing her breasts, admiring their perfect shape, not large but gracefully formed, utterly feminine and alluring, tipped with soft pink nipples. He nuzzled the valley between them, and trailed his mouth downward across her belly.

Virginal brides were not his usual bedmates; however, he trusted that he could make this enjoyable for his innocent wife, although the throbbing in his lower body demanded speed.

“Relax,” he murmured, his mouth grazing her pubic hair, “and just feel.”

“Charles!” When she realized what he was about to do, she tried to twist away in obvious shock, but he held her hips firmly in his hands, and his tongue found the sweetness between the soft folds of her sex.

The resulting soft gasp could be interpreted two ways: outrage over his wicked kiss, or the result of a ripple of pleasure as he licked just the right spot? The latter, he thought with pure male satisfaction a moment later as she trembled.

“Oh.” Louisa’s voice was uneven. “Oh . . .”

With an inner grin, he continued to taste and tease until her fingers frantically threaded through his hair and her spine arched. With a low cry that he guessed was of both surprise and pleasure, she climaxed for the first time and only then did he let her go.

“I knew you’d be responsive,” he whispered hotly in her ear when he shifted over her still-trembling body and parted her thighs with his knees.

Were all virgins so easily aroused? he wondered. Or maybe, he thought as he positioned his rigid cock at her entrance and began to enter her, he was just an exceptionally lucky man.

“I’ll be as gentle as possible,” he promised through gritted teeth, her tightness not unexpected. She was wet, hot, as ready as she could be but she still made a small sound of discomfort as her maidenhead gave way to his persistent pressure and he stopped, kissing her in reassurance, stroking her cheek. “That’s it,” he said softly. “It won’t hurt again, my love. You are truly mine now.”

He began to move slowly, letting her adjust to the glide of penetration and withdrawal, gratified when she caught the rhythm and lifted her hips a few moments later, welcoming him deep, her breathing uneven, long lashes throwing shadows on her cheekbones as her eyes drifted shut.

His control vanished and as if from a distance he heard the groan torn from his throat, his climax so vivid the world was all rainbow hues, the stars and moon exploding in brilliant colors. And Louisa was there with him, her slender body damp against his, her arms around his neck, his cheek resting in the fragrant silk of her outspread hair as he fought to regain his breath.

It was different making love to one’s wife, was his first coherent thought.

And he fully realized with a slight shock just how much the reckless suggestion that they run off together had changed his life.

C
hapter Four

Being dragged off to London was just the gloomy beginning, she knew it. Her mother insisted she needed if not an entire new wardrobe, then at least some new gowns and gloves, and of course, what Vivian despised the most, hats.

Acquiring new gowns had not really been a satisfactory experience. Vivian knew her mother meant well, but she’d always selected the least flattering colors—because they were fashionable, of course—without regard to Vivian’s complexion and hair color. Then there was the lace, big swoops of it usually at the neckline, which her mother claimed enhanced her petite bosom but actually concealed she had any kind of figure at all.

As a result, she tended to look frumpy, and Vivian was well aware of it. Her first season she’d argued in vain and then had given up.

This afternoon she selected her plainest day dress, at least two seasons out of style but unadorned and a flattering blue, and set off with her maid on an afternoon call, not even telling her parents she was leaving. After all, she thought philosophically, she was an engaged woman and allowed some freedom as such. Besides, she was just visiting a friend.

Lillian, she was happy to find, was at home. The newly married Mrs. Northfield greeted her with a warm hug. “Viv. I’m so glad to see you. Shall we chat in the garden? I think it is warm enough.”

A good friend was worth her weight in gold. Vivian always felt more at home around her precious plants and Lily knew it. “It is rarely too cold for me, you know that.”

Lily linked her arm through hers and led the way toward the back of the house. Dryly, she said, “Yes, if there is a stray rose to be clipped or some other bit of foliage that needs attention you are outside attending to it no matter the weather.”

“I am not the only one,” Vivian said somewhat defensively. “This is England, the land of the quintessential garden. I think it a perfectly sound hobby.”

“It is.” Lily laughed. She was a beauty with rich brown hair and blue eyes, and last fall had married the Duke of Rolthven’s younger brother, though like Vivian, she had been considered on the shelf. “No need to explain yourself to me. I think it is marvelous you don’t just wish to discuss embroidery or the latest style in hats. I shudder over that type of inanity.”

Hats again. What a dull subject.

“Charles has eloped.” Vivian hadn’t meant to quite blurt it out that way, but she needed to talk to someone and Lily was a level-headed female and one of her best friends. “Er . . . I suppose this part of it is obvious, but with someone else.”

Stopping in the middle of the path, her friend stared at her. “What? How could he do such a thing to you? You just became engaged.”

With a shrug, Vivian said, “He was honest with me, and very much in love with the young lady whom I assume by now is his wife; and I certainly didn’t want him marrying me when he was so infatuated with someone else, so I encouraged it, actually. The engagement was never our idea in the first place.”

There was a small stone bench in the sunshine and Lily took a seat in a swirl of fashionable muslin skirts as if her knees had gone weak. “So you aren’t devastated, I take it.”

“Not by that.” Vivian sat down next to her and stared at a bank of early-blooming flowers, admiring the periwinkle color but only absently, which was quite telling. “There’s an unforeseen complication I did not anticipate.”

“Such as?”

Vivian looked up with a rueful smile. “You won’t believe it.”

“You
are
acting rather strange and talking in circles.” Lily’s fine brows drew together. “I realize this means you won’t be getting married after all and your mother must be extremely disappointed, but—”

“My mother is delighted.”

Lily blinked.

Vivian contemplated the tips of her slippers. “I am now engaged to Lucien Caverleigh, the Marquess of Stockton, who will someday be, if the line in succession continues as it should, the third Duke of Sanford.”

When there was no response, she glanced up, saw her friend’s open mouth, and stifled a laugh. “Yes. Quite. Your expression reflects my own shock over this unexpected twist of fate.”

“Twist of fate?” Lily finally sputtered. “Stockton is. . . .he’s . . . well, I must say that . . . that . . .”

“He has a reputation for both his sophistication and dry wit, not to mention being considered quite the catch.” Vivian supplied helpfully.

“Well, yes, actually. Viv, you cannot be serious. No offense intended to you, but you are hardly what he’d look for in a wife.”

It was true. Lucien Caverleigh belonged with some elegant, poised creature who would grace his arm at fashionable events, wear gorgeous gowns, and in general be the envy of every woman in London.

“I rather thought that myself.” The breeze brushed her face, and it was a bit cool, but she relished it. The sky was a lovely blue, though from an agricultural point of view, some rain would actually be welcome. As it was spring in England, that was sure to come. “But he assured me that this is what he wants.”

“Do you even
know
him?”

“In a literal sense, I suppose I don’t remember ever
not
knowing him. Charles and I spent a great deal of time together as children and he was at the estate, of course, though hardly all the time. There is a considerable age difference, but he and Charles have always gotten along quite well.”

“You don’t seem precisely happy, but neither do you seem opposed.” Her friend studied her thoughtfully.

“I am not sure how I feel,” Vivian admitted. “If I must marry someone, then he is surely a good choice.”

Except she’d always—maybe naively—imagined falling in love.

It would be different if Lucien was asking her to be his wife for any reason except she was suitable enough, but life was not a romantic novel. She needed to have the same good sense he displayed and look at the arrangement in a practical way.

“The season is starting soon.” Vivian briefly closed her eyes. “I vow I can’t take a fifth one, especially now, as the abandoned fiancée. Luckily, since neither Charles nor I were all that enthusiastic about the marriage we’d asked for next fall for a wedding date, so the engagement hadn’t been publically announced yet, but enough people knew that it will still be a scandal.”

“However, if you are making even a more prestigious match, the gossips will no doubt focus on that rather than Charles’s defection.” Lily nodded slowly. “Trust me, Viv, your marriage to Stockton is going to be the talk of the town.”

“I admit I do hope he realizes that I am woefully unsuited to be his marchioness, but when I pointed it out, he didn’t even raise a brow.”

Because, she wondered with a dismal feeling, he might just plan on continuing his unfettered lifestyle as if she didn’t exist. Many of their class did, and she did have to wonder how she would bear the indignity of that, but then again, the indignity of being a spinster for another year was even worse.

It wasn’t as if she loved him. If he chose to have affairs or a mistress . . . or both for all she knew—was there a difference?—how outraged could she be if she didn’t love him?

Quite a bit, she decided sitting there in the garden. Her pride had taken a severe battering the past four years, and though he was right, part of the reason she was unmarried was her choice, enough of it was rejection for her awkward wardrobe and eclectic interests that it rankled.

“I think ‘woefully unsuited’ is an exaggeration.”

That loyal declaration made her reach over and give Lily’s hand a squeeze. “Not much of one, and we both know it. However, I am quite sure if what his lordship expects is a meek and grateful wife, that is not what he going to get.”

That won a smile. “Excellent. I’m sure Lord Stockton would not embrace a timid wife.”

“Yes, well, brave words,” Vivian had to confess, though the term
embrace
brought an interesting picture to mind that caused her cheeks to warm. “I doubt I am much of a match for Lucien Caverleigh, but then again, I am sure he isn’t quite used to someone like me either. I’m not one of the sophisticated beauties he is used to having on his arm, but I am not an ingénue either. I suppose we will have to come to some sort of treaty, as it were, to satisfy both sides.”

A choked laugh ensued and Lily’s eyes were alight. “Marriage is not a military campaign.”

“Until I know if he is the enemy or an ally, at this point, I think it is.”

***

His fiancée wasn’t at home, and that was more of a disappointment than he cared to admit, not to mention that Lucien found himself instead facing Vivian’s mother in the drawing room, the experience setting his teeth on edge.

Lady Lacrosse was all that her daughter was not: superficial, flighty, and socially ambitious.

It would not do to alienate the woman immediately, but he was hard-pressed the moment she said with her hands fluttering theatrically over her teacup, “We are quite grateful, my lord.”

“For what?” He couldn’t help but lift his brows. He didn’t need to question why she was beaming at him with that certain gleam in her eye. She was the epitome of the match-making mother who had finally netted her catch.

“The proposal.” There was a delicately timed pause. “Vivian isn’t flirtatious and charming like many younger girls, but she is—”

“Intelligent and beautiful.” He finished the sentence for her, glancing at the clock. “You do not have to sell me on her charms, my lady, for I offered in good faith and deserve no gratitude. Do you have any idea when your daughter might return?”

“Actually no.” Still slender, attractive in middle-age, unless she opened her mouth in his opinion, she smiled but it was a little stiff. “I assure you she took her maid though, as a proper chaperone.”

“I am hardly worried she will embarrass me by a lack of propriety. She is a very level-headed female in my opinion.”

“Of course she is,” she said earnestly, completely missing the irony in his tone. “However, since we have this opportunity, can we briefly discuss the wedding?”

“I am willing to do that, but shouldn’t Vivian be here?”

“I’m afraid her tastes match mine only infrequently and we do want this to be a fashionable event, don’t we?”

He fought the urge to rise from the brocade settee and exit the room at once. “I should think, as it is her wedding, she should be able to do as she pleases.”

“I was thinking September.” She acted as if he hadn’t even spoken. “That gives me enough time to plan the wedding and for the guests to make the arrangements so they are free. Such a busy time of year.”

He leveled a look at his future mother-in-law. “I was thinking three weeks from now.”

Well, she’d asked him
.

Her affronted expression provided some satisfaction, since she didn’t seem inclined to actually inquire of Vivian what she wanted. “I . . . we . . . couldn’t possibly plan a wedding on such short notice. Not one elegant enough to honor the heir to a dukedom.”

“I prefer a modest affair. If I may presume to speak for her, I think Vivian would concur.”

“Your father—”

“Is not the one getting married.”

“No, but such haste isn’t seemly nor is it practical.”

“It is actually very practical because do you really expect me to wait that long?”

“Until September? Are you really that anxious to be married, my lord? Most men . . . oh.” She broke off, finally getting the inference from his lifted brows.

The sexual implication was clear enough Lady Lacrosse was speechless. Luckily, at that moment a footman appeared to rescue him with the gladsome news that Vivian had returned home.

Good, Lucien needed to see her.

“Excuse me, my lady.” He rose and with a bow left the room, and intercepted Vivian in the hallway, who looked charmingly flustered and informal in some sort of gown that for once didn’t have festoons of lace all over it. He took her elbow and turned her around in the direction she had just come. By way of greeting he said, “I thought maybe we could go for a short ride in the park.”

For a moment, her startled gaze met his, and then she murmured, “I take it you’ve just been with my mother.”

Clever girl.
But he’d always known that. “Yes.”

“That glazed look is infamous and unmistakable.”

He couldn’t help it, he laughed in a small burst of sound. “I won’t comment, but may I ask more formally if you would care to go for a short jaunt to the park with me? My curricle is outside.”

“I saw it.” She hesitated. “Alone?”

“We are engaged, are we not?”

Those oh-so-green eyes were slightly tilted upward at the edges, a physical trait he found particularly fascinating. Her lashes, too, were long and lush and the same sable color as her glossy hair. “We are,” she conceded with a blush.

“Then I think it prudent we are seen driving together prior to the announcement of the engagement, which should be in the
Times
tomorrow.”

“I wasn’t aware ‘prudent’ was in your vocabulary, my lord.”

She wouldn’t be biddable or retiring for all her standoffish ways, and Lucien was glad of it. One of the reasons he had hesitated to marry was he didn’t want one of the
ton
’s shallow beauties, or anyone else for that matter, that tended to defer to him and therefore bore him half to death. “Not normally,” he agreed, nodding at the footman who opened the door for them. “But I do know what it means. In our case it applies to getting the tedious gossips talking about our appearance together now, so when Charles returns, his elopement with the daughter of an upright vicar is a different titillation altogether.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared about gossip either.” Vivian glanced at him as he handed her into the vehicle.

“Until now,” he said with complete honesty, “I never have.”

“What has changed?”

“Marriage is different.”

He didn’t add that
she
was different, that he’d been thinking about her for six years, that he’d been watching her stave off suitors each season, and yet never come forth to court her. It hadn’t all been a conscious decision, in his defense, for her relationship with Charles had always held him back. More than once he’d tried to turn a conversation toward how his brother felt about Vivian, and in retrospect, the dismissive response each time made sense. At the time, however, it had been so ambiguous he hadn’t felt comfortable with any kind of determined pursuit, and so he’d just retreated. Would he have actively courted the unfashionable Miss Lacrosse if he had known for certain how she and Charles felt about each other? He wasn’t sure, but it had crossed his mind, and that spoke volumes.