The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke (19 page)

“Yes,” she sighed, bowing her spine, driving her hips against his. He held her still a moment, just to get himself back under control, and then he didn’t, holding her by the waist as he stroked into her. When she dropped her head and her shoulders dipped, he paused only long enough to roll her onto her back. He wanted to see her face when she reached completion—he could see it coming, from the way her breath shifted and her arms tensed—

And then her eyes squeezed shut and she threw back her head, her lips parting in a sensual, soundless cry of release. Charlie barely had time to catch his breath before the convulsion of her body pitched him right over the edge into his own release.

For a while he thought it had killed him. There was a buzzing in his ears and his lungs seemed to have stopped. When he finally dragged in a full breath, it was Tessa he inhaled—the passion-damp scent of her skin, the faint hint of rosemary in her hair, the fresh bite of rainwater. Her head was turned away from him, but he could see her profile when he forced his eyes open, sated and content and even blissful. Warmth bubbled up inside him, bringing a smile to his lips. He relaxed, brushing a light kiss on the pulse at the side of her throat.

Even God couldn’t help him now. He was absolutely lost.

Chapter 16

B
y the time Barnes brought the tray with coffee, Charlie had dragged the blankets back over them. Tessa wasn’t sure she would ever move again, but she jumped like a startled deer when the valet knocked lightly at the door. Charlie only grinned as she grabbed for the covers and sank still lower beneath them when the valet came in bearing a tray covered with dishes and a pot whose fragrance made her poke out her nose like a hound on the scent of a fox.

“What sort of coffee is that?” she asked after Barnes had set the tray down and bowed out of the room.

“The best sort,” Charlie replied, getting out of bed and going to the tray. “Not merely palatable, but delectable. Do you like it sweet?”

“A little.”

He gave her a raffish grin. “Excellent. Prepare to be overwhelmed by ecstasies of delight.”

Tessa laughed as she sank back into the pillows. She already had been overwhelmed by ecstasies of delight, and they had nothing to do with coffee of any kind. She watched Charlie, still naked, pour and prepare two cups of coffee. He was beautiful, long-limbed, strong and lean, his skin golden in the morning light. His dark hair fell in rumpled waves around his neck, sliding forward to hide his face as he poured milk into the cups. Helplessly her eyes feasted on his arm, how the muscles moved as he stirred, how his fingers gave a little tap to the spoon before setting it down. He twisted, reaching for something else on the tray, and her gaze slid down the strong lines of his back. She admired his legs, strong and muscled from years of riding, and thought of how those legs felt tangled with her own. How his feet, so much bigger than her own and yet elegant as well, gently batted hers under the covers. He stooped to collect the coffee, and she almost leered at his backside, as firm and perfect as the rest of him. It made her blush to think how she was lying here ogling him, until he cast a simmering look over his shoulder.

“Are you enjoying this, madam?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s not every morning a gentleman makes me coffee.”

He turned fully around, as aware of his beauty as she was. “Your passion for coffee must exceed my own, judging from the look on your face.”

She blushed hotter. “It isn’t every morning a handsome, naked gentleman prepares my coffee. I find I like it exceedingly.”

He laughed. “And you haven’t even tasted the coffee!”

For the way he looked at her, and the way he settled back in bed so comfortably beside her, drawing her close to his side with one arm, Tessa thought he could serve her water drawn straight from the Thames and she would enjoy it. He handed her a steaming cup, and she smiled, raising it to her lips for a sip.

“Well?” prodded Charlie a moment later, watching her from beneath lazy eyelids with a knowing smile.

“It is divine,” she sighed, sipping more. “More than divine. I’ve never tasted the like!”

“Good,” he murmured, raising his own cup.

“How did you learn to make this?” She inhaled over the cup before taking another long, rapturous sip. “I could drink the whole pot!”

“Now I have spotted your weakness,” he said. “Ah, yes, Barnes did rather well today. Almost as well as Gilbert, my London chef.”

“Your chef makes better coffee?” she exclaimed. “Good heavens, how?”

“I have no idea, but I pay him a fortune to continue making it.” Charlie leaned his head back against the wall and sighed, feeling exceptionally pleased with the world today. Tessa, curled warm and soft, against his side, moaned with sensual pleasure every few minutes as she sipped his mixture of coffee, treacle, and whipped milk. Barnes was a clever man, to bring everything ready in separate pots so he could have the glory of mixing it himself for her. Charlie rather liked that look of incredulous admiration on her face, as if he’d hung the moon and stars for her.

She finished her coffee and looked into the empty cup with a sad sigh. “You really are the most wicked fellow.”

“Ah, but you seem to enjoy this bit of wickedness.”

“I do,” she admitted readily.

“You also seemed quite pleased last night.”

“Vanity,” she accused him with a smile and a faint blush. “You know I was.”

“I like making you happy.”

Her smile turned dreamy. “You do.”

His heart constricted. He looked at her lying easy and relaxed in his bed, her hair wild around her bare shoulders and her eyes soft and glowing—at him. She looked at him not with coquetry and calculation, not as an earl, heir to a wealthy dukedom, but with warm, open affection. And the realization that she cared for him, not for his title, struck him like a blow to the chest. He wanted to make her happy forever. He wanted to see her look at him this way for the rest of his life. She saw him as he was, and admired him all the same. When he was with Tessa, he wanted to be a better man, even as he wanted to make her laugh and make her sigh in pleasure and hold her next to him every minute of the day.

“I must return to Frome,” she said, although without the stiff, uneasy tone she’d used the last time she said it. This time it sounded more like regret. “Eugenie will be wild with worry.”

Charlie took a deep breath. Barnes had sent off his letter to Mrs. Bates, who—he hoped—would understand its real meaning. And whatever damage was done by Tessa’s overnight stay at Mill Cottage would hardly be undone by her return to town now. “I was hoping you’d stay. I would like your help.”

Her eyes opened, bright and curious. “With what?”

He smiled grimly. “Exposing Hiram Scott.”

“I
s this all?” She surveyed the stack of cursed marriage registers with a distinct lack of apprehension. By the time the coffee was gone and they ate breakfast, Barnes had produced her frock, looking quite as good as new. Charlie offered to help her dress, but his true motives must have been plain; she batted his hand away, laughing that he would spend the entire day in bed when there was work to be done. It was shocking, the effect her attitude had on him. Once he explained what he had to do, Tessa was ready to get down to it, and strangely enough, Charlie even found himself filled with renewed determination.

He flipped one journal open. He had explained everything to her, about the clues his father left and the progress Gerard had made, the role they suspected Scott had played in their disgrace, and how he needed proof to establish his right to the dukedom. He would have told her everything anyway, but it had struck him that of all the people he knew, Tessa was the most likely to be able to help. She had a logical mind and the diligent patience he lacked. Even the full revelation about Scott only made her mouth tighten and her eyes flash, though the man had done her almost as great a harm. And as he should have expected, she was ready to tackle the problem at once, which was what brought them out into the sunshine and the little table where he’d first offered her lemonade, ready to face the wedding registers—but this time together. And it didn’t seem so ominous anymore. “They are sixty years old or more, faded from age and half ruined with damp. What I’m looking for may not be in them at all. So you see it’s really not as simple as finding an entry for new stockings in the household accounts.”

“But there are only eight, and you’ve already scoured three. Does Mr. Scott know about these?” She took the chair he pulled out for her.

“I’ve no idea.” Charlie looked at the registers again and remembered his brother’s tale of discovering them buried in a stable in a remote country village. “I believe he does not.”

“Excellent.” She gave a rather vindictive smile as she picked up one register and opened it. “Then he will have no suspicion we’re about to trap him.”

“If he has any indication of it, he’s hidden it remarkably well.”

“Snakes never have telling expressions.”

He chuckled in spite of himself. “You’ve taken his actions remarkably in stride.”

She calmly turned the pages and settled back to read. “Why do you think I’m helping you ruin him?”

Charlie stared at her a moment, then burst out laughing again. “God help me if I ever cross you!”

“As if you haven’t already done so, many times!” she exclaimed in apparent affront, but he could see the smile lurking at the corners of her mouth.

“Ah yes. I arrived in Bath. A grievous sin, indeed.” He grinned at her stern glare. “And then I was kind to Mrs. Bates.”

“You beguiled her with sherry.”

“An
excellent
sherry,” he noted. “I only beguile with the best temptations.”

“Scoundrel,” she said under her breath, but the word trembled with laughter.

“It was all merely a ploy to make your acquaintance,” he added.

She glanced up at him, a thin frown on her brows, as if she couldn’t decide whether he was teasing or not. “You didn’t know who I was.”

“I knew Hiram Scott had left you a letter, and that you were anxiously awaiting it,” Charlie replied. “That was enough for me.”

“You could have simply asked about him.” With a roll of her eyes she went back to scrutinizing the page in front of her.

Charlie leaned forward. He loved the way she bit her lower lip when concentrating. He loved the little furrow between her brows. “Where’s the challenge in that?”

Tessa raised her brows at him. She waved one hand at the dingy marriage registers on the table. “Haven’t you got enough challenges at the moment?”

Charlie’s grin faded. “Yes.” He had forgotten that he was running out of time, with no more proof of his legitimacy than when he left London. He couldn’t decipher Scott’s actions. He hadn’t located Dorothy, nor found any clue of where to search for her. He’d barely made his way through three of the eight marriage registers. At any day, word could arrive from Edward that he must return to London to face the Committee for Privileges as they decided whether he was the rightful duke. His only choice now was to confront Scott and hope he could break the man’s thus-far-unshakable composure. If he couldn’t, he would have nothing to prove beyond all doubt that he was his father’s legitimate heir. Without proof, he could still be stripped of his title and expectations, and now, more than ever before, he found that thought intolerable.

For a long while they worked in silence, supplied with tea and scones by Barnes. Charlie finally reached the end of his register, tossing it onto the far side of the table with a muttered curse. “I beg your pardon,” he said when Tessa’s head came up sharply. “Very ill-mannered of me.”

“Not ducal at all.” Her clear green eyes danced.

He smiled faintly. “Unworthy of the title, am I? Unfortunately, darling, I’ve no other choice. I can’t think of anything else I could be.”

“Not a lawyer,” she said. “Or a bookkeeper.” Charlie shuddered, exaggerated for effect but fully in accord with his sentiments regarding those two occupations. “Hmm.” She tilted her head, looking amused now. “What could a gentleman be?”

“I fear to think what you will recommend.” He picked up another register and made a show of opening it. “I feel miraculously energized for the search, now that you have clarified my alternatives.”

“You could do whatever you wished to,” she said.

He laughed a little bitterly. “I have it on good authority that being a gentleman of leisure, but without title or fortune, is a rather hard life.”

“Well, you might not be able to continue at leisure,” she conceded. “But there is nothing wrong with making something of yourself. Even titled gentlemen have done it. The Duke of Bridgewater began the mania for canals by conceiving the idea and carrying it through. That is a skill as much as being able to design and build one.”

“He had his title and fortune to fall back upon, should his canal have failed,” observed Charlie. “To say nothing of some coal mines. And I thought we were done speaking of canals. God knows I’ve heard enough of them.”

“It was merely the first instance that came to my mind. I believe too often gentlemen are encouraged to think they need do nothing more than indulge in idleness and revelry. As if being born to wealth entitles one to do nothing with it!” She shook her head, that little frown line back between her brows. “It’s such a waste.”

“How revolutionary you are.”

“Oh! Not really. I just think it’s a shame for men of education and breeding, sent on Grand Tours to burnish their minds and possessed of enough wealth that they needn’t go hungry or cold, to spend their time gambling and drinking and chasing other men’s wives. These are the men who should be engaged in scientific pursuits, who can afford to ponder great difficulties and questions and who are best suited to discover new ideas.” Tessa lifted one shoulder as Charlie looked at her in astonishment. “They ought to leave something to the world other than the numeral after their name.”

“There is a great responsibility with that numeral,” he replied, wincing at her words. What would anyone remember about him, beyond his rank as the eighteenth Duke of Durham? Assuming he did in fact become the Duke of Durham.

“Enormous,” she agreed, reading again. “My brother is a viscount, you know.”

“Some would say it is all-encompassing. A duke must sit in Parliament, influence the government, manage his estates . . . When should one embark on these enduring contributions to the world?”

She looked up. “Stand for something in Parliament other than higher tariffs on corn. Women have been too long excluded from most arenas; the only way a woman may own property of her own is to be a widow or a spinster of advanced age, and then it still depends on the permission and tolerance of men.”

“Yes,” he said, struck by her words. Of course she was right. Hadn’t he bristled on her behalf at the way Sir Gregory Attwood treated her? Hadn’t he seen how Mr. Scott slighted her in favor of him, even though Tessa knew far more about the canal than he did? It really was not fair that an intelligent, capable woman was dismissed and overlooked merely because of her sex. “I could support that,” he added softly, almost to himself.

“You could?” She looked up, her eyes wide.

“Did you speak in jest?”

“No, but . . .” A slow smile dawned over her face, delighted and confident at once. “Of course you could. You’re a very decent man.”