Duke Takes All (The Duke's Secret, #3), page 12
So, he braced himself. “Of course, I shall.”
Her dazzling smile nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. Good God, it was as if he were but a mere boy again, bowled over by his first glance of a remarkable woman.
How the devil did she do that? For there was nothing supposedly tantalizing about Diana. . . and yet, she was. She was utterly tantalizing.
And somehow, he had to keep his good sense, despite a desire deep within to give way to it all. But he couldn’t give way. Not if he was going to keep her safe.
Chapter 19
“Ye look like the cat that got the cream, my lady,” said Nellie who then clucked as she adjusted Diana’s hair. “Listen to me, Yer Grace. I didna think I was so old as to be so set in my ways that I’d still be calling ye my lady.”
Diana turned and clasped Nellie’s hand, taking the wrinkled appendage in her own, savoring its warmth. “Nellie, ye may call me anything ye wish. And I think on some occasions, ye have.”
Nellie lifted a shocked hand to her chin. “Away with ye, lass. Ye were quite a cheeky young thing.”
“Indeed,” Diana intoned. “Ye had the patience of a saint.”
“I still do,” said Nellie, who added the last touch of a diamond moon to Diana’s curled and coiled coiffure.
Diana pulled on her long, white, silk gloves, buttoning the clasps. Her middle fluttering so, she struggled to do the delicate buttons by the candlelight.
Tonight, her husband was taking her to the theater. She felt as if she were in one of the tales Nellie had told her as a child. At long last, she was to be freed from the evil spell put on her by one of the dark Fae and she would be able to laugh and find love in the court of light.
She stood, slowly, allowing the lush, ridiculously delicate folds of her gown to fall about her legs, and gazed at herself in the mirror. “Nellie, ye dinna think it’s too daring do ye?”
“Och, lass,” Nellie said, her voice thick with pride. “It is the fashion of the time and I’ll no’ have my mistress dress as a dowdy for her first night out in this town. We must show them. Highland ladies are the best ladies in the world.”
Diana did something then that a duchess wasn’t supposed to do, for propriety did not allow it, but she didn’t care. Diana folded Nellie in her arms, which were all but bare save for her gloves and beautifully-arranged whispers of golden fabric.
“Thank ye, Nellie,” she replied softly. “I shall show them.”
“Of course ye shall. Ye’re yer mother’s daughter, are ye no’?”
And with that, Diana nodded then headed for the door. She whisked out into the hall lit only by a few flickering wall sconces.
With each step she took, she gained in confidence. The gown had been picked with some care. After all, with her particular hue of hair, one could go terribly wrong with a poor color choice. She looked absolutely dreadful in any shade of pink.
But gold?
The golden silk gown she wore was perfection. It was the gown of a woman, not a debutante, and it was by far the most adventurous thing she’d ever worn. After all, young ladies were quite restricted in their choices of evening gowns.
But now, married, she could wear whatever color, whatever cut she pleased and with as many jewels as she liked.
Her hair fairly danced with diamonds, but she’d chosen a simple golden chain with a teardrop diamond that rested between the swells of her breasts.
Other than that, her breasts and chest were a creamy expanse, adorned by only the smallest amount of silk fabric.
Her gown bore a braided gold rope about her waist which then traced down towards her knees from just under her breasts.
When she reached the top of the landing, she heard male voices. Max and O’Malley.
Drawing in a slow breath, she lifted her head, placed a hand lightly on the carved balustrade then descended. Tonight, all that had been dark would fall away. Tonight, she was going to celebrate life.
***
Max nodded at O’Malley, relieved to hear that there had been no sight of Hamish Argyle or any who might be in his service. It seemed that the man had listened and decided to leave his sister in peace.
The news was a decided relief.
O’Malley, who was incredibly thorough, had reported that his work had been entirely uneventful. He only needed to look out for footpads in the East End but he’d also reported that the duchess wasn’t a fool who went wandering off down dark alleyways to do good. No, she investigated who needed help first and then did her best to get said person out of their situation.
Max was intensely glad she wasn’t one of those foolish young women who believed their status protected them or gave them the right to go crusading in the most dangerous parts of London. For many resented the sight of wealth in their rough ranks.
Resented it so thoroughly, they’d rough up whoever came their way if given the chance.
He couldn’t blame them. So many of the societies created to assist the poor were run by puritanical hypocrites. He loathed hypocrites. For they believed in the rod and cruelty when the poor had been punished enough simply by being born.
Diana was as far from a hypocrite as one could get.
O’Malley suddenly cleared his throat and gave a pointed stare behind Max’s shoulder.
Max turned slowly, feeling a burning anticipation course through him.
The sight that met him awakened his soul. For Diana had shed the cocoon of a young woman who had been raised away from society. Of a young woman who had been harried and greatly distressed by a brother who would have done her great harm.
Now, Diana descended the stairs like a goddess.
His goddess and he knew little of it had to do with him.
Oh, he was her means to safety, but it was she whose intellect shone, whose spirit was indomitable. He had only helped her to a place where she could allow herself to be truly seen.
And every pair of eyes in Drury Lane would be seeing nothing but her this night. Every man would follow her with their gazes, follow her with desire and envy of Max that she was his.
His.
Her fiery red hair was a cloud of soft coils atop her head with but a single long curl caressing her neck, tracing down to the top of her left breast. Diamonds studded the waves, but they were nothing against the burnished perfection of her locks.
Her pale skin glowed alabaster in the candlelight and her eyes. . . those intense blue eyes sought his out and stared into his very soul.
Did she know that she did that? That she had such power over him should she but choose to use it?
Could she see deep within him, past the surface he allowed the world to see, to the deep well inside his soul?
Yes. Yes, he felt she could.
It terrified him.
In this moment, he had never felt so seen in his life, and it was tempting to take a step back.
But he did not. He waited for his beautiful duchess to take the last steps. Her golden gown, glimmering in the light, caressed her body like a lover.
Every man would wish to be the silk of her gown tonight.
But it was he who had the right to touch her. If she so wished.
Max felt transported in her presence. And the more he allowed the feeling, the more it grew.
There was something else too. In her look, there was a woman he had known once before. The sensation grew inside him until it fairly unnerved him. But he shook it away.
He lifted his hand, holding it out to her as he strode across the foyer.
“Your Grace,” he greeted, his voice lower and rougher than he’d intended.
She gazed at him, slowly, before she winked. “Good evening, Yer Grace. Will ye please take me to Illyria?”
He stared for a moment then laughed. “Only if we can avoid a shipwreck.”
“Since we will take a coach, I do think we can risk it. Yer thoughts?”
It amused him greatly that she had not asked that he take her to Drury Lane, but rather to the fictional land of Illyria that Shakespeare had created for his comedy Twelfth Night. It was a boon that the company of actors there had deigned to put it on for the Christmas Season.
“My thoughts?” He peered down at her with exaggerated thought. “That I have a merry wife, with a merrier imagination, and that our children will be the most intelligent and unique in all the land.”
At the mention of their children, her cheeks blossomed red. “I am glad ye find me merry for there is little relief in choosing woe.”
He lifted her gloved hand to his lips. “Well said, Wife.”
With that, he swept her through the foyer, pausing to allow Abbot to place a cloak of deepest amber velvet, lined with fur, about her shoulders.
They stepped out into the already dark, crisp night, O’Malley following a few paces behind.
Easily, he assisted her into the coach, and yet, he found he was reticent to release her hand.
The gentle warmth of her fingers, even through the fabric of her glove, sent a wave of desire through him. It was so simple, so innocent. . . and yet, so very raw.
He wanted his wife.
There was no question about it. No, the only question now, as he climbed into the lamp-lit coach, was, even with his scars, and the true twisted nature of his body, could she truly desire him in return?
Chapter 20
He looked at her as if she were a French confection he wished to devour entirely.
It thrilled her to her toes, that look.
In all her life, Diana had never been looked at like that. His gaze all but glowed with it in the low light of the coach lamp.
She burrowed down a bit deeper under the blankets.
Her toes pushed forward as she did and the tips of her slippers pressed against his polished boots.
It should have been nothing. A touch that was easily unnoticed.
But it wasn’t. Not by either of them.
She bit the inside of her cheek, shocked that something so simple could be. . . so powerful. ’Twas as if she had struck tinder.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“Aye,” she replied, though she had long learned to endure cold. Highland nights were brutally frigid in an ancient castle where the room was icy but a few feet away from the fire. Something deep within her whispered to her to confess her chill, even if she could withstand it.
It seemed like it was the reply he had hoped for. He crossed to her side of the coach. “Allow me to warm you,” he said.
The sounds of his voice rolled over her like rich honey tinged with brandy. It sent a delicious shiver through her.
How she wished he would kiss her again. How she longed for him to make her his.
He slipped beneath her blanket and tucked it about them and then he slipped his arm about her, pulling her into the protective curve of his body.
My God, he was strong. The nearness of him evoked a sensation so powerful inside her, she felt as if her world were spinning.
She gazed up at him, longing for him to kiss her. Longing for him to wish it, too.
But then she thought of what Yvette had told her. If she waited. . . she might wait for a very long time, indeed.
And so, she reached up with her gloved fingertips and caressed his jaw.
“Kiss me, mon,” she whispered, a command and not a question.
He tensed for one moment at her instruction but then he turned towards her.
His hand slid up her throat, and then took her cheek in his palm. Slowly, he let his fingers ease through her elaborate coils before resting at her nape.
He bent her head back then allowed his lips to linger over hers.
Her heart thundered. Every moment was delicious agony. Would this kiss be as perfect as the last?
“Kiss me,” she whispered again. This time, her words were barely louder than her breath.
He took her mouth then in a fierce kiss. The power of it nearly undid her. It felt as if Max had been holding back a tide of emotion and desire and, now, at her bidding, he could no longer keep it under rein.
His lips traced over hers, teasing, demanding. He nipped ever so slightly at her lower lip, holding it lightly between his teeth before he devoured her mouth with kiss after kiss.
She gasped against him and, as her lips parted, he slid his velvet, hot tongue into her mouth.
A groan tore past her lips at the sheer sensuousness of it.
Unable to bear it, she ran her hands up his arms. Then she wrapped them about his neck, driven by the idea that if she could hold him close enough now, he would never let her go.
His hands roved down her cloak, flicking back the fabric to reveal her breasts. He pressed open-mouthed kisses along her neck, then he paused.
His gaze searched over her plumped breasts and he murmured, “Beautiful.”
For a moment, she thought he would kiss them.
But then he traced his fingers over them.
“I want you,” he growled.
“I want ye, too,” she replied, determined to embrace her feelings. Determined to never hold anything back from this man. For if she could do that, she knew she could find her happiness.
Just as it was on the tip of her tongue to demand that he take her home now and make love to her, the coach rolled to a halt and the footman jumped down.
The coach swayed as another man, likely O’Malley, descended.
She and Max stared at each other, their breaths coming in rapid takes.
“What will we do?” she managed.
“Do?” he asked, his lips curling in a slow smile.
She nodded, feeling positively naked. Surely, everyone would know. Everyone would take one look at her and know she had been hoping her own husband would take her home and ravish her thoroughly.
“I’m going to show off the most beautiful woman in all of England, Scotland, and Wales. My wife.”
The door swung open and a burst of damp, cold air whooshed into the coach.
He started to head for the opening, but she pulled on his hand. “We willna go back now,” she said softly. “I want ye. And ye want me, too. No more hiding from that.”
“Whatever you desire, Diana. Whatever you desire.”
And she hoped with every hope she could muster, that he meant exactly what he said. Certainly, for her, she had chosen her course. Come rack or ruin, she had chosen Max.
Chapter 21
Max forced himself to cool his ardor for his wife.
His wife.
He hadn’t been a callow youth in a very long time. And yet, she made him feel as if the world was green again.
Somehow, in a very short period of time, he’d lost all sense which was a damned odd thing because he was the man who almost always knew exactly what was transpiring. But that’s what Diana had done. She’d held out her hand to him and led him down a path he’d thought long forbidden to him.
She was entirely unexpected in every way. And he, to his horror, found he adored it.
As he led her up the stairs into one of the most important theaters in London, immediately, as he’d known they would, the stares began.
The ton adored gossip. It was the food they thrived upon. They likely wouldn’t survive without it and there was always a general din whenever in their company. But with the sudden appearance of the new Duchess of Raventon, the buzz of the matrons’ gossip was as loud as a full orchestra.
The ladies waved their fans rapidly, their eyes darting as they no doubt expressed their dismay over Diana’s beauty and poise. It would have been so lovely to decry their claims that the marriage must have, indeed, been one of necessity.
But only one look at Diana would bespeak her desirability. Any man would be lucky to have her. And have her, he did.
For all the to-do, Diana seemed hardly to notice.
Of course, he realized, it was only because she was enjoying the experience of attending the theater so thoroughly.
After depositing their cloaks, he led her up the grand stairs leading to his private box.
He pulled back the velvet curtain and gestured for her to take one of the delicate, golden chairs which overlooked the stage and crowd below.
She did so eagerly, her gaze flitting first to the chandelier which dominated the space over the ground audience and then to the stage where the red curtain was currently closed.
Just as in the entry, the sound of lords, ladies, and the very best of the city buzzed at their arrival. Several sets of quizzing glasses made an appearance as the ton did their best to look their fill upon the new duchess.
He studied his young wife again. “Diana?”
“Mmm?" she asked absently as shook in their surroundings.
“What did your aunt look like?"
“My aunt?" she queried. “Dark hair, blue eyes. Beautiful but interesting. I think she carried so many hidden stories inside her. I can only imagine what she had seen in Paris. Ye ken, we called her The Dove. Can you imagine?”
He stilled. “I beg your pardon?”
“Isn't it odd?”
“Do you know what La Purcelle means in French?” Max asked softly, his heart all but slamming against his ribs.
She shook her head.
“The Dove.” The possibility thundered through him and he felt a moment of such glorious relief. Could Angeline have escaped? If anyone could, it would have been her. Had she lived her life out in the Highlands at peace? If so, he knew why she'd never contacted him. She would not have wished to be found or to endanger her family.
Diana blinked. “Och! You think my aunt could have been-"
"We will never know," he said quietly. “But I hope. . . I hope it is true. I'd like think of Angeline in the Highlands."
“Despite whatever past haunted her, she was happy," Diana replied kindly.
He sucked in a sharp breath and they both turned to face the orchestra as if they both knew nothing more should be said. They would let The Dove rest.
Max glanced at the boxes. Several of the other dukes of Number 79 were in attendance.
He spotted the Dukes of Harley and Blackstone in their own boxes. Royland sat with a stunning woman who very well might be his new mistress. For the duke had an appetite for life that would leave even the most athletic haggard. Ardore certainly wouldn’t be in attendance. He’d gone down to his estate to see to his sister.
