A Duke of Her Own (Desperate Duchesses #5)

A Duke of Her Own (Desperate Duchesses #5) Page 50

“What did she say?” Eleanor asked, feeling that she ought to make some contribution, or else she might give voice to a scream: Are you as cracked as Lisette?

“She snapped her fingers and said that she would teach them to care nothing for such foolishness. Of course, she herself doesn’t care. She lives here so happily, without being caught in the absurd farce that makes up our social life.”

Several things came to mind, but they all seemed too severe, so Eleanor said merely, “Lisette truly does not care for societal conventions.”

“It’s as if she’s designed to mother these particular children,” Villiers said.

“You are not bound to me in any fashion,” Eleanor pointed out. “I announced our betrothal merely to placate my mother, as I’m sure you realized. Or perhaps I meant to irritate her. I’m quite certain that one would do better not to initiate a marriage on such flimsy grounds.”

“Probably not,” he agreed.

His smile twisted something inside her, so she said, rather quickly, “Well, now that we’ve settled that, I really should retire. It’s growing chilly and I’m not properly dressed.”

But he didn’t move, and neither did she.

“Damn it,” he said finally, very quietly.

And when he crossed those two steps between them, she wound her arms around his neck as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Neither of them moved for a moment. She could feel the heat and hardness of his body.

Finally she leaned in and simply touched her tongue to his lips. “Hello,” she whispered.

“What’s my name?” he whispered back.

“Lucifer!”

The lines by his eyes crinkled and she knew he was smiling at her, but it didn’t matter because he bent his head and kissed her. It was slow, it was possessive, it was voluptuous. He was a master of the kiss…and the master of her.

With one slow movement, he brought his palm down over her hair and hooked a finger under the edge of her towel.

“Leopold!” she said, breaking away from his kiss.

“Ah, you remembered my name.” He looked so much younger, grinning at her in the moonlight. His teeth were very white; his hair was out of its ribbon and he looked free.

She suddenly realized that the way he loved to play with her, to provoke her to call him by other names so he would kiss her harder, was dangerous—not only to her reputation, but also to her heart.

Even now his finger was tracing a little flower on her back, inside the dip of her towel.

“I must go inside,” she said. “I really must.”

“Say my name one more time.”

“Villiers.” She met his eyes. “Let go of my towel, if you please.”

With a rueful smile in his eyes, he left one final touch on her back, a touch that burned like fire, and stepped back.

“I’ll inform my mother tomorrow morning,” she said.

She could tell that he’d forgotten the subject, and it gave her a queer spasm of female pride. “I’ll tell my mother that we shall not marry,” she clarified. “So that you can speak to Lisette. Unless…you already have?”

His eyes cooled. “I have many faults, but bigamy has never been one of them.”

“We’re not married,” she protested.

He bowed and turned away, but she wasn’t going to allow that.

“Leopold!” she snapped, reaching out for his arm. “We are not children, and I won’t tolerate your silent reproach merely because I queried you.”

He opened his mouth, shut it, said finally: “I would never speak to another woman about marriage while betrothed to you.”

“I didn’t know if you considered yourself betrothed. After all, I simply announced the fact.”

“Oh, I considered myself betrothed,” he said, the chill in his eyes easing. “In fact, I’m still betrothed.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Until you leave the balcony, and I leave the balcony.”

She laughed, but something in his face made the laughter fade.

“I’m a man, princess, nothing more, nothing less.” With one movement, so swift that she didn’t even see it, he plucked her towel away and dropped it to the ground. She was so startled that she didn’t even squeak. Didn’t try to cover herself or run for the door.

Their eyes caught and he didn’t lower his. “May I?” he asked.

They weren’t marrying, after all. He was going to marry Lisette, who had children following her like the Pied Piper. This was merely…

This was merely a dalliance in the moonlight.

She felt a surge of womanly power, a force as seductive as the shape of his body. “You may look,” she instructed. “But you may not touch.”

“You don’t belong to me. I have no right to touch.”

True enough. He’d chosen Lisette. And some small, mean part of her mind thought that—well, to be truthful, it wasn’t a small part of her mind. With her whole mind she thought he was even more blind than Lisette was crazy, which was to say: completely.

He deserved what he got. And just like Gideon, he deserved to lose what he was about to lose. So she stepped back and smiled, releasing his eyes from their voluntary bondage.

Of course, being Leopold, he surprised her. His eyes moved so slowly.

If he were naked, she wouldn’t even know where to look first…Perhaps his chest. She knew it was muscled, but…and his stomach. Lower. The way his thighs felt when pressed against hers, hard and potent.

Her imagination made her own body change, feel liquid and powerful. She opened her legs slightly, not even glancing at the discarded towel, and leaned back against the balustrade.

Leopold was inspecting her as slowly as if she were a sovereign he suspected of being copper rather than true gold. She arched her back a little. She liked the way her breasts curved, and her delicate pink nipples, and the way those nipples didn’t point downwards, like some women’s did.

His breath was ragged but he was taking too long in his inspection, so she bent over to pick up the towel, taking her time.

When she straightened, she met his eyes again. The look in them was smoky and seductive, and made her feel as if she might do something foolish. It was time to leave.

She blew him a kiss.

He groaned as if he was in pain.

Good.

She left.

Chapter Nineteen

Knole House, country residence of the Duke of Gilner

June 19, 1784

The next morning, Eleanor walked over to the other wing of the house, trailed by Oyster and a footman with a tea service. Anne was sitting up in bed, reading. “How are you feeling?” Eleanor asked.

“Tea!” Anne cried rapturously. “You are my favorite of all sisters.”

“You are the most easily bribed of mine,” Eleanor said, sitting down with her cup of tea.

“Marie, will you come back in two minutes?” Anne asked her maid. And then: “She told me about Ada. I’m so sorry, Eleanor.”

“There’s no reason to give me particular condolences.”

“Yes, there is,” her younger sister said, smiling ruefully. “I’ve known you for years, after all. I would guess that you stayed up half the night weeping into your pillow.”