Love Letters From a Duke (31 page)

But he stilled for a moment, for he had no idea if she knew what this meant.

“It might hurt,” he told her.

“Yes, I know,” she said, but looking unafraid. “But then it will be all joy.”

She sounded just like…Jamilla. Perhaps her old nanny wasn’t such a bad influence after all.

Her legs wound around him, drawing her cleft right up to the tip of him. “Please, Thatcher. I need you. I want you.”

And so he did, entering her slowly, moving back and forth, like gentle waves on the beach, ebbing and flowing as she opened up to him, stretching to meet him. He kept moving deeper and deeper until he came to the evidence of her innocence, but she gave him no time to reconsider or reconnoiter the barrier before him. She caught hold of his hips and held him as her hips thrust upward.

And he suddenly he found himself completely sheathed inside her, surrounded by her, buried inside her, and he knew he’d found heaven.

Felicity wondered at first how she would ever find her way back to that hot, ragged place, but the moment he began to stroke her, the length of him moving in and out of her, pressing against the nub of her sex, she found herself spiraling once again out of control.

His mouth came crashing down on hers and they kissed, their tongues wild to taste each other, their hands exploring every inch they could claim. They were a tangle of passion, the two of them, bound together as he continued to make love to her.

And when the first wave hit her, her eyes sprang open. For it was like finding a secret inheritance or a title or some other grand prize. No, better, she realized as her body quaked and rocked. She cried out his name as every desire in her body seemed to rush to her very core, then explode outward, like a Chinese rocket, sending sparks and showers and bright colors down around her. She trembled again, and realized it was because Thatcher too was finding his release, for his body slammed into hers, pushing her further along, and they rocked together through this stormy, tempestuous moment.

And then it was over and a quiet, sated feeling fell over
both of them, and Felicity could only stare up at the stars in wonder.

“What have you done to me?” she whispered sometime later.

“Ruined you,” he teased.

“You have,” she agreed. “Quite thoroughly, I’d say. That is, in my limited experience in these matters.”

He rolled her beneath him. “I could do it again, if you so order me, my dearest queen.”

Felicity sighed.
Again, a hundred times,
she would have so ordered, but Thatcher was already continuing, "First," he said, reaching for his coat, “there is something I need to ask you—”

“Ask me?” she gasped, wiggling out from beneath him. Oh, dear! He was about to propose. Again. When would this man take the time to stop doing things so impetuously? First, she’d let him ruin her—which most decidedly had not been in her plan—and secondly, she’d never envisioned herself in her altogether when she received a marriage proposal!

“We are to be married,” he told her. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Why, she barely had time to revise her
Bachelor Chronicles
and obtain a decent gown, let alone get decent dresses for Pippin and Tally. “Oh, I cannot do it tomorrow.”

Really, there were some things that must be done in proper order.

And when she glanced up to explain it to him, she realized he was taking her hesitation all wrong. For he’d risen to his feet and was jerking on his pants, muttering under his breath. “I have taken rooms at the Ransomed Cat. ’Tis the posting house for the Kent road. I’ll be there until noon tomorrow—”

“Noon? But I can’t, I have—” From the tilt of his brows, she could see he was taking her objections all wrong. Of
course she was going to marry him, if only he would just do things properly.

“Noon, madam,” he repeated, once again all imperious and overbearing. “Meet me there. For after that I will never ask you to marry me again.”

Felicity wasn’t quite used to being in love, and a very practical part of her made a determined leap to the forefront of her rattled sensibilities.

More to the point, she lost her temper.

“I don’t recall you asking me tonight,” she sputtered back.

“I just did,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, you did not,” she shot back, tossing aside her ruined chemise and pulling her gown over her head. “You ordered me about and you certainly didn’t ask.”

“I don’t think I need to ‘ask,’” he claimed, catching up his shirt. “The answer was implied when we came up here.”

As if she’d had a choice in that…Well, she had, but…

Thatcher wasn’t done. “Tell me, Miss Langley, are you going to marry me or not?”

Felicity’s tart reply was cut short as the sharp report of a pistol rang out, followed by screams and the panic of a house in complete uproar. More shots followed, and true to his former profession, Thatcher finished dressing faster that Felicity thought possible.

“Demmit—it must be that Dashwood fellow,” he said as another round of shots rang out.

“You mean Dashwell?” Felicity corrected, the image of a pirate dancing with Pippin flitting through her thoughts.

“Aye, Captain Dashwell. An American privateer. Jack thought he might dare to show his face—”

“Oh, no!” Felicity cried as the dire truth dawned upon her. How could she have been so blind when she saw Pippin earlier dancing with a…
pirate
. Of course. Why hadn’t she
realized it then? She caught up her shoes and hopped toward the door, putting on one, then the other, clinging to Thatcher as she went. “He’s with Pippin.”

“Your cousin?” he said, faltering to a stop.

“Yes,” Felicity said, heading toward the stairs without any hesitation that she was headed straight into what sounded like a dangerous commotion downstairs. “We must save her.”

Felicity flew down the stairs ahead of Thatcher, ignoring the fact that her gown was barely on and her hair fell loose, or that her wig, wings, and the remaining pieces of her costume were either lost or ruined.

When she stumbled through the same door from which they’d escaped the crowds, she found herself in the middle of the now nearly empty ballroom. Thatcher arrived moments later and skidded to a stop behind her.

The members of the
ton
who hadn’t been able to escape cowered against the walls. Felicity glanced to her right and was shocked to find three men—Jack, Temple, and a fellow she didn’t know—with pistols leveled at her. Their gazes never wavered from their target, which lay beyond her.

“Let her go, Dashwell,” Temple ordered. “Release her so she isn’t harmed.”

A chill ran down Felicity’s spine as she turned to see her cousin pinned against the devil’s own chest.

Dashwell
. And worse yet, the pirate held a pistol to Pippin’s head.

“Release her?” Dashwell laughed. “Not until I’ve had a chance to kiss her.”

“Pippin,” Felicity gasped. “Oh, dear God, no!” She tried to move forward, but Thatcher caught her by the back of her gown and held her fast.

Pale, but unwavering, her cousin managed a wan smile.

Looking around, Felicity spied Tally tucked in next to Lady Rhoda. The Hodges sisters were being protected by Robin Hood, a harlequin, and a rumpled-looking Hamlet.

Well, at least one thing was going right tonight, she thought, turning her attention back to her cousin. “Let her go,” Felicity ordered, having tugged her gown free from Thatcher and starting a determined march toward the pair. “I will not allow you to—” But before she could get any farther, Thatcher caught her around her middle and dragged her back until they were both behind Temple.

“Come now, Dashwell,” Jack coaxed. “Can’t you see you’ve caused enough scandal and excitement tonight? There is no escape. Let the girl go and no harm will come of this.”

“No harm you say?” Dashwell shook his head. “None but to my neck, I’d wager. No, my sweet Circe comes with me.”

“Lady Philippa isn’t one of your doxies,” Temple told him. “My God, man, hasn’t your arrogance killed enough good people?”

“My arrogance? Coming from you that’s a fine one! As for killing good people, what have you to say about your fine
navy? They strung my father up after they pressed him into service—hung him for trying to get home to his family after they’d stolen him off his own ship. And can you tell me what has become of my little brother? He was on that ship as well and there’s been nigh a word of him since.” The pistol in his hand wavered but then steadied as it came to rest up under Pippin’s chin. “Perhaps that’s a blessing right now.”

Temple and Jack shared a glance.
What next
? it seemed to say.

Well, Felicity knew exactly what needed to be done. “Shoot him!” she cried out. “Shoot that devil! I demand it!”

“Felicity,” Thatcher told her, “leave this be. He’s surrounded.”

“But they don’t have Pippin,” she sputtered. “Shoot him, Jack. Why don’t you just shoot that devil?”

“He could hit your cousin,” Thatcher told her, still holding her fast.

“They might, but I won’t,” she said, wrenching herself from his grasp and in a flash snatching up the extra pistol in Larken’s belt.

Thatcher watched what happened next with an air of disbelief. He’d thought in ten years of war he’d seen everything. But he’d never seen a lady shoot like Felicity Langley.

She fired like the finest trained rifleman, cocking as she brought the weapon up, taking her mark with a glance and pulling the trigger before anyone could stop her. The retort blasted through the room, and for a moment it appeared that she’d missed.

Temple, Jack, and Larken all turned, slowly and in unison, gaping at her.

But Thatcher’s eyes never left Dashwell’s. He’d seen where the shot had gone and knew it had hit its mark. Dashwell’s eyes opened wide and the arm holding the pistol dropped away, revealing the growing stain of blood in his shoulder. He glanced down at his wound and then whispered some
thing to Pippin before he raised his weapon and aimed it at Felicity.

Thatcher moved without a thought, shoving Felicity to the floor and following on top of her, his body shielding hers.

And when the shot rang out, he readied himself to be hit, but the only thing that he felt was plaster falling down on him. For Pippin, realizing the danger her cousin was in, had twisted out of Dashwell’s grasp and shoved his arm up, so the shot went wild, lodging into the plaster ceiling, blowing a large hole into the French design.

For the longest moment silence reigned over the room as all eyes fixed on Captain Dashwell, the scourge of the Atlantic, England’s greatest enemy at sea. He teetered with Pippin in his arms as his eyes grew glassy and finally rolled closed. Then he pitched backward, falling through the French doors behind him.

Felicity tried her best to struggle out from beneath Thatcher, but he refused to let her up until he knew it was safe. He watched as Jack and Temple rushed forward, while Larken gingerly retrieved his pistol from Felicity’s grasp.

“He’s still alive,” Temple called out. “Looks like the ball went right through his shoulder.”

“Demmit,” Felicity cursed when Thatcher finally let her up.

“Pardon?” Thatcher asked her as they crossed the room to where the privateer lay.

“I missed.”

“Missed? You shot better than the King’s own riflemen.”

“Through his shoulder, indeed! I was aiming for right between his eyes.” She turned to Larken. “Your sights are off.”

The young lord opened his mouth to argue, but when Thatcher shook his head in warning, Larken thought twice and made an apologetic bow to Felicity.

Tally had rushed to Pippin and pulled her cousin away, even as Temple ordered a footman to fetch the surgeon.

The Duchess of Setchfield came forward. The former Lady Diana Fordham, having once been abducted herself, knew exactly what needed to be done. Winding her arm around Pippin, she drew the girl away. “I think it best that you three come with me. Away from any further gossip and speculation.” But this latter part she directed at Felicity, her gaze sweeping over the girl’s
dishabille
.

“But Dash is hurt—”

“Shh, dear,” Diana told Pippin, turning her attention back to the matters at hand. “Temple is a man of honor and he’ll see that the captain is cared for.”

Lady Rhoda came forward to add her assistance, catching the Langley sisters in her matronly net and towing them along as well. Her sharp gaze didn’t miss Felicity’s transformation either. “Well, this is a pretty mess. I daresay it is going to take more than a wagonload of coal to save you three now. I have to wonder if even Hollindrake’s title and money will be enough to salvage your reputations.”

“Hollindrake?” Felicity whispered, the truth of the lady’s words sinking into her chest. Into her very heart.

“Of course,” Lady Rhoda said, looking over her shoulder at Thatcher and then back at Felicity. “You’ll have to marry him now. ’Tis the only way!” She started to shoo her and Tally after Lady Diana and Pippin, but Thatcher stepped into her path.

“Felicity, there is something we need to discuss,” he told her. “Tomorrow, we will, we must be—”

“I—I—I—” she stammered. “Please forgive me. I can’t. Not now. I have no choice but to marry
him
.”

She sounded utterly miserable at the prospect, and Thatcher would have been delighted if she wasn’t talking about marrying
him
.

Oh, Temple was right. He’d made a mess of things by not telling her the truth.

Lady Rhoda came marching back. “Miss Langley,
now
,” she ordered. “Before there is more scandal out of this evening than even the
ton
can swallow.”

“Thatcher, I—” she said, before she was led away.

“Tomorrow, Felicity,” he whispered after her, looking around the ballroom at the stunned faces staring back at him. Oh, the scandal would be torrential, but she’d have his title and the protection of his name.

That is, if she didn’t put a hole in him as effectively as she’d taken down Dashwell.

Felicity dressed the next day for the Duke of Hollindrake’s investiture with great care. His note had arrived first thing in the morning, apologizing for not finding her at the Setchfield ball and insisting she and her sister and cousin attend the ceremony at the House of Lords. His carriage was coming around at one for them and the ceremony would start precisely at two.

This invitation was tantamount to a betrothal announcement. Either the duke hadn’t heard about the scandal of last night or…he didn’t care, so true was his affection for her.

The Duchess of Hollindrake. The lofty title would be hers, and she, Pippin, and Tally would be shielded from any and all damage to their reputations last night.

If only she could say the same for herself. Overnight she’d changed. Thatcher had given her a great gift—he’d helped her discover her romantic side.

While she might not be as foolish as Tally or Pippin, now she understood what they seemed to just know and to believe. But believing also came at a price, one she wished she didn’t have to pay. But there was no going back now.

The door behind her opened and she glanced over her shoulder.

Her cousin stood there, elegantly dressed, but her face
held the strain of the night’s horror and she hadn’t said a single word since Dash had been carried away.

“Pippin,” she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have shot him, but I was afraid for you.” She crossed the space between them and then hesitated. “You love him, don’t you?”

She nodded, then burst into tears. The two girls clung to each other, crying, each in her own state of misery.

Tally came rushing in, took one look at the scene and gazed up at the heavens. “It’s a very poor day indeed when I’m the one with the level head around here.”

Felicity and Pippin both stopped crying, wiping at their faces, both of them finding a small smile at Tally’s jest.

“Now, that’s better,” she told them. “I’m glad to see that you two have come to your senses. Really, Duchess! Shooting Pippin’s pirate. Poorly done, indeed. But he’s alive, and that’s the good news.”

“He is?” Pippin’s hands covered her mouth.

“Aye. Jack just came by to tell you. He wanted to see both of you, but I sent him packing. He’s really quite overbearing since he’s turned respectable.”

“Thank you,” Felicity said. The last thing she needed was a lecture from Jack on her conduct last night. Botheration, there was nothing worse than a reformed rake! Well, perhaps a rake in footman’s livery…

Tally reached over to the dressing table and caught up the hand mirror, holding it up to the both of them. “Look at you two! Red eyes, and those noses! I dare say not even Jamilla has enough paint and powder to put you to rights.”

“Oh, dear, I do look a fright,” Felicity admitted.

“Yes, and the carriage is here,” Tally told her. “Are you sure you want to go?”

“Yes,” she said. Now that she and Pippin were embroiled in scandal, the only way for any of them to regain a place in
the
ton
was for her to marry the duke. There was no other way as far as she could see. But, oh…it made her heart break even further…if such a thing were possible.

Tally leaned over and studied her twin’s reflection in the mirror. “I do say, Duchess, you look odd this morning. Different. I can’t put my finger on it, but you look different.”

“She’s in love,” Pippin said from behind them.

Tally spun to her cousin first and then back to her sister. “Are you?”

Felicity nodded, then before she could help herself, began to cry again. “Oh, what is to become of me! I’ve turned into a watering pot!” She took the already damp handkerchief that Pippin offered and blotted away her newly sprung tears. “I used to be so sensible, so proper, and now…well, I’m ruined!”

Both Tally and Pippin stepped back. “Truly?”

Felicity looked up. “You needn’t sound so pleased! This is a disaster. I love Thatcher, but I’m promised to Hollindrake.”

“Well, you aren’t really betrothed,” Tally pointed out.

“Close enough,” Felicity wailed. “And now I must marry him, for we are all ruined.”

Her sister waved off her lament. “Oh, Duchess, you are overwrought. ’Tis only a little bit of scandal, and we are Langleys after all. I do believe a little bit of scandal is expected.”

“No, Tally.
We are ruined
. All because I fell in love with our footman.” There it was. She’d said it out loud.

And much to her shock, the world didn’t come to a stunning end.

She loved Thatcher.
Oh, demmit, yes she did.

“You love him?” Pippin whispered.

Chills ran down Felicity’s spine. She looked down at her hands, where once she dreamed of seeing a huge ring, and
now would give anything to have a plain gold band, as long as it meant she could spend the rest of her life with him.

“Are you truly in love with him, Duchess?” Tally asked.

There was no other answer to give, she realized. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Pippin grinned. “Oh, Felicity that is wonderful!”

“You think so?” she asked.

Tally and Pippin both nodded.

“What did Nanny Rana always say?” Tally tapped her lips. “Oh, I remember. ‘We are all on our own paths.’ You cannot bear the burden of my mistakes or Pippin’s. You have only your own heart to follow. So, please, Felicity, follow your heart. You will never regret it.

“It couldn’t be more perfect,” her sister went on. “You must tell him so. But I suppose now you will have to wait until after the ceremony.”

Then, as if to punctuate the problem, the bracket clock on the mantel chimed once for the hour.

But it wasn’t the clock she heard so much as Thatcher’s vow from the night before.
Noon
,
madam…Meet me there. For after that I will never ask you to marry me again.

Noon? Oh, heavens, it was already an hour past. Her only hope was that he wouldn’t be entirely true to his word. Surely he was always late—he’d forgive her for being less than punctual. He must.