The Duke (26 page)

“May I wash your pretty legs, Miss Hamilton?”

“If you ... take off your shirt for me,” she countered, bold and breathless.

He gave her a narrow smile. “All right.” Holding her stare, he pulled off his waistcoat and slid his untied cravat off his neck.

Bel bit her lip, watching the white lawn skim upward over his lean ridged belly, baring his broad, muscled chest as he lifted his shirt off over his head.

He cast the shirt behind him with a ripple of muscle all down his arm. She couldn’t resist touching him. She molded her hand over the warm bulk of his shoulder, savoring the maleness of him, steely muscle and satiny skin. She ran her fingers through the lightly furred center of his chest, trailing her fingertip down the center groove of his chiseled belly until she came to the waistband of his trousers. She hooked her finger in the front and lifted a mischievous gaze to his face.

He was staring at her, his dark eyes stormy.

With a smile, her heart pounding, Bel sat back in the tub. “Very nice, Hawkscliffe.”

He grinned at her, reaching under the water and curling his hand around her calf with a low, hearty growl. She laughed breathlessly, frissons of desire tingling all the way up her limbs from his touch. She handed him the soap, then watched him rub sprigs of bubbles up her calf. He kissed her bent knee.

“You really do have exquisite legs, Miss Hamilton.”

She smiled, laid her cheek in her hand and gazed at him. Diligently working his way down her left limb, he took her foot in his hand and massaged it, squeezing and rubbing gently. He worked a point on the arch of her foot with his thumb that sent Shockwaves of pained pleasure all the way up to her scalp. He did the same to her right. His fingertips stroked the soles of her feet until she writhed and giggled and squirmed at the tickling sensation. At last he rinsed her right foot with tender care, brought it up from under the water and kissed the top of it.

She widened her eyes. “My goodness, Robert.”

He gave her a lazy, wicked smile and when he spoke, his words were soft, slow, and lulling. “Isn’t that what you want, Belinda? A man who will kiss your feet? A man who worships the ground you walk on? Isn’t that what you demand, what you deserve? Well, isn’t it?”

She could only stare at him, enthralled. He sent her a smoldering glance and licked the inside of her ankle, then bent his head and slowly covered her feet in adoring kisses. Entranced, she watched the supple play of muscle in his shoulders, arms, and chest while he caressed her legs, his touch roaming higher up her thighs.

Her chest heaved with want by the time he lifted his smoldering stare to meet her gaze. When he spoke, his voice sounded husky. “Stand, Belinda, please.”

She did not even think of disobeying. Every inch of her body sang with tingling sensation as she rose on rather wobbly legs, water coursing down her skin. Crouching beside the tub, he stared up at her body, roseate in the firelight. Her breasts jutted with full arousal in the chilly air. Her aureoles were dark and turgid, her nipples aching for his touch.

His stare was one of rapt awe. “There is no amount of money that could ever entitle a man to so much beauty,” he breathed.

She moaned his name and reached for his shoulders to steady herself. He grasped her gently by the hips and kissed her stomach. She raked her fingers through his hair, vaguely astonished that she wasn’t afraid. His hands glided back to her derriere and his lips skimmed the top of her lower hairline—neatly trimmed, as a courtesan’s should be.

She could feel his warm breath deliciously penetrating her most sensitive core. She ached, wet for him between her thighs even as her skin dried from the bath. She struggled for sanity, knowing it was a losing battle.

“This is not in our agreement,” she said faintly.

“I know. God, I know.” He nuzzled her belly with his lips. “I want to taste you.”

No longer waiting for permission, he dipped his head and pressed a bold kiss to her mound. She groaned. He touched her lightly with his thumb, then caressed with more pressure, and just when she thought the pleasure was too much, he followed with his tongue. She exclaimed aloud in wordless ecstasy.

His erotic kiss deepened, gently tracing her tiny rigid nub with his tongue. She raked her fingers through his thick black hair with a violent surge of want and steadied herself by holding on to his big, steam-slicked shoulders.

Harriette and Fanny had told her about this act, but never—
never
had she felt anything that even remotely resembled the bliss he now gave her.

At length he ordered her to lift her right foot up onto the rim of the tub. He moved between her spread legs and tongued her deeply. Caressing her with his open hand at first, he eased a finger inside of her and groaned against her belly.

“God, you’re as tight as a virgin.”

She almost smiled bitterly at his words, but then all thought lifted and flew like a flock of restless birds as he sucked hungrily on her clitoris, working two fingers into her passage until her moans rose to wild cries in a building crescendo. She moved with him, dropping her head back, holding on to his shoulders for dear life as she felt the swift advance of the imminent storm rolling through her. Thunderous joy tingled down her arms, prickled her very scalp. Shudders of ecstasy racked her and then the explosion of passion split through her like a lightning-clap, blinding in its glory. She cried out, gasping, delirious, nearly falling over his shoulders as he drank of her rain until every last droplet of strength ebbed from her body, leaving her weak and trembling.

She clung to him.
“Oh, God, Robert.”

As her climax dissipated, he stood and swept her into his arms, carrying her to her bed. He yanked back the covers and slid her under the sheet. Bel looked up at him in alarm, thinking that he would take his pleasure of her now, but he merely reached for the blanket and covered her.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, braced himself on his hands, and leaned down to kiss her softly. Then he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. She felt the struggle in his powerful body to hold his burning need in check.

“God, what are we doing?” he asked in a ragged whisper.

“I don’t know.” She wrapped her arms around him.

He breathed her name, half a groan of want, and bent lower to kiss her neck. He skimmed her throat with kisses. “You knew this would happen to me, didn’t you? You knew I couldn’t resist. That all you had to do was wait.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, closing her eyes in fervent rapture. “Is it a good thing, Robert? Are you happy?”

“So much it terrifies me.” His lashes swept open and he stared into her eyes. “I’ve been alone so long, but when I’m with you, oh, when I’m with you, Bel, the earth sings and the stars dance and I don’t loathe myself so much for a bore.”

Amazed, she took his beloved face between her hands, smiling with a shimmer of tears in her eyes. “Oh, Robert. You could never bore me. How many times must I tell you?”

He pulled back with a slight, rueful smile, his dark eyes glowing like a sunset beneath his long black lashes.

I love you,
she wanted to tell him.
You changed my life.
But she dared not.

With a final reluctant sigh, he pushed up, rose, and left her bed.

She came up onto her elbows, taking pleasure in the play of firelight across his smooth, muscled back. “Where are you going, lover?”

“To dress for Blucher’s party. Will you miss me?”

“Terribly.”

He cast her a half smile and threw his discarded shirt, waistcoat, and cravat over his bare shoulder as he sauntered to the door.

“Robert.”

Reaching for the doorknob, he turned to her in question, his seductive face sculpted by the deepening shadows and flickering flame.

She mouthed a silent thank you and blew him a kiss.

With a sardonic smile, he bowed. “At your service, Miss Hamilton. The pleasure was mine.”

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A short while later Hawk waited impatiently while Knowles, his valet, put the final touches on his cravat. All the while he argued with his conscience over why he should not pay off the rest of Alfred Hamilton’s debt and see the old fool out of jail. The more he came to care about Belinda, the more he wanted to help her in every possible way.

On the one hand, fulfilling her father’s debts would have endeared him to her indefinitely, he knew, but the prospect carried serious risks. She had signed their agreement pledging her help, but how could he be sure she would not quit his company and abandon his scheme to snare Dolph the moment she no longer needed the money to free her father? Was it wise to make a gesture that would so openly admit how deeply attached to her he was growing? Moreover, he feared that if he paid off her father’s debts, it would set a risky precedent that anytime she got into a scrape, never fear, Hawkscliffe and his millions would bail her out.

Lastly, and perhaps most seriously, if old Hamilton learned of his daughter’s true profession, he might come to his senses and play the outraged papa, dragging her away from Hawk. With that realization he violently brushed off the idea of getting Alfred out of jail. No one was going to take that girl away from him.

“Very good, Your Grace,” his valet said after a last firm adjustment to the white silk knot, then added slyly, “That should catch her eye.”

Hawk raised an eyebrow at him.

Knowles politely masked his amusement and bowed. “A splendid evening to you, sir.”

“Why, thank you, Knowles. I do look rather smart, don’t I?” he added with a grin, then strode out of his chambers and jogged downstairs to wait for Belinda.

Descending the gliding curve of the staircase, Hawk heard a very strange sound, one he knew well but had not heard in decades: children’s laughter. Indeed—with a particular note of mischief in it.
What the devil?

The second the marble entrance hall came into view, he paused and squinted, sure his eyes were playing tricks on him. There, beneath the chandelier, two small boys were exploring the ancient suit of parade armor that had been given to an ancestor of his by Henry VIII. They were plucking at the jewels and running their grubby fingers along the dulled blade of the gleaming broadsword.

“Ooo, wow . . .”

“Look, this could
kill
someone!”

“Ahem,” said Hawk.

Both children shrieked and whipped around, slamming together as Hawk lifted his chin, clasped his hands loosely behind his back, and proceeded the rest of the way down, eyeing them in displeasure. Probably relations of one of his servants, he thought.

“Pray, gentlemen, that is not to be touched. It is very old. What are you doing out of the servants’ quarters?”

They didn’t answer, staring up at him in awe. Their eyes were huge as he came to stand before them.

Folding his arms over his chest, he towered over them, glanced at the armor, and frowned. “You’ve gotten smudges all over it. Now it will have to be polished again.”

“We’re sorry,” said the taller one, determined to look brave, suddenly.

“To whom do you belong?”

They conferred together in whispers over the question, reminding Hawk for all the world of the twins, his middle brothers, Lucien and Damien. As boys, the pair had shared a language all their own and to this day could almost seem to read each other’s minds.

“Gentlemen, I asked you a question.” Hawk bent down slowly to their eye level.

“Uh, what was it again?” asked the taller boy, scratching his head.

“Who is your mother and where is she?”

They shrugged. Hawk frowned.

The taller one seemed to gather himself, squaring his shoulders. “Is that yours?” He nodded to the suit of armor.

“Yes.”

“Do you ever put it on?”

Taken aback, Hawk laughed. “No.”

“Why not?”

“There hasn’t been much occasion. Besides, I’m too tall.”

“Could I try it?”

“No. You’re too short. Children, how did you get in my house?”

“Miss Bel brung us ‘ere,” the littler one piped up.

“Miss Hamilton?”

The taller boy gave him a shrewd once-over. “You ‘er fancy man, then?”

Hawk stared at him blankly. “How do know Miss Hamilton?”

“She gave us oranges.”

“What?”

“Oranges,” said the elder brother, rolling his eyes at the smaller one’s slight lisp. “She gave us oranges when she used to sell them in a basket.”

“We don’t get no oranges anymore,” said the little one, looking crestfallen.

Bel walked down the curved marble staircase, marvelously dressed for General Blucher’s party in a diaphanous tunic gown of a pearly Nakara color. A dashing plumed turban on her head, she swung her seed-pearl embroidered reticule from one gloved wrist, humming to herself. But halfway down the staircase, she heard Robert’s exchange with the children.