The Duke (31 page)

“Oh, that would be very grand,” she said with a warm smile. “You will commemorate him in marble as Mr. Southey has made him immortal in prose.”

“It was the man’s deeds that made him immortal, Miss Hamilton. I was merely the scribe,” Mr. Southey said humbly. “So, tell us, what is our fair hostess reading these days?”

“How kind of you to ask. Actually, I have lately found the most astonishing novel. I spend a lot of time in bookstores,” she added, thinking of her many searches for Papa’s beloved tomes, as well. “I found this little anonymously written novel at Hatchard’s. It came out last year. I read the first sentence and could not put it down.”

“Anonymous, eh? Not one of those naughty French books?” Eldon teased her.

“No, my lord,” she scolded while the men laughed.

“What’s it called?”

“Pride and Prejudice.”

“Hmm, sounds political.”

She chuckled. “Not exactly.”

Then she noticed Robert staring at her with an odd, loving little smile and she grew flustered, dropping the subject. She looked away, blushing brightly. “More wine, anyone?”

As the desserts were brought to table, apricot puffs, lemon torte, blancmange, a morello cherry tart, and a whimsical trifle of crushed Naples biscuits adorned with real flowers, Bel noticed the earl of Coldfell staring at her again.

The pale old man had cold, faded blue eyes and knife-hilt cheekbones.

She looked away, cringing inwardly in sympathy for the red-haired beauty in Robert’s miniature portrait. Lady Coldfell could not have much enjoyed her marriage bed. With a gorgeous, virile specimen like Hawkscliffe in love with her, how on earth could she have resisted?

But then, Bel recalled, it was Robert who had resisted. The countess might not necessarily have been averse to a little dalliance.

At length Bel took her cue to withdraw, leaving the men to drink their port and get down to brass tacks. They all stood and bowed as she made her slight curtsy and thanked them for coming. They thanked her, in turn, for the marvelous feast.

From the head of the table, Robert gave her a slight bow of homage, his dark eyes aglow with promise.

The moment she walked out of the dining room, she leaned against the closed door and let out a long breath. She exchanged a silent look of flushed victory with Mr. Walsh, who waited in the hallway, his white-gloved hands folded behind his back. A smile twitched at his dignified face, then Bel hurried to the kitchens to congratulate the French-trained chef and his pastry cook and his assistants whom she had hired for the occasion.

The kitchens were in a state of controlled pandemonium, Cook busily orchestrating cleanup. An endless mountain of copper pots and cast-iron pans, silver and steel utensils had to be washed. Seeing the gargantuan effort that had gone into making her dinner party a success, she gave the whole kitchen staff the next day off.

Only after her generous offer was made did she recall that she had no authority to do so—she wasn’t exactly the lady of the house. Too late. The servants took her word as her oath, cheering and instantly making plans to go to Hyde Park to wander the stalls of the Victory Festival and see the follies that were being readied for the even larger festivities to commence by the Regent’s orders on the first of August. There were Oriental temples, pagodas, bridges. The hopelessly gaudy, hundred-foot-high Temple of Concord was also being erected just a stone’s throw away in Green Park, for the purpose of shooting off fireworks.

She didn’t have the heart to retract her offer. They were all so excited. To be sure, she had overstepped her bounds, but Robert was a kind master to his people. After they had worked so hard, she trusted that he wouldn’t mind.

She discovered Tommy and Andrew playing quietly under the center worktable. Since it was nearly midnight, she took it upon herself to put them to bed. She shepherded them over to wash their faces and brush their teeth; neither boy was much pleased with the novelty of hygiene. Then they changed into their long cotton nightshirts and shimmied down into their cots. Bel read them a storybook from the library while she waited for Robert to finish with the Tory lords. Looking after the children calmed her from the frightening thrill of her decision to deny Robert no longer.

Tonight she was as ready to give herself to him completely as she was ever going to be.

By the time she blew out the candle, silently left the third-floor servants’ quarters and walked downstairs with a small tremor of anticipation in her limbs, the men were all standing in the foyer bidding one another good night.

Coldfell was the last to go. Robert walked him to the door. “I’ll see you at noon, tomorrow, then.”

“Very good. I’ll be expecting you. Thank you again for the dinner, Robert. Charming creature, your Miss Hamilton.”

His smile widened. “Good night, James.”

Coldfell hobbled out to his coach, assisted by his footman.

Robert waved adieu and, when the carriage had gone, quietly shut the door. He turned around, leaned against the closed door, and spotted her standing there, about halfway up the sweeping staircase, watching him. He flashed a white, wolfish smile and pushed away from the door, sauntering toward the bottom of the stairs.

“There she is. My secret weapon,” he said. “My enchantress. Castlereagh and Wellington are won; Eldon and Liverpool have agreed to review my reports, and Sidmouth said if those two support my views, he won’t stand in the way.”

Bel shrieked with glee, lifted her long skirts, and dashed the rest of the way down the steps to him. He caught her at the bottom as she flung her arms around his neck. Laughing heartily, he swung her around in a circle, his arms wrapped around her waist.

“You were wonderful! Miss Hamilton, we are an unstoppable team,” he murmured. “What do you say to world domination? Shall we try for it?”

“I can think of other things I’d rather try with you, sir,” she said with a frisky half smile. “I’ve been dying to get my hands on you all night.”

“Likewise, Miss Hamilton.” Carrying her, he began strolling down the hallway. “I am so impressed with you.”

“I told you so. The dining room, Robert?” she asked quizzically as he turned left into the chamber in question. “Really, you are a most depraved paragon.”

“You barely ate a bite. Yes, I notice these things,” he chided. “Somebody’s got to take care of you. I’ve saved you a special treat.”

“What is it?”

“The morello cherry tart. . . with whipped cream.” He set her down on the table, which had been cleared but for the silver epergne, the cherry tart, and the little bowl of whipped cream, and farther down, a little pile of unused silverware that awaited Walsh to put it away.

The table was a huge expanse of snowy white linen, and on every wall, the big mirrors reflected the two of them, alone at last, wrapped up in each other.

“Robert, do you expect me to eat with my hands? Go fetch me one of those forks down there.”

“How unimaginative of you, Miss Hamilton,” he murmured, dipping his finger in the whipped cream. He offered it to her with a sultry smile.

With a low, wicked laugh, she accepted hungrily, sucking his finger clean.

He stood in front of her where she sat on the table; she parted her legs to let him move closer. Gently he took her face between his hands and kissed her with slow, drugging depth. As she clung to him, going weak with desire, she knew she had never felt so close to him, still flush with their shared victory.

She sighed with pleasure as he moved lower, kissing her chin, her neck. His hands moved in slow caresses up and down her back and then she felt a small tug and glanced askance at him, realizing he had just unhooked her gown.

“Pray, what do you think you’re doing, sir?” she asked in mock hauteur.

“Having my dessert,” he whispered, peeling her bodice down in front to her waist so that she sat on the edge of the dining-room table bare chested, with nothing but a diamond necklace around her throat.

She braced her hands back behind her and stared at him, waiting. He glanced at the bowl of cream. Then she laughed with lazy desire when he smeared her breasts with whipped cream and commenced licking it off. Her laughter died away as the hot, tugging sensation of his hungry, suckling mouth moved her into ever deeper waves of want.

She wrapped her arms around his wide shoulders, ran her fingers through his silky black hair. Caressing her breasts, he eased her back onto the table, cradling her head with one hand.

His hair tousled from her caresses, he glanced at her with a cocky half smile, whipped cream around his wet, wanton mouth.

“You have such a beautiful mouth,” she whispered as she curled up and licked his lips clean. Her hands trembled as she undressed him.

Moments later his body was naked to the waist. She gasped softly at the blissful sensation of his velvety muscled chest against her bare skin, so intimate, so warm. She molded her hands to his powerful shoulders then ran them down his massive arms, entranced by every line of him.

He skimmed his lips across her brow, down her cheek, down her throat. “Are you going to let me make love to you tonight?”

“Possibly,” she said faintly, her eyes closed in breathless sensation.

“Oh, I’ll have to do better than that.
Possibly,”
he scoffed.

“You’re welcome to try.”

“That sounds . . .”—he kissed her, unpinning her hair— “distinctly like a challenge, Miss Hamilton.”

She traced the ridges of his washboard stomach. “Hmm?”

“I think you’ve just thrown down the gauntlet. Now I shall have to seduce you in earnest.”

She laughed and spread her arms out on the table, lying back. “Do your worst.”

“I shall.” His hands glided down her hips, following her curves. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered.

“Oh, Hawk, touch me,” she breathed, chest heaving. Her wetness flowed in anticipation of his touch as his hand glided up under her skirts. She acquiesced, parting her thighs wider at his gentle push. Then his warm fingers eased into her soaked passage, his thumb circling lightly on her mound. She groaned in surrender. He kissed her breasts with leisurely enjoyment.

With his dark eyes gone hazy and heavy lidded, he watched her fall utterly under his spell. He pleasured her until she was writhing and riding his fingers on the hard table. Then he moved up, staring at her as he unfastened his black trousers. She waited in quivering anticipation. He guided his massive erection to her teeming threshold.

With a hot, roguish little smile, he sported with her, played the tease. He rubbed himself slick in her wetness until she begged for him and only then did he deign to give her an inch or so, tantalizing her.

“You are a wicked man,” she panted.

“Yes,” he whispered. “But let that be our little secret. Do you need me now, darling? Do you need me deep inside you?”

“God, yes, Hawk, please,” she groaned, undulating beneath him.

He captured her hands, linked his fingers through hers, and caught her heaving gasps of awe on his tongue as he filled her, inch by inch, until he had driven in to the hilt.

Bel barely dared breathe. He slid his fingers through her hair, incoherently whispering his gratitude and bliss, but her mind was focused on the strange sensation of her body stretching to receive him. Why it didn’t hurt, she couldn’t say. It felt delicious, but he was so large she was sure he’d split her in two if she moved wrong.

“Ahh, Belinda,” he moaned softly, “I’ve needed you for so long, my angel,
ma belle.”
He began to ride her in a deep subtle rhythm. She was swept up in pure instinct, loving her ravisher and every moment of being, herself, the fulfillment of his need.

Yet, at the same time, she was aware, in the farthest reaches of her mind, of the distant whisperings of her most secret fear. She refused to heed it. She held him more tightly.

He slid his hands under her backside and began kneading her flesh in a hearty grasp. Robert was feverish, trembling. His skin glowed with a fine sheen of sweat in the candlelight and he seemed intent on simply devouring her.

He’s being a bit rough, isn
’
t he
? her demons whispered.

She fought them in secret for all she was worth.
He s so big, so strong, if you told him to stop, he could ignore you.

She touched his hair gently, trying to temper his fiery ardor, but she cringed inwardly at the thought of giving herself away. Robert thought he was making love to an experienced, worldly courtesan. If she could just play the part until he had found release, everything would be fine. The pleasure drained away as she tussled with her thoughts. She tried to blank her mind. Closing her eyes tightly, she struggled to hold on, letting him take his pleasure of her body, but in the next moment, her fate was decided for her.

As Robert drew her hands above her head, the stroke of his tongue in her mouth matching the rhythm of his big rigid member plunging into her like a battering ram, the table shook, and the little pile of silverware took up a soft, rhythmic clanking.

An echo straight out of her nightmare.

Bel’s eyes flew open wide;
that sound.
Like the jangle of keys. She felt her hands pinned above her head, the hard table at her back like a stone-block wall.