The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior (13 page)

“I did,” she said, and now she didn't sound quite as shocked, for which he was grateful. “I should go now,” she added, spun on her heel and headed for the door.

He stared after her, the feel of her still imprinted on his body, the way she had moved toward him, how she'd responded to him—both physically and mentally—as though he were worth something. A person she could discuss things with at one moment and then kiss at the next. He'd never known a woman with all those aspects. Either it was one or the other, but never both.

It was hard to say what ached more as she left him alone—his cock or his heart.

A duke will endeavor to please himself, first and foremost, because by pleasing himself he will therefore be pleasing everyone around him. Because an unpleased duke is not something anybody wishes to encounter
.

—T
HE
D
UKE
'
S
G
UIDE
TO
C
ORRECT
B
EHAVIOR

L
ily fled upstairs to her room, something she seemed to be doing a lot lately, her heart pounding, her mouth soft and swollen, while her body was demanding to know just why it had to leave possibly the most pleasurable experience of her life.

Propriety was the best answer she had. It would have to do.

She stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind her, leaning on the wood. Her breathing was fast and loud in the quiet room.

Nor could she answer just what impulse had made her take those few short steps toward him.

And even though she really, really should, she just couldn't regret it.

It had felt so much . . .
more
than she had ever expected, even when she'd pondered what it might actually feel like. It was as though someone had described what it was like to eat a piece of stale bread, only to find, when one bit into it, that it was the most glorious chocolate cake ever, dripping with frosting and delightfully rich.

She could only imagine what the rest of it would be like. It would definitely be better than chocolate cake, she knew that.

What else might it be better than?

She walked into her room and sat down on the bed, and it seemed everything felt and looked different, as though the world was lit by fireworks.

She'd had her first kiss. No, not that, exactly;
had
implied a passive acceptance of the action, and once things had gotten started, she'd
taken
her first kiss.

From a duke, no less. If she thought of it, which she hadn't much, she would have assumed her first kiss might be from someone of her class, someone she'd met through the agency, or a neighbor. Not a gentleman who was only a step below the Queen, a man who had the power to change law, rule over counties, destroy a reputation by raising an eyebrow.

Imagine if he employed both of them, what type of destruction he could create.

Not to mention employing his virility, his commanding voice, his arresting good looks, and yes, his exceedingly nice backside.

And he had kissed her after having asked her opinion, and treated her—well, not nearly as an equal, she didn't think he was capable of that just because of who he was—but as someone with whom he wished to talk. To have tea with after the evening's festivities were over.

“You are a foolish woman, Lily Russell,” she said as she unbuttoned her gown, the lovely new gown he had bought her. She hung it up carefully,
then donned his nightshirt, not one of the nightgowns Mrs. Wilson had sent with all the rest of her new clothes.

It would be a shame to wear the new nightgowns just to have to wash them again, she thought, knowing she was employing logic equal to Annabelle's.

This didn't change anything, she reminded herself sternly. Kisses, to someone like him, were probably just one step above a handshake or a courteous smile. It didn't mean anything.

To him.

To her, of course, it meant a lot, but that was because it was her first. Perhaps she should go out and kiss other people, just to grow accustomed to it.

She giggled, like Annabelle, at the thought of how Mr. Thompson would look if she surprised him with a kiss.

She didn't think the duke would like it if she kissed his butler. The way he'd reacted when she'd spoken of Mr. Smithfield was proof of that.

But now she had to continue working properly for the man when she knew what his mouth felt like. What her improper feelings felt like.

She had definitely put herself into a very difficult position. In more ways than one.

O
f course, the duke strolled into the breakfast room as though they hadn't shared a kiss the night before. Although how would he acknowledge it? He couldn't just walk in and say, “Hello,
Miss Lily, I see your mouth is no longer attached to mine.”

To which, she thought, she could reply, “Your backside is really lovely.”

And then they would be the Most Improper Duke and His Incredibly Inappropriate Governess.

So it was a good thing he acted as though nothing was different.

“What are you ladies doing today?” the duke asked as he sat down.

Rose answered before Lily could say anything. Although the only thing she could think to say right now was,
Reminisce about that kiss that shouldn't have happened,
and,
Go bury my nose in your nightshirt
.

“We're drawing today. Miss Lily says she is very good at rabbits. I'm better at horses.”

“Perhaps I could stop by the schoolroom? See your horses?” The duke eyed the plate of sausages John was offering and shook his head.

“If you wish, Your Grace,” Lily said quietly. Why did he want to visit the schoolroom now? Not that he didn't have a right to, it was his house, his daughter, his employee. But now? The morning after the kiss of the night before?

She couldn't think about it any longer or her head might split like one of those sausages.

“Are you going to draw, too?” Rose asked, taking another piece of toast from the table.

“If Miss Lily has enough pencils, of course.”

Rose put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. Lily just as quickly gestured for
her to keep her hands in her lap. “What animal do you draw best?”

“I don't know that I've ever been asked that question,” he said in perfect seriousness. He got a crooked smile on his lips. “A cat, I think.”

“I can draw a cat, too,” Rose said, sticking her nose in the air.

“Then we shall have a contest as to who can draw the best cat, and Miss Lily will be the judge.” Both he and Rose looked at Lily then, and she felt herself start to turn pink again.

“I shall be glad to.”

“T
hat is lovely, Miss Rose.” It did look somewhat like a cat, in that it had a tail, at least. And was that—well, apparently it was a cat pirate, because it had on some sort of eye patch.

“How about mine, Miss Lily?” He held the paper up with a sly smile on his face. She circled around to his side of the table and took the paper from his hand.

That was even less of a cat than Rose's. At least Rose had given the cat some sort of defined shape. This was more of a cat blob, with whiskers.

“Interesting.”

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I have the feeling, Miss Lily, that you are not impressed with my artistic talents.”

She tried not to smile, but she couldn't help it. He sounded so serious, and yet the warmth in his eyes and the slight grin that twisted his mouth
told her he was teasing. She had rarely been teased.

She liked it. Not as much as kissing, of course, but teasing was definitely safer.

“Your Grace, I believe your cat is in need of some fur. And a tail. And paws.”

Rose walked over to examine the drawing in question, and when she saw it, there was no mistaking the look of exultation on her face. “My cat is better,” she announced, and both Lily and Marcus nodded in agreement.

Marcus took the drawing back and laid it back down on the table. “This was fun, even if I am horrible at it.”

“Not horrible,” Lily corrected, “merely abysmal.”

They looked at each other and laughed, and Lily got that warmth all over her body, the one that had nothing to do with the actual temperature and everything to do with him.

“I was thinking about the other night,” he began.

Not in front of Rose
, she wanted to shout, but just clamped her mouth shut, staring daggers at him.

He chuckled, clearly knowing what she thought he was about to say. “About my interests. I was thinking I should develop more.”

“Oh.” Well, didn't that just flatten her sails. He hadn't been about to be inappropriate in front of a child. Or something.

“And maybe I should hire a drawing master. Or someone to teach me the piano—do you play piano, Miss Lily?”

The thought of sitting next to him on a piano
bench was almost too much for her. She might combust. She knew her face had gotten all pink again, she could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks.

“I'm going to draw a horse now,” Rose announced, taking another piece of paper from the stack on the table.

“That will be lovely, dear,” Lily replied, ruffling Rose's hair, then speaking to the duke. “I do play piano, Your Grace, but it strikes me that there are better things you could be doing with your time.” Too late she realized what she had said.

He didn't speak, just regarded her with a knowing look in his eye, one eyebrow beginning its slow ascent up his face, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“That is,” she continued, feeling breathless, “someone in your position likely has things to oversee and decisions to make. Weren't you speaking with Mr. Porter about some law or another in Parliament? And if you were to turn your attention to those things,” instead of making my knees weak with kisses, “you would have an interest that was both suitable to your position and would also do good. Unlike,” she added, picking up his drawing again, “your artwork.”

He smiled at her joke, but then his expression grew serious. “You might be right, Miss Lily. I have not spent as much time . . . that is, I have not spent
any
time in maintaining my position. But perhaps I should look into things myself, that's what you're saying?”

He looked so sincere, so earnest, and so
surprised at being asked to be a better person, it made her heart hurt a little. Had no one expected anything of him beyond his position, his looks, his ability to pour brandy without spilling it?

His attitude toward Rose, his obvious yearning for something more, even if he wasn't aware he was yearning, revealed what depths were underneath the impossibly good looks and title.

She was acutely aware that she might very well find his underneath even more attractive than his overneath.

S
he was only saying what he himself had thought a few days ago. But somehow, coming from her mouth, it seemed so much more real to him. There would be someone to whom he might be accountable, to whom he could talk about what he was doing.

Was that what he'd been missing? Companionship? No, not that, because he was never short of companions, and Smithfield seemed destined to be one of his best ones yet.

What was different about her?

Oh. Right. She was a
her
. Smithfield wouldn't look nearly as attractive as she did, and he doubted if even Smithfield would dare speak to him as she had. To challenge him with her wit and forthright opinions.

But that would all go away when Rose grew up or was sent off to school, at which point Lily would leave, too. What would remain for him then? He'd be older, that was for certain, but if he didn't try to
make something of his life beyond simply being his title, he'd die miserable and alone.

Even if he did succeed in finding an amenable wife. And didn't that thought make him want to snarl, because he definitely did not want someone who had a claim to him—besides Rose, that is—in his life. He barely seemed able to just take care of himself.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?” she asked in a soft voice. He must have had a want-to-snarl expression on his face.

“Fine, yes, thank you, Miss Lily.” He picked up his pencil and added a few straggling hairs to his cat picture. “I think your idea might be rather sound,” he continued, keeping his voice light, “to try to engage myself. I had not really thought of it before,” much, “and it would be far more useful to stand bills in Parliament than to attempt to draw a cat.”

She snickered, and he felt his chest tighten. And other parts do other things, but he was in the schoolroom, and even Incorrect Dukes knew one had to act Correctly here, with children present.

He could swear her eyes were almost twinkling. “Yes,” she said, “I do believe that if there were a list of things a duke should do, drawing cats—or attempting to draw cats—would rank just below learning to make the perfect blancmange or learning to knit.”

“I will concede the knitting, Miss Lily, but surely blancmange would rank higher. A perfect blancmange is not to be trifled with.”

She grinned more broadly as she delivered her
salvo: “We were not discussing trifle, Your Grace. That is much higher on the list.”

He laughed and nodded. “Excellently done. And now I am hungry. Are you hungry, Miss Rose?”

She looked up from her drawing. It seemed her cat had morphed into an angry ball, since she'd expanded shape and added enormously fierce eyes. “Very hungry. Pie?”

“Let us see if the cook has any blancmange or trifle.” He stood and held his hand out to Rose, who took it. What did it say about his life until now that this was likely the tenderest moment he had ever had? “Miss Lily, do you care to join us?”

“No thank you. I must tidy up here.”

He nodded and took Rose by the hand, leading her down to the kitchen. Fully aware that what he wanted to taste most was the woman in the room he'd just left.