A Duke in Disguise Page 14

  Verity didn’t know how Lady Caroline Talbot, the daughter of a duke, could possibly need the help of an illustrator she happened to be related to. But then she remembered Ash’s nightmare. Whatever was going on, it weighed heavily on him. Verity had always had an abundance of connections, both blood and otherwise. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to discover blood ties at the age of twenty-six.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked.

  “God no.”

  “Come here, then,” she said, and drew him into her arms.

  He sank against her, wrapping his own arms tightly around her. She felt his heart hammering against her chest, his pulse fast and unsettled against her cheek. But he held her tight and stroked the hair that had come loose at the nape of her neck.

  “People will see,” he murmured, but didn’t slacken his grip.

  “Let them.”

  They stayed that way another minute or five or ten until finally he pulled away, his hands still firm and sure on Verity’s arms. “Do you know what I’d like?” he asked. “Hot food and about half a bottle of claret.”

  “Sounds like you need somebody to drink the other half.”

  He bent to press a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, Plum.”

  “I like claret. It’s no sacrifice.” His lips were still warm on her skin.

  “That’s not what I mean.” He pulled away and looped his arm through hers. “At some point I’m going to have to deal with this soberly, but perhaps not today.”

  “Intoxication it is, then. Lead the way, my friend.”

  Chapter Eleven

  By mutual consent they proceeded to Hinton’s, an eating house that was a mere five minutes’ walk from Cavendish Square. It was only just past noon and the establishment was far from empty, but the clamor and bustle of other patrons would provide almost as great a sense of privacy as if they had been alone. In due time they were ensconced in the upstairs saloon with dishes of roast fowl and potatoes before them, making good headway into a bottle of wine.

  Ash leaned back loosely in his chair, glass of wine in one hand. The shadow of a beard was visible on his jaw and Verity wanted to crawl into his lap and rub her cheek against his face like a demented cat. “Would you like to hear a tale of high society?” he asked too casually. This, she gathered, was how he was going to ease into telling her about what was bothering him.

  “I think I’d like to hear anything you have a mind to say,” she answered equally lightly.

  He sat forward in his chair and beckoned her to do the same. “Lady Caroline says my uncle murdered his wife because she failed to get him an heir,” he whispered, then sat back again. “Tell me that isn’t a plot you’ve read ten times in books put out by rival publishers.”

  Verity deliberately avoided asking about Ash’s use of the word uncle. He was plainly coming sideways at acknowledging the family connection; if he wanted to talk about murder rather than the precise nature of his relationship to the Talbots, she’d oblige. “Be fair, Ash, I’ve put out about three books with that plot myself. But do you think she’s entirely in her right mind?”

  “Yes, damn me, I do. I think she means to murder him unless she comes up with a better plan.”

  Verity took a sip of her wine and regarded her friend. He wasn’t even pretending not to care mightily about this. There wasn’t even a shadow of feigned nonchalance or studied indifference about him. “Then, based on what you’ve said, I’d lend her a spade.”

  He let out a shaky breath. “Is that what you’d advise her to do if she wrote to the Ladies’ Register? Get a friend to help bury the body?”

  Verity paused, chewing a mouthful of roast potato. “No. I’d tell her to pack a valise, sew her jewels into the hem of a gown, and leave before the brother could take revenge on her.”

  “That’s more or less what I suggested. She says that knowing what she does, she can’t let him marry again. Exposing him is out of the question. He’ll be a duke in a matter of weeks, according to the old man’s doctors. Whereas she’s an eccentric spinster. We know which of them will be believed.”

  “In a novel, he would fall down a convenient flight of stairs.”

  Ash went pale. She put down her fork and reached for his hand; it was cold and clammy. “Ash, whatever is the matter? Something is plainly very wrong indeed and I’m quite worried about you. If you want to talk about it, you know I’ll listen.”

  “I can’t, Verity.” He turned his hand so his palm was against hers, holding her hand tight. His fingers were strong and callused, and she remembered the feel of them against her body the previous night. “I can’t.” His voice was a low, scratchy rumble, even quieter than the near whisper in which they had conducted the earlier part of their conversation. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want to pretend the past two hours haven’t happened. I want to go home with you and take you to bed. I want anything you’ll give me and want to give you anything you need. That’s what I want.”

  Her cheeks felt hot and her heart was pounding. “I want that too. Wanted it for a while, if I’m honest. Don’t know how I’ve held out so long. Last night was only a start.”

  He rubbed his thumb along the soft inside of her wrist. “God help me, Plum, but I don’t know how to do this. I know how to be with you at a chophouse and, if last night is any indication”—his cheeks flushed—“I think I know how to be with you in my arms, but I don’t know how to bridge the gap. Is there supposed to be a difference in our manner towards one another? Am I behaving horribly by discussing murder when I ought to be complimenting your fine eyes?”

  “I’d think you had suffered a mental decline if you started mooning over me.” She had long suspected that compliments and grand declarations were attempts to chisel away at a woman’s resistance, although she also suspected that this was fairly cynical even by her standards. In either case, she felt vaguely sick at the idea of Ash attempting to woo her, perhaps because there was only one way a successful wooing could end, and that was marriage, and out of the question. “Besides, you can’t imagine that I have any better answers than you do. I think we’re muddling through quite all right on our own.” She slid her foot under the table to touch the side of his boot.

  He swirled the contents of his wineglass. “Well, you could hardly be more ignorant than I am. After all, you had your friendship with Mrs. Allenby.”

  “Yes, but—” She peered quizzically at him, and then, when his meaning hit home, raised her eyebrows. “Are you saying—are you saying that you’ve never had a lover?”

  He drank from his glass and put it back on the table before nodding. “That’s right, Plum.”

  “I assumed you were discreet. You used to go out with my brother, and I’ve never been under the impression that he spends his nights in quiet contemplation. Why not, though? You’re very handsome. Desperately so. I assure you I’ve found your looks terribly distracting, quite inconvenient. You’d have your pick of girls.” She was babbling, and only the sound of his laughter stopped her mouth from running.

  “I have no intention of bringing a bastard into the world.” His words might have been harsh but for the gentleness of his tone. “We have a duty to children, and that duty is hard to fulfill when a child has no name and no people.”

  “You’re aware there are things a couple can do that don’t involve any chance of pregnancy? If not, I can’t imagine what you thought was happening in that plate you engraved for chapter five.”

  “I’m aware, Plum,” he said dryly. “In the event that imagination failed me, you know that for a couple shillings I can see whatever I want. I’ve asked around, and learned that there are places that specialize in couples who enjoy being watched.”

  “I did not know that,” she said, imagining Ash calmly sketching various manners of fornication. “You teach me the loveliest things, Ash. Do let me know if you intend to visit such a place for any of the illustrations in the final volume of the novel, and I’ll be sure to reimburse you. Meanwhile, I�
�m finding myself very eager to get home.” She didn’t know if this was some unique perversion on her part, but knowing that he hadn’t been with anyone else made her desire take on the sharp edge of urgency.

  “You’re leering at me, Plum.”

  She leered more emphatically. “Wait until you see what I do to you when we get home.”

  They took a hackney, mutually agreeing that the faster they got to Holywell Street, the better. As soon as the carriage door shut, Ash tugged Verity onto his lap and kissed her. That was something, being hauled about as if she weighed no more than a house cat. Before last night, she hadn’t quite realized how strong Ash was, his arms ropy with lean muscle, his chest broad and hard. She traced the lines of his biceps beneath his coat, wishing the hackney would hurry so she could get their clothes off and appreciate him properly. But evidently every carriage, pony cart, and other conveyance in the entirety of London was en route between Marylebone and the Strand, because the hackney proceeded at a mere crawl.

  “Damn it,” she said into the scratchy stubble on his neck. “We should have walked.”

  “Then I couldn’t have done this.” He cupped her breast through her gown, running his thumb across her already-firm nipple. She groaned. “You like that?” he asked.

  “More,” she begged, clasping her own hand over his, feeling him feel her. She needed his skin, and there weren’t many ways to make that happen in a hackney, so she unbuttoned his cuff, stowing the stud in her pocket. She brought his newly bare wrist to her hand, kissing the underside of it, then biting where she had kissed. He made a strangled sound, so she pushed up his coat sleeve as much as she could, the shirtsleeve following, and kissed a path up the tender inside of his forearm. Her lips found a scar that she had seen before when he worked with his sleeves rolled up. When she licked along the length of it, he flinched away from her touch. She realized she had—for the third or fourth time that day—accidentally dredged up something unpleasant. She wasn’t used to conversation with Ash being so riddled with traps. Whatever was happening with the Talbots, it was cutting up Ash’s peace of mind in a serious way. She put his sleeves back in order. And because she didn’t want his mind to linger on whatever was troubling him, she kissed him again. He met her mouth halfway, his lips soft and pliant.

  “Verity, make me a promise,” Ash said, leaning back against the seat, his eyes still shut. “What date is it?”

  “The twenty-sixth of November.”

  “A month from now—Boxing Day, easy to remember—remind yourself that I adore you, Plum. Remind yourself that I’ve never been as honest with you as I was today.”

  He spoke as if he were under a death sentence. “Are you quite certain you’re all—”

  “Don’t ask if I’m all right. You won’t like the answer.”

  She gripped his shoulders. “I’m truly worried now, Ash. Have you been to a doctor and received bad news?”

  “Oh God, no, Verity, nothing like that.”

  She kissed him, relief and concern and frustration mingling together into desperate contact.

  Ash left the hackney driver with a random assortment of coinage, probably triple the fare, but he was not wasting a single second counting out pennies when he could be with Verity.

  The shopman tried to get Verity’s attention when she went inside, but she made a vague excuse—pressing engagement, so sorry—and all but ran up the stairs. Ash could hardly chase her without the shopman and the men in the workroom all knowing what they were about, so he made a show of hanging his coat on a peg and his key on the hook before following her upstairs at a more leisurely pace.

  He found her in her bedroom flinging her boots aside. Leaning in the doorway, he admired the sight.

  “You could help a girl out,” she said, and he didn’t need a second invitation. Standing behind her, he unfastened the buttons at the back of her gown, kissing each piece of skin he exposed. She leaned back into him, which hardly gave him room to work, but that was all right because he knew how to pretend to be a man who wasn’t in a hurry. God help him, nothing could have prepared him for the way Verity almost melted under his touch. She wanted his hands on her body as much as he did; and now she was reaching behind her, trying to touch him as well, and he did not think he could ever get used to the idea that this was something they both wanted, something they both got to have.

  When she raised her arms, he pulled the dress over her head and threw it onto the chair where she seemed to fling all her clothes. Because of course she didn’t stow things neatly in a clothes press; her room was a jumble of ribbons and bootlaces and haphazard stacks of books. He skimmed his hands up the softness of her belly to her breasts, each a perfect palmful through her shift and stays.

  He tried to silence the voice that told him it was temporary at best, a lie at worst, and no matter what would last a mere month. The fact that she probably wouldn’t so much as breathe the same air as him if she knew the truth was something he needed to set aside for the moment, as one would carefully push away a wasp’s nest.

  “What on earth are you thinking of?” Verity pivoted in his arms and regarded him with hazy eyes.

  “Wasps. And primogeniture.”

  “Am I that uninteresting?” she asked with feigned outrage, gripping his cravat and pulling him close with an attempt at menace that he was surprised to find both erotic and endearing. His heart was so full of her that he knew it would be his undoing when they parted.

  He took a steadying breath, trying to master himself, trying to focus on this moment, their bodies together, her in his arms. “I’m sorry to break it to you, Plum, but I’m exceedingly bored.” He rocked his pelvis into her belly so she could properly appreciate just how interested he truly was. At the fleeting contact with her softness and warmth, he had to bite back a groan.

  “What a pity,” she said, tugging off his cravat and swiftly divesting him of coat and waistcoat, then steering him towards the bed and pushing him down by the shoulders. “We’ll have to see what we can do about that.” His shirt hit the floor as she shimmied out of her stays and straddled his lap. Now she was in her shift, the peaks of her breasts veiled only by thin linen.

  “Still bored,” he said and he saw her purse her lips to keep from smiling. Surely this game was both perverse and bizarre but it amused Verity, got his cock hard, and let him think about something other than the condition of his heart.

  She leaned forward, bringing her breasts to within an inch of his face, but not moving closer. He tried to give them what he considered a disinterested appraisal, rather than burying his face in between them, which was what he wanted to do. “Hmm,” he said with an arched brow. She shifted on her knees, bringing the peaks of her breasts to his lips. He leaned forward.

  “Tut,” she chided. She pulled away, covering her breasts with her hands. “I don’t want to bore you with my tiresome breasts.”

  “I share your concern,” he managed, “but I’m fairly certain it’s your shift that’s the problem. Perhaps we ought to dispense with it.”

  Biting back a smile, she reached for the hem, as if she had been waiting for his request, but then paused when she reached the top of her thighs.

  “Plum, I wish you could see yourself.” Her hair was a riot, her lips swollen, her gaze wanton, as if she wanted to devour him. He swallowed.

  “Like what?” she asked, rucking the hem of the shift another inch so he could see the shadow between her legs.

  “Like I’d better do exactly what you tell me,” he said, trying not to sound too hopeful on that point.

  She unfastened his trousers. “What are we going to do about this?” She grinned wolfishly at him and grasped his cock, giving it a long, slow stroke. “We can do more of what we did last night. We don’t need to—”

  “I want to. Please. Anything. Everything. We can be careful.”

  She pulled off her shift without further ado. Ash fastened his mouth over one dark pink nipple, her other breast in his hand. She let out a sound that was h
alf relief, half entreaty, so he kept going, kissing and stroking. Her hands were everywhere—his hair, his shoulders, his jaw.

  Then he slid his hand up her thigh and stroked her already-wet folds the way she had touched herself the last time she was in his arms. He went back to kissing her breasts while she rocked against his palm. She went still, her body rigid, one of her hands painfully tight in his hair and the other touching the wrist of the hand that was between her legs.

  “Ash,” she said, her inner muscles tightening around his fingers as he continued to stroke her, slower and more soothingly.

  “Yes, sweetheart.” Damn it, he hadn’t meant to say that, but it was too late to recover.

  Her mouth was against his ear, so close he could feel the movement of her lips. “I need your clothing off and I need it now. I want you inside me.”

  He lifted his hips only enough to kick off his trousers. “Plum,” he choked out as she ran her hands over his shoulders and biceps with a look in her eyes he could only describe as hungry, “I’m beginning to think you like the look of me.” He knew he was looking at her the same way, desperate and needy. They had both spent years burying and ignoring the current of desire that existed between them, and now that it was out in the open he was stunned by the force of it.

  He grabbed her backside and pulled her closer, bringing the warmth and wetness between her legs to brush against the head of his cock. He clamped his hands on her hips and kissed the corner of her grin. Above him, against him, ready to take him into her body, she looked like some kind of goddess. She was always beautiful, but at this moment he worshiped the ground beneath her feet.

  As the head of his cock brushed her entrance, he hissed, bucking his hips slightly, chasing after more of that sensation she had teased him with. As she lowered onto him, surrounding him and drawing him in, he kept his eyes locked on her face. She hadn’t done this specific act before either, and he wanted to see every reaction writ on her face. But then she sank lower and he closed his eyes with a groan.