The Forbidden Duchess Page 2

  “My dear, there you are.” He extended his hand and she came to take it. She smiled blandly at him. “What can I get you? Sherry, as always?”

  “Yes, that would be nice, thank you.” She wouldn’t dare ask about the devil, didn’t care. Wouldn’t give herself the chance to care, more like it.

  “Philip decided to accept his friends’ invitation for a night out, so he won’t be joining us.” John informed, as he handed her the sherry.

  “I see. He must have a lot to talk to them, I am certain.” She sipped it as if the mention of his name meant nothing to her, but her skin prickled all the same.

  What would he do? Gamble? Drink the night away? Or spend the night with some paramour? The idea of him in the arms of any woman made her blood freeze. She didn’t want to search for the cause of that.

  “Doubtlessly.” Her husband’s comment took her out of her reverie.

  They finished their drink in silence and went to the even more lavishly decorated dining room, arm in arm.

  As the footmen served the first course, she thought that food would be the last thing she wanted at that moment.

  “He’ll be staying here with us, at least temporarily.” John spoke again. “I hope you don’t mind.” He took a spoonful of soup.

  “Certainly not.” She managed to sound casual, sipping her wine.

  “Before the war he had his bachelor’s quarters, as you might deduce.” He let the footman take his plate. “Then he went to war and ceased the rent contract.”

  Unfortunate, she thought. Hopefully, he’d rent something soon or make himself scarce often.

  The next course arrived and all she could do was change the food from one side to the other. Her stomach churned at the smell of the delicious pheasant.

  “I reckon we should offer a welcome dinner for him to reacquaint himself with society.”

  As if he hadn’t been welcome enough yesterday, she thought grimly. Nevertheless, among a wife’s duties were the social activities in her home. Her husband called for a welcome dinner and her place should be to organise it.

  “I will make the necessary arrangements, then.”

  “Good!” The pheasant seemed to be to his taste, if his concentration on it was anything to go by.

  The rest of the dinner ran smoothly enough. Afterwards, Lord Crompton went to his study, as usual and she took refuge in the library. A couple of hours passed without sign of the devil and she retired to bed. Emotionally strained, she slept immediately.

  Philip sat in a shady corner of his club, the best scotch in his hand. His friends had invited him to go to Madame Noir’s, famous for her beautiful girls. He refused though. The idea of such a place at that moment only made him feel sick.

  Nonetheless, his imagination got the best of him and made his brain run in circles. He pictured the witch sitting at dinner with John, talking and smiling at him. Dinner over, his uncle would take her hand, both would retire to her chambers, where she’d disclose all her delightful person, and they would… Bloody hell! Bloody damned hell!

  Oh, but he knew what he would do to her. What they would do together. He’d lay her in his bed and take her luscious mouth and… He had to stop these lascivious thoughts. Totally. Painfully. He downed half the whisky.

  Moreover, he had to move out from Crompton house. If things continued this way, he’d go mad. How could a woman make this impression on him in such a short time? The damned witch! He gulped the rest of the amber drink.

  Well, he’d have to go to sleep sooner or later. Preferably, before he got too drunk and lost control. He stood and headed to Crompton house.

  He entered a dark, silent house. They had retired early after all, he thought vexed. It was barely eleven. He climbed up the marble stairs. His rooms were in the opposite wing from his uncle’s. He stopped at the top and listened. Not a sound. He went to his room before his feet misled him!

  Selene awoke to steps on the stairs, heavy and masculine. Her body immediately alert. The steps ceased at the top for a couple of seconds, as if searching. They recommenced distancing to the other wing. The devil back for sure. She wrung the bed cover hard in her palms for fear that her body would follow erratically the steps. She willed her heart to slow down, turned to the other side and tried to sleep.

  Chapter 3

  “A welcome dinner?”

  She stood ramrod straight, at a safe distance from him. Lamentably, this morning, she met him at the top stair on his way to breakfast. She thought to inform him, so she wouldn’t have to go looking for him just to talk about that. It would be stupid to address him for more than the essential.

  He strode closer. Closer than necessary. Smelling of fresh bath, his sleek black hair humid, he looked like a fallen angel. His soap had no fragrance, which made her sense his natural manly smell. In her mind, she’d bend to his broad chest and smell him further. She held herself, though.

  “I think there’s no need of that.”

  She had to lift her head to meet his clove-coloured eyes. Big mistake. They bore into her with such intensity, that they caught her off balance.

  “Well, John wishes it, so I reckon we will do it anyway.” She silenced. He kept looking down at her.

  “What about you? What do you wish?” Her ears absorbed his silky rich velvet voice, huskier than usual and heat shot through her.

  Oh, there were a number of things she wished, the first being for him to leave this house and give her back her lost peace. The little peace she could reserve to herself at least.

  “You don’t want to know.” Defiantly, she lifted her chin. He responded with a sardonic look and a lopsided scornful smile.

  She was wrong. He’d like to know everything about her. Her wishes, her desires, her dreams and where she wanted him to kiss her.

  He breathed a laugh, coarse as his body seemed to be going out of control. Again.

  “I don’t want to be near you as much as you don’t want me here.” When did he become a good liar? Being near her was so intoxicating that he couldn’t get enough. “But I won’t let my uncle alone, so you can turn his head!”

  Her deep-green eyes shot fierce ire at him. She had such flaming fire in her! Would she be this fiery elsewhere too? When had his thoughts become so undisciplined, bloody hell!

  “You must be the most despicable man on the planet!” She hissed hotly.

  He forced himself to smile unpleasantly. “I’ll take this as praise.”

  Her hands lifted to her slender waist, emphasising her hourglass figure. His eyes travelled down her body and she flushed furiously.

  “Which leads to the conclusion you have little to be praised!” With that, she turned and strode angrily to her chamber.

  He watched her hips sway provocatively. Having breakfast alone would be frustrating.

  His rich velvet chuckle followed her until she closed the door to her chambers and leaned on it, breathing hard. The man was infuriating! Tolerating him for a long time would be a sour challenge!

  She’d ring for breakfast in her room and then she’d get busy with the preparations for the dinner.

  The glittery world didn’t appeal to her so much, she realised as she stood beside John, greeting their guests. She organised dinners, garden-parties, tea-parties. She dressed accordingly, played her part and interacted with people without much fuss. She enjoyed socialising, but if she had to live out in the country, it wouldn’t hurt either. She felt glad that she could be this versatile.

  She greeted Lady and Lord Stanford, a couple in their forties, with adolescent children, when Philip, or should she think of him as Major Rockfield, approached. He looked gorgeous today, tall broad and with his sleek hair falling to his forehead. His piercing clove-coloured eyes met hers and heat climbed up her spine. Never leaving her eyes, he bent over her gloved hand. His thumb glided over the soft silk warm ever so subtly, it could not be called improper. Her reaction to it was appallingly improper, though! Caught unawares, she flushed and lowered her gaze. How she wished she felt in
different to him!

  He greeted his uncle and disappeared in a matter of seconds.

  He hadn’t gone far though. He posted himself in a corner of the room and watched her with veiled interest. He shouldn’t be tempted. He shouldn’t go astray. The contact with her skin had been too much for him. She smelled of orange flowers, sweet and irresistible. His damned thumb went on its own accord. When he saw, he’d done it, revelling in her silky skin. This fuss about not letting his uncle alone? Nonsense! He resisted being away from her, albeit he must. He’d never betray his uncle, the man who took him in when he lost his parents. The man who was almost a father to him, who guided him through his adulthood with honour and patience. No. He had to go, before he lost his mind. If he kept away, he’d surely find other interests and forget all about this woman that set fire to his blood as if it was made of dry hay. Too much, too soon!

  Tonight she wore a peach coloured silk high-waist dress that brought out the satiny cream of her skin and her generous tempting bosom. Her glossy brown hair up in curls revealed her high appetising neck. She was wholly made for the night.

  Smiling at everyone, she charmed every single guest, especially the men. A smile that wouldn’t be for him alone, never. All the men seemed to melt under her attention! He had this inescapable impulse of strangling any male in the room, with a possessiveness he didn’t know he could feel. She brought out everything that was primitive and instinctive in him! How did she do that?

  Drinks rounded to guests. Lady Emily, daughter of The Earl of Pendleton, approached with her mother. Now, matchmaking mothers and starry-eyed chits didn’t figure in his priorities at that precise moment. He couldn’t seem to be able to put his emotions in check.

  “Major Rockfield! There you are!” Lady Pendleton purred, salivating more than her daughter. “Have you met my young girl?”

  “No, but I’m sure you’ll correct this flaw.” He answered acidly. Despite being called Major, he chose to dress as a civilian this evening, as uniforms seemed to have a specific effect on women. Best avoided.

  Apparently not understanding his meaning, she went on. “Emily, this is Major Rockfield.” The girl curtsied shyly and blushed when he bowed too politely.

  “Enchanted, lady.” His dry stance caused her to blush deeper.

  “Welcome back to England, Major.” The girl said properly.

  He nodded. “Now, if you excuse me,” he cut the chat short. “Lord Stanford is calling me.” He bowed and left before he could be accused of uncivilized. Which was how he felt.

  Obviously women would pour over him, Selene thought disgruntled. Handsome as the devil and rich as Croesus, all the mamas of the ton would like to make her daughter the future duchess. Well, it would be preferable if he got married and got scarce in the process. About time he performed the usual family traditions. She tried to convince herself of this, but didn’t reach far. Seeing him with other women didn’t feel comfortable at all.

  The butler announced dinner. Etiquette dictated that the lady of the house paired with the guest of honour. Also, the former would sit at the right of the lord of the house, which meant on the extreme opposite of her, to her relief.

  In no time, Philip posted himself at her side and she had no other option than place her hand on his sleeve. Any tiny physical contact with him felt impossibly unbearable. It unleashed the most alien reactions in her. This time was no different. She sensed his unique scent, the heat of his body, the ripple of his muscle under the sleeve. Insufficient and overwhelming all at the same time. This constant tension tore her apart little by desperate little. Even pacing slowly seemed a heavy burden with him so close.

  “Your dinner seems to be already a success, Lady Crompton.” His rich velvet voice came seasoned with sarcasm when he pronounced her name. Even so, his voice had the expected effect on her nerves.

  “Thank you, Major Rockfield!” She responded in kind.

  He chuckled with casual dismissal. “A sharp tongue is always preceded by a sharp mind. Am I right?”

  “What do you know about me, Major?” She lifted her head to glimpse his eyes, which were fixed attentively on her. “All you see is the smoke of your own prejudices.”

  “Do I now?” His brows arched sardonically. “Perhaps I see through the smoke.”

  She had no time to refute this, as they’d reached the sumptuously prepared dining room. He led her to her place, bowed and went to sit on his designated chair.

  Philip begun to doubt his own sanity. Sparring with her proved to bring so much pleasure that he couldn’t resist baiting her. Each time, he became surprised at how intelligent and balanced she revealed herself to be.

  As soon as they sat, the footmen served and conversations became lively. He saw Selene, his moon-goddess, perform the role of Lady of the house to a fault. His piercing clove-coloured eyes were never far from her, as he saw himself as unable to look much elsewhere. Even when he didn’t look at her, his attention fell on her solely. Alright, so she couldn’t be called his. Thinking of her with such possessiveness would become bad habit. She was a witch that was getting under his skin too fast for comfort.

  She smiled at all guests, specially the male ones and flirted shamelessly. An acid, burning sensation arose in his stomach at the…generosity she dispensed to them. He tried to divert from the opposite side of the long table and pay some heed to the lady at his side. A difficult task under the circumstances.

  Stafford and Pendleton started to demand too much of her attention, since wine flowed freely. Her lips and cheeks hurt with the forced smiles and her neck got stiff with so many nods. If they drank some more, they’d go out of control and she’d need to take preventive actions. She hoped it didn’t come to that.

  Discretely she checked on John and, apparently, he enjoyed himself talking to guests at his left and right. A glad thing he found contentment in that.

  Dessert came after a dinner she barely picked at. Philip’s incessant stares from the other side bit at her nerves. She’d sensed his focus on her non-stop, contempt and disgust so obvious in his eyes. What did she do wrong now for pity’s sake?

  Dinner over at last, John led the men to the library for cigars and brandy and she led the ladies to the drawing room. She’d finally be able to breath a little easier.

  The rest of the evening ran as usual; and fortunately the gentlemen behaved. After the guests had left, John pleaded tiredness and retired while she gave the last instruction to the housekeeper.

  She strode back to the drawing room for last details and stopped short. The devil stood there, glass of brandy in his none too steady hand.

  The house was silent, the candles dimmed, the fire at the fireplace almost fading. It set an atmosphere of intimacy, inappropriate and unwelcome.

  He turned to her, his eyes surveying her with undisguised hunger. Each place his clove piercing gaze went felt like he touched her. Her heart raced, her skin heated, her pupils dilated.

  “How many lovers, so far?” A lazy rich velvet tone that caressed her defenceless skin.

  Her brows pleated. What the heck was he talking about? “Lovers?”

  “Yes.” Came his casual answer. “You flirted with anything in trousers tonight.” He gave an unpleasant lopsided smirk. “The real question is everyone at the same time or separately.”

  A red-hot fury exploded in her guts like a volcano. The wave so intense, she feared she’d respond physically to it. Preferably throttling the damn blackguard once and for all!

  He breathed a fluid sarcastic laugh. “Such fire!” He took a swig of his glass. “Impossible for an old husband to appease!”

  No. She hadn’t heard that vulgar comment, she tried to convince herself. Not possible to be so utterly disrespected.

  She forced a smile dripping ire and contempt to hide the hurt. “Ten.”

  “Excuse me?” He looked down at her, pacing a little closer.

  “Your question, Major.” She lifted her chin and defied him openly. “Ten lovers, all at the same time; I
mean, same hour and same place! She greeted her teeth with indignation and sorrow. How dared he judge her so lowly?

  “Oh, daring, are we?” He came even closer.

  She stood her ground. Not for her life he’d see what his words were doing to her, the blasted bully!

  His hand came to her chin and lifted it to him. Their eyes battled fiercely. “Is there place for one more?”

  The impulse to hit him on the face was so ferociously intense she almost lost control. But no…oh no! She wouldn’t go down to his level. Never. She fisted her hands so tightly, her knuckles whitened.

  His proximity undermined her defences. The heat of his body, his male scent, his thin wicked lips, and his height were playing havoc in her body. She wanted to lean on him and run away at the same time. Lucidity prevailed, though. She jerked her head to the side to escape his disturbing touch and put distance between them.

  “There is no place in my bed for filthy reprobates!” She said with hot disgust.

  Without giving him the chance to reply, she turned on her heels and left.

  She could hardly reach her chambers before tears rolled down her cheeks. Besides having to live a life she hadn’t chosen in the least, now she had to put up with that abusive wretch!

  She wiped her angry tears from her face resolutely. From now on, she would not give him to chance to bully her. She’d avoid him like the plague.

  What was he thinking? Philip thought irritably as he paced his room like a jailed beast. He’d broken all rules of polite society in the unacceptable way he treated her. He owed her an apology, due first thing in the morning.

  This situation became fast unsustainable. He paced some more. His motives were none too noble either. He froze in front of the mirror. The cause there, in the swollen bulge in his elegant trousers. Sexual frustration. So deep and hot, he felt incapable of dealing with it! What was he supposed to do with this…state?