The Devilish Pleasures of a Duke Read online

  “What are you going to do about her, Emma? She’s quite incorrigible.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I should be tempted to turn her out on her ear.”

  “I am tempted, believe me. And, yes, I know everyone thinks I’m a trifle mad for trying to reform a street girl in the first place. Perhaps I am.”

  “Perhaps everyone else is wrong,” Charlotte gave her a sympathetic smile. “You’ve worked wonders on some of your students.”

  “I’ve had modest success.”

  She had, in fact, done her duty by the three other altruistic cases she’d undertaken. One had become a competent housekeeper; her sister had married a judge. The third was a dedicated schoolmistress in Gloucester who was engaged to an apothecary.

  No one knew how those minor triumphs had lifted Emma’s spirits. How her personal mission to transform all of England into a haven for the refined had lifted her above the pall of grief that had befallen her when she had lost a brother, her father, and her husband in a short span of time.

  Perhaps it was sheer Boscastle arrogance, believing herself imbued with the power to improve others.

  At least in her case, as opposed to the behavior of her siblings, she had channeled that Boscastle spirit into a force for the good of humankind.

  Until last night.

  Last night…when she had proven, if only to herself, that Emma Boscastle really wasn’t any different, or any better, than the rest of her scandal-prone family. She might well be the most wicked of the lot, and if this were true, well, there would be no one in the family to take her to task.

  Adrian rubbed the thick towel against his smooth jaw. His valet, Bones, could shave a man in under a minute. He could behead one, too, if it came to it, which had been a useful talent for a mercenary’s subaltern and makeshift undertaker, but one that would hardly stand him in good stead with English Society. He and Bones had met while defending East Indiamen from French pirates on the Persian Gulf, their duty having been to discourage the growth of French industry. A year later Bones had lost an eye while defending Lahore and had consequently offered to sail as Adrian’s valet to Java under the orders of Stamford Ruffles. Bones had done his part to enable the British to conquer Batavia.

  “How do I look?” Adrian inquired, stooping to examine his face in the gilt-edged cheval glass.

  “The very picture of health, my lord.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Adrian regarded his sun-burnished complexion in disgruntlement. “I don’t look as if there’s a thing wrong with me.”

  “Indeed, you do not,” his valet agreed. “I thought you said you’d never felt better in your life, that something had happened to snap you out of the doldrums.”

  “Damnation.”

  “My lord?” Bones asked, busily repackaging his soaps and blades.

  “You dressed a few men for their funerals after battle in the Punjab, didn’t you?” Adrian asked.

  “Alas, more than a few. It was the least I could do, with no professional to prepare their bodies for burial. I viewed it as an artistic compassion. Remember that at one time, I had hoped to work in the theater—”

  “Do you think you could make me look a little less wholesome?” Adrian interrupted. “Not deathly ill, you understand. But a trifle poorly. A man you’d feel needed a little tenderness.”

  “I could make you look as if you had been trampled by a herd of elephants,” Bones said with a contemplative air. “Or by a stagecoach, considering we are back in what one arguably calls the civilized world.”

  “I doubt we need go to those extremes,” Adrian said pensively. “An impression of underlying malaise will suffice for my purposes.”

  Thankfully Bones did not inquire what those purposes might be. He was already poking about the pots of rouge and rice paper that sat in neat rows upon the dressing table. “Ah, if I could only find a little ceruse—are you quite sure about this, my lord? The physician is waiting outside the door. He will insist you remain in bed if you appear un-well. I know how idleness displeases you.”

  Adrian dropped down onto the chaise, tilting his head back in anticipation. “I shall simply have to take his advice if he does, won’t I? Who am I to argue with a superior mind?”

  It seemed to Emma that scarcely fifteen minutes of relative peace had elapsed before another crisis presented itself. Charlotte intercepted her at the door, her cheeks high with color.

  “I was just on the way into the garden.” Emma was tying the ribbons of her low-crowned silk bonnet beneath her chin. “Have the girls settled down?”

  “The girls are fine.” Charlotte paused to catch her breath.

  “That reminds me, Charlotte. Did the earl’s niece send any more news of when she would arrive? I should hate for her to witness a scene such as that with Harriet on her first day. When she—”

  Charlotte broke in quietly. “It’s him.”

  “What?” And yet deep inside she knew. How could she not when nothing else had occupied her thoughts?

  “It’s Lord Wolverton.” Charlotte’s voice was soft but distraught. “I heard the footmen asking about the house for Heath. It seems the physician has just finished examining Lord Wolverton and fears he’s taken a turn for the worse. He did warn us this could happen.”

  “Oh, no.” A chill raised gooseflesh on her arms. “He looked so…vital when I saw him last night.” Rather too vital. “I should have visited him personally this morning. This is all my fault.”

  “Of course, it’s not,” Charlotte assured her, ever loyal to her social sponsor and cousin. “His condition must have declined during the night. How could anyone fault you?”

  “During the night?” Emma lapsed into worried silence. If she hadn’t exactly encouraged Adrian’s amorous advances late last night, she had not rebuffed them, either. To think that the exertion of their unplanned episode could have been the catalyst for his decline. No. She refused to entertain such a mortifying possibility. The passion of Emma Boscastle doing physical harm to a man? She felt faintly ill herself all of a sudden.

  “Have you seen him yourself, Charlotte?” she asked, her eyes ink dark with distress.

  “Yes. But only for the few moments I left Julia with the girls and accompanied the physician.”

  “How did he look?”

  “A little pale. His skin had a waxen look. Not, I don’t know, well, but then I didn’t want to appear as if I were examining him.”

  “Dear me.” Emma could not easily envision his deterioration, having left a man whose energy had been striking.

  “He was ever so cavalier about it, Emma. I could tell he was struggling to hide how he felt. A true gentleman at heart that man, if ever I saw one, and I don’t care what he may have done in the past. He even insisted I not disturb you with news of his relapse.”

  “Which, of course, quite properly, you did.”

  Charlotte gave a heartfelt sigh as Emma edged around her to ascend the stairs. “Yes, well, I knew you would kill me if I didn’t.”

  Chapter Eight

  As she entered the bedchamber, Emma took grave note of the Boscastle physician bent at Adrian’s side. The air was redolent with the pungent scent of an herbal poultice and burnt feathers. “How is he?” she asked with a worried glance at the large man lying upon the bed.

  “His pulses seemed fine until you entered the room, Lady Lyons,” the doctor answered, sounding a little perplexed. “Perhaps the excitement of hearing your voice after what happened yesterday has overstimulated him.”

  “After what—”

  “Forgive me for bringing it up again,” the physician said at her distraught look. “I know it is an incident a lady would wish to forget.”

  He had no idea. Emma took another step forward. The excitement of seeing her after what happened…He could not possibly be referring to those events of the past evening, unless Adrian had become delirious and talked in his sleep.

  S
he tiptoed closer to his bedside. From the doorway he had appeared more subdued than the last time she had seen him, which, considering exactly what he’d been doing to her, was a relief.

  But as his head turned on the pillow, as his unfocused eyes lifted briefly to hers in question, she was struck by his obvious decline during the night. His beautiful sun-bronzed skin had taken on a chalky pallor. Dark circles carved shadows above his strong cheekbones. The devilish twinkle in his half-lidded hazel eyes could only be a sign of fever. “He doesn’t look himself at all,” she exclaimed.

  The physician shook his head. “I agree. I’d have applied leeches to his veins had he not kicked up such a fuss.”

  She took a deep breath. “Perhaps you will have to restrain him. I don’t mind helping if it is what he requires.”

  “We can wait a bit. I’ve just gotten a decent dose of opium into him—Lady Lyons, you look a little peaked yourself. Should you not have a sit?”

  “Thank you, no.” Her horrified gaze latched on the jar of leeches at Adrian’s bedside. The poor rogue. Was it possible that he had not even known he was seducing her last night? Had she, in letting herself be taken advantage of, taken advantage of a senseless man? Perhaps he had not been himself at all. Perhaps he had not even known what he was about.

  “Dear heavens,” she whispered, backing so abruptly into the bedpost that she not only alarmed the physician but also startled Adrian into opening his eyes to stare at her.

  A shiver of electrifying sensation chased down her back. For the most peculiar instant he appeared so lucid that she was tempted to believe he had made a sudden recovery. And then he slumped back against the pillows with a disheartening moan. She was not certain what his behavior meant.

  She turned her head to the physician. “Did he just awaken only to fall unconscious again?”

  The Scotsman leaned over Adrian’s unmoving form, searching for the pulse in his throat. “He appears to be asleep. I’ve drugged him heavily. I do believe you aroused his passions and thus stimulated his response.”

  “I what?” she asked in an embarrassed whisper.

  “The passionate humours that govern a patient’s—my gracious, it is only an old medical term, Lady Lyons. I did not mean it in a literal sense nor to offend you.” He rose. “The smell of these herbs is aggravating my lungs. Excuse me while I step out into the air a moment to clear my head. Do you want me to summon a servant? I don’t think he is liable to awaken again for some time.”

  Emma shook her head. “I’ll wait until you come back.”

  Adrian was surprised how guilty he felt at Emma’s concern over his apparent, and fraudulent, decline. In fact, he was suddenly ashamed of himself for attempting to deceive her. The truth was that he enjoyed her attention, and he wasn’t entirely ready to give it up. The concern of an attractive woman, he was learning, was a powerful beguilement indeed.

  She touched his shoulder, murmuring that he would be all right. Her voice held him spellbound. Adrian could not remember when, if ever, he’d known such a pure and beautiful attraction. Without doubt she was the most desirable, the finest woman he’d ever met. She came from a family he had long respected.

  And how had he repaid that respect?

  His thoughts drifted.

  The drug blunted his awareness. He slipped into elusive darkness, a dream.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Emma whispered.

  “Of what?” His voice was hoarse. It must be nightfall. Had he been asleep?

  “Of the dark. I’m here to take care of you. I know what you need.”

  What he needed.

  He managed to sit up in bed and stared into the dark, his throat closing. He wasn’t sure how long she’d been at his side. But she appeared to be removing her dressing gown, slowly dropping it to the carpet. Her beautiful breasts shone like large pearls in the darkness. Her slender limbs danced enticingly beyond his reach. Delicate yet voluptuous. A woman’s ripe body. His groin burned.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered. “Don’t let anyone else…see you.”

  His gaze traveled over her perfect body. Her brown-pink nipples, her rounded belly, the fluff of gold-tinged curls above her sweet quim. He wished to God he could shake off his fatigue. His mouth watered at the sight of her. “Turn around,” he ordered her huskily, his penis lifting against the bedclothes.

  She did, her red-gold hair teasing the tempting white cheeks of her arse. He grabbed her by the waist, one hand settling between her silky thighs. She was warm and fragrantly wet, riding his wrist like a naughty little nymph. He bit her nape. She bucked, thrusting her breasts out, and uttering a soft cry. He squeezed one ripe nipple until it turned cherry-red and taut.

  His cock rose hard and throbbing. He pushed off the bedcovers and drew her down onto his lap.

  “I don’t want you to overexert yourself,” she whispered, sitting delicately between his heavy thighs. “You’re not well.”

  “Are you going to make me well?” he asked, not feeling weak but powerful, so desperate to house his aching prick in her pouting little cleft that he couldn’t seem to focus. He thrust upward.

  She smiled and cupped her firm breasts in her hands. The taut pink tips protruded between her fingers. “You have to stay in bed while I take care of you. I know what you need.”

  “What I need,” he whispered.

  He groaned and locked his hands around her hips. She slid forward with a gasp of pleasure until his penis probed between her damp gold curls. Penetration eluded him. He writhed in frustration. “I think this would help,” he whispered, raising himself into her.

  She lifted herself daintly from his lap to accommodate his turgid organ. “Like so?”

  He groaned in agonized delight. “Yes. Sit on me, Emma. My shaft is about to burst.”

  She slid her hands down to the base of his enormous erection. He was going to explode soon, in or outside her tempting body, between her fingers or against her belly. “Will it fit?” she asked in a taunting whisper.

  He flexed his back, the tip of his cock stabbing the drenched lips of her womanhood. “We’ll make it fit, sweetheart,” he said. “We’ll stretch you slowly until you take it all the way. I can’t quite…I can’t…”

  In a faraway voice she whispered, “Adrian…are you all right?”

  Was he all right? He would be as soon as he found relief.

  He surged upward, impaling her in answer. It felt so good. She gave a soft cry of surrender. He felt her hands on his face, his neck. His body moved spasmodically.

  She eluded him. His stones ached. His body drew taut, every muscle aching for the release that evaded him. Suddenly he felt her slipping away. He groaned in despair.

  “Please,” he whispered.

  Her soft voice filtered through a fog. “You mustn’t thrash so.”

  “I’ll be good.” His body trembled. He could smell the sweetness of her hair, her skin. Her breasts brushed his face. “Please, Emma,” he whispered. “Don’t leave me. I need you.”

  He opened his eyes and knew it had been a dream. In the back of his mind he heard his father’s damning prediction. “You’ll ruin lives, Adrian. You’ve already ruined mine.”

  “Liar,” he said. “You’re a liar.”

  “Are you awake, my lord?” Emma whispered, her voice worried. “How unsettled you are. I do admit I was afraid for you.”

  “Someone drugged me.” He was suddenly lucid. Emma was sitting at his bedside, her eyes heavy with fatigue. For a hopeful moment he thought they were alone until he noticed Julia dozing a few feet away on the chaise. He sank back down onto the bed in disappointment. He’d been dreaming, half-delirious. Why did he have to awaken?

  “The doctor thought you needed sedation,” Emma told him gently. “You were so restless that we didn’t want to leave you.”

  “Did I say anything in my sleep?”

  She stared down at him. “Yes, but I couldn’t understand you. How do you feel?”

  “Thirsty as hell.” Aroused. His body ach
ed unbearably, hot and heavy with unfulfilled passion. And if she hadn’t noticed, he wasn’t about to draw his discomfiture to her notice.

  “Is he awake?” Julia asked groggily from the chaise. She rose, hugging a cashmere shawl around her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to doze off. How is he, Emma?”

  “He’s thirsty,” Adrian replied. Among other things, and now there were two of them to deceive.

  “I’ll fetch some fresh water,” Julia said.

  Emma glanced up. “No. I’ll call a footman—”

  “I need to move about,” Julia said, already at the door. “I’ve a horrible pain in my neck.”

  Her voice trailed off. The candles fluttered as the door shut.

  “Are we alone now?” Adrian asked, easing up on one well-muscled shoulder, his eyes intent on Emma.

  She glanced back at the closed door. “Yes, but she won’t be—”

  She gasped in surprise as he pulled her onto the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist, his face buried in her neck. “I had a dream about you,” he said. “I’ve never dreamed like that before.”

  “A dream—Adrian, she’s going to come back at any moment.”

  “I don’t care.”

  He sank his fingers into the tight knot of hair at her nape and sought her mouth. If they had only a moment, he was not about to waste it. He could hear her breath catch sweetly. For an instant he felt her resistance start to slip; her mouth parted for his kiss, her back arched against the hand he’d planted above her bottom. Desire leapt to life in his belly. He might have been dreaming of her before, but this was real. Her breath mingled with his. Her soft flesh yielded.

  He wanted her. Not only her surrender but her company, damn the danger of being caught. They were past the age of reproach. She had been married and he’d been to war. His blood came to a slow boil, and she knew it, too. He enjoyed the challenge. In proving himself to her, he might convince himself of his own worth.

  “Emma.” He brushed the back of his hand down her shoulder to her breast, shivering at the silky texture of her skin, remembering how real his dream had been. His lips teased her mouth.