Page 15 of Don’t Let Your Dukes Grow Up To Be Scoundrels (Dukes in Disguise #1)

Chapter Fourteen

It absolutely was not the last time she kissed Hal Deveril.

To her great dismay, she could not seem to stop kissing him. Behind the bar, when Lucy wasn’t looking. While walking into town behind Bess and Henrietta, who had allowed herself to be persuaded into daily strolls about the countryside. In the large front bedchamber, when he caught her up there making the beds ready.

That time, with the relative privacy and proximity to an actual bed, things had almost gotten out of hand. It was only the noisy arrival of a pair of bickering young lords that had prevented Gemma from finally becoming the debauched, wanton strumpet the Ton already believed her to be.

She wished she could pretend to be glad of the timely interruption, but as she hurried down the stairs to greet her newest guests, Gemma wished them to the very devil.

Her first glimpse of the two young men posing like bookends on either side of the hearth did not improve her mood. They were younger than she, probably closer to Lucy’s age than Gemma’s. And even if she hadn’t vaguely recognized them as hangers-on to the Duke of Thornecliff’s social circle, their mannerisms and mode of dress would have given it away.

Their breeches were tight over their padded thighs. Stiffly starched cravats held their weak chins at an improbable angle. Their waistcoats were garish. Their expressions were dull and sleepy, rather than Thorne’s infamous heavy-lidded smolder.

If Thorne was a marble Apollo carved by a master, these two appeared to be the results of amateur efforts by student sculptors working in rough clay.

Putting on her best smile, Gemma sighed inwardly. It was not easy to go straight from Hal’s strong, heated embrace to the limp handshakes produced by these two specimens, but she was determined.

Since the night Thorne and the ladies spent at Five Mile House, and the subsequent arrival of a steady-ish stream of well-heeled aristocratic guests, Gemma’s mother had made the start of a miraculous recovery. It was a relief to see her coming back to herself now that the plan was beginning to bear fruit, but Gemma did not delude herself that Henrietta’s improvement would continue if Gemma gave up on marrying well.

Each day saw Henrietta a bit more like her old self; she no longer slept the day away or huddled alone in her room, but ventured forth in one of her beloved bonnets to take the air, enjoy Bess’s cooking alongside her daughters, dabble about with the paints Gemma had unearthed from her trunks, and socialize with the guests.

Henrietta had always loved to play hostess, and it appeared to have dawned on her that living at Five Mile House was akin to hosting a never-ending house party with a revolving series of surprise guests.

Like these two fops.

“Lord Percival Merriwether, at your service,” cried the taller of the two gentlemen, at the same time as the shorter fellow nearly shouted, “Lord Bertram Archibald, ecstatic to make your acquaintance!”

This was a lot to take in. But her practiced eye quickly catalogued the fine quality and cut of their clothing, the polished shine of their Hessian boots, and concluded that they were worth at least the effort of having Lucy look them up in her copy of Debrett’s Peerage.

“My lords.” Gemma gave a pretty curtsy and looked up at them, flashing her dimple.

The way both lordlings’s stares went straight to her bodice and fastened there made her want to roll her eyes. It also made her want to nervously double check that all her laces were done up properly and her lace fichu tucked in again after Hal’s clever fingers had disarranged it, but she forced herself to straighten instead.

“Welcome to Five Mile House,” she said. “What brings you gentlemen here this afternoon?”

“Our bosom friend, the Duke of Thornecliff told us there were sights not to be missed at Five Mile House, don’t you know,” simpered Lord Percival, with a suggestive leer.

“Impeccable taste, has the duke,” Lord Bertram agreed importantly, screwing a quizzing glass into his eye and blinking affectedly. “Always knows the best places, what? ”

“Oh, indubitably.”

“Yes, I say, rather. Eh what?”

The gentlemen bobbed their heads so much, indicating their complete and perfect agreement with one another in their admiration of Thorne’s good taste, they looked like puffed up hens pecking at scattered grain.

Bosom friend, my eye.

If Thorne had ever spoken more than two consecutive words to these fellows, Gemma would eat one of her mother’s hats. Moreover, she’d be willing to lay decent odds upon those two words from Thorne being “Sod off.”

In the silence of her own mind, Gemma began to fervently pray that Hal would stay upstairs and somehow not encounter these two.

Not so much because she actually considered them excellent prospects, but because she didn’t think she’d be able to be in the same room with him and the lordlings and not die laughing.

But of course, Gemma’s prayers went unanswered.

Lord Percy and Lord Bertie, as they insisted she call them, began a long, convoluted recitation of the events of their uneventful journey from London, just as Hal stalked down the stairs with murder in his eyes and a bland smile on his handsome face.

When he caught sight of the pair of popinjays strutting about Gemma, however, the murder was replaced by mischief.

As expected, Gemma could hardly keep her countenance as Hal sauntered across the public room and dipped his head in a nod of greeting. But rather to Gemma’s surprise, Lord Bertie brightened upon meeting Hal, exclaiming, “I say, you must be the, er, barman the Duke of Thornecliff mentioned! What?”

“Ah yes, so he must be, how very perspicacious of you, Bertie.”

“Why, thank you, Percy.”

“Don’t mention it, old chap.”

Gemma frowned slightly, taking the opportunity of the two lordlings self-congratulatory back and forth to lean close to Hal. “I wonder what cause Thorne would’ve had to include a mention of you in whatever story he’s telling about his visit to Five Mile House,” she said in a low voice.

“Perhaps he enjoyed the scotch I chose for him,” Hal replied lightly, but there was a tension Gemma didn’t understand pulling his long, muscular limbs taut.

Before Gemma could dig deeper, however, the two lords returned their attention to her. “Do you have a room or two to spare?” Lord Percy inquired, waggling his brows. “Preferably conveniently close to your own bower.”

Oh Lord. Gemma fluttered her eyelashes to hide how very badly she wished to roll her eyes instead. “Lord Percy, you are too naughty! Of course we can accommodate both of you gentlemen. I shall put you in rooms right next door to one another, how would that be?”

They proclaimed that it would be absolute perfection, and in short order, were installed in their comfortable rooms with their valets to attend them as they dressed for dinner, despite Gemma’s repeated assurances that there was no need.

She then spent the next hour going back and forth between their rooms, fulfilling one request after another, each more ridiculous than the last. An extra pillow for Lord Percy; a different coverlet for Lord Bertie. A larger cheval glass for Lord Percy; a smaller chair for Lord Bertie.

Once Hal had settled the coachman and outriders in the stable lodgings, he returned to help Gemma swap out the chairs.

“After this, I’m done,” she vowed as she attempted to maneuver the small chintz armchair out of her own room. “They must be engaged in some sort of competition as to which of them can make the biggest nuisance of himself.”

Hal stepped around her and hefted the chair easily, making Gemma huff. She refused to acknowledge the tingle of awareness in her lower extremities at the concrete evidence of Hal’s strength.

“It’s a bet,” he told her, carrying the chair down the hall to Lord Bertie’s room. “I had it from the footman they brought with them, Tom.”

Gemma knew she shouldn’t be surprised—these lads considered themselves protégés of the Duke of Thornecliff, after all. Still, her jaw felt slack. “What sort of bet, exactly?”

“Tom didn’t know all of the particulars.” Hal was clearly enjoying all this a bit too much. “But he did think the terms had something to do with getting you into bed. Charming fellows.”

“Those little bastards!” Gemma fumed.

“Perhaps in this case,” Hal suggested smugly, “you won’t mind when I run them off?”

Gemma pondered for a moment, then decided, “Wait until tomorrow. They can at least pay for their overnight stay.”

Hal gave a toothy grin and knocked on the door of the blue room. Lord Bertie answered it himself with a lecherous smile that dropped quickly from his face upon seeing Hal standing on the threshold.

“Ah, thank you! Many thanks, my good fellow,” he gabbled, stepping back to let Hal in with the chair and stumbling over the corner of the Aubusson rug.

“Don’t mention it.” Hal’s voice was a growl that shivered through Gemma’s stomach and sent heat prickling along her skin.

The way he loomed over poor Lord Bertie, pushing him back into the chamber with nothing more than his size and the force of his personality, had Gemma’s pulse racing.

With a conspiratorial smirk over his shoulder, Hal carried the chair into Lord Bertie’s room…and shut the door behind him.

Cursing under her breath, Gemma stepped closer to the closed door but she couldn’t make out a single sound from within the room.

A few short moments later, Hal emerged with the rejected article of furniture, a lovely wing chair covered in blue damask, and an air of satisfaction.

“What did you say to him?” she hissed, following closely on his heels as he carried the wing chair across the hall to her room.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with. They won’t be coming down for supper and they’ll be on their way in the morning.”

Gemma knew she should be taking Hal to task for his high-handed ways, but it didn’t feel quite like that in this instance.

If she was honest, in the quiet of her own heart, Hal’s actions felt more like…protection. Like he had made of himself a shield to stand between her and those who would callously, carelessly cause her pain.

And she knew she would be foolish to begin to count on that—in her life, there had never been anyone who stood with her against her enemies. She had always been on her own; she had learned self-reliance in a hard, very public, school.

But she could admit that having Hal angry enough on her behalf to strike fear into the heart of that young fop felt…nice.

In fact, it felt so nice that Gemma found herself closing the door behind them when Hal carried the wing chair into her room.

“My brave knight, slaying pomaded dragons for me,” she flirted somewhat giddily, feeling overheated and restless.

He snorted, setting the chair down in the corner. “A knight in somewhat rusty armor. Is this where you want the chair?”

“Hmm, let me see. I supposed I’d better test it out.”

Trailing her fingers along Hal’s broad back, down the roped muscle of his arm to the cushioned arm of the chair, Gemma circled so close to him that her breasts brushed his chest before she sat herself down. She felt, more than saw, the instantaneous hardening of his whole body.

“Mmm,” she purred, looking up at him. “Yes. The view from this position is spectacular. I could happily stay right here all day.”

Her gaze tracked the movement of his strong, tanned throat as he swallowed. His eyes darkened to the depths of the forest at night.

“A true knight,” he said slowly, voice rough and low, “would kneel before his lady.”

Gemma’s heart galloped like a runaway carriage horse, but she managed to keep from swooning when Hal folded that big, leanly muscled form into an elegant bend. With one knee on the floor, he bowed his head and glanced up at her from underneath the lock of auburn hair that fell over his forehead. His eyes gleamed with a secret smile that licked along the insides of her thighs like flame.

Her legs shifted slightly, rubbing together in shivery pleasure where the she was growing wet and sensitive, then sliding apart the barest inch. But it was enough to catch Hal’s attention, and his smile faded to be replaced with a predatory look that made Gemma clench around the hollow, empty feeling in her core.

“How may I be of service, my lady?”

She gasped when his large, capable hands came up to rest upon her knees. When he gently yet implacable pushed her legs wider, she began to pant. The air felt thin and hot, warmth rushing over her in a wave. When he paused for a moment to study her face, apparently waiting for something, Gemma held herself still for the space of a heartbeat.

For all her boasts of being a London lady who knew what to do in the dark, she had never done this before. But she knew what Hal wanted. She’d seen naughty engravings in her own parents’ library; her married lady friends were not shy in recounting their extramarital exploits. She’d attended parties so outrageous and beyond the bounds of propriety that couples engaging in this act, and others like it, could be found in darkened corners and alcoves. She had been invited to join in.

But Gemma had never trusted any man enough to bare herself in this way. She had never even been tempted, really.

Until now.

Hal Deveril was temptation incarnate, and even though Gemma knew it was a bad idea, that she was supposed to be consigning Hal to the past and training all her attention upon the future, nevertheless, she met his gaze and gave him a single, very deliberate nod.

As though he’d been unleashed, Hal immediately threw her skirts over his head and ran his palms up her legs, every caress awakening her flesh and rendering it tingly and so sensitive the brush of a feather could’ve made her cry out.

Gemma clutched at the arms of the chair and held on for dear life as Hal nibbled his way up her thighs. His mouth dampened the fine lawn of her drawers, the edge of his teeth nipping a bit to make her jump. And then he was there, at the juncture of her thighs where she was molten hot and swollen for him.

He paused, his panting breaths striking her core through the slit in her drawers, and Gemma squirmed helplessly on the slippery damask seat. A quavering moan escaped her throat, the tension too much to bear, and then he was upon her.

The first swipe of his tongue was a lick of fire that burned away every rational thought in Gemma’s head.

He sucked and laved, gently abrading the delicate tissues with the rasp of his beard then soothing the intense sensations with the agile softness of his tongue and lips. Her hips bucked and Hal slid his hands under her bottom to tilt her up to his voracious mouth, encouraging her to move.

Without her consent, her legs lifted and her ankles crossed behind Hal’s back, holding him to her. His groan vibrated the flesh between her legs.

Gemma’s hands flew to cover her mouth, trying to hold in her sharp cries of pleasure. Hal’s tongue slipped along the surface of her most private place and then, in an act that somehow shocked her, it went inside.

She clamped down, her inner walls fluttering uselessly, aching to grip something, to be filled instead of teased like this.

Her moans took on a despairing edge, her head tossing against the back of the chair. Hal immediately responded by replacing his tongue with a long, thick finger, giving her something to work against. The same feelings he’d given her in that field near Kissington Manor, but amplified and magnified and expanded by everything that had happened between them since.

She knew this man, and he knew her. Hal saw her. He wanted her. He protected her. She, who had felt always known herself to be alone, even in the midst of her family and friends—she was not alone when she was with Hal.

His mouth moved up, concentrating his sensual assault on the tight, slippery bud at the top of her cleft while his finger moved deep inside her. The combined sensations, the utter naughtiness and forbidden delight of what they were doing, drove Gemma higher and higher until she was straining against the ferocity of the pleasure he was giving her.

Grasping her skirts, she whisked them higher, needing to see him, to know that he was there with her, experiencing the dizzying heights of this moment just as she was.

But the sight of him working hungrily between her legs was more than she could bear. The wetness glistening on his beard, the width of his mighty shoulders spreading her thighs wide, the intensity squeezing his eyes shut as he tasted her…and then his eyes opened and he met her delirious gaze with a stare of such erotic euphoria that Gemma could be in no doubt that Hal was enjoying this as much as she was.

They were together in this, and the thought tipped her over the edge in a rush of feeling that had her legs shaking as spasm after spasm of ecstasy pulsed rhythmically through her entire body.

Her bones turned to water. She slumped in the chair, her new favorite piece of furniture in all the world. Her head lolled against the blue damask. She was utterly undone.

Hal sat back on his heels, his eyes glittering with hunger as he took in what must be a very debauched sight. Gemma’s legs had fallen away from his shoulders when she came to her crisis, but she had yet to muster the energy to close them. So she sprawled, spraddled in the chair, with every bit of her throbbing core on display for Hal’s intent stare.

The look on his face as he swiped a hand over his beard and smiled in satiation made it impossible to feel shame.

Instead, Gemma let herself revel in being as wanton as the world had always assumed she was. If she’d known how good it felt, she might have given in before.

Except before, there had been no Hal. And try as she might, she could not quite imagine doing this with anyone else.

Which was a problem, considering her current situation.

In that uncanny way Hal had of reading her mind, he put one hand on the arm of her chair and with the other, he tenderly cupped her mound. The tip of his middle finger traced, ever so lightly, about the tight entrance to her body. She shivered and he leaned in until their faces were close together.

Never looking away from her, Hal spoke. “I know you’re not going to stop. And I understand why you’re doing it. But none of these gentleman who come here, with their carriages and horses and footmen and titles—not one of them can make you feel like I do. You may find someone who can give you everything you think you want. He may even touch you like this.”

Hal punctuated his words by grinding the heel of his hand sweetly against Gemma’s still-buzzing clitoris. The desire that had been so recently satisfied began to beat in her blood once more, quickening her breath and misting her skin. Her lips parted on a whimper as Hal delivered his final pronouncement.

“But no one else will give you as much pleasure as I want to lavish on you. No one else, Gemma. I want to drown you in pleasure, drown us both, until every breath makes you scream for how good it feels.”

Gemma was horribly afraid that Hal was telling nothing but the truth.

No one else. No matter what else that nameless, faceless gentleman she hoped for could give her…he wouldn’t be Hal.

The thought sliced into her, carving off a piece of her heart, but Gemma did not have the luxury of caring for her own heart.

It was the height of irony to know that if her father were still alive, he would be the first to approve of Gemma marrying a working man she’d met in a coaching inn.

Any other aristocratic father would be apoplectic, but not Gemma’s.

Of course, if Father hadn’t died, Gemma never would have met Hal. If Father hadn’t died, she wouldn’t need to hunt for a wealthy, titled husband while cracking her own heart into pieces and grinding them to dust.

But he had. And she did. And her heart might never recover, but many people seemed to get along just fine without theirs.

She would survive. She could live on her memories of Hal as long as her mother and sister were safe and happy.

Still. Perhaps it would be all right to stockpile a few more memories for that cold future day when she was alone once more.

“No one else?” she purred, looping her arms around Hal’s neck. “I don’t know. Perhaps you’d better prove it to me. Again.”

He growled and pressed her lips apart with a kiss that tasted earthy and salty, tasted of herself, with Hal’s familiar smoky savor underneath.

And as Hal went about providing his proof, Gemma promised herself, she wouldn’t let this thing with Hal stop her from doing what had to be done.

But she wouldn’t give it up lightly, either. Not until she found the man she would marry.

The first few gentlemen who had seemed like such good prospects had turned out to be less than ideal. This process might take longer than she’d thought.

Who would have thought that finding a single gentleman of good fortune and breeding, who was neither a maniac nor a depraved cad, would turn out to be like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack?

But Gemma was determined. She would find him. And when she did, this thing with Hal would be over.