Page 7 of Duke of Wickedness (Regency Gods #4)

He looked politely over Helen’s shoulder and offered Ariadne an entirely guileless smile. Had he trained for the stage at some point in his life? He was so convincing that even she was doubting that anything untoward was going on.

“Good morning, Lady Ariadne,” he said kindly.

“Um,” she said. “Good morning?”

Helen gave Ariadne a puzzled look, and Ariadne realized that her mask hadn’t just slipped—it had dropped entirely.

“Good morning,” she tried again. “Of course, I would be happy to give you some time. Would you like to sit?”

“The weather is fine this morning; perhaps we ought to take a turn about the garden?” He said this so smoothly that it took Ariadne a moment to realize that, of course, they couldn’t just sit in the parlor and discuss her trip to his bloody den of iniquity .

Really, what was wrong with her when it came to his man? What about him turned her into some sort of unthinking puddle? She was not a stupid woman!

And yet.

And yet this duke walked into the room and suddenly her head might as well be little more than a nice prop for her coiffure for all the good it was doing her.

“That sounds very nice,” she said.

They both turned toward Helen, and Ariadne didn’t know what was more distressing—when she and the duke butted heads, or when they found themselves in agreement.

“Oh, right,” Helen said, shoulders slumping as she cast a longing look at the place where she had been sitting. “I should be a chaperone.” She sighed heavily. “Very well.”

The trio moved toward the garden, Helen stretching the limits of propriety in her chaperonage with her dragging feet.

That was good for something, at least. Thank God for reluctant chaperones.

As soon as she was confident that Helen was far enough away that she wouldn’t overhear, Ariadne looked up at the duke.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He gave her a bright, charming smile.

“Good morning, Lady Ariadne,” he said. “How are you this fine day? You’re looking well, if I do say so. Quite a fetching frock you’ve got there.”

“Very convincing,” she said with equal brightness. “I didn’t know you had such a passion for women’s fashions. I can get you the name of my modiste, if you would like.”

This was another slip. She should have resisted the urge to sass him back, should have murmured a polite thank you and waited until he got around to saying what he wanted to say. That was what proper young women were meant to do, after all.

But the duke did not seem put off by her snappish retort. If anything, he seemed delighted.

“You are a wonderful little mystery, Lady Ariadne,” he said approvingly. “Which only makes me more convinced that I was right to have come here.”

“Is this some sort of revenge?” she asked baldly. If he was going to permit her frankness, she was going to indulge herself at least once. “I showed up at your home, so you show up at mine? Well done. Bravo.”

He still looked unruffled.

“Certainly not,” he said smoothly. “I am here because you might have transgressed in showing up unannounced, but I erred worse by sending you away. A good host welcomes guests—expected or otherwise.”

Ariadne paused. This was…a turn she had not anticipated.

“Your Grace,” she said, “I am going to be blunt.”

“Have you not been blunt already? I am absolutely delighted to see what you consider bluntness if your previous behavior did not qualify.”

She ignored this. She had brothers and too many cousins to count. Sometimes men just needed to be ignored.

Especially dukes.

“What,” she asked in lieu of response, “are you talking about? Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“I take it back,” he murmured. “You can be blunter. Marvelous.”

She ignored him again. This man probably needed it more than most.

“What I mean to say,” he continued after a moment, “is that it was impolitic of me to turn you away when you came to me with open curiosity. But I rebuffed you. It wasn’t right.”

Before she could think better of it, Ariadne scoffed. “Since when do you care about what’s right?”

She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. Bluntness was one thing, but the bite to her tone verged on cruelty, and she didn’t want that.

“I shouldn’t have?—”

“No,” he interjected, his voice gentle despite the way his jaw looked tight.

“You are right. I am not known for proper behavior—and indeed, I do not care much for it. But I do care about being welcoming, and last night, I was not that.” He cleared his throat.

“And I think you may have seen things that you might not understand. I hope I can trust you to be discreet about any questions you might have about what you witnessed.”

Oh .

The sudden clarity that washed over Ariadne was so acute that it nearly felt like relief. He wasn’t here because news about her presence at his home the night prior had gotten around the ton —he was there to make certain that did not ever come to pass.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” she told him. “So, if that’s what you’re concerned about, you needn’t fret. Surely you must realize that I couldn’t do so without putting my own reputation at risk.”

This should have reassured him, but instead, he looked uncomfortable.

“I appreciate that,” he said. “But, as I said, I have already erred. I wish to make amends. So, I have come to offer you a deal: if you keep any questions about what you witnessed yesterday between us, I shall show you whatever it is that you want to see.” He paused, though for only half a breath. “But slowly. Gradually.”

Any relief that Ariadne might have felt disappeared.

“Or what?” she asked. Better to ask now, while she was safe in her own home, her sister by marriage within her eyeline and her brother no more than a shout away.

The Duke of Wilds frowned down at her. “Or what… what ?” he asked.

“What if I don’t take your deal?” she demanded. “What if I don’t let you—” She put irony on the words. “— show me things?”

She would give the man his due: he looked properly startled and appalled at the implication.

And then he looked angry.

“Lady Ariadne,” he said tersely, “let me be clear. This is not blackmail. I do not abide blackmail. I am offering this because I saw your curiosity—and I do not blame you for it,” he added, holding up a hand when she opened her mouth to respond.

“Indeed, I think it likely that there are many young ladies in your position, women who wish to know more about what transpires between lovers than vague references to ‘marital relations.’”

This time, Ariadne didn’t try to interject. He has said lovers . He had said the word lovers out loud in her brother’s garden .

Somehow, that was almost as shocking as anything she had seen the night before.

“So this,” the duke continued, “is an offer for your benefit first and foremost. As I said, I owe you a debt.” He shook his head, frustration briefly taking hold before he dispelled it again.

“Hell, go ahead and tell people about what you saw if you want to. I’ll have to change how we operate, but that is not a true hardship. We’ve had to change before.”

This was…so very much information. She couldn’t seem to process it quickly enough.

“Or,” he said, “I can owe you a boon. It needn’t be this. We can think of something else.”

This last piece broke through the maelstrom in Ariadne’s mind. She should take that option. She should absolutely take that option. She didn’t really need a favor from a duke; she was related, in some way or another, to half the dukes in England.

But he seemed to need to do something to repair the balance between them. She could likely wrangle some kind of beneficial introduction. He likely knew someone who knew someone who could connect her to some powerful hostess. Something like that.

It would be easy. She could put this whole thing behind her. She could go back to her plan.

And yet…

Yet, she couldn’t put the image of that couple from her mind—the ones she’d glimpsed through the windows when the curtain had fluttered aside.

It wasn’t just that the woman had been bared to her waist—Ariadne had breasts; she’d seen breasts.

It was more that the woman had been as visibly enjoying the encounter as the man beneath her.

She had been leading the encounter, in fact.

She wasn’t just a woman who was putting up with a man’s attentions because of duty or some other form of obligation.

That woman had been seeking her own pleasure.

The idea had never quite occurred to Ariadne before.

So even though she really should ask him to introduce her to Lady Thistlewaite, who threw the most exclusive soirees or to his nicest cousin, the exceedingly amiable and harmless one who was seeking a bride…

Even though she should have asked for that, she didn’t want to.

And if that wasn’t enough, there was something in the easy, patient way the duke was letting her think things through that appealed to her. He had come to her, made his case, and offered what he was willing to offer.

Then, he waited for her to decide, without pressuring her.

“Your Grace!”

The call from near the back of the house was for Helen, but Ariadne and the duke turned as well.

It was one of Cornelia’s nurses, holding the little girl herself.

The nurse was a sweet older woman who had experience with numerous children—Xander never would have hired anyone less than the best—and normally Cornelia adored the woman.

Right now, however, Cornelia was trying to squirm out of the nurse’s arms as violently as any fish trying to get off the fisherman’s hook.

“Mama!” she cried, thrusting her small arms out toward Helen. “Mama, pease!”

Helen grimaced at Ariadne, then swiveled back toward her daughter.

“Go,” Ariadne called to Helen. “I’ll be fine.”

Was she mistaken, or did the duke look a little pleased at that? Not in a way that made Ariadne feel alarmed, either. More like the idea of being someone safe was…validating to him.

But that couldn’t be it. He was too notorious for that.

Though he had been offended when she’d thought him a blackmailer.

He was curious indeed, this Duke of Wilds.

“That child is…noisy,” he observed when Helen hurried off. The instant Cornelia was in her mother’s arms, the wailing cut off as though it had never happened.

“That is my beloved niece,” Ariadne commented mildly as Helen, her daughter, and the nurse all retreated indoors.

“I didn’t say noisy was bad,” the duke retorted. “It’s clear she hasn’t any issue with her lungs. What a charming sign of good health.”

She gave him a skeptical look, and he shrugged innocently. She hated how much she wanted to laugh.

They made it a few paces further before Ariadne spun on her heel so she was facing him squarely.

“I need to think,” she said. “About your offer.”

“Of course. Let me know what you decide.”

He said it without hesitation, like it cost him nothing. And, indeed, his actions supported this ease. He stepped back immediately, offered her a bow, and then turned to leave.

“Wait!”

Inwardly, Ariadne cursed herself. Was there some sort of cosmic equation that meant that she always had to balance the scales on the side of foolishness when it came to the Duke of Wilds?

She had sensibly asked for some time to consider his offer, so she had to go and ruin it by not letting him leave ?

He really gave her time to stew in her foolishness, too, turning around slowly to reveal the mischievous grin that was pasted across his face.

“Yes, my lady?” he asked.

The man put the devil in her. That was the only explanation for it. He was clearly infected with some kind of imp or small demon, the kind the crotchetiest, oldest vicars railed about on Sunday sermons. She should have paid better attention. Then she might know what to do about it.

But she’d never been an unduly diligent churchgoer, so she just lifted her chin in defiance.

“How do I know you can manage it?” she asked, feeling a rush at her own impulsiveness. “You don’t know everything I’m curious about. How can you be so confident that you can show me all of it?”

His smile rivaled the sun. His movements were slow and purposeful as he returned to her, giving her ample time to retreat—or perhaps ample time to let anticipation coil low and hungry in her stomach.

But she didn’t retreat. She didn’t think she moved so much as a muscle as he came so close that the front of his jacket brushed against her, so faint that the touch was scarcely there.

His hands were not as restrained. He reached up, caressing her face, his hands warm and slightly rough.

Well, they would be, she thought giddily, if he goes about without gloves.

He gave her a knowing smirk. She could see all of it, given that his face was a mere hairsbreadth from hers. She managed to suck in a single breath; even that felt like a feat.

And then he was kissing her.

It was madness, sheer madness. His mouth was warm and soft and wet, and she lost herself in it in an instant. She reached up until her hands were atop his, holding her so that he was touching her face with more force, more pressure.

In accord, the pressure of the duke’s mouth intensified, and she realized, with a thrill that sent her heart racing, that he was running his tongue gently against the curve of her lower lip.

Oh, yes . She wanted more of that. She wanted it very much.

She pushed herself up on her toes, eagerly chasing this feeling. He moved her carefully, showing her, guiding her lips open with his, then probing, confident and consuming, his tongue stroking against hers.

She whimpered, the sound pulling from somewhere deep inside her.

She felt the duke’s fingers tighten the tiniest bit against her cheeks, and then he pulled back, first closing his mouth, then drawing his lips from hers, and finally dropping his hands so that they were only touching in that place where fabric rasped together.

Their breaths mingled as they shared one last heaving gulp of air.

Then—only then—did he step back.

His smile was not as wicked as it had been before they kissed, but that didn’t mean it was any less tempting. She was briefly seized by the urge to pull him back to her, but kept her hands down at her sides through force of will.

She looked up at him instead. His hazel eyes bore into her, his pupils wide with desire.

“Trust me, little bird,” he said softly. “Anything you desire to know, it would be my great pleasure to show you. Never worry about that.”