Page 12 of Kiss the Duke Goodbye

CHAPTER 4

WHERE A DETERMINED WOMAN UNLOCKS A SECRET OR TWO

Mercifully, the Duke of Herschel was skilled at lovemaking, because he was horrid at chess.

Clarissa sighed as Knox placed his pawn directly in front of her king, creating all kinds of vulnerabilities for his campaign. He peered at her across the board, his expression charmingly tentative. Stalling for time, he gave his signet ring a twist. His eyes had calmed to a mellow apple-green, though they glowed beautifully in the lamplight. When she’d returned, she’d made a cozy spot for them before the fire, where they sat, cross-legged and half-dressed, casual as could be. Thirty-two ivory pieces all that was resting between them. “That move made it worse, didn’t it? You’re going to sweep in again, three in a bloody row I’ve lost. I feel deceived by your extreme proficiency. In many areas.”

She pressed her lips together to hide her smile, watching him tear into his meat pie with a growl. The man hated to lose, and she was loathe to tell him, but he would never beat her at this game. He was talented—oh, so, talented—but not at chess.

Moreover, because he seemed a little touchy about ‘arriving’ so quickly during their play, she was hesitant to defeat him outright.

She took a sip of ale, a rare treat from the brewer down the street. The duke’s raised brows when she’d served the drink had been another reminder of the difference in their stations. No society miss served a guest beer. Certainly not a duke. She was sorry, but she didn’t have champagne. Or whisky, his favorite according to him.

Nonetheless, Clarissa relished the bubble at the back of her throat and the faint buzz in her brain. Although Knox didn’t know it, she was struggling to keep from reaching for him, dragging him to the floor, and finding out how many other ways he could make hercome. His word, new to her, and a polite way of describing the mind-altering sensation of leaving one’s body. She could still feel tremors zipping along her back and buttocks. She was tender and swollen, wet between her thighs. She could taste him if she tried very hard to, and the look on his face as he climaxed would be burned into her memory forevermore. There’d been nothing remotely high-brow about any of it. Both of them a sweaty, gasping, wonder.

Alley or ballroom, lust was lust.

Why, somewhere in the middle of his onslaught, he’d murmured that he had athousandways to pleasure her. Whispers of silk cravats and wrists tied to bedposts, she’d been awash in excitement.

She wanted each of the nine hundred and ninety-nine ways to behers.

Although they’d never have enough time for that. He’d be married, his duchess giving him the family she knew he wanted long before they could muscle through even fifty orgasms.

The thought sent a dull pang through her.

“Tell me something,” he said around a bite of cheese, possibly to draw her back into the room and away from her second’s grief. Possibly to keep from making another dreadful decision in their game. “I’m curious. Where did you come uponthis chess set? The Spode teacups? They seem…out of place in Clerkenwell, if that isn’t too forward a statement.”

Clarissa leaned against the wall, stretching her legs, and wiggling her bare toes before the fire. Knox’s gaze hungrily tracked the movement, sending a thrill through her. He’d done away with his boots and waistcoat. His sleeves were rolled past the elbow, exposing his muscular forearms and a light dusting of dark hair. It was the height of intimacy for a girl who’d never invited a man into her home, aside from the fact that she’d recently taken lewd liberties with his person. A dimly lit parlor, the scent of sex riding her skin, her stockings in a crumpled wad by her new lover’s hip, her taste onhistongue. Not to mention the stains on his shirt he’d tried to remove while she made them a repast of cheese, meat pies, and slices of seed cake from the baker next door.

“You’re prying, Your Grace,” she said, though she smiled to show she wasn’t offended in the least. She was curious about him as well. If she answered his questions, he would have to answer hers.

He bowed his head, for a moment the titled topper he was. “I apologize.”

She recalled that he’d very kindly stated, during an intense moment when he was suckling her thigh, that he wanted to know her outside the sensual part.

Fiddling with her rook, Clarissa traced the crenellations notched in ivory that made it resemble a medieval castle. It was her favorite piece. “I came by the set and the teacups and a few other things by way of my father. He routinely gave me lavish gifts rather than spend an afternoon in the park with me. Ice cream at Gunter’s would have meant more. His attention was saved for his legitimate children, or so I’ve heard.” She popped the rook in place with more displeasure than she wished to exhibit. “He shared his love of chess, and for that, if nothingelse, I thank him. Too, he never lied to my mother about what hewasn’tprepared to do, which was publicly acknowledge me. Privately, he patted me on the head and called me darling daughter.”

Knox paused, words backing up in his throat. She could see him combing through them, deciding on the best approach.

“I’ll stop you before you ask. Ernest Lehigh Danes, Viscount Pemberly.”

Knox choked on his cheese and coughed into his fist. Rolling her eyes, Clarissa scooted his mug closer with her foot. He drank liberally, then wiped his lips with his wrist. “Holy hell, you’re not joking.That’swhy you have the grace of a duchess, the speech of a queen. Pemberly, eh? He’s a member at White’s. Cheats at cards, they say. Among other indiscretions.”

Clarissa nibbled on a slice of cake, in slight disbelief. Knoxville DeWitt was the first person she’d ever told about her father. “He has a rather dreadful reputation, and trust me, it’s deserved. He made promises to my mother, left her, then returned to make more. For years. Kept her from marrying anyone else when she had decent offers because she was always pining for him. Even after he wed, he wouldn’t let her go. She couldn’t face the truth of her situation, that titled men don’t marry milliners. Although he provided the occasional governess when he was feeling generous, hence my seemingly adequate schooling. Watching them battle my entire childhood made me want nothinglessthan to be committed in that way. They made each other miserable.”

The Duke of Herschel wanted to dispute her assertion about a union between his class and hers, but he could not. “You think she should have kissed the viscount goodbye.”

Clarissa chewed furiously and swallowed hard. Yes, she did. Now, she’d gone and involved herself with a blasted duke and worried she’d have trouble kissinghimgoodbye.

Knox gestured her way with a hunk of bread. “I don’t think I like that look,” he said around a bite. “I’m no Pemberly. Here, in this lovely cottage, we agreed, I’mnothing. Just a man who wants you more than he can convey with mere words. I left the duke dilemma on the doorstep.”

She tossed back a gulp of beer, the warmth in her belly soothing her. “Lady Dowling might disagree. She thinks you’re something.”

“Enough of this. You’re getting foxed.” Knox reached for her glass, wiggling it from her fingers. “I don’t even know the chit. It’s not as if I could let her tumble to the marble slabs, could I?”

Clarissa slumped back, a bit dizzy, guessing the ale was getting to her. As was the sight of her duke sprawled across the faded Aubusson she’d bought from a down-on-his-luck baron. His legs crossed at the ankle, his thighs shifting with each move he made, those long, slim fingers he’d thrust inside her picking apart a piece of cake. She knew what lay beneath his trouser buttons, knew the taste and feel of him well enough to sketch him. He had to be the most attractive man in England, he justhadto be. And for a few more hours, he was hers. “Dukes have to be heroes. I understand. It’s in your blood.”

“Not like your young Clarence, maker of shoes. An honest lad, I’m sure. Never caught a girl on her way down.”