Page 8 of Kiss the Duke Goodbye
“What’s that sly smile about?” he asked, settling himself on the only article in the room that would hold him, a Gillows armchair she’d purchased from a baron who’d gambled his fortune away. She’d obtained several of his pieces after his wife had come into her shop asking to resell her bonnets to pay their monthly coal bill.
Clarissa dashed her hand over her cheek while her back was turned, willing away the heat. It wouldn’t do to let him see too much. Radical honesty wasn’t a part of this bargain.
“Maybe I’m surprised you showed up in this weather.” She crossed to the sofa, the table acting as a chaperone between them. Sitting, she poured from the tea pot with an elegance that possibly surprised him. Although she wasn’t a lady, for a time, she’d been educated like one. “I sent my staff home, so I’m alone. There are only two during the day, in any case, nothing like the legions you employ.”
With a shiver, he accepted the cup, wrapping his slim fingers around the bone china. “A damned blizzard couldn’t have kept me away, Miss Marlowe. Furthermore, I’m delighted to find that we’re alone.”
She glanced to the window, discomfited by his candor. He tended to do that. Speak his mind without worry.It must be nice, she thought. Women were never allowed such liberties. “I think a blizzard is what you’re getting.”
He lifted the teacup above his head to peer at the markings beneath. His brow lifted in surprise. “Spode. I have a set myself at the family manse.” He tipped his chin toward her chess set. “And a collection very similar to yours given to me by my grandfather upon his deathbed. It’s said to be almost incalculable in value. Ivory, you know. Smuggled out of some poor country at the end of a pistol.”
Ah. She almost smiled, even though his observations stung. The Duke of Herschel was smarter than he let on. Maybe not the genius of his family—that was reserved for Professor Damien DeWitt—but he was an incredibly clever man.
She wished she didn’t appreciate this about him—because it only made things more complicated.
She sipped her tea while longing for a shot of brandy. “Let’s say I’m a collector of beautiful things, Your Grace.”
Meaning him, perhaps, as he was beautiful, the most fascinating object in the room by far.
He shrugged a broad shoulder and nestled into the armchair, his keen gaze drilling into her. This produced the same heady feeling she experienced when she played someone in chess who was very, very good. “Hmm…” was all he said in reply. He didn’t believe her for a moment, but again, to his credit, he didn’t ask how a milliner could afford fine china and rare antiquities.
“I have rules,” she said, figuring one of them had to break free of this discourse that wasn’t far from the obliged restraint surrounding his visits to her shop. “If you’d care to hear them.”
His eyes flared, darkening. “I care a great deal, Clarissa.”
She circled her teacup on the saucer before meeting his gaze.Oh, his eyes were a glory. She longed to lose herself in their emerald depths. “We meet here on an agreed-upon future date. You spend a night, perhaps two, then we part, never to discuss this again. In essence, I kiss a duke goodbye. I have a business that could be negatively affected should your duchess becomeirritated by our association should she ever hear of it. Thetonis part and parcel of my clientele. Also, after the fact, you cease calling upon my shop.”
“Kiss a duke goodbye,” he repeated softly. Glancing away, he blew a fast breath through his teeth, displaying a hint of irritation. “What if I want a longer association?”
“I think that’s dangerous,” she whispered before she could stop herself.Blasted hell.
This answer pleased him, and he turned to her with a grin, the delight on his face stealing her breath. “What if Ilikeshopping for bonnets?”
Clarissa slapped her saucer to the table. “Oh, you conceited cur! I knew you were going to argue. There will be no way we can agree on a single point of this affair. You’re too used to getting your ducal way. Remember the time you went home with the straw poke creation I’d not even finished? Dangling ribbons and loose thread? I couldn’t get a rational word in that day, either.”
He laughed, his long body bending with it. “Cur? By God, I’ve waited an entire lifetime to be called that. It sounds a hell of a lot better than Your Grace. I may have cards printed,SixthDuke of Herschel, titled cur.”
Clarissa shoved to her feet, but before she made it two vexed steps, he’d rounded the table, circling his arm around the waist, and drawing her back against his chest. “I’m teasing,” he murmured into the gentle slope beneath her ear. His breath was warm, his lips hot, his body hard. “I’ll agree to your demands.” Pausing, he gently bit her neck, then laved the stinging spot with his tongue. For the first time in her life, she almost swooned. “If you’ll consider my suggestions, Miss Marlowe.”
She shook her head, but instead of pulling away—damn him—she nestled closer. She held as still as possible as it was impossible to ignore the effect she was having on him. Hisshaft was a rigid, tempting presence against her bottom. “I’m listening,” she finally whispered.
With a nudge of his cheek against hers, he directed her gaze to the window. The bottom panes were almost completely covered in white. “I suggest we begin our associationtoday, not in the near future. I don’t have anywhere to be until Thursday afternoon, which gives us a full twenty hours for play.”
“Play,” she breathed, having no idea what this meant.
“Pleasure.” He kissed her earlobe, sucking the sliver of skin between his lips. Her heart dropped as a shiver raced through her. “Consider this an introduction. We’ll enjoy each other without going the full measure. Then, I’ll leave for my appointment and you to manage your shop, with plans to return here as soon as I can manage it.Ifyou decide you’d like to continue. The decision will be entirely yours.” He kissed his way down her neck, halting at the filigree border of her gown. “I only ask that you please,please, call me Knox. Or arrogant cur, if it suits. ‘Your Grace’ is absent in this place. I’m a man in Clerkenwell, not a bloody duke.”
Her mind churned with possibilities. His fortitude apparently encompassed his lovemaking as well.It’s no wonder the Duke of Herschel is sought after, she thought, dazed. She shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know how to play.”
Knox turned her in his arms, walking her back until she bumped the escritoire in the corner of her parlor. His mouth covered hers as he placed her atop its thankfully empty surface. “I’ll teach you. Lessons in love for lessons in chess,” he murmured against her lips before he took her under.
CHAPTER 3
WHERE A DUKE ENTERS ANOTHER WORLD
He’d never negotiated with a woman to secure an assignation.
One benefit of the title, he supposed.