Page 2 of Tantalizing the Duke (Wayward Dukes Alliance #22)

CHAPTER TWO

T he light was soft on the carpets in the hallway leading to the owners’ offices, lending Sutcliffe’s a quiet dignity that belied the true nature of the place. A bustling hive of secret longings and unchecked passions, the club hummed with conversations he had heard too many times before. None interested Lester Burgess, the Duke of Dainsfield. Only in his office could he count on the privacy he craved.

Yet periodically throughout the day or evening, he or one of the other two owners needed to make an appearance on the gaming floor. When he ran out of valid excuses to remain behind his desk, he left the office to find an expected surprise in the hallway. She smelled of orange blossoms and audacity, and when she threw herself into his arms, he found himself, as always, at a loss for what to do with her.

“You are just the man I sought,” Milly announced, her voice playful and flirtatious in his ear.

“Are there not enough to choose from upstairs?”

Her laughter was a sweet, reckless thing. She pulled back, her eyes bright with something daring. “No one else could get away with asking me that.”

Dainsfield allowed himself a rare smile. “No one else would dare be as rude as I.”

The scent of her lingered as he set her from him. She seemed never to change, a perpetually youthful creature despite the years they’d known each other. Five, to be precise, though is seemed like forever. How he had survived those years without making her his own remained a mystery. They first met at a cyprian party so outrageously attended that he still marveled at her audacity for appearing. She was all of eighteen years, an enticing, scandalous delight to the mature rogues there. He had been a young duke of twenty-seven, jaded enough to assume he had seen all of society’s debauchery. Then there was Milly.

He turned back toward his office, shaking his head with fond disbelief. “I suppose you’ll insist on a drink, since you’ve already ambushed me.”

“How generous of you, Dainsfield,” she said, flouncing in after him. She settled into a chair with feline ease, her bodice resting scandalously low on her breasts in an abandon typical of her.

“And what new intrigues have you brought with you this evening?” he inquired, sinking into a seat across from her, observing her with both wariness and affection. “Will I have to rescue you from anything?”

She pouted. “Not in a way that you imagine. But there is something you could do for me.”

It was an open invitation for more questions, but he remembered those early parties instead. How carefree and in love with scandal she had seemed, and how serious he had taken his duty to protect her. There was the one occasion that had ended with her at his town house, draped in one of his robes, clothes mislaid and champagne-fogged memories of a truly wicked night leading to fits of her laughter at his expense. She never apologized for things that would bring others shame, instead she had teased him for being so fraternal.

He never learned if he’d experienced those carnal delights with her that night, or someone else. He only knew he longed to sample her wares, but scolded himself each time he considered acting on those imaginings.

Perhaps that was the problem, that he’d felt more like an older brother, at first. It wasn’t the case any longer, but it had been once. Not that it ever stopped her from treating him in the reckless manner she always had.

“Not going to ask me what I want?” Milly feigned exasperation, rising to claim the drink he’d promised with the kind of fluid elegance that was both her charm and his curse. “I’m afraid you’ll be a bit put out this time.”

He remained silent, watching as she poured two glasses of port. One for her, the other presumably for him, but she drank it too, while he relived the cyprian parties they’d both attended over the years.

He recalled the most brazen event—her standing atop a billiard table, hair loose and nothing but a sheer bit of muslin adorning her, offering champagne from her shoe. No one else would have dared such a thing, but there she was, a delightful goddess presiding over a room of her admirers, until he put an abrupt end to the spectacle by sweeping her away like the most severe of guardians. And yes, there was a kind of protectiveness, perhaps more than a kind. Even then, he could not bear the thought of others feasting on her unrepentant beauty.

“Stop brooding, Dainsfield,” she commanded. “This should cheer you. You see, I’ve decided I must marry.”

Dainsfield met her declaration with skepticism, though a bolt of interest found its way to a less cautious part of him. “How delightfully unlike you.”

“I knew you would be pleased,” she teased, another bubble of laughter escaping. “You always wanted me to be under some man’s rule, didn’t you? Never your own, though. This isn’t my choice, though. My father has signed a contract.”

She explained the situation. Dainsfield grimaced. He didn’t know Crampmoore well, but he knew enough to understand Milly would never be happy married to the man.

“Are you going to offer to find me a husband again?” she asked.

Once, when she was twenty, he’d made the mistake of such an offer, at a particularly lascivious event, when she’d barely been wearing a thread. At least a dozen suitors—if such rogues could be called that—were clamoring for her attention that evening. He meant to protect her from herself and said as much.

She’d refused him in her typical irreverent manner. “What if I don’t want to be limited to sleeping with only one man? Or worse, what if I could never again sleep with two or three at once?” she’d asked, coquettish and full of mirth.

It was the first time she’d ever rendered him utterly speechless, a skill she honed with precision. Remembering it now, with her before him in a simple gown, the mounds of her bosom rising and falling with each breath, made him rather speechless again, though differently. Her marriage could indeed limit her to just one man, unless it was arranged with more generous terms. She likely required an entire tome full of generous terms. His cock stirred in appreciation of the possibilities.

“What are you thinking, Your Grace?” she pried, eyes keen, though not as keen as his awareness of her. “Shall I guess? You are having second thoughts.”

“If that is truly what you want,” he said, as he had the last time, though without the conviction. He had a feeling she’d escape her wedding no matter who waited at the altar.

She was on her feet before he knew it, trapping him against his own desk. “Remember, you already offered,” she implored, pressing herself close and capturing his gaze with a look of both daring and entreaty.

And yes, there was her cleavage, something any other woman would use to entice him, but that wasn’t Milly. It wasn’t even necessary with him, and with her slender waist and hips, the enticement was inevitable. A gunnysack couldn’t hide the beauty of her form.

“Why are you resorting to tactics?” he challenged, breath uneven.

“Because I am determined, dear Dainsfield,” she said with a certainty that only an intelligent woman could wield, straightening to regard him seriously. She sighed. “I am desperate.”

He took a moment to collect himself, touching a finger to her nose with practiced indifference. “You needn’t resort to tactics.”

She blinked, drawing back, surprise and delight dancing upon her features. “Then you will help?”

He laughed softly. “You hardly left me a choice. If I can survive the scandal you will create, it may even be diverting.”

“Wonderful!” she declared, executing an impromptu pirouette. She kissed him on the cheek, a fleeting heat that seared the line of propriety with careless grace. She scurried toward the door. “You are simply wonderful.”

“Milly.”

She paused at the door, eyes bright with mischief. He knew better than to let it affect him, but it did.

“Call on me tomorrow morning,” he instructed. “We will talk, and you can tell me what has truly made you want such a drastic change.”

“I shall be there bright and early,” she promised, and in a flurry of silk and impudence, she was gone.

Dainsfield found himself alone, Milly’s perfume lingering like the end of an evening with his mistress. Only his cock was nowhere near content.

The temptation of fucking her before she married hit him like a hammer on an anvil. He’d had affairs or liaisons with married women, of course, but he’d never do that to Milly. The challenge of being faithful would be difficult for her, he was certain, and he refused to be a part of her downfall.

In the past, he’d avoided her at the sex-filled romps they both enjoyed, unwilling to be just another shaft in her silken passage, along with that niggling feeling she deserved better than that sort of treatment. Was he wrong to feel that way about her, when she clearly enjoyed being used thus? And why did he feel guilty now, for considering doing what he’d refrained from for the past five years?

There might not be time enough to spend an evening with her before she married, according to what she said about banns being read already. He needed to concentrate on finding her a husband, not fucking her enormous breasts. Heaven help him, though, if he had the chance to fondle them somewhere other than the club. All bets were off, in that case.

* * *

By the time Dainsfield reached the gaming floor, the early gamblers were at their usual tables, enriching the club’s coffers more likely than not, and seeming unconcerned about their potential losses. They came here to escape something, at this hour of the day, not to get rich. To win big at the card tables, one needed a wealthy opponent. Those men didn’t arrive until evening.

“What’s it like out there?” The Duke of Nomansland, one of Dainsfield’s co-owners, grinned, his broad smile showing how very pleased he was with the current turnout. He must have just arrived for the day.

“Mr. Talbot informed me one fellow is deep into his family’s fortune and hasn’t much left to show for it,” Dainsfield replied, nodding towards a corner table where a portly gentleman frowned as if having just swallowed a bitter dose of medicine.

“He’ll pay his dues. He always does,” Nomansland said.

Dainsfield considered the way the viscount in question sat rigid in his chair, lips a tight line, and reminded himself that appearances were often deceiving. He let out a short breath. “Make sure the dealer knows we won’t accept his IOU, just in case.” Sutcliffe’s rarely accepted the vowels of their noble clientele, and never from the gentry. Those pieces of paper didn’t earn interest when piled in a safe.

Nomansland nodded, then gave him a pointed look. “There was a time you enjoyed watching our patrons hemorrhage money. What’s troubling you?”

Dainsfield didn’t reply at once. He continued to gaze around the room as if something there interested him. The fact his emotions were plainly read by his friend displeased him. He’d been a gambler long enough that hiding his thoughts should be second nature. “Miss Nichols.”

His partner’s brows lifted with an amused incredulity. “Kingsland’s daughter? Surely you haven’t tupped her at last.”

“Of course not,” Dainsfield barked with more vehemence than intended. “She’s in need of a husband. She wants me to find one for her.”

“I am to assume, then, that you have not volunteered your own services?” Nomansland’s laughter rang out.

“You assume correctly,” Dainsfield said. “I’m not ready to wed.”

“Neither was Abingdon,” Nomansland countered, leaning against the wall beside him, his posture easy and unconcerned. “And look at him now. Blissfully shackled.”

“I like my life as it is,” Dainsfield said. “Between the club and my ducal duties, I don’t need to add more obligations to my plate.”

Nomansland chuckled, eyes shining with mischief. “Obligations? You make it sound as if it’s an act of martyrdom to marry. Taking young brides on holidays, dancing with them at balls. It’s a hard, lonely life you’ve chosen, Dainsfield.”

“I don’t see you rushing to the altar,” Dainsfield said with irritation. “As for Miss Nichols, the matter is not so simple.”

Nomansland adopted an expression of exaggerated sympathy. “Oh? Her preference in husbands unwilling to forgive her recent performance at the operetta? Or her heavy use of her membership here? You know we have very few unmarried young ladies among our members.”

“I can only think of one or two men who might consider her, unless I discretely offer a boon in lieu of a dowry. Her father already has a wedding agreement signed, from what Miss Nichols told me.”

“Then why is she involving you?” Nomansland asked.

“Her father pawned her off on Crampmoore.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Yes. The only way she can escape him is to marry someone else before the ceremony planned next month. Someone who is in a position to ignore all the complications a woman like Miss Nichols brings to the marriage.”

Nomansland mused, “Did I mention that you already are a duke? You have no father making threats about your choice of bride or lack thereof. No need to worry about these… minor details.”

“I will grant you they are insignificant to me. My heir, assuming I have a son with her, might feel differently.”

“Your selflessness is inspiring,” Nomansland said. “However, I should warn you. The lady’s reputation has traveled far beyond London. Your pool of names is likely to be quite small. A puddle.”

Dainsfield nodded. He wasn’t surprised the gossip had spread widely. He could still picture Milly in the theatre box, dress around her waist, Baron Wasing’s eager hands all over her, and he hadn’t been in attendance. The chance to imagine those pale globes of hers would appeal to most men, so the tale gave them permission to dwell on the vision.

“It seems you’re quite concerned.”

Dainsfield pursed his lips. “I’ll find her someone. Perhaps an old man whose fondest memories are too distant to compete with her youthful dalliances.”

“There is always someone who will marry even the most notorious ladies. Some of our patrons spring to mind.” Nomansland spoke lightly, but his eyes were keenly on Dainsfield, watching his response.

“I suppose a woman of Miss Nichols’s social caliber makes a perfect bride, if one’s objective is to court scandal.”

Nomansland gave a short laugh.

The silence hung between them for a beat too long before Dainsfield broke it. “There are a few who come to mind.”

If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that none of the members of Sutcliffe’s was the ideal husband for he live Milly deserved. If these men valued family, they wouldn’t be sitting in a gentleman’s club gambling night after night. He wasn’t even considering the ones who preferred the upper floor activities.

Perhaps that was the problem. Milly herself said she wanted to continue her wanton ways after she married. Perhaps she needed a husband who enjoyed ordering his wife to perform for him in lascivious ways. If that was the case, he had just the man in mind.