Page 24 of The Duke In My Bed (The Heirs’ Club of Scoundrels #1)

Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie.

He had kissed her. She had kissed him. They had kissed and kissed and kissed again; slow and soft, hard and fast, and over and over.

And she’d liked it all!

He had touched her breasts. And she had touched him, too, though at the time, she didn’t know what she was touching. But every time she thought about the intimacy, flaming heat raced to her cheeks.

Louisa squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t know what manner of madness had come over her that afternoon.

It had been more than three weeks since passion had erupted between her and the duke, and still it was all she could think about when she was quiet as she was now.

Not just thinking about the duke’s kisses and caresses, but also feeling, smelling, touching, and tasting them.

Her senses were haunted almost to the point of madness!

And worst of all, sensible Louisa Prim wanted to experience all those enticing sensations again.

She’d tried to rationalize her behavior by remembering the duke’s words that it was all right for a young lady to have a kiss or two before she married.

That sounded reasonable. It was probably even expected that a new bride would know a little about kissing, but perhaps not so much as she now knew.

The duke had been most thorough in his lesson.

And she wasn’t sure she was supposed to have enjoyed it so much, and dreamed of more. His kisses had stolen her breath, made her legs feel as if she were trying to stand on water, and made her so light-headed, she almost swooned.

Swooned!

Louisa Prim!

How could the simple joining of his lips to hers make her wish the feeling would go on forever?

Maybe because there had been nothing simple about their kisses. They had been eager, demanding, and passionate. And she’d been caught up and held in his powerful embrace. She’d felt the hard frame of his body against hers. She was convinced that alone would make any young lady swoon.

Louisa sighed silently. She now understood how Sybil felt when she was forced to sit still and work on embroidery samples.

Standing on a seamstress box while the hem of her gown was being pinned gave Louisa too much time to think.

And when she had time to think, it was always about the Duke of Drakestone.

It was exasperating.

And thrilling.

And she must stop thinking about him. He’d admitted that kissing her was a purely selfish act. Surely that was what most men did, but what kind would readily admit it?

A scoundrel!

Lord Wayebury’s house had become much busier, now that they had added a housekeeper, two more maids, and a dog.

Mrs. Colthrust was getting used to Saint being allowed to freely roam the house.

She had stopped trying to shoo him away whenever he came near her.

The two of them had fallen into a pattern of avoiding each other.

If one walked into a room, the other one usually walked out.

The chaperone retired early in the evenings to her spacious bedchamber and took most of her meals there.

However, she spent an hour each morning going over the names and titles of important people for Louisa and Gwen to remember when they met them at the first ball of the Season, which was now only two weeks away.

Even with looking after her four sisters, Louisa still seemed to have far too much time on her hands to think about the duke and his kisses. She found herself not just wondering if he would come back to their house, but even wanting him to.

And that eagerness worried her.

She didn’t know how to keep the man out of her thoughts, but she did have an idea about how to get him out of her life. And for that she needed help. Unfortunately, Mrs. Colthrust was the only person available to help her.

This was the fifth day in a row that Louisa, Gwen, and Mrs. Colthrust had boarded their fancy new coach with four matching bays and headed to Mrs. Rivoire’s Fabric and Dress Design Shop.

The fitting salon of Mrs. Rivoire’s boutique looked more like a drawing room in one of Mayfair’s most elite houses than a place of business.

The draperies were tastefully fashioned from dark green velvet and edged with gold bullion fringe.

The feminine furniture was upholstered in a soft shade of pink velvet.

The three floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the room were framed in fancy gilt woodwork, and the tea service was silver.

No expense had been spared to make the shopkeeper’s clientele feel as if they were visiting a dear friend rather than a modiste. It was no wonder the French dressmaker was a favorite of ladies such as the Dowager Duchess of Drakestone.

Their first day of shopping had been spent looking at fabrics, lace, and all manner of sewing trimmings to make gowns, wraps, and headpieces more stunning and different from any other gown the French modiste had designed before.

Gwen and Mrs. Colthrust loved every moment of it, but for Louisa dress shopping had been torture.

She would much rather be walking in the garden and seeing what buds had sprouted than trying to decide what shade of green went with what shade of blue.

And while lace was pretty on a dress, it didn’t have the same beauty when it was all wound together.

They had been measured from head to toe and questioned at length about the colors, styles, and cuts of garments they liked best. Already some of the smaller clothing items were arriving at their home.

Today the three of them were having fittings for some of the many gowns Mrs. Colthrust had insisted they order. The chaperone and Gwen had gone into the changing room to don another gown, and Louisa was left with one of Mrs. Rivoire’s assistants, who chattered constantly to herself in French.

Mrs. Colthrust walked back into the salon as Louisa was stepping off the seamstress box. She took one look at Louisa and exclaimed, “This will never do!”

“What’s the matter?” Louisa asked, thinking something horrible must be wrong with the gown.

“This,” she said, and pulled down on the neckline of Louisa’s gown. “An aging dowager shows more bosom than you are showing in this gown. What was Mrs. Rivoire thinking? You are trying to find a husband.”

Louisa looked down at her chest. It looked decidedly low to her. Certainly lower than any gown she’d ever worn before. “I don’t think the height of my neckline matters.”

“Of course it does. You would think with the woman being French, she would know that gentlemen could not care less if we are intelligent or if we have our health, but they do want to know we have a bosom.” She looked at the assistant and said, “Go find Mrs. Rivoire and ask her to come at once.”

Louisa looked down again. Right now she couldn’t care less whether her gown passed Mrs. Colthrust’s neckline inspection.

“I’m sure she will take care of it, but before Gwen comes back in here, may I speak to you in private about something.”

“All right,” Mrs. Colthrust said in a curt tone while putting on an elbow-length white glove. “But make it quick, as we have three more gowns to try on before we go home. You, my dear, have four more.”

Louisa wished the woman would sound a little more pleasant when she was speaking. “I would like for you to help me go to the Court of Chancery.”

“What for?” Mrs. Colthrust asked without bothering to look at Louisa, and sounding very uninterested in any answer Louisa might have.

“To see about having the duke removed as our guardian.”

Mrs. Colthrust’s head jerked up, and she looked at Louisa as if her charge had gone mad. She started pulling the glove up her arm. “Absolutely not! Are you daft?”

“Of course not,” Louisa said, remaining calm.

“Doesn’t surprise me. Most people who are insane don’t know they are, but you must be. You do know that most people would kill to have a duke be in charge of them.”

“But his reputation—”

“Means nothing,” Mrs. Colthrust cut in. “He is a duke, and he is not only willing, he is also taking very good care of us—that is, you and your sisters. Thankfully, since we all went to his house a few weeks ago, he has not bothered us and we are obviously not bothering him.”

Oh, but he does bother me. His kisses have haunted me. I fear I am falling victim to his charms.

“I swear, Louisa, I don’t know what to think about you. It’s just not sane for a young lady to want to be taken away from a duke. I will have no part of helping you with such a foolish errand.”

“Will you keep me from going and talking to someone about the possibility of it so that I can know what could be done?”

“Of course not. See anyone you wish, but quite frankly, I’m surprised that you are so ungrateful to Lord Wayebury for doing this for you and your sisters.”

“Turning our welfare over to a rogue is not being good to us.”

“Of course it is,” Mrs. Colthrust said, tugging on her other glove. “The duke owes you.”

“I’ve never felt that way,” Louisa said, affronted that anyone would think the duke owed them anything for her brother’s death.

“Well, you should. Besides, Lord Wayebury wouldn’t thank me when he returns if I did, and my sister would probably never speak to me again. You would do well to drop this ridiculous notion.”

“That is not for you to decide but for the courts, and I will look into the possibility. My father and brother were viscounts, and so now in my uncle. I am not without standing in the community.”

“Of course you are. You are young and have never been in Society, Louisa. You don’t realize what you would be up against. A viscount might as well be a tradesman when he’s up against a duke for anything. And just whom would you suggest to the court as a replacement?”

Louisa hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she said. Her knowledge of qualified people was quite nonexistent. “I thought perhaps the court would know of a kindly old gentleman who wouldn’t mind taking on the task.”

Mrs. Colthrust laughed.