Page 8 of The Duke Says I Do (Scoundrels of Mayfair #4)

The moment Granville hauled Portia up to meet his descending mouth, she melted. The sensation was extraordinary, as if every bone dissolved to honey.

Through the furious pulse of her blood, his groan echoed in her ears. His mouth was so hot on hers, a wave of ecstatic dizziness engulfed her. Instinctively she curled her arms around him. That hard muscular form was all that stopped her from collapsing to the floor in a puddle of feminine longing.

Instinct, too, made her move her lips. She felt the same tingling heat. More. As if a charge flashed from him to her, setting her alight.

This kiss wasn’t like the last one. That had felt wild enough to a woman who had never been kissed. Only now did she realize how he’d held himself back. This kiss was hotter and harder. It didn’t ask. It demanded.

And willful, independent Portia Frain surrendered with wholehearted fervor. The rest of the world evaporated to nothing as she clung to Granville. All that remained was the pressure of his lips, his rich, woodsy scent, and the warmth of his body crushed against hers.

Then everything changed. Even this miraculous response receded under a new onslaught of sensation.

His tongue flickered against her lips. The action surprised her into a gasp. She caught his taste. Without thinking, her tongue ventured out to test the flavor. Another of his growls of pleasure reverberated through her like soft thunder.

To her astonishment, his tongue slipped between her lips. The feeling was unlike anything that she’d ever experienced. Fear of the unknown pierced the mists of pleasure, and a faint protest escaped.

Then she wished to glory that she’d kept silent.

He ended the kiss. Which wasn’t her intention at all.

“Portia?” The murmur sounded like an endearment. “Should I stop?”

The obvious – the proper – answer to that was yes. The answer that twenty-five years of training insisted upon. The answer that ensured her safety, because Granville said she was safe and she trusted him.

Today, she stepped into a dangerous new world that could leave her wretched and ruined if she wasn’t careful. But Portia wasn’t by nature careful. She wasn’t careful, rescuing her fellow creatures from untold suffering. She wasn’t careful now, when if anyone needed rescuing, it was Portia herself.

She examined Granville’s features, wondering how within mere hours, they’d become the dearest sight that she knew. “What you did, it—”

“Frightened you?”

“No.” Which wasn’t entirely true. “It surprised me.” That was definitely true. “Is that how you kiss someone you…want?”

The tenderness in his smile made her susceptible heart cramp. “Yes.”

He didn’t deny his desire, she was pleased to hear. Then chided herself for relishing the risks she took. “It was strange.”

“Too strange to try again?”

“You like this?”

“I do. If you allow me to try again, I’ll wager you’ll like it as well. A whole world of new experiences awaits. I hope you’ll enjoy them all.”

Her hand was buried in his soft linen shirt. It clenched into a fist as secret muscles inside her clenched, too. Thanks to Juliet, she knew the basics of what men and women did in bed. But something in Granville’s tone told her that he referred to more than basics.

The feeling when he’d licked her lips was odd. But far from repellent. Too far from repellent for a woman determined to retain her chastity. She was close to losing her virtue. That should send her running for her life.

She didn’t budge an inch.

Granville slid his hands under her coat. Only a thin shirt separated her skin from his touch. Female garments were more substantial, with layers of fabric to protect the wearer from recalling that warm, human bodies lurked beneath the formal garments. Her present outfit offered no such reassurances.

It was impossible to ignore the physical reality of the man who touched her. She’d never felt like this when they danced together. Although after today, he could touch her through a suit of armor and she’d go up in flames.

“Would you like to try again?” she asked in a thin voice.

His smile intensified. “I’ll take it slowly.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone wearing trousers, so it’s a novel experience for me, too.”

Portia should be too nervous and stirred up to laugh, but his teasing elicited a huff of amusement. “I’ve never kissed anyone in trousers before today either.”

His expression flared into urgency. Then he was kissing her again, tugging her close until her pelvis met the proof of his excitement. Another gasp escaped her, although she didn’t move away. Nor did she pull back when his mouth opened over hers. Although what he did was even more shocking than that first intimate kiss.

His tongue slid into her mouth and lingered for a thorough exploration that set her already racing heart skittering out of control. When she dared to move her tongue against his, a thrill ripped through her and settled between her legs in a most disturbing fashion.

A shift of her hips made him groan again, more in pain than appreciation. “Perhaps don’t do that. I’m tempting fate as it is.”

Tightening his grip, he returned to kissing her. This time, he sucked her tongue into his mouth. Tentatively she imitated what he’d done with the intimate kiss. His murmur expressed encouragement. Amazing just how much he conveyed without words.

The kiss deepened, swept her away to a place where sensuality ruled. Where lips meeting lips sparked lightning. She leaned closer, blind to peril. All she wanted was more. More kissing. More touch. More Granville.

Jupiter whined. She almost told herself to ignore it. When she’d never in her life ignored an animal in distress.

Granville lifted his head. His breath was irregular, and his hands were hot on her hips. She was shaking.

What she found profoundly moving was that he was shaking, too. He leaned his forehead against hers. Even without kissing, they shared the air between them. It seemed almost as intimate as having his tongue in her mouth.

Jupiter whined again. He’d been snoozing in the corner. Now he sat just behind Granville.

“Our chaperone has spoken,” Granville said with such wry affection that she fell in love with him all over again.

“He’s hungry.”

“So am I.” The yearning in his voice tightened those unruly muscles inside her. He raised his head and sent her another one of those fatally attractive half-smiles. “Who knew that trousers would make you irresistible?”

What could she say to that? “We should go.”

If she and the duke didn’t make an appearance soon, it would be obvious that something was happening in the upstairs bedroom. She felt no shame for kissing Granville. But that didn’t mean she wanted people sending her knowing glances.

“We should.” The audible regret in Granville’s sigh echoed her own improper feelings.

“Papa will be having all sorts of fits.”

“Yes, we’ve taken enough risks, and I still have to get you home safely.”

When Granville released her to stand on her unsteady legs, Portia had to stop herself from clinging to him. Parting from him sliced like a knife. Some reckless element inside her wanted to stay. For more kisses. For more than kisses.

Which meant it was past time to leave. Before that reckless side spurred her to do something completely outré. Something that left her life in shreds. “Yes.”

To her surprise, Granville touched her cheek. “Next time I kiss you, I’ll make sure the dog’s been fed and nobody’s waiting.”

“I ought to say that’s a bad idea, Granville.” It was a bad idea, even if right now it sounded like an invitation to heaven.

A frown drew his golden eyebrows together. “Can you bring yourself to call me Alaric?”

“I’ve always thought of you as Granville.” It seemed mad that after she’d been in his arms, using his Christian name felt like such a concession. Somehow it did.

That expressive mouth quirked into a self-deprecating smile. “You’ve always thought of me as the dullest dog in creation and too puffed up with my own consequence to admit to the slightest failing.”

“You’ve grown on me since.” Portia blushed. Which was just as mad as balking at calling him Alaric. “Anyway, I like dogs.”

He caught her up and kissed her. It was over within seconds. She was back struggling to balance on her rubbery knees before she could respond. Which didn’t mean the kiss lacked effect. Far from it. She battled to breathe. “What was that for?”

“Just confirming you like me now.”

“You didn’t like me either.”

“I’ve changed my mind about that.”

“We’ve been fools.”

“Yes, we have.” He paused. “I’m very glad I didn’t marry your sister.”

He caught her on the hop again. Before she could come up with an adequate reply to that – as if there was an adequate reply to that – he collected his hat and Jupiter’s lead and marched out of the door.

Biting back an inappropriate desire to laugh, Portia retrieved her hat from the floor where it had fallen during those earth-shattering kisses and followed.

***

Getting Portia back to the house that her father leased on Lorimer Square should have been a straightforward process. On a cold April night, nobody was out taking the air. Most residents of the square were busy preparing for the night’s entertainments. The balls, routs, musicales, and operas where he’d encountered Portia over and over, yet somehow remained blind to who she really was. After today, that seemed impossible to believe.

In the stables, Granville consigned Jupiter to Matty’s care, while Portia lingered outside in the shadows. Within seconds, Jupiter was wolfing down a dinner of what looked like fillet steak.

Granville took her arm and led her down the short, cobbled lane out of the mews. Touching her was a bad idea. It made him want to take her into his arms again.

Then a genuine problem raised its head.

Before they reached the street, Jupiter started to howl.

“Oh, dear.” Portia’s dry tone only made him recall how breathless and delectably confused she’d sounded when he kissed her. The Duke of Granville could cross a public square in another gentleman’s company. If he seized that gentleman in a passionate embrace, eyebrows would rise.

“What the deuce is the matter with the animal?” He had just enough sense left to keep his voice to a murmur.

“He misses you.”

Obviously. The howling became more frantic by the minute. “I can’t spend the rest of my life playing nursemaid to a dog of indeterminate parentage. I have parliamentary duties and social obligations. If Almack’s refused to admit Wellington because he had the temerity to turn up in trousers, they won’t admit me with a scruffy hound who doesn’t have vouchers.”

“So you are going to keep him?”

He should have known that she’d ignore his jocularity and fasten on the one piece of salient information. “Haven’t I said so?”

“Not in so many words.”

He sighed. “To Hades with you, Portia Frain. You knew I was going to adopt that dog the minute you asked me. Don’t turn all coy on me now.”

That husky chuckle always made him think of bed sport. “I hoped.”

“You did more than that, and don’t pretend you didn’t.”

She didn’t bother denying it. “He’ll settle in, once he gets used to Matty and the rest of your household. He’s been through a lot today.”

“He’s not the only one,” Granville muttered.

“You need to go back before people start banging on your door.”

“I need to see you’re safe first.”

He didn’t want to leave her yet. Hell, he didn’t want to leave her at all. It seemed that Jupiter wasn’t the only one avid to remain with the object of his affections.

He shouldn’t mind that she suffered no qualms about leaving him.

“I’ll be fine. It’s only a few yards.”

“But…”

But I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to sleep alone without you tonight. I don’t want to wake up without you at my side tomorrow.

He couldn’t say any of that, damn it.

“My lady?” A male voice emerged from the hedge edging the garden in the center of the square.

“Rankin?” she asked in a whisper, although with Jupiter’s caterwauling, they could have a coloratura soprano out here and nobody would notice. “Is that you?”

“Aye.” A burly man emerged from the greenery. “I thought you might need help getting back into the house.”

“God bless you,” she said. “Yes, please.”

“What is that unholy racket?” the coachman asked.

“That’s the dog we rescued today. He’s missing his master.”

“That stinker Jim Jones?” Rankin asked in astonishment.

“No, His Grace, the Duke of Granville.”

Rankin only now seemed to realize that Portia wasn’t alone. He straightened and bowed. “Your Grace.” The formality in his voice contrasted with his ease with Portia.

“Has Papa been on the rampage?”

“His lordship hasn’t returned from his club, my lady.”

“That’s a relief. I should manage to get inside without running into him.”

“You usually do, madam.”

Granville could believe it. He noticed that Rankin made no comment on Portia’s clothing. He didn’t even seem particularly surprised. Her allies in the household must be inured to antics that would make her a social outcast if they became public.

She turned to him. “You’d better go before Jupiter gets any louder.”

Granville gave her a brief bow, the formality striking him as absurd, given that he’d kissed her to the stars and back. “Your servant, my lady.”

“Good night, Your Grace.” She still hadn’t called him Alaric. That was something they needed to sort out tomorrow. “Thank you for taking Jupiter. And for…everything else.”

By Jericho, he cursed the coachman’s presence. He wanted to talk to her about the day’s adventures. He wanted to kiss her again. Devil take it, he just wanted her.

But it was past time that she was back in her own home and more than past time that he took control of Jupiter. The dog’s uproar provided an earsplitting counterpoint to their conversation.

“My lady?” Rankin said, when Portia seemed as reluctant to go as Granville. He saw her give a small start, then without a backward look, she and the coachman disappeared into the shadowy gardens.

Granville shouldn’t feel bereft. He’d see her tomorrow. But the minute she left his presence, her absence became an ache.

Jupiter didn’t care about his humans’ romantic entanglements. Granville had to get back before every servant in his employ walked out in protest. So far, his staff had taken Jupiter’s arrival in reasonably good spirit. He wanted that to continue.

Because despite his original refusal, his definite reluctance, and his complete lack of qualifications to take custody of a living creature, Portia’s wishes had prevailed. For the first time in his life, the Duke of Granville had a dog.

When he reached the stables, Jupiter immediately stopped howling and broke free from Matty to rush over and jump up at him. The situation should infuriate him. It didn’t. The faint smile that he’d worn on his short walk home broke into a full grin. Nobody had been this pleased to see him since…since forever. And that included his two fiancées.

“Come back, Jupiter!” Matty lunged after him to catch the trailing lead.

“Down!” Granville said.

Yet again, the voice of authority performed its magic. Jupiter subsided onto his haunches, those clever eyes fixed on Granville’s face.

“He got away from me, Your Grace,” Matty said in a subdued voice, looking terrified that he’d be blamed for this chaos.

Granville could only blame one person for his current circumstances. Given that he still wanted to kiss her, he wasn’t feeling too resentful.

Sheriff was nowhere to be seen. Phipps sat beneath a window, smoking a pipe. “He started carrying on as soon as you left, sir.”

When Granville gave Jupiter a scratch behind the ears, the dog closed his eyes in ecstasy. “So I heard.” He glanced across at the half-full dish of meat. “He didn’t finish his dinner?”

“He will, now you’re back, Your Grace.” Matty sounded more at ease. He must have realized that Granville wasn’t angry.

Granville crossed to pick up the dish and set it before Jupiter. “Go on, boy.”

Stubby tail wagging, the dog set to his meal. Granville looked at Matty. “He needs to get used to you. I can’t take him everywhere I go. We can start training him tomorrow. Lady Portia will help, I’m sure. I’ll take him up with me tonight.”

“That’s wise, Your Grace, or nobody in Mayfair will get a wink of sleep,” Phipps said.

“Are the grooms back from the King’s Head?”

“Not yet. Should I go and chase them home?”

“You probably should. Or they’ll have sore heads tomorrow.”

“I’ll do that straightaway.” Phipps knocked out his pipe and stood up. He sent Granville a leery glance. “Has Mr. Hobbs encountered our new arrival?”

“Yes,” Granville said. “So far he hasn’t complained.”

Which didn’t mean that he wouldn’t. In fact, he was probably composing applications right now to the many noblemen who envied Granville his accomplished valet.

“I see,” Phipps said, clearly also unconvinced that the arrival of a dog off the streets would meet with the starchy valet’s approval.

Hobbs would have by now dealt with the mess upstairs, Granville assumed. He’d listen for the sound of the duke going out. That mess upstairs that included…

All the blood drained from his head.

Dear God, Portia’s clothes were still draped over the screen.

Those damned drugging kisses had done for his brain. After all their trouble to conceal Portia’s presence, they’d made an egregious mistake.

Not to mention that Granville hadn’t cleared away the signs that two people had used his apartments. Two sets of wet towels. Two bowls of dirty water.

“I have to go,” he said urgently, already heading for the door. “Thank you both for being so good with Jupiter.”

He took to his heels with the frail hope that Hobbs, the world’s most punctilious valet, hadn’t tidied the ducal chambers, the moment he got the chance.

Scampering across the cobbles behind him told him that Jupiter followed. By the time he pushed the garden gate open, the dog was at his side.

Granville clattered up the steps two at a time. He reached his room and flung open the door. And drew a great breath of relief.

Relief, but also puzzlement.

Nothing had been touched. The crumpled blue dress still draped over the screen. When he checked the dressing room, it was similarly untidy with his discarded clothing and a heap of wet towels. The soapy water hadn’t been removed either.

Hobbs mustn’t have set foot in here since Granville sent him on his way. Perhaps he’d taken advantage of his evening off to go out, but that was unlike him. To Granville’s knowledge, the fellow had no life outside his master’s requirements.

But a man shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

He and Portia had dodged a bullet. Or a serving of spiteful gossip at the very least.

By God, he wasn’t used to all this intrigue. He’d better get smoother at covering his tracks quick smart. Because while a respectable man would decide that he must never again be alone with Portia, the very proper Duke of Granville had other plans. Plans to spend as much time alone with his beautiful neighbor as he could, and be damned to conventional morality.