Page 18 of The Duke’s Guide to Fake Courtship (Daring Debutantes #1)

D eclan had ample time to think as he returned the maid to her home. Naturally he had known that women were often abused in one way or another, but he’d always made sure those in his household were protected. And certainly he disliked those men who abused their physical and societal power to exploit ladies who should be under their protection.

It had never occurred to him to teach the women around him how to fight. That wasn’t ladylike. And yet Grace had fought, and she had never seemed more powerful or more attractive to him.

That she had so obviously lost control of herself only increased her allure. Here was a woman who understood his struggle to maintain his composure. That turned her into a Valkyrie in his mind. She was a warrior woman, to be respected if not revered.

He said nothing to the maid. He was not in the habit of conversing with other people’s servants. But before they stopped, he did venture a comment.

‘If you or your daughter feel unsafe in your current employment, you may apply to my housekeeper. I am sure she can find a place for you both.’

The woman’s eyes widened with shock. ‘Your Grace?’

‘What name should I give Mrs Williams? In case you choose to communicate with her?’

‘I am quite happy, Your Grace, but my daughter...her name is Molly Smithee.’

‘Molly Smithee,’ he repeated, committing it to memory.

‘She wants to be a lady’s maid, Your Grace, but will be happy in whatever capacity is available.’

‘I’ll let Mrs Williams know, though I cannot promise advancement. I am a bachelor without need of a lady’s maid.’

‘I will trust to your good judgement, Your Grace. And that of Mrs Williams.’

And with that she curtsied as best she could in the carriage and stepped out. Once he had seen her into her home, the Duke stared into the space where Grace had sat. He stared at it and thought about the evening. He thought of her and he lusted. He thought of her and he...

‘Home, Your Grace?’

‘What?’

‘Should we head for—?’

‘No.’ He quickly thought about the London streets. The Richards lived not so far from a few of the better-quality gaming hells. He grinned. ‘Drop me off at the Lady’s Delight,’ he said.

‘Your Grace?’

His coachman was shocked, and well he might be. It had been years since he’d stepped into that infamous gaming hell, but he was not averse to pretending.

‘The Lady’s Delight,’ he repeated forcefully.

And then he sat back and allowed his mind to wander. It went to her, of course, and he let it. He had no exact plan as to what he would do, and he didn’t want to examine his thoughts too closely. So he let his mind wander to the lascivious and the carnal. And when he stepped down from his carriage his gait was a bit stiff.

‘Go home,’ he said to his coachman. ‘I shall take a hackney back.’

‘Aye, Your Grace.’

The man eyed him for a long moment. He was twice Declan’s age and had known him since he was boy. He no doubt had guessed what might happen, but he didn’t say anything before he left.

Soon Declan was whistling as he walked not into the gaming hell but down the street, towards where Grace lived.

He wanted to see her again, he thought, without prying eyes or shocked gossipmongers. He wanted to speak to her as a man might to a fellow soul who had piqued his interest.

His thoughts were a lot less clear when he walked by the dark house and then wandered, oh-so-casually, behind it. There was a small alley, no light except for the waxing moon, and not even a tree to ease the sight of dirty bricks and rubbish. Then he looked up at her window and wondered what he was doing.

She was likely abed, her face freshly washed and her legs stretched naked beneath the sheets. She wore a nightrail, he imagined, made of soft cotton or sensuous silk. But beneath that simple gown would be her plump breasts and her narrow waist. He imagined he could feel the muscles in the strength of her arms and the grip of her legs. He thought of her kisses and her sighs. And he wished—

‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed.

He was jolted out of his fantasy only to see her for real, wrapped in colourful silk as she peeked out from behind the back door.

‘Grace?’

‘Why are you standing there, Your Grace?’

‘Call me Declan.’ He wanted to hear his name on her lips.

‘That’s not proper.’

‘I won’t tell.’

She stared at him, and then she jumped as a dog barked in the distance.

‘This isn’t proper,’ she repeated, but then she waved him in.

He grinned as he moved inside. They were in the dark kitchen, quiet and still, without even a cat to hunt for mice.

‘How did you know I was out there?’ he asked. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

She sighed and lifted her hands in a gesture of futility. ‘I have a temper, too,’ she whispered. ‘And it doesn’t let me sleep.’

He understood. ‘I applaud what you did to Lord Jasper.’

‘Will he survive?’ she asked.

‘Probably. Either way, I’ve made it clear that it was what he deserved.’

Grace folded her arms across her chest. It was a gesture of anger or fear, he wasn’t sure which.

‘What will your mother say when she hears?’ she pressed. ‘Will she blame Lord Jasper? Or will she say that the heathen has shown her true colours?’

There was a wealth of disgust and self-recrimination in her tone. He touched her shoulder and pulled her gently to face him.

‘Do not blame yourself. He deserved—’

‘I don’t,’ she interrupted. ‘But I know that the lower caste always shoulders the blame.’

‘That’s not true.’ He lifted her chin until she was looking at him. There was very little light here, but he could see her eyes widen in her pale face. ‘That’s not always true,’ he hedged.

And then he did what had been burning in his thoughts all night long, even before they had reached her front door.

He kissed her.

He cupped her cheeks, tilted her mouth to his, and kissed her more thoroughly than he had managed before.

He went slowly. He could tell that she was not experienced. Her mouth was soft, her lips only slightly parted. She was willing, but unschooled, and the roar in his blood nearly overcame him.

He brushed his lips across hers, then gently teased his tongue against her lips. She stretched up towards him and he felt the brush of silk against his legs as her dressing gown fell open.

He slipped his tongue inside her mouth, tangling with hers and then withdrawing before plunging in again. He felt her breath catch as her body moved towards him. Or maybe he had simply pulled her tightly, such that he could feel the swell of her breasts and the length of her thighs. So hot. So sweet. So very much his .

He felt her hands press flat against his chest. Did she mean to push him away? He felt her palms skim across his chest, restless and uncertain.

He drew back, looking into her dark eyes. ‘Have you never been kissed before tonight?’

‘Yes. By sailors and others.’

‘Kissed like that?’

Kissed in a way that had made her breath stop and her heart thunder?

As he spoke, he brushed his thumb across her swollen lips while he slipped his other hand beneath her dressing gown.

She wore simple cotton beneath, the fabric soft and without restriction. He outlined the curve of her waist, the strength of her ribs and the swell of her breast. He had not meant to be so free with her, but he could not stop himself.

‘Have you ever felt pleasure, Grace?’

He was speaking obliquely, but she understood.

‘Not as you mean.’ She curved her fingers around his waistcoat. ‘I have never wanted it before. The risk was too great.’

His hand trembled beneath her breast. How he wanted to go further. It was taking all his willpower to hold himself back.

‘Do you want me to touch you?’

She nodded, the movement of her chin jerky. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Just...a little.’

Could he do it? Could he pleasure her ‘just a little’?

He curved his hand up until he palmed her breast. He felt the sharp point of her nipple and the full weight of her. She was small compared to many women he had known, but her shape was exquisite. And even better was the way her breath caught as he held her.

Her eyes widened and her mouth parted on a pant. Then he rubbed his thumb back and forth across her peak and she trembled as she swayed towards him.

‘Has anyone ever touched you like this?’ he asked.

‘Just you.’

He dropped his head to her neck, nuzzling beneath her ear and rubbing his teeth along the curve of her jaw. Her dark hair fell from its coil, spreading out across her shoulder. It was still short, but the feel of it made his knees weaken. Dark hair, golden skin, and the scent of sandalwood and honey.

He untied the ribbon of her nightrail. He used his mouth to brush apart the flap of cotton that shielded her breast.

‘Declan...?’ she whispered.

Her hands were tight on his waistcoat, and he idly wondered if she would tear the fabric. He didn’t care if she ripped it apart.

‘I want to show you pleasure,’ he said. ‘I want to teach you.’

So saying, he tried to tongue her nipple, but the cotton shift did not open far enough. So he adjusted. He lifted her breast with his hand and set his mouth above the fabric. It was thin enough that he could use his teeth to bite her nipple, then suck it far into his mouth.

She cried out at that. A soft mew of delight. He caught her hips then, steadying her as she arched beneath him. Tightening his grip, he lifted her up and set her onto the table in the centre of the kitchen. It was sturdy wood and the right height. He could touch her this way, but not take her. The table was too high.

‘I want to show you,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I want to feel your first time.’

He set his hands to her knees, gently spreading them. The length of her nightrail prevented him opening her as he wished, but it was enough. He felt the heat between her thighs and smelled her musky scent.

But before he could touch her she gripped his arm. ‘Even I know this is wrong.’

‘I won’t take you. I swear.’

‘This is allowed?’

No, not exactly.

‘This is something women teach each other,’ he said. At least he had been told so. ‘Where to touch. How it feels.’ He shifted, pulling his hand away while setting hers on her own body. ‘I won’t do more,’ he swore. ‘But I will tell you what to do.’

And he would watch.

She bit her lip, clearly tempted.

‘Can you be silent?’ he asked.

She nodded, her eyes lighting with hunger.

‘Is everyone asleep?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

‘Then let me tell you what to do.’

He backed to the other side of the room until he was well out of reach.

‘Has no one ever spoken of this to you before?’

‘I have heard about when it can be good, but...’

‘You didn’t believe?’

‘I didn’t want to be tempted. I had other things to learn. How to navigate. How to fight.’

He nodded, awed again by her intelligence. But now she was tempted. He tempted her. And the thought surged heat through his body.

‘I will tell you, and then you can learn on your own.’ He gripped the back of a chair rather than reach for her. ‘Widen your legs and lean back.’

She did as he bade. Slowly, carefully, and with a shyness that had the lust pounding through him. What a sight! Her muscular legs spread until her gown strained. She didn’t mean to be seductive, but nothing was more enthralling to him than her inexpert motions as she pulled her nightrail up and up.

She stopped just short of giving him the full view. All he saw was shadow, though her scent tantalised.

‘Set your fingers between your nether lips.’

‘What?’

‘There are folds between your legs.’

Her fingers began to explore.

‘Move around until—’

She gasped, and he knew she had found it.

‘Feel how wet you are?’

She nodded.

‘Dip inside. Take that sweetness and stroke it up and down. Up and down. You’ll find what you want.’

What an exquisite pleasure to watch her explore. Her one candle barely lighted her, but he could see her face, hear the sounds she made and see the changes in her body.

‘Adjust how you touch, move your fingers in different ways. Discover yourself.’ His voice rasped and his body pulsed with need, but he didn’t move.

She looked at him, doubt in her eyes.

He did not know what the Chinese believed, but he knew what the priests here said about women pleasuring themselves.

‘This isn’t wrong,’ he said, to himself as much as her. ‘This is what you should learn about your own body.’

He said nothing more. Let her choose what she wanted. And he gloried in seeing her intimate explorations. He felt her every gasp like a gong in his body. He knew when her speed increased how wonderful she would be feeling. And he watched with his breath held because she was beautiful in her bliss.

Soon she was moving faster.

Soon her breath became soft gasps.

And then...

A single cry.

Her body shuddered. Her head dropped back.

‘Yes,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, yes.’

He was ready to catch her if she fell. He was ready to kiss her into silence if need be. He was ready for any excuse to touch her, but she kept herself apart from him. Her body, even in the midst of bliss, was wholly her own. And he couldn’t have been more impressed.

When she was spent, she sagged back against the table. She let her hand slip away and her legs fall together.

He dared come close then. He gently resettled her nightrail around her knees. Then he took the hand that she had used to pleasure herself and kissed it. Indeed, he drew the scent into his lungs and the taste into his mouth. He kissed her hand as he’d wanted to kiss her most intimate places. And she returned the favour by touching his face, his hair, and the long stretch of his jaw.

‘All Englishwomen know this?’ she asked.

‘No. But they should.’

‘Then how do you?’

‘There are women who teach men like me. Women who introduce us to pleasure.’

She nodded. ‘Prostitutes.’ There was no condemnation in her tone.

‘Usually.’

‘They offered to teach me.’

He winced that she had been in such close quarters with such women. The dangers they faced were myriad and often lethal.

‘I chose to become China’s greatest navigator instead.’

‘A wise choice.’ He pressed another kiss into her palm. ‘And now you know their secrets.’

She shook her head, her gaze still languid. ‘I bet there are many more to learn.’

He grinned. ‘There are.’

‘And you want to teach me.’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘No.’

The bluntness of her word jolted him. After what he had just witnessed, he had not expected such a final response. And into his confusion she smiled. It was a sweet expression, but it did not hide the determination beneath her words.

‘I wanted to learn this,’ she said, her voice a low whisper. ‘I wanted you to teach me.’

His body jerked with hunger at that, but he knew better than to act on it.

‘But this was improper.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘And you said—’

‘That women teach each other.’

‘Because it’s improper for a man to do it outside of marriage. Yes?’

He swallowed. ‘Yes.’

She straightened and pulled the silk dressing gown about her shoulders. ‘I wanted to learn this,’ she said. ‘I do not say you are at fault.’

Now he understood. ‘But you will not risk more with me?’

‘With anyone.’

That was something at least.

‘It is time for you to leave,’ she said.

Long past time. But he couldn’t depart without asking one more thing. Why it was so important to him, he had no idea, but it had brought him to her door in the middle of the night just to see if she would answer.

‘Will you tell me...?’ His voice faded away. What an awkward question to ask.

‘Yes?’

‘What is your name in Chinese?’

She blinked, startled. ‘Nayao. It means a person with grace or beauty. Enough that it is a unique quality that stands out.’

His brows rose. ‘That is an excellent name for you.’

‘What does your name mean?’

He frowned. ‘Declan means that I am the Tenth Duke of Byrning.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Your name is the same as your title?’

He shrugged. ‘I suppose you could look at it that way.’

‘Then you have no identity apart from that?’

‘I—’

He clapped his mouth shut. He’d been about to claim that of course he was more than the title he’d been destined to inherit. Of course his identity was vastly more than his title. And yet from his earliest days he had been reared to be the Duke of Byrning and all that entailed. Even his middle names were attributed to one ancestor or another, not to mention a saint thrown in there for good measure.

‘I suppose my name is my heritage.’

‘And I have no heritage except my name.’

Did that mean they were opposites? That there was a gulf between them that made them unsuitable?

Obviously not, given what they had just done. He couldn’t think of a more suitable woman right now. And yet, despite what they had shared, she felt so far away from him. And exponentially more intriguing.

He opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t even sure what. Perhaps he just wanted to say her name again, to make it more familiar. But before he could form the syllables a thump sounded above them, then a series of weak coughs.

‘Father,’ she whispered.

Oh, dear. Lord Wenshire did not sound good.

‘You must go!’ she said, gesturing him out the door.

‘Do I call a doctor?’

She shook his head. ‘No. No, this is common.’

That was even worse. But as another thump sounded above stairs he knew his time was up. He had to leave without even a goodnight kiss. If he touched her even once now, he would not be able to tear himself away.

He gave her a last look. One that was filled with the desire for more . More conversation, more interaction, more touching. Instead, he gave her a quick bow and hurried away.