Page 17 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

Chapter Sixteen

G regory

Planning a wedding with speed was enough to make any man’s head spin. Having to do so while attempting to solve a murder—multiple murders—during the social Season was madness. And throughout all of it, he also had to convince the entirety of Society that he was marrying for love, which meant dancing attendance on his fiancé far more often than if it were a known arrangement.

Arriving at Bolton House for a day of wedding planning, he was braced to be bored and hopeful that perhaps he could spend some more time speaking with Tiffany. Or with Sebastian. At least his friend’s presence would also be required. Not that they would likely be any help in the planning, but a show must be made.

He helped his mother out of the carriage, escorting her up to the door where the butler let them in and showed them into the drawing room. It was empty, unlike during the at-home, and the space appeared far larger than it had on that day.

“The duchess will be with you momentarily,” Riggs said with a touch of butlerish hauteur.

“Thank you, Riggs,” Gregory said with a grin for the stuffy man. He had not changed a bit in all the years Gregory and Sebastian had been friends. The butler nodded stiffly, closing the door behind him, though it did not take more than a few moments for them to open again and a maid to enter with the tea cart.

Gregory got his mother settled on the couch while the maid set out the tea tray and sandwiches on the table in front of them. She was just finishing setting up when Sebastian and his mother walked in.

Immediately, the Duchess of Bolton frowned when she looked around the room.

“Where is Tiffany?” she asked.

“Probably in the music room,” Sebastian replied, shaking his head with a slight smile. “I will fetch her.”

“No, I will. I should as her fiancé,” Gregory said, jumping to his feet. He wanted just a few brief moments alone with her, if possible, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the duchess replied, then, tugging on her son’s arm, pulled him forward to greet Gregory’s mother. “Marguerite, you look lovely today.”

It was kind of her to say so. Since his father’s death, his mother had a penchant for wearing so many brightly colored ruffles on her dresses that she ended up resembling an exotic confection. Being a duchess meant she could indulge in eccentric fashion if she wished and be complimented on it.

“Thank you, Susan, you do as well. I am so delighted to embark on our planning today. What did you have in mind to start?”

His mother’s voice faded as he let himself out of the drawing room, smirking a bit at the pained expression he glimpsed on Sebastian’s face before he managed his own escape. Of course, he would be returning soon enough, but any reprieve Sebastian did not receive was a kind of victory.

He knew his way to the music room from past visits, though it had been a while. It did not matter. Even if he had never been to the music room, he would have found it.

As he walked down the hallway, the melodious sound of a harp danced through the air to greet him, the waterfall of notes reaching out to draw him forward like a siren’s song. Young ladies were encouraged to learn an instrument, for what reason Gregory had never understood, though supposedly it was a skill required to be deemed marriageable.

He did not think such a skill had ever made it onto any gentleman’s list of attributes used to search for a wife. Especially because very few of the young ladies ever managed anything but bare proficiency.

Not so Tiffany.

Beyond proficiency, beyond skill, she was a master.

He felt almost drunk as he stepped through the doorway into the music room.

Her back was to him, the great harp resting against her shoulder, sunlight streaming in from the window she was facing. It glinted over her hair, showing off highlights of gold and rose in what he’d formally thought of as mousy brown. In this light, the canary yellow dress she was wearing did not seem so gauche. Despite the small size of her hands, she managed the huge instrument as if it fit on her lap rather than needing to be cradled against her entire body.

The quickness of her fingers moving over the strings with such a delicate touch was breathtaking. He could have watched her all day. All night.

Bloody hell.

His groin tightened.

He had never, never , had such a reaction to any sort of musical display.

Not until today.

He felt as though he could not breathe, did not dare breathe, because it might break the spell.

She came to the end of the notes, the musical resolution settling something inside him. Her hands gracefully lifted like bird wings as the final harmony vibrated through the room, then came back to rest on the strings to still them. Gregory’s lungs were seized in that shining moment when the music ended, the beauty of it hanging in the silence, before he stepped forward, clapping his hands together as if it were a concert.

Because, indeed, she was more than concert qualified.

“Bravo!”

Tiffany startled, her head whipping around, jerking in shock, and Gregory bound forward as the balance of her harp wavered. At her side, a firm grip on the wooden frame, he smiled down at her, all too aware of how close her body was to his and how her seat on the bench put her face—and therefore her mouth—perilously close to his groin.

“My apologies,” he said, trying to ignore his body’s reaction to their positioning and the lingering effects her playing had on him. “I did not mean to startle you.”

She let out a sigh of relief as the harp was settled back into place.

“My apologies as well. I lost track of the time.” She rubbed her hands on her lap, and Gregory frowned, reaching down to pick her hand up and turn it over so he could see her palms.

The redness on the tips of her fingers looked like they would be sore.

“Does this happen every time you play?”

“Yes. I have a special lotion to keep my hands soft, but if I play too often, I begin to callus.” Tiffany got to her feet, ducking her head. “Mother gets very upset.”

Personally, Gregory would rather that she have calluses than be in pain, but he knew the unspoken expectations of the ton. Young ladies should always have soft hands.

“Well, you are very good.” He cradled her hands in his, examining them. “I never would have guessed these hands held such incredible talent.”

She laughed.

“You are too kind, good sir,” she replied teasingly, as if he were joking. He raised his eyebrow at her.

“I am entirely serious. I have never heard such talented playing outside of a concert hall.”

Tiffany blinked, her doe eyes full of startled wonder as she realized he was serious, her lips parting in surprise… and as if she was begging for a kiss. Which… they were alone, after all.

Taking advantage of her stunned silence, Gregory used her hands to pull her toward him, lowering his head for the kiss he desired. Felt her gasp rather than heard it as she was pulled against him, and he took the opportunity to slide his tongue between her lips, exploring her mouth.

No need to rein in his passion this time. She was no mysterious debutante at a ball, with a reputation that needed to be carefully handled. She was his fiancé. He was going to marry her.

It was almost expected that he take some liberties when the opportunity arose.

So, he kissed her the way he’d been wanting to kiss her ever since that night in the library, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she met him with equal passion. Their tongues stroked together, his hands sliding up her arms and then down her back while her fingers gripped the front of his coat. He felt every shudder, every quiver of her body, as she reacted to him with shocking intensity.

His fingers had just found the buttons on the back of her dress when there was a hard knock of fist against wood from the doorway, and Sebastian’s voice cut through Gregory’s haze of desire. Nothing like his best friend and his bride’s older brother to dampen the mood.

“Gregory.” That was all Sebastian said, but there were layers of meaning piled onto Gregory’s name.

Tiffany tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold on her, keeping her in his arms, though he lifted his head from the kiss, lazily turning to face Sebastian. His friend was glaring at them, but Gregory refused to be cowed. He w as marrying her, after all.

“Sebastian.” His own response had the same levels of reproach, resignation, and threat as Sebastian’s had, but with a touch of mockery as well.

The other man scowled.

“Do not make me wallop you again.”

“No one is walloping anyone,” Tiffany said firmly, pulling away from Gregory again, and this time, he let her—mostly. He kept his hand on the small of her back, sighing internally at the sudden lack of soft, warm female in his arms. Finding more ways to sneak away and kiss her, touch her, was definitely at the top of his list.

No one would blame him.

It was a ‘love match’ after all. Doing so would only bolster their trick.

“The mothers are waiting for us,” Sebastian said, giving Gregory another baleful look that promised retribution for daring to lay his hands on Sebastian’s sister.

“Oh dear, yes, I forgot the time. I am sorry.” Tiffany hurried forward, away from Gregory’s supportive hand, and now it was his turn to scowl. He moved quickly to catch up to her, catching her hand with his just before she reached Sebastian and slowing her.

“They know I came to fetch you,” he said, pulling her hand over his arm and trapping it there so she could not rush away without him again. “I do not know why they sent this lout along as well.”

“Because you were taking too long.”

“We were taking too long, or you could not tolerate being alone while the hens are chirping?”

“Both,” Sebastian replied stoutly, and Gregory laughed.

Tiffany

Deep breaths.

Not just because her wits were flustered from being kissed senseless by the duke, but because she knew her mother was going to be highly displeased at her lateness. Hurrying would do no good, yet the impulse was still there. At least her mother would probably not chide her in front of Gregory.

She took the time during the short walk to the drawing room to settle herself, as much as she could while her body was still humming from Gregory’s touch, her lips still tingling from his kiss. Lord, the effect he had on her…

Me and probably countless other women.

But for now, his focus was on her.

Perhaps she should just let herself enjoy it while it lasted, even if some of it was nothing more than flummery.

We were alone. There was no audience. No one waiting upon us but our mothers and Sebastian. There was no need to advance the pretense.

What if he kissed me because he wanted to?

He wanted to kiss me in the library.

It was thoughts such as these that had hounded her this morning and how she’d ended up at her harp in the first place, drowning herself in music to escape both her concerns over her upcoming marriage as well as the revelations about her father’s death. Her mind batted back and forth between the two subjects, like a birdie on the badminton court, and there had been no escape until she’d sat down at the harp.

Playing music had always been an escape. The harp required more concentration than some of the other instruments she played, which was why she’d chosen it, though the stinging in her fingertips said she would be paying for that choice for the next few days. It was unladylike to have calluses, but she wished that no one cared because she would have loved to play the harp every day. But at the slightest hint of a callus, her mother’s disapprobation would come down upon her with harsh weight, and she would be banned from playing for at least two months.

It was better to only play once a week or so and deal with the pain in her fingers than to be barred for months.

“There you are,” her mother said, though her remonstrance was less sharp than usual, when Tiffany entered the room on Gregory’s arm, Sebastian bringing up the rear. “Did you forget that we have guests this morning?”

“No, Mother, I am sorry. I lost track of time,” Tiffany said, blushing hotly as she faced Gregory’s mother, hoping the women would forgive her for such an error and not take it as a personal slight. She dipped down in a curtsy, awkwardly positioned as Gregory did not let go of her arm as she did so. “My apologies, Your Grace.”

“You should hear her play the harp, Mother. She is incredible,” Gregory enthused as Tiffany straightened, making her blush even harder. She saw the frown on her mother’s face before it was replaced by a slight social smile.

Her mother did not approve of braggery or boastfulness, especially in young ladies. It was one thing for a man to act a popinjay, but young ladies should be modest and not excessively prideful.

“I am badly out of practice,” she said, shaking her head, which was very true. Of course, she had been playing a more difficult piece as a means to distract herself.

“That only makes your talent even more astonishing,” Gregory continued, seating her in one of the chairs before taking the seat beside hers, leaving Sebastian to join their mothers on the couch.

“I would love to hear you play,” the Duchess of Clarence said, beaming at her. The constant show of approval was very discomforting, especially now that it was just the family and there was hardly a need for it. Everyone in this room knew that she and Gregory were not actually a love match. “I have always been partial to the harp. What piece were you playing?”

Tiffany glanced at her mother, whose smile was becoming rather stilted, but Tiffany could hardly avoid answering such a simple question. Besides, just naming the piece was hardly boasting, was it?

“Sonata in G by Bach,” she replied, folding her hands on her lap, missing the warmth of Gregory’s arm beneath her palm.

The Duchess of Clarence gasped, putting her hand to her chest.

“That is one of my favorites! And it is so difficult.”

“She played it like a maestro,” Gregory said, reaching over to put his hand atop hers on her lap.

Warmth flooded her cheeks and chest again, basking a bit in his compliments, even if he was being overly effusive.

Sebastian was giving her that look again, the one like he was seeing her for the first time. Wondering. Assessing.

She risked a peek at her mother, whose pinched lips said she disapproved, but she did not scold Gregory the way she did Tiffany. Perhaps because she expected his own mother to take him to task if necessary. Or perhaps because he was a duke.

Or perhaps because it did not count as boasting if she was not saying the words herself.

But for one shining moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the admiration and believe that, perhaps, she was everything he said she was.