Page 23 of The Duke’s Indecent Scandal (Indecent Dukes #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

T iffany

“The library?” she asked as Gregory pulled her into the room, somewhat bemused to find herself in the room where she felt most comfortable. She had not been sure where he would take her.

“Some of my favorite memories are in libraries,” he said with a wink, closing the door behind them and frowning as he inspected the handle. “Why does no one bother to install a lock on their libraries?”

“Does your library have a lock?” she asked, amused.

“No.” He sighed and looked around. Then, reaching out, he took hold of her hand and began to lead her to the other side of the room where the light was more shadowed. “Over here.”

It was very reminiscent of the shadowed corner where he’d first kissed her. Something she was sure he realized as he suddenly turned, pulling her up against him. Her hands went to his chest, bracing against the soft fabric of his jacket.

“As much as I would like to take my time, I fear we do not have much of it,” he murmured just before he lowered his head for a kiss.

Likely, they only had until her brother noticed she was missing. That was the last fleeting thought that passed through Tiffany’s mind before their lips met, and all subsequent thoughts flew out of her head. This kiss was not forbidden. It was not a light touch, it was not meant to gently seduce… it was a kiss that claimed her.

His tongue slid between her parted lips when she gasped, his hands moving along her back as he pulled her closer to him, crushing her breasts against his chest as her fingers curled around the lapels of his jacket. Every part of her body flamed with heat as he touched her, his hands roaming over her in a flagrantly possessive manner that claimed he had every right to touch her as he wished…

And she had absolutely no desire to stop him.

More.

She wanted more.

When his hand slid up to cup her breast over her dress, she gasped again, moaning as the heady sensation, the pleasure, surged through her. Never had she experienced anything like his touch in her entire life, and he was not even touching her skin.

“Shh,” he murmured as he lifted his lips from hers, moving them down over her throat, making her whimper. “Stay quiet for me, my little swan.”

“Swan?” She managed to keep her voice low as she gasped out the word.

His hand massaged her breast, making her knees weaken, and she might have fallen had he not pressed her up against the shelves behind her. The wood dug into her back, and she reached out with one arm to brace herself, the back of her hand touching the leather-bound books that she’d so often run her fingertips over to soothe herself.

There was no soothing herself now. He had lit a fire inside her, and she had no idea how to put it out.

“Graceful. Beautiful. With a lovely long neck.” He ran kisses up the side of her neck as he spoke, and she shuddered at the hot path of passion he left along her sensitive skin. “On our wedding night, I want you to wear these jewels and nothing else.”

“Oh!” Tiffany gasped.

“Quiet, little swan.”

She clamped her mouth shut, closing her eyes as she tried to focus on what was happening inside her. But it was all for naught, as he suddenly dropped away from her, and her eyes flew open again, just in time to see him lifting the hem of her skirt to disappear underneath.

“Gregory!”

“Hush.” Broad shoulders pushed between her thighs, and Tiffany found herself leaning back against the shelves, both hands now clutching at them to hold herself upright as Gregory pushed between her legs. She felt the split in her drawers open, then his fingers sliding against the soft skin between her thighs as he pushed her back against the shelves, making it easier for him to part her legs.

Hot air wafted over her most sensitive parts, then he touched her… there… where no one man had ever touched her.

She suddenly understood why young ladies were not to be left alone with rakes.

Because this was sinful.

Utterly wicked.

Totally indecent.

And from the moment he touched her there, she wanted—no, needed —more. Like a compulsion.

Her body ached. Throbbed. Demanded.

Holding onto the shelves for dear life, she found herself going up on her toes as her back arched, her head falling back against the heavy wood as pure pleasure shot through her. He was kissing her again, using his tongue for depravity, and she was lifting one of her legs… it ended up over his shoulder, opening herself more to him, letting him touch what she was supposed to guard.

She wanted to say something. To beg for more. To plea for him to stop so she could catch her breath. To cry out from the overload of sensations running rampant through her body.

But he had told her to be quiet.

Covering her mouth with her hand, she felt her body shudder as he ran his tongue along the seam of her cleft before finding a spot at the apex that was tingling even more than the rest of her. When he found that spot, his tongue circled, her knees going weak, then he suckled.

Tiffany shattered. His hands and his shoulders held her up against the shelves, supporting her weight as she fell to pieces all around him. The rush of ecstasy, the explosion of passion, had her squirming against his mouth, gasping as she tried to hold back her cries.

Wave after pulsating wave of pleasure rippled through her until they finally ebbed, leaving her boneless and spent against the shelves.

A moment later, Gregory pulled her skirts back over his head, his face flushed as he panted for breath. Tiffany stared back at him with glazed eyes, her breasts heaving as the aftereffects of whatever he had done to her quivered through her.

On his knees, he smoothed down her skirts, patting them into place, and got to his feet with a smug smile on his face. Tiffany shuddered, blinking, as her body attempted to right itself.

“What did you do to me?” she whispered, her voice husky.

Gregory raised his eyebrow at her.

“Have you never had an orgasm before?” he asked. “ La petite mort ?” His French translated to ‘the little death’, and while she had heard the term before, she had never understood what it meant.

Now, she did. She felt as though she had died and gone to heaven, then risen again. Sacrilegious. Not something she would ever admit aloud to anyone. But it was still the truth.

She shook her head. The smug smile on Gregory’s face widened, and she could not find it within herself to be annoyed. Not when he’d made her feel like that.

Helping her straighten up, he took some of her weight on his arm.

“We have to return to the ballroom.” He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear and sending a tremor down her spine as he spoke. “I am looking forward to being married to you, my little swan.”

She felt like a swan, gliding down the hall on his arm, utterly content. Confident in a manner that she’d never experienced before. On Gregory’s arm, she could face anything.

Including her brother, who was coming down the hall toward them with thunderclouds on his face.

“Clarence.” Her brother growled Gregory’s title rather than calling him by his Christian name, which did not bode well.

“Bolton.” Gregory’s responding tone was much lighter than her brother’s, almost amused. He glanced at her and sighed. “I told you we had to return to the ballroom.”

She blinked at him, nonplussed. Sebastian came to a halt before them, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You are blaming my sister for your disappearance from your own engagement ball?”

“Blame? No, not at all. I was being a conscientious fiancé. My bride-to-be was a trifle overwhelmed by all the attention and needed some air. We took a walk to the library, and now, feeling much fortified by our brief sojourn, we are returning.” It was all the truth, and it would have been very convincing if Gregory had not looked quite so much like the cat who had nipped the cream.

Sebastian looked to her for confirmation, and she nodded because what else could she do?

The suspicion on his face did not entirely clear, but he moved to the side.

“Do not leave the room again without me,” he commanded.

“Of course, old chap.” Gregory smirked as he led her past Sebastian. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

Tiffany pressed her lips together at the expression on her brother’s face. Suspicion. Annoyance. He was sure he was having the wool pulled over his eyes, yet there was nothing he could say about it.

There was something satisfying in that.

They reentered the ballroom, drawing the attention of their guests by the door. Tiffany lifted her chin, doing her best to ignore the looks and whispers that followed them through the room, assisted by Gregory’s steady presence at her side. They began to circulate, her on his arm, with Sebastian gloweringly keeping watch from the sidelines.

Gregory did not seem inclined to whisk her away again. She almost wished he would. She was sure there was more to discover, more he could show her… teach her… She finally understood what it was between a man and a woman that everyone found so fascinating. Her body still hummed from it. She felt as though she’d been changed, even though no one could see it.

It was a secret between her and Gregory.

And how many other women does he have secrets with?

She banished the thought from her mind. At least, she attempted to. It was there, under all her other thoughts, though.

“Tiffany? Are you thirsty? Can I fetch you something to drink?” Gregory was looking at her with concern, and Tiffany started as she realized he’d been talking to her, and she had no idea how long.

“Ah, yes, please. Some ratafia or lemonade.” Flustered, she gave herself a shake as he smiled, still watching her closely.

“Perhaps both,” he quipped, releasing her hand from his arm and giving her a short bow before turning to walk away. Almost as soon as he’d taken two steps from her side, Sebastian joined him, both of them bending their heads together to converse as they moved to the refreshments.

Tiffany took a deep breath, putting her hand on her stomach, just under her bosom. She needed to get her head out of the clouds. She could not wish that Gregory had not taken her to the library, but she did wish that she could overcome the aftereffects more easily. Did one become used to such pleasures? He certainly did not seem as overcome as she was.

Blast. She was back to thinking about that.

“Well done,” said a low voice beside her, and Tiffany startled again as Lady Astrid suddenly appeared at her side, taking Gregory’s place.

The lady was resplendent in a bronze and burnt orange striped dress with amber trim. Dark orange jewels set in gold made a shining ring around her delicate throat, dripped from her ears, and were set throughout her dark red curls where they were piled on her head. Tiffany recognized the popular Cairngorm crystals, a particular favorite of the queen’s, making her wonder about Lady Astrid’s ties to Scotland. But she had a more important question first.

“What was well done?” she asked.

Seeing Lady Astrid by her side, several young ladies started toward them, then suddenly stopped and turned away. Tiffany glanced at the young woman beside her and realized the lady was glaring at anyone who dared to look like they might approach.

“I heard a few ladies whispering during your waltz that your love match was a sham,” Lady Astrid murmured. The general feeling of happy calm Tiffany had been feeling vanished in an instant. “It will not matter once you are married, but it gives the ton another on dit to pick over. Once everyone realized you had disappeared, and now, with your smiling reappearance, that rumor was squashed before it could truly begin.”

The sudden panic in Tiffany’s chest relaxed. Her reputation would be salvaged by Gregory marrying her regardless, but she would be lying if she said she did not care what the rest of the ton thought. Moreso, she knew her mother would be appalled if the ton thought she’d been compromised—or, more likely, that she’d trapped Gregory into the position of having to marry her or face dishonor and her brother’s retaliation.

It did make her wonder, though, if Gregory had somehow heard the whispers. If they had started before tonight. Was that why he’d whisked her away? To keep up appearances for their love match?

The panic that had been rising was now replaced by a cold feeling in her chest. The warmth of his kisses, his body against hers, the pleasure he’d wrought, was gone. She’d wished for a clear head, and now that she had it, she regretted the wish wholeheartedly.

“Do not worry,” Lady Astrid said reassuringly, misconstruing the look on Tiffany’s face. “It was only a few older ladies. Likely, jealous mamas, upset that another duke is off the market and not because of one of their daughters. There have been all manner of rumors about why Drake and I have not yet stepped before the altar.”

Tiffany found herself looking around, wondering who the ladies had been. Wondering where and why the rumor had started. Had she done something wrong? Had it shown? Perhaps Lady Astrid was right, and it was mere jealousy fueling the rumor… but considering the truth of it, Tiffany could not help but wonder if someone knew something.

Her eye caught on her mother, as she scanned the ballroom, speaking rather closely with a tall, handsome older gentleman. He had salt and pepper hair and was dressed dashingly, and the way he was speaking so familiarly with her mother set bells ringing in Tiffany’s head. She’d known for a long time that her mother had a lover, though she had never set eyes on him. Until now, perhaps?

The way they looked at each other… Tiffany could not help her curiosity.

“Lady Astrid,” she said quietly, leaning toward the other woman. “Do you recognize the gentleman my mother is speaking to?”

The redhead turned to look.

“That is the Marquess of Selter.”

“Marquess,” Tiffany murmured. That was certainly high enough a rank that perhaps she could see her mother with such a man.

“An honorary title while he is the Duke of Grafton’s heir,” Lady Astrid clarified. “He’s the current duke’s uncle, the younger brother of the previous duke.”

Oh yes, of course. Tiffany should have known that. Her mother had been determined to have her memorize Debrett’s handbook, which listed all the titles of every nobleman of rank, but Tiffany had been a constant disappointment in that area. While her mother was often disappointed with Tiffany’s efforts, she had disappointed herself in her inability to retain the information. It just would not stick in her head.

Presumably, Lady Astrid did not have such problems. Or, perhaps, it was because she had actually interacted with the person in question, having been active in Society for more than a few weeks. It was certainly easier for Tiffany to remember people she had met or seen. Tiffany did not think she would forget about the Marquess of Selter again now that she had seen him—and, more importantly, seen the way he interacted with her mother.

The way he and her mother looked at each other was very reminiscent of the way she and Gregory looked at each other. She wondered if her mother had ever… oh, dear. No. No. She did not want to think about that. She could not imagine her mother allowing such… liberties. Neither did she want to imagine it. Although at least now she could better understand why her mother would want a lover.

She turned away and saw Gregory and Sebastian returning to them. Gregory held two glasses in his hand, as did Sebastian.

“Lemonade and ratafia, as promised,” Gregory said with a slight bow, holding the drinks out in front of him as an offering. “Which would you prefer?”

Tiffany laughed and took the lemonade as Sebastian made the same offer to Lady Astrid, who took the drink with a smile.

It did not escape Tiffany’s notice that a few moments later, the Duke of Ormonde joined their coterie. He did not dance attendance on his fiancé, did not even stand beside her, but he did keep a very close eye on Sebastian for the remainder of the evening.

She also noted that the bronze waistcoat he wore perfectly matched the bronze on Lady Astrid’s dress, and a Cairngorm pin held his cravat in place. All of which she found very interesting.