Page 4 of Unraveled by the Duke (Scandalous Duchesses #1)

A lexander unbuttoned his coat as he tore through the crowd towards the door he knew would lead to Maxwell’s private quarters.

He felt the eyes of those who had witnessed Lavinia’s astonishing behavior like hot pokers.

He had already received enough negative attention.

Enough gossip surrounded his name. He did not need more.

Whatever was she thinking? And why did she devote so much time to that woman? To Lady Celia. She has not lingered so long with any other person. Not even a duke. I thought she would have moved on by the time I returned, but she was still there. Blast her!

His sleeve was wet and dripping, the light-colored fabric stained red. He stripped out of his coat as he walked, folding it over his arm. Being in shirtsleeves like a servant drew even more eyes, and he was relieved to step through the door that led out of the ballroom.

He did not go directly to Maxwell’s rooms, knowing that his friend would be preening himself in preparation for his entrance.

I will not disrupt his grooming. The man takes such inordinate pride in it. He is a good man for all of that. No more shallow than most. And I do not care to return to that band of jackanapes too soon. A walk will calm me. And a glass of wine or two.

A servant was duly beckoned and instructed to bring wine to the library. Alexander waited there, running his eyes over some of the books in that room, acquired by Maxwell’s father.

The smell of old leather and paper, and the feel of the bindings beneath his fingers, soothed him. Such antiquity and wisdom were humbling. It made him think of his father’s collection, now sold and scattered. It brought a stab of pain.

Forgive me, Father. I did what I could to ensure that Hyacinth debuts and has the best possible chance at finding a husband. My investments will generate profit in time and keep my family safe, but Hyacinth does not have the benefit of time. I needed funds now. Forgive me.

The footman found him and handed him a bottle and a glass.

By the time Alexander was ready to seek out a fresh coat and return to the ball, he had half emptied the bottle. A potent burgundy that put the courage of the Dutch into him to face whatever he had to.

As he stepped into Maxwell’s private sitting room, he saw a dress on the floor beside the fireplace.

Lavinia stood at the other side of the room, looking through a door and whispering to someone.

She looked back when he entered, and her face fell.

Just for a moment, before she recovered her composure and glided across the room to him.

“Your Grace, I have been trying to make amends to my dear friend Celia by helping her clean her dress. Wine must be dealt with immediately, and who knows how long it will take the servants to get to it. Where is your coat?”

Alexander realized he had carelessly tossed his stained coat over the arm of a suit of armor in the library.

“It is being laundered as we speak. I’m going to borrow one of Maxwell’s,” he said, pointing to the inner door.

“Oh, that is the door to the Duke of Larcher’s quarters?” Lavinia asked.

“It is,” Alexander replied.

Lavinia’s voice had suddenly risen, and Alexander wondered why. She glanced at the door she had been standing at when he had entered the room, and he followed her gaze. Someone was on the other side.

“Ah, then I fear I have misdirected the Viscount Darnleigh,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes and smiling girlishly. “He got lost, and I was certain that was a shortcut back to the ballroom. How silly of me.”

As if summoned, Darnleigh stepped through the door. He grinned insouciantly and jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Not the right path at all, I’m afraid, Miss Dunnings. Ah, Your Grace! I seem to have gotten lost. Would you be able to direct me back to the ball?”

“The way back is through that door. Follow the sound of the music,” Alexander replied coldly, not appreciating the man’s attitude.

“My thanks,” Darnleigh said with a bow, before departing.

Alexander stepped out of the room shortly after and walked down the dark hallway towards the sliver of golden light under the door at the end. Opening it, he registered a brief movement beside him and then a blow to his shoulder.

He dropped to one knee, realizing someone had swung a vase at him, shattering it on impact. The door opened again, and he lashed out, his hand curling around an ankle. A silk-stockinged, slender, feminine ankle.

A thief? Who else would lash out so at someone entering a room? A female thief at that.

He pulled at the ankle, and the woman turned and kicked out at him. Her foot caught him on the side of the jaw, and he fell onto his back with a grunt.

The thief scrambled away, but Alexander lay between her and the door. She stopped in the middle of the room, clearly having nowhere else to go.

It was then that Alexander realized this was no thief, but a woman he had met before, standing before him in her undergarments.

“What are you doing here?” they asked in unison.

Is this an attempt to seduce Maxwell? She is in his quarters, after all, and stripped of her outer clothes. What is she up to?

“I needed to clean my dress. It was ruined and… Did you not see it out there before the fire? Did you not see Miss Dunnings?”

Alexander pushed himself up and rolled his shoulder carefully.

“I think that vase was probably antique,” he noted, looking at the shards of porcelain.

“I thought I was being attacked,” Celia replied defensively.

“Who would dare?” Alexander muttered, touching his jaw where she had kicked him.

Celia folded her arms beneath her breasts. In her state of undress, it did interesting things to her bosom. Alexander found his eyes drawn there until he remembered the proper behavior of a gentleman.

She glanced down and raised her folded arms to cover her breasts, her eyes blazing as she stared at him.

How fierce those eyes are! How alluring in their passion! She is an Amazon when she is roused.

Alexander knew he should leave the room, probably apologize for walking in while she was in her shift.

Part of him railed at the notion that he had done anything wrong. How could he have expected to find her here and in this state? She was stunningly beautiful, with her hair loose and her cheeks flushed.

“A man claiming the title of gentleman did dare, or would have,” she scoffed. “I do not make a habit of swinging vases at people.”

“For that, the porcelain collectors of England must be eternally grateful.”

“Do you derive pleasure from belittling people, particularly those beneath your rank?” she demanded, stepping closer as though she had forgotten her vulnerability in her anger.

“No. Do you derive pleasure from assaulting people above your rank?” Alexander shot back.

I am being boorish, but there is a challenge in her eyes that I cannot ignore. I do not want to ignore it.

Alexander could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming quicker than the circumstances warranted. It was not just the altercation that had his pulse racing. It was the ferocious beauty standing before him.

“Yes, when they deserve it,” Celia affirmed.

“Did I?” Alexander said, stepping closer without conscious thought.

A few feet separated them. Their voices were rising.

Alexander could feel the heat rising to his face, matching the color on Celia’s. Her lips were parted, and her chest was heaving, though she tried to disguise the fact. She licked her lips.

Alexander kept his gaze fixed on her eyes, though they wanted to roam up and down her body. The shift she wore clung to her, accentuating her curves much better than the dress she had discarded.

For a moment, she was silent. Except for her eyes, which seemed to communicate more than words ever could. The air between them felt charged as though by the passage of lightning.

Had he moved closer without realizing it? He felt he could reach out and touch her, while she had been on the other side of the room mere moments ago. At least that was how it seemed.

“Probably not. No, you did not,” she relented at last, looking down.

Alexander felt as though he had been released from a spell. He inhaled deeply, breaking the surface of the dark pool into which he had dived, breathing for the first time in an age.

“I was afraid, though. That is why I acted the way I did,” she added defiantly.

“I accept your apology, Lady Celia. A misunderstanding, clearly.”

Celia raised an eyebrow. “No reciprocity? You barged in on a woman in her shift. No apology for that?”

The fires in her had been banked, but now they roared forth once more. Alexander found himself smiling, aroused, and intrigued by those flames in equal measure.

“I will not apologize for something I could not have anticipated happening. I did nothing wrong,”

Celia raised her eyes heavenward as though in exasperation and turned away. Then, she cried out, lifting her foot as though she had stepped on something sharp.

Alexander moved instinctively to support her as she staggered.

When his hand touched her waist, she lashed out, knocking the wind out of him with a sharp elbow.

He was caught off balance as she leaned into him, still on one foot.

He stumbled backward, hit the closed door, and fell to the floor, Celia atop him.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her.

Her perfume was like brandy, infusing itself into his brain, loosening his inhibitions and inflaming his desire. Her body was soft and pliant above him, tantalizingly so.

“Are you hurt?” he gasped, winded by the fall.

Suddenly, the fight seemed to drain out of her. She went limp in his arms, her head resting on his chest. From the tremors in her shoulders, he could not tell if she was laughing or crying.

“The vase has had its revenge,” she said finally.

When she lifted her head, Alexander saw that she had been laughing, but there were tears in her eyes. Hysteria lay close to the surface.

He made to gently separate himself from her, but she clutched at him with both arms.

In the light cast by the low fire and the lone lamp, he could now see the tears rolling down her cheeks. But she was still beautiful. Still astonishingly so.

“I am not him—whoever it is you fear. There is only me, and I will die before hurting a woman,” Alexander said gravely.

Her face was inches from his. Her breasts were squished against his iron-hard chest. Her loins ground against his stiff manhood. She must feel it.

He could not hide the ardor that her body had awakened in his. At that moment, he did not want to.

He was lost in her eyes. The room faded from his consciousness. The house. The ball and his betrothed. His mind became primitive, losing its sense of propriety and custom, caring only for sensation and base urges.

He did not know who initiated the kiss, only that her lips were suddenly pressed hard against his.

He tasted the salt of her tears and the sweetness of wine from her mouth. She clutched at him, her fingers digging into his back through the fabric of his shirt. She moaned against his mouth, kissing him with inexperienced passion.

There was nothing of seduction or artifice about her. She had submitted to the same lust that was driving him.

The sound of the door opening did not register, but Lavinia’s scandalized voice did.

“Your Grace! How could you?!”

She turned on her heel and ran out of sight, sobbing loudly. A man and a woman appeared then. The Viscount Darnleigh had a smile on his face. Alexander did not immediately recognize the woman who stood beside him.

“Celia!” she exclaimed, sounding utterly scandalized.

“Mother!” Celia gasped.

Then, the woman looked at Alexander, and her lips pressed together until they were white.

“Unhand my daughter, Your Grace. You are lucky that my husband is not here to see this. Duke or not, he would likely demand satisfaction!”