When You Give a Duke a Diamond (17 page)

“Oh, good. I shall change into my riding habit.” She pulled away from him, toward the room she’d been given. “And Will?”

He glanced back at her, wariness in his eyes. Juliette almost laughed. The man was obviously not used to having his days taken up with entertaining. Good. The more she could move him out of his routine, the better. He needed to have fun.

“Don’t give me some old, plodding mare. I want to ride fast.”

“Of course you do.”

Juliette couldn’t stop a tinkle of laughter from escaping her lips.

***

Pelham watched the sway of her hips as she made her way up the stairs to her chambers. He hadn’t sought her out last night, and perhaps he should have. He found himself wanting her again. In fact, his body had made it difficult for him to think of anything besides wrapping his arms around her soft curves, stripping off her clothing, and burying himself inside her.

He was definitely bewitched by her.

But that did not mean he had lost control of his senses—well, not all of them anyway, he thought as he turned toward the door to the stables. He would have been insensitive indeed to take her to Nowlund Park. He didn’t much care what the servants thought, but his neighbors would talk. And he did have respect for Lord and Lady Nowlund. More respect than to bring his… He didn’t want to call Juliette his mistress, but he wasn’t precisely certain what she was.

In any case, he hadn’t thought it prudent to bring her along. Besides, she should rest and recuperate. There was no need for her to involve herself further with these diamonds.

Of course, he hadn’t considered he might be part of her recuperation. He had thought to take care of business—there was always business—while she rested. But now it appeared he would have to ride with her.

Ride fast.

He chuckled as he waved at the groom. The man gave him a surprised look. Probably had never seen him laugh before. But he was laughing thinking of Juliette’s horse cantering. That would be fast enough to please her.

Once again he was wrong. It was annoying how often he was wrong about Juliette. He would have preferred she canter, because the breakneck pace she set frankly frightened him. The surrounding landscape was flat and covered with grasses and sheep. The sheep trotted out of their way with bleats of protest. And they scared a few red grouse from their hiding places. Pelham rode a faster horse, and Juliette still managed almost to beat him to the old crofter’s cottage, a landmark she’d spied after she’d kicked her horse into full gallop.

She’d only almost beaten him because he hadn’t wanted to encourage her to ride so fast. He didn’t want to see her injured. But when it looked as though she would win, he urged his own horse on and won, pulling his mount up short and giving a quick wave to the family who came out to see what all the commotion was about.

Juliette charged up behind him. Her hair had come loose of its pins and whipped about her pink face. “I demand a rematch!” she yelled over the wind. “We race back to the house, and I’ll beat you this time.”

In the distance, thunder boomed. It had been drizzling for the last quarter hour, but now the rain started in earnest.

“Your Grace!” the crofter yelled over the thunder. “You and your new duchess are welcome to shelter with us.”

Pelham blinked.
Duchess?
They thought Juliette was his duchess? He looked at her. She sat a horse well, and her riding habit was stylish and complimented her figure. But her hair, her eyes—they were wanton. No duchess—no real duchess—would ever look so… so tempting.

She was looking back at him, amusement in her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of riding in the rain,” she told him.

“Oh, no, Your Grace!” the crofter’s wife said. “You’ll catch your death of cold. We don’t have much, but we have a warm fire and tea.”

Pelham wanted to ride back. He never knew what to say to his tenants. Never felt at ease with them. But Juliette was already accepting the crofter’s hand. She dismounted and swept one of the small children running about into her arms.

“Your Grace, would you allow me to rub the horses down?” the crofter asked.

Pelham tore his eyes from Juliette. “No.”

The man took a step back.

“What I mean is we are partaking of your hospitality. Go inside and warm yourself. I’ll see to the animals.”

When he’d walked and rubbed the horses down, then situated them in a covered area next to the house, he knocked on the crofter’s door. No one answered, and so he opened the door.

The family of five was seated around the fire, cups of tea in hand. Juliette had her back to him, but from the rapt gazes of the others in the room, she was telling a vastly entertaining story. Devil take it. What kind of stories would a celebrated courtesan have to tell to a crofter’s family?

But as he started forward, the entire group burst into laughter. He paused, closed the door, and heard Juliette speaking.

“I hid the piglet in the barn’s loft and told my father he’d escaped. Unfortunately, this conversation took place in the barn.”

Pelham moved into the room. Her voice sounded different. Not quite so cultured. Not quite so formal. And she had one of the mop-haired children on her lap. And the child appeared to
want
to sit there. “What happened then?” the little girl on her lap asked. Pelham assumed it was a girl, because she was wearing a dress of some sort. The child couldn’t have been more than three—though he was no judge of children.

“What do
you
think happened?” Juliette asked, rocking the child back and forth on her knees. “I bet you can guess.”

“Pig Pig went
wheee
.”

Pelham raised his brows. It was a good imitation of a pig’s squeal.

“That’s right!” Juliette bounced the girl up and down. “Just as I had convinced my father Pig Pig had escaped, she said
wheee
and
oink
oink
!” Juliette tickled the little girl, who squealed herself. “And I was found out.”

“Did you get in trouble?” one of the boys asked. He was older and taller but had the same mop of brown hair as the little girl.

“Yes. I had to go to bed without dinner for lying.” Juliette’s face was serious.

“And was Pig Pig sold to the butcher to make ham?” the little girl asked.

“That’s the good part of the story.”

Pelham rather thought hearing Juliette make pig noises was his favorite part.

“The next day when I woke up, Pig Pig was in her stall with a red ribbon around her neck. My father said I could keep her as a pet.”

“And do you still have her?” the little girl asked, clearly excited at the prospect of seeing this Pig Pig.

Juliette shook her head. “No, she grew up and had her own family. Just like you will one day.”

“And you married His Great.” The little girl pointed at him, and Pelham couldn’t help but smile.

“His Grace,” her mother corrected gently.

“Oh, but he is very great,” Juliette said, her gaze on him. Suddenly he felt warm, despite being wet through and through.

“Maybe one day I’ll marry His Great.”

“Oh, don’t be putting those notions in your wee head,” her father said.

“Oh, but why not, John?” the crofter’s wife interjected. “If Her Grace, a farmer’s daughter, can marry a duke, why, anyone can.”

Juliette’s eyes slid to the floor, and she gave the family a shaky smile. Pelham cleared his throat. “It looks as though the rain has slowed. We had better get back while we have a chance.”

“Of course.” Juliette gave the girl one more bounce then set her on her feet. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” She shook all of their hands and gave the children quick kisses on the forehead.

Pelham nodded gruffly, feeling like a foreigner witnessing some exotic ritual. What did he know of bouncing children on his lap or sitting by a fire surrounded by family? His childhood had been made up of governesses and tutors, regiment and routine.

When they had mounted again and were riding back, more slowly this time, as the ground was muddy and the rocks slippery with moisture, Pelham said, “I didn’t know you had grown up on a farm.”

“It’s not something one wants advertised when one is the Duchess of Dalliance,” she answered.

“No, I suppose not.” The sky was a perfect blue now, and the sun had come out, warming the land. “Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you had married a good man? Would you still live on a farm and have three of your own small ones?”

She gazed at him, her blue eyes clear as the sky ahead of them. “No. You can’t go back, Will. I made my choices, and I don’t regret them. I loved being a courtesan. It was fun, much more fun than living on a farm. You can’t allow your past to dictate your future. You can make your own future.”

He was silent for a long time. He could see how she had made her own future, and from difficult circumstances. Could he do the same? Could he step out of his father’s shadow and live life without regret?

When they were in view of Rothingham Manor, he said, “And what will you do when”—he gestured to the house—“this is over?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can go back to being a courtesan. I’m not sure I want to. I was tiring of it even before you cut me at Carlton House.”

Pelham pulled his horse to a stop. “Really?”

She nodded. “I want a home and a family. I love balls and dancing and fun, but even London becomes tedious after a time. And besides, beauty, fashion, celebrity—those things are fleeting. I want something real. I want something forever.” She looked away from him. “I want someone who loves the farmer’s daughter and the Duchess of Dalliance and everyone I’ve been in between. And I want someone I can love, as well.”

Now she looked at him, and Pelham saw tears sparkling on her lashes. They glittered in the sunlight. “Juliette—”

“Damn you, Will. Damn you.”

He gaped. “What have I done?”

“You made me fall in love with you, and I know you can never, ever love me back.”

He knew his mouth hung open. He knew he should say something. But words failed him. Juliette didn’t seem to expect them anyway. She kicked her horse and rode ahead without him.

Pelham let her go. There was nothing he could say to comfort her, because she was right.

He could never love her.

Juliette lay in bed, listening to the rain against her window. Shortly after they’d returned, the rain had begun again and not let up. It rained all afternoon, and she was forced to wander the house alone, gazing at the pretty gardens that were too wet to explore.

She finally found a book and decided to read, but she never found Pelham. The housekeeper told her he had decided to dine in his room, something Juliette deduced from Mrs. Waite’s shocked expression he did rarely, if ever.

And so Juliette had eaten in the dining room alone. She’d eaten many, many meals alone and knew she would probably eat many, many more in that fashion.

But she was disappointed. She had not thought Pelham so much of a coward. Yes, it was probably not every day a woman told him she loved him—especially not one so completely wrong for him as she was.

But then
was
she wrong for him?

Juliette didn’t think so. He had fun with her, something he sorely needed. Something completely lacking in his life before her, as far as she could tell. He was finally changing his routine, and perhaps one day he might even change this house so his father was not everywhere one looked.

But she would not be here to see it. She did not know why she even thought of Pelham’s future. It didn’t involve her, and Lady Sinclair would have told her she was a fool to hold onto dreams that would never come true.

Reality, Juliette, is all you can cling to. It’s a hard pillow to lay your head on, but it will still be there in the morning.

She fluffed the soft pillow under her head and shifted until she was again comfortable. She was sleeping in Pelham’s house in one of his—she didn’t know how many—large, inviting beds. He could find her if he wanted her. Obviously, he didn’t want her.

And she hated that she still wanted him. If she went to him now, what was the harm? She was already in love with him. She might as well enjoy him for the short time they had together. She supposed if she had more pride, she might turn over and try to sleep. But where had pride ever gotten her?

She rose and found a dressing gown. She put it on then hastily took it off, removed her nightrail, and donned the gown again. The fewer clothes, the better. When she reached her door, she considered that Pelham might have decided it was best if he no longer bedded her. But she had yet to meet a man who held on to his scruples for long when a naked woman slipped into his bed.

Not that she had ever done so. But she had lived among courtesans for the last few years, and she’d learned something from all their chatter.

She opened the door and stepped into the dark corridor. She knew where Pelham’s rooms were. She’d seen the maids cleaning them when she’d passed by earlier in the day. She’d caught a glimpse of the large tester bed and the plush rug, and had known immediately it was the duke’s room. It was too grand, too ornate for any mere guest.

It was close to hers, a few doors away, and she tiptoed down the corridor, watching her shadow in the flickering flames of the candle she held. When she reached the door, she raised her hand to knock then thought better of it. She tried the handle, found the door unlocked, and moved silently inside.

The royal-blue curtains on the bed were drawn, but she could hear Pelham’s soft, regular breathing. Just like a man to sleep while a woman agonized over their relationship. She took a moment to study the room. The tester bed was by far the largest piece of furniture. It looked as though it had been built for a king. There was also a sitting area by the window with two armchairs upholstered in blue. A small desk completed the room’s furnishings. She spotted an interior door and supposed it led to the dressing room and the empty duchess’s chambers beyond.

Juliette blew out her candle and quietly set it on a table near the door. A low fire burned in the huge hearth across from the bed, and her eyes were already adjusting to the darkness. With a fortifying breath, she slipped her robe off and felt the cold air brush her naked body. Oh, but it felt deliciously scandalous to pad, naked, across the soft rug, push open the bed’s heavy draperies, and crawl in.

Pelham didn’t even stir. She took a long look at him, his dark hair framing his stern face. Even in sleep, he had a serious expression. One hand was on the pillow beside his cheek, and the other rested on the bedclothes at his chest.

His bare chest.

She bent and kissed that chest. He was warm and smelled like sleepy male. She tugged the bedclothes down to reveal his taut stomach and the indentation of his waist. He stirred slightly, and she smiled as she ran light fingertips down to circle his navel then followed with her tongue.

That elicited a low moan from him, but a peek at his face told her his eyes were still closed and he continued to sleep. His body was waking, though. She could see the hard bulge at the edge of the covers, and she inched them down, revealing him. Her hand wrapped around him, sliding up and down his hardness. Now he moaned in earnest, and she heard a muffled, “Wha—?”

Before he could wake fully, she leaned down and took him in her mouth, sliding as much of him as she could between her lips and sucking lightly.

“Oh, good God!” he groaned. “Juliette?”

With a teasing lick, she released him. “You were expecting someone else?”

“I wasn’t expecting anyone. What are you doing here?”

She sat up, revealing her nudity. “What does it look like? Seducing you.”

“How did you—?”

She took him in her mouth again, and his words turned into a groan. His hands fisted in her hair as she moved up and down, loving him with her mouth. Finally, his hips bucked, and he pulled her shoulders back. “Wait.”

“For?”

“I’m not even awake.”

She glanced down. “You look awake to me. Is there something else you’d like me to do?” She straddled him. “This, perhaps?” She slid him inside her, and his hands clenched on her hips. She rode him slowly, torturing him as he made every effort to quicken her pace. But she could feel her own pleasure rising now, and she wouldn’t be swayed. Finally, her hips began to race of their own volition, and just as she was about to climax, he flipped her onto her back.

“Will!” she sputtered.

He grinned down at her, that unruly hair of his brushing his forehead. “Tit for tat, I always say. And speaking of which…” He leaned down and tasted her nipple, taking one then the other into his mouth. She arched beneath him, pushing his hand between her legs. But he moved it back to her breast without giving her satisfaction. He teased her, pinched her, and she fisted her hands in his hair. “Will,
please
.”

He traced a wet path down her belly with his tongue. She rose for him, but the man maddened her by tickling her thigh. And then his hands spread her legs wide, and she felt his tongue on the inside of her thigh. “Yes,” she breathed.

He lapped at her, lightly—far too lightly. “Is this what you want?”

“More,” she moaned. “More.”

He licked her, rolled his tongue over that sensitive nub.

“Yes. Yes!” She was already convulsing, bucking as he played her, sucked her, devoured her. She came hard and fast, exploding into a thousand white-hot shards. She’d never felt pleasure like that before, couldn’t begin to catch her breath. And then just when she thought she might survive, he plunged into her, and she bucked with pleasure again.

She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deep as he thrust hard and fast. “You feel so good,” she moaned.

“I feel good,” he panted. “You’re hot and wet. I—”

She clenched around him, and he made a guttural noise and swelled within her. He collapsed on top of her, his body shuddering.

They lay like that, two lovers entwined, for what seemed hours. Finally, he rolled off her. “I didn’t mean to flatten you.” It was probably the closest to an apology the duke in him could manage.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I like feeling your weight on top of me.” She reached over and traced his chest.

He grabbed her hand. “Woman! Give me five minutes.”

“Only five? Now that’s impressive.”

He quirked his mouth in a half smile, and she couldn’t resist kissing that mouth. Couldn’t resist kissing his cheeks and his eyes. He was so beautiful, so perfectly male. If only he could have been born someone else, and she could have—

But she’d sworn she’d not have regrets. Her life was her choice these past few years. She’d had precious few choices, but she’d made those she did with full knowledge of the consequences. Now she would have to live with them.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

She smiled. “All the wanton things I want to do to you. With you. On top of you. Under you…”

“I like that train of thought.”

“I thought you might.”

He touched her hair, rubbed it between two fingers. “It’s like moonlight. Silken moonlight.”

She raised a brow. “I didn’t realize you were a poet.”

“I’m not.” He touched her face. “I missed you tonight.”

“And I you. I had to eat in that enormous dining room all alone, waited on hand and foot. It was awful.”

“It sounds perfectly monstrous.”

She swallowed. “You didn’t have to avoid me.”

“I thought it best.” His face changed into an expression she liked to think of as The Duke. Suddenly, he was solemn and paternal. She wanted to kiss The Duke away and lie in the arms of the man.

“Because I’m in love with you?”

He shifted, tried to sit. “Juliette—”

She pushed him back down. “Do you think avoiding me will make me fall out of love? I’m no ingénue, Will. I don’t fall in love easily. In fact, I’d say with the exception of John Miller when I was thirteen, this is the only time. If all of your efforts thus far haven’t swayed my emotions, I don’t think hiding from me will.”

“I wasn’t hiding. I’m a—”

“Man. Men at times prefer to avoid women’s emotions. But I’m not going to pelt you with tears or sentimentality. I know you don’t love me.”

“Juliette, I…”

She raised her brows, waited. “You’re very fond of me?”

“Yes, but I feel more than that.” He put a hand over his eyes, scrubbed at his brow. “I don’t know what to say. I’m no good at this.”

She took his hand. “You needn’t say anything. John Miller didn’t.”

He furrowed his brow. Oh, how she loved the little lines that formed when he furrowed his brow. “Did you tell this John Miller you loved him, too?”

“Of course.”

He laughed. She’d heard him laugh so rarely, she laughed as well. “You’re no coward, I’ll give you that. And what did John Miller say in return?”

“Why, nothing. He grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed me. It was my first kiss.”

“A romantic story.”

“Hardly. His breath smelled like onions, and I vowed never to kiss a boy again. Needless to say, I fell right out of love with poor John Miller.”

“I’m sure he died of a broken heart.”

“No, he married Sally Johnson, and they had six children at last count. Apparently, she likes the smell of onion breath.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

“That’s because you spend too much time with
ladies
. I guarantee you Fallon, Lily, and I are more fun than any real countess or marchioness.”

“I don’t doubt it. You three have an interesting friendship.”

“Why?” She knew why, but she wanted him to say it.

He shifted uncomfortably. “Well, considering how you know one another.”

“You mean how we met? What story have you heard?”

“No story. I…”

“You mean you haven’t heard that the Earl of Sin invited me to his bed, and when I arrived, I found Lily and Fallon already servicing him?”

He opened his mouth then closed it again. Apparently, that was not the story he’d heard. He looked rather shocked.

“Or perhaps you heard that we have adjoining suites at Somerset House, and he alternates his nightly visits between us?”

“Juliette.”

“So that is the one you’d heard. And do you believe that?”

“It’s not true?”

She sighed, feeling disappointed. “I’m a courtesan, Will. The truth is whatever you want it to be.” She sat and scooted away from him. “I find I’m rather more tired than I thought. If you don’t mind, I’ll find my own bed.”

He caught her arm before she could hop off the bed. “But I do mind.”

She looked down at his hand on her arm. “One aspect of marriage I never could tolerate was being owned. You don’t own me, Will. I’ll sleep where I wish.”

“I don’t want to own you.” He softened his grip but didn’t release her. “You’re not the Duchess of Dalliance to me. You’re Juliette. I care about you.”

Her gaze jerked from his fingers to his face. She saw softness there, a sincerity of emotion. He hadn’t apologized for anything he’d said—now or before. He hadn’t told her being a courtesan didn’t matter. Most important, he hadn’t said he loved her.

But could this perhaps be the first step?

Oh, she could all but hear Lady Sinclair grinding her teeth in frustration.

Juliette knew she was a fool. But what could she do? She loved him.

She turned back to him, and Will took her in his arms. The feel of him, of his skin, warm and naked against hers, made her shiver. She wanted to stay in his arms forever, curl up there, close her eyes, and know she belonged. She wanted to be safe and loved and to know she would always be safe and loved.

She wanted Will to love her.

He kissed her, cradling her head in his hand, whispering she was beautiful.

Tonight he was offering her his gentleness, his care. It would have to be enough.

***

Will was gone when she woke. It didn’t surprise her. Any man who voluntarily breakfasted at eight, even in London, was obviously a man who enjoyed mornings. She lolled about in his bed for the better part of the morning, drank chocolate, and nibbled on several delicious pastries, and then decided the day was too fine to spend indoors. The weather had vastly improved overnight, and the day dawned bright and sunny. It was still crisp and cold, but with her spencer over her warmest dress and a muff for her hands, she was quite comfortable in Will’s well-tended gardens.