My Divinely Decadent Duke Read online

  “Your Grace, we would be honored. We’ve heard much about the disappearing chemise. The concept of the front-laced corset is decadent.”

  Cassandra’s lashes lowered, her cheeks turned red. “Yes, I designed the lingerie for a trousseau, but its popularity has reached many shores. The funds go to a favorite charity of…ours—a school for orphaned girls.”

  She glanced at him with a sense of pride. “My husband has prevailed upon me to show him my designs for a ball gown and other day gowns. While I have serviceable casual wear, here at the beach with the children I tend to prefer simpler styles.”

  “May we see your sketches?” asked Madame Claudette.

  “They are on the table next to you in the large notebook. The duke hasn’t seen them as yet. He would have to approve.” Her hands straightened her skirt. She absorbed the expression on Madame’s face in review of the designs. She tilted her head and raised her brows in appreciation.

  The duke rose to view the fashions. “These are quite good. Although I feel the evening gown should have a bit more décolletage to do you justice, my dear. The half sleeve is an attraction.” His expression warmed her in all the wrong places. She wondered why her nether regions were warm—correction—hot, wet, and molten.

  “I suggest, my dear wife, gloves and slippers to match?”

  “If it is your wish.” She hoped the session would soon end.

  “Please show us some fabrics that shimmer and glitter perhaps in a purple or citron? Also, something scarlet?”

  Shocked, she asked him, “Scarlet? Such a strong color, your Grace.”

  “Yes, it befits a Duchess and will complement her spun-gold hair. Also, a deep blue to accentuate her eyes; they have a way of speech without words.”

  She smiled at his compliment, but was it more double talk? How many balls?

  Bolts were unrolled and they touched each of the silks and velvets.

  “I prefer the scarlet and the purple to be ready for the King’s Final Season Balls. The others may follow the next week. She will need a cape for each. Is this possible, Madame Claudette?”

  The modiste smiled with an affirmative nod. “For you, your Graces, it shall be a pleasure.”

  “Good, then it is settled. As for headwear, I like my wife in a fashion she’s created. Flowers and pearls or diamonds in her hair. A tiara perhaps? Yellow diamonds? Have the jeweler consult with me. Yes?”

  Madame Claudette nodded with a broad smile. “It shall be done.”

  “Now I leave you to take my wife’s measurements.” He faced Cassandra. “We have an appointment. Kindly remember.”

  He kissed her hand. He pulled her aside. “Have you been in the kitchen again? You continue to amaze me. I find the smell of cinnamon and lemon a memorable appetizer. I wonder whether to enjoy the scent or eat you like a bun.”

  Her eyes were held captive by his. Cassandra looked over her shoulder, cheeks heated at his conversation. She didn’t want the tradespeople to hear. She withdrew her hand quickly. How could he smell the cinnamon? She did grease the bowls for savory casseroles, but washed her hands after. She’d asked Cook Hannah to show her some recipes she could prepare when it would be just she and Alicia in the cottage with no servants.

  She felt deserted when he left the room with a smirk and a jaunty stride.

  At Madame Claudette’s suggestion, she turned and submitted to the endless measurements she never liked.

  Cassandra was relieved when the merchants finally left. She’d just enough time to check on the light supper to make sure all was in order. She took a deep breath and exhaled quickly, stood in front of his study door, and knocked.

  She entered and he motioned her to sit in front of his desk. God, she looked gorgeous.

  “Are you happy with your selections?” He took a sip of the cognac in front of him.

  “They are an extravagance, your Grace. Thank you, they’re beautiful.”

  “Join me with a cordial?” he asked, his glance held her china-blue ones. “Has anyone ever mentioned you have exquisite eyes?”

  “No, your Grace. Has anyone ever told you the same thing?” She laughed with him.

  “I seem to remember the first time we met that fateful day I walked you to your brothers, you told me my eyes were beguiling.” His fingers played with the quill on his desk.

  “You do remember my compliment. It was quite a night for both of us,” she was quick to say.

  “I remember you on the balcony when your brother interrupted us.” His smile held a salacious bent.

  “I recall you and I and balconies are a dangerous triangle.”

  “Thank God for that, Cassandra.” He poured a cordial for her. “Try this to see if it’s more to your taste.”

  She accepted the crystal glass and sipped. “This is good, your Grace. It doesn’t bite.”

  “Cassandra, when we’re alone, do you think you can call me Gordon? Husbands and wives do that.”

  What had he said?

  “We are husband and wife in name only, Althorn. Has anything changed?” she asked and waited patiently. “Why am I here?”

  “Because we need to speak about the other night.” He gulped another swig, and then poured two more fingers of his favorite cognac.

  “You mystify me. One day I’m your mother’s keeper. Another day I’m the housekeeper. And yet another time, you put me to bed and strip me bare. Have I lain with you, Gordon of Althorn? In the biblical sense? If so, I don’t remember. Please enlighten me.”

  “Let me clarify that I did not strip you bare. Your maid prepared you for bed. If I have guilt, it’s because I asked her to dress you in the infamous chemise. I wanted to see how it looked. By the way, it was a delightful sight to behold.” He arose from his chair. “I didn’t know you in the biblical sense. To make my point clearer, we did not fornicate.”

  Her expression changed. “Why then did you let me believe we did?”

  “I confess I teased you.” Perhaps because I wish it were true. “No, Cassandra, you are still as pure as the fallen snow.”

  “My position here is tenuous. Yet you buy me expensive gowns and tiaras. You send a mixed message. What is it you expect of me?”

  “I wish I could answer you, Cassandra. I’m not sure what’s happened. I am more than pleased with my mother’s progress. In a short week, you have the staff in control. I can find no fault with anyone, but me.” He stood and went to her, tilted her chin up to him and bent to kiss her lips.

  “Please don’t do that again, Althorn. A kiss is a personal intimate gesture. It should not be given lightly or taken as such.” Her eyes brimmed. He wondered why.

  “You’re correct in all you say, but I find myself drawn to you. I have a need to protect you and the children with the strength and force of my ducal power. It gives me substance as a man. You have no idea how much I needed to feel substantial. Never will I deliberately hurt you.”

  He walked to her again, touched her mouth and caressed her lips with the pad of his finger. “I will take liberties with my wife for I enjoy your kisses.” His hand moved to her pinked face. “I’m afraid there’s little you can do about it, Cassandra.”

  “You once said, I was a perfect bride, beautiful and innocent. You also said, ‘And innocent you shall remain. It was a temptation you could not afford.’ What am I to deduce from that?”

  He examined the expression on her face as if mischievous fairies laughed and danced inside her stomach. He felt a magical moment of tenderness when she looked at him adoringly. He would know that look anywhere. “I am a rake. Rakes do not fall in love…ever. You would never be satisfied with less.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  It was the last evening of the Brighton season and the King’s ball was open to a throng of nobility where the champagne and wine flowed in huge marble fountains. The food was conveyed on large trays and deposited on the many banquet tables. The elegantly liveried serving staff saw to everyone’s slightest needs.

  Families arrived and were pr
esented to the King, his mistress alongside him as befit her lofty position. They made polite discussions on a return to London, or their country estates, but everyone was determined to enjoy this high evening of the season.

  The duke and Cassandra shared the first waltz. The music was enjoyable. She wore a dress of azure blue silk with a low bodice and short sleeves that barely hugged her shoulders since they managed to slip down every time he twirled her around the room. He thought her delectable and found it difficult to contain the desire in his loins. He wanted to take her at that moment and find some room with ultimate privacy. Somehow he comported himself well, and remembered this strong-minded woman had her own moral values. Perhaps she really did not love him and played him for a fool?

  The duke would have known if she merely acted because she seemed sincere, genuine, affable, agreeable, and interested in all that he did and said. Her opinions were important to him. Why did he insist on seeking her motives and questioning her? He knew the answer. He tried to find fault where none existed because it would justify his so-called inability to love her. Was he the only fool in the room tonight?

  “Perhaps you grow tired of my repetition, but you are a most remarkable woman.”

  “You are the most remarkable man in my life,” she quipped back at him. “The only man as well.” They flowed into each other, his forward leg against her backward leg made him want more of her body against his. Sooner than later.

  “A pity it will all come to an end soon,” she whispered almost inaudibly. He sensed sadness in her voice. Could it be she didn’t want their arrangement to end?

  “Nothing has to end, Cassandra. We can forge new beginnings.”

  “The music has stopped, Gordon, and people stare at us,” but she didn’t move.

  “We can make our own music here and now, Cassandra. Want to try?” He didn’t bestir himself. There was a magical current in the air—a feeling that the world stopped on its axis and all halted. She withdrew from him to return to the mundane group. He walked in the opposite direction since her dance card was filled. It pained him to watch her dance with other men. When they returned to London it would be harder to see her alone. He sought and found a private parlor and sat in a chair that faced the mantelpiece, stared at a painting of an unclothed nymph, probably a purchase of the King’s procurer who seemed to fancy satyrs and naked women who romped in the meadows in Bacchanalian splendor.

  The duke heard voices behind him and was about to rise when he recognized Cassandra’s voice.

  “My Lord, it is unseemly for you to secret me here alone with you,” Cassandra said to the gentleman who’d closed the door with a small thud. “Come no closer, sir. I am a married woman and I love my husband.”

  “Husband?” the man questioned.

  The duke arose from the wing-back chair he occupied, and walked over to them. “There you are, Cassandra. Good of you, Glencastle, to deliver my wife to me.” There was no mistake in the threat in his voice.

  The Earl of Glencastle bowed politely. “Forgive my impertinence, but obviously, I wasn’t made aware of the marriage. My apologies and also my felicitations to you both.” He turned on his heel and closed the door.

  The duke pulled Cassandra possessively toward him, molded his body to fit hers. “We could have saved a lot of time, Cassandra, if you told me you loved me—sooner.”

  “And if I had, what would’ve happened, Gordon?”

  He took possession of her lips with salacious strokes of his tongue…and lingered. His hands splayed her back captive.

  “That was but a sample. When we arrive home and we’re alone, I will show you.”

  ****

  The duke placed her hand in his as the coach approached their villa. “You shiver. Are you concerned?” Definite amusement showed in his tone.

  Her wide eyes challenged him. “Should I be, Gordon? You are aware this is new to me, aren’t you?”

  “Cassandra, I’m not a beast about to devour an innocent lamb. I ask only one thing of you.” He removed her glove and kissed the palm of her hand. She shivered at his delicate touch.

  “Only one thing?” she asked, breathless.

  “Trust me, and all will be well.”

  “Trust you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Trust a rake?”

  “Yes. Trust this rake. I will do nothing unless you agree. That’s part of our arrangement. I would make you an eager companion.”

  “Eager companion?” she repeated.

  “This coach seems to have an echo.” He laughed.

  The carriage came to a halt and the footman descended and folded the step-down for them. Gordon departed first and extended his hand. He noticed her tremors stopped.

  Chester opened the massive double doors and greeted them.

  “Your Graces, good evening. Your mother and the children retired early. The nanny is with them.”

  “Good.” He directed his attention to Cassandra, who still looked like a frightened virgin ready to be cast into the sea to appease the monster of Crete.

  “Cassandra, I’ll see you to your chamber,” a strange tone apparent in his voice.

  Gordon followed her up the stairs. At the top, he whispered, “I have a few matters to attend, but should join you in ten minutes. Will that be sufficient time?”

  “For what?” she asked, breathless.

  He saw the terrified expression on her face. “Why for you to show me your famous black rosebud corset. You should be able to dress yourself since it is fastened in the front as you designed.” He chuckled. “Please leave on your silk stockings and garters, along with your slippers. I’ll dismiss your maid. If it eases your mind, wear your silk wrapper we ordered from Madame Claudette.” He turned Cassandra toward her chambers and watched her walk the corridor, then she quickened her pace to the room.

  He chuckled when she said, “Oh, sweet heaven,” as she closed the door.

  Gordon went to his chamber where he removed his clothes, donned his dressing gown and soft kid slippers. He threw a white scarf around his neck. A knock sounded and the servant entered.

  Chester held a tray of two decanters of a cognac and a brandy, the latter more aromatic and sweeter than the stronger liquor. Two empty Waterford snifters sparkled in readiness.

  “Place them on the settee table in front of the bed, Chester. You may retire for the evening.”

  “Yes, your Grace, good night.”

  After the servant departed, Gordon opened his chamber door and walked to the hallway to Cassandra’s room, knocked on the door, and walked in. “I am here, sweeting, to invite you to my bedchamber. Yours is always a beehive of activity, and I’d like to coax you into total relaxation.”

  Cassandra was outfitted in her wrapper fastened to her neck with a fichu in the black corset, her skin barely visible, and her modesty too evident. He took her hand, led her to his room, closed the door, and didn’t secure the lock. “You may leave any time you wish, Cassandra.” His words were soft and sincere.

  Gordon led her to the settee where decanters rested on a table in front of it. She stiffened and sat upright. He pretended not to notice. “I thought you might enjoy the brandy with a sweet liqueur taste. The cognac might not be to your taste, but if you wish, you can sip some of mine.”

  The look on her face pulled at his heartstrings. “Smile, Cassandra.” He kept his voice mischievous. He handed her the glass. “Sip it slowly. Brandy is meant to be savored in small doses. I’d like you to be fully aware of all I do to…allay your fears.” He recognized her skittishness and kept his voice low so as not to frighten her. “Take a bit and let me know if you favor it.”

  Cassandra tasted from the glass. A smile crossed her face. “It has a nice flavor. You were right, Gordon. It’s syrupy.” Her surprise was evident.

  “Good. Did you think my intention was to get you tipsy? I hope not.” He paused and reached for her hand. “It’s occurred to me I know little about your career at the Winston School for Ladies. How old were you when
you were sent there?” True, he hoped to calm her and allay any fears she might have. A first time for virgins became a momentous experience.

  The expression on her face brightened. “I was twelve when I arrived and stayed there until I was eighteen. It was a warm environment filled with many girls growing into adulthood. When those my age graduated, I felt bereavement. Many of them went on to marriage.”

  She’d started to relax into the plush large cushion at her back. He heard her sigh. “When summer and holidays came, my brothers sometimes visited me, but they never tarried long with the demands made on their time. I kept myself busy and studied languages, read penny romance novels, and haunted the cooks in the kitchen so I could learn to bake and make savories.”

  “So that’s where you got your love for cinnamon? I must say you are unique amongst women. Many today have never set foot in their own kitchens. I rather like the way you smell of spices and lemon. It does set you apart.”

  “Gordon, when you don’t know what the future holds for you, you prepare for the best—and the worst. I find great comfort in the kitchen. It’s warm and cozy, and at times, extremely hot.” She gave a delightful laugh. “I thought perhaps to make a perfume of spice and lemon to accompany the lingerie? Or we could produce scented candles to enhance the sensual atmosphere. How think you?”

  “Does your mind ever relax? Do you know how?” He moved toward her. “I think your idea has some merit. Why not use me to test your fragrance. We’ll leave the candles for later. I offer myself to you.”

  He tilted his head to hers, searched her eyes, and wondered what her thoughts were then and there. Was she still frightened of him? He hoped her nervousness had abated. “Please continue,” he said.

  “When my best friend died in childbirth, my life changed. Brent lost his wife and it seemed a natural pairing for me to be of assistance. He worked out the legal issues, and I was there to help when he needed me.” She paused a moment, her eyes searched his. “It was nice to be needed. With Felicity now his new wife, I had to find other lodging for myself and Alicia.” Cassandra tipped her head. “And here I am in your bed chamber, Gordon.” She took another sip of brandy.