Duke of Lust (Sinful Dukes #3)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

A third dance?! Frederick sighed and folded his arms crossly as he watched Oswald Quince leading Annabelle into some jolly country dance with the clear approval of Lord Emberly.

“They’ve danced together several times before while Annabelle was staying with you, you said?” queried Stephen.

“Several times, yes,” Frederick said shortly, neglecting to go into any further detail on times and places. “Lord Darrington does love to dance.”

“He certainly does,” agreed another man in a military uniform, stepping forward to join them. “I do believe that Oswald would dance his way through every day and night if society allowed for it.”

“Lord Emberly, can I present Captain Jacob Rawlings?” Frederick made the necessary introduction, and saw Stephen’s attention quickly decrease as he took in Rawlings’ rank and credentials. “Captain Rawlings is the youngest son of the Earl of Dulford and a good friend of Lord Darringon.”

A younger son was no prospect for Annabelle and Stephen had no interest in military matters himself, preferring the political or economic worlds of male activity.

“Very pleased to meet you,” remarked the officer with a bow to Stephen.

“Captain Rawlings, Stephen, Lord Emberly, is Lady Annabelle’s brother and an old family friend of mine,” Frederick completed the introduction.

“Your sister is a wonderful dancer too,” Captain Rawlings remarked, his eyes drawn back to the couple on the dance floor. “She has so much natural grace, rather like Oswald.”

“Thank you,” Stephen said, accepting this compliment with satisfaction, natural grace being a very acceptable female attribute in his eyes, and far superior to glamour, sophistication or opulence of dress.

Stephen did not, however, catch the glimpse of raw longing in Jacob Rawlings’ eyes as he looked towards Annabelle and Oswald. It was a glance that took Frederick rather by surprise although he recognized it instantly, both from his own passionate nature, and his feelings about its presumed target. Annabelle was especially lovely tonight. How could any sane man not look upon her and experience desire?

A moment later, the look was gone, and Rawlings had turned to Stephen with some sensible question about the Colborne estate that held no interest for Frederick. He supposed it might be that Oswald Quince and his friend Rawling both saw Annabelle as a prospective, but it was Quince who would inevitably win her in that case.

Evidently, Rawlings knew that he had no chance and was putting a brave face on the matter, Frederick mused. He even felt a pang of compassion for the man.

“With your permission, Lord Emberly, might I ask your sister to dance?” Frederick heard the officer ask as the country dance began to wind down.

He guessed that Rawlings simply did not want to watch his friend dance yet another dance with Lady Annabelle. Frederick too felt that he had stomached about as much as he could stand of that for some reason. Even if Quince was a good marital prospect, they did not need to spend the whole evening together at this stage, surely.

“The next dance is mine, Captain Rawlings,” he asserted. “After that, you must consult Lord Emberly and Lady Annabelle.”

Without waiting for a reaction or objection from either of his companions, Frederick discarded his empty glass on a tray and approached Annabelle as the final bars of the dance played out.

“My turn,” he said to her and then cleared his throat after hearing his voice come out almost as a growl.

Oswald Quince smiled blithely and glanced back at Captain Rawlings and Stephen before bowing to Annabelle.

“Of course, Duke Frederick. As the lady wishes. Jacob can introduce me to your brother, Lady Annabelle. Thank you for your dances.”

“Don’t you think that was a little rude?” Annabelle said as the orchestra struck up for another waltz, this time in a slightly faster measure than the first.

“No,” Frederick said gruffly, taking her hand and waist, ready for the dance to begin. “Lord Darrington has had three dances one after the other and I thought it quite enough. People will begin to talk.”

Did she react like that to Quince too, he wondered for the first time, sensing the pleasurable shiver that passed through her body at his touch? The very thought infuriated him.

“Dancing with you feels so different to dancing with anyone else,” Annabelle remarked with artless sensuality as their eyes met, instantly quenching his anger as though she had read his mind. “I do not understand why.”

“Annabelle,” he spoke her name as the waltz began, unable to easily address such a question in any way in so public an environment.

If he could, Frederick would have told her that it felt different because he had already kissed, stroked and tasted her entire body. Dancing was like an echo of bedroom games with one always referencing and recalling the other.

“It has always felt different with you, Frederick” Annabelle added wonderingly, her voice catching in her throat as he dipped her slightly in their twirl.

Always? Yes, it had always been different to dance with Annabelle. When she first came out, Frederick had not seen her as he saw other women. She was more a little pet to tease than a young beauty to flirt with or a mature and independent woman to bed. But now she had grown up into something else and dancing with her was still a very, very different experience.

Frederick pressed the dip of her waist, longing to hold and caress the pale breasts emerging so temptingly from the neckline of her dress, or the curving haunches that led down to rounded thighs and the softly furred gold-red triangle of her womanhood. He knew how to make the folds within tingle, soften and throb at his touch.

“I suppose I am different, aren’t I?” he reflected. “From the other men you might dance with. I’m like Duke Edwin, not Stephen and the respectable young men of the ton. You shouldn’t really dance with me at all if you intend to live in their world forever. Your brother does not approve of my personal life.”

God, what he would not give to take Annabelle out into the garden under the moonlight tonight and hide together in some folly or copse of trees. He would kiss and caress her slowly and gently at first until she was ready for more and then, finally, ease himself into her tight heat and claim her fully. But Stephen would never allow them to walk alone together, certainly not now.

“You’re not like anyone, Frederick. You’re just yourself,” Annabelle said with a frown. “I like dancing with you. I like doing all manner of things with you that I’ve never imagined doing with anyone else.”

“Oh Annabelle,” he said, unable to hold back either his smile or the surge of lust engendered by her words. “You don’t know all the things I wish to do with you.”

Did she know, for example, that he fantasized of actually deflowering her outside under the moonlight? Of ravishing her again in the coach as they raced away to Heartwick Hall afterwards? Of somehow hiding her there until dawn in order to have his way with her in more ways than she could yet imagine?

These kinds of fantasies had haunted his dreams and heated his blood with even greater intensity since the day Annabelle left Heartwick Hall. He had, in fact, barely slept for several days, almost feverish with desire and yet repelled by the thought of seeking out any other woman to satisfy him.

“I would like to know,” Annabelle responded breathlessly. “I would like you to show me.”

“Hush, Annabelle, we cannot,” said Frederick quickly, wary of beginning a game that could not end well for either of them. “For your sake more than mine, we must keep some distance.”

It felt ironic to say these words even as he held her physically close and turned in time with her to the waltz’s strains. He saw Annabelle smile slightly, as if considering the same irony.

“You look tired, Frederick. You actually have dark circles under your eyes. Have you not been sleeping?”

God, no, he had not. He had been lying awake or tossing and turning in his bed, unable to get away from his driving physical need for this very woman. How could someone so soft, sweet and inexperienced cause such a conflagration of desire? Before this summer he would not have thought it possible.

“Everyone has warned me for years that my lifestyle would catch up with me eventually,” he jested lightly, discouraging any deeper inquiry. “The day has finally come, perhaps. Penelope will be delighted and think it serves me right, won’t she?”

Still, Annabelle seemed undeterred either by his argument for distance or his attempt at deflection. The waltz was ending and Frederick danced her back to the edge of the dance floor near where Stephen, Oswald Quince and Captain Rawlings were standing.

“I believe you need rest and recreation, Frederick,” she said decidedly as they bowed to one another. “In fact, I have an excellent idea. Let’s all have a picnic on Saturday afternoon.”

This suggestion was made just as they were rejoining the other three men.

“You would come to a picnic, wouldn’t you Oswald, I mean, Lord Darrington?” she asked, glancing briefly to her brother whom she knew would not like her taking liberties with mens’ first names on so short an acquaintance. “And you, Captain Rawlings?”

“We love picnics!” Oswald Quince replied with a grin, slapping his friend on the back. “Don’t we? I shall bring my sister Meredith too. We need to make the most of Jacob’s leave before he must rejoin his regiment.”

“There, we have three guests already, Stephen, if you agree to a picnic,” enthused Annabelle. “Frederick must come too. He is looking rather under the weather and the fresh air will be good for him.”

Frederick knew that he should really refuse but still found himself nodding, carried along by the smiles and goodwill of the others around him as well as the undeniable physical draw of Annabelle’s charms. He supposed he could always arrange or pretend a conflicting engagement later.

“I do agree,” Stephen responded with a smile, evidently still keen on promoting his sister’s connection with Lord Darrington. “We can picnic in the gardens at Colborne House. With Father’s illness, we have given no hospitality there for years but a picnic while he’s away would not be disrespectful or disruptive. Have you thought on other guests?”

“Oh, we shall stay a small group, I think, but let’s invite Victoria Crawford too,” suggested Annabelle.

“Really?” asked Stephen with a pained expression. “I am not sure that Miss Crawford cares for my company.”

“Well, isn’t it better that she should spend a day with us rather than running around London on her own?” Annabelle argued, wondering exactly what had passed between her brother and her friend.

“I believe so, but I cannot say that Miss Crawford agrees with my viewpoint on that matter and made her opinion very clear to me during our dances.”

“I shall speak to her,” Annabelle said decidedly, unwilling to let this small hiccup ruin her plans. “All will be well.”

Faced with the thought of spending an afternoon close to Annabelle but surrounded by her over-protective brother and two likely admirers, Frederick did not share her confidence.

“Do excuse me,” he said to the others, turning towards the rear corridor door, as though he had to pay a call of nature in one of the hallway closets with chamber pots set aside there for gentlemen for this purpose.

The Duke of Blackwell caught up with him there, yawning but likely more in boredom than in physical weariness.

“I’m going on to Madame Serena’s salon in Chelsea shortly. A wonderful Italian contralto will be singing, and Madame Serena is a good friend of mine, as you know. If you didn’t look so damned tired, I’d invite you to join me, Frederick.”

“So everyone keeps telling me tonight. I must be getting old, Edwin. Is this how you know when youth is over? When women start commenting on the tiredness of your eyes rather than their particular shade of blue?”

The Duke of Blackwell laughed.

“I diagnose you with gloom and ill-temper, not age, my young friend. I saw you watching Oswald Quince on the dance-floor with rather green eyes earlier this evening, didn’t I? Perhaps even a hint of it for Jacob too?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Frederick said with some irritation, not willing to discuss Annabelle or his own feelings with Duke Edwin.

“You’re a man of the world, Frederick, or so I have always thought you. You can’t possibly be jealous of lovely Oswald and Jacob dancing with your little darling can you? Has she really dazzled you quite so much that you cannot see what is in front of your face?”

“Jealous? Pah!” Frederick said dismissively and walked away, assuming that Duke Edwin was teasing him for his lack of sang froid and choosing not to rise to it.

The Duke of Blackwell’s hearty peal of laughter rang out behind him, prompting Frederick to think that the man had intended something more by his comment and Frederick had missed it.