Chapter Thirteen
That fancy wine-colored couch would now forever hold a place of honor in his library. By all that’s holy, his fingertips might be singed from the heat of his gorgeous little maid.
He’d be willing to bet the duke’s coffers that was her first orgasm—ever, not just at his hand. And he’d gotten to taste it.
Upstairs in bed, Xander drifted off to sleep with his fingers by his nose.
He didn’t care to toss one off, although there had been a point in the library when he thought he might explode without a touch simply from her softness, wetness, and essence.
Seeing her pleasure, feeling it against his fingers, was more than enough satisfaction for him, at least for the time being.
He hoped she wouldn’t panic and do something drastic like quit her position in the morning. If that happened, he’d try to talk her into staying. But from what he’d seen, the young woman had mettle. Indeed, she—a housemaid—was training a duke. So perhaps it would all be fine.
And indeed it was. As he crossed the hall from breakfast, he saw her dusting a parson’s table in the front hall. His shoes slapped on the marble floor, and she glanced up. After casting a quick look around the space, she ran her eyes up and down his form.
His cock perked up at the attention. Aiming for the library door quickly so the servants wouldn’t be scandalized, he held her gaze. Pausing with a hand on the frame, he winked, enjoyed the resulting blush that stole over her, and continued on his way.
Later that day, as they sat in the library, he couldn’t focus on Parliamentary decisions.
Instead, the minute Evie walked into the room, he asked, “This marriage contract is somewhat vague about timing. It says at an agreed-upon date once—” he glanced down.
“—Miss Allen reaches her majority. And since I don’t know the chit, I have no idea when that is or was. ”
Evie slid onto her usual chair. “Given the circumstances, her family will likely be flexible.”
He grumbled, “I’m not ready to marry.”
“A wife would leave you more time to handle the management of the dukedom.” She gestured at the desk. “She would manage the household and its finances, and all social arrangements—accepting invitations, entertaining guests, and so on.”
He blinked. That thought was tempting, but only if she wouldn’t drag him to London for months at a time or schedule social engagements every night. However, he only liked the idea when he pictured Evie in the role and not some Ton chit on his arm, in his house, or in his bed.
She tilted her head. “You can’t tell me you actually enjoy any of that, Rutland.”
“But I’d have veto power?”
“You’re a duke. As I’ve been telling you, there is very little you don’t have control over.” Her tone was matter of fact. “Why do you ask? She’ll have been trained to take your wishes into consideration and ensure your comfort.”
He smirked at that last, and she rolled her eyes.
Sobering, his thoughts grew serious. There wasn’t a time when he could foresee being able to navigate all this correspondence without Evie’s assistance.
No wife would be allowed to drive her away.
But what if she didn’t want to stay? He could not fathom the need for a duchess, whereas Evie was necessary to his happiness, never mind his productivity.
“I can’t lose you. I need your help with all this, as much or more than I need Munroe. ”
Her mouth curled in a one-sided smile before she said, “Your betrothed could likely help you in a similar fashion.”
“Ha. Have you met any of those society princesses? I’m not sure they can read. Twitter-brains, every single one I ever encountered.”
“Really?” she drawled. “And you’ve had many conversations with society ladies?”
“Well, no. But the ones I encountered on the street and in shops were always prattling about the latest gossip or arguing over whose gown was nicer, oblivious to those of us trying to earn our keep. The more I think about it, the less I like it. All this is a moot point as I doubt I’ll marry the Allen girl. ”
She pursed her lips.
But he was already moving on to the next order of business. Sliding a document from his “decision needed” pile to the center of the desk, he glanced up at her through his lashes. “The Stamps Act?”
“Ugh. Another one? If we must. What are they wanting to tax now?”
“Sounds as though we are against that one.” He put it aside.
We? He liked the sound of that.