Chapter Nineteen
Xander had not arranged for musicians this evening.
In addition to being tired from the physical work at the pub, he was behind on paperwork.
Hellfire, he detested all the correspondence more than anything.
More than any of that, though, he needed to talk to Evie about deeds of ownership.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to share the details of his plan yet, but hoped she had some information for him rather than waiting on correspondence to Lancaster the solicitor, all the way down in London.
He turned into the dining room and stopped short.
Evie’s hair was one of his favorite aspects of her beauty, but her maid’s cap usually hid it.
Normally, she only removed the blasted cap at his request. Tonight, she’d taken the initiative.
More, she’d left her hair down, pinned back from her face and resting on the upper swells of her breasts in shiny waves.
His breath caught in his throat. He pictured her in a lady’s gown, all fancy fabric and lower cut bodice than her serviceable maid’s dress.
Satin undergarments would complement her delicate, smooth skin.
Perhaps he’d indulge in buying her stays and chemises to match each dress.
Either way, he had every intention of seeing her there as his duchess.
He strode to his chair. Enough talk about undergarments or the footmen in the room would know his thoughts given the cut of his trousers.
“Evie, you look lovely. Thank you for wearing your hair down.”
Tilting her head, she tucked her hair behind an ear and gave a small smile.
“I’m afraid I must keep our meal short, and forsake dancing this evening,” he said as their wine was poured and soup bowls were placed before them.
Her lips pursed in a moue of disappointment, and Xander had to fiddle with his serviette on his lap to disguise the need to rearrange his hardening cock for comfort. She said, “May I ask why?”
Because otherwise I may lay you across this table and suckle every inch of you, and my plan to keep you requires I have some modicum of decorum.
“I was out much of yesterday and today and am terribly behind on sorting through the duke’s—ahem, my—correspondence. And more arrives every day.” He was shaking his head by the time he finished the thought. If anything was going to take him out of the mood to ravish her, that stack of mail would.
“I understand. That is perhaps a mite more pressing than learning the waltz, I suppose.” Her tone was wistful.
He cast her a questioning glance with an arched brow.
“I enjoy dancing with you, Rutland. ’Tis certainly more fun than polishing the furniture.” She shrugged one shoulder and grinned.
Somewhere nearby, Duncan the footman coughed.
Xander laughed, “I understand.”
“How was your day out?” she asked as the soups were removed and the main course placed before them.
“Lovely.” His out-of-practice muscles ached, but nothing beat hauling barrels for keeping fit. “I was down at the pub for much of it.”
“Do you conduct business there?”
“You could say that.” Xander slid a glance at the footman.
The intention was never to keep his ‘hobby’ a secret.
Chances were that Banks had already passed the gossip of him working at the pub in town.
But it also wouldn’t do to get too familiar with the servants.
While treating everyone with respect was imperative, he never got too close to pub staff in the past after that one regrettable incident with the barmaid.
Distance as an employer seemed better. He’d share his pastime with Evie in private.
He was willing to bet she’d understand and perhaps appreciate it.
“I hope it was productive, then.” She looked a little disappointed he hadn’t shared more details.
“What of your day? Polish much furniture?” he asked with a grin.
Duncan stifled another snort.
“Actually, I had the morning off, the first time since I arrived. I thought it was good timing when I received your note that we weren’t meeting regarding Parliamentary documents and went to the village to visit.”
“I’m glad. Everyone here works quite hard. I need to speak to Mrs. Betters about the staff’s work schedule.”
Evie and Duncan both stared at him with raised brows.
“What?”
“Dukes rarely care about staff holidays or work schedules. And even in the more generous households, the lady of the house typically manages that.”
“Well, I don’t have one of those, do I? And whilst I know you’re used to London, where Parliamentary Acts are more prominent in conversation, this place is quite removed.
I believe it is in my best interests to prioritize the world I can most affect just as much as the greater one out there where I am but one vote of many. ”
Evie nodded. “I respect that. I’d never quite thought of it that way. And at some point, you’ll wed, and then your duchess will help you on both counts, which will ease the burden some.”
If she only knew my plan.
He stood, waving off pudding as it came out. He wanted to read more about his holdings before he asked her questions. “Please, share it in the kitchen. I need to get to work.”
* * * *
Two hours later, he was ready to tear his hair out at the roots. Standing, he stretched his arms up and out and arched his back to counter having hunched over papers since the evening meal. Even with a candelabra on each side of him, his eyes were straining.
He strolled to the sideboard and poured a whisky.
One of the absolute best benefits of being a duke, beside his gorgeous and helpful maid and a bed that finally fit him, was always having excellent whisky on hand.
As a pub manager, he’d sampled all sorts, balancing the budget versus what would sell with variety and quality.
Most patrons in his brother’s pub drank beer.
Only the souses and the most discerning, like his stepfather the Earl of Northumberland, ventured in to drink the finer spirits.
So he’d stocked basic rotgut and the nicest Scotch the pub’s finances allowed for.
The house had a selection of Scotch and Irish Whiskey, although duties on both were threatening to increase their prices further.
Depending on his mood, he sampled one or the other.
Tonight, his mood leaned to the mellow. Also, frustrated arousal without an outlet.
But more mellow because he was playing the long game. So Irish Whiskey it was.
Rolling the second sip around on his tongue, he meandered back to the desk to stare down at the unending piles of paper, wishing he could trust himself enough to have Evie help him. Although her days were long enough that he should not keep her up at night.
A rustle of skirts caught his attention. She stood at the entrance of the library as though he’d conjured her, still wearing that sack of a uniform. His brows quirked. “I thought you’d be long abed.”
“I was waiting for you to call for me. Usually, I help you with this if Munroe isn’t here, and we missed our afternoon session.” She gestured to the desk.
“I’d hoped to get through more without help. ’Tis been nearly a month.”
She shook her head. “Do not get discouraged. Not being in London, at White’s or Brook’s or one of the gentlemen’s clubs, talking about this, you’ll have to read through each one.
Those men find others whose opinions they trust and share the burden.
Plus, ’tis all a bit out of context for you, I suspect. ”
He nodded, taking another sip. She peered at his tumbler, and he tilted it toward her. “Care for some?”
Taking his glass, she sniffed the amber liquid and raised it to her lips, barely wetting them before pulling the glass away and licking them.
He nearly groaned, instead choosing to take a gulp of whiskey.
She hummed, tilting her head.
“Do you like it? Would you like your own glass?” he asked.
“I think I’d like it better this way,” she answered, leaning in to lick his lips, twisting them open to slide her tongue against his, humming again low in her throat.
He clinked the glass down on the desk and grabbed her, slanting his lips across hers and sliding a hand through her hair to the base of her neck.
“Delicious,” she muttered against him.
Her hand came to brand his chest with its heat. The other was smoothing down his spine to where his shirt disappeared in his trousers. He felt a tug, then her palm slid over the long muscles of his back, skin-to-skin. She arched into him with a groan that echoed in his chest.
“Perhaps I need to sample whiskey off other parts of you, to see which I like best,” she muttered as both hands tugged his shirt upwards.
His cock surged, and for a moment, he allowed himself to envision her sucking whiskey off it. But his plans took priority. “Evie, I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
She drew back with a slight frown. “I was offering. How is that taking advantage?”
“Of our positions then.”
“This,” she said, gesturing between them then fitting her fingers around the iron rod poking her lower belly, “has never been about our positions.”
He groaned before summoning words to try again. “I want to show you the proper respect.”
“And you are,” she murmured, her hands once again roaming under his shirt. “You’re giving me fair access.”
He grabbed her wrists to hold her still.
Frowning more, she looked up at him. “What is this about? What changed from last night? And the last time we were in this room at night?”
He gulped. He wasn’t ready to reveal his plan until the Wayward Dukes gave their advice. “Nothing. I—I’m only trying to do the right thing. That marriage contract says I am not at liberty to woo anyone else.”
It was a lie, but the pretty maid wouldn’t know that.
An undecipherable look crossed her face before she smoothed her expression.
Stepping back, she tugged her hands out of his hold.
“Who’s talking about wooing? This was all straightforward until tonight.
I helped you because you needed it, not because I worked for you.
Likewise, you taught me a few aspects of pleasure because you were attracted to me and I wanted it, not because you had power over me. ”
He nodded, chagrined. “You are correct. Because of all that, I have come to care for you. I became concerned that I was taking advantage of the situation. All this is still so new to me. I don’t understand its limits.”
Evie stepped toward him. “I shall tell you my limits. And I know you will respect them. You needn’t worry.”
Her hair shone in the candlelight, her lush lips begged for his, and her breath smelled of his favorite spirits.
His conscience could no longer fight her and his desire.
He’d find a way to toe the line between pleasure and honor.
After all, they’d both experienced orgasms without her innocence being compromised.
And if his plan worked, she’d be his wife in short order, so they could continue to explore alternative paths now, and soon, soon, they could ignite the full conflagration of pleasure between them.
If his idea didn’t… Well, if it didn’t, he could not see himself marrying anyone else, so he’d make it right with her.
He wanted her by his side, no matter what.
He stepped in. “Let’s take the decanter to my bedroom and be comfortable.”
Her eyes flared. “Yes, please.”
He grinned.