To Desire a Wicked Duke Read online

  She had always thought him vexing—and deplorably fascinating. Rotham not only had a wicked reputation, he even looked wicked. He had striking gray eyes fringed by dark lashes, with lean, aristocratic features that were handsome as sin. His hair was a rich brown shot with gold threads, several shades lighter than her own sable hue, and held a slight curl. He possessed the muscular build of a sportsman, but with a lethal elegance that proclaimed his nobility.

  Yet it was Rotham’s powerful personality that made him utterly unforgettable.

  At the moment his features were mainly in shadow, since it was barely noon on a dreary, rainy autumn day and they were shrouded by stage curtains. Yet he still had the strange ability to affect her, Tess acknowledged.

  She’d felt that same magnetic allure the first moment of meeting Rotham during her comeout four Seasons ago, when he’d deigned to dance with her. But shortly afterward, she’d fallen in love with his younger cousin Richard.

  Ever since, she had felt guilty for her forbidden attraction to the Duke of Rotham. He was every inch the fallen angel. And lamentably even now, she felt his hypnotic pull as his gray gaze bored into her.…

  In an effort to break the spell, Tess abruptly changed the subject. “What are you even doing at this house party, Rotham? You never attend my functions, even when you are invited.”

  “Lady Wingate requested my presence for your birthday celebration this evening.”

  “So that is how you knew my age. She told you.”

  “No. I’ve known for some time. Richard was third in line to become my heir after two of our uncles. When you became betrothed to him, I made it a point to learn a great deal about you.”

  It made Tess profoundly uncomfortable to think that Rotham had such detailed personal knowledge of her, or that he was privy to any of her secrets. But his next statement disturbed her even more.

  “Given your history with my cousin, Miss Blanchard, it is only reasonable that I feel a certain responsibility toward you.”

  Her tone was sweetly spirited when she replied. “I told you, you needn’t concern yourself with me.”

  “But Lady Wingate has every right. She fears you have been spending more time with Hennessy than is wise. It appears she has ample justification. What the devil were you thinking, kissing him?”

  Tess’s vexation returned full force. “I was experimenting, if you must know,” she retorted defensively. “I have grown another year older without any prospects of romance or passion, and I wanted to see if I could change my fate. The sad truth is, I had forgotten entirely what it feels like to be kissed, and I thought Hennessy could remind me. Is that so wrong, your grace?”

  A strange look settled over Rotham’s face. She was surprised that he didn’t return a mocking rejoinder. In addition to being impossibly arrogant, he possessed a cutting wit that could slice an opponent to ribbons. She’d seen victims of his acerbic tongue quail from him in tears. And more than once she herself had been on the losing end of their verbal battles. Normally it was all she could do to hold her own with him.

  “I lead a very tame existence,” Tess added grudgingly. “All very proper. My charities are extremely rewarding, but on the whole, my life is not particularly fulfilling.”

  When still he made no reply, Tess bit her lower lip. How could she explain to a man like Rotham the restless yearning inside her? He had never been hemmed in by stifling rules of conduct, forced to subjugate his very nature to propriety. Even her charitable endeavors were subject to censure. Because she was a woman—and a lady, at that—even her dear godmother objected to her efforts. All she wanted was to make a difference in people’s lives, but she had to fight for every single success.

  Yet the chief source of her dissatisfaction went far deeper. For the past two years, her life had been barren of passion and joy. It was primarily her own fault, of course. She not only had gone into mourning for Richard, she’d practically buried herself with her late betrothed. But now she was determined to return to the world of the living.

  The fact that this particular day was her birthday only made her more defiant than usual.

  “In all honesty,” Tess resumed her confession more quietly, “I suppose I was indulging in a touch of melancholy. I am practically a spinster, languishing on the shelf while life passes me by—a rather lonely way to live.”

  For a moment, Rotham’s sensual features seemed to soften further … but only for a moment. “So you were feeling sorry for yourself?”

  Tess gritted her teeth. “Yes, I was,” she snapped.

  Rotham looked strangely gratified by her acrimony, as if he preferred sparring with her to hearing her admit feeling any weak emotions such as sadness or loneliness.

  “And what was your verdict?” he asked unexpectedly after a brief silence.

  “Verdict? About what?”

  “Did you enjoy kissing Hennessy?”

  Color rose to bloom in Tess’s cheeks. “Not particularly—not that it is any concern of yours.”

  She’d been extremely disenchanted with the actor’s efforts. As kisses went, his were exceedingly dull. Although sadly, Richard’s kisses had not been particularly thrilling either—

  Tess winced inwardly. It was a betrayal to Richard’s memory to voice such disloyal thoughts. Her self-reproach was distracting enough that she almost missed Rotham’s casual statement: “You should have come to me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you wanted to know about passion, you should have applied to me. I can show you all you need to know about kissing.”

  She stared at Rotham, her jaw slack. Once again he had startled her into speechlessness. But perhaps he was simply mocking her.

  “You think you could do better than Hennessy?” Tess asked archly.

  A gleam of humor entered his eyes at her challenging tone. “Certainly I can.”

  She shook her head in bemusement. “If I were to kiss you, my reputation would end up in shreds,” she remarked absently.

  A wry half smile curved Rotham’s mouth. “I am not quite that sullied.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  When he merely continued to smile that infuriatingly knowing smile, Tess finally grasped that he was serious.

  Rotham is actually offering to kiss you, to show you passion himself.

  Nervousness suddenly swamped Tess. She ought to tell him to go to the devil, so why was she even hesitating? And why was a rush of excitement sweeping her senses at the possibility of kissing him?

  She knew better than to accept his offer. Rotham was infinitely dangerous. More hazardous than any man she had ever encountered in her life. And her long-standing sexual attraction to him was shameful. She’d spent the past four years trying to deny her fascination with him.

  Even worse, he was fully aware of his spellbinding effect on women—including herself.

  On the other hand … the thought of kissing him was sinfully intriguing. This was her chance to learn from an acknowledged expert, urged a scandalous voice inside Tess. He could indeed show her everything she longed to know about passion—and probably much more.

  Swallowing past the dryness of her throat, Tess glanced around her. The stage was set to resemble a Green Room at Drury Lane Theatre, since Hennessy’s play centered on the legendary spirits who haunted that renowned theater, benevolent ghosts who appeared before performances to bless and encourage the actors. Behind her was a dressing table laden with cosmetics for applying stage makeup. Next to that stood a floor-length looking glass. And on the far end of the stage sat a chaise longue and several chairs for entertaining patrons and admirers.

  Still debating, she turned back to face Rotham. When he took a step closer, decreasing the distance between them, fresh awareness assaulted Tess at the realization that they were wholly alone together.

  She gazed mutely up at Rotham, searching his face. He had intense eyes. Vivid, dare-the-world eyes. Just now she felt as if she could drown in those vibrant gray depths. His high cheekbones and chis
eled jawline, too, held a stark beauty that entranced her.

  He was far too masculine and desirable, devil take him. She knew she should turn and run, yet she couldn’t move.

  And then he took the decision from her. Raising his hands, he slowly slid his fingers along either side of her jaw. As he lowered his head, her heart pounded so hard, her chest hurt.

  When his mouth covered hers, a shock of surprise speared through Tess. She completely forgot to breathe. She could only remain rooted there, perfectly motionless, absorbing the jolting delight of Rotham’s probing kiss against her lips.

  Then he made her open for him. The scent of him filled her senses, the taste of him stole her reason. His mouth had the texture of heated silk, his exploring tongue a scalding wildness.

  What a wicked, marvelous sensation. Emotions whirled and clashed within Tess, leaving her giddy. Her head swam with drugged pleasure, her body trembled. At her unconscious reaction, he thrust his tongue even deeper, inciting that delicious, melting weakness throughout her entire body.

  He kissed like a possessive lover—or what she imagined a possessive lover to be. A whisper of a sigh escaped Tess. She had suspected that kissing Rotham would be remarkable, but she’d vastly underestimated how wonderful, how intensely glorious, it would be. The impact left her too flustered to think, too dazed to stand on her own. Reaching up, Tess weakly clutched at his shoulders.

  Rotham only drew her closer.

  The sinful thrill of being captured against that hard male body sent another hot ripple of weakness surging through her. The beguiling friction of his chest against her breasts only made her want more.

  How was it possible to be so desperately attracted to a man she disdained? Tess wondered. No, her feelings went far, far beyond attraction. This was sheer yearning.

  She felt stunned by the sparks of fire between them. She had never before been struck by such lightning bolts of need. Richard had never once kissed her like this. His kisses had been tender and gentle. Not this magical, overwhelming, enchanting fervor.…

  Rotham must have felt her shiver of helpless excitement for he suddenly broke off and raised his head.

  Tess felt slightly stunned by what she glimpsed in his hooded eyes. Desire shimmered there, she was certain of it. Unwilling desire.

  Rotham stared down at her, as if trying to come to terms with the passion that had exploded between them. His gray eyes had darkened to smoke, and she could see the struggle on his face. His fierce resistance matched her own, she knew.

  Yet he must have been affected by the same weakness, for he abruptly gave in with a curse.

  His wonderful mouth possessed hers again. To her delight, his kiss turned even more fiery, seizing, claiming, demanding, making her very blood sizzle.

  Tess whimpered when she felt him start to pull away again, but thankfully his lips never left hers as he swept her up in his arms and carried her across the stage to the chaise longue.

  Still holding her, he turned and sank down so that she was cradled in his lap, one strong arm supporting her back, the other hand keeping her face immobile for the attentions of his marvelous mouth. Her mind reeling, Tess was utterly powerless to protest, nor did she even wish to. Instead, she wrapped both her arms around his neck and returned his kiss measure for measure.

  Her nerves drank in sensations while exhilaration sang in her blood. She was pressed against a body that was rock hard and lean as he ruthlessly explored her mouth. His tongue teased her relentlessly … thrusting, retreating, returning. At the same time, his hand began to roam the bodice of her blue merino gown.

  When he cupped her breast, Tess drew in a shuddering gasp. She ought to stop him, she knew, but heat scorched her, incinerating any remaining fragments of common sense she possessed. Thus, rather than push him away, she curled her fingers in Rotham’s thick dark hair, clinging with her remaining strength.

  At her obvious eagerness, he shifted his wicked mouth from her lips to graze over her cheekbone, then lower, beneath her jaw and along her bare throat, leaving a trail of fever on her skin. Enraptured by his caresses, Tess bent her head backward to give him better access.

  “I can’t catch my breath …” she fretted in a rasping voice.

  “You don’t need to breathe, angel. Just feel.”

  His husky half-whisper was as seductive as it was dangerous, but she obeyed his beguiling command, straining against his arousing palm as he caressed the swelling mounds of her breasts beneath the fine wool fabric. Within the constricting confines of her corset, she could feel her nipples peak to a tingling ache—a result he seemed determined to encourage.

  When his hand continued molding the contours of her breasts, Tess moaned out loud. Sweet shocks of reaction compressed her chest, while her bones melted beneath the sensual onslaught.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured as he drew back.

  Lifting her heavy eyelids a fraction, she glimpsed his face above her and saw that he was watching her every response. Her dazed gaze locked with his hypnotic one.

  “Bloody hell, how I want you.…” His gruff declaration somehow aroused her even more.

  She wanted him, too. She felt as if she’d never lived until he touched her. The surge of want, of need inside her, overwhelmed Tess. She shuddered with the excitement of yearning as Rotham’s hand abandoned her breasts and reached down to raise her skirts, baring her legs to mid-thigh. Then his dexterous fingers began to glide upward along her skin—

  “Good God, what is the meaning of this?”

  Even through her stupor, Tess recognized her godmother’s outraged voice.

  When she jerked her head up, she saw that the stage curtains had parted and the baroness stood there, the picture of wrath.

  On the stage steps behind Lady Wingate stood several of her patrician houseguests, gaping at the sight of Tess sprawled on the Duke of Rotham’s lap, her skirts in total disarray, his palm fondling her bare inner thigh. Their scandalized expressions presented a fitting complement to the baroness’s furious one.

  Aghast, Tess scrambled to right herself, awkwardly trying to push off Rotham’s lap and struggle to her feet. She felt his strong hands on her hips, helping her to stand, then steady her when she swayed from dizziness.

  He rose more slowly to face their horrified audience.

  Lady Wingate was practically quivering with rage, her eyes shooting virtual daggers at them both. In a similar vein, Sir Alfred Perry and his high stickler wife, Lady Perry—who were among Tess’s largest contributors—eyed them with supercilious scorn.

  Tess felt her cheeks flush scarlet. When she glanced guiltily up at Rotham, she saw that an enigmatic look had settled over his features, yet his sensual mouth held a grimness that acknowledged the gravity of their social infraction.

  In disbelief, Tess raised a hand weakly to her temple. How could she possibly have failed to hear their approach? No doubt her moans of pleasure had drowned out the sound of their footsteps.

  Renewed shame flooded Tess. For the second time in half an hour, she had been discovered locked in a passionate embrace with a wicked gentleman.

  Yet this time she had the sickening feeling that she’d sunk herself utterly beyond repair—and worse, that there would be no escaping the consequences.

  How is it possible that Rotham makes my blood boil and race at the same time?

  —Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard

  “Tess Blanchard, how could you?” Lady Wingate admonished in continued fury, pinning her appalled gaze on her goddaughter.

  Swearing under his breath, Ian glanced down at Tess. Her cheeks were hotly flushed as she stood frozen in consternation. Despite the difficulty of covering his own aroused state, he stepped protectively in front of her to draw the baroness’s fire.

  Consequently, Lady Wingate shifted her fierce gaze to him. “And you, Rotham … I trusted you with her, yet you betray me in this scurrilous fashion.”

  At the charge of betrayal, Ian’s jaw muscles tightened. Yet he couldn’t h
onestly argue against the allegation. Not in front of an audience, at any rate. Particularly such notorious gossips as the Perrys.

  Noting the avid interest of the spectators, he spoke evenly. “This matter is best resolved in private, Lady Wingate, wouldn’t you agree?”

  As if recalling her surroundings, the noblewoman gave a start. “Yes, of course.” Compressing her lips in a tight line, she turned to her houseguests. “If you please, I should like to speak to the duke and my goddaughter alone.”

  “Certainly, Judith,” Lady Perry said curtly, taking her husband’s arm. “Come, dear, we are obviously de trop.”

  Sir Alfred seemed reluctant to leave—or at least the disdain on his florid face had lessened to something resembling intrigue. “Must we go? I fancy this will provide better entertainment than the play we are to perform tonight. A theater haunted by spirits cannot hold a candle to a real-life scandal.”

  Lady Perry shot her spouse a sharp glance of disapproval and tugged on his arm, compelling his obedience. When she led the way back across the ballroom, the other guests trailed after them.

  The moment they were gone, Lady Wingate resumed her chiding. “I expected so much better of you, Tess. How is it that I find you behaving like a trollop in that indecent manner—and with Rotham of all people?”

  “I am wholly to blame, Lady Wingate,” Ian interrupted, wanting to shield Tess from her wrath.

  “Oh, I have no doubt you were the instigator, your grace,” her ladyship snapped, her tone caustic. “I was willing to forgive you for being a rakehell, but I can never forgive you for this.”

  He couldn’t forgive himself either. In a moment of blind temptation, he’d let his damnable desire for Tess Blanchard flare out of control, and then he was caught seducing her.

  Ian voiced another low oath, although this time his curse was directed at himself rather than the intruders. He should have exercised more restraint, but he’d been unprepared for his body’s reaction to the tantalizing taste of Tess, to the yielding softness of her mouth and form. The jolt had been electric. She’d felt it too, judging from her shiver of startled awareness the moment their lips touched. Against the shouted warnings of his conscience, he’d given in to the fierce rush of primal lust she aroused in him, unable to stop himself.