“Did you have an interesting afternoon?”
Sarah’s voice was deliberately mild, although Della noticed her friend’s laughing eyes. Or not laughing, but smirking.
“I did,” Della replied as nonchalantly. “I ended up visiting with the Duke of Northam, he is a really kind gentleman.”
“Oh!” Sarah sounded startled. Not surprising, given that she thought Della had gone off to meet with the man currently dominating Della’s fantasies. Captain Passion, or something like that.
“Yes, I had hoped to see Lord Stanbury, but it turned out he was away from home.”
“So disappointing,” Sarah said. Della shot her a look.
“A duke?” Nora asked. “Like my grandfather?”
Della’s heart twisted in her chest. Nora had yet to meet her grandfather, but Della had told her all about their family, wanting her little girl to know she had people in her life, some of whom cared about her.
She’d met all of Della’s sisters, and already loved them; Ida was her favorite because she was willing to answer any and all of Nora’s questions. But the duke and duchess had kept themselves steadfastly away, refusing to speak of Della to their other daughters.
The sisters had wanted to cut ties with their parents entirely, but Della had stopped them; what if they had a change of heart? What would it do to the sisters’ own children, not to know their grandparents?
“Yes, like your grandfather,” Della replied at last. “And he has invited you to visit him.”
“And Emily?” Nora asked, looking at her friend who sat beside her.
Della and Sarah shared a look, and Della shrugged. If the duke wouldn’t receive a call from Nora’s friend Emily, then he wasn’t worth cultivating as an acquaintance. She just hoped she could discover what his response would be before she exposed the children to the potential unpleasantness.
It would be easier, she admitted to herself, if she were just able to conform to what Society expected. If she had married as she’d ought to have, socialized with the right people, and left the unfortunates to fend for themselves.
But, of course, then she wouldn’t be Della.
“I will send a note to the duke asking when it would be convenient to visit him.” That way she could ascertain if he was amenable to receiving a visit from Emily as well as Nora.
“Does he have any dogs?” Nora asked.
“I have no idea,” Della replied.
“If he doesn’t, we should bring him one of our kittens,” Emily said.
“Let’s wait to see when he might want to see you before we start bringing him gifts of live animals,” Sarah chided.
Della smothered a laugh. Sarah was constantly having to rein all of them in, Della included. Della felt for her, but she couldn’t resist diving into trouble if it seemed as though it would be fun and worthwhile. Occasionally both.
Which is why you are so intrigued by Lord Handsome, a voice reminded her.
“Are you feeling all right?” Sarah asked as she moved a gravy boat that was perilously close to Nora’s elbow.
“Yes, why?” Beyond being sexually frustrated, but she wouldn’t be sharing those details with her friend.
“You exhaled. Deeply, as though you were troubled.”
Della bit her lip to keep from bursting into laughter. “I am fine, thank you.” She rose, placing her napkin on the table. “If we are done, perhaps we can play a game before bedtime?”
Emily and Nora both scrambled out of their seats, while Sarah kept a worried glance on her. I’m fine, Della wanted to say. It’s you I worry about. That’s why I want to find your husband so desperately. I want you to be happy in a way I doubt I ever will.
The next time she saw Lord Stanbury, she’d have to make him commit to firm plans to look for Mr. Wattings. They had only gone to the docks once, and he hadn’t made it clear when they would go again. He’d mentioned Clark making inquiries; had he sent him instead? Without telling her?
Then again, he’d been distracted, as she had, by their mutual plans for strategizing.
So. New tasks: purchase shoes suitable for slipping in and out of houses for clandestine relationships; get protection so Nora wouldn’t wind up with a sibling; and require Lord Stanbury to lay out his plans for finding Mr. Wattings.
“Della?” Sarah was holding the door of the dining room open. Della had apparently been thinking on her feet for far too long.
“Oh yes. Sorry,” Della said, walking out the door and down the hall. She heard the sound of their daughters’ giggling, and shared a warm look with Sarah. “Oh, and Miss Mary? Is she here?”
Sarah nodded. “She is. I’ve put her in with Becky. I have asked her to help out with the girls’ lessons. She is delighted to be able to assist.”
“Oh excellent.” This was family. This was the most important thing in her life.
“I met your lady today,” Frederick announced, holding a glass of sherry in his hand, a sly look on his face.
“Oh?” Griffith frowned at the table with all the liquids. He wanted whiskey, but the various bottles could have held medicine or could have held liquor, for all that he could tell.
“The one on the right,” Frederick said.
Griffith grunted as he picked the bottle up and gave himself a healthy pour.
“What did you think of her?” Not that it mattered, not really. It wasn’t as though they were actually engaged. And yet he realized it did matter to him. He would have to consider that later. Or not; it wasn’t as though he was particularly analytical. Just that he apparently cared what his cousin thought of his fake betrothed.
“She’s delightful. Even though she is not duchess material.”
“You said that already,” Griffith said in a curt voice. He tilted the glass up to his mouth and drained it, then immediately poured another one.
“I invited her and her daughter to visit. I liked her quite a bit.”
And then Griffith wished Frederick didn’t have such a good opinion of her, even though not a minute earlier he’d been hoping he did.
What was happening to him? Could he just attribute it all to sexual frustration? He certainly hoped so, because if there were other forces at work he wasn’t certain he wished to acknowledge them.
“What happened with your man? The one you rushed off to rescue?”
Griffith turned to take a seat on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I got him out. Apparently being a duke’s heir is good for something. People tend to blanch when you start waving your title around.”
Frederick chuckled, taking a small sip of his sherry. It must have gone down wrong, because he started to cough, tilting the glass so it was in danger of spilling. Griffith leapt up and took the glass, put it on one of the side tables, then stood next to Frederick’s chair feeling helpless as his cousin continued to cough.
“Anything I can do?” Griffith asked. He glanced around for the bell, then spotted it and shook it vigorously.
The door burst open moments later and the butler ran in, his eyes wide.
“Your Grace?” he said, kneeling on the carpet next to Frederick. Frederick waved a hand, then straightened again.
“I am fine. Merely a bad swallow.”
Griffith and the butler shared a glance, and then the butler rose, smoothing his trousers. “I will just fetch you some tea, Your Grace.”
“Thank you.”
Frederick leaned against the back of his chair, closing his eyes.
Griffith glanced over at the butler, who was regarding his master with an expression of concern.
The man’s look made it seem as though this was not a usual occurrence, and Griffith felt his blood run cold at the thought of losing Frederick so soon after finding him again. Or, to be more accurate, Frederick finding him again.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Frederick spoke in a quiet voice.
Griffith didn’t pretend not to know what he was talking about. “I don’t want you to die.”
Frederick snorted. “Nor do I, and yet here I am.”
“Not just because I have no desire to take over. Although that is part of it,” Griffith said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. And then he spoke in an earnest tone of voice. “I didn’t realize until I was back here how important you are to me. All this time, I assumed you and the rest of the family would be here, as though you were preserved entirely as you were when I left. Not that I care about any of the other members of the family, but I do care about you.”
“Thank you,” Frederick said gruffly.
“Which is why I want to learn everything I can from you.”
“I look that bad, hmm?” Frederick asked.
Griffith froze in horror. “No, it’s not that.” He grimaced, then looked at Frederick who was laughing.
“You bastard,” Griffith said. “I just want to do what is best.”
Frederick pointed at Griffith. “And that is why you were such a good captain. And why you’ll be a good duke.”
Griffith wished it didn’t sting that his being a captain was in the past tense.
“And I saw that other doctor,” Frederick continued. “He seems to think it’s not as bad as the previous doctors. I don’t know if it’s because he wishes to keep me as a patient, or what, but I am seeing him again.”
Griffith felt his breath catch at the thought—if there was a chance Frederick would be alive in six months, and six months after that—well, he’d get to have his cousin and his friend around for a lot longer than he’d expected. And, perhaps, Griffith could resume his captaincy after all.
Though he wouldn’t tell Frederick that, or his cousin might just get more ill, just to keep him on dry land.
“Good afternoon. Is Lady Della at home?” For once the lady herself had not answered the door.
The girl nodded. “She is, I’ll get her. If you would come inside?” She spoke in a cultured voice, although her clothing was plain. Her belly was round enough to make him wonder if she was in an interesting condition.
Not your business, he could hear Della snapping in his head.
“Thank you.” Griffith stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.
He hadn’t planned on seeing her this afternoon; he’d sent word that he would escort her to another party that evening, but then he’d spent the morning with Frederick going over accounts, and it had gotten to the point where Frederick had tossed him out of the house because he was so restless.
Naturally, he’d walked over here, barely realizing he had until he’d been striding up the steps.
“Good afternoon.” Lady Della walked up to him with a puzzled frown on her face. “Is there a change in plans? You could have written a note.”
Griffith glanced around the hallway, making sure nobody else was there, and then he placed his hand on her waist and drew her up against his body. “I couldn’t wait. I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
He held his breath, waiting for her to react, wanting to be certain she was of the same mind as before.
But it seemed she was, since the corner of her mouth drew up into a sensual smile, and then she licked her lips as she met his gaze. “I thought of you all night,” she replied, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair and draw his head down to hers.
Their mouths met in a ferocious clash, and he nearly groaned aloud at how good she tasted. Her tongue slid into his mouth where it tangled with his, and her hands gripped his hair, tugging him closer still.
He had initiated the kiss, but now she was the aggressor, taking one hand out of his hair to slide it down his back, then under his jacket to rest at the small of his back, edging up against him so they were pressed against one another.
She took her other hand out of his hair and put it on his hand, the one resting at her waist, then moved his hand up so his fingers were just under her breast. He took the hint, cupping her breast, rubbing his palm against her nipple, feeling it press through the fabric as it stiffened.
His cock was stiff as well, pressing up against her lower belly. He knew she felt it because she made a low noise in her throat and shifted so his cock was fully pressed against her. And then she moved again, causing a delicious friction.
If he weren’t an experienced man of twenty-eight years he would have spent by now. As it was, the only thought in his head was that he absolutely should not lay her down on the floor in the hallway, shove her skirts up to her waist, and thrust inside.
Even though he was seriously considering it.
She kissed him deeper, harder, making low moans in her throat, pulling him closer to her, so close his fingers were crushed against her breast, not that either one of them was complaining about that.
And his cock throbbed in his trousers, so hard that each of her movements felt like a delicious torture.
He heard a noise above them, and they sprang apart, both of them panting, staring at one another.
The noise receded, and her mouth—moist from their kiss—curled up into a knowing smile. “Well. It seems we have something in common, even if we can scarcely agree on anything.”
He wanted to argue about not agreeing, but realized how that would just prove her point. Besides which, the most important thing was that they did agree on one thing. Namely, how soon they could tear one another’s clothes off.
“So what are we going to do about our common interest?” His voice was roughened by passion.
She licked her lips, and he groaned aloud, making her smile more wickedly. She drew her hand up her body, her fingers touching her stomach then trailing up to touch her breast. She splayed her fingers out around her breast and squeezed, emitting a soft sigh. “I touched myself last night, thinking of you,” she said.
“Fuck, woman,” he growled. He wanted to take her in his arms again but he knew that was dangerous, since clearly neither one of them was thinking straight.
“That is what I want,” she answered, her gaze sliding down his body to settle on where his cock thrust out from his trousers. “I want you to fuck me.” And he swallowed, his throat dry. He knew he would recall just how she’d said that for the rest of his life, likely an integral part of his fantasy when it was just him and his hand. “I just don’t know where to go so we’re not interrupted.” She lifted her gaze back to meet his. “I want to have plenty of time for exploring,” she said, biting her lip.
“A room.” His voice was ragged. “We’ll get a room. Tonight. After the party.”
She smiled. “As long as I am home in time for breakfast, my lord.”
He gave a brief nod, then couldn’t keep himself from reaching down to give his aching cock a squeeze.
“That’s for me,” she said. “Don’t do anything there until tonight.” She raised her chin challengingly. “If you are able to.”
He’d do it, even though he’d be walking around with a cockstand for the rest of the day. Damn. He couldn’t wait to give her all the pleasure he could.
“Tonight,” he repeated, then turned on his heel to walk out the door, knowing if he stayed he wouldn’t be able to resist anything about her.
Della watched in appreciation as he walked away. She was startled at how forward she’d been, but he seemed to like it. And so did she. She hadn’t been with Mr. Baxter long enough to figure out what she did and did not like in bed, except that he did have some skill in that arena, even if he was not who she’d hoped he was.
But it felt, with Lord Handsome, as though she were in charge. It felt exhilarating. She wanted to explore what pleased her, what pleased him, and how they could please one another.
And since she had no expectations of him beyond that, she would not be disappointed, as she had been in Mr. Baxter.
She hadn’t been selfish in any way since before Nora was born. She’d focused on the child growing in her belly, their survival, and then keeping them alive. Then she’d had Sarah in her life, which was selfish in that she loved Sarah, and claimed her as her family, but there was also a measure of rescue there. Although Sarah had rescued her equally.
But this—she only had pleasure to gain from the sexual bargain they’d made. It was a simple, selfish act. It was only about her pleasure, although of course she hoped—and knew, to be honest—that he would derive pleasure from it as well.
It felt empowering to be so selfish, honestly. To claim what she wanted and make strides toward getting it. To know that the only objective was something she longed for. Not something that would benefit her materially, or raise her standing in the world, or help her and her family’s future. Just something for her.
Like buying a pretty hat even though you had dozens at home. But he would fit her far better than a hat would, and the satisfaction she’d gain as a result would be far greater than being told she looked lovely that day while wearing the hat.
Damn it, she could not wait until after the party. The party itself would be a tortuous delight, both of them anticipating what would be happening in a few short hours, and yet not able to hasten the moment.
She’d have to make certain to wear one of her most beautiful gowns that was also the easiest to remove. Although there was something to be said for his stripping her bare, undoing each button as she felt herself start to unravel. Feeling those big hands sliding on her skin as he undid her.
She’d told him not to touch himself until this evening. She supposed she’d have to promise herself the same thing. Even though the thought of her fingers touching herself as she thought of him and those big hands and that bigger body was an enticing one.
It was going to be exquisite torture until she could get him alone.