When You Give a Duke a Diamond Read online

  When he was gone, Juliette held up a hand. “Do not argue with me. I am going with you.”

  “You’re not well.”

  She blew out a breath. “You’re arguing.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, looking formidable behind the large oak desk. “Because I don’t want you to suffer a setback.”

  “Setback? I’m not ill. I bumped my head.” The man was impossible. He seemed unable to stop giving orders. And he was so serious, so grave again. Perhaps if she tickled him. She could tie him to a chair and tickle him unmercifully. She rose, and he rose, as well.

  “Sit down.”

  “No.” She rounded the desk.

  “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

  She reached him and put her hands on his chest, began untying his cravat.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Showing you exactly how well I feel.”

  “Juliette, this is neither the time nor the place.”

  She allowed his cravat to fall in a snowy heap against his linen shirt and began on the buttons at his throat. “Then stop me.” She finished with the buttons and tugged the shirt from his trousers. When she glanced at his face, she saw his gaze was centered across the room. She followed it to the portrait above the mantel. “I suppose we had better do something about that.”

  “About what?”

  “Him.” She pointed. “We can’t do this with him frowning down at us.”

  “Juliette—”

  She tugged off his coat, ignoring his protests. After all, he could easily have stopped her. But he hadn’t. When she’d freed him from the garment, she walked to the portrait, laid the coat over a nearby chair, and began to tug the chair toward the hearth.

  “What are you doing?” Will was instantly at her side. He took the chair from her hands. “Allow me. If you’re thinking of removing the portrait, you should know it’s far too heavy for you or I to do alone.”

  She could see that herself. “I don’t want to remove it.” Today. “I had planned to cover it with your coat.”

  Will looked at the coat, looked at the portrait, looked at her. She could see he wanted to argue. Instead, he climbed on the chair, took the coat, and hung it over the portrait.

  Not even one argument.

  The man was learning.

  Either that or he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  He stepped down, and she pushed him back onto the chair. “Do sit, Your Grace.”

  He obliged, and she left him and crossed to the draperies. Heavy cords held them back from the windows, and she released them and carried the cords back to the chair. “Hold these, please.”

  With an amused look, he took them. She pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

  He frowned. “You could at least drape it over something.”

  “Oh, I assure you much more than your shirt is going to be mussed when I am through.”

  “Should I be concerned?”

  “Only if you value your dignity.”

  His brows came together. “What the devil does that—?”

  “Hands behind your back,” she instructed. She had no idea what she was going to do with him once she secured him. She wasn’t going to tickle him, but she was going to make him forget he was A Duke for a little while. She stood behind him, but he didn’t immediately offer his hands. “Will, hands,” she ordered.

  She could all but hear his teeth grind, but he gave her his hands. She tied them behind the chair and secured the cords tightly. He could escape if he really wanted. She was no sailor and knew very little about tying a good knot. But she didn’t want him immobile for long.

  She moved to stand in front of him and could not help but smile.

  “Was all this for your diversion?” he asked.

  “Of course. I’m excessively diverted.” She brushed her fingertips lightly over his shoulders. “By your broad shoulders.” She skimmed lower. “Your muscled chest.” She paused on his hard, flat abdomen and allowed her fingertips to brush the waistband of his trousers. “Your firm stomach.”

  That, of course, was not all that was firm, and she ran her hand over him before she stepped back. His lips were pressed tightly together now, and she aimed to soften that expression. She remembered how he’d looked last night, so relaxed.

  Juliette reached for her own clothing, tugging at the sleeves of her morning gown. She couldn’t possibly undress herself. It had taken a maid half an hour to wrestle her into her clothing. But she could tease him a little. She pulled the gauzy fichu from her bodice and allowed it to flutter to the floor. Will’s gaze followed the garment’s winding trek then darted back up to her breasts. The morning gown had a modest neckline, but now she allowed the loosened sleeves to fall off her shoulders, revealing the swell of her breasts.

  She heard Will inhale.

  She wore long stays with a busk down the center. At the top of the busk, the maid had tied the securing ribbon into a little bow. She undid the bow, and though the stays remained in place, she was able to push the materials down so that her breasts, with their hard nipples, were visible.

  “And I am tied to this chair because?” Will’s voice was low and husky.

  “Would you like to touch me?” she asked then stroked her own nipple playfully.

  Will groaned, and she saw the muscles of his biceps strain.

  “Oh, but I forgot your hands are useless.” She cupped her breasts, lifted them. Will’s eyes grew impossibly dark. “Fortunately, your mouth is free.” She moved to straddle him, pulling her gown up so he might catch a glimpse of her thighs. She leaned close to his mouth, brushing first one nipple then the other over it.

  Will’s eyes closed, and when he opened them, the longing she saw pierced her. She had to steady herself with her hands on his shoulders, and he took the opportunity to take a nipple into his mouth.

  “Oh!” The sudden shock of pleasure surprised her. She didn’t know if the sensation came more from his skilled mouth or the way his dark blue eyes devoured her. As she watched, he moved from one breast to the other, running his tongue over the sensitive flesh.

  She moaned again when he took her in his mouth, and she wanted nothing more than to free him from the trousers and sink down onto him.

  But this was only the beginning. The time for that would come.

  “I’m feeling very well indeed,” she said.

  “You should be in bed.”

  “As much as I like that idea, I have you here. Now. At my mercy.” She stepped back and ran her gaze over him. “Now, where to start…”

  “Why don’t you untie me, and I’ll show you.”

  “Why don’t I show you?” She stepped forward, leaned down, and kissed his cheek, brushing her lips over the faint hint of stubble. She kissed her way to his ear, inhaling the scent of mint. Gently, she kissed his ear, nipping the lobe playfully and whispering what she wanted to do to him.

  “Juliette, this is torture.”

  “And you thought I was feeling unwell.” She kissed his bare shoulder, his chest, and ran her tongue down to his abdomen. Then she knelt between his legs and kissed his belly.

  “Juliette, if a servant should enter…”

  “No servant would dare enter when you’re within. The footman outside will ensure that. Of course, he’s probably deduced what we’re doing.” She flicked open the fall of his trousers. “I imagine that will be the source of gossip at the dinner table tonight.”

  “Wonderful.”

  She moved the fabric of his trousers aside, and his erection sprang free. “Do you wish me to stop?”

  He glared at her. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” She dipped her head and touched her mouth to the tip of his erection. He inhaled sharply, and she licked him, teasing and tantaliz
ing. “Will, has any other woman ever done this to you?”

  “No.” His voice was ragged.

  “I’m going to tell you a secret. I’ve never done this to another man.” She glanced up at him, took him inside her mouth. He blinked, his expression a mixture of pleasure and confusion. “It’s true,” she said a moment later. “I’m not even certain I’m doing this correctly.”

  “You’re doing just fine.”

  “Oh, good. But perhaps you might like it if I used my hand like this.”

  He groaned an answer as she pleasured him, then groaned again a moment later. “What was that you said earlier about dignity? I think the entire household heard me.”

  “I can stop.”

  “Why don’t you untie me? I want to be inside you.”

  She rose. “I don’t need to untie you for that.” She straddled him again, hiked her skirts up, and guided him into her.

  “Yes,” he breathed against her neck. His lips kissed her softly, brushed her chin. She was surprised at his gentleness and kissed him back. Their mouths met again and again as she moved over him. She could tell he was holding back, waiting for her, and she felt her own pleasure mounting. She clenched his shoulders as her hips pistoned, and she kept her gaze on his face. His eyes were so impossibly blue. She thought of all the things she would remember about him, but it was the blueness of his eyes she would remember the most.

  Pleasure surged within her, and she rode it to the end. At some point, she heard Will moan and felt him swell inside her. Then she laid her head on his shoulder and attempted to catch her breath. She felt his hands on her back, stroking languidly, and frowned. “You’re free.”

  “Mmm. I let you have your fun, but now I want to hold you.”

  She closed her eyes and burrowed into his arms.

  Nineteen

  Will wasn’t certain how she had managed it—he supposed the seduction hadn’t hurt—but Juliette was with him when he arrived at Nowlund Park. They took his carriage because, although she claimed to feel perfectly well, he didn’t want her jostled about on horseback. The enclosed carriage was also more protected, especially as he’d enlisted half-a-dozen men to accompany them.

  Juliette peered out the window as they approached. “It’s an impressive house, but not as large as yours.”

  “This is not the earl’s primary residence.”

  She nodded, studying the reddish brick structure. It was small but well maintained. The real value lay in the tenants who farmed Nowlund’s land. It was prosperous land with soil good both for growing barley and grazing livestock. He supposed now Nowlund would sell it, as he had no daughter to dower it upon.

  Will still didn’t understand how he could have been so wrong about Lady Elizabeth. He found it difficult to believe the sensible, proper woman he’d been betrothed to was carrying on with a man like Lucifer. And she had stolen diamonds? Why? Why would she need to steal, when she was to marry one of the wealthiest men in England?

  “This is the property that would have been yours,” Juliette commented.

  “Yes. That was part of the marriage contract.”

  She nodded and glanced at the drive as the carriage pulled to the door.

  “Why do you mention it?”

  “I saw in your face you were thinking of her. You associate this place with her.”

  “This is where we met,” he admitted as the carriage slowed to a stop.

  “Will it upset you to return?”

  He hadn’t even considered the idea, but he did not have to think about the answer. “No.”

  He did not elaborate. How could he explain Lady Elizabeth had meant virtually nothing to him? It would sound as crass as it was. He hadn’t understood that only days ago. He hadn’t understood what it meant to care for someone, to want to be with them, to look forward to their smile each day.

  He hadn’t known what torment it would be to worry for their safety and health. To know the pain of losing them would be all but unbearable.

  He understood now what Darlington had meant that night at White’s. He’d claimed Pelham didn’t love Lady Elizabeth, and Will had responded by saying he felt warmly toward her. And he thought that had been the truth. But he’d felt nothing. Now that he knew what it was to… not love someone… but care a great deal. He understood what he’d felt for Lady Elizabeth had been no more than what he felt for his solicitor.

  He supposed that made him a cold, hard man. But it also meant he did not have emotions to deal with. Emotions that would get in the way of finding out why Lady Elizabeth had stolen Lucifer’s diamonds—if indeed they were his—and why. More important, he wanted to find those diamonds. They had not been recovered in London, so this was the next most logical place. Her parents said Lady Elizabeth had recently made a trip here, and Juliette said his fiancée told Lucifer Pelham had them. Lady Elizabeth hadn’t been to Rothingham Manor in months and months. That could only mean she’d left them here—on what would become his estate as soon as they were wed.

  He followed Juliette into the house, where they were met by Mr. Pittinger. The man bowed and welcomed them, then asked where they would like to begin.

  “Lady Elizabeth’s private chambers, I think,” Pelham told the man.

  Juliette nodded her approval, and the two were shown up a flight of steps to a large suite of rooms. Pelham had no notion of whether the rooms were furnished stylishly, but he approved of the staid color choices and the general austerity of the place.

  Mr. Pittinger left them, and Juliette shook her head. Will raised a brow. “You disapprove?”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but this room is sterile. There’s no color, none of the woman here. It reminds me of your rooms.”

  Will frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you didn’t decorate the house yourself. There’s none of you there.”

  Will crossed his arms. “Rothingham Manor is an old, distinguished home. It has been outfitted elegantly, as befits the rank of the Duke of Pelham.” He could tell she didn’t like his answer. Her lips thinned.

  Hell, he didn’t even like his answer. He sounded like a pompous prig.

  “Don’t start being ducal again,” she said, coming to stand before him. She took his face in her hands and pulled his head down so she could kiss his nose. “Your home is lovely. I was merely observing that there is no Will in the home. I believe the house would still be elegant if you added a bit of yourself.”

  “What do you mean? A portrait?” He had the uneasy feeling the following conversation was going to force him to think along lines he did not particularly care for.

  She laughed. “Heavens, no! But you might consider taking down one of the thirty-nine portraits of your father.”

  “Thirty-nine?”

  “Yes. I had a footman count for me. There are thirty-nine. Why not replace those with artwork you enjoy? Your father is certainly far from deserving a shrine.” She touched his deaf ear, and he drew back.

  “You know.” He did not know why he felt suddenly ashamed. It was not as though he could have helped what had happened. And his deafness did not hinder him, unless he was in a noisy situation and had to rely too much on his good ear. But it was a reminder of how his father had punished him. It was a reminder of his far-from-perfect childhood.

  “Yes. Mrs. Waite told me what your father did. It’s appalling.”

  “It’s over and done. Not everyone had a perfect childhood like you.”

  “I was fortunate in that, but I can guarantee you if my father had ever hurt me, I would not want to remember him with portraits in every room. How can you stand to look at his face each and every day?”

  Will never considered that he had a choice. The manor had always housed those portraits of his father. He never even thought of taking them down. But Juliette had a point. Why didn’t
he make some changes?

  Because he had no idea what or how to change it. That was why. Juliette told him to replace the portraits with artwork he enjoyed. What, precisely, did he enjoy? His father liked the Dutch masters—Vemeer, Rembrandt, van Harlaam. Will had never particularly cared for this art, but he knew it was valuable. His father had impressed upon Will the value of the work.

  What did it matter that Will thought the images homely? What did it matter that the colors left him feeling vaguely irritated?

  “You have changed since I met you,” Juliette said to him. “You can change your life, as well. You don’t have to be a man like your father. You don’t have to be the Dangerous Duke. You can be the Dashing Duke.”

  He raised a brow, and she laughed. She was always laughing. “You’re right. Perhaps dashing doesn’t quite fit. But you see my point, don’t you?” She took his hands, held them in her warm ones. She was always touching him, smiling at him. No one had ever treated him this way. He didn’t know how to react. “I’ve remade myself a half dozen times. I was a farm girl and then the Duchess of Dalliance. And when all of this is over”—she waved her hand to indicate the room—“I’ll become someone else. You can make your own destiny.”

  “You can,” he said before he had thought it through.

  “But what does that mean? You have far more resources than I ever did. You can do whatever you like.” The side of her face had turned a greenish-purple where she’d been hit by Lucifer. The swelling was going down, but the mottled colors marred her otherwise perfectly porcelain complexion. He found himself staring at that bruise, knowing it would fade and she would be perfect again. Why couldn’t she have more imperfections? Maybe then he wouldn’t be so drawn to her. Maybe then it wouldn’t be so easy to forget about her one glaring imperfection.

  She was a Cyprian.

  “It means I come from a family with a long history of tradition and duty. I can’t simply do whatever I choose.”

  “I’m not suggesting you run off to China. I’m suggesting you hang a few paintings, maybe change the draperies.”

  He gaped at her. “Now I must change draperies, as well?” This was too much. He stomped away from her, began searching Lady Elizabeth’s room. He started with the small escritoire in the corner.