Bedding Lord Ned (Duchess of Love 1) Read online

  “Of course I am.” He was growing thicker and longer. She never ceased to be amazed by this organ. She stroked it, and he drew in a sharp breath, closing his eyes briefly.

  “Yes, I am definitely too warm,” he said. “However, if you wish me to shed this annoying nightshirt, you’ll have to let go.”

  Venus sighed. This was fun—but it would be much more fun when they were skin to skin. “Very well.”

  The second her fingers left him, he had his nightshirt over his head and sailing through the air. Her nightgown followed in short order—just as their door started to open.

  “Tsk.” That was Mary’s voice coming from the corridor.

  “They’re at it again, Timms, and at their age. We’ll have to come back later.”

  The door closed, and presumably Venus’s maid and Drew’s valet went away.

  “Oh, dear, Mary will give me that look of hers when she comes in later.” Venus chewed her lip. “Perhaps we should get out of bed. What if our guests are up?”

  “Then they can amuse themselves—and Mary gives you that look every morning.” Drew’s hand was moving in a very interesting direction.

  “Well, she does think it highly improper that we sleep in the same bed. You know it would suit her notion of my consequence much better if I used the duchess’s bedroom and you only visited me occasionally.”

  “Yes, but it wouldn’t suit my notion of comfort. Damn consequence! I refuse to be Greycliffe when I’m in bed with my wife.” He kissed her belly and trailed his fingers lower.

  Venus wiggled, panting slightly. Oh, just a little lower. A little ... yes, there. And then his tongue ...

  It was still early. Most of their guests were used to London hours. She and Drew had time to—ohh.

  This wouldn’t take long; she was desperate for him. She tugged on his hair.

  He grinned. “Impatient, dear duchess?”

  “Yes.” She tugged again. “Very.”

  Drew was most obliging. He knew exactly what she liked, and when he came over her and into her, she anticipated the explosive pleasure and yet was as thrilled as if it was her first time.

  Well, more thrilled. She’d had no idea what to expect the first time. That had been outside on the hard ground, and it had hurt. She had to admit experience, a bed, and a closed door greatly improved things.

  “Mmm.” She wrapped her arms around him. She never wanted to let him go.

  “You are always a delight, my dear duchess.” He was a little breathless.

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. The first time had been wonderful—if painful—but all the other times since had deepened and strengthened her bond with him. They had faced life side by side. They had gone through sickness and health together; they had shared the joys and worries of raising their sons. Drew knew her better than anyone else in the world—as she knew him.

  He turned his head to meet her lips. “Tell Mary you are never sleeping anywhere but here with me.”

  “I think she knows that after all these years.”

  This was why she tried to help men and women find their match. This was what she wanted for her sons. Not the physical union—though that was lovely—but this deep sense of belonging to another, this feeling of home and family and connectedness.

  Her emotions flooded her as they always did. “I love you, Drew.”

  “And I love you.” Drew kissed her nose and rolled off onto his back. “I love you so much I will endure another day of these annoying people invading my home and my peace.”

  She laughed and sat up. After the magic came the mundane. She needed to get busy. “Remember that, please. I’m afraid I may need your help more than I usually do this time.”

  He groaned, throwing his arm over his eyes. “Why do I think this means I will have to involve myself in your matchmaking activities?”

  “Because you are very astute.”

  He moved his arm slightly to glare at her. “You are the Duchess of Love.”

  She grinned back at him and hopped down from the bed. “And you are the Duke of Love.”

  “I am not. The very thought is revolting.”

  She scooped up her nightgown and slipped it over her head. “I’m not asking you to do very much.”

  “Ha! I know you, Venus. You are going to make me work far more than I wish.” He pulled himself up to sit against the headboard, and she was momentarily distracted by his naked chest and shoulders and arms.

  “And if you continue looking at me that way,” he said, “I’ll be forced to haul you back into this bed and”—he waggled his brows—“show you exactly how much I am the Duke of Love.”

  She laughed. “A vain threat. I know you can’t do what we just did again so soon.”

  He chose to look offended. “It’s not very sporting of you to say so.” Then he grinned. “But you know I can still have you writhing and moaning.”

  He could, too, and often had. “Don’t you dare. I need to attend to our guests.”

  “And I need to attend to their hostess.”

  “You have attended to me.” She moved farther away from the bed to ensure she didn’t fall victim to temptation. “Now please pull your mind from between the sheets. We need to discuss this party.”

  Drew got out of bed to retrieve his nightshirt, and she admired his muscled arse before forcing herself to sit at her dressing table. Her hair looked like she’d been pulled backward through a bramble bush. She picked up her brush.

  “You do have an odd assortment this year,” Drew said before he threw the nightshirt over his head. “I thought you planned these things carefully.”

  “I do.” Venus sighed and looked in the mirror. Was that another gray hair? “I did. It’s just that this group will take a little extra effort.”

  “I’ll say. That Humphrey fellow—”

  Venus waved away Mr. Humphrey. “He is not the problem.”

  “He is if Ellie decides to have him.” Drew grimaced. “What a thundering bore. You didn’t really think he’d be a good match for her, did you?”

  “Of course not. My plans are far more complicated than that. I invited Mr. Humphrey to serve a purpose.”

  “And does he?”

  “I’m not certain.” She met Drew’s eyes in the mirror. “When one involves oneself in matters of the heart, nothing is clear.”

  “That I can definitely agree with.” He frowned. “And why did you invite Lady Heldon? She’s little more than a light-skirt, though I’ll grant you that’s never kept Ophelia off the guest list. But at least Ophelia limits herself to Percy. Lady Heldon looks to have designs on Ash”—his frown deepened to a scowl—“though what those designs could be is rather a mystery.”

  “She has her purpose, too.”

  “If you say so. You are far too deep a player for me. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

  Venus put down her brush and turned to face him. “Keep an eye out for poor Jack. I’m afraid Miss Wharton was a mistake. She is far more desperate than I’d guessed.” And then she grinned. “And help me cut out and hide a dozen paper hearts.”

  Ned frowned at his boots. He was sitting in the drawing room, waiting for the rest of the party to assemble so Mama could reveal the first activity of the day. And there would be an activity. Mama did not believe in letting people find their own amusements.

  It would have to be something inside. There was no going out. The snow was still tumbling down in thick flakes which the howling wind slapped against the windows and swept into deep drifts.

  He slid down on the settee. Why the hell had he chosen this piece of furniture? It was damned uncomfortable. He could sit anywhere he wanted; everyone else was still at breakfast.

  He surveyed the available choices. The truth was all the seating options were uncomfortable since Mama had changed the furniture last year. He could switch to a stiff, straight-backed chair, but he should leave those for Jack and Ash. They were the ones seeking to keep females at a safe distance; Ned was supposed to be welcoming wome
n. One particular woman—Lady Juliet.

  He closed his eyes, trying to picture the girl, but the only female who popped into his mind was Ellie.

  Damn those red drawers.

  He’d come down early to give Mama the things Reggie had stolen. At first he’d thought to bring them to the drawing room himself and let their owners simply pick them up off a handy table, but then he remembered the salacious snuffbox and the false calf. The people who belonged to those items might appreciate some discretion. Not that Mama was the soul of that virtue, but it was her party and her thieving cat, so it was her problem.

  But the silk drawers ... He knew whom those belonged to.

  He shifted in his seat, but there was no comfortable position to be found.

  Perhaps he should have given them to Mama with the rest of the articles. At least then they’d be out of his hands—and he’d had them in his hands rather more than he should have last night. There was something about the smooth, slippery silk—

  Blast it, Ellie would be horrified if she knew he’d been fondling her underwear. He was horrified. He’d stuffed them into one of his cabinets as soon as he’d realized what he was doing.

  How the hell was he going to give them back?

  As though his thoughts conjured her, Ellie stepped through the doorway, stopping abruptly on the threshold when she saw him. She looked appalled, damn it. What had happened to their easy, comfortable friendship?

  She glanced around the room as if looking for someone—anyone—else to speak to. When she observed they were the only two present, she lifted her chin and approached him.

  She was wearing another long-sleeved, high-necked, unfashionable dark frock. The red drawers could not be hers.

  But she’d admitted they were.

  He’d risen when he’d seen her—he was a gentleman, though he wasn’t feeling very gentlemanly at the moment. He gave her a curt bow. “Looking for Mr. Cox, Ellie? I’m afraid he must still be abed.”

  She flushed and scowled at him. “I wasn’t looking for Mr. Cox. I saw him in the breakfast room.”

  “Mr. Humphrey, then?”

  “No.” She sniffed. “Nor Percy or Jack or Ash or your father—and certainly not you.”

  That hurt, but it also made him angry, and anger was a much safer emotion than ... whatever the hell he’d been feeling. “You are unpleasantly pert.”

  “I don’t believe I asked your opinion.”

  He wanted to shake her; instead he clasped his hands behind his back and looked down his nose at her. “You are quite right—you didn’t ask. I offered my opinion freely. And here’s another bit of free advice—guard your possessions more closely.”

  “Guard my possessions?” She raised her brows, no doubt trying to look haughty, but she couldn’t quite manage to mask her confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “Reggie has been busy again.”

  She shrugged. “I know that. Your mother made the announcement at breakfast. She put the things he took on a table in the little yellow salon, and I’m happy to tell you I just checked. Nothing of mine is there.”

  “Nothing of yours is there because I still have the item in my room.”

  Now she was beginning to look a little alarmed, though she tried hard not to show it. “You do?”

  “Yes. It’s of a rather personal and, er, scandalous nature. I thought you might not wish the company to know about it.”

  Her eyes widened—and then she laughed. “You are teasing me, Lord Edward. I’m sure I don’t own anything s-scandalous that Reggie could possibly have taken. The item is probably Lady Heldon’s or Ophelia’s.” She arched a brow. “Or perhaps it is Lady Juliet’s.”

  He hated this false, brittle gaiety. What had happened to her? Ellie had always been direct and truthful. Well, and he supposed he was being rather less than direct himself. “Oh, no, it’s yours all right. It’s quite distinctive.” He paused. His better self insisted he stop, but his better self was easily silenced. “It’s very ... red.”

  Ellie gasped and turned pale just as Mama and the rest of the party entered.

  Mama focused on them immediately. “Oh, there you two are. Having a bit of a tête-à-tête, then?”

  “No.” Damn it, he felt like a blackguard. It was clear to anyone with eyes that Ellie was upset. “We were just discussing Sir Reginald’s bad habits.”

  “Yes.” Ellie gave him a small smile of thanks, which only made him feel worse. “Lord Edward was reminding me to secure my possessions.”

  Mama laughed. “I’m afraid that’s a hopeless task, as nothing is secure from Sir Reginald. I don’t know how he does it, but if Reggie wants something, he’ll get it.”

  Humphrey sniffed. “Permit me to say, your grace, that it seems highly unlikely a mere animal could make off with so many objects of such various sizes and shapes. I’m very much afraid one of your guests”—here he looked frowningly at the gathering—“is playing an ill-considered joke on us, and I must register my extreme displeasure at having someone paw through my personal effects.”

  Ned would wager a goodly sum that the false calf belonged to Humphrey. Hmm. He did look a trifle lopsided.

  “Paw is the exact word,” Jack said. “Reggie was caught red-handed—or perhaps I should say ‘red-mouthed’ as that’s how he carries his loot—last year. And you may object all you want—Ned objects vehemently when he finds the things under his bed—but Reggie hasn’t yet been persuaded to stop.”

  “I see.” Humphrey tugged on his waistcoat. “Well, in that case may I suggest the animal be put out in the stables for the duration of the gathering?”

  There was a stunned silence; the duchess stared at Mr. Humphrey as if he had suddenly sprouted a second head.

  “It w-would solve the problem,” Miss Mosely ventured rather timidly, “w-wouldn’t it?”

  Her grace transferred her gaze to Miss Mosely. “Sir Reginald,” she said, “is a house cat.”

  “But surely for a few days—” Mr. Humphrey stopped and tugged on his waistcoat again as the duchess returned her attention to him.

  “Would you care to stay in the stables for a few days, sir?”

  “Er, no, of course not, but—”

  Her grace put up a hand to stop him. She could be quite imperious when she chose to be. “Neither would Sir Reginald.”

  “Well, I must say if a cat’s comfort is more important than ...” Mr. Humphrey’s bluster died under the duchess’s unwavering gaze. His nose twitched. “Yes, well, indeed. It is all highly irregular.”

  Her grace smiled gently. “Duchesses can be ‘highly irregular,’ Mr. Humphrey. It’s one of the perks of the position.”

  “At least you aren’t as irregular as the Earl of Landly, your grace,” Mr. Cox said. “You know he dresses his poodle in a velvet suit and assigns him his own footman.”

  The duchess snorted. “Poor Landly is daft—and Reggie would never stand for such nonsense.”

  The duke chuckled. “Whoever tried to get Reggie into any clothes at all would have his hands and face slashed to ribbons for his efforts.”

  “Exactly.” The duchess glanced at Mr. Humphrey. “Reggie doesn’t suffer fools gladly.”

  Mr. Humphrey sputtered, but for once held his tongue.

  “Obviously, Humphrey has yet to meet Sir Reginald,” Ned muttered.

  Ellie bit her lip and whispered back. “Perhaps it’s best they never encounter each other.”

  Ned grunted. “Reggie has the sense to avoid Humphrey, but I’m not so sure Humphrey is as wise.”

  Her grace had turned her attention to the entire group. “Please take your seats, everyone, so I can explain today’s activity.”

  Ellie hesitated. She should sit by Mr. Cox and continue ... well, she wasn’t certain what. She’d thought they’d started something last night, but then there’d been that odd trip up the stairs and the man’s even odder behavior at her bedroom door. Besides, he was on the other side of the room; it would be more obvious than she cared to be at the mo
ment if she made a point of seeking him out.

  She might sit with Mr. Humphrey, but Miss Mosely had already taken a place at his side, likely helping soothe his lacerated sensibilities. Well, sensibilities were better lacerated than hands and face—Reggie would take violent exception to anyone mad enough to try to move him to the stables. And the pain would all be for naught—she’d wager a year’s pin money the cat would be back in the castle long before his evictor had closed the stable door.

  Ned gestured to the settee he’d been occupying. “Care to join me while we listen to what torture Mama has in store for us?”

  “Er, thank you.” He was standing right next to her—it would be rude to walk away. And if she took this seat, Lady Juliet couldn’t—though she saw the other girl had already joined Mr. Cox.

  So she sat, and he settled himself next to her.

  The settee was far too small. If she reached over just a little, she could put her hand on Ned’s thigh.

  She laced her fingers in her lap.

  “If you’ve looked out any of the windows,” the duchess was saying, “you know the snow is still coming down quite heavily. We don’t want to lose any of you in a snow bank or have you frozen into icicles, so we will not be venturing outside today.” She smiled at Ellie. “Any sledge races will have to wait.”

  Did Ned growl?

  She ignored him.

  “Fortunately,” the duchess continued, “I anticipated bad weather, though I’d thought we’d have rain rather than snow. February is so unpredictable, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes, your grace,” Miss Mosely said. “I had a terrible time deciding what to pack.”

  Mr. Humphrey cleared his throat.

  Oh, no. One would think the man would still be slightly deflated, but apparently not.

  “Indeed, I must agree with Miss Mosely as I, too, was forced to spend an inordinate amount of time contemplating what to bring to this delightful gathering. I ...”

  Ellie let her attention wander back to Mr. Cox as Mr. Humphrey droned on. Lady Juliet was whispering to him.

  Mr. Cox looked bored.

  Heavens, why wasn’t the man showing more interest? If he truly loved Lady Juliet, he should be delighted she was talking to him. Not that Ellie cared, precisely, but if Lady Juliet married Mr. Cox—and last evening’s events suggested she felt some sort of attachment to him—she would not marry Ned. And she shouldn’t marry Ned if she didn’t love him. Ned had already suffered Cicely’s loss; it would be beyond cruel if he had to deal with the pain of an unfaithful, uncaring wife.