The Naked Duke. Sally MacKenzie
me to the hereafter.” James shifted to look directly at Charles. “Speaking of Robbie, I don’t suppose you met him in the hall, did you?”
“No.”
“Regrettable. He is much too drunk to be left unattended.”
“Who’s too d-drunk?”
James turned to survey the redheaded man snickering in the doorway. “Ah, Robbie. We were wondering where you had got to. Come in, if you don’t need that doorjamb to keep you upright.”
“Course I don’t, James.” Robbie walked carefully across the room and lowered himself into a chair. “Have you been discussing the luscious Charlotte while I’ve been gone?”
“Please don’t refer to my future wife as ‘luscious,’” James said.
“Well, you’re right there. Charlotte is about as luscious as a frozen prune.”
“Robbie…” James’s brows snapped into a frown and he started to rise. Charles put a hand on his arm.
“I hate to say it, James, but Robbie’s right this time. Good God, man, why do you think the wags call her the ‘Marble Queen’? She’s as cold as stone.”
Robbie drunkenly patted James’s shoulder. “Listen to Charles, James. He’s smart. War hero like yourself. If he says steer clear of Charlotte, do it. It ain’t as if she’s the only female who’ll have you. All the unmarried girls—and half the married ones—would leap at the chance to be the next Duchess of Alvord.”
“I doubt that.” James raised his hand as Robbie and Charles both protested. “No, I’ve seen all the girls on the Marriage Mart. God, I’ve been hunted by them since my father died. I’m sick of it. Charlotte will do. She’s been out a few years—she’s not some young girl in her first Season. She’s a duke’s daughter, so she’ll know how to run my household.” He looked pointedly at Robbie. “And I’m sure she’s quite capable of carrying out her other wifely duties.”
“Well, she is female, I’ll grant you that, so she must be capable of giving you your heir,” Robbie said, “but don’t you want to enjoy the process?”
James felt himself flush. “I’m sure Charlotte and I can rub along quite well.”
“But what’s the rush?” Charles asked. “Blast it, man, you’re only twenty-eight! I’m thirty and I’m not scrambling to get myself leg-shackled.” He leaned closer. “You made it through the war. What’s the hurry to get an heir now?”
“We’ve just been discussing the hurry, Charles—my ambitious cousin, Richard. He’s just a shade too anxious to become the next Duke of Alvord.”
Later, James deposited his drunken friends in their rooms and turned to his own door. Unfortunately he was still much too sober. No amount of brandy was capable of drowning the thoughts churning in his mind.
The room was dark, with the only light coming from the embers in the fireplace. He yanked off his boots and stockings, and then shrugged out of his shirt, dropping it on the floor. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to asking the Duke of Rothingham for his daughter’s hand in marriage. Not that Rothingham would be surprised or displeased. The man had certainly dropped enough hints the last time they’d run into each other at White’s. James was confident he’d get a positive response.
He shed his breeches and drawers. Wedding Charlotte wouldn’t be the tragedy Charles and Robbie made it out to be—he’d never expected to find love at Almack’s. He had to marry sometime. Charlotte would do. He just hoped Richard would concede defeat once the knot was tied.
He padded naked over to the wash basin. The water was tepid, but he was used to few comforts after the Peninsula. He closed his eyes, picturing Charlotte Wickford. Blond hair, blue eyes—or were they green? Brown? He wasn’t sure. Petite. Her head came about to his mid-chest. He had a lovely view of her coiffure when they waltzed. Her lips—well, she never said much of interest. He had not quite gotten around to seeing how they tasted.
He swiped at his face with a towel. He didn’t want to marry Charlotte. He’d rather marry a girl he liked, but he hadn’t found one yet and he couldn’t see that he would anytime soon. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. God, he felt trapped. Time was definitely running out. That carriage wheel in Richard’s last attempt on his life had come within a hairsbreadth of splitting his skull.
“Hmpzm.”
James spun around. Bloody hell! There was someone in the room with him. How could he have been so damn careless? He hadn’t expected trouble at the Green Man, so of course that made it the perfect place to lay a trap. He lunged to grab the iron poker by the fire and saw the laundry spread out there. He paused. Stockings, shift, dress. A woman’s laundry? Now he knew why Robbie had been sniggering. He’d smuggled a whore into his room.
He left the poker by the fire and cautiously approached the bed. The girl was asleep, a blanket pulled up to her chin. James lit a candle. She muttered and moved, the blanket slipping slightly to uncover her neck and shoulders.
She was beautiful. Her long hair was unbound, spread across the pillow in a fiery ribbon. Her features were as fine as her clothing was coarse. James studied the high cheekbones, long eyelashes, and elegant neck. In the gentle glow of the candle she looked young and innocent.
“Come on, love, time to get up.” He touched her shoulder. Her skin was smooth and warm. His eyes followed the line of her collarbone to the hollow at the base of her throat. He imagined tracing that line with his lips.
He hoped the girl didn’t awaken now. Whore though she undoubtedly was, she still might be taken aback by the unmistakable evidence of his interest in her. Standing there naked, he had no way of hiding his admiration.
The girl twitched her shoulder and burrowed deeper into the pillows. Who was she? Could Robbie have imported her from London? James didn’t think so, but she obviously was wasted at a backwater inn like the Green Man. She looked fine enough to be some rich man’s mistress. His mistress? He tested the idea and was surprised to find that he was tempted.
He would decide in the morning. It was clear that the girl was exhausted. He’d never really thought about it, but he supposed simple whores didn’t get a lot of sleep. They had to work on their feet during the day and on their backs at night. He’d let her sleep and see how things stood in the morning.
He climbed into the other side of the bed. He could feel the heat from her body and hear the steady tempo of her breathing. He smiled as he closed his eyes and tried to find a comfortable position. He was definitely looking forward to the morning.
James noticed the sweet scent first. Delicate, clean, feminine. He drew a deeper breath and felt a soft weight on his chest. And a delicious warmth along his side. And something round and smooth on his upper arm. The warmth nestled closer and a slight exhalation tickled across his neck.
The girl. She was still in bed with him. He swallowed, trying to tame the blood surging through his head and another part of his anatomy. Don’t jump on her like a hungry animal, he told himself. Savor the moment.
He opened his eyes slowly. The covers had blessedly slipped down to his waist during the night. The girl’s slender arm rested across his chest. He followed the delicate curve of her wrist and forearm, the tender angle of her elbow. A curtain of long, reddish hair hid her face and the small breast he felt resting against his side and arm. He wanted to see them, too. He wanted to see all of her.
He raised his free hand carefully—he didn’t want to waken her just yet—and touched her hair. It was soft, shot through with threads of gold. He tangled his fingers in the silky strands, lifting them so he could study the girl’s face. Her skin was peach-tinted, not freckled like the skin of some redheads. Her nose was a little blunt and her lips a little thin. Perhaps once she opened her eyes—and her mouth—the illusion would be broken, but for now she looked like a fairy tale princess. Certainly the most beautiful whore he had ever seen.
He