The Naked Duke. Sally MacKenzie
Robbie had found the girl, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He had much more interesting subjects to occupy his mind.
He smiled as he put his lips against the girl’s mouth.
Sarah was caught up in the most amazing dream she had ever had. She was in a large, soft bed and somehow her warm flannel nightgown had vanished. But she wasn’t cold. No, she was actually warm. Very warm. There was something large and hot next to her. She was pressed up against it. It felt sinfully wonderful. She breathed in the warm scent of brandy and linen.
She felt a delicious pressure on her lips. Firm yet soft. Like velvet. Seductive. Her mouth moved to explore the new sensation and was rewarded with a moist heat.
Wake up, a small voice said. Something this good cannot be right.
Sarah silenced the voice.
She heard a funny little growl and the pressure left her lips. She whimpered, wanting it to come back, and it did, but on her neck this time, just under her ear. She raised her chin to give the lovely pressure more room. It moved down her neck in small nips and licks, stopping just short of her aching breasts.
Something warm and strong kneaded the back of her neck, then followed her spine down to her hips, skirting the parts that most burned for its touch. Her body was on fire. She twisted, panting.
“God, you’re good, sweetheart.”
A male voice.
Her eyes flew open. She looked up into warm amber eyes, golden hair, and sculpted lips…now heading down to sample the tip of her breast.
She screamed and shoved against a very naked chest. She screamed again, pulling back her hands as if burned.
“What the…”
The man sat up, frowning. Sarah took the opportunity to grab the pillow under her head and swing it at him.
“Get back, you, you—lecher!”
“Lecher?”
The man ducked. Sarah swung again and hit him solidly on the ear.
“That’s what I said. Get out of my bed. Get out of my room or I’ll scream the place down.”
“You’re already screaming, sweetheart.”
“Well, I’ll scream louder.” She sat up, lifting the pillow high in both hands, ready to knock him onto the floor if he wouldn’t climb out on his own.
His eyes got an odd, intent expression. He was not looking at her face. She dropped her eyes to see where he was looking.
“Ack!” She slammed her pillow down to cover her chest.
That was when the door banged open and another woman screamed.
“James!”
“Damn,” the man muttered. “Aunt Gladys. Why the hell is she here?”
Chapter 2
Sarah stared in horror at the crowd of faces at the door.
The nasty innkeeper, alternately sneering and wringing his hands. A pair of sniggering footmen. The drunken lord from last night trying unsuccessfully to muffle his laughter. And two elderly women, one tall, one short, their wrinkled faces and bright, inquisitive eyes framed in stylish bonnets.
“James,” the taller one said again, this time without screaming. She and her companion stared at Sarah’s pillow; it was all that stood between her and complete exposure. She flushed and slid lower in the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin.
“Aunt, how delightful to see you. Pardon me if I don’t get up.” James could feel a hot blush surge over his face. He wouldn’t be surprised if his entire body was red, including the unruly part that was making an unseemly tent in the thin blanket. He shifted position.
“James…” His aunt appeared lost for words.
He smiled slightly as he surveyed the people at his door. Lady Gladys Runyon, his father’s older sister, tall and angular with over seventy years in her dish, stared at him, her deep flush echoing his own. Lady Amanda Wallen-Smyth, her constant companion, was beside her. Lady Amanda, who was in her mid sixties, was small and delicate looking. An illusion only. Let the slightest scent of gossip waft her way and she was after the details like a ferret down a rat hole. Now her shrewd brown eyes darted around the room, taking careful note of everything—the girl’s clothes by the fire, his breeches on the floor. Finally they latched onto the girl herself. He swore he saw the old Ferret’s nose twitch. The girl crept even lower under the blanket.
Robbie had finally mastered his laughter. Now his face bobbed up above Aunt Gladys’s head. His mouth moved like that of a beached fish, but no sounds came out. He was making slashing movements with his hand across his throat. James wasn’t sure what he was trying to convey, but cutting someone’s throat, preferably Robbie’s, seemed like a very good idea.
“Robbie, kindly show Aunt Gladys and Lady Amanda downstairs. And close the door when you leave.”
“James…”
“Yes, Aunt. I’ll be down directly. Now please go along with Robbie.”
James sighed with relief as the door finally shut. He turned to the girl. She was still clutching the blankets to her chest, eyeing him warily. She certainly was a very odd whore.
“Please don’t scream again,” he said. “My poor ears have suffered enough.”
“Then don’t do anything to make me scream.” Her eyes strayed down to his chest and then skittered back to his face. “Do you have any clothes on?”
He grinned. “No, do you?”
All the skin he could see turned as red as her hair. He wished he could see if her blush extended as far as his had, but there was no time. Aunt Gladys would not be waiting patiently. If he wasn’t downstairs quickly, she would be back upstairs hauling him out of bed, naked or not.
He frowned slightly. Now that he didn’t have a pillow attacking his ears, he could focus on the girl’s voice. It was very nice, soft and educated. She certainly didn’t sound like a local whore or even a higher-priced London demi-rep.
“You sound American.”
“I am American.” The girl was being very careful to keep her eyes on his face. For a whore, she was amazingly embarrassed by his bare chest. “From Philadelphia.”
“That’s a long way to come to visit the Green Man, sweetheart. We’re quite proud of the place, but I’m shocked that its fame has spread across the Atlantic.”
“I did not come here to stay at the Green Man,” she snapped, “and I can’t say I’m much impressed with an inn that lacks locks on its doors.”
James chuckled. “True, so if you didn’t come to enjoy the questionable hospitality of the Green Man, why are you here?”
“To see my uncle. The stagecoach got in too late for me to go directly to his home last night.”
James thought he knew all the people in the neighborhood very well, but he hadn’t heard of a villager who had an American niece. “Your uncle? Who’s your uncle?”
“The Earl of Westbrooke.”
James felt his jaw drop. “Westbrooke’s your uncle?”
“Yes.”
James swore he saw golden flecks of fire flash in the girl’s hazel eyes.
“My name is Sarah Hamilton, and my father was the earl’s younger brother.”
“David. He did go to America.” James nodded. “So you are here to see the Earl of Westbrooke.” He smiled. Then he grinned. Then he collapsed back on the pillow and howled with laughter.
“Oh, God,” he gasped.