Sneak preview of When Seducing a Duke

Grey ducked and the man attached to the fist fell into the wall, a victim of his own momentum.

“Bastard,” the man spat from where the floor where he slid. “I’ll kill you.”

“Not tonight,” Grey remarked drily, straightening his cuffs. “Perhaps when you are sober you could give it another go, however.”

His assailant stared at him through bleery eyes. It wasn’t the first time Grey had been the victim of a surprise attack, but the last one happened some time ago and his reflexes were not what they ought to be. His heart hammered shamefully in his ribs. The arse had actually surprised him.

“Do I know you, sir?” He asked, wasting time studying the man’s familiar features when he should continue on to his lovely lady.

Spittle flew – intended for Grey but landing mostly on the man’s own chin and lapels. “You shagged my wife, you filthy bugger!”

Grey’s brows rose. A strange amusement filled him. “I’ll have you know I bathe regularly, sir.” He frowned. “Martingale? Is that you?”

The man huffed, tried to push himself upright and failed. “You know it is, you… you fuss bucket.”

He would laugh at the absurd term if he hadn’t realized the man had every reason to want to kill him. He had shagged Lady Martingale – many years ago. He’d shagged their daughter as well. Mother and daughter had gotten into a very public row over him at the theater one night. Bad form all around.

Grey offered the man his hand. “Let’s get you to a carriage. You should go home.”

Martingale slapped his hand away with a snarl. Somehow the man found enough strength in his alcohol saturated muscles to stand, though he had to cling to the wall to do so. “Go frig yourself.”

“Come now,” Grey said softly. “Let me assist you.” It was the least he could do given all the harm he’d cost. Of course Lord Martingale wasn’t a saint either. He’d been doing some burlesque dancer while Grey dallied with his women folk, but Martingale had been discrete and Grey… well, he’d never been known for such virtue.

Martingale shoved him, but it was the drunken earl who stumbled rather than Grey. “Sod off. Those men should have cut more than your face, you piss ant.”

“Yes,” Grey replied coolly. “But they didn’t. And you should have taken better care of your wife.”

The two of them stared at each other for a brief second, Grey still and composed, Martingale unsteady and filled with drunken anguish. And then, all the fight seemed to abandon the earl, leaving him deflated and bent. He turned and staggered down the corridor, leaning on the wall for support.

Grey watched him go with some regret. Of course he wouldn’t have welcomed further altercation, but perhaps spilling some of his blood would have given Martingale the satisfaction he wanted, granting Grey some atonement at the same time.

Instead, he was left feeling oddly empty. Perhaps he ought to leave. He hardly felt romantic at the moment. Still, it wouldn’t be gentlemanly of him to keep her waiting. He should at least apologize.

He turned and moved toward the room where she waited. The door opened just as he raised his fist to knock, and his lady stood there, gasping when she saw him.

Grey frowned when he saw the reticule in her gloved hand. “Were you leaving?”

“I was, yes,” came the cool reply with a lift of her round chin. “I do not appreciate being kept waiting, sir.”

Grey smiled, all thoughts of his own departure evaporating at the challenge she presented. He stepped over the threshold, forcing her to retreat into the room. “Anxious, my lady?”

The room was made for assignation. The wall paper was heavy and obviously costly. Huge bouquets of colorful Oriental flowers bloomed against the flat black backdrop. The plaster on the high ceiling was the same golden beige as the trim around the windows and door. Heavy drapes framed the window, designed to keep out all light or intrusion the city offered. The floor was walnut, polished and buffed to a high gloss shine, and accented with plush rugs in the same colors as the wallpaper. The bed – a massive four poster monstrosity – was hand-carved mahogany, covered in black bedding – with gold satin sheets turned down for the occupants.

Had waiting here, knowing what was going to happen between them when he arrived made her nervous? Had she sat on the edge of the bed squeezing her thighs together in a vain attempt to assuage the itch deep inside her?

“I was anxious,” she informed him more than a little haughtily. “Waiting has a way of cooling ardor.”

He laughed then, as he closed the door, sealing the two of them into the room. Was it just him, or had the temperature gone up several degrees?

“Do you reckon?” He stepped closer. “I’ve always found that the more I have to wait for something the more I want it.”

She stood her ground, but he sensed that she might bolt at any moment. They were so close their torsos were almost touching – hers rising rapidly with every breath. Grey’s entire body was tight, tingling. Dark eyes rose to meet his. “Then you must want me very badly, sir.”

There was no denying the spark of desire in her gaze. Golden flames seemed to burn in the chocolate depths, drawing him toward their heat as though he was nothing more than a powerless moth. “I do.” His voice was rough, but if her shiver was any indication she didn’t mind. “I want you very much.”

©2009 Kathryn Smith

***

The Duke of Ryeton went to Saint’s Row for a night of anonymous pleasure.

Rose Danvers went to Saint’s Row bent on seduction.

It was a night that would begin the scandal of the Season.

Sometimes, what happens at Saint’s Row doesn’t always stay there.

When Seducing a Duke, September 29th 2009

www.kathryn-smith.com