Page 6 of His Duchess of Scandal
She felt a growl rumble deep in his chest as he pulled back just enough to turn her around, her back now facing the bed. Without hesitation, he cupped her face and took her lips in a fiercer kiss, filled with a passion she had never imagined possible.
Their breaths mingled, and he walked her back, back, back, until her legs hit the edge of the bed.
With gentle certainty, Ares eased her down onto the soft mattress, his hands claiming every inch of her as everything else disappeared.
Chapter One
ONE YEAR LATER
“Excuse me a moment, Lord Willoughby.” Charles Thorne, the Duke of Branmere, gave a nod to the man he had been speaking with about a new art gallery they wanted to open somewhere between London and Surrey.
“Of course, Your Grace. If I do not catch you sooner, enjoy your auction. You are supporting a wonderful cause.”
Charles headed out of the ballroom at Branmere Manor, trailing the footman who had signaled to him.
Outside, the hallway did little to muffle the noise of the orchestra and the guests’ clamor over the pieces they thought would be on display.
Notably, Charles always highlighted astarlightpiece, the main event that everybody waited for.
But for the moment, his focus was on the harried-looking footman.
“Yes?” he asked impatiently. “Has my daughter managed to sneak out of her room again?”
Mercifully, the footman shook his head. “As you requested, I have two footmen posted at Lady Phoebe’s door, along with Miss Tarnen.”
Charles’s worry abated at the mention of his daughter’s governess. Phoebe always liked her, was more inclined to show good behavior around her.
He nodded. “Good. I cannot have her interrupt. Heavens forbid she tears through the ballroom and knocks a guest over. She could hurt herself in the process, and I do not wish to endure another tantrum.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced back at the ballroom, imagining his wild ten-year-old daughter dashing through the auction.
“We know Lady Phoebe’s antics, Your Grace.” The footman gave a hesitant, amused smile. “We are on high alert. Miss Tarnen has reported that she is grounded.”
Charles nodded grimly. “I cannot have her playing such pranks on the cook again,” he sighed. “Heaven knows uncooked meatwas almost served at my last dinner party because of my mischievous daughter.”
He wanted to laugh—truly, he did—but his stress was at an all-time high, and worrying about Phoebe’s next trick was not how he wanted to spend his evening.
But he trusted his servants; they were good, and they knew his daughter well. Together, they would be prepared, at least.
His expression softened as he thought of her up in her room, perhaps singing in the way she did when she thought nobody could hear her. She might even distract herself with the chess set he had bought her on her ninth birthday.
“You are clever,”he had told her when he found the chess set unused weeks later.“Put the thought you give your pranks into chess, and we can play together.”
Phoebe had overturned the table, pouting, ignoring his suggestion. But he had seen her play with it when nobody was watching her.
Or expecting it from her.
“Make sure she does not cause any chaos tonight,” he said, one last request before he would leave it all in their trustworthy hands. “I cannot have anything go unplanned.”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” the footman answered, before bowing and retreating.
Charles strode back into the ballroom. He had ordered his staff to decorate it for tonight’s affair—an auction for yet another cause that landed him in the most positive of conversations with his peers.
He was accustomed to this: grand displays, publicly witnessed offerings, the Branmere name restored more and more with every event he organized.
He hosted these parties because he had an empire to build, and he relished the notoriety they gave him, even if he did not entirely enjoy them himself.
Immediately, he was swarmed by a group of ladies. Redhead, blonde, brunette—they all blurred into one, their faces half-hidden behind fluttering fans.
