Page 13 of The Duke's Price
“I have ordered a bath for you ladies to be brought to Bella’s room,” Perry said, “and one for me and Walter in the dressing room. Once we have bathed, our dinner will be served in the sitting room.”
Ruth looked relieved, which was ever so slightly insulting. Did she think Perry was so inept that he’d insist on bathing with her when they had never done more than kiss? Nor would he do more than kiss tonight, even though his inflaming touches had left him as aroused as they had her. Perhaps more aroused, for he knew where the amorous journey led.
Tension was the way to play the game. By the time they were fully intimate, she would be eager. Indeed, if he played her well—and he fully intended to do so—she would be the one to initiate the action at each step of the game.
He was no longer a foolish boy, falling head over heels in love with the first woman in his bed, nor a grieving and angry youth shagging every female in reach with little finesse and less control. He was Death Richport, the Duke of Depravity, known for hisaffairesthroughout the civilised world. Abstinence and denial now would pay off enormously in the end, and what a magnificent end it would be.
That didn’t mean it was easy, however, particularly given the uncertain but smouldering looks she sent his way during the meal the four of them shared. Walter would have excused himself from the table had Ruth not insisted that he join them. She cast him a challenging look when Walter demurred.
“You usually eat with me when we are travelling,” Perry pointed out to his faithful servant.
“Not when you have company, Your Grace. Mr. De-Ath, I mean.”
“We are not company, but travelling companions,” said Bella. “Please join us, Mr. Walter.”
The stew was excellent, the pie robust and tasty, and the apple tart delicious. Furthermore, the inn had been able to supply two excellent bottles of wine, one a rather lovely Châteauneuf-du-Pape.
When Bella could not repress a yawn, Perry suggested it was time for bed. “I believe all of us would benefit from an early night.
Ruth nodded. “I shall be fine, Bella. Off you go. Sleep well.”
Bella kissed Ruth’s cheek, glared at Perry, and left the room.
“Walter, I shall not need you again this evening,” Perry told his valet.
Walter stood and fetched the trays on which the dinner had arrived. “I shall just pack up the dishes and put them outside the door, sir.”
“Leave the wine,” Perry directed. “Another glass, Ruth?”
“Not for me, thank you,” she said.
“Leave my glass, Walter. Pack up the rest unless you want another.”
He waited to see what Ruth would do, as she shifted in her chair and switched her gaze from him to the bedchamber door and back again, but when Walter left the room with his tray, he took pity on her. “Not tonight, Ruth, either. Perhaps a kiss on account? But I shall not leap on you as soon as we are in bed, I promise. Or at all, tonight. Go and ready yourself for bed, my dear, while I finish my wine. I shall give you thirty minutes.”
“She is not your usual sort,” Walter observed, when he returned.
“No,” Perry agreed. “She is not.” Was Walter going to admonish him? If anyone had the right, it was Walter.
“Have a care, sir. Someone might be hurt.”
Interesting. Walter didn’t say “she might be hurt”. Did he think that Perry was in danger?
“I will do nothing she does not want, my faithful friend,” Perry said. “Nothing I don’t want, either.”
Walter nodded, and said nothing more until he was leaving the room, when he muttered, as best as Perry could hear, “Enough good intentions to pave the road to hell.”
But it wasn’t true. Perry’s intentions were as bad as they could be.
However, the kisses and perhaps a caress or two he had intended for tonight would have to wait until the morning, for Ruth was either asleep or an expert actress.
In the night,he woke from a nightmare that fled his mind even as he reached after it to drag it into the light. But in the next breath, every thought of nightmare fled as arms enfolded him and he was held to the shoulder of a soft fragrant woman.
“Shush,” she murmured. “Shush, my dear. It is only a dream. You have nothing to fear. The bad earl is gone forever. Ruth and Anne will never let him hurt you again.”
Where did she think she was? Who did she think he was?
A former pupil, he had to suppose, as she stroked his hair and murmured reassurances, all—he was beginning to realise—without waking up. His baser self was taking the attention as his due, and making suggestions about next steps, but Perry ignored it. Ruth was still asleep, and was—in any case—offering a mother’s comfort, not a lover’s.
