Page 54 of Never a Duchess
Hart Street, Covent Garden
Office of the Order
The request to attend the Order’s office read like a summons. Being a man of high rank, Callan might have sent a curt reply with the penny boy, but Lucius Daventry would be a duke if his parents had married. And the man’s tireless work helping the poor and needy made him someone to be admired, not belittled.
Therefore, Callan arrived in Hart Street promptly at ten, the friendly housekeeper showing him into the elegant drawing room.
He was glad of the distraction. Whenever his mind stilled, he recalled being on his knees, gripping Miss Ware’s creamy white thighs, sucking her sex, pleasuring her senseless.
He moistened his lips at the memory.
Hell, he was desperate to taste her again.
Every muscle in his abdomen hardened in response. Like a feral horse, his body’s needs trampled over his logic. A man might sacrifice his sanity just to have her once, yet Callan feared he had already gone too far.
Yet it wasn’t far enough.
He wouldn’t stop until he was buried deep inside her. Until she was his. Or until he was left alone and broken. Lost in the depths of despair.
As if his mind had the power to conjure the woman who dominated his thoughts, Miss Ware entered the drawing room, stopping abruptly upon seeing him sitting on the sofa.
“Your Grace. I thought we had agreed to meet at noon.”
He stood and bowed, grateful he’d worn trousers as it was easier to disguise a cockstand. “Daventry requested an update on our progress. Had I known we’d both been summoned, we might have made the journey together.”
“I came with Mr Sloane. He had matters to attend to in the study.” She struggled to hold his gaze and kept straightening her blue pelisse when it needed no adjustments.
Was it embarrassment or nerves?
He could not tell.
After surrendering to her desires, did she have regrets? Would she offer an excuse to cancel their dinner arrangements tonight? “Is Sloane to accompany us when we question Mrs Gregory and Lord Sheridan?”
Did she want a chaperone?
Worry lines appeared on her brow. “No. He has an appointment at the British Museum. Something about a fake artefact.”
Callan might have probed her about the artefact, but he cared to know what troubled her this morning.
He moved closer, giving her every opportunity to retreat, but she remained rooted to the spot. Reaching for her, he cupped her elbow when he wanted to claim her mouth in a searing kiss.
“Then tell me what has ye so vexed.” He spoke softly, keen to tease a confession. “Does it have anything to do with what occurred between us last night? Do ye have regrets?”
Had she suffered a sleepless night too?
Had she touched herself, tortured herself, wondering where this would all end?
The brief flash of tenderness in her eyes held him entranced. “Your Grace, I regret nothing that happened between us.”
He did not sag in relief. Though they’d shared a passionate kiss in the alley last night, today, she seemed less receptive. “But ye dinnae wish to pursue the matter any further? If ye would prefer to maintain a professional relationship, be honest.”
“Quite the contrary. I’m keen to dine with you tonight.” She glanced back at the door before lowering her voice. “It’s just that I received a parcel from Mr Valmary this morning, though I did not give him my name or my address.”
“A parcel? Nae perfume?” A wave of panic swept through him, almost knocking him off his feet. “Good God! Ye didnae inhale the scent?”
She shook her head. “It was a delicate porcelain bottle of May Bell, with a card inviting me to a select gathering at the shop to celebrate the new blend of lily of the valley.”
Callan’s fears subsided. “Doubtless he invited Lady MacTavish. And based on our connection, thought to include ye.” Yet Valmary had scanned Miss Ware’s figure as one did a tray of treats in a confectioner’s window.
