Page 1 of Dukes Are Forever
Chapter 1
It was a kiss like no other.
The touch of his lips burned her, his hand sliding over her nape and bending her body into his embrace.
Adele Cavill, the Duchess of Malloryn, drew back a hand and slapped the man, though her heart was suddenly racing and she knew for one desperate second, she hadn't fought him as hard as she should have. "Sir, you take too many liberties."
"I should like to take more," Lord Devoncourt whispered.
For a moment, she was almost tempted. Her lips still tingled. The sounds of the ball washed over her. "I'm no whore," she said firmly, "to cuckold my husband."
"No?" Devoncourt smiled, tracing her cheek with the back of her hand. "Then where is your fine husband? If you're such a loyal wife, why aren't you in his bed right now?"
Because I've never been in his bed.Adele bit her lip.Never been kissed. Never been held. Barely even glanced at as I sit at our dining table each morning and stare at Malloryn over the baked kippers and extravagant repast.
All her fault, of course.
She'd been the one to use the Duke of Malloryn's opposition to a recent trend amongst young blue bloods ruining girls for a single night of blood sharing to trap him into marriage. And she couldn't for one second deny she would do it all over again, if she had the chance. For the first time in years she was safe and protected from the blue bloods that'd mercilessly stalked the Echelon, hunting for those young debutantes that strayed from the glittering lights of the ballrooms.
With her reputation in tatters from one such incident, the only lord willing to take her as his thrall had been Lord Abagnale, a man who'd buried three of his previous thralls, and—it was rumored—had placed them in the grave himself.
Malloryn was her blessing, but he'd made it eminently clear that whilst she would bear his name, she would never bear his children or share his life. Indeed, she'd heard rumors of a mistress.
His bed, at least, wasn't as cold as hers.
He'd damned well told her to "make her own arrangements."
Those tempting fingertips cupped her cheeks. Adele looked up helplessly as Devoncourt stroked his thumb over her mouth.
"I think," he murmured, "your silence is answer enough."
His face lowered to hers, his warm breath brushing against her sensitive lips, bringing a sudden yearning to life within her breast. Not for the hidden meaning behind his words, butthis.... She didn't think she could fight this, the careful tenderness of his touch. It ached in her chest, a longing to turn her cheek into his palm, to press it there and feel, just for one moment, what it was like to be cared for.
To be touched.
"I cannot," she whispered, because she'd made a promise in her heart to be true to her husband, a means of repaying him for the lie she'd told that had seen them married.
Devoncourt stepped away, his gloved hand falling from her face. "When you have thrown off the shackles of your morals, you know where to find me. I shall love you, Adele."
Love.What a mockery.
"I shall show you things that will make your heart beat forever with the sound of my name. I shall worship at your feet. All you have to do is say yes."
* * *
Auvry Cavill,the Duke of Malloryn, stalked inside the study he kept at 45 Hardcastle Lane, instantly soothed by the scent of leather and cognac. The headquarters for what he—and several of his compatriots—jokingly referred to as the Company of Rogues was becoming more of a home these days than his own.
Part of the reason for that had thick, golden ringlets, a figure more rightly suited to a Botticelli, and a clear adoration of extravagant silk gowns and feathered hats.
His wife.
With her devious green eyes and a streak of cunning that almost matched his own, Adele was the only person of his acquaintance who roused any sort of emotion within him these days. Malloryn rarely enjoyed being outplayed, and Adele had manipulated him into marriage with all the gall of a seasoned enemy general. He could almost have admired her determination, if he hadn't been the fox caught in her snare.
The woman was downright ruthless; all his friends had told him that.
But by then it had been too late.
How could one champion a cause, then protest otherwise when he'd been caught in the gardens of Lord Dalrymple's party with her? She'd practically thrown herself at him, making it clear they were in the prelude of something—whether a kiss or a bloodletting, he wasn't certain.
