To Capture a Duke's Heart Read online

  Bolder now, Maryanne approached the side of the bed, her eyes intent upon the duke’s face. “Your Grace?” Reaching out she touched her hand to his naked shoulder, pressing lightly at first and then with significantly more force; but despite her efforts to rouse him, his eyes remained closed, his breathing slow and steady. Satisfied he wouldn’t wake, she removed an empty glass from the pocket of her dressing gown and quickly poured the remaining brandy into it, leaving only a trace amount of liquid in the bottom of the decanter as she set it back upon the nightstand. Then, with glass in hand, she turned back toward the door and hastened from the room.

  “Are you certain about this, my lady?” Mavis questioned, clearly ill at ease as she cast an apprehensive glance between her mistress and Penelope’s sleeping form.

  “Of course I’m certain,” Maryanne asserted as she pulled back the covers of Penelope’s bed and tossed them aside.

  “But if someone should find out that we-”

  “As I told you before, no one is going to find out,” Maryanne hissed. “It is the perfect plan, I tell you; and as long as we do exactly as I have instructed, it shall appear to the duke, as well as to my husband, that she devised the entire thing. And so,” she continued, “as I explained to you before, even though my husband will assuredly try to persuade Ainsworth to marry the girl, the duke, assuming that Penelope deliberately set out to trap him, will never agree to it. Beckford will be outraged of course and His Grace shall be made to suffer the consequences of treating me in such a cruel and callous manner by not only being forced to endure the inevitable scandal, but by gaining a powerful new enemy in my husband. And to make matters even better, my troublesome stepdaughter will undoubtedly be packed off to France in disgrace; and all with none being the wiser,” she concluded with an air of malevolent satisfaction. “Now cease your prevaricating and help me get her up.”

  Though her expression remained anxious, Mavis did as her mistress ordered and took a hesitant step forward.

  “Penelope. Penelope, wake up!” Maryanne directed as she leaned over the bed, tugging upon Penelope’s arm as she tried to coax her into an upright position.

  Penny gave a faint whimper of protest, resisting the pull on her arm as she turned her cheek to rest against the pillow.

  “Perhaps we gave her too much,” Mavis worried, her eyes darting anxiously to the empty porcelain teacup that sat on the night table next to the bed.

  “We had no choice,” Maryanne insisted. “We have to be absolutely certain that she won’t be able to recall any of this or my plan goes to ruin.”

  “Penelope,” Maryanne said then, louder this time. “Do you hear me? You need to get up this instant.”

  “Too tired,” Penny mumbled in response, her garbled words nearly indecipherable.

  Maryanne huffed in irritation. “Mavis, slide your arm beneath her back and when I pull you try and sit her up.”

  “Yes, my lady,” the maid replied as she did her mistress’ bidding, sliding her bony arm beneath Penelope’s shoulder blades.

  “Alright, now lift,” Maryann commanded as she grasped both of Penelope’s wrists and pulled her forward. Working together they managed to haul Penelope into a sitting position, though her head lolled limply to the side, her eyes still shut. “Now get behind her and prop her up.”

  Mavis did as instructed, positioning herself on the edge of the bed behind Penelope so that she couldn’t fall back onto the mattress. “Now what?” Mavis asked in a hushed voice. “We cannot move her like this. She’s naught but dead weight.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” Maryanne replied with a scowl. Hesitating for a moment she narrowed her eyes and then raised her hand, slapping Penny sharply across the face.

  Penelope flinched at the sharp, stinging pain, her eyes fluttering open in confusion.

  “Penelope,” Maryanne demanded, giving her a firm shake, “wake up! You’ve fallen asleep on the chaise and you must help Mavis and I get you into bed.”

  Penny blinked and attempted to focus, but it seemed a nearly impossible feat.

  “Come on, Mavis, get her onto her feet,” Maryanne ordered as she stood up, holding onto one of Penelope’s forearms as she wrapped her free arm around Penelope’s legs, dragging them to the side of the mattress. “Now lift her up.”

  Placing her hands beneath Penelope’s arms, Mavis rose to her feet, hauling Penelope upward with Maryanne’s help.

  Penny swayed, struggling to keep her eyes open as the room seemed to spin around her. How very odd, she mused, the thought sparking briefly within her clouded mind.

  “Put her arm around your neck, Mavis,” Maryanne huffed as she maneuvered Penelope’s other arm around her own neck. “Penelope, you need to walk now,” she directed once they had her anchored between them.

  Oddly enough Penny couldn’t seem to feel her legs. In fact, it seemed as if her entire body had gone strangely numb. “Can’t,” she mumbled.

  “Yes you can. We need to get you into bed,” Maryanne insisted. “Come now, here we go, on your feet.”

  Half carrying and half dragging her, Maryanne and Mavis managed to get Penelope across the room and to the partially-opened door.

  Then once they’d determined that the dark, narrow passageway was empty, they maneuvered her across the threshold and made their way to the duke’s chamber on the opposite side of the hall. Using her slippered foot, Maryanne nudged the door open and then quickly pushed it shut with her heel once they were safely inside.

  During her brief absence the duke hadn’t moved, lying exactly as he’d been when she’d snuck into his chamber just a few minutes earlier, his breathing still slow and even.

  “Alright, almost there,” Maryanne huffed, struggling for breath as she and Mavis hauled Penelope, whose eyes were now closed once again, across the carpeted floor to the bed and then sat her down upon the edge of the mattress, pushing the bedsheets aside. Releasing her arms they eased her back upon the bed, positioning her head on the pillow and then lifting her legs up onto the mattress while the duke remained utterly motionless on the other side of the bed.

  “Now, go and check the hall,” Maryanne whispered to Mavis as she straightened, pulling the sheet over Penelope’s inert frame.

  Mavis nodded and scurried toward the door, cracking it open just far enough so that she could see out into the dark hall. “It’s all clear,” she uttered softly, turning back toward her mistress.

  Maryanne moved toward the window then, pulling the heavy velvet drapes more tightly closed, plunging the darkened chamber even further into inky blackness before making her way back across the floor. She stopped for a moment near the foot of the bed, her expression undeniably smug as she glanced between Penelope and the duke, the pair nearly indiscernible now in the heavy shroud of darkness. Then, with a wicked little smile lingering upon her lips, she turned and joined Mavis at the door before slipping quietly from the room.

  At some point during the night Gabriel rolled onto his side and in doing so came into contact with the lush, female form lying next to him. The discovery scarcely penetrated his sleep-befuddled mind, however, as the presence of a woman in his bed wasn’t a particularly unusual occurrence. Nor, due to the dense fog within his head, did it trigger the warning that it should have. Thus, it was due more to reflex than conscious thought that he draped his arm across the woman’s waist and pulled her closer, nuzzling his face against the side of her neck. Breathing in, it wasn’t long, however, before the faint, tantalizing aroma of lavender and vanilla gradually began to rouse his muddled senses; and despite the sluggish haze that engulfed him, his body reacted.

  Skimming his nose lightly along the line of her throat, Gabriel’s shaft began to stir, growing longer and harder as the hand at her waist moved slowly upward until it encountered the lush, full curve of her breast. With his actions controlled more by instinct than conscious thought, his fingers began to explore the fleshy mound through the thin layer of fabric that covered it, gently massaging the soft, pliant flesh
as his thumb moved to flick across her nipple. She let out a breathy moan then, as his thumb began to move in slow, leisurely circles around the now rigid peak. Encouraged, he allowed his hand to drift downward a few moments later, his fingers skimming along the flat plane of her stomach and then lower to the folds of the nightdress that lay bunched around her thighs. Grasping the fabric he drew it upward until his fingers brushed the soft tangle of curls between her thighs. Lightly stroking her delicate folds, he was rewarded with another soft, breathy moan as she grew moist and slick beneath his practiced touch.

  For Penny, the dream was unlike any other she’d had before, for there were no colorful visions or vivid tableaus dancing about within her head, only strange, unfamiliar sensations that felt shockingly undreamlike though not altogether unpleasant as foreign hands explored her naked flesh, touching and caressing her in the most startlingly intimate fashion and in ways that she’d never imagined possible.

  They were large hands, undoubtedly a man’s hands, moving with bold purpose and unerring determination it seemed, heightening and intensifying those mystifying, yet astonishingly enjoyable sensations with each additional stroke and caress. She sucked in a surprised breath then as a long, slender finger slipped inside of her and the weight of a heavy palm pressed down upon her pelvis, exerting the slightest of pressure. Her hips arched reflexively, pressing upward against his hand as his finger slid further into her soft, yielding flesh. She moaned softly as he began to move it in and out of her delicate folds, establishing a rhythm that soon had her breathing in quick, panting little breaths. Dear lord what was happening to her she wondered as her befuddled mind struggled to make sense of the strange, decidedly wicked and increasingly pleasurable dream.

  Noting the change in her breathing and spurred by the restless movements of her hips, Gabriel withdrew his hand and rolled above her. “Ready, love,” he murmured as he positioned himself at her moist entrance and then surged forward in one smooth, powerful thrust.

  Penny felt the weight of his large, warm body settle upon her a mere instant before a sharp, stabbing pain effectively penetrated the pleasurable haze that had engulfed her just seconds before. Gasping, she inhaled a shocked breath as she strained to open her eyes and push him away, her hands fluttering uselessly at her sides as she struggled to wake. It proved a fruitless endeavor, however, as neither her weighted lids nor her heavy arms obeyed her mind’s silent commands.

  Surprisingly, however, as her body adjusted to the long, rigid shaft that impaled her, the pain slowly began to fade and she settled beneath him, her muscles gradually relaxing. And then, as the thick, hot shaft continued to press forward and then withdraw in a steadily-increasing tempo, the pain was forgotten entirely as it gave way completely to a renewed sense of pleasure. Before long Penny’s body was moving instinctively beneath his, her hips arching upward to meet his thrusts, welcoming the invasion as the dream took on a new and previously inconceivable dimension.

  As Gabriel moved in and out of the exquisitely tight sheath that enveloped him, he groaned in satisfaction. “Yes, just like that,” he murmured in approval as he buried himself to the hilt within her silken depths, withdrawing then plunging forward again and again until at last he expelled his seed into her luscious body in one powerful, explosive burst and collapsed on top of her, completely and utterly spent. A short while later, once he’d regained the ability to move his languid limbs, he pressed his lips against the skin of her throat and then rolled onto his side. Within seconds his breathing was slow and steady once again.

  Penny whimpered faintly in protest as the extraordinary dream came to an abrupt end and made one last attempt to open her eyes. The effort proved futile, however, and despite her resistance her head lolled to the side a moment later, her cheek falling softly onto the pillow as the overpowering darkness claimed her once more.

  Chapter 8

  The sound of voices outside his door steadily increasing in both volume and number vaguely penetrated Gabriel’s subconscious as he struggled to ascend from the sleepy haze that enveloped him like a thick, heavy blanket. What the devil was all the commotion about, he wondered in consternation as awareness slowly dawned and the noise level continued to escalate. He blinked once, twice and then forced his eyes open, struggling for a moment to focus his bleary gaze.

  He was lying on his stomach, his head turned toward the door and to the din coming from the hall, noting that his chamber was still shrouded in darkness. “Bollocks!” he muttered, for surely it was too early to be roused from his peaceful slumber and so discourteously at that. Breathing an irritated sigh, he tugged the pillow from beneath his cheek and plopped it atop his head. Unfortunately, however, it did little to quiet the noise or to diminish the steadily growing ache within his skull.

  “Go away,” he grumbled when a knock sounded on his door several moments later.

  When a second knock followed a few seconds later, he groaned in aggravation. “What is it?” he called, his head still buried beneath the pillow.

  “Sorry to wake you, brother,” Michael stated as he entered the room, “but the sun has been up for quite some time now and we do have a wedding to attend if you’ll recall.” Striding across the darkened room, he headed toward the thin sliver of light peeking through the heavy velvet draperies. “And by the by, Rafe and I encountered Lady Beckford in the hall just moments ago and it seems that there may be a bit of a situation developing, though I doubt it’s anything to be overly concerned about.”

  “What kind of situation?” Gabriel mumbled.

  “It’s Lady Penelope,” Michael replied as he parted the drapes, flooding the room with sunlight. “For some reason the countess seems to think that the girl has gone-” Turning from the window the remainder of the sentence lodged in his throat.

  Gabriel waited for his brother to continue but there was only silence. “Gone what?” he finally prompted.

  “Missing,” Michael breathed, his incredulous gaze riveted upon the woman who lay sleeping at his brother’s side.

  Gabriel reached up and dragged the pillow from his head, dropping it onto the floor. “Did you say missing?”

  Michael tore his eyes from Penelope Houghton, gaping at his brother in disbelief. “Good lord, Gabe, have you lost your bloody mind?” he hissed.

  “Excuse me?” Gabriel replied, rolling onto his back. Blinking, he raised his hand, shielding his eyes against the sun’s glare. “Just what the devil is that supposed-” The words died suddenly upon his lips as he caught sight of the woman lying next to him in the very same instant. She was on her stomach, her head facing the opposite direction, but the tangle of auburn curls cascading down her back was unmistakable. What the hell? He dropped his hand and bolted upright, the bedsheet falling to his waist as his brain struggled to comprehend what he was seeing.

  He had little time to make sense of the situation however, as the sudden rattle of the door handle had both his and Michael’s heads swiveling toward the door in apprehension. Much to his relief, however, it was only Rafael who strode across the threshold a second later.

  “Well? Have you managed to roust the slugabed from his sleep yet, Michael?” Rafael inquired flippantly, pushing the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot.

  When Michael failed to respond, offering his brother naught but an awkward, soundless parting of his lips, Rafael turned his questioning gaze to the bed. “Ah,” he said, his eyebrows shooting upward as a raffish grin curled his lips. “So that’s what’s keeping him abed this morning,” he continued as he eyed his brother’s bed partner. “Wait,” he cocked his head curiously then, “that isn’t…” he trailed off, his eyes narrowing for a moment and then going wide in astonishment. “Good God, Gabe! Are you mad?”

  Rafael’s voice echoed within the room, causing Penelope to stir at Gabriel’s side.

  All three brothers immediately focused their anxious gazes upon her as she uttered a breathy sigh and rolled over, turning onto her back. Her eyes, however, remained closed.
<
br />   Gabriel shook his head, causing him to wince as the throbbing between his temples intensified. He raised his hand, pressing it against his forehead as he glanced between his brothers. “I have no idea how she got here. I swear.”

  Rafael regarded him uncertainly for a moment and then shifted his gaze to the nightstand, focusing intently upon the empty brandy decanter.

  Gabriel turned his head, following his brother’s pointed stare. To his surprise, only a tiny amount of liquor remained in the bottom of the container. Damn, had he drunk the entire bottle, he wondered in startled disbelief, for it wasn’t like him to drink to excess. He thought back, trying to recall the number of glasses he’d consumed before settling into bed, but his memory was hazy at best. Well, if he had consumed the entire bottle it would certainly explain the present pounding in his head, he reasoned. But did it also explain Penelope Houghton’s presence in his bed? He considered the notion and then promptly dismissed it. No! Absolutely not! Foxed or not, he hadn’t left his room after retiring for the evening and hadn’t awakened during the night, he was sure of it.

  She could have snuck into his room after he’d fallen asleep, he supposed. It had happened before, a woman sneaking into his room for a late night tryst, and more than once actually. But each of those women, for the most part anyhow, had been invited. This was a different situation entirely. Penelope Houghton sure as hell hadn’t been invited; and even if she had been brazen enough to seek out his bed of her own volition, he would have sent her away, whether he’d wanted to or not. Of that he hadn’t the slightest of doubts, for even if he had been completely soused he never would have done something so utterly stupid and reckless as to bed the Earl of Beckford’s young, unmarried daughter, especially with the man sleeping just two doors down the hall. “No,” he said simply, his expression stalwart as he turned his gaze from the empty decanter back to Rafael. There had to be another explanation.