A Bluestocking for the Duke: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel (The Hale Sisters Book 1)
A Bluestocking for the Duke: Chapter 9

“Today is the day!” Priscilla shouted, her voice carrying from the parlor. “His Grace! Staying at our London home! I am absolutely beside myself!”

“Mama,” Emma called out. “You must remain calm. He is a kind man. Any accommodations we offer will be suitable.”

“Oh goodness!” Priscilla sang out as she hurried across the foyer with a ribbon in her hand. The length fluttered behind her as her slippered feet swished across the marble floor. “And to think he planned on opening his townhome for a week. A week! Best he stays with us.” She proceeded to fuss with Emma’s hair, attempting to fix the purple ribbon among her tresses.

“Mama!” Emma pulled away. “My hair looks just fine.”

Priscilla frowned. “Suit yourself!” She stuck her nose up. “I guarantee he would have been fascinated.”

“Mama, I doubt he cares about the ornamentation in my hair.”

Priscilla scoffed, tossing her hands up in the air. “It is like you do not understand men at all!” She walked back out to the drawing room to put the ribbon back where she found it.

Harriet burst out laughing, her palm covering her mouth to hide her amusement. Emma joined her, sniggering at their mother’s expense. “The world would be a better place if men had the capability of paying attention to such details,” Emma laughed, fingering the delicate pearled comb tucked in her hair. She had long known that women dressed in jeweled finery to impress other women or themselves. Never had she had a man in mind when she fixed her hair with pearls or feathers. “If men liked such trinkets, we might see triple the ornamentation at every ball.”

Harriet giggled. “Can you imagine your duke dripping with diamonds and pearls when he arrives?”

Emma suffocated a smile. She shrugged. “Would that be enough to make a handsome man any less desirable?”

Harriet shook her head. “I rather like feathers. I should like to see more from the suitors in our lives.”

“We very well might be regretting our words. Who knows what the Duke will arrive looking like. Time apart changes people, you know.”

Harriet responded by giggling once more into her hands. “Awful! Can you imagine?”

“Is he here yet?” Lucy called from the top of the staircase.

“Come down here this instant!” Priscilla called. “His Grace will be here—”

The group stiffened as the footman opened the front doors of the estate, revealing Colin. He looked weary after a long day of travel. His hair was a little messier than usual, and he hand a slight shadow on his face. Emma’s heart quickened at the sight of him. She dipped into a curtsy, followed by Harriet and their mother. Lucy was busy racing down the stairs.

“Your Grace,” Emma said, still tucked into a delicate curtsy. She bowed her head at him respectfully. A slight footman hobbled past, carrying the Duke’s bags. Colin looked at her. It had only been a week since they’d seen each other, but there was something else in their shared stare. For a moment, Emma wondered if he had thought of her just as much during their separation. By now, her body was alight just seeing him. She wanted him to kiss her again, to whisper in her ear, and make her entire body feel like a roman candle.

“Your Grace! Welcome.” The baron entered the foyer with a dignified smile. He extended a hand, and they shook. “Come now.” The baron ushered Colin through the drawing room and into the formal dining room. “With such a long journey, I am sure you are starving.”

As Colin walked ahead with the baron, he looked back over his shoulder. Emma smiled gently at him, and he returned the look. It was such a simple gesture, but it made Emma’s heart flutter with excitement.

“I am incredibly appreciative that you’ve welcomed me into your home for the duration of my stay in London,” Colin said. He pulled out a chair for Emma and allowed her to get comfortable before he pushed her chair to the table. She felt his warm breath against the top of her head as he leaned over her. It was short-lived, yet the feeling of him close enough to drive her to vertigo played on in her mind.

He sat down beside her and offered her a smile. Emma could have kicked herself for looking away. For some reason, this new meeting had filled her with anxiety. Perhaps much of it had to do with all the ways she had imagined him holding her. His touches, for the most part, were fleeting. She craved something more. More maybe than the evening he kissed her. She felt greedy. She wanted more, but she didn’t even know what that was.

“Have you missed me?” the Duke asked her quietly.

She lifted her head higher so that he wouldn’t know how desperate she felt. “It has only been a week, Your Grace.”

“Only?” he repeated, wetting his lips with his glass of wine. “Might have been longer as you have already forgotten my name.”

Emma responded with a knowing smile.

He glanced up at her hair, his eyes softening. “I like that—” He paused. “Whatever that little pin is. Very becoming on you.” She reached up, touching the pearled comb in her hair, surprised he even noticed it.

“May I ask what business brings you to London?” the baron asked. The footmen circled the table, each placing a bowl of soup à la Reine in front of the family.

“I would be happy to discuss it,” Colin said. “That is if such a topic won’t bore our companions this evening.”

“On the contrary.” Emma blew on a spoonful of soup, watching the steam flutter and dissipate. “I should very much like to hear the business of a duke.”

“Oh, really?” Colin asked.

“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked. “It is all kept so private from us ladies. I should like to hear what I miss out on.”

“I am investing with a trading company.”

“Trading what?”

Colin raised his brows as if he was surprised she had asked. “Imports and exports out of India. Mostly comforts and luxury goods. You know, silks, spices, teas, the like.”

Emma nodded, taking a sip of her soup. It was warm, perfect for the cold rainy weather that she disliked. “What do they require extra capital for?”

“Extra…capital?” He smirked from behind the rim of his wine glass. “I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about business acumen.”

The cheek of him. Men always thought they were more capable, and even if his response hinted that she had impressed him, he had still condescended to her entire sex. “You must know that men speak infinitely, and as a woman,” she said. “I’ve been socialized to listen. Men are not the only creatures privy to the ways of business.”

He looked back at her thoughtfully, taking another sip of his wine. “Absolutely, Miss Hale. My apologies if I was patronizing.” He turned back to his dinner. “The investment will help them acquire another vessel, which will, in turn, double their return.”

She offered a tight-lipped smile. “I should like to learn more once the finer details are hammered out.”

“Of course, Miss Hale.” He nodded politely. She jumped slightly at the feeling of touch. Below the table, where no one could see but them, he pressed a hand to her arm, commanding enough to take her breath away yet still vague enough to not reveal why he’d done it. He let go, and she felt a shiver undulate through her hips.

Emma focused on the feeling eclipsing her. Her mind went back to their encounter in his office. Her heart picked up, and her cheeks reddened at the way he looked at her. The way he touched her, held her, groaned against her. She exhaled.

“Your Grace!”

Colin and Emma jumped. Priscilla was looking straight at them. At first, Emma worried she might have seen the touch, but her eyes were alight with the same excited and chaotic energy that she had when she was about to deliver big news.

“Yes, Lady Wilkes?” Colin asked, as level-headed as could be.

“My eldest, the Viscountess Barton, and her husband will be arriving tomorrow morning.”

Colin nodded. “What fortunate timing,” he said. “I look forward to meeting her and the viscount.”

The footmen placed the second course of braised ham and glazed carrots out. The smell carried through the room, making Emma’s stomach rumble. The baron had been involved in a conversation about business before Lucy chimed in with her own opinions, to which her father responded in turn.

“I was not expecting to see you so soon,” Emma said.

“Pleasantly surprised?” he asked.

Emma swallowed hard while she held his gaze. He stilled, his eyes flickering down to her mouth. She turned back to her dinner. “Any future bride would be thrilled to see the object of her affections.”

He exhaled, making a grating noise at the back of his throat. “Yes, of course, but that does not answer my question.”

“I am sure I feel much the same as you,” she smiled, her hand shaking slightly as she cut into her ham. “That much cannot be argued, yes?”

“Hm.” He leaned back in his chair. His jaw twitched. He lowered his voice so that no one could hear him beside her. “Yes? Then we are enjoying perdition together.”

Emma frowned; lip curled back in a derisive sneer. “Is speaking with me that horrible?”

“Not at all.” He shook his head and looked down at her mouth. “Merely it feels cruel that is all we may do.”

Emma blushed, feeling caught off guard by his admission. She turned away from him.

“Emma, are you feeling ill?” Harriet asked from across the table.

Emma forced a laugh. “Pardon me, just—”

“That is my fault,” Colin admitted. “I may have flustered her.”

Harriet smiled. “How, Your Grace? Emma is so difficult to shake.”

“Of all the ladies of the ton, I told her that she was the most arresting,” he said.

“You are perhaps the kindest man in London,” Harriet said, her hand held over her heart. “You and Lord Northwick, of course.”

“Yes, how generous,” Emma composed herself and fluttered her lashes under his gaze. Everyone’s eyes were on the show they were putting on. Even Lucy seemed to be swooning in her seat.

The Duke had such a way of speaking. Arresting. Such a perplexing word. As in, you captivate me, or as in, you have confined me? “Be careful how you speak, Your Grace, or you may make every woman in London resent me.”

“Why must I bother?” he asked. “There is no other woman in this world that could disquiet me as efficiently as you.”

And he smiled. It was enough to make Emma still with frustration. She couldn’t tell if she was angry or even more desperate for his touch. The feelings had bowled her over entirely. She smiled back, as well as could be managed when her body was burning like an oiled wick.

Emma always liked the library. It was relaxing in a way that other places weren’t. The room was filled with the smell of old books and fresh ink. The walls were lined, floor to ceiling, with every piece of literature imaginable. Sometimes, Emma liked to read poetry and pace in front of the window. Sometimes she’d open an adventure or a romance and sit by the fire to get lost until the dinner bell rang. Mostly, she liked to enjoy the tranquility and sketch until her hand ached.

Emma didn’t usually stay up this late. She had tried to sleep, but dinner with Colin had left a bitter tang in her mouth. She was developing feelings for the fake Colin. She wanted the Colin who sent her flowers, the Colin who laughed with her, who spoke of her like she was the only woman on earth he’d ever noticed.

But that Colin only existed when the world was watching. That Colin wasn’t real.

Emma used her thumb to blend her charcoal in a circle, rounding the tip of his nose. Perhaps it was madness to stay up late trying to capture the likeness of a man who only existed in fleeting moments. She traced her pencil along his jawline, sharpening his features, then rubbed the edge with her finger to blend it.

When he smiled, his mouth creased up, with these inviting smile lines that made him look like he’d never stopped smiling in his life. Something about the look was so deceiving, and yet, all in the same right, it made Emma feel like she’d uncovered a piece of him that not many had. She traced the soft Cupid’s bow of his lip, shading to make it look just a little fuller.

Emma startled at the sound of footsteps by the doorway. She closed her sketchbook instantly and turned. Colin stepped back, looking just as surprised to see her. In his hand, he had a book.

“I was just—’

“Colin, I—’

They both stopped, having interrupted the other. Emma stood up from the settee and placed her sketchbook on the coffee table beside a glowing candle. She pulled her robe tighter against her. Colin stayed, one foot out the door, the other in, eyeing her every move.

“I could not sleep,” she said.

“I never…” He paused, licking his lips. “Never sleep. Not enough.”

Emma tucked her head into a nod and grasped at her white, fluttery robe. She was painfully aware of how revealing her nightdress could be if she moved the wrong way. She caught her breath and stepped back, her calves hitting the small table. “With all due respect, Your Grace, this is my home. I cannot be to blame for our solitude.”

He opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, instead turning the book over in his hand. He took a deep breath. “This is no one’s fault,” he said. “I am only here for a book. This one is…” He wrinkled his nose. “It is proving to be a waste of my time.”

The door clicked shut behind him. Emma sat back on the edge of the couch, her body as starched as a nobleman’s trousers. She hadn’t done anything, and she was already out of breath. She stared at the candle, following the dancing shadow it threw against the wall. Colin walked behind her and slid the book back onto the shelf. He scanned the spines, his finger trailing over the titles. Emma focused her gaze and envied every book he touched. In everything he did, his fingers were purposeful and deft. Her eyes widened, and her pulse quickened when she suddenly imagined his hands running up her neck and making a mess of her hair.

Colin turned back, clearing his throat, when he noticed the intention with which she looked at him. “Please, I mustn’t bother you. You can return to your…” He leaned up to get a better look at the coffee table in the dimness. “Your journaling?”

Emma closed her mouth, aware that her sketchbook was harboring the bitter secret that had plagued her all evening. She had been busy thinking about Colin in every possible way. She nodded, turning away to face the wall. She didn’t want to spend one more tortuous moment imagining his hands on her or his body pressing her against the wall.

She heard him shuffle behind her on the bookshelf. “That should do it,” he said. Emma turned back to look at him. “Goodnight,” he said. He began walking to the door but stopped before reaching it.

Emma stood up as if he had so much as asked her to.

“I would leave you to it, but it appears you haven’t touched your diversion since I arrived.”

“I grew tired of it.” She raked her tongue across the dry roof of her mouth. “That is all.”

He sighed, setting the book on the fireplace mantle beside the door. He stepped over to the coffee table and reached for the red sketchbook. Emma immediately grabbed it, trying to pry it from his hands. He laughed, and the sound made Emma clench her teeth in frustration.

“Are you hiding something?”

“No, I just—” She choked on the words. “I value my privacy,” she said.

He tugged gently, and she let go. He waited a moment to see if she might try to take it back, but she stayed still. Her heart pounded in her chest. He took a step back and opened the book. With his thumb, he turned the pages of several completed pictures of landscapes or of Emma’s sisters.

“Do you sketch as well?” he asked.

“I only draw with charcoal,” she said, looking at her feet.

“You said you painted,” he said, eyes tracing over a landscape of the garden.

“I did not.” She ran her fingers through the ends of her hair. “I merely did not correct you.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought you wouldn’t care.”

He smiled gently. “Of course I care.” He glanced up at her before turning the page. His eyebrows rose when he noticed the half-drawn sketch of him. He looked back at her, stifling a smile before a laugh escaped his lips. “Is this…”

“God!” she shouted, grabbing the book. “You are graceless! Boorish!” She pulled it out of his hands, the page still open. Her cheeks reddened with embarrassment. For a moment, she thought he might compliment her, but instead, he found her attempts laughable at best.

He arched a brow and looked at the book. “The jawline,” he said, referring to his own. “Not sharp enough. And I don’t smile quite like that.”

“You can.” Her voice was the biting end of a whip.

“And yet I do not.”

“You do!” she argued. “All the time.”

“Am I…doing so now?”

Emma shook her head. “I suppose I overexaggerate.”

He looked down at the sketchbook dubiously. “Perhaps you are right. I have smiled like that…with my eyes and teeth, once or twice. You have been known to make me laugh sometimes.”

“Or you are good at faking it.”

“Do you determine every interaction I have with you to be purely for the sake of the show?”

“They very clearly are.”

“Clearly?” he scoffed. “Yes, so clearly, as if I should waste any of my time attempting to fool you.”

“You have meant to incense me this entire time! Snapdragons? Really?”

He laughed, his face creasing with smile lines and his eyes wrinkling, just like her sketch. “I was not entirely sure if you would catch that. Funny, was it not?”

“You have some audacity!”

“Shh!” He grabbed her wrists to stop her from waving them in anger. “Shh. Someone might hear you.”

“Are you afraid?” she jeered. “That everyone in this house will know that you take your liberties with women of good society?”

“I do not.” His breath quickened, and his voice rumbled.

There was a long pause where Emma allowed his words to steep in the space between them. It was no accident that they had moved to this topic of conversation. In fact, she’d wanted to confront him about it since he’d done it.

What did it mean? Why had it made me feel such a way? And why, why, why must I wish for him to do it again?

She could not bring her voice above a whisper. “Then why have you already ruined me?” Although she had said it with the intention of getting him to leave her alone, something had changed along the way. He had ruined her. She used to never crave romance and affection. After he had pressed his lips against hers, she was wandering through life deprived of a feeling she couldn’t get close enough to. He had so often before accused her of being a temptress. And so, it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. She wanted him to take her lips with his once more. He had complained about the look she gave him, and it was true that at first, she hadn’t noticed it, but now she did it on purpose.

He sounded out of breath. His hands still gripped her wrists. “Emma, do not look at me like that, I beg you.”

“I am not doing anything, Your Grace.” It was a lie, but it wasn’t an act. She craved him, and all she had to do was look at him with every intention of having his body pressed against hers.

“Emma,” he repeated sharply.

She shook her head slowly. The air was heavy, and he had stopped staring at her eyes, and now his gaze was burning hot against her mouth. She tried to speak, but the words never came out. Please, she mouthed.

He let go of her wrists and pulled her towards him. His lips collided with hers, and he reached around her, his strong hands bunching up her nightgown at the small of her back. She arched her back, meeting his hunger with her own. By the time they began, they were already out of breath, carelessly drinking each other in. Emma pressed her hands against his chest. His night robe was thin below her fingers. She traced her hands across his torso, greedy for every inch of his defined chest. She whimpered under his intensity.

He pushed her back until she partially sat on the arm of the couch, legs bent slightly at the knee. He pulled back to catch his breath, his mouth still hovering over hers. “I do not take my liberties with all the women of the ton,” he hissed. “Only the ones who torment me. Thus far, there is only one such woman that comes to mind.” Before she could respond, he ran his lips over her neck and kissed her. She leaned her head back, moaning softly as her body quivered at the rush.

“You cannot,” she said.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he whispered into the sensitive skin of her neck. She caught her breath, the gooseflesh rising on her arms. She knew she should have, but her body wouldn’t let her say the words. She wanted him.

He released her back, and his hands trailed up slowly until his fingers grasped at her breasts. She gasped, mouth dropping. He leaned into her ear. “Tell me to stop,” he repeated. He waited, but she didn’t say anything, just shook her head in refusal. He caressed her breasts through the fabric of her nightdress and robe. Her neck arched. She had never known that her chest was so sensitive. She had never even thought of touching it. His lips reconnected with hers.

He was even more aggressive than before. He pulled at her body until he had her pinned against him. He bit her lip, tugging. Her entire body trembled, and she failed to stop a whimper from leaving her lips. “I love it when you moan like that,” he whispered into her mouth. And suddenly, he was on his knees before her. She startled, about to stand up from the arm of the couch, but he stopped her.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He ran his hand up her leg, slowly pushing her gown up to her knee and up slowly across her thighs. She gasped, closing her legs together. He placed his hands on her knees. “Are you going to tell me to stop? Use your words, Emma.”

All she could force out was a whimper. “Do not stop.”

He pushed gently on her knees. “Open your legs for me, then.” His voice was so tender yet so commanding at the same time. Her thighs shook, but she did as he asked, and he helped her. She inhaled, her breath catching at the top of her chest. She had never shown so much of her body to anyone. It felt so wrong, yet something inside her was compelling her forward. She ached for something she couldn’t describe. All she knew was that he was the only person who could give it to her.

He cursed softly at the sight of her core. He ran his hands across the inside of her thighs before he leaned his head in. Instinctively, she shut her thighs closed around his head. “What are you doing?!”

He looked up at her, slightly amused that she had trapped him, each thigh pressed against his cheeks. He looked more frustrated than ever. “Tell me to stop.”

She took a deep breath and opened her legs. He pressed his fingertips into her hips before his lips met with her heat. She shouted when his tongue dipped in between her folds. She reached down, grasping at his hair, but instead of tugging him away, she pulled him closer. “We shouldn’t,” she moaned, pressing his mouth further against her.

Between licks, he muttered through his breath. “I do not care,” he said. He kissed her, trailing up her core until he reached a spot that made her cry out, the heat rushing through her hips. “Do you know how much I have thought of this?” he asked her. “You have tortured me relentlessly.”

He pressed his mouth closer, his lips brushing against her most sensitive spot and sucking. Her hips bucked into him. She pressed her hands against the arm of the couch and leaned back. Her body was weak and spent, and yet she was in more anguish than ever. Something was building inside her, and she desperately wished to release it.

She cried out again. “What are you doing?” Her eyes rolled back in her head for a moment. She tried to catch her breath but couldn’t.

He pulled back, gasping, the hot air sending shockwaves against her skin. “You…” he was panting hard. “You purported not to know my name at the dinner table.”

“I—” She shook her head. “I know your name.”

“Good,” he whispered. “You will need it.” And with that, he pressed his lips against her and circled his tongue around her pearl. She gasped when he thrust a finger against her core and slowly pushed it inside her. First, there was a sharp pain before it fizzled out into euphoria. She moaned. “Oh,” she cried out. “Colin!”

He reached around her with his free hand and grappled at her rear. With a rush of strength, he tugged her closer to his face. He was completely out of breath, gasping against her while his finger rubbed at a spot inside her that she hadn’t known existed. She slapped a palm over her mouth, struggling to swallow a string of whimpers and cries that bubbled up her throat as a burning sensation built inside her.

“That’s it,” he whispered, tonguing her lips. “Give into it.”

And suddenly, the feeling inside her peaked; her legs shook, her core clenched, and her fingernails dug into the brocade couch. The feeling was so paralyzing that she no longer found herself able to do anything but fight her body seizing with pleasure. “Colin…” And then suddenly, the feeling tapered down, and she was left feeling a warm glow all the way from her toes to the top of her scalp. She whimpered, closing her eyes.

Colin stood up and pressed his lips against hers, giving her a peck against the lips. Tenderly, he brushed her sweaty hair out from over her ear and leaned in. “Maybe you will think twice before you look at me like that now.”

“Mhm,” she moaned, running her hands over his chest. He kissed her again. His lips were still wet with her essence.

He pulled back, but she grabbed his shirt. “Wait,” she whispered. “What did you do to me?”

He kissed her again and pulled back slightly, holding her chin tightly in his hand. “You have no idea the things a man can do—the things I can do to make you unravel.” She stared at him, her chest aching for air, yet she found herself unable to breathe. He ran a hand over her hair, and Emma’s chest fizzled. “Look at me like that again, and I might be inclined to show you more.”

Her eyes traveled down his body. There was a bulge in his trousers. She wanted to make him feel good too, but she didn’t even know what he’d done. “How would I unravel you?”

He opened the door of the library and stepped into the hall, his book in one hand and a candle in the other. He laughed softly. “You must already know, Emma, or else I wouldn’t have been on my knees for you.” The door clicked behind him, and Emma tumbled, her back hitting the settee hard, knocking her breath out of her for the tenth time that night.