His Grace, The Duke: Second Sons Book Two
His Grace, The Duke: Chapter 37

“So…today was a bit of a disaster,” Tom muttered. He stretched out his legs towards the fire, leaning back in his chair. They were in Rosalie’s room. She sat with her legs curled under her at one end of the small sofa, while Burke brooded like a gargoyle in a chair opposite. Both men had a glass of whiskey balanced on their knee.

“She’s going to make this as hard as possible,” Burke growled.

Tom and Rosalie had returned to the drawing room with Hart to replace Burke and Olivia snarling like cats on opposite ends of the sofa. By the time lunch was called and Olivia took her place between Lord Darnley and Lord Seymour, she chose to be as pleasant as a famine. After an hour in her company, they couldn’t flee the table fast enough.

Hart at least seemed to replace it riotously funny. “I’d say she won that round,” he said, as they all exited the dining room. He stayed through dinner but left before he could be dragged by the ladies into a drunken game of charades.

Tom, Rosalie, and Burke each found an excuse to retire early and were now blessedly alone. The fire in her room was warm and inviting. He’d shed himself of his coat and cravat, unbuttoned his waistcoat, and kicked off his shoes.

Rosalie watched Burke with a worried expression on her face. “Won’t you tell us what happened?”

“She’s a gorgon,” Burke muttered. “She doesn’t want to be happy, and she’s going to try to drag us all down with her.”

“You told her you wouldn’t marry her?”

“Aye, and she accused me of trying to jilt her. Then, when I said I could help her replace someone better to jilt me, she threatened you.”

Tom let out a low curse. “Olivia threatened Rose?”

She sat up, swinging her feet off the sofa. “Why would she threaten me?”

Burke grimaced. “It is a threat on both of us…all of us, really. She means to paint you as the jezebel in the House of Corbin. She claims she can jilt me by calling this a den of iniquity.”

“She didn’t,” Tom growled.

“She did,” Burke replied, eyes on his glass of whiskey.

“This is my fault,” Rosalie whispered. “This is…I haven’t been discrete enough. I…Burke, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” Burke snapped. Setting his glass aside he dropped off the chair to his knees. He cupped her face with both hands. “Look at me.”

Rosalie met his gaze.

“This is not your fault,” Burke said. “Do you hear me? I will protect you from scandal. She will not spew any venom about you or this house.”

“How can you be sure?” she whispered.

“Because she would be tainted by association,” Tom replied, leaning forward in his chair. “To claim this house as some kind of den of sin would be to implicate herself. Everyone would easily refute her claims, including Burke and myself, James. Hell, even George. She would be painted as the scheming one who said ‘yes’ to an engagement, and then fabricated a lie to get herself out of it when it no longer suited.”

Rosalie glanced from Burke to Tom. “But it is not a lie…not completely. The duke knows, he teases me about it. Olivia knows. And you heard Hartington today…”

Tom clenched his jaw, an uncomfortable feeling twisting in his gut. “Aye, I heard.”

Burke let go of Rosalie, joining her on the sofa. He looked from her to Tom. “What did Hartington say?”

“He claimed to know that Tom fancied me,” Rosalie replied.

Fancied her? That’s not quite how Tom would describe it. He grimaced, feeling that same pang of discomfort he’d felt in the garden.

“What’s wrong?” Rosalie murmured.

He glanced up to see she was watching him, those dark eyes full of questions.

“Nothing.” He took a sip of his whiskey, letting it burn the back of his throat.

“You’re lying.” She sat forward, one hand on Burke’s thigh. “You’ve been in an ill humor all afternoon.”

He rubbed his thumb over the decorative nubs on the edge of his glass. “You called me your friend.”

She blinked. “What?”

“With Hart…in the garden. You called me your friend.”

“And so you are,” she replied, her cheeks going pink. “Are we not friends?”

“It’s the way you said it,” he muttered. “So casually, it was almost dismissive. ‘Oh, that’s just Renley…what a good friend.’”

She huffed. “I can hardly call you my beau, my lover, my paramour.”

“No…you can’t.” He tried to keep the disappointment from his tone.

Rosalie’s gaze softened. “But you want me to call you those things, don’t you?” She looked close to tears now. “Tom, you know I can’t. I won’t risk your reputation. And clearly, with people like Olivia about, we must be even more careful—”

He set aside his glass. “I know you can’t tell anyone what we are to each other. It’s just…the only thing I hate worse than a secret is a lie.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Tom, but we are friends—”

“Enough,” he growled, rising to his feet. He held out his hand. “Rose, come here.”

“What?”

“Just come here, you stubborn creature.”

She crossed the space with a huff. “Well, sir? You have me standing. Now what?”

Tom couldn’t hold back for another second. Not when every moment in her presence felt like one excruciatingly long exercise in self-restraint. He cupped her cheek with his hand, the other wrapping around her waist, and pulled her in close, losing himself in the divine taste of her mouth.

At the first movement of her lips, his body erupted in fire, blood racing to his cock. It hardened against her. He knew she felt it too, because she tipped her hip forward with a little moan, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth.

Burke was right, she was a goddess. He couldn’t get enough. She was so warm and smooth. He wanted to taste and touch every inch of her. He dug his fingers into her hair as he tipped her head back, letting his tongue dance with hers. She made the sweetest little whimpering sounds as she clung to his open waistcoat.

He traced the gentle curve of her shoulder, sliding inside the open “V” of her dressing gown. She gasped as he cupped her breasts over the chemise. They were so perfect—round and full, with rosy pink nipples as sweet as her name. He slipped one hand inside, needing to feel her hot skin against his palm.

She arched into him, her own hands working diligently to shed him of his waistcoat. He kissed her neck, caressing her breast as she panted, tugging at his braces next. They slipped down over his shoulders, and she helped him get his arms free.

“I want you. Please, Tom—”

He broke their kiss, pushing her a step away. Her eyes were dark with desire. “Christ, Rose, is that how a friend makes you feel?”

She inched closer, reaching for him with both hands. “Tom—”

“Answer me,” he growled. “Do all your friends make you feel as I do? Do they set you on fire with a touch? Burn you from the inside out?”

“No,” she whispered, dropping her hand so it grazed against his hard cock.

He sucked in a breath. His whole body was on fire. He needed release. Needed to channel this frustration, these hurt feelings of rejection. He brought his face closer, his lips brushing against hers. “Get on your knees.”

She gasped. “What?”

He cupped her face with both hands, tipping it up so he could see her eyes. “I said get on your knees.”

Behind her, Burke shifted on the sofa. Tom prayed he didn’t attempt to move. This was between him and Rosalie.

“What are you going to do?” she whispered.

He brushed a thumb over her parted lips, pressing down to wet the tip. She gave it a little flick with her tongue and his cock twitched. He leaned in, his body burning with desire. “I am going to fuck the word ‘friend’ from this perfect mouth.”