Miss Rosalind Weaver is on a mission. She must convince the Duke of Fallon to marry her, or her father will give her away to the next highest bidder, a man she cannot stand. She thinks all the Duke desires is reassurance that she can give him an heir, but she soon learns he wants a more thorough test of how she will fare as his wife—in the bedroom….

The Devilish Duke

Alice Gaines

www.spice-books.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Epilogue

Copyright

Chapter One

Rosalind Weaver arrived at the home of the Duke of Fallon with nothing but the clothing on her back and a confident smile on her face. She’d practiced the expression during the two-mile walk from the public coach and had even rehearsed what she’d say to the duke, but nothing could have prepared her for Fallon Hall. Four stories tall and fully as large as three fine houses in London, it grew truly intimidating as she trudged the long gravel drive to the circular area at the end. Even here, her journey hadn’t ended. She had a whole flight of stairs to climb to the front door.

As she ascended, the door in question opened, and a servant in livery climbed down to meet her halfway.

“What are you thinking, miss?” he said. “A new maid goes around to the back.”

She lifted her chin in the best imitation of hauteur she could manage. “I’m not a maid. I’m here to see His Grace.”

“You are?” the man said. “You came on foot, did you?”

“I’ll discuss that with your employer. Now, if you don’t mind, would you please tell him Miss Rosalind Weaver is here.”

The man appeared torn. He couldn’t risk effrontery with the duke’s guest, but people of that station never arrived with no carriage and hems covered with dust from the road.

“Stay here,” he said finally and went back up the stairs and into the house.

She did as he’d ordered, counting out the minutes in her head. She couldn’t go away again. Even if she could find the energy to walk back to the coach road, she hadn’t any money for the fare. She would get in the house and through the front door, and she would see the duke.

When she’d waited more than she could bear, she started upward again. This time, a butler appeared on the threshold. His gaze took her in, showing no more approval than the servant had. Then, his features settled into a neutral expression. “This way, please.”

Sighing in relief, she followed him into a cavernous entry hall. She kept her gaze focused forward, as if she passed through such splendor every day. She couldn’t show the staff—or the duke, himself—any self-doubt.

The butler led her into a dining room.

“Miss Weaver, Your Grace,” he said softly and then left.

For a moment, she couldn’t help but stare—at the huge hearth, the heavy candelabras around the room, the table and, most of all, the man at the other end.

The Duke of Fallon, Richard March by name, stood, setting his napkin to the side of his plate. “Who sent you here, Miss Weaver?”

She dropped a curtsy and then straightened to her full height. “I came on my own.”

“Why?”

“To negotiate.”

“I don’t believe that you and I have an arrangement in the works,” he said.

“You do with my father,” she answered. “An agreement for me to become your wife. I’ve come to close the deal.”

“Do tell. Have a seat.” He pointed toward the chair at the opposite of the table from him. So far away they wouldn’t be able to see each other clearly. “Tom, set a place for Miss Weaver.”

A footman who’d been standing in the shadows came forward to pull out her chair. From the sideboard, he produced china and silver and then platters, first of roast beef and then potatoes. The odors wafted into her nostrils, making her stomach cramp with hunger. Still, she forced herself to cut dainty pieces and not shove the food into her mouth.

“How did you get here?” he asked after a moment.

She glanced up at him. That far away and with the shimmering of the candlelight, his facial features were mostly planes and shadows. She’d seen him often enough at home, though, when he’d visited to oversee some of his property. Always tall on his huge chestnut gelding, his skin kissed by the sun, his black hair and eyebrows shaggy. One time, he’d looked at her directly, and the blue of his eyes had made her breath catch. A striking if not a handsome man.

“Miss Weaver…” he prompted.

“I’m sorry.” She took a breath and set her fork and knife aside. “I took the public coach.”

“And then, walked here? All alone?”

“It was the most direct way,” she answered.

“When I last saw your father, he kept a carriage,” he said. “He hasn’t gambled everything away yet, has he?”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

“He doesn’t know you’ve come, does he?”

She didn’t reply. He’d hardly see her if she shook her head, so she let silence be her answer.

“You didn’t trust him, so you came on your own,” the duke said.

“As your wife, I’ll have no secrets from you,” she said. “But, I’d rather not tell you now.”

“It could have some effect on whether or not I want to make you my duchess.”

“Please, Your Grace.”

“Tom, more wine,” he said. “And pour some for Miss Weaver.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Try it,” he ordered. “It’s excellent.”

When the footman filled her glass, she took a sip. It tasted dark and floral all at once. With nothing to judge it against, she couldn’t have spoken to its quality.

“Now then, negotiations.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “You become a duchess. I give your father a large sum of money. What do I get?”

“What you must have been looking for all along,” she answered. “It’s common knowledge you don’t have an heir.”

“And, why you, Miss Weaver?”

“Not all families will give their daughters to the devil duke.” There, she’d said what everyone called him behind his back. He had to know of it, even if it was never said to his face.

“Repeat that,” he said.

“They call you the devil duke.”

The candle caught a light of something in his eyes. Anger? “Do you know why they call me that?”

“Because both of your wives died.”

“And the fools think I had something to do with it.” He sighed. “In truth, I did.”

She set her wineglass down with a clatter.

“Don’t look shocked,” he said. “I didn’t murder them, but I had a hand in their deaths, nevertheless.”

If what she’d heard was true, the first wife had died in childbirth and the second had committed suicide. No sign of foul play, and yet, enough to rouse suspicions.

“Are you still willing to give me an heir?” he asked.

“I am.”

He brought his glass to his lips and stared at her over the rim. “You know what that involves, do you?”

“Of course, I do.”

“All right. I have a test. If you pass it, you’ll become the Duchess of Fallon.”

She lifted her chin. “I can pass any test.”

He chuckled but without mirth. “You’re sure of that?”

“Try me.”

“All right.” He gestured to his footman. “Tom, have a bedroom made up. The way we discussed. And then, bring us our dessert.”

When the man bowed and left the room, the duke turned his attention back on her. “When you leave this table, Tom will lead you to your room. Take off every stitch of your clothing. Put on the night rail laid out there—nothing underneath—and lie on the bed.”

“And then?”

“I’ll visit you.”

“But you can’t,” she said. “We’re not married yet.”

“I won’t ruin you. You’ll have your virginity when I’ve done.” He set down his glass. “But I will touch you.”

“That’s a test?”

“I want to watch you spend,” he said.

“Spend?” she repeated.

“Spend, climax. I want to witness your orgasm. Will you let me do that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You can go home to your father,” he said. “I’ll send you in my carriage.”

Back to her father and to a different choice—either the man who’d offered more for her than the duke or to be put out into the street.

“I’ll take your test, Your Grace.”

“Good.” He leaned back against his chair. His expression might have been carved of stone.

The footman reappeared carrying a tray.

“Enjoy your dessert,” the duke said.

* * *

A queen might have occupied the bedroom Fallon had ordered for her. The huge four-poster could have slept three, and it stood so high she’d have to use the stool by its side to climb onto it. The canopy disappeared into the shadows. She wouldn’t even know the fabric until the morning.

After removing her shoes and stockings, she took off her dress and hung it on a hook in the wardrobe. A ghostlike reflection of herself in the oval mirror nearby looked on as she got out of her other clothing. She had to struggle to unlace her stays without help, and she likely wouldn’t be able to get the corset back on at all without help. Finally, she stood nude and couldn’t help but stare at her image in the glass.

A very unremarkable woman looked back. No great beauty and with the yoke of a known gambler of a father, she’d gone through three seasons with no prospects of marriage. Who could have imagined a duke would take an interest in her at her age?

If Fallon hadn’t come along, her father would have sold her off to Lord Tewksbury, and he would have yet, if she hadn’t taken matters into her own hands. The old bastard had lusted after her for years, even before his wife had died. Now, with the lady’s inheritance in his firm control, he’d bid for her again, and she’d find herself sharing the bed with a man older than her father.

No, she’d done the right thing, even if she’d have to endure a stranger’s touch to rescue herself. She just prayed the duke was a man of his word and would marry her if she pleased him.

Only, how could she do that? She knew nothing about sexual congress except that a man had some part of his body that he put inside her and the woman allowed him to do it to conceive his child.

Fallon would touch her so that he could watch her climax. She’d climaxed before through her own explorations, but always in secret so no one else knew of her shame. Could he actually want her to repeat that in front of him? And would she manage to do it? How utterly humiliating if she did and worse if she couldn’t.

She went to the bed, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. Using the stool, she climbed on top of the coverlet and lay on her back to stare up into the darkness. Calm. She’d remain calm. Relax as best she could.

Breathing evenly, she let her mind wander to her favorite fantasy. A green valley, nestled between towering mountains. The nearby waterfall sent jewels of spray into the air. Emerald, ruby, sapphire, all falling into the pool at the base of the mountain. She walked naked through the grass to the water.

Her stranger always met her here, never showing his face, but always giving her pleasure so intense it must have been sin. Usually, he surprised her from behind, catching her breasts in his hands while he pressed kisses along her neck and shoulders.

He didn’t come now, and why should he? She wasn’t in her bed at home. She lay in a guest room of a manor house as big as a palace. Waiting for the lord to come and test her. And waiting and waiting.

The door opened, finally, and light preceded Fallon into the room. He’d brought an entire candelabra. He did plan to watch her and not miss a detail. He set it on the table next to the bed and stared down at her for a moment.

Shadows hid his eyes, and she could only conjure their color out of memory. Blue like the heavens—so unlike the rest of him.

“Did you find everything you need?” he asked as he removed his jacket and waistcoat and laid them on a chair.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Is there anything beside this night rail you wanted me to have?”

“I meant for the morning.” He removed his cuff buttons and put them onto the dressing table. Then he rolled up his sleeves.

Of course, she hadn’t thought past this night, not even past the next few minutes. “I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“Good.” He walked around the bed and sat on the far side and then bent to remove his shoes. The huge mattress hardly sagged despite his considerable size. When he stretched out next to her, the light made the white of his shirt dazzle.

“I won’t hurt you,” he said as he reached toward the top button of her gown. “Do you trust me?”

“I have to.”

Each button yielded to his fingers, and soon, he’d unfastened the gown all the way past her waist. She kept breathing slowly. Inhale, exhale. It had little effect on the hammering of her heart.

When he dipped his hand under the cotton, his fingers splayed over her belly, nearly spanning the space between her hip.

“Nice,” he whispered. “Good for childbearing.”

Oh, God. She really was a brood mare to him. Not a human being at all. She bit her lip and turned her head. She would not let him see her cry.

Paying her no heed, he continued with the buttons until he had the ends of the fabric parted to midthigh. He’d touch her now, and she couldn’t resist. He only had to put his fingers between her legs to do it.

Instead, he wrapped his arm around her ribs and put his mouth to her ear. “I won’t hurt you.”

She gasped softly, both in surprise and also at the pleasure of his breath in her ear. Who would have thought that something so simple could reach inside her and awaken all her senses?

“You might even like this,” he said.

When she turned her head to face him, she met the fierce blue of his gaze. The bird of prey had spotted his conquest and would soon swoop into claim his prize.

He closed those remarkable eyes, instead, and brought his face to hers for a kiss. Spellbound, she watched him approach. Slowly, seductively, he took her lips with his and began an exploration.

No claiming, this. No conquest. He coaxed her to respond with pressure just firm enough to make her want more.

Lord forgive her, she did. Heat blossomed inside her as she tasted him, matching her movements to his. She’d been kissed a few times by young men who fumbled in their haste. With Fallon, she shared slow seduction that melted away her fears.

Her stranger had never kissed her, but if he had, the caress would be like this one—sweet and forbidden. If Fallon continued this way, he’d take control of her senses, and she would enjoy it. Test or no, she’d let him touch her as no man had ever done.

He pulled back, his breathing coming fast and shallow. “Remarkable.”

She could hardly catch her own breath, so she lay only inches from his face, looking at her reflection in his eyes.

“I please you?” she asked.

“More than please,” he answered. “You’d only need to feel my cock to see your effect on me.”

“You wouldn’t use that. You promised.”

He laid a finger over her lips. “You’ll be a virgin when I’m done. Shall I go on?”

She swallowed and nodded. If he kissed like that, whatever happened now would be unlike anything else she’d ever experienced, even in her hottest fantasies.

His fingers scarcely touched her skin as he parted the halves of her night rail, exposing her body to his view. For a moment, fear caught in her throat, and she instinctively reached to the cotton to cover herself.

“Hush,” he whispered and he pushed her hand away. His finger brushed her nipple, and another shock rushed through her. Purer and more intense than before. She couldn’t hold back a whimper.

“Hush,” he repeated as his hand closed around her breast. He kneaded the flesh while his lips traveled the length of her throat to her collarbone. Exactly how her stranger did, but this was real. A real man’s mouth against her skin. A real man’s fingers circling her nipple, making it stiff and sensitive. Letting her arms fall to her side, she surrendered to him.

Still continuing to caress her skin as he went, he inched lower, across her chest to the other breast. Here, he swirled his tongue around the peak and then sucked it into his mouth.

Oh, what a feeling. It stole every rational thought, and she sunk into a new reality—the pool from her fantasy with each spray of the fountain a prick against her skin. When he switched to the other breast, she arched to meet him, groaning in pleasure.

Chuckling, he placed his face against the spot between her breasts. “Not so prim now, are you?”

“Fallon, please.”

“Not ‘Your Grace’? Could you have forgotten yourself enough to be so familiar?”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s just that I feel so…”

“I feel it, too.” His weight moved off her.

When she opened her eyes, she found him propped up on his elbow, watching. A smile curled his lips, and a gleam of triumph shone in his smile. Her breath still came hard, and her skin felt hot with fever. She couldn’t move as his hand went lower, past her ribs and to her belly. His destination became clear, and the walls of her sex constricted, waiting for his touch.

Finally, he reached the hairs that covered her mound and stroked them. “Sweet puss. Does she want a rubbing behind the ears?”

She held her breath, paralyzed to do anything but lie there at his mercy.

“Let’s see, shall we?” He slipped his hand between her thighs and made one firm pass over the lips there.

A cascade of sensation coursed through her, gaining strength as it went. Tension building inside her pelvis.

“You liked that.” He repeated the caress, now firmly pressing against her flesh. The lips seemed to swell, opening her sex as if begging for even more.

“Already wet,” he murmured. “Preparing yourself to take my cock.”

“No,” she cried. Or yes. In truth, she wouldn’t deny him now. Her sheath ached for something to fill it. Yes, if he decided to take her now, she’d let him. She’d welcome him.

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