The Truth About Princesses and Dukes (The Duke Hunters Club) Read online

  She giggled despite herself, and he turned to her.

  “Would it make you feel better?”

  Her throat tightened, but she nodded.

  “Very well.” In the next moment, he rose. “I’ll sleep over the covers.”

  “Then it’s entirely proper,” she said, even though she was certain it wasn’t.

  RUPERT’S heartbeat quickened. He was lying next to Aria. And even though, in theory, he’d been even closer to her on the driver’s seat, everything was different. Worse, neither of them slept.

  “What did the publican last night mean?” Aria asked, turning over on the bed.

  Heavens. She shouldn’t turn. It made her lovely dark hair spill over. Her luscious locks gleamed under the candlelight, and he forced himself not to examine the way her dress stretched and tightened over her bosom.

  He was so close to her.

  He could touch her.

  He could pull her toward him and kiss her.

  He could...

  Rupert halted his train of thought. Nothing good would come of musing over all the possibilities of their time together. It didn’t matter how much he pondered what she might taste like, what her soft skin might feel like when it was freed of her dress and shift.

  “Only that newly married couples are often known to have much bedtime enjoyment,” Rupert said reluctantly. “It—er—wasn’t terribly interesting.”

  She frowned, and he had the odd impression that perhaps she did find it of interest. His throat dried.

  Aria scrunched her lips together as if she were on the verge of saying something but suspected it lacked propriety. Then she sighed. “What exactly happens on wedding nights?”

  “E-excuse me?”

  “I mean. I know the husband visits his wife. And I know the wife has to do what the husband asks and that the request seems strange, but it is worth doing because it will lead to babies.”

  He blinked.

  “You see, I’m not completely lacking knowledge,” she said.

  He smiled, and his chest warmed at her earnestness. “No, you’re not.”

  “So, will you tell me?”

  He grinned. “Is that a royal request?”

  “If it needs to be.” Her eyes shimmered. “I just... I was going to learn last night. Or at least, I thought I would learn last night. And my mother isn’t alive, so I could hardly ask her. And though I’m certain my father knows, it’s not a question one likes to ask him.”

  “I see,” Rupert said.

  “But you can tell me. Because I won’t experience it.”

  His heart thudded.

  She was married. She could hardly marry again. Bigamy wasn’t tolerated, even when committed by beautiful princesses.

  “You know it’s true,” she said.

  He nodded, and his chest hurt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

  “We needn’t dwell on the situation.”

  He nodded. If Aria wanted to be distracted, he could distract her, no matter if it was terribly awkward.

  “I expect,” he said, “that if you had been married to someone good, he would have been very excited to see you on your wedding night.”

  “Oh?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Rupert said confidently. “Of that, I’m certain.” He sank his head into his pillow. “He would have enjoyed your letters, his heart would have raced and have been filled with happiness when he learned you had accepted his proposal. Then when he saw you for the first time, he would have immediately declared you the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  His heart twisted. He wished he could have signed his name to those letters. He wished when she arrived in Staffordshire, it had been to wed him. And he wished they were married now.

  He would have adored her.

  I adore her now.

  His throat tightened. His duty was to take care of her and not dream of the impossible. She was a princess, and he was a man with a small, heavily mortgaged cottage.

  “Because he would have been charming,” Aria said.

  “Because it would have been true.”

  Aria’s eyes widened.

  “I mean,” Rupert added hastily, “because he would have thought so.”

  Aria scrutinized him, and Rupert wondered if he’d refrained from saying too much after all.

  “He would have looked at your dark luscious locks, your full lips, your large eyes, and eyelashes, and he would have loved you. He would have loved everything about you.”

  “Oh?” she asked more softly.

  “Most certainly,” Rupert declared. “He would have been nervous and excited on your wedding night.”

  She smiled.

  “He would have been beyond himself with joy that he’d married you.”

  “You’re sweet,” she said.

  “I’m honest.”

  “And then what would have happened?” she breathed.

  “Then he would have kissed you,” he said, and his voice shook, contemplating that sensation. “He would have held you tightly in his arms, as if you might disappear. His heartbeat would have quickened, and he would have focused entirely on you.”

  “And then?” her voice quivered.

  “Then he would have kissed you all over.”

  “Perhaps you could demonstrate.”

  He stared at her.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

  “N-no,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She twiddled her fingers. “I was simply curious how it—”

  Rupert rolled toward her and narrowed the distance between them. He stared at her for a moment, taking in her widening eyes, her luscious plump lips, and the curves of her face.

  Then he kissed her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  ARIA WAS BEING KISSED.

  Fire surged through her body, as if someone had set it alight. Flames burned and blazed, smoldered and scalded, no less powerful for their lack of visibility. Rupert’s lips danced with hers, and it didn’t matter that no one had ever taught them the steps. Music drifted from the tavern below, merged with bawdy laughter and the occasional loud curse.

  This wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She wasn’t supposed to be lying on coarse sheets, and she wasn’t supposed to be lying on an unevenly stuffed mattress.

  But it didn’t matter.

  All that mattered was Rupert. She’d been conscious of his presence all day. Conscious of his good humor, conscious of his kind nature and the manner in which Lady Octavia and Galileo adored him, and conscious of his ease with intellectual topics that made the lengthy coach journey pleasant.

  But she’d also been conscious of other things. Things she shouldn’t be conscious of. Things it was wicked to notice.

  She was certain she wasn’t supposed to be conscious of the manner in which his trousers fit his legs, or the glimpse of bare flesh when he pulled up his shirtsleeves. His comforting scent of cotton and cedar, stronger now because of their closeness, wafted about her, enveloping her with the same efficiency as his arms.

  His mouth kissed and kissed and kissed, and even though she should halt this, even though she should move away, she couldn’t.

  SHE CURLED BESIDE HIM, conscious of the muscles beneath his shirt.

  Her heartbeat quickened, and she tightened her grip on his shirt, aware of the rough texture.

  They didn’t speak. Words were unnecessary, and their conversation was abandoned. This exceeded everything. She needed to feel his body against hers, needed to feel the warmth that emanated from him.

  RUPERT SHOULDN’T BE kissing her. There were many, many reasons why he shouldn’t kiss her, no matter how much his heartbeat pattered happily in her presence, as if it were performing a giddy reel.

  He pulled away reluctantly. She stared at him, confused and bleary-eyed, and he wanted to pull her to him again. He craved the feel of her lips, and he already missed the feeling of her soft, slender body in his arms.

  He resisted t
he temptation to pull her toward him again. “There’s something I need to tell you,” Rupert said. “Something that might make you despise me.”

  “I don’t think that’s possible,” she said, curling beside him.

  “I—er—” His throat closed.

  She stared at him. “Is it something... important?”

  He nodded miserably.

  She withdrew. He didn’t want to imagine all the things she was thinking.

  “I wrote the letters,” Rupert said finally. “I’m the reason you’re in this situation.”

  She blinked. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “The duke told me that you and he had fallen in love in Bath.”

  She drew back further, and his heart shook.

  Still, he continued. “He asked meto correspond with you on his behalf.”

  She wrapped her arms together, pressing them against her chest.

  “I suspect that was a lie,” he finished weakly.

  Aria nodded. “We had spoken, but that was it.”

  “So if I’d never agreed to send those letters...”

  “...Then he may have hired someone else.” She frowned. “Though they might not have had the same impact.”

  Rupert was silent. His heart shook. “I’m so sorry.”

  She stared at him. “Why did you do it?”

  He sighed. “I was happy for him. I wanted him to be in love. I wanted him to be happy. And when he told me all those things and that he was suffering from arthritis and needed my help—I agreed.”

  “Well, that’s understandable,” she said, but her voice was less confident than normal.

  “No,” he said. “You needn’t be polite. I shouldn’t have done it. It was wrong of me. And he—er—paid me.”

  She turned her head sharply.

  “After she died, the duke informed me that my mother’s cottage had been heavily mortgaged. The inheritance I expected was naturally gone.”

  “Oh.” The princess stiffened and drew back.

  “Dudley was so kind to me. He let me stay and he didn’t even sell the cottage, given my sentimental attachment to it.”

  “I see.”

  “He was paying me to write to you,” Rupert continued. “I thought I was lucky because I enjoyed the task so much.”

  “So everything was a lie?” she asked softly.

  “No lies,” he said firmly. “Everything about the duke was true.”

  “But he probably wouldn’t have been so gentle and caring in those letters,” she said, looking down.

  “No,” Rupert agreed, and his heart broke. “I made a terrible mistake. I should have known better. I wanted what he told me to be real.”

  She was silent.

  “You must despise me,” Rupert said. “And you’re quite right to do so.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  Her thin, strained voice shattered his heart.

  He rose from the bed. Suddenly, it was important to stand, to put some distance between them, to not think that kissing her might possibly be what he should be doing.

  “I promise to keep you safe until we reach London,” he said solemnly.

  She gave a wry smile. “I think you’ve already promised that.”

  “I wish I could promise more.”

  She tilted her head, and her luscious locks fell, glowing in the candlelight. “Why did you kiss me?”

  “Because...” Rupert hesitated. The room was suddenly becoming hot. “Because I adore you. Because I’ve adored you since the very first letter. You’re smart and kind and beautiful.”

  “All those things?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  He nodded solemnly. “Indeed.”

  She gave him a wobbly smile.

  The silence was unbearable.

  “What do you think?” he asked finally. “If you want to shout at me, you may.”

  “I don’t want to shout.” She scrunched her lips together and furrowed her brow. “I’ve just discovered that the man who wrote me all those letters, the man who inspired me easily to accept his offer of marriage exists.”

  Rupert stared.

  “I’d thought the duke had simply lied to me. I’d wondered how the sweet-natured man who’d written me had desired to murder me. I’d wondered how he could read my letters and only think of my jewels. But the sweet-natured man does exist. I didn’t imagine him. It’s you, Rupert. So I think,” Aria said, “that you might kiss me again.”

  So Rupert did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Butterflies fluttered through Aria’s chest. This was what Daisy Holloway, the new Duchess of Hammett, had spoken about. Her whole heart soared.

  The man who wrote those lovely letters existed. And he adored her. He’d saved her life just like the most dashing hero in any novel.

  And the best thing was... it was Rupert. Rupert with his funny, floppy hair that needed to be cut. Rupert with his warm eyes. Rupert who loved animals. Rupert who could talk to her for hours about books and history.

  The carriage jostled over the dark brown dirt road. Tall trees loomed above, and the sky was barely visible. Leaves fluttered merrily in the wind, as if they were speaking their own language.

  “Where are we?” she breathed.

  “Near Wolverhampton,” Rupert said.

  “Wolverhampton must be the most beautiful place in the world,” she exclaimed.

  “Perhaps not the most beautiful,” he said. “But the West Midlands landscape is pleasant. I thought we could stay off the main road.”

  She shivered, remembering the men who were chasing them. “Very wise.”

  They were both silent. The horses plodded over the lane, and the wheels occasionally crunched over twigs and pebbles.

  In a few days, she would be in London, and in a few days after that, she would be on a ship to Sweden. She would be welcomed, but pitied. She would serve as a cautionary tale for other women, and she would be told to never stand too near the king. Perhaps, at the most important functions, she would be told simply to stay away all together.

  It wouldn’t be horrible, she reminded herself. It would be better than being murdered. But all her hopes... All her dreams of managing her own home, of having children, of leading an adventurous life in a new country... All of those dreams, would forever vanish, as easily as if someone had set fire to them.

  She tilted her head and gazed at Rupert. The tall trees cast interesting shadows on his face, but he did not look less handsome. She had an odd urge to trace his cheekbones with her finger and to ruffle his hair.

  Memories of last night played in her mind. Memories of their kisses, memories of his bare skin, memories of...

  She shook her head. She wasn’t going to think of such things.

  And yet... She inched closer to Rupert, until their thighs touched. Heat swirled through her body, then he turned to her with a surprised expression on his face. Then he raised his arm and wrapped it about her shoulder.

  “Better?” he whispered.

  She nodded.

  This was perfection. Blood surged through her, as if scrambling to be as near to his arm as possible. The butterflies fluttered through her chest again, flapping their wings. Clearly, they’d decided to make a home there.

  “I’d like to kiss you again,” he said, his voice husky.

  Her heart twirled and spun, but she managed to jerk her head into a nod. In the next moment, his lips were on hers. The horses continued their gentle plod over the dirt lane, ambling at a slow pace, as if equally content to gaze at the tall trees and to smell the thick woodsy scents, wildflowers and sap, of this forest.

  “Rupert,” she breathed, and she wrapped her hands about his neck, bringing him closer, closer, closer to her.

  Space didn’t need to exist in their presence. They could do without it entirely.

  Her skin burned, but she tightened her grip on his neck, lest there be the slightest chance he leave. She needed him. She craved him. She...loved him.

  And soon, I’ll never see h
im again.

  The sudden thought made tears sting her eyes, and she tensed.

  Rupert opened his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just keep kissing me. I want to feel you. I want—” ”

  Rupert drew back, and her heart ached. He picked up the reins, then directed the horses to the side of the road.

  He turned to her and smiled. “Perhaps we can visit the inside of the carriage.

  She smiled, relieved he hadn’t decided that driving the carriage was preferable to kissing her.

  “I-I suppose it’s a shame we haven’t spent much time in it.”

  “Yes, it is a ducal carriage,” Rupert said. “Not his finest carriage, but perhaps worth exploring.”

  He extended his hand to her. “Shall we?”

  She nodded.

  “I was only there briefly in the night.”

  “Well, that, my dear Aria, would not have allowed you a chance to properly appreciate the interior.”

  “Perhaps you can give me a tour.” She clutched his hand as she strode down the metal steps. When she reached the bottom, her feet sank into the soft grass.

  He lifted her up easily in her arms, then he opened the door to the carriage and helped her inside.

  Lady Octavia and Galileo gazed at them curiously. Rupert entered the carriage, then slid into the seat beside her.

  “These curtains, for instance,” he said, “are most interesting. They have tassels.”

  “Most interesting,” she said, even though it wasn’t the least bit interesting, and she was certain Rupert knew it. She leaned nearer him. “And this bench has a pillow on it.”

  His eyes sparkled. “Most observant of you.”

  Heat flooded to her face, and she gave a pleased smile despite herself.

  “The bench also has something else on it.”

  She blinked.

  “Something beautiful.” He neared her, and his scent of cotton and cedar wafted about her again most enticingly. “Something achingly beautiful.”

  Her throat dried, and she stared. Was he speaking about her?

  His lips found her ear, and he whispered, “you.”