Dukes By the Dozen

“With Hisdick? What nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense. Had Lady Jersey, hell, had anyone else come in and seen you kissing Hisdick, you would have been done for.”

Meg put her hands on her hips. Her eyes snapped fire. She was magnificent.

“I did not kiss Hisdick.”

“You were going to.”

“What nonsense.”

“There was mistletoe.” He pointed above his head.

She looked up, then shrugged. “It does not signify.”

“It most certainly does signify.” He had no idea why his anger was rising, but he did have a suspicion that it wasn’t anger at all. It was something more…feral. Something utterly mad.

Without thinking, he yanked her into his arms and took her mouth, covering her, smothering her, tasting that delicious nectar he’d been craving since last night. It was a wild kiss, a devouring kiss, one that shocked him to his core.

Because she kissed him back. Every sort of passion he felt, she gave back.

When it ended, there in the darkened room with no sounds but their ragged breathing, his world was changed.

He knew now, he could never let her go. Knew now that Meg was his.

He leaned back and gored her with a dark, dominant gaze. “I’ve thought about that all day. Wanted that all day,” he said.

She made a show of patting her hair to make sure it was all still in place.

“Well.” Surely his voice didn’t crack. “Don’t you have anything to say?”

“What-what could I say?”

He growled at her. “That you wanted it too.”

To his dismay, she turned away. “It was nice—”

“Nice?” A roar. Fury burned through him, and without thinking, he pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again, making sure, this time, it was a damn sight more than nice.

They were deep in it. Mouths melded, souls entwined, when the bark of a laugh came from the door. Horror trickled through him. What had he been thinking, kissing Meg like that, here? Surrounded by the mavens of the ton? He could have ruined her utterly. He whirled around and nearly collapsed in relief when it was just his sister.

“This is becoming something of a habit,” Susana said with a smirk.

“Well, really,” Meg said, once again patting her hair. It was clear she was breathless and there was a rosy tinge on her cheeks. Also, she would not meet his eye.

“What on earth are you thinking, Jonathan?” His sister strode in and tipped up Meg’s chin, checking her face for any evidence of savagery, perhaps.

“I came in here to save her,” he said, not unlike a child caught stealing a cake.

Susana shot him a disbelieving look.

“She was kissing Hisdick,” he insisted.

Meg snorted. “I was not kissing Hisdick.”

Susana sighed. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kiss Hisdick.”

Neither could he, but that was entirely beside the point. “The point is, she was in here, alone with Hisdick. I came in to save her.”

“And somehow she ended up kissing you?” Susana tipped her head to the side.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he sputtered.

“It’s not?” Meg’s voice was wobbly, wan.

Dear God, were those tears in her eyes?

Blast. Women were confounding. “That’s not what I meant, darling—”

“Darling?” Susana tsked. She took Meg by the arm. “We are going back to the party. There are still several men who wanted to talk to you, dear. And you.” She speared Jonathan with a fierce glower. “Get yourself together. You’re supposed to be looking for a wife.”

He was. He’d found her.

But before he could say as much, both Meg and Susana were gone.

He knew he should follow them, knew he should go back to the party, but he just couldn’t. Instead he poured himself a whisky and dropped into the chair by the fire—though the hearth was cold—and glared at the logs.

CHAPTER 7

“WHERE ON EARTH IS JONATHAN?” the dowager asked as Meg and Susana came back into the salon.

“He’s pouting,” Susana said.

“What?” Her tone led one to believe a duke had no business pouting whatsoever. “He has a party to host.”

“Perhaps it’s too much for him.” Susana again.

Meg was glad her friend was on her side, because she wouldn’t want her as a rival.

“Perhaps,” the dowager said. “I’ll have a chat with him. Where is he?”

“The library.”

As the dowager stalked down the hall to find her errant son, Susana pulled Meg aside and checked her hair and dress for rumples. “What was that, dear?” she asked in an undertone, lest anyone else hear.

Meg shook her head. Her body was still quivering to the thrill of Jonathan’s touch, that feral kiss. It was too much to expect her to think. “I don’t know.”

Susana shot her a sideways look. “Don’t you?”

“I don’t know why he kissed me.”

In response, Susana turned her to the glass. “Don’t you? Can’t you see how lovely you are?”

She stared at her reflection. Oh, she looked fine. “I’ll never be as pretty as Tessa.”

“Oh dear. Is that it?” Susana sighed. “I do know how you feel, though. I was certain Christian would fall for her once he met her. She was so beautiful. But darling, Tessa is gone. Jonathan’s not even mourning anymore.”

“I know.” It hardly signified. Tessa has always been the pretty one. Meg had always been the one who tromped through the mud with the boys.