Deepest Desires of a Wicked Duke Page 33

  Gazing upon the little boy beneath his lacy blankets, Portia felt her heart wobble. She’d seen many children, held many babies, cuddled toddlers, but for some reason this made her heart ache so much. Then she knew why—it was the happy glow on Helena’s face. It made Portia dream of having her own child, but it made her remember that she would never be allowed at the foundling home again.

  But she refused to appear maudlin in front of the wonderful, generous duchess.

  The duke, who insisted she call him Grey, was just as kind. Impetuously, in their drawing room, she’d remarked, “You all have nicknames?”

  “They all do.” Helena smiled. “Grey, Cary, Sin, and Sax. Now, I think it is time for bed. You must be exhausted, Portia.”

  “I think I am,” she admitted.

  Sin bowed courteously over her hand, then muttered, “I need more than this. I need to kiss you.” He gave her a toe-curling kiss, whispered “good night,” and Portia followed Helena up to the lovely bedroom that was to be hers.

  * * *

  The next morning, a rap came on her bedroom door and then a maid breezed in, carrying a tray with a plate covered in a silver cover and a coffeepot and dainty cup. “Her Grace thought you might like your breakfast up here, miss.”

  Portia sat up. She felt tiny in the huge, canopied, beautiful bed. It was heavenly and comfortable. “The duchess is very kind.”

  “That, she is, miss,” the maid responded cheerfully.

  The maid set down the tray over Portia’s legs. “Her Grace asked if you would be ready to receive her after your breakfast.”

  “Of course.”

  The duchess had loaned her clothing including a lovely shift of the softest fabric, a corset of luxurious, lace-trimmed satin, and a lovely pale day dress.

  Now, being helped into her dress by the maid, Portia thought of the first time Sin had helped her dress. The mirror reflected her flaming blush.

  To quell the flush in her cheeks, she put those thoughts out of her mind. Instead, she speculated on reasons the Duchess of Greybrooke wished to see her.

  The real reason, she was not at all prepared for.

  “Sin has told us he is a holding an enormous ball,” Helena said, as she poured tea in the drawing room. “Something rather shocking, even for him.”

  Something shocking? Oh! Was he going to hold an orgy and want her to attend? She’d told him she was willing to go to orgies with him. Now that she was faced with the reality, she . . . wasn’t sure.

  “I don’t know if I am ready—”

  “Oh, you will do fine. Sin wishes me to take you out and ensure you find a proper gown for the event.”

  “They wear gowns?”

  Helena laughed and looked at her strangely. “Oh yes. Gowns will be worn.”

  * * *

  Portia spent the morning with two duchesses—Helena, the Duchess of Greybrooke, and Sophie, the Duchess of Caradon. Sophie’s husband, known by the nickname Cary, was also one of the Wicked Dukes.

  Both women were not at all what Portia imagined. Not stuck up or snobby. Helena, who had been a governess, admired her work at the foundling home. Sophie had one child by her first husband, who had been killed in battle, and was expecting her first child with the Duke of Caradon, known as Cary. Helena had lovely blond hair, beautifully styled, and wore a gown of rich blue. Sophie had silky dark hair, with twinkling eyes and a ready smile. She exuded optimism.

  “We’ll take you to Madame Latour,” Sophie said. “She is the most sought-after modiste in London at the moment.”

  “I really am surprised clothes are so important,” Portia said. “Don’t they simply come off?”

  “For this event, clothes are very important—or so Sin said,” Helena told her. “It is to be a masquerade.”

  “Have either of you been to one of his parties?”

  “After Grey married me, he never went again. And he wouldn’t allow me to go. Grey became a reformed Wicked Duke when he married me.” Helena had explained to her about the “Wicked Dukes,” but of course Portia knew about them already. She had devoured every item about Sin that she could in the gossip sheets.

  “I saw one,” Sophie admitted. “It is rather a long story. But I went and I saw Cary there. It was before we married.”

  “What . . . what was it like?” Portia asked.

  “Oh. Rather what you would expect. Of an orgy.” Sophie blushed. Then she tapped her chin. “Do you think Sin needs you to be part of that world?”

  She felt so comfortable with Helena and Sophie, Portia found it easy to be honest as the carriage rumbled onward.

  “I knew I couldn’t bear to be married to him if he wasn’t faithful. I couldn’t accept knowing some other woman was having fun with him. But I thought if I went to the orgies too, perhaps I could accept them that way. I want to be with him. I don’t want to ask him to change. I like how sensual he is. And I don’t want him to lie to me.”

  Helena nodded. “I see. That is very open-minded of you.” She looked out the carriage window. “We’ve arrived. It is time to acquire a gown for you.”

  The other women looked so delighted. Portia was swept up in the fun. Exploring the fabrics—light-as-air silks, sensual velvets, shimmering satins—proved thrilling. The modiste described the design she had in mind as an assistant took careful measurements. Madame Latour was being paid a small fortune by Sin to finish the dress quickly.

  Portia thought of some of the beautiful, tempting costumes she’d seen. “What of a peacock-inspired costume?” she began to suggest. “With a corset decorated in turquoise, blue, green, and gold thread and for the tail feathers—”

  “No!” cried Madame Latour. “Monsieur le Duc has told me exactly what is desired. To match his costume, he said. He wished something beautiful for you. Worthy of his duchess.”

  “To match his?” She hadn’t expected that and she consented, allowing Madame Latour to design what she wished. But Portia still couldn’t understand why so much attention would be paid to clothes at an orgy. From the modiste’s description, the design of the dress sounded as if it would be elegant and demure. Not at all what she expected.

  “Is Sin up to something?” she asked them in the carriage, as they returned from the fitting. “I’m beginning to suspect there isn’t going to be an orgy.” She eyed Helena, who looked lovely and demure. Helena had been a governess and could put on the calm, inscrutable expression one often used with children.

  Sophie was the impetuous one, who showed her feelings easily. So Portia turned to Sophie. “Is he up to something?”

  “I’m sure he is not,” Sophie said, but she blushed.

  “You know something! I can tell.”

  Both women shook their heads. As one they said, “He may be up to something. But we have no idea what it is.”

  Was it far too impolite to accuse two duchesses of lying to her? Especially when they had been so kind? For the first time, Portia didn’t believe she could be impetuous. She was bursting to say: I think you do know and you must tell me. But she restrained herself. As she did, she looked out the window of the carriage. What she saw made her heart lurch.

  “Could we stop the carriage,” she cried.

  “Of course,” Helena said at once, and she gave some kind of signal that brought the carriage to a swift halt.

  They all had to grasp the seats not to be thrown, but utterly calmly, Helena asked, “What is it?”

  “A child, obviously lost, wandering on the edge of the street,” Portia said. She wanted to help but had no money with her. She saw the outrider coming around the carriage to open the door. “I could take the girl to the foundling home . . . but that door is barred to me now, because I am marrying Sin.”

  “What?” Sophie cried. “That is terrible!”

  “Surely that is not true,” Helena said.

  “It is.” Quickly she spilled out the story of what had happened, finishing just as the door was opened.

  “Would you go and speak to the child? See if you
can coax her to come into the carriage,” Helena said. “We shall find out where she lives. If she has no home, I shall bring her back to the house, see she is fed. Then we shall take her to a home.”

  Portia’s heart felt as if it had taken flight. She hastened down the steps to carry out the plan, knowing that both duchesses were wonderful women.

  But there was pain deep in her heart. Could she give up the foundling home forever? She loved the children. Seeing this bedraggled little girl on the street made her determined to help. So did remembering what had happened to the cook’s daughter.

  As she coaxed the girl into the carriage, she felt a sharp jolt of fear. Could she marry Sin and give up the foundling home forever? Never see any of those children or her mother again?

  Helena broke in on her thoughts. “We are also telling you the truth, Portia. We do not know what Sin has planned. He simply told us to acquire for you the most beautiful gown possible.”

  * * *

  Elegant carriages lined the street, sleek, polished, and gleaming. Portia peered out the window. She sat beside Helena, and Grey sat opposite them. Since she was their guest, she’d traveled in their ducal carriage.

  Could this really be an orgy? The other Wicked Dukes no longer attended such events, she’d learned. But Helena and Grey insisted that they did not know what Sin’s party was supposed to be.

  The carriage turned up the wide, curved gravel drive of Sin’s Mayfair mansion. Footmen lined the stretch, torches in hand. They halted and the door opened. A young liveried footman held out his gloved hand. Portia accepted his help, stepping down onto the gravel drive.

  Lights blazed in the dozens of windows of his enormous pale stone mansion. With Helena and Grey, Portia made her way up the wide stone steps. She lifted the hem of her dress, the silk exquisite beneath her touch and shimmering in the light. It was the most decorative gown, done in a style of several decades before, at the end of the last century, with a square bodice and a tiny waist. Lace roses decorated the bodice, framing her décolleté, looking sweet but also rather enticing. The sleeves were her favorite, elbow length and trimmed with ruffles that skimmed her skin.

  If her costume was so delicious, what did Sin’s look like?

  Following Helena and Grey, she hastened up the stairs and stepped through the doors, held open by two footmen. Portia stopped in shock.

  Hundreds of people filled the entry foyer and the stairs. They were packed on the curved staircase like cattle crowding Whitechapel High Street. They came dressed as kings, emperors, fairy queens, dairy maids. Several devils in black and red populated the crowd. One woman was a butterfly with enormous gauzy wings. Then Portia saw children as well as adults.

  “I don’t think this is an orgy.” She leveled a look at raven-haired Grey, who bore an expression that was supposed to display innocence but didn’t. Suspicion flooded her. “You knew!”

  A servant approached her. “Miss Lamb? I am to bring you this way.”

  She followed the servant, and Grey called out, “This is Sin’s idea of an engagement ball.”

  A what?

  She had arrived here with her heart in a whirl and questions roaring in her head. Did she marry Sin and lose the home forever? Or stay at the home, which meant she couldn’t marry Sin?

  Portia followed the footman down twining corridors, along huge hallways. Past coats of armor, massive oil paintings, enormous vases spilling with bouquets of exotic hothouse orchids and roses. It was just as she remembered it from ten years before.

  She was used to the foundling home and to struggling to make ends meet each month. How could she fit into this world?

  “This way, miss.” The servant opened a door and stood in front of it. “Your Grace, Miss Lamb. And the Duke and Duchess of Greybrooke.”

  As the servant announced Helena and Grey, Portia realized they had followed her. In the drawing room, she spotted glossy dark hair decorated with strands of glittering diamonds. Sophie, seated on a settee. Sophie’s simple Egyptian-style gown flowed over her rounded belly. Beside her was a handsome man with golden hair, dressed as a pharaoh. He must be the Duke of Caradon.

  Standing by the fireplace was Sin. Portia almost melted just looking at him. He looked more gorgeous than ever in late-eighteenth-century dress. He wore a pure white shirt with lace at his throat and wrists. How erotic it was to see the lace against the lightly stubble-covered, masculine skin of his throat and dripping over his long fingers. A frock coat and waistcoat of pale embroidered gold fit him as if painted on and set off his dark brown hair.

  Across from him, seated in large, leather club chairs were—shock of all shocks—her brothers, Geoffrey and Gregory.

  Sin came to her, kissed her softly on her cheek.

  She met his gaze. “What is going on? All of the ton appears to have come for a ball, and I thought—well, the Duke of Greybrooke told me this is to be an engagement ball.”

  “You weren’t supposed to tell her,” Sin growled at Grey.

  “Marriage should not begin with secrets,” Grey responded.

  “I didn’t want her to know because I feared I would disappoint her. However, with the help of Caradon, I believe I am beginning to make these fine gentlemen”—he nodded to her brothers—“see sense. Care to add your position, Greybrooke?”

  She noted he was being formal.

  “Of course.” Greybrooke stepped forward. “My wife, the duchess, has a special place in her heart for all children, especially those who are unfortunate. I believe Caradon has named a figure that he will donate to the home. A staggering amount, I believe it was?” He paused.

  Gregory cleared his throat. “It was generous. However, such a gift means we have to take great care as to the reputation of the house. There have been rumors about Portia’s behavior—”

  “I am prepared to stop those rumors immediately,” Sin said.

  “There are rumors about me?” She goggled.

  “Sadly, yes,” Sophie said. “Simply because you were on the island with Sinclair, and it became known that you shared a bedchamber.”

  “I was kidnapped and taken to the island against my will. I hardly set up a clandestine affair while being knocked out by a drug and taken unconscious in a boat. Oh, I really do think Society is idiotic.”

  “I know you do,” Sin said. “But you want to be part of the foundling home, which means these rumors have to end. I intend to end them this evening.”

  “Sin, I can’t—”

  “I will match the Duke of Caradon’s donation,” Greybrooke said. “That means thirty thousand pounds, including ten from Sinclair, will be put in trust for the management of the foundling home. That will only occur if three things happen.”

  Portia was too stunned by the amount to speak.

  “Portia will manage the funds and the house as she wishes. You will accept this without complaint,” Sin said.

  “You will also accept any decision she makes in regard to her relationship with the Duke of Sinclair. And finally”—Greybrooke looked to her—“I am sorry to make this a condition, but Sinclair is my friend. I want to see him leg shackled. The money will be given to the home if you marry Sinclair, Miss Lamb.”

  Sin straightened. “Grey, I can’t blackmail Portia into marrying me. The money is hers to use for the home, whether she becomes my wife or not. However, I will clear any smear on her reputation. And Portia will have access to thirty thousand pounds to run and expand the home, or purchase more buildings.”

  She couldn’t believe what was happening. “I could have homes all over England with such an astonishing amount of money.” She met Sin’s eyes, with her heart heavy. “But I think I am better suited to that than to being a duchess.”

  “That is what would make you a perfect duchess,” Helena said firmly.

  “I agree,” said Sophie. “Compassion and intelligence are far more important for the position than anything else.”

  Sin looked to her brothers. “Would you accept our marriage? I would authorize a sti
pend be paid to you for your work in managing the homes. Not as much as Portia would receive, but it would keep your families well, provide for daughters, allow sons to be educated at fine schools. If you perform your duties to satisfaction.”

  “To your satisfaction?” queried Geoffrey.

  “Not to mine. To Portia’s.”

  She saw the shock on her brothers’ faces.

  “But what about these rumors?” Gregory asked.

  “I am going to tell the truth. Once Portia is a duchess and it is obvious that she’s tamed me, there will be no scandal. This event alone will be proof that I’ve changed—that I’ve turned into a respectable duke for love. Because I have.”

  “Sin, I don’t want to force you to change,” Portia said. “I . . . I am willing to be disreputable with you.”

  For the first time that evening, Sin smiled. “In private, angel, we will be thoroughly disreputable. But like the other two Wicked Dukes, I realize I’m ready to be tamed. I don’t want to share. And you are more alluring, more desirable than anyone else or any wicked party. I’ve realized that you are my ultimate fantasy, my deepest desire, Portia. I love you.”

  “I can marry you and have love, and still be a part of my family, still be a part of the foundling homes?”

  Sin looked to her brothers. They both stood. Gregory spoke. “Of course, Portia. You must forgive us for our hasty words.”

  She was certain it was Sin’s promise of incomes that had changed their minds. But she was happy regardless.

  “Then yes, Sin. I want to marry you. But for one reason: because I am, and have always been, deeply in love with you. You are my deepest desire, my fondest wish, my greatest love. All in one.”

  He covered the distance between them in two strides. He lifted her and swung her off her feet.

  And his kiss . . . it was what their love was about. Tender, poignant, happy, sensual, passionate.