Trapped with the Duke by Annabelle Anders

To Fulminate

After visiting the bookstore, he took her to a tea house where she asked him all sorts of questions about writing, which led to a discussion about words and their power, and he, in turn, asked her questions about Latin.

“A single word by itself can paint a picture—knowing the precise, comprehensive meaning of any one word truly enhances communication.” She found herself telling him some of what she’d told her students.

“Tell me one of your favorites.” His attentiveness drew out more excitement than she usually showed anyone.

“Fulminare. It literally means to flash with thunderbolts. Picture a ferocious storm in your mind. Now, take the word fulminate. One English definition is to vehemently protest. In Italian, it means to strike dead. Metamorphically, it was used by the church when referring to a formal condemnation.” Which, she imagined in those days, could result in tragic consequences.

“It’s violent.”

“Not just yelling or arguing.” She shook her head.

One corner of his mouth twitched up as he leaned forward.

Both of them rested their hands on the table and he slid his forward, barely brushing his fingers against hers. “Do you fulminate often?”

It was a silly question for him to ask. “Only with Diana.”

They shared a few stories about each of their siblings, and time flew by much too quickly.

“I’d best return you to your brother’s house or he’ll come after me with a pistol.” He glanced at his watch and winced.

“He won’t.” Would he? It was only a trip to a bookstore.

Since she’d not brought along her reticule, she’d lacked funds to purchase the first of Addison’s books but vowed to return the very next day for just that purpose. She didn’t care if it cost her an entire month of the salary she’d set aside from Miss Primm’s. She was determined to have a glimpse into his thoughts.

A slow drizzle began to fall just as the horses pulled them up to her brother’s house. This time when she waited for the duke—for Addison—to come around and assist her to the ground, she did so with a heightened sense of anticipation.

He couldn’t kiss her again—not on her brother’s doorstep. He should not have kissed her earlier, and they’d been lucky not to have been seen. Had it been springtime rather than autumn, Mayfair would be buzzing with society and their indiscretion would have already made its way through all the gossips.

“We were lucky to have escaped most of this.” Addison’s gaze shot to the sky and then back to her as he settled his hands on her waist. She took hold of his shoulders, trusting that he would lower her safely to the walk.

The moment reminded her of some she’d seen between Bethany and Chase—which was wonderful but also a little terrifying.

“Thank you.” She exhaled when her feet touched the ground. The drizzle chose that moment to strengthen to more of a downpour and yet he didn’t release her, nor did she move to rush inside.

“Thank you for allowing me to drive you, and for humoring my ramblings about my little hobby.”

“Not at all. I was honored that you showed me.” She blinked away a few drops of water as she stared up at him, her hands still on his shoulders. “You won’t mind, will you? If I read one of them?”

“Please, don’t think you must.” He was shaking his head, looking sheepish all over again. “Just the ramblings of a foolish man.”

A man. Not of a duke. “Not foolish.” He was staring at her mouth, and she flicked her gaze at his. She’d never wanted anything as much in her life as she wanted him to kiss her again. The longing was a physical ache, one that very nearly had her reaching onto her toes and tugging his head down to hers.

“Ahem.” The voice from the house had her dropping her hands and pushing away from heaven. Because that’s what it felt like to be in his arms. She’d later mock herself for such romantic thoughts but for now had something altogether less pleasant to deal with.

Addison dragged his gaze away from her to meet that of the scowling person standing on the doorstep.

Chase.

Rain pounding on his head, her brother stood just outside the door, coatless, wearing rolled-up shirtsleeves, elegant trousers, and only stockings on his feet.

“Inside.” He addressed Collette with a jerk of the head.

Casting a reluctant parting glance at the duke, she was unable to meet his eyes since he was glaring back at her brother. She ducked her head and rushed inside. Maneuvering around Chase, she was surprised she wasn’t dry the moment she stepped inside, so hot was the anger rolling off her brother.

Bethany awaited her in the foyer and, wincing, dropped a blanket around Collette’s shoulders. “He was just going to come looking for you.”

“But I was perfectly safe.”

“You were alone with him for hours.”

And if it had been up to Collette, she would have sat talking with Addison even longer. “I’m sorry—” A tremor from the cold ran through her. Either from the cold, or from guilt, or fear of what her brother intended to do.

Or perhaps from the combination of all of those.

“Come into the drawing room and sit by the fire.” Bethany shot a concerned glance toward the door but led Collette up the stairs anyway. “What was Bedwell thinking? Keeping you out so long? This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have allowed you to go with him. Not after I saw that look—”

“After you saw what look?” Collette halted inside the door while Bethany toed the ottoman closer to the fire. Collette didn’t remember any particular look.

“Right after he offered Lady Sheffield his arm, he glanced over his shoulder at Sir Grimsley. And… it’s hard to describe but… Oh, Collette, I should have realized. Here, come inside and sit down.” But she herself crossed to the window, her fingertips rapidly tapping her thumb one by one. “They have not come to blows,” she announced as she shamelessly watched the two men below.

Good Lord! Collette dropped onto the cushioned bench and huddled beneath the blanket. “I didn’t think. We were just talking…”

“It didn’t look like talking from here.” Bethany slid her a glance but then, just as quickly, stared out the window again. “Good thing it’s raining, or the neighbors would certainly be getting an earful. At the same time, I can’t hear what’s being said either.”

“What are they doing now?” Collette buried her face in her hands. She had known she had sat with Addison for longer than was strictly appropriate, but she’d done nothing wrong. Had she?

“Your duke is looking quite formidable. He isn’t doing much talking. Oh, wait, he’s nodding now. They are in agreement about something.” Bethany rushed away from the window and sat down in her normal spot just as the opening and closing of a door sounded from downstairs in the foyer.

Seconds later, her brother appeared, his hair streaming around his face, his clothing sopping, with water dripping onto the shining wooden floor.

“A bloody duke, Collette?”

But Bethany had shot off the settee again and was settling a blanket around her husband’s shoulders.

“We can discuss this later, Chase. Come upstairs and change into something dry. Collette, you need to get out of that wet gown as well.”

But Collette didn’t move right away. “We went to the Opus Emporium, and then a teahouse. All we did was talk.” Except for in those moments when he’d pulled his vehicle to the side of the road.

“Be prepared to receive him first thing tomorrow morning.” Chase spoke through clenched teeth. And with that, her amiable, compassionate brother spun around and marched out of the room.

Bethany glanced back at Collette. “I need to calm him down. Will you be all right if I—”

“Yes.” But Collette slumped even lower where she sat at the hearth.

“Everything is going to work out fine. His temper won’t last long, and we’ll work everything out over dinner. Come upstairs as well. Polly can draw you a hot bath, and I promise you’ll feel much better after.”

Collette rose and then nearly stumbled over her own feet as she drifted toward the door. She knew she was in some sort of scrape, but she didn’t completely understand why.

The rules that these people lived by—they felt like a difficult maze where each turn had her more confused than before.

All she knew was that she’d never seen her brother so angry, not even after Lord Greystone had compromised Diana—which wasn’t really fair at all—seeing as Diana’s indiscretions hadn’t been nearly as innocent as Collette’s…

Be prepared to receive him first thing tomorrow morning.

Had she finally run out of choices? And if she had, shouldn’t she be more disappointed at that realization?

* * *

“I haven’t seena storm like this all year.” Mr. Brown observed.

Addison closed his eyes and relished the feel of the hot water his valet poured over his head. Having spent an additional half an hour driving around in the rain, he had returned soaking wet, and although he ought to be chilled to the bone, Addison’s blood flowed warm enough.

One would expect to feel defensive upon being blasted by Collette’s brother like that, but Addison rather respected the man for it. He would have done no less if the tables had been turned.

Chaswick was a good man and an excellent brother.

What the devil had caused him to act so very out of character? Something about being in her company shattered his normal reservations. He’d experienced it that day in the stairwell, and then again, in her classroom. Talking with her at the dinner party, he’d wanted to experience it again.

Whatever “it” was.

Today, he’d intended to keep her out for forty-five minutes, certainly no more than an hour. And he’d intended to present her with all the logical reasons she needed to marry him. If she had refused, he would have made inquiries for her as to suitable employment closer to London. Close enough, at least, that she could make somewhat frequent visits to see her family.

His plans had gone awry.

Addison accepted the soap from Brown and went to scrubbing himself thoroughly. His skin was cold to the touch, but beneath it he was hot, jumpy. And whenever he remembered the kiss, lusty as hell.

“Leave me,” he instructed his valet. He’d have a warm soak and do some writing later this evening.

“Very good, sir. A towel and banyan are hanging over the chair.”

Lightning flashed as the door closed and thunder cracked the air three seconds later. Fulminatus. He grinned. How very appropriate.

Addison slid down in the tub, submerging his entire head and holding himself there until he had no choice but to emerge for air.

He ought to have been considerably more discreet about the location he’d chosen to kiss her. Anywhere would have been better than sitting atop his curricle parked on the side of Curzon Street.

He might have chosen somewhere he could do more than kiss her, while at the same time ensuring neither of them fell off the damn bench.

Instinctively, he wound his hand around his cock, thick and hard from nothing more than the memory of a kiss.

What was it about her?

He tilted his head back, his hand slick from the soap, making it easy to slide up and down his length.

When he’d first come of age, he’d taken advantage of his position and resources by setting up a mistress, much as his peers had done. Daphne Dubois—likely not even her given name, but he’d enjoyed her. He’d liked her. He’d not enjoyed the sordid nature of it all. In the years since he’d let her go, his encounters had been brief, spontaneous, and, since he was also selective, quite limited.

Collette was unlike any woman he’d ever known. Unbridled by a proper upbringing, she spoke her mind. And yet she was a lady.

When he’d assisted her off the curricle, he’d been tantalized by the curve of her hip—a gentle slope formed with mostly taut flesh.

What would her skin feel like beneath his hands? Silky? Satiny?

The image of wide-open indigo eyes, staring up at him, hiding nothing of her own desire, edged him closer.

Addison.

His given name on her lips was an aphrodisiac in itself—lips that were pink and plump.

He imagined her unclothed, her breasts in his palms, her smooth back pressed against his chest while his cock throbbed between her legs. And those little breathy sounds she’d made when he’d nipped at the corner of her mouth. He’d taste that place on her neck where her pulse fluttered beneath tender skin, and then latch onto it, claiming her. He would lose himself in her heat as he moved in and out, penetrating deeper with each stroke.

So good. Her inner muscles would grip him tightly. She would be hot and wet. Gentle splashing sounds barely met Addison’s consciousness as he worked himself harder, eyes closed. She was riding him as he nipped at her breasts. She was so damned beautiful.

He jerked and held his breath when the inevitable lighting shot down his spine, killing him but also filling a void, making him whole and breaking him into a thousand pieces at the same time.

Seconds passed in which he returned to his surroundings, hearing the rain pouring on the window and aware the water in the copper tub had grown cold.

Climbing out, one hand braced against the wall, Addison didn’t dismiss the images of her that lingered in his mind.

He ran the towel over his shoulders, down his arms. He’d told Rowan she was beautiful, but there was more to her than that.

Her eyes, which were a normal shade of blue and ought to be nothing out of the ordinary, succeeded in pulling him directly into her thoughts. He had no power against the curiosity she evoked—when he was with her, they explored unexpected ideas and subjects in ways he’d never considered before.

And the crux of it was he liked taking these unexpected detours.

With her.

Upon their initial meeting, he’d taken one look at her pinched lips and deemed her to be an uninteresting teacher. After she’d loosed them, he’d added annoying to that description.

When had he become captivated by that same mouth?

If he hadn’t just found his rather reprehensible release, he might have been tempted to summon other scenarios for it. Instead, he slipped his arms into his banyan and opened the door.

“Do you wish to dress for dinner, Your Grace?” Brown stood at the ready, looking perfectly proper but all too knowing, damn him.

Addison grimaced. “Not tonight.” He’d be dining alone. On many occasions, he’d sat unaccompanied, wearing formal evening wear, and allowed his staff to serve him with all pomp and circumstances. But only when he was going out afterward.

He’d made no social commitments for that evening.

“I’ve business to attend to in my study.”

“No jacket then, I’ll lay out your maroon dressing gown.”

“Yes.” Addison would attempt to shelve concerns over the turn his life would be taking tomorrow morning by adding a chapter or two to his latest book. It seemed to be the one thing in this world that made sense in his life.

Even though it didn’t, really.