Duke of Lust (Sinful Dukes #3)

Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

“ A nnabelle?” Frederick called after a minute had passed. “Do you need some assistance?”

“No!” she called back swiftly, tying the robe even more tightly in case he came in. “It is only that…”

She paused and swallowed, unable to find the words to express her reticence, her fears and also her longing to be braver. Annabelle wished that she was more worldly and knew better how to deal with such situations but at the moment it felt beyond her.

Then, she heard Madame Deveaux instruct Frederick in quick terse French to stay in the bedroom. A moment later, the modiste returned to Annabelle .

“You are shy, are you not?” she said from the doorway, addressing Annabelle without any annoyance or judgement. “It is well for young women to be a little shy but there is no need today. Do you think you can trust me?”

Annabelle nodded, but then her eyes met those of Frederick who had appeared behind Madame Deveaux’s shoulder. The sun was shining in through the window and catching his hair, giving his handsome face something like a golden aura.

She thought again of his resemblance to a young Greek god and shivered at being caught in his sights like this, even half-skulking behind a rail in the dressing room. She knew well from secretive reading of the ancient myths that gods could be very dangerous to mortal maidens.

“Can you trust Duke Frederick?” the modiste asked, again without pressure. “You have known him for a long time, I believe, although I understand that this situation is unusual for you.”

Could Annabelle trust him? With women in general, of course not. He was a rake. But he was also Frederick, Penelope’s brother, and he was the same Duke of Heartwick who had so forcefully extricated her from the grasp of that awful man last night - showing a nature of steel under silk, as Victoria had said.

It really was as though Frederick were three men at once. Still, none of the three had ever done her any harm and all of them seemed well-intentioned towards her.

“Yes, I do trust Frederick, I think,” she said quietly, hoping that her trust was not misplaced. “It is only as you say, Madame Deveaux, that I am shy. I have never even been to the dressmaker without my mother before, which is ridiculous for a grown woman.”

“I will be with you all the time,” said the older woman. “You will not be compromised by this appointment today, I promise.”

“I would never do anything to hurt you, Annabelle,” Frederick added. “You know that.”

In that moment, she felt that she did. Very slowly, Annabelle emerged from the dressing room and smiled uncertainly at her companions. While she feared that the bright rays of sunlight might make the thin silk robe translucent, neither of her companions showed any awareness of such a development and Annabelle pushed it from her mind.

“Where do we begin?” she said.

“Annabelle liked this light green silk,” Frederick said, holding up a long swathe of fabric. “I think it’s better for the evening dress rather than the ballgown.”

He cast it casually over Annabelle’s shoulder as he spoke, the fabric cascading down, front and back.

“It drapes elegantly over her curves, don’t you think, Madame Deveaux? The color brings out the fire in her hair too."

Annabelle held her breath as his fingers brushed aside a stray ringlet that had fallen away from its pins.

“Yes,” said Madame Deveaux thoughtfully, scribbling notes as she spoke. “I would recommend a thicker silk for the ballgown, at least for the bodice. But the evening dress will be less structured, more flowing. Empire line, I think, but perhaps clasped at the shoulders for a Grecian note.”

In line with the dressmaker’s words, Frederick arranged the fabric around Annabelle’s neckline, his fingers barely touching her but still far too intimate for comfort. Annabelle could feel herself tensing and reacting to every slight contact in a way that made her feel she was undergoing some strange but disturbingly pleasurable physical trial.

“Stand a little straighter, Annabelle,” he instructed her. “We must see how the fabric falls. No, shoulders back too. You’re all hunched over. Straighten up here, and here.”

In illustration, Frederick’s hand glanced over her shoulder blades and then ran lightly up her spine from waist to nape, the unexpected contact making Annabelle catch her breath. Did he think she was a doll or a dressmaker’s dummy? Or did he know the effect such touches would have?

“That’s it, just right,” Frederick murmured, a hand lightly on each shoulder as he stood behind her now, and his breath feeling like it was caressing her neck when he then leaned forward to rearrange the fabric to his satisfaction over her bust.

Annabelle could not help the sigh that resulted from these touches. Where had that come from? Perhaps this dressmaking adventure had not been such a good idea after all. Stephen would certainly have deemed it improper, regardless of Frederick’s intentions and the presence of Madame Deveaux, but it was too late to back out now.

“No, I think we should keep the neckline simpler,” stated Frederick after further consideration. “Look how this color compliments Annabel’s skin and hair. It’s like limpid seawater against pearl and sunrise. Why ruin such a perfect contrast by adding clasps?”

“He is right,” laughed the Frenchwoman, making a further note on her pad. “This silk could have been made for you, Lady Annabelle.”

“So, we will cut in a low sweep, here and here, with only a slight draping to the fabric over the bosom,” noted the modiste , touching Annabelle’s side-body to indicate her intentions.

Frederick nodded, the fixing of his gaze on her breasts beneath the dressing gown making her pulse race.

“Or even lower,” he suggested, causing her heart to flip as he actually touched the silken gown at the side of her breast, so lightly that it was barely a touch at all. “Here perhaps? For a Parisian-style evening gown. Annabelle could carry that off.”

“Ah, but you must take account of new stays,” advised Madame Deveaux. “I should have mentioned that Lady Annabelle will require new underwear too. Better constructed stays make the bust higher and fuller.”

“Of course,” he agreed, as though they were merely discussing the weather rather than the intimate dimensions of her body. “Then here, a little higher, as you originally said.”

Annabelle bit her lip as he touched the same spot of silken fabric again, with barely detectable pressure on the flesh beneath. She was trying so hard not to react but with this focus on her breasts, even hidden under the robe, her body was aching and throbbing in a way she had never experienced.

“Stand back, please, Your Grace,” said the dressmaker, her tone clear but polite. “I must see more closely for myself.”

Frederick halted for a moment and then nodded, stepping away to let Madame Deveaux and her tape measure take his place before Annabelle. His face was averted and although Annabelle could not tell what he was thinking, she noted his closed eyes, the heightened color of his skin and set of his jaw.

“I want this to be one of the dresses of the season, Madame,” Frederick continued after a few moments, his expression deadly serious as he opened his eyes. “Do not skimp on the best materials and workers. The cost is immaterial to me. Lady Annabelle must catch the eye of every bachelor in London.”

Annabelle herself was both touched and disturbed by this declaration. It again made her feel something like prize animal being groomed, decorated and fêted by an expert salesman .

“I understand,” agreed the Frenchwoman. “It shall be as you say. With Lady Annabelle’s figure, it will not be so very hard to achieve.”

Following two evening gowns, they planned the ballgown, a day dress and walking suit and even a night-gown of the same silk as the semi-diaphanous robe. Madame Deveaux advocated the purchase of such attire for her anticipated wedding night, supported by Frederick who seemed to think nothing of a woman wearing only such a scanty wisp of fabric.

Annabelle’s cheeks had been flaming since the moment she stepped out of the dressing room. Now she no longer dared to even glance in the looking-glass for fear of seeing the full-body blush and tousled hair that she knew must be visible to all.

“But what would my husband say when he saw me in such a garment!” she exclaimed of the nightgown, much to Frederick’s amusement.

“He would say only that you are very beautiful,” Madame Deveaux asserted confidently but Frederick shook his head.

“I am sure that he would say nothing at all,” he told Annabelle with an amused but knowing expression. “Men are simple creatures and easily overwhelmed by such a sight as you see in that plate.”

“Overwhelmed?” queried Annabelle, slightly alarmed, handing the sketch back swiftly to the modiste .

“In a good way,” Madame Deveaux assured her. “Your friend the Duke of Heartwick teases you, non?”

“He always does,” Annabelle acknowledged, feeling a little overwhelmed herself at this point. “He always has, for as long as I’ve known him.”

“Are you telling me to stop?” Frederick asked, raising his eyebrow and reminding Annabelle of his admission that he actually enjoyed teasing her. “I would if you really wanted me to.”

Despite her involuntary responses to his light contacts with her barely dressed body, and her confusion over the rushing and throbbing his proximity seemed to arouse, she had enjoyed their time together, especially having Frederick’s full attention. She could not claim otherwise.

“No, I only wish I was older and sharper and knew how to answer you better,” Annabelle answered truthfully.

“I should have no sport at all if you were all worldly and sophisticated, would I?” the Duke of Heartwick said with a smile that made her shiver.

“Remember, these new dresses are only to display your natural form at its best, not to change you, Lady Annabelle,” Madame Deveaux added. “Now, I shall put away all the samples and then we will return to the dressing room so I can make some final measurements for undergarments to suit your gown choices.”

“You are marvel, Madame,” said Frederick with a bow to the dressmaker, as he headed for the bedroom door, his part in the visit now played. “Don’t forget that all bills must come to me. We can’t have Lord Emberly spoiling all the fun before it even starts, can we?”

“What kind of man do you seek for a husband, Lady Annabelle?” Madame Deveaux asked conversationally, finishing the repacking of her bags as Annabelle dressed herself. “A rich man? A handsome man? A man of great rank?”

“A good man,” Annabelle said, with a little smile to herself. “My ambitions are not so great as many young ladies of the ton. He must have a certain degree of fortune and rank if my brother is to approve a match, but for myself, I think I long most for kindness.”

“That is a true virtue,” the older woman agreed, “and a wise choice for a young woman to make, even if it can be equally hard to find as more worldly qualities. You do not speak of l’amour , of love. Is that not also a consideration?”

“It has always felt like too much to ask,” Annabelle admitted. “I do not think that I am the kind of woman that men love. As Frederick said, I am not worldly or sophisticated. I do not know at all how to flirt. If he had not offered to help me, I would not know how to begin seeking a husband.”

Something in this explanation amused the modiste.

“ Duke Frederick has been a good friend to you, non? Has he never spoken to you of love? Perhaps he might help you to find it somewhere. ”

“Love? Frederick?” Annabelle laughed aloud at this idea. “I do not believe he knows the first thing about love or seeks it for himself. I have no reason to believe he could help anyone else to find it.”

“Men are not such simple creatures as Duke Frederick claims, Lady Annabelle,” the French woman advised her, stepping in to help with buttons and tapes. “Men too may feel unworthy of love. They may seek love without knowing that is what they chase. Some seek it again and again with woman after woman but it is never there until someone convinces them they are worth loving.”

“So, you’re saying that…rakes only want to be loved?” asked Annabelle with a confused frown at this peculiar idea.

Madame Deveaux laughed gently and shook her head.

“No, no, Lady Annabelle. Be very wary of such men for your own safety. I say only that some men who appear to be rakes, as you say it, are not really so. Well, you are young. Such things will become clear to you in time.”

The fitting was over and Madame Deveaux took up her bags, leaving Annabelle to turn over this strange final conversation in her head.

Thanking the modiste for her services and consideration, Annabelle led her back downstairs and out to her carriage. As already arranged with Frederick, who was apparently a valued customer of long-standing, the new clothes would be ready for the first fitting within days. Madame Deveaux looked forward to seeing Annabelle again in London soon.

“Good evening, Frederick. Is there any news from Walden Towers yet?”

Frederick’s eyes were on Annabelle as she entered the dining room and took her seat at his right hand, near the head of the long table. She wore a slightly fussy yellow muslin with embroidered flowers, looking a little like a child in her mother’s dress.

“No, there have been no letters today. I do not really expect anything unless there is news of the baby, or the day before Duchess Sarah’s return,” Frederick informed his guest. “I would, of course, inform you of any such news.”

This was the first time he had spoken to Annabelle since their session with the modiste earlier although he had watched her from a window walking in the gardens after luncheon, then swinging from Penelope’s old swing, and finally being chased by a bee…

Recalling that last scene made him smile again, having chuckled to himself at the time. He would have gone outside to aid her if she had been stung, of course, or at risk from any genuinely dangerous creature. With a mere bee, her frantic alarm was only funny, and somewhat sweet.

“Oh, of course. Thank you,” Annabelle replied politely and Frederick felt slightly disappointed that she did not look directly at him or smile as she spoke but rather shyly and down at the table setting.

She made one or two further impersonal remarks about the weather and the gardens while the chicken soup was being served and then fell into self-conscious silence as she began to eat. Her body language was more tense and cautious than usual and Frederick began to suspect he was responsible.

“You have been busy this afternoon, Annabelle,” he remarked lightly. "I have not seen you since luncheon.”

“I was outside for most of the day. I needed fresh air and did not wish to keep you from your usual business.”

Again, her words were clipped and anodyne, inviting no further engagement. This was not the Annabelle Frederick knew who could chatter and gossip amusingly for hours if encouraged.

Had she deliberately avoided him since the modiste’s call? He was sure that Annabelle had enjoyed planning her clothes with him and Madame Deveaux, just as he had wished. Still, he could not deny that it had been a risqué experience for such an innocent young woman. He would be sorry if she regretted it.

“I hope you enjoyed meeting Madame Deveaux today and that your new wardrobe will please you,” Frederick said and saw Annabelle immediately color, reinforcing his suspicion that this was part of what was on her mind.

“I did, very much,” she answered, glancing up at him shyly, and then back to her soup. “Stephen would certainly not approve, but it is the most generous present I have ever been given.”

“Then we must find you a match before Stephen ever has the chance to find out that his sister is now one of London’s most fashionably dressed young ladies.”

At last, he did receive a smile, if a tentative one. Still, it raised his spirits and gave him hope that any error on his part had been minor and open to correction.

“You have bought dresses from Madame Deveaux before, I think,” Annabelle said carefully and Frederick’s heart sank again as he nodded confirmation to this obvious truth.

“Yes, but that was different,” he told her. “It need not concern you in any way. Let us only look forward to your new dresses.”

When he had commissioned Madame Deveaux to measure and fit dresses for any of his lovers, it had always been entirely different. A series of enthusiastic widows, freethinkers and women from the artistic classes had been all too keen to tease him with casually undressed bodies and talk of scanty underwear and easily unfastened bodices.

Commissioning a wardrobe for Annabelle, however, had been intended as a blameless gift and useful toolbox in her hunt for a husband rather than an erotic interlude. Regardless, Frederick recognized that the familiar frisson of male-female attraction had been in the room with them today, despite Annabelle’s innocence and Frederick’s best efforts to control his instincts.

Focusing on fabrics, fits and illustrations, he had hoped that Annabelle would not notice the atmosphere, but she had certainly perceived something even if she had not understood it, blushing and breathing harder every time he came near. She had shown herself physically responsive to the lightest of touches and inflamed an imagination Frederick was still wrestling to keep under lock and key tonight.

Half the world thought him a rake and Frederick now wondered if it were true. He’d always denied this label before, seeing himself only as a man who physically enjoyed women and was fortunately well-blessed with the means to attract and satisfy them. His lovers were experienced, willing and at least equal in age. He had seduced or abused no one and took care not to get women with child.

Yet now, it seemed that Frederick had in some way inadvertently begun to seduce Annabelle, of all people, rousing feelings that evidently disturbed her and maybe even marred her trust in him. All because of their silly argument yesterday and his impulsive and reckless gift to her today.

Now he must somehow restore the balance between them and wipe away the nervousness holding back Annabelle’s usually sweet smiles. Then, he must do as he had promised and find her a husband, removing her from his own dangerous influence forever.

“Speaking of dresses, did your present gown come from your mother’s wardrobe?”

“Frederick!” Annabelle scolded him, jolted out of her pensiveness just as he had intended. “That’s not a very nice thing to say!”

“But I think the Duchess of Colborne a very well-dressed woman,” he protested. “You deliberately misconstrue my compliment, Lady Annabelle.”

Now, she finally laughed and Frederick joined in.

“You are teasing me again, Frederick. You see, I am learning to recognize it.”

“You will doubtless look better in the green silk evening gown we chose today,” he added. “You are not a middle-aged matron, after all.”

That made her blush again, but more in her usual manner.

“It will make a lovely dress,” she sighed. “I can’t wait to wear it. You must tell me honestly how it looks first though, Frederick. I would not want to make a fool of myself if I look ridiculous.”

“Save the night-gown for your husband, but the other dresses I insist I must see before any other man,” he declared. “If I get tired of looking at them before you leave Heartwick Hall, I might even have to buy you more.”

“Oh, that really would be too much!” Annabelle burst out with such dismayed delight that Frederick was tempted to sweep her up and waltz her about the dining room.

Or did he wish to sweep her up and do something else entirely with that softly rounded little form of hers? Swiftly, Frederick struck down this dangerous thought and returned to safer ground, telling Annabelle tales, some of them true, about what women were presently wearing in Paris, Rome and Vienna.

By the end of the meal Annabelle was laughing and pink-faced from Frederick’s teasing and ridiculous tall stories. Enjoying himself almost as much as he had in planning her new wardrobe, he wished they could continue for another hour.

“Shall we take coffee in the drawing room?” he suggested.

“I fear I will fall asleep on those comfortable sofas if we go into the drawing room. I must say goodnight,” Annabelle said with a yawn.

From nowhere an unbidden image entered Frederick’s head of Annabelle falling asleep in the drawing room in that frumpy yellow dress and having to be carried up to bed in his arms.

That thought was merely amusing but then his imagination rolled off along a parallel track, proceeding to show him carrying her towards his own bedroom. In this altered fantasy, Annabelle wore a revealing evening gown of green silk and her face was not at all sleepy. Instead, her expression could only be described as wanton, filled with longing for his embrace, wherever that led.

When his dream version of Annabelle whispered his name and told him that she wanted him, Frederick stopped himself sternly.

“No,” he said aloud, causing Annabelle to look curiously at him.

Indecent fantasies were dangerous but there was nothing wrong in simply enjoying her company, was there?

“Stay with me a little longer,” he added impulsively and Annabelle stopped rising from her chair and then sat down again, her face full of questions. “I mean, you must tell me more about the type of husband you seek. Then, I can think and plan our course strategically.”

“Oh, I see,” she acknowledged with a little shrug. “As I told Madame Deveaux this afternoon, my stipulations are few. In the end, he must really only be kind and socially acceptable to my brother.”

“You give me very little to go on, Annabelle,” Frederick laughed at her simple desires. “Dark or fair? Young or older? A dandy or an intellectual?”

“I can’t suppose I will care about any of those things as long as he is a good man,” she answered, looking bamboozled by his questions.

“But what is a good man?” Frederick pressed, partly seeking her answer but partly only wanting to keep her there with him for a little longer.

“A man who is not vicious, I suppose. Someone who does not drink too much, or beat his wife, or treat his servants badly. Someone with a good reputation. Not a rake, I suppose…”

The words were spoken unthinkingly in Annabelle’s normal disingenuous manner but she stopped dead at this point with a mortified expression and bit her lip. Her body language was so natural and without artifice that her thoughts were very easy for Frederick to read.

“Not a man like me, you mean,” he suggested, causing her face to fall in a mass of chagrin and discomfort.

Yes, that must be what she meant but could not say, and for some reason this cut him to the quick. And yet, Frederick had seen how she had trembled and softened at his touch that afternoon, despite her high principles.

He got up himself now to leave the room and paused beside Annabelle’s chair, caught by a waft of the light floral perfume from her hair that felt so familiar and appealing as he breathed it in. Ah, to bury his face among those red-gold curls and then to bring them down over her shoulders and bosom as she spoke his name…

“Frederick,” Annabelle began, startling him from his reverie.

If he had truly been a rake, he could have dismissed the modiste this afternoon , carried the confused and excited young woman to his bed and possessed her body thoroughly for his own delectation. Annabelle would have enjoyed it at the time – he would have made sure of that – although he suspected she would have hated him later, just as he would have hated himself.

Now her expression was growing anxious as Frederick stood silently over her. Her mouth was slightly open as she looked up at him, her pink rosebud lips tempting his kiss.

“You don’t know what you want, Annabelle,” he snapped at her, frustrated by his own longings.

“What do you mean?” she responded with incomprehension in her widening eyes.

It took a sterling effort not to reach out and brush those stray curls from Annabelle’s face, or touch his finger to that moist lip she was biting. After their experience during the dress fitting this afternoon, he knew how she would shiver and gasp if he did touch her.

“I mean exactly what I say. You don’t know what you want. You certainly don’t know what I want.”

“Frederick,” Annabelle said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “I want…”

This was too much. Frederick turned and marched out of the room before he could do anything they might both come to regret.