Desperate Duchesses

Roberta smiled to herself.



But to her vexation, it was she who began to lose clothing next. Damon put down the spinner he drew earlier. She was experiencing the most deliciously fuzzy feeling, so rather than lean over, she simply pointed a foot at Damon.



“Very small feet,” he said, holding her ankle. “And sweetly turned ankles.” He drew off her right shoe.



A moment later she lost the left one as well.



“I had better not lose any more,” she said, sitting up straight.



She put down a spinner. “It seems that I’ll have to take off my shirt,” Damon said. His voice was as sweet as strawberry champagne and far more dangerous.



Roberta put down her drink. After all, this was her very first male chest, and she might as well have a good view.



He played right along, smiling at her as if he exhibited himself to young ladies every day. First he took his time pulling the shirt from his breeches, and then he slowly pulled it up over his head.



Roberta’s lips made a silent O. He was so beautiful. Smooth muscles rippled as the shirt flew to the ground. Her fingers twitched, wanting to touch them.



“Your move,” Damon said gently.



Roberta dragged her eyes away from his body. She reached forward and picked up a domino piece, cool and long in her fingers. She knew it was a double without looking. She turned it over, thinking that he would have to take off his breeches—



It was a three.



She made a little, disappointed sound before she realized and he let fly with a bellow of laughter. “One of the things I really like about you, Buttercup, is that you’re almost transparent.”



“No, I’m not,” she said, stung. “I can be very Machiavellian when I want to.”



“Oh really?” he asked, his eyes dancing over the edge of his glass. “I bet you’re no good at lying whatsoever. You look like a girl who never told a decent lie in her life.”



“I certainly have,” she protested. “Why, I regularly tell Mrs. Grope that her hair is remarkably elegant.”



Damon visibly shuddered. “So you tell white lies. But have you ever told a lie about something you really felt deeply about?”



“Yes! I feel deeply about Mrs. Grope’s hair!”



“I can understand that. Now look me in the face and tell me a lie about something you really care about, something you feel desperately about.”



What did she feel desperate about anyway? The champagne had made her so cheerful that she didn’t feel desperate about anything…except, perhaps, seeing Damon take off his breeches.



She must have looked blank, because he said, “Tell me that you’re not in love with Villiers. Go on!”



“I’m not in love with Villiers,” she said slowly.



“Terrible!” he said. “Your eyes went all soft and moony even mentioning his name.”



In Roberta’s opinion, her eyes went soft and moony because—the horror of it—for a moment she couldn’t remember who Villiers was. Champagne was dangerous.



“I don’t want to draw another double,” she said, keeping her voice firm. “Absolutely not. I will simply faint if I draw another double.”



Something flared in his eyes that made her belly fire in response.



“And why is that, Buttercup?” he asked. He pulled a two from the pile and played it.



She kept her voice casual. “I’m afraid that you’ll take this game too seriously. That you might have misunderstood me.”



“What?” Apparently this took him by surprise.



“I’m afraid that you’ll think I’m like all those other young women, chasing after you in hopes of marrying you.”



He gave a bark of laughter. “I can distinguish a mountain from a molehill, Roberta!”



“Just so long as we’re in agreement. Now if I could just draw a two…” She turned over the piece.



“Double two’s,” she said cheerily. “And—how lucky!—I can create a spinner from the two you just played.”



His eyes were unreadable. “I seem to have lost track of this conversation. Were you exhibiting an unexpected brilliance at fibbing, or are you really afraid that I’ll consider you a marital prospect?”



“I’m hardly a marital prospect,” Roberta said. “I’m in love with someone else, and I’m engaged to marry him.”



Damon reached down and pulled off a shoe. “Then why are you here?”



“Shall we make a bet that you won’t be able to tell whether I’m lying or not?”



He shook his head. “I’ve lost all faith in my ability to read your mind.”



Roberta took another delicious swallow of champagne. “My fiancé and I are going to have a sophisticated marriage,” she told him.



“Sophisticated?”



She nodded. “That means that we don’t have to be prudish and chaste and tedious things of that nature. It’s not as if I’m a baker, you know!” She opened her eyes very wide.



He pulled off another shoe, even though it was his turn to move, but she decided not to mention it. It was too much fun to look at his chest.



“Your muscles are quite beautiful,” she said. “Do you take exercise?” He didn’t seem to hear her, perhaps because he was putting his stockings to the side.



Roberta’s heart was beating quickly.



“We’re being absolutely straightforward here,” he said with a slow smile. “I will not fear that you are hunting my considerable assets—”



She giggled.



“Instead, I take it that you are here with the laudable desire to gain some experience before encountering Villiers in an intimate setting. After all, such an older man—”



“He’s not old,” she protested.



“Perhaps it’s just his style. He always strikes me as bored by life. Enthusiastic only about chess. Though, of course, perhaps it will all change when he gets you alone in a bedchamber. God knows, we’re not in a bedchamber and I’m finding it a challenge not to leap on you like an untamed dog.”



He sat down and pulled a five from the pile.



Roberta felt a flash of chill. It went without saying that Villiers would never compare himself to an unmannered mongrel. He would never sit opposite her, wearing nothing but a pair of breeches, looking as easy as if he were born to be naked.



Damon put down his piece and then looked up at her. Her heart almost stopped at the look in his eye. “I dare you to pull a double from that pile,” he said.



“Maybe I should go to my chambers,” she said. “It’s late.”



“Bedtime?”



Roberta wasn’t sure what she was doing. She was teasing him, even though she didn’t mean it, or did she? Her mind seemed to be drugged by the very sight of Damon. And it wasn’t as if there was anyone who thought she shouldn’t be here. Villiers had said—had said—



“I suppose we ought to finish the game, since we started it,” she said. Her heart was thudding against her ribs.



“I always finish a game once it begins.”



Roberta didn’t think Damon was talking about dominoes. Was she ready for this?



“The world is a different place than I believed it to be while growing up,” she said, pulling a four from the pile.