The Duke's Perfect Wife

“Yes, well,” Neely said. “You have put forth some excellent ideas for reforms, Your Grace.” He wet his lips, gaze darting first to David, then Hart.

David caught the look and shot Hart a glance. “Perhaps we can sweeten the pot, eh?” David asked. “I sense that you wish to ask us something. You’re in confidence here. Words will go no further than the three of us and these walls.” He patted the cushioned velvet beside his head.

Hart expected Neely to ask for another tax on the aristocracy or their help on a pet project, or some such, but he surprised them by saying, “I wish to marry.”

Hart raised his brows. “Do you? My felicitations.”

“No, no. I mean, I wish to marry, but I am afraid that I am acquainted with no eligible, unmarried ladies. Perhaps, Your Grace, with your wide circle, you could introduce me to someone suitable?”

While Hart hid his annoyance, David took a pull of his cigar, removed it, and looked through the smoke at Hart. “Perhaps Lady Eleanor could help? She knows everyone in the country.”

Neely perked up at the mention of a title. “If this lady would be so kind?”

David stuck his cigar back into his mouth, and Hart gave him an irritated glance. While Eleanor acknowledged that many women of her class married to make social or financial connections, she might not be best pleased at being asked to introduce the prissy and snobbish Neely to one of her friends.

“I have to caution you,” Hart said to Neely, “that even were Lady Eleanor to agree to help, whether the young lady in question accepted your offer of marriage would be entirely up to her. A marriage is too nebulous a thing to guarantee.”

Neely thought about this, and nodded. “Yes, I see. Well, gentlemen, I will consider things.”

Hart felt the fish slipping away. But he had no interest in scouring England to find this man a bride. He’d have to resort to threats, not exactly what he wanted to do this night either.

Before he could speak, David blew out smoke and said, “Tell us what you really want, Neely.”

Hart glanced at David in surprise, then he wondered how he’d missed the signs. Neely was nervous, far more than a man wishing to be introduced to the right woman.

Hart’s head was not in this game tonight. Of course not. His thoughts were on the stairwell with Eleanor, her instant but innocent response, the taste of her mouth, the scent of her skin…

“You were about to ask for something else, before you settled on the safe topic of marriage,” David said, dragging back Hart’s attention. “Confess. You’re among friends. Worldly friends, at that.”

In other words, you can be honest with us, because we’re as bad as any gentlemen could be. You cannot possibly shock us.

Neely cleared his throat. He started to smile, and Hart relaxed. David had found a point of comradeship with him. Now to bring the fish into the boat.

Neely looked at Hart. “I want to do what you do.”

Hart frowned, not understanding. “What I do?”

“With women.” Neely’s eyes took on a hopeful light. “You know.”

Oh, dear God. “That was in the past, Mr. Neely,” Hart said coolly. “I’ve reformed.”

“Yes. Very admirable of you.” Neely drew a breath. “But you’d know where I can find such things. I like the ladies. I like them very much, but I’m a bit shy. And I have no idea which ones to approach for… certain things. I met a fellow in France who told me he put a halter on one and rode her like a horse. I’d like… I’d like very much to try something like that.”

Hart struggled to hide his disgust. What Neely asked for was nothing like the exotic pleasures Hart had learned and enjoyed. Neely asked for what he thought Hart enjoyed—using women, perhaps hurting them, for his pleasure. What Neely meant was a perversity, and not at all the art Hart practiced.

What Hart did was about trust, not pain—Hart promising the most exquisite joy to the woman who surrendered to him absolutely. He’d schooled himself to understand exactly what each woman wanted and exactly how to give it to her, and how to ease her back safely in the end. A lady never needed to fear when she was in Hart’s care.

However, the art could be dangerous, and an inexperienced pervert like Neely could truly hurt someone. The thought that Neely assumed Hart enjoyed handing out pain annoyed him. The man was an idiot.

But Hart needed the man’s votes. He swallowed his anger and said, “Mrs. Whitaker.”

“Ah.” David smiled and gestured with the cigar. “Excellent choice.”

“Who is Mrs. Whitaker?” Neely asked.

“A woman who will take good care of you,” Hart said. Mrs. Whitaker was a courtesan who knew how to contain overexcited men like Neely. “David will see you to her house.”

Neely looked eager and fearful at the same time. “Do you mean on the moment?”

“No time like the present,” Hart said. “I will leave you in Mr. Fleming’s hands. Good evening, Mr. Neely. I must return to my guests.”

“Quite.” Neely made a bow in his seat but did not extend a hand. He’d never think it proper to offer to shake hands with a duke. “I thank you, Your Grace.”

David and Hart shared another glance, and Hart opened the door. He climbed with relief out of the smoky carriage as David stretched his legs across the seat Hart had vacated and crossed his ankles, the very picture of decadence. A footman shut the door and the carriage rolled away.