Page 90 of Shameless Duke

Her eyes widened. “Oh, Lucien! You cannot mean to tell me you purchased this building as a home for my school.”

“The transaction is not complete,” he allowed, taking her into his arms and devouring her upturned face with his gaze. “Naturally, I would never dream of making a decision so important without your approval. That is why we are here. I have had my man looking for some time now, for something I thought would be suitable—a large enough building capable of being outfitted to your requirements, a neighborhood in which I need not fear my wife traipsing about in trousers…”

“You love my trousers,” she protested. “You have told me so yourself on many occasions.”

“I love peeling you out of them,” he corrected, his hand drifted lovingly over her belly, cradling the life growing within. “Here is the evidence.”

“Wicked man,” she said, without heat.

“I do not recall hearing you complain.” He dropped a kiss on her lips, groaning when she deepened it, her tongue slipping inside his mouth.

She pulled away then, smiling up at him. “Why would I complain, when I have a life so wonderful, I could never have even dreamt it?”

“Even though you married a man with fancy commodes?” he could not help but tease, affecting her honeyed drawl.

Hazel laughed. “Of course, and even though I swear a mockingbird could imitate my accent better than you can.”

He kissed the bridge of her nose, right over the smattering of freckles he found endlessly bewitching. “I shall have to try harder, darling. Fortunately for me, I have the rest of our lives to perfect it. But tell me what you think of this building for your Lady’s Detective School. I can bear the suspense no longer.”

“How I love you.” She cupped his cheek. “I think it is utterly perfect. Thank you for supporting me in this endeavor. I do realize it is not precisely the thing a proper duchess does, and Lady Beaufort is rather horrified by the notion.”

“Aunt Hortense is horrified by everything and everyone,” he countered easily. His aunt had taken Hazel under her wing and had done an excellent job of teaching Hazel the vagaries of London manners. “You know that I am only happy when you are happy, Hazel. I will never seek to cage you.”

He was blessed with strong women in his life, who had taught him a woman’s independence was to be reveled in, even if much of the civilized world would still seek to repress her. Hazel, with her wings spread, was a glorious sight indeed.

And her legs, for that matter, but that errant thought was decidedly unwanted, for the spear of desire it sent to his groin.

His intrepid wife was somehow instantly aware of his discomfort. She palmed him through his trousers. “There is another way you might make me happy, Lucien.”

He was rigid. Ready.

“Here?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

The Duchess of Arden was a wanton. And he loved it. He lovedher. Lucien cast a glance about their surroundings. They were alone in the building, and there was an accommodating old chaise lounge in a salon to his left which had been left behind by the previous occupants. He could position her before it, lift her skirts, take her from behind…

“Here,” she echoed, and then his brash American duchess tugged his head back down to hers for another searing kiss.

The End.