Page 6 of Five Ways to Bed a Duke

Over the years, he had earned a reputation as a rake among polite society. It was not intentional, but the young matrons liked bad rakes because they made bedsport even more glorious. Some of them had fetishes that made him aghast sometimes. It was not uncommon to hear some of his bed partners boasting about having bedded “different titles.” He didn’t mind that he was just another title to them, he only cared about the pleasure—and he always left before things turned sour.

It seemed his new title attracted more female admirers, especially his preferred bedpartners—young widows and actresses. Women who understood the pursuit of pleasure and never expected more.

Unfortunately, Society matrons had doubled down their efforts to snag his hand in marriage. It was quite ironic that it took his father’s death to turn him into the most eligible bachelor in the whole of London, since the late Duke hardly did anything that could potentially benefit his prodigal son.

This was one other reason why a tryst would benefit him, granting him both pleasure and a respite from the clutches of the marriage-minded mamas for at least the night.

Now that he was pressed against the soft body of the delectable Lady Tremaine, he surrendered himself to the magic theirbodies could create. His lady pulled his head down, and he began kissing her senseless. He could swear he was succeeding because the lady was moaning, squirming, and holding him even tighter.

But then she suddenly pushed him away.

“What…?” he sputtered, startled.

“Shh,” she hissed, placing a single finger on her lips, motioning for him to keep quiet. “Someone is coming,” she whispered.

Sure enough, when Richard strained his ears, he heard footsteps coming in their direction. But they were both hidden by a curtain in the corner.

Richard turned to reassure his partner of their seclusion, but she was already hurrying back inside. Lady Tremaine was a novice in love affairs. His more experienced partners would have relished that threat of exposure in a way that the recent widow clearly did not.

He silently cursed the intruder for interrupting them.

Richard stepped fully behind the curtain as the footsteps got closer.

A feminine figure stepped onto the balcony, and a sliver of light from the ballroom showed that it was his sister’s aggravating friend, Catherine Burlow.

What was the chit doing on this secluded balcony? Didn’t her mother warn her that she could get ruined that way? He guessed she had been on the marriage mart long enough to know the rules, so he was sure that she had her reasons for being alone on the balcony.

He turned to leave through the door behind him, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw the taller frame of a man stepping onto the balcony.

It was the viscount she had been dancing with earlier. They might have arranged for a tryst, but the surprised look on her face and her startled gasp disabused him of that notion.

She was his sister’s friend, and he was honor-bound to protect her from ruin. He sighed as he remained in his spot, waiting.

God save him from reckless women.

Slowly, Catherine relaxed as the warm night breeze caressed her skin, her world righted on its axis once again.

For as long as she could remember, fresh air had always calmed her. She mentally prepared herself to plunge back into the chaos of the ballroom, but it was a glaring reality that she had to face. She needed these affairs if she were to secure a respectable match. For both her and her sister’s sakes.

A hand touching her shoulder made her jump in fear, and she turned around sharply. The sight of the Viscount stifled the scream bubbling up her throat.

“I am sorry for startling you, Miss Burlow,” he said ruefully.

Well, he should be. Considering the number of young ladies that had been ruined on balconies, she had a good reason to be scared. She wouldn’t have taken the risk if she had not almost gone into hysterics inside that ballroom.

“What are you doing here, My Lord?” she asked stiffly.

At some hidden recesses of her mind, she acknowledged that she sounded cold. But she couldn’t be happy when the Viscount interrupted her quiet time. Eligible suitor or not, he had no reason to follow her.

“I was worried you were unwell, Miss Burlow. I only followed you to check if you are well,” he admitted in a concerned tone.

“I truly doubt that, My Lord. Unwell ladies hardly ask to get some fresh air. They are more likely to swoon into the arms of the gallant gentlemen who were unfortunate to be their dance partners,” she scoffed, her words dripping with sarcasm.

At that, the Viscount threw his head back and laughed so loudly that she was afraid he would draw attention.

“First, Miss Burlow,” he said once his laughter died down, an earnest look on his face, “it wouldn’t consider it an unfortunate event should you swoon into my arms. I would be the happiest man in the world if I could have you in my arms. Second, You are right. I didn’t come to this balcony because I thought you were unwell. I came here because I really wanted to have a quiet moment with you, away from the chaos of the ballroom.”

Catherine cleared her throat daintily. “You do realize, My Lord, that if we are seen together on this balcony, I will be irrevocably ruined, and you will be forced to marry me?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

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