Page 31 of Good Duke Gone Hard

That was the only kick in the breeches he needed as a reminder to make more conversation with his mouth and less with his eyes.

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A FULL TWO COURSE dinner passed from leek and ham soup and fricassee of chicken to braised beefsteaks and culminating with pudding. The men took port while the women made their way to the drawing room for tea.

When Jonathan could finally enter the drawing room with the other men, he made a point to restrain himself from making a direct beeline to Margaret. She was gracefully playing the pianoforte as Miss Agatha turned pages for her.

Maybe he could convince the younger sister, Miss Agatha that she needed a break. Afterall, turning pages was an onerous mental task, and, well, Miss Agatha appeared to have limited abilities, mentally.

Said persuasion was as easy as Jonathan’s prognostication, and soon he was a hair’s breadth from her silky skin. There was a card game at hand along with multiple conversations entertaining the guests more than Margaret’s music, so Jonathan chose this moment to whisper discreetly. “You have quite the predilection for various artistic endeavors, Lady Margaret. Or should I say, artisan? Might you be a multipotentialite?”

“Is that a proclivity for sesquipedalianism I detect? Perhaps you feel threatened and are competing with big words against me and my multiple potentials.”

“I daresay I should like to personally partake in these potentials.”

“I believe that could be arranged.”

“Shall we say, gardens? Midnight.” He whispered into her ear. It took all of his willpower not to end the whisper with a nibble on her lobe.

The hour hands trodded slowly to midnight, and patience was not Margaret’s strong suit. At half past eleven, she made an excuse to leave the gathering due to a headache. The party would likely be breaking up soon enough, so she was sure no one would notice.

Jonathan commanded himself to wait for at least one other guest to leave before he followed Margaret. Thankfully the doctor excused himself, due to fatigue, and Jonathan leapt on the opportunity to make his departure as well. Surely a young man of eight-and-twenty could be as tired as a septuagenarian.

Once he reached the doors to the garden, Jonathan was bounding down the pathway until he found Margaret at the fountain where they had painted together. He whisked her into his arms and pulled her down onto the grass.

She squealed as he began nibbling on her lobe the way he longed to do back in the drawing room.

“Jonathan,” she melted into his arms and wriggled around until her body was pressed against his. As she wrapped her fingers into his hair, he thought about the incongruency between her perfection and his imperfection. She was whole, full of life, and unscathed. He was a shell, often finding himself clinging to joy. But she was his joy, and he would cling to her for now.

It could have been five minutes or an hour that passed between his thoughts and their kisses when he heard, “They must be here somewhere.” The voice was indisputably Miss Katherine’s.

The impertinent chit. What was she doing here?Jonathan couldn’t spare merciful thoughts toward her at the moment.

Then the crunching of gravel was all too near. He could hear someone kicking pebbles. Once struck him on the cheek. He muffled an “Ow.”

But it wasn’t muffled enough. Bella, the pebble-kicker, was there in one stride bent over Jonathan and Margaret.

“Margaret?” Bella hissed.

“Uh, hello cousin.”

“Quick! Get behind the bushes. Everyone will see you if you don’t.”

It didn’t take Jonathan more than a trice to jump up and sweep Margaret into his arms and pull them both behind the bushes. Breathing hard, he held her tightly under his body. If he hadn't known a slew of people were soon approaching, he would have given into the hardness thickening between his legs.

He gave Margaret a quick kiss, and then a “Shh,” as they waited, lying breathless in the dark.

“I swear,” it was Miss Katherine again. “They both must be out here. Leaving within fifteen minutes of each other. Don’t they have any sense? I’m surprised her mother isn’t out searching for her.”

“They weren’t the only ones who left the room, you know,” Lady Bainsbury, Katherine’s older, more timid sister Charlotte touted.

“Yes, well an eighty year old doctor has a right to go to sleep at midnight. I’m surprised he lasted that long,” Katherine rebutted.

“Anyone for another swig?” Lord Reginald Bainsbury, the eldest of the three, was holding up a bottle of whisky.

“I don’t know why you brought that out here, Reggie?” Katherine chided.

“It’s for the men,” Viscount Ingleby taunted as he drank from the bottle. “Right, Colonel?”

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