Trapping a Duchess by Michele Bekemeyer Page A

he would attend was followed with a postscript informing him that he was bringing the viscountess. Andrew knew that Simon was trying to woo the widow and did not have the heart to begrudge his friend such a small favor, especially as Simon was doing him a rather larger one simply by attending tonight. Besides, Andrew genuinely liked Lady Forrester. She had married young to a husband significantly older than she in a union perpetuated by her family’s financial state. Lord Forrester was the worst of husbands, refusing to give up gambling and skirt chasing even after he took his vows. His wife had accepted that his misbehavior would never change and retaliated in her own way, secretly using every manner of birth control she could get her hands on in silent refusal to provide him with an heir. After three years, she was declared barren and Lord Forrester turned his interests elsewhere in earnest. Sadly, or perhaps not, the viscount's taste in bed partners did not match his taste in wives. Only a few years into their marriage, the earl contracted the pox from one of the many whores he slept with and died, leaving Eliza financially sound and free of a marriage that had threatened to break her spirit.
    Andrew had forged a friendship with her during one of his sojourns back to London. Though he found her beautiful, his attraction was overruled by his genuine enjoyment of their conversations. Unlike most women of his acquaintance, she never pandered to his arrogance.
    He watched as Weston took her cloak, revealing a crimson satin gown. “Right on time,” he said with a grin. Reaching Eliza first, he took her hand, brushing his lips across her knuckles. “You look delectable, my lady.”
    “Thank you, you rascal. I mean, Your Grace,” she said, mischief brightening her cat-like eyes, even as she curtsied demurely.
    “And do I look delectable as well, you arse?” Simon asked with a good-natured chuckle.
    Andrew sized his friend up with a quick glance. “Not to me, but I highly doubt that will matter by evening’s end.” He grinned at Eliza, who grinned right back. If there was a woman other than Alexandra who could match Simon wit for wit, it was Eliza. His friend had no idea what he was getting himself into. Or how much fun he would have in the process. The knocker sounded on the door. Weston opened it and Lord Courtland and Lady Abigail entered. She was dressed in a pale pink gown that practically foamed with lace. Andrew stifled a grimace. She looked like a porcelain doll, fresh out of the schoolroom and exceedingly innocent. He took her hand.
    “Good evening, Your Grace.” Offering an elegant bow, he brushed a light kiss onto her knuckles. Her tremble was a stark reminder of the difference between her experience and his. She was innocent in a way he had never been.
    “Welcome to my home,” he said before turning to her brother and offering a nod. “Courtland.”
    “Your Grace,” he acknowledged with a friendly smile.
    Andrew gestured towards the sitting room. “The rest of the guests are taking refreshment. If you will make yourselves comfortable, I'll be along in a moment.”
    Lady Abigail and Courtland entered, but Simon and Eliza lingered in the hall. Andrew was about to inquire as to the reason when a soft lilt of feminine laughter drifted down the staircase. Glancing back over his shoulder, he caught Alexandra's descent, arm in arm with Sophie. Engaged in conversation, they did not notice him.
    The pale green silk Sophie wore clung to her body, and the outline of her movements locked his lungs tight. His trousers weren't faring any better. The impatient twitch of his swelling cock pulled them so snug he felt he was about to burst out of the seams. Working through his discomfort, he watched their descent. The collusive tilt of their heads, combined with the hushed tones and Sophie's intrigued smile, sent a warning snaking up his spine.
    “Come, my lord,” Lady Forrester murmured, tugging Simon towards the