With that Richard leapt to his feet, sweeping his hat dramatically from his head and dropping Violet a mischievous wink as he recited an answering verse with flawless delivery, as Ashton groaned and held his hand to his heart as if wounded.
Violet watched with morbid fascination as the two men set themselves against each other, each coming out with more ridiculous, more sentimental prose until they were barely able to get the words past the grins that split their cheeks at the ridiculous spectacle they made.
In the end, Violet was clapping and laughing, almost crying with mirth as the men fought to keep their expressions serious, the verses bordering on risque as they ran out of poetry and resorted to bawdy rhymes that belonged more in a tavern than in polite company.
“Bravo,” she cried, wiping her eyes as the men fell to their seats, Richard whipping out a handkerchief and wiping his brow dramatically as Ashton smiled and lolled back onto his elbows.
Violet admired the way the unguarded expression changed Ashton’s expression from serious bordering on dour, to that of a mischievous cad, his eyes crinkling at the corners as teeth flashed behind his smile.
He was not a classically handsome man, but at that moment, he looked almost boyish, an impish charm pushing past the serious ducal front.
He turned to her, his eyes drinking in her amusement. “So, Your Grace, who is the winner?” he asked, both men eyeing her expectantly.
“I can’t possibly choose, so it must be a tie,” she giggled, her hand flying up to cover her mouth at the coarse sound.
Richard reached out and gently took her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face to reveal her embarrassed smile.
“What do we win then?” he asked, stroking his finger up the inside of her arm above the edge of her glove.
Violet’s eyes flew from his to Ashton’s, but the duke looked on blithely, his eyebrow flicking up at her expression.
“Yes,” said the incorrigible beast that was her husband. “It’s your birthday, you must choose your boon.”
Violet cleared her throat nervously, fiddling with her bonnet ribbon as she shied away from their attention.
“Then we must demand our prize,” said the duke, coming to his knees and crawling over to where Violet sat.
“A kiss,” he murmured, leaning in and stealing her lips with his, the kiss warm and sweet from the wine as heady excitement thumped hot in Violet’s breast.
A heavy weight settled itself against her back, and then another hand was cupping her cheek, pulling her mouth away and back so that Richard could graze his lips against hers.
It was enough to make her head spin, this unadulterated display of male possession, each man watching the other take his turn and then claiming her kisses again.
Soon Violet was warm with arousal, her breath coming fast as the two men pulled back and simply touched her, pressing her down onto the blanket as their hands cupped and teased and lifted her skirts.
Richard sucked lightly on the pulse that thrummed in her throat, his hand stealing past her lacy fichu to cup a breast inside her light cotton dress. The duke watched, his eyes stormy as his hand slid up her thighs under her dress, finding her already wet and aching as his fingers slid unerringly to that magical spot that throbbed for them both, rubbing and circling as Richard squeezed and caressed, until with a throaty cry she flew apart in their arms.
For a moment afterwards, Violet simply lay in a languid daze, one arm flung over her eyes as she fought to contain the smile that threatened to break free.
“Who is the better kisser?” demanded the duke with a smirk when she finally sat up. Richard grinned wickedly as she glanced incredulously from one to the other.
“You are impossible!” she gasped, throwing a serviette ring at Ashton before she could think twice. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, and Violet went still with shock.
For a moment, Ashton just looked at her. Then, he started to laugh, Richard joining in with a warm chuckle as Violet slowly relaxed.
“She cannot decide, which means it must be a tie,” said Richard, laying out the plates as if nothing had happened. “We will have to demand a rematch,” replied the duke, once again settling himself beside her.
The rest of their luncheon passed in a happy blur as they ate their fill of the food. Richard and Ashton insisted on feeding her a taste of each delicacy, talking and laughing until Violet’s cheeks ached and her head spun from the wine and something dangerously like happiness.
Never had she been the focus of so much consideration, but her duke and Richard were distressingly attentive, and by the time the carriages pulled up in front of the manor that afternoon, Violet had to admit to herself that she liked having their attention all to herself.
Further, she wanted their regard to be genuine, and that indeed, it might even be so.
All those moments from the last few weeks flashed through her mind. The tender looks from Richard, the surprisingly sweet gestures from Ashton. It had her heart teetering in a very precarious position… She might be falling in love with these men.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Her downfall was ensured laterthat night, as they retired to the parlour after a light dinner.
