The Last Duke (The 1797 Club Book 10)

by Jess Michaels

  Robert nodded slowly. “And was she responsive?”

  “God, yes.” Kit flashed back to that kiss in full detail. That kiss that had haunted him all night, all morning. “I felt her melt into me and I lost all sense of propriety. I had to force myself to stop because I knew I would go too far.”

  “That isn’t you,” Robert said.

  Kit couldn’t help but laugh. “No, it’s you! Or it used to be.”

  “Still is. I just save it all for my amazing wife,” Robert said.

  “Well, did you will the rest of your libertine ways to me when you got married?”

  Now Robert laughed. “I should have. But this is all you.”

  “Like you said, though…why now? Why here? Why her?”

  “Meg’s sharp observation may answer why her,” Robert said. “As for the rest, we already talked about it. You’ve been in mourning not just a few days, but a few years. You’ve constrained your emotions as you tried to do what was right. Perhaps this release, this surrender to what you want, is exactly what you need right now.”

  Kit shook his head. The very idea of surrendering to his desires made his whole body quake. His desires were more powerful and out of control than he intended to admit. And he had one prevailing fear when he dared consider them.

  “I will take advantage,” he said softly.

  Robert shook his head. “Not unless you go too far. And I know you. You won’t.”

  Kit scrubbed a hand over his face. While he appreciated his friend’s deep faith in him, he wasn’t as certain as Robert was. Because when he thought of kissing Sarah again, his mind took him down paths that were wild and wanton. And he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself from going too far after all.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sarah let out a contented sigh as she strolled through the garden, clinging to Isabel’s arm. It felt like old times in this moment, a return to a friendship she had missed deeply.

  “I am so, so glad you are well,” Isabel said softly. “I was terrified. And Matthew…”

  Sarah glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. Her friend’s lips were pinched together in a thin line. “Angelica drowned—there is no doubt there is distress there. It must have brought back such terrible feelings for you both.”

  “Terrible feelings, yes,” Isabel said. “And memories for Matthew. Regrets. He realized that Lucas could bring you back to life with his breath. I think for a while Matthew tortured himself with the idea that he could have done the same for my cousin that terrible night.”

  Sarah stopped walking and jerked to face her friend. She understood the implication in Isabel’s quiet statement. If Matthew had saved Angelica, he and Isabel never would have married.

  “Did that hurt you? His reaction?” Sarah asked, shoving aside her own complicated problems to focus on this.

  Isabel was quiet for a moment. Then she sighed. “I understood his reaction. I cannot imagine what it was like to watch Angelica die. For him, what happened yesterday was like going back in time. Standing in the boat, it flipping, you not breathing. That’s exactly what happened with Angelica. We thought you were gone, so it’s understandable he would have those thoughts when Lucas was able to revive you.”

  Sarah caught her hands. “But did it hurt you?”

  Isabel bent her head. “A little. But I know he loves me. Truly loves me, deeply loves me. And he loves our life together and our baby. Angelica is not a barrier between us, nor has she been for almost a year. I will not let her be now, not when I understand his reaction.”

  Sarah let out a long sigh. “You, my dear, are too good for this world. Too understanding and kind. He had best appreciate that.”

  “He does,” Isabel reassured her, and it was clear she meant it. This moment between her and her husband was just that…a moment. They were too in love to allow it to be anything else. “And as for being too good, you would know, I suppose, my heroic best friend!”

  Sarah knew she was blushing, her face was blazingly hot at present. She dropped her chin. “Do you still consider me that?”

  “My best friend?” Isabel repeated, almost sounding confused. “Of course I do. Was that in doubt?”

  Sarah sighed. “Perhaps. I mean, you have married into this enormous circle of remarkable women.”

  “All of whom I love, none of whom are you,” Isabel said.

  “And I’ve pushed you away,” Sarah said, down to the heart of it at last. “I know I have since my mother’s death and my change in situation.”

  “You couldn’t help but struggle,” Isabel said gently. “Your world was ripped apart, I know that. But hear this now and know it forever, you are my best friend, Miss Sarah Eugenie Frances Elizabeth Carlton. And you always shall be, no matter what.”

  It was amazing: the relief that washed over Sarah when she allowed herself to accept what Isabel was saying to her. She’d pushed her so far away, told herself they couldn’t still be close with their situations so disparate. It was only now that she fully felt how much she’d hurt herself when she created that barrier between them. Coming so close to death made her never want to put it up again.

  She put her arms around Isabel and the two women clung to each other for a moment. Then she pulled away and smiled as she retook Isabel’s arm. They moved to a bench before the fountain, and she sighed as they sat.

  “Well, then, my dearest best friend, I will admit that I need your advice,” she said, unable to keep herself from the discussion she’d been so uncertain of when they began.

  Isabel nodded. “Oh yes, I would be happy to help. What is the problem? Still worried about Kit and being sacked?”

  “Not let go, no. But Kit? Yes.” She ducked her head. “He kissed me.”

  Isabel jolted and when Sarah dared to look at her, she found her friend’s eyes had grown impossibly wide and wild. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “He came in to check on me after the drowning,” she said. “And we were talking and then his mouth was on mine and…and…he kissed me. It seems like more than one kiss, though. One bled into the others.”

  Isabel continued to stare at her like she didn’t understand what she was saying. “What?”

  Sarah stuck her tongue out. “Not helpful, Isabel! You can’t just stare at me like I grew a second head and say what!”

  Isabel blinked several times as she muttered, “What in the world do you want me to do? This is incredibly shocking!”

  Sarah’s heart sank. “You think ill of me?”

  “Not at all. I didn’t mean shocking, more stunning.” Isabel seemed to gather herself. “Firstly I must ask how it was.”

  Sarah couldn’t help the little smile that twitched across her mouth almost against her will. “Oh, Isabel! Recall when I couldn’t understand why you would go to Donville Masquerade and seek out pleasure? I understand now.”

  “That good?” Isabel said. “Gracious, I never would have guessed.”

  “And he seemed to like it, too.” Sarah covered her face with her hands. “But how in the world is this happening? We’ve been enemies of a sort for years. He hates me.”

  “Clearly not,” Isabel mused. “And at any rate, hate is often a mask for something else. Ask Katherine if you do not believe me. Or even Amelia. What they thought was hate transformed into love.”

  Sarah caught her breath. Love? She couldn’t think about something like that. She was not in a position to fall in love with Kit, of all people. If she did, that would not end well, especially since he’d only spoken to her of more kissing, not courtship.

  There was no good end to that path, and she already knew it.

  She pushed it aside and said, “You are talking about relationships, Isabel. He doesn’t want that with me.”

  “Forget him. Men will tie themselves into knots not knowing what they want when it is right in front of them,” Isabel said with a wave of her hand. “What do you want?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah admitted. Bu
t immediately she knew it was a lie. “I want more of his kiss, actually. I may not be alone in that, for he said he wanted to do it again as well.”

  Isabel giggled. “He sounds like libertine Robert, not the staid, proper Kit of my husband’s childhood. You must bring out the beast in him.”

  “Oh dear,” Sarah said, worrying her hands in her lap.

  “No!” Isabel said with another laugh. “That is a good thing. Still waters can run very deep, indeed. I should know. I also married a seemingly proper gentleman who holds a very lovely beast inside.”

  Her gaze slid past Sarah and toward the path where they had come. Her face lit up, and Sarah glanced over her shoulder to see Matthew on his way toward them. There was no denying the deep connection of their look, nor in the way Isabel sat up a bit straighter when she watched him.

  Sarah couldn’t help being a bit jealous at what she saw.

  “And speaking of which,” Isabel said. “Hello, husband.”

  If Isabel had lit up, there was no denying Matthew burned like a torch as he reached them. If Sarah had held any doubt about his reaction regarding her drowning the day before, she certainly felt none now. This man loved her friend. A dead woman was no competition for what they shared. It gave her some satisfaction in the midst of confusion.

  “Hello, wife,” he returned. “And hello, Sarah. I’m interrupting, aren’t I? You two looked very serious when I approached. Should I leave you to your conversation?”

  Sarah got to her feet. She knew the pair needed to reconnect. And her problems weren’t going to be solved any time soon, certainly not by Isabel’s encouraging her that passion wasn’t something to fear. That it could lead to a happiness Sarah knew she would never truly feel.

  “I think we’ve solved the world’s problems enough for one day,” she said. “I should go back to the house and check on my charge. You two carry on in our walk, though.”

  Matthew’s face was filled with relief as he stepped up and caught Isabel’s hand in his. Sarah slipped away, but she turned back farther up the path, in time to see him take Isabel in his arms and kiss her with enough passion that it could have matched the heat of the late spring sun.

  She blushed, for the action made her think again of Kit, then headed up the path so the couple could have privacy. She had to be careful now as she went back to the house. There were dangers ahead when it came to Kit. Dangers of the heart, dangers of desire.

  She just had to decide which ones to avoid and which ones were worth the risk.

  Kit was keenly aware of the moment Sarah entered the house. He was, after all, watching her from his study window as she parted from Isabel and Matthew and made her way down the long path. He’d watched her take her time, watched her pause to smell the yellow primrose. She’d looked toward his window then, making him wonder if she could see him spying. But then she’d carried on her way.

  And now she was back in the house and his legs were carrying him through the halls toward the parlor where she’d entered from the terrace. He came to a stop as he watched her step from the parlor and into the dimmer hallway, shutting the door behind herself.

  She jolted as she saw him standing there, three stride lengths away. Then she smiled and he forgot to breathe.

  “Your Grace,” she said, a little breathless herself.

  He tilted his head, stepping toward her because he couldn’t stop himself from doing so. “Sarah.”

  “Kit,” she whispered, and now it was more than a little breathless. “I was coming to check on Phoebe.”

  He arched a brow. “And here I had specifically said you were to rest yourself.”

  She laughed at the playfulness in his tone. “I am notoriously bad at following orders, it seems.”

  “I shall have to think of a proper punishment,” he drawled, and caught himself. He was growling and drawling and it was all very rakish of him.

  She blushed. “I—truly I only thought to peek in on Phoebe. She was so upset after yesterday’s events. Even this morning, she gripped my hand so tightly.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “But she is not here at present. You see, she helped the duchesses with the babies, drew you what I’m certain is a lovely picture and then managed to convince Charlotte and Ewan to take her for a walk. She is obsessed with Ewan’s hand language and learning words from him all the time.”

  Sarah ducked her head with a secret smile that told him she’d noticed Phoebe’s infatuation with his silent friend, as well. “I see. Well, she will glory in all that attention and not need me a whit.”

  “She’ll always need you,” he said softly. Then he motioned for the parlor she’d just exited. “Diana did mention you should rest. Will you join me?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and he saw her uncertainty. It stopped him in his tracks. She’d liked kissing him last night, but it was possible she’d thought better of it since. Being alone with him might not be what she actually wanted.

  He stepped nearer. “You have every right to say no. Always, Sarah.”

  She worried her lip. “I’m not worried about saying no. Yes seems to be more…likely.”

  Awareness rushed through him at that simple statement and all the meaning behind it. He wanted nothing more than to back her against the parlor door and kiss her until they were both senseless. He fought the urge and instead opened it for her and motioned her in.

  “Sit,” he said. “I’ll ring for tea.”

  She did as he’d asked and sat quietly as he arranged the service to be sent in. As they waited for refreshments, he faced her again and found her staring at a painting above the fire. It was of him and his father, done years ago. His father was seated, looking formal in black. Kit stood just behind him, a hand on his shoulder. His father’s hand covered his.

  “I’ve always liked that one,” she said without looking at him. “The way his hand lays on yours is so loving.”

  He stepped up beside her and only just kept from resting his hand on her shoulder now, mimicking the painting. “It is. We had just lost my mother. We’re both still in black.”

  She flinched. “I’m sorry. I should have guessed by your age, by the outfits. It was uncouth of me to point it out.”

  “Why?” he asked. “It is a loving portrait. We were two bachelors after that.”

  “Your father never remarried,” she said carefully.

  He hesitated. There were not many people who he talked to about his father’s…existence after his mother’s death. But he didn’t have to decide immediately if Sarah would be one of them, for the door opened and tea was brought. He waved off the maid with a smile and poured Sarah’s tea after the girl left. Once she’d taken it, he moved to the door and shut it.

  Leaving them completely and inappropriately alone. She watched him as he took his own tea and then sat across from her, holding her gaze evenly.

  “He loved my mother,” he said, picking up from where they had been interrupted. “She was sick a very short time, and I think he was shocked to lose her. For years he buried himself in this estate, in his work, in me. He didn’t look at another woman, not that there wasn’t interest. I see now that he was quite the catch.”

  She laughed. “It’s hard to see our parents in those terms. Or think they were ever young and carefree.”

  “You must wonder about Phoebe’s mother.” He said the words carefully and hoped his tone remained neutral.

  She set her cup down and looked at him. “I heard some of the whispers,” she admitted. “Not that he would have a child, but that he would take her in, raise her without hesitation. I always thought it admirable of him, even more so when I saw their deep connection.”

  “The woman was…an ill-advised foray outside of his exile from romantic life,” Kit said, setting his jaw. “She wanted his money. Oh, of course he would have settled on a mistress. She wanted more than that. She wanted far more than was reasonable. When she became with child, there was no easier way to blackmail him
into keeping her in lavish comfort all her days. She made threats and a great deal of trouble. He paid her a pretty penny for Phoebe. She was worth every cent.”

  “I had no idea,” she said with a shake of her head. “She took advantage of him. Of her daughter. Not well played.”

  “Indeed,” he said, and leaned in. “Did I take advantage?”

  Her brow wrinkled and she looked genuinely confused by the question. “What?”

  “Last night when I came to you,” he said. “Tensions were high, as were emotions. Our positions are so disparate. I need to know if I took advantage when I kissed you.”

  Her lips parted and she got to her feet slowly. He did the same, trained in the action by years of politeness.

  “No,” she whispered. “I almost died yesterday, Kit. And I refuse to be missish or coy or dishonest about anything anymore. Life is too short to be so. I will tell you I never expected you to kiss me. But I…I liked it a great deal. I have not stopped thinking about it since you left me in that room.”

  His breath caught, his heart rate increased, and he took another long step toward her. Close enough to reach out, to touch her. He wanted to so badly, but he needed permission like breath. “Would you like to do it again?”

  She was already moving toward him as she gasped, “Yes, please.”

  Kit caught Sarah in his arms and their mouths collided. Unlike the previous night, when she’d been shocked and confused by his touch, today she was ready. Her mouth opened and she welcomed him in. He drove his tongue inside, dueling with hers as he backed her away from the separate chairs in the parlor and to the settee. He lowered her there, his fingers digging into her arms as he positioned her for better access.

  He tasted like scotch, despite the early hour. Intoxicating and masculine and heady. She was drunk on him and gripped her hands against his lapels, then around his neck as he practically dragged her into his lap to get closer.