Never Deny a Duke

by Hunter, Madeline

  “I did not. I said it was unnecessary. Silly, really, considering my age and my mission. Lady Ingram insisted, however.”

  “She did not seem a woman bound by propriety, so her insistence is curious.” A light touch on her chin, dry and warm. He lifted it so she had to look at him. A mistake, that, just as she feared. Her senses swam under his gaze. A delicious shiver trembled down her body. “Did she think you were in danger from me?”

  “Not danger. Not really. She just thought—that is, she did not trust—” She heard herself babbling on short breaths, like the fool she feared she would be.

  “She did not trust me with you?”

  “She did not imply you were dishonorable. Do not think that.”

  “The lines defining honor can be very vague sometimes for some of us.” He still held her chin, and now grazed his thumb over her lips. “Perhaps she did not trust you with me, as much as me with you. Not so dishonorable on my part, then.”

  A whirlwind gusted inside her, but the world surrounding them seemed utterly still. Soundless. “Something like that, I think.”

  “A perceptive woman. Do you fear yourself with me?”

  Oh heavens. Right now, yes. In the garden, yes. Did he really expect her to admit it? “You toy with me to feed your own conceit. What does it matter, as long as I do not fear you?”

  “Not even a little? How insulting.” His face came very close to hers. “And how untruthful.”

  He was going to kiss her again. “We should return to the coach,” she said haltingly. “We really should.”

  His arm dropped. He stepped away, retreating from her and into himself. They began walking back. She fought to achieve some steadiness. “Anyway, Lady Ingram insisted on a companion for me. She is not a woman to be denied when she sets her mind to something.”

  “That sounds a lot like you. No wonder Sir Cornelius thinks of you as a daughter.”

  “He does?”

  “He said as much while we talked.”

  She had seen them retreat into a tête-à-tête. She had assumed they spoke about Sir Cornelius’s scientific work.

  “He spoke of you most admirably, and expressed the opinion that it was a crime that you could not study medicine. He said you hoped to still help the sick to the extent you are able. I think he sought to influence me to help you do that.”

  “Unless you can purchase a university, that is unlikely.”

  They had reached the coach. Miss Ingram’s profile showed her still reading.

  “Not that part. The other plans you have.” He opened the coach door and handed her in, then spoke to her through the window. “Why did you not tell me about your plans for the property?”

  “That is not a plan. That is a dream, and one unlikely to come true even if I retrieve the land.”

  He subjected her to a long consideration. She hoped Miss Ingram did not choose this moment to put down her book, because no one who saw that look in his eyes would doubt what he considered.

  He glanced at her companion. “We will stop tonight north of Sterling and go the rest of the way tomorrow. I will see that Miss Ingram has her own chamber so she does not impose on you.”

  “That is not necessary,” she hastened to say.

  He had walked away before she finished the sentence.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Some call me a witch.”

  Miss Ingram announced this in the middle of their dinner at the inn. Her voice broke an awkward silence. Eric had been surprised and displeased to see the older woman descend the stairs beside Davina. She had not even brought her book.

  Which meant that the dinner took on a formality he had not wanted. Not that he expected informality. A dinner of increased intimacy might play out like a theater piece in his head, but he doubted Davina would be agreeable. He had not expected her to force her companion to join them, however.

  Perhaps he frightened her in the inn’s yard. Short of controlling his impulses regarding her, which increasingly he could not do, he doubted that could be avoided. His situation confounded him. Normally with women, he did not have to be subtle or tread a path from enemy to dear friend. He started at the latter point, and the only move necessary was to bed. No subtlety needed at all.

  “Maybe I am a witch. I don’t think so, but who knows?”

  “I think witches, if they even existed, would know they are witches,” Davina said.

  “It is because I have two cats. For some reason, people think cats mean a witch.”

  “It is not common to keep cats as pets, but hardly only done by witches,” Eric said to help out the conversation. Anything to slice through the thick cloud of expectation hanging between Davina and himself. She felt it too. It was why she managed not to look at him. “Have you had them long?”

  Miss Ingram pondered that, angling her head and frowning beneath her white cap’s significant lace brim. “Let me see. Lucifer has been with me for seven years and Mischief for five.”

  “Let me guess,” he said. “They are black, aren’t they?”

  “How did you know?”

  “Miss Ingram,” Davina said gently, “if you insist on keeping black cats named Lucifer and Mischief, you can hardly blame the unenlightened for thinking you are a witch.”

  “What else can you name a black cat? George?”

  “George would be a splendid name.”

  From her expression, Miss Ingram thought the name not satisfactory at all. But her consternation melted and her eyes turned dreamy. “I was reading about Scotland today. I should like to go there next summer.”

  “We are in Scotland now,” he said. You live in Scotland.

  “Oh. I thought we were in Brighton. I could have sworn I smelled the sea.” She looked down at her meal, of which she had partaken a decent amount. “I think I will retire now and read a while before sleeping.”

  She stood to go. He did too.

  So did Davina, who had not finished her own dinner. “I should see her to her chamber.”

  He gestured for the servant waiting silently near the door. “Please see that Miss Ingram is escorted to her chamber, so Miss MacCallum can continue her meal.”

  The young man shadowed Miss Ingram from the small dining room. Davina watched them leave, hesitated, then sat again. “A witch, no less. It is good she lives in the city. Out here that rumor could still take a bad turn.”

  Alone, finally. How ignoble for that to be his first thought. “It was disconcerting that she did not remember where she is, or where she lives.”

  “As we age, memories move around. The oldest ones seem to gain more prominence. She will probably need to be watched closely soon, however. I am relieved that Sir Cornelius told you he is aware of her condition.” She lifted her fork, poised to continue her meal, then paused. “That is the hardest part about being alone, I think. When we age, we need care again, and without family who will give it?”

  “Is that why you want to turn my property into a hospital? To give that care?”

  Her response was to eat. His question had vexed her, from the evidence of her severe expression.

  “I think of it as my property, of course,” she paused to say. “I have no illusions I can staff a hospital such as one finds in the cities these days. However, a dispensary would be useful there. Perhaps an infirmary with a few beds. It would be a place where the poor and sick could come to have someone with medical knowledge tend to them.”

  “Would you be that person?” If you win our little battle, would you live out your life there? He did not care for the images that conjured, of this vibrant woman devoting herself to nothing other than the care of others. She should be enjoying life and being young. She should be loving and being loved, not only as a caretaker.

  “I would find a true physician to live there, of course.” Her voice had grown testy. “The income from the land would pay him.”

  “Did you think I mocked you with the question?”

  “We both know my limitations regarding giving medical advic
e.”

  “Sir Cornelius does not. He told me that three hundred years ago, physicians were trained in apprenticeships, much as you served with your father. In his opinion, the medical schools today often are inferior. What is such a school but an apprenticeship, after all, but perhaps a less intensive one?”

  Her hard expression melted. “It is, of course, useful to have more than one teacher, so they are superior in that way. However, I approve of the new view that all physicians should spend time in a hospital while training, and not only take notes at lectures. Seeing maladies is far different from hearing about them.”

  “Were you never allowed to listen to any of those lectures?”

  A smile broke. “One day my father had me dress as a man and snuck me in. A young man sitting beside me in the theater kept falling asleep instead of taking advantage of this wonderful opportunity. I confess, my foot jabbed his leg each time he did.”

  “I find it difficult to believe no one was aware of the ruse. You could never pass for a man.”

  “Well, I bound my—um—I bound myself and wore a coat. My hair was the hardest part. I kept a low-crowned hat on the whole time and let others think me rude. This was before . . .” She absently fingered the ends of her hair.

  “I have grown fond of your hair, Davina. It becomes you.”

  Acknowledgment passed in her eyes that he had addressed her with familiarity. He waited for her correction.

  “You are just being kind.”

  “Not at all. Although I confess, I have pictured it longer, like a waterfall of spun moonlight.” Where the hell had that poetic nonsense come from? It blurted out, breaching his reserve in one big jump over common sense.

  She colored. Her eyes subtly widened. Her lips parted, as if she intended to say something but forgot what. They remained like that. He began picturing other things besides spun moonlight.

  He poured more wine.

  * * *

  It was becoming a peculiar dinner. That the duke had addressed her by her given name had made her pause. That he waxed poetic about hair she did not have astonished her.

  His gaze no longer appeared steely. Fiery, but not steely. It reminded her a little of the way Mr. Hume looked at her sometimes. Only Mr. Hume’s warmth never made her insides curl and tighten like this.

  Perhaps the duke was drunk.

  She glanced at the wine bottle. He mistook her interest and poured her more. He smiled. A truly friendly smile. Gracious and amiable, not merely tolerant.

  “You should have told me about your noble intentions for the property,” he said.

  “Would that have made you amenable to my petitions? Would you have stood aside?”

  “Perhaps I would have said you are welcome to use it for your charitable purpose.”

  “Then it would still be yours, and I would be beholden to you. I prefer to secure the property myself before trying to make my dream a reality.”

  “That will take years, even if you find the proof you seek. My way would mean you can start right away.”

  He dangled a tempting compromise. She rebelled against the logic of it, however.

  He must have noticed. He leaned in. “You do not only want it for saintly goals, I think.”

  “No, I don’t,” she blurted out. “I want it because it should be mine.”

  Humor entered his gaze. Goodness, he looked handsome right then. Her insides twisted more. She drank some wine to give herself something to do. She should take her leave. Yes, she should tear herself away from the enlivening sensations he evoked—

  “Perhaps if you continue fascinating me, I will just give it to you,” he murmured.

  Fascinating? What did that mean?

  “Your Grace—”

  “Call me Eric.”

  Eric! “I will not.”

  “Then use Brentworth, as most of the world does.”

  Even that sounded too familiar, but so be it. “Brentworth, forgive me if I am either forward or foolish in my question, but . . . are you flirting with me?”

  She received the biggest, most genuine, and most charming smile she had ever seen on his face.

  “Davina, I do not flirt.”

  She should correct his use of her name. She would too, if she could think of a clever way to do that without sounding like a spinster scold. “Never?”

  “Not in years. I doubt I know how anymore.”

  “Come now. Everyone flirts.”

  “Do you?”

  Now that was an awkward question. “You do not flirt because dukes don’t have to. Am I right?”

  “Some enjoy it. Langford, for example. It was his favorite sport.”

  “If you do not flirt, how will you manage this marriage you anticipate making next season?”

  “I expect I will dance with her at balls a few times, call on her a few times, then propose.”

  “How dreadful you make it sound. Poor girl.”

  “Dreadful? Poor girl? She will be a duchess. Her family will be delirious with joy.”

  “She will have to agree, I expect, even if she would rather not. Dreadful for you too, then.” She found his blasé acceptance of this duty irritating. “Don’t you want more than that? Don’t you want passion, if not love? Your friends both are ecstatic in their marriages, so it is not as if you have never seen it among dukes.”

  The cool reserve attempted to descend, but did not quite make it all the way down. “Not only do I not want that in a marriage, I intend to avoid it. Passion is disruptive and makes us other than ourselves. Langford is being a saint, which he was never born to be. Stratton is turning soft, and I assure you that while he is amiable, he is not by nature the way you see him with Clara. They have both lost control of their true selves, and passion is the reason.”

  He sounded very sure about all of that. As if he knew what he was talking about. It happened to him once, she realized. He had lost himself that way.

  “I hope that at least you will make sure this poor girl you marry is contented.”

  “My wealth will be at her disposal, so she will be contented.”

  “I was not speaking of worldly goods. I meant in bed.” Goodness, where had that come from? She eyed her wineglass, not feeling nearly as appalled with herself as she should.

  “Excuse me?”

  She looked up to see him appearing astonished. She rather liked that she had done that. “Perhaps you are aware that women can have orgasms too. Medicine has documented this, and physicians have written about it, in case you wonder how I know it.”

  “I am aware, thank you.”

  “Then you may know that a woman having that experience is very dependent on the man being so aware, and taking steps to ensure it. All I was saying was that I hope that you at least allow this poor girl that much.” She swallowed more wine.

  “Do not worry about the poor girl, Davina. I pride myself on being enlightened in these matters.” No longer off balance, his gaze all but dared her to go on with the topic.

  She decided that might not be wise. For one thing, by anyone’s account it was a scandalous subject that she should never have raised. For another, talking about such inappropriate things proved more fun that it should, and oddly stimulating.

  She set her wineglass a good distance from her. No more of that.

  “If not in your match, do you not flirt in your friendships?” she asked, to turn the topic sideways.

  “It is much the same. I dance with a woman at a few balls, I call on her a few times.”

  Then I propose. He did not say it, but it was there. Only it was not a proposal as much as a proposition.

  “You did not answer my question,” he said. “Do you never flirt?”

  He would remember she had sidestepped that question.

  “Don’t you know how?” he pressed.

  “I tried it once but was not successful. Perhaps it is no more in my nature than in yours.”

  “Every woman should know how to flirt. Let us put this journey to good purpose. You can pr
actice flirting with me, and I will let you know if you are successful.”

  “I am not going to flirt with you. Besides, according to you, it isn’t even needed.”

  “Not by me, but the ladies must know how to do it. Otherwise how will I know that they will welcome my calls? Don’t you see? It is all decided before I arrive at their doors. It is all communicated wordlessly.”

  She knew what the all was. His eyes communicated it. Wordlessly. Which was very inappropriate. So why was she still sitting here, allowing that? All but inviting it with her own frank talk? And where was that servant? Perhaps he had returned but left after seeing the look in the duke’s eyes. She would not have noticed because every part of her attention was on him, not the chamber and not propriety.

  “As for your never flirting, that is not true,” he said, holding her gaze. “You have been subtly flirting with me all evening. Your outspokenness is a type of flirting. You know I like it so you never retreat. I think you do not try flirting outright because you fear where it will lead.”

  “I have no illusions that flirting with a duke will ever lead anywhere.”

  He reached across the table and took her hand. “My dear Miss MacCallum—Davina—how very wrong you are.”

  He was on his feet then, lifting her onto her wobbly legs. In the next second, she was in his arms.

  “It leads here,” he said. “Twice now.”

  “That first time was different. An impulse. This is . . .”

  “Again an impulse.”

  “It is not always wise to succumb to those. It could lead to insulting someone.”

  “I assure you. I do not embrace women unless I know they welcome it.”

  “Are you sure I do?”

  “It appears so, because you are still here.” He lowered his head. “I think you were right and I should seek more passion in my life.”

  He was going to kiss her again. Right here, in this little dining room, with the remnants of their meal awaiting a servant. With the less-privileged guests shouting and laughing on the other side of the wall. If anyone entered—

  His lips touched hers carefully but decisively, and she no longer debated whether she might be ruined. The jig her heart had experienced for hours suddenly broke into a more primitive dance. It seemed she stopped breathing, yet she did not faint.