Duke Darcy's Castle

by Syrie James

  “What about the rest of the world?” the dowager duchess inquired. “Are there any women architects anywhere?”

  “There are two. Signe Hornborg graduated three years ago from the Helsinki Polytechnic Institute, and earned her degree by special permission. She works for a Finnish architecture firm now. Last year she designed a house that has earned her renown.”

  “Interesting,” the duke commented. “And the second?”

  “Louise Blanchard Bethune learned the trade as a draftsman in an architecture firm in Buffalo, New York, before opening her own office with her husband. Four years ago, she was named the first female fellow of the American Institute of Architects.”

  “New York, you say? Have you met Mrs. Bethune?” he asked.

  “I actually applied for a position at the Bethunes’ firm. But Mr. Bethune said it was difficult enough to find clients willing to accept one female architect, much less two. Anyway, I wanted a degree.”

  “Little did you know,” the duke pointed out, frowning, “that the school you attended would deny you a diploma.”

  “Did they?” The dowager duchess appeared incensed. “But that is absurd.”

  “One of my teachers told me, months after I had started the program of study, that the administration had only admitted me as a sort of private joke. No woman had ever applied before, and they thought it would be amusing to see me fail. To reinforce their belief that women were not smart enough to work in the field. When I finished the program with the highest scores in my class, it caused consternation all around. Even so, the board couldn’t bring themselves to admit a woman to their hallowed ranks.”

  The duchess shook her head in dismay. “I am so sorry. What a difficult road you have traveled to get where you are.”

  “It has been a challenge.”

  “Well,” the duchess remarked, “two female architects in the world is not very many, but it is a start. I hope that one day soon, you will be the third.”

  “I second that.” The duke raised his glass in a toast.

  They all took a drink, and Kathryn beamed. “Thank you.” She was starting to feel a little light-headed. How many glasses of wine had she consumed? She’d lost track.

  “I applaud you, Lance, for having the foresight to hire Miss Atherton,” the dowager duchess averred. “I look forward to seeing the improvements take place.”

  Lord Darcy colored slightly. “Do not put the cart before the horse, Grandmother. I have not committed to any improvements yet. I have only agreed to discussions and sketches.”

  “Well, if the sketch you showed me before dinner is any indication of this woman’s talent, you would be a fool not to do the project entire.”

  “Indeed. We shall see.” The duke managed a brief smile, then looked away.

  It was a reminder for Kathryn of the tenacity of her situation. She may have convinced him to take this first small step, but she still had a great deal of work ahead of her if she was going to persuade him to act on any of her suggestions.

  There was no point in focusing on the negative, though. All great things were achieved one step at a time, and this was no different. She would do her best work and see where it led.

  Meanwhile, dinner had been excellent, and so many lovely compliments had been directed her way. Perhaps it was the duchess’s ebullient mood that had affected her, but Kathryn felt as if she were floating on a cloud. “Your Graces, you are both too kind.”

  The plates were cleared away and an inquiry made as to whether the duke or dowager duchess desired a sweets course.

  “I have had an excellent sufficiency,” the duchess declared. “I am fatigued and wish to retire.” She waved her napkin at the footman, who pulled out her chair.

  Taking their cues, Kathryn and the duke rose. She was a bit fatigued as well. Well, not so much fatigued as . . . relaxed. More relaxed than she’d felt in ages. It was a luxurious feeling, like a cat lying in the hot sun.

  “Good night, Grandmother.” The duke kissed the dowager duchess on the cheek.

  Giving Kathryn a smile, the duchess added, “I generally take my meals upstairs. But tonight was a rare occasion. It has been a pleasure, Miss Atherton.”

  “The pleasure was mine.” Kathryn curtsied. Unaccountably, she made a slight hash of it. She was an expert at curtsying. What was the problem? “I wish you a good evening, Your Grace.”

  The dowager duchess swept from the room.

  “Would you care for apple Charlotte and Champagne, Your Grace?” the footman inquired as Kathryn and the duke resumed their seats.

  “What is your wish, Miss Atherton?” inquired the duke.

  “I adore apple Charlotte,” Kathryn replied with a wave of her hand. “And I am a great fan of Champagne. Especially with dessert. Champagne has the most energizing effect after a long dinner. But as the duchess said, I have had an excellent sufficiency. Another time, perhaps.”

  “Coffee or tea, Your Grace?” inquired the footman.

  “No tea for me,” Kathryn insisted, a small chuckle escaping her at her unintentional rhyme. (Why was she chuckling? She never chuckled.)

  “That will be all, thank you, John,” the duke informed the footman. The table was cleared, leaving Kathryn and Lord Darcy alone for a moment.

  “This has been an unusual meal for me,” he murmured, gazing at her.

  “Oh? How so?” Another rhyme. Kathryn grinned.

  “I am accustomed to dining in the officers’ mess with a table full of men.”

  “I hope tonight wasn’t too unpleasant.”

  “On the contrary. It has proven delightful.”

  “I enjoyed it myself, Your Grace. Lately, it seems like all I do is work, work, work.”

  “Indeed? That’s a shame. No one should work around the clock.”

  “Sometimes I have no choice. Deadlines, you know.”

  “There are no deadlines tonight, Miss Atherton.”

  “That’s a relief.” Kathryn leaned back in her chair, luxuriating in the soothing warmth that enveloped her entire body. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so tranquil and at ease.

  Her gaze drifted to the duke’s hands. They looked strong and manly, his fingers elegant and tapered. “You’ve got nice hands,” she blurted.

  His brows rose.

  Her cheeks instantly grew hot. Did I just say that aloud? “I mean . . . you’re nice, and . . . I’ve got to hand it to you.” She licked her lips, struggling to save face. “You weren’t expecting me today, but you gave me the job, anyway.”

  “Ah. Well.” The duke shrugged. “In my profession . . . my former profession,” he amended with a slight frown, “I was routinely obliged to make snap decisions. I suppose it has become second nature to me now.”

  “It’s the opposite for me in my profession. I often take five or six or ten passes at a drawing, obsessing over every detail before I’m happy with it.”

  “But you are very quick on the draw. I have seen you with a pencil, Miss Atherton. You sketch like the wind.”

  “Speaking of which. I need to see the rest of the castle. What do you say we start now with a little tour?”

  “There is no such thing as a little tour, I’m afraid. It’s an enormous castle with over two hundred rooms. Fortunately, a great many are locked up and unused. Even so, let’s wait until tomorrow to see the relevant parts, when the light is better.”

  “If you insist, Your Grace.”

  He stood. “I regret there are no other ladies with whom you can enjoy the rest of the evening, Miss Atherton. However, I can show you to the ladies’ parlor if you wish to relax and read. As for me, I am going to indulge in a glass of Irish whiskey.”

  Kathryn rose, a motion that caused the room to sway a bit. “I wouldn’t say no to an Irish whiskey,” she confessed. That was rather forward. What will he think?

  “You drink whiskey?” He sounded surprised, although the notion didn’t seem to offend him.

  “I do.” She loved whiskey. “It would be the pe
rfect topper to that lovely meal.”

  The duke studied her. “Are you certain? We have both had quite a bit to drink already.”

  “I can hold my liquor as well as the next man,” Kathryn assured him confidently.

  The duke smiled at that. “Well, then. Let us repair to the smoking room, shall we?”

  Chapter Four

  The smoking room was a small but elegant chamber with faded silk-covered walls. Two overstuffed easy chairs stood on either side of the fireplace. A sofa, two end tables, and a beautifully carved cabinet took up most of the remaining space.

  Lord Darcy produced a bottle and glasses and poured two shots of whiskey. Kathryn briefly closed her eyes as she drank, enjoying the smooth, velvety texture. “Mmmm. Is this also from your brother’s cellars?”

  “Yes. He had excellent taste.”

  “I agree,” she commented, taking another sip. “It’s the barley.”

  “Hmm?”

  “The Irish use a lot of barley in their whiskey. Gives it that lovely hint of caramel.”

  “You know your whiskey,” Lord Darcy observed, smiling, as he savored his shot.

  “It’s what all the men drank after hours at London College.” Another delicious wave of warmth spread through her. “I wanted to fit in. So, I drank what they drank. To be ‘one of the boys.’”

  “One of the boys?” he repeated with a light laugh, as if that were the last thing on earth she could ever be. “Do you smoke as well?” That notion seemed to appall him, yet even so he offered: “I think there are cigars somewhere if you’d like one.”

  “No, thank you. I can’t abide smoking.”

  “Neither can I.” He made a face. “My fellow officers often indulged in a pipe after hours. A nasty habit.”

  The duke held out his hand. Kathryn wondered why. Then she realized he was waiting for her to give him her empty glass. She complied.

  “Would you care for a refill?” he asked.

  Kathryn’s head was starting to spin slightly. She thought it best to decline. “No, thank you.” Searching for something to say, she commented, “What a cozy room.”

  “Cozy?” He snorted. “A tactful way to put it. The size of this room has always been a bone of contention for the men in my family. My father, and later Hayward, were always apologizing to their guests about it being too small.”

  Kathryn glanced into an adjoining room, which was much larger and contained a massive billiards table. “If you want a bigger gentleman’s parlor, just take out this wall and open it up into one room.”

  “Could we? But . . . this wall has always been here.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kathryn gestured toward the ceiling. “The crown molding is slightly different on these two walls and doesn’t match up in the corners. And this wall isn’t as thick as the others. I think it was added after the main structure was built. Which means it isn’t load-bearing.”

  “What a simple solution to a problem my father complained about all his life,” the duke said.

  The way he was looking at her was so full of interest and appreciation it did strange things to Kathryn’s insides. He was definitely attracted to her, and he wasn’t trying to hide it.

  She felt the same stir of attraction for him. Heat rose from Kathryn’s chest to her face and spread downward to her nether regions. Heat that had nothing to do with the wine or the whiskey.

  Kathryn, you are in so much trouble.

  It occurred to her that she was alone with the duke in a far corner of the castle, without a single servant in earshot. If he were to come any closer . . . if he were to touch her right now . . . she suspected she would combust into a pool of liquid fire and melt all over the floor.

  The connecting door beckoned. Kathryn bolted in that direction, her heart pounding.

  The duke followed. Of course he did.

  She darted to the farthest corner of the room. Dark oak paneling covered the walls. The billiards table was large and expensive-looking, its oak side panels intricately carved with birds, dolphins, whales, and miscellaneous sea creatures.

  “What a charming table,” Kathryn stated, trying to look anywhere but at Lord Darcy.

  He crossed the room, stopping just a few feet from where she stood. “It was my father’s most prized possession.”

  Kathryn strained to make conversation. “I’ve never seen one with seascapes. My father—” She was about to say that her father had purchased a stunning Italian billiards table for his mansion on Fifth Avenue. But she’d managed to avoid any reference to her famous father so far, and wanted to keep it that way. “My father used to play billiards,” she finished quickly.

  “Do you play?”

  “I do.”

  “Let’s play, then.” The balls were already racked up and waiting in the center of the table. He procured two cue sticks from a rack and handed her one, along with a cube of chalk. “I’ve spent a week holed up in this house and would appreciate a little diversion.”

  Kathryn grabbed the edge of the table, suddenly feeling unsteady on her feet. Maybe she did have too much to drink. You really ought to go to bed. Before you fall flat on your face. But his smile was so warm and inviting, and he sounded so deeply desirous of her company, Kathryn couldn’t refuse.

  Accepting the cue stick and chalk, she retorted, “I warn you, I’ll do my best to win.”

  “I would expect nothing less.” He took off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair, then removed his tie. “Shall I break?”

  Kathryn’s heart began to beat erratically. As if he hadn’t been attractive enough already. Tieless, in his shirtsleeves, with his tight trousers revealing every angle and curve of his lean hips and muscular legs, he was even more delectable. “Be my guest.”

  His shirt was white linen and of fine quality. The sleeves were billowy, like a pirate might wear. Its open neck revealed tufts of dark hair beneath the indentation at the base of his throat. Oh, how she wanted to run her fingers through those tufts of hair. And over those hard thighs.

  Oh, how she wished she would stop thinking these things.

  The duke unbuttoned and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing muscular forearms that were lightly dusted with the same dark hair. Holy hell. It was too much, really. Were she viewing him in the company of a girlfriend or one of her sisters, they would all surely have been comically fanning themselves and pretending to hyperventilate.

  But she didn’t have any girlfriends or sisters nearby. No one was nearby. Except this indecently good-looking, coatless, and tieless man with too much flesh showing, a scenario that broke more rules of propriety than she could count.

  How had she gotten herself into this situation? How was she going to get out of it?

  “You may wish to remove your jacket,” the duke offered matter-of-factly. “I find it is much easier to play in your shirtsleeves.”

  There was nothing shocking about the suggestion, per se. Kathryn couldn’t argue that her jacket was binding. And hot. So hot. She was wearing a perfectly decent, modest blouse beneath her jacket. But there was something about the way he’d said it, and the look in his eyes as he’d said it, that sent a shiver traveling up her spine and made her loath to act upon it.

  “A lady dare not disrobe in front of a gentleman,” is what issued from her lips. Again, her face burned scarlet with mortification. Clearly, her brain had deserted her.

  Grinning, he picked up his cue stick and began chalking the tip. The act seemed incredibly sensual, although at first she couldn’t say why. Kathryn focused her attention on her own cue, slowly rubbing the chalk around the hard, round tip of the stick. The movement caused a warm glow to build inside her pelvic region—an odd reaction, she thought. Until she made the association. Rubbing. Hard. Round tip. Gasping, Kathryn let go of the chalk as if it were a ball of fire.

  Lord Darcy removed the triangle, leaned over the table, and gracefully took the first shot. A resounding crack rent the air as balls s
curried off like cannons, a yellow ball sinking into one of the pockets. “Solids,” he claimed.

  As he made his way around the table, lining up and sinking several more shots, Kathryn’s eyes were glued to the manner in which his back and shoulder muscles worked beneath the fabric of his shirt. And the way his trousers pulled tightly across his buttocks. Good God in heaven, now I’m looking at his buttocks.

  He missed a shot and gestured to her to play. Kathryn redirected her focus to the game. And to the effort of keeping herself standing upright. Which wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Given that her legs were so wobbly. And the fact that the room was growing fuzzy at the edges.

  She chose her ball, got in position, and hit away. Bam. A striped blue ball sank into a corner pocket. Yes! I may be slightly drunk, but I still have it.

  “Nice,” he commented.

  She neatly sank two more balls in succession.

  “You said you knew how to play,” he accused. “You didn’t say you were an ace.”

  “I said I’d play to win,” she fired back. “And I’m not an ace. Those were easy shots.” They had been. Kathryn leaned over the table and lined up another shot, focusing on a striped red. Before she took the shot, however, he moved up close behind her.

  “You’re going to miss.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Your angle is off.” His hand hovered above her right shoulder. “May I?”

  He was leaning over her, asking for permission to touch her. She’d been yearning for his touch for hours now, pretty much since the moment she’d arrived at the castle.

  She knew she shouldn’t allow it.

  But who would ever know? Her heart was thumping so hard now she felt as though it might explode. “You may.”

  His hands gently closed around her shoulders as he readjusted her position. Then the hard length of his body pressed against the back of hers as he reached around with both arms, took hold of her hands, and moved them slightly to correct her aim. His warm breath grazed her ear. “Try it now.”

  “Now?” He was so close she was conscious of a fresh, delicious scent emanating from his skin, a mix of soap and a woodsy, masculine cologne. “I can’t move.”