Duke Darcy's Castle

by Syrie James

  That appendage, if she was reading the situation correctly, was a lot larger—and in a very different state—from the time she had observed him on the shore. It was jutting out from his body like a steel rod, tenting the silken fabric of his dressing gown.

  “Dear God,” he said huskily.

  The expression on his face was making her stomach do backflips. She recalled a phrase she’d once read in a book: a gaze filled with molten desire. This was the first time she had ever witnessed that kind of gaze in real life. And it was directed at her.

  It made her feel . . . empowered somehow. He was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. As if he wanted, with every fiber of his being, to sweep her into his arms and kiss her, right there on the spot.

  And do far more than kiss her.

  All at once, Kathryn couldn’t think of anything in the world that she wanted more.

  She knew it was wrong. Standing here, naked and staring back at him like this, was equally wrong. She swallowed hard, straining to drum up the nerve to utter the words that would make him leave.

  “Um,” she managed. “Please . . . shut the door.”

  “As you wish,” the duke replied. But instead of backing away, he strode into the room and closed the door behind him.

  Lance’s heart pounded like a runaway locomotive as he crossed the room, stopping a few feet away from where she stood.

  What he beheld, incredibly, was the very thing he had just been imagining in his room. Miss Atherton was standing in front of him, stark naked except for white stockings and garters. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders like a wave of golden wheat. And she wasn’t doing a thing to cover herself.

  His erection, which had never quite gone away, had instantly sprung to life with full force at the sight of her.

  Hungrily, he scanned her from head to toe. Her figure was slight but perfect. Her waist was slender. Her thighs and hips were just the right shape and size to balance her breasts. And those breasts . . . they were perfectly round, her nipples pink and luscious. He took in the patch of hair at the apex of her thighs. It was exactly the color he’d imagined—as golden as the hair on her head.

  Lance knew, when she’d asked him to shut the door, that she had meant for him to take his leave. But there had been a definite lack of conviction in her voice when she’d said it.

  In truth, wild horses couldn’t have dragged him away. She stood before him like a nymph in a dream, her chest rising and falling with every erratic breath, her aquamarine eyes glimmering beneath the soft glow of the gas lamps with a hooded look that said, Take me.

  He had never seen a more beautiful woman. And he was only a man.

  Lance didn’t hesitate further. In three quick strides, he closed the distance between them, enveloped her in his embrace, and crushed his lips against hers.

  All rational thought vanished from Kathryn’s mind as his body pressed against hers.

  His tongue slipped inside her mouth and indulged in a mating dance with hers. He kissed her forcefully, commandingly, one hand behind her neck, tilting her face up to his, the other hand roaming across her back.

  She heard a low moan issue from her throat, heard an answering groan from his. She wound one hand up around his neck, cupped the hard curve of his derrière with her other hand, pulling him closer as they kissed. She could feel the steely length of his erection between them, digging into her abdomen. Desire shot through her like an arrow, piercing to her very core.

  Her skin felt like it was on fire. His hand slid up between them to cup and massage her breast. Then he broke the kiss and crouched lower, taking her breast into his mouth. Slowly and gently, he manipulated her nipple with his lips and tongue, producing a sensation so erotic it made her groan with pleasure.

  He continued to suckle first one breast, then the other, causing the place at the center of her womanhood to grow hot and moist. Kathryn arched her back, grateful he was holding on to her or she might have fallen.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, straightening up again as they both fought for breath. He began planting soft kisses along her throat and the side of her neck, a spot so sensitive that shivers raced down her spine.

  Capturing her earlobe between his lips, he nibbled softly. “You have the body of a goddess,” he breathed against her ear.

  “You are pretty gorgeous yourself,” she managed, her voice somewhere between a gasp and a sigh.

  He gazed down at her. “You’ve seen me naked,” he said huskily. “Haven’t you?”

  She stiffened slightly. “What do you—”

  “A few days ago. Before my morning swim,” he murmured in between leisurely kisses. “I saw you on the cliff. And you saw me. On the beach. Didn’t you?”

  He paused, silently daring her to deny it. Heat consumed her face.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Did you like what you saw?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to see it again?”

  All she could do was nod.

  His mouth widened into a grin. He let go of her briefly, just long enough to slide off his dressing gown, which he let fall to the tiled floor. Kathryn couldn’t prevent another small gasp. She’d been right. He was totally naked beneath it.

  The evidence of his arousal poked out at her like a living thing. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at it, fascinated by its size and shape. She couldn’t help but feel a kind of thrill, knowing that she’d made him feel that way.

  Her only experience with lovemaking had fallen so low off the mark. Kathryn was filled with a sudden need to amend that.

  She knew it was wicked. She was an unmarried woman. Did it make a difference that he had asked for her hand? No, it did not. She had no intention of marrying this man, and he knew it. Yet it was obvious that he wanted her.

  The duke had awakened feelings in her that she had never imagined possible. She liked him. Revered him. With him, she would finally discover what she had missed—what she had been missing for so many years—where the coupling of human beings was concerned.

  Sliding her arms around him, Kathryn pulled him back into her embrace.

  He let out a growl. His hands roved insistently up and down her back and across her buttocks as his mouth claimed hers again. His hard member was pinned between them, pressing against her belly. He began moving his hips in an erotic motion, rubbing against her, a thrilling indication of what was to come.

  She became hazily aware of a thunderous sound from somewhere nearby, like the roaring of a lion or a hundred waterfalls. She had no idea what it was and didn’t care. She could think of nothing but him. This.

  Flames ignited in Kathryn’s veins. Every part of her body felt tender and swollen. A burgeoning want began to build inside her. She wondered if he was going to take her right here, standing up on the bathroom floor. Was it even possible to make love standing up? She was eager to find out.

  The thundering sound continued. Like a celebratory chorus inside her brain.

  Kathryn didn’t want this to ever end. At the same time, she couldn’t wait for it to move to the next phase. She yearned to feel his magnificent male appendage in her hand. Just as she lowered her hand in that direction, she became aware of a strange sensation around her feet. Warm water seemed to be rushing around her toes, drenching her stockings.

  “What is that?” Kathryn breathed in reluctant confusion.

  “Hmmm?” he murmured heedlessly.

  Kathryn pulled back slightly from his embrace, enough to identify the source of the problem.

  Water was cascading over the edge of the bathtub and raining down onto the floor.

  “The bathtub is overflowing.”

  The words came at Lance out of a fog. He ignored them.

  “Wait, stop,” he heard her say.

  Lance paused, annoyed at this intrusion that was pulling him from a beautiful dream. He glanced in the direction she was pointing.

  Bollocks. The bathtub was
overflowing.

  In a flash she was gone from his embrace, shutting off the tap, and yanking up the stopper. “Don’t you have an overflow drain?”

  “A what?” he said.

  She studied the plumbing, then gave up in frustration. They stood in frozen silence for a moment, the only sound in the room that of the bathwater being sucked down the drain.

  “All the new tubs have overflow drains,” she said a bit awkwardly. “We really must install one as part of the improvements.”

  “By all means,” Lance heard himself reply. “Add it to the list.”

  Their eyes met. Merriment began to sparkle in hers. “Aye-aye, Captain.” Her lips started twitching.

  He felt an answering response build within his own chest. In unison, they both burst out laughing. Laughter overtook them for a good long minute, until he had to wipe moisture from his eyes.

  “Well,” he said finally. “That was a rather unwelcome interruption to very promising story.”

  Lance assessed the situation. He was stark naked and still painfully aroused. She was equally nude except for her stockings and garters. Water covered the floor. His dressing gown lay in the middle of it, alongside her bloomers, both totally drenched.

  The hell with all that. Splashing his way across the room, he took her back into his arms. “Shall we pick up where we left off?” he asked softly.

  She stiffened. And blushed. With that blush, her expression flickered and changed. She seemed to be experiencing sudden doubts about what had just passed between them. And regret.

  Damn it all to hell.

  Releasing her, Lance grabbed a large towel from a shelf and handed it to her. She wrapped it around her body, tucking it in over the tops of her breasts. “I promised myself this would never happen,” she said slowly, lamentably. “We agreed to keep things strictly businesslike between us.”

  “Absolutely right. I don’t know what got into me.” Lance took a breath, then grabbed a towel as well and wrapped it around his waist. Down, boy. “Well, in all honesty, I do know exactly what got into me. You were standing there naked as a jaybird. Looking absolutely ravishing. And the look in your eyes was . . . beckoning.”

  Her cheeks turned crimson now. “My eyes were not beckoning.”

  “They were. Admit it: you wanted this, too.”

  “I did not want this.” But her tone betrayed that she was lying.

  “‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”

  “Don’t quote Shakespeare at me,” she hissed.

  “You don’t like Shakespeare?”

  “Of course I love Shakespeare! Anyone with an ounce of sense loves Shakespeare! But this . . . should not have happened.” She looked hopelessly, adorably self-conscious and confused.

  It might be perverse, but Lance found himself actually enjoying her discomfort and this exchange. “Perhaps it shouldn’t have. But you looked into my eyes. You read my intention. You could have covered yourself up and backed away, but you didn’t. Instead, when I took you in my arms and kissed you, you kissed me back. Thoroughly and with obvious enjoyment.”

  She opened her mouth as if to deny that, then closed it. Her hands came up to cover her face. “All right, fine, I admit it. I did want you to . . . kiss me. And . . .” Her voice trailed off. Lowering her hands again, she bit her lip in obvious frustration. “But I shouldn’t have allowed it and I definitely shouldn’t have participated in it. I just . . . got carried away again.”

  “As did I. But my intentions were honorable,” Lance pointed out. He knew this wasn’t the time or the place for another proposal, but he wanted her to understand that he wasn’t a rake or a cad. “I did ask you to marry me. My wishes remain unchanged.”

  He realized he’d made her feel even more uncomfortable now, and wished he hadn’t said that.

  “I’m sorry,” she responded. “My wishes also remain unchanged.”

  A brief wave of disappointment washed over him. Which was absurd. What the hell had he been expecting? That one afternoon together and a bit of naked fondling was all it would take to get her to rethink everything and be his bride?

  It was going to take a lot more than that, and Lance knew it. Unfortunately, he didn’t know exactly what it was going to take, or if his quest was even possible. But their interlude just now served to reinforce in his mind how right they were for each other.

  With a sigh, she said, “I don’t know how I can continue working here if this sort of thing is going to keep happening.”

  Lance didn’t want to put any restrictions on this thing that kept happening. He had a feeling that, were they ever to actually make love, she would finally understand how incredible it could be between them. Maybe then she’d be willing to reassess her priorities, to see just how important her career really was to her.

  He damn well wasn’t going to give up. Not until he had made her see.

  Meanwhile, it was necessary to say something; otherwise she might walk away, quit this job, and he’d lose this opportunity to try to win her hand. “It won’t keep happening. It’s all back to aboveboard and professional from here on out.” He touched his forehead in a quick salute. “You have my solemn promise.”

  “You made the same promise the day after I arrived, and look where it got us.”

  “I swear to you, that during the term in which you are working as my architect—”

  “During the term?” she repeated. “Wait a minute—”

  He held up a hand to silence her. “You will not be working for me forever. I don’t wish to make promises I may later regret. Therefore, I repeat: during the term in which you are working as my architect, relations between us will remain strictly professional, unless . . .”

  “There are no conditions under which the term unless would be remotely acceptable, Your Grace.”

  “Unless you initiate something more,” Lance finished. There. It was a promise he wished he hadn’t had to make—but it kept things open-ended. The ball was in her court now.

  She fell silent as if considering the matter. Then, straightening her shoulders, she spoke with as much dignity as could be mustered for a woman who was standing in a flooded bathroom wearing almost nothing but a towel. “That is acceptable. Since the scenario you describe will never happen.”

  I wouldn’t bet on that. Lance bowed with a dramatic flourish of one arm. “As my lady commands.”

  Her nightclothes hung on a nearby hook. She slipped into her dressing gown, then gathered up her other garments from the chair where they lay. “We had best ring for a servant to mop this up, Your Grace.”

  He ached to touch her again, but restrained himself. “After such intimacies,” he said softly, “it feels foolish to address each other in such a formal manner. Call me Lance.”

  She looked conflicted. “What will the servants think? What will your grandmother think?”

  “Call me Lance in private, then.”

  She gave him an almost imperceptible shrug. “All right.” She tested it out. “Lance.”

  He grinned. “And may I call you Kathryn?”

  “You may,” she said, slipping past him and heading for the bathroom door. Turning back, she added with an impish smile: “But only in private.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A week passed. Kathryn spent the better part of her time working. Often, she toiled until one or two in the morning, determined that every drawing be as perfect as humanly possible.

  Every few days, she met with the duke to discuss her progress. He seemed to be pleased with what she was accomplishing.

  Kathryn allowed herself only a few reprieves from this busy work schedule.

  She carved out time, as promised, to help Lance plan the upcoming Children’s Fête. After putting together a list of activities and lawn games, they enlisted Mrs. Morgan’s help to gather the supplies and met with the cook to create the menu.

  Kathryn maintained a correspondence with her sisters, enjoying reading about the details of their lives. She indulged in a few wa
lks with Lance, down to the beach and into the village of St. Gabriel’s Mount. They took in the sea view from the bench on the cliff path, which Lance admitted had been his favorite spot to indulge in contemplation ever since he was a child.

  Every evening, they dined together. On several occasions his grandmother joined them, adding her spice and vinegar to their conversations. They learned that Mr. Penberthy—the ailing fisherman to whom Lance had sent a doctor—had been diagnosed with a fractured foot, which thankfully would mend with proper care and time.

  Kathryn found herself especially looking forward to those evenings when she and the duke dined alone. She had come to enjoy and value his company more than she could have anticipated.

  He wanted to hear about her life growing up in New York. In return, he shared tales of his career in the Royal Navy and yarns that his shipmates had spun, some of which had her laughing far into the night.

  She found that sometimes she got her best ideas during these breaks. When she went back to work, she felt invigorated and refreshed.

  The duke kept his promise. No more untoward behavior occurred. Whenever he and Kathryn were together, he behaved in a perfectly professional manner, and so did she.

  He didn’t bring up the subject of marriage again, for which she was grateful. As Kathryn worked on the plans, though, whenever she thought of Lance living here, in the rooms she was designing, with his future bride—some perfectly nice and beautiful woman who would be delighted to be his duchess—the idea rankled more than it should.

  Despite their determinedly upright behavior, a new kind of vibration hung in the air. An unspoken hint of intimacy that was fed every time they called each other by their first names.

  It was subtly different from the sexual tension that had simmered between them when they first met. Now, they had openly acknowledged their sexual attraction. They had agreed that it was inappropriate and promised to hold it at bay. Now, whenever Kathryn caught the duke eyeing her hungrily, there was no wondering what was going on in his mind. She knew what it meant. What he wanted. And what she was missing by refusing to allow it.