by Darcy Burke
“Good afternoon, Lord St. Ives,” Ivy said. “I was just telling Fanny that you ought to take a turn in the garden since it’s such a lovely afternoon.”
David’s gaze met Fanny’s, and she gave him a tiny nod. “We can go out this way.” She gestured to the doors that led to a terrace that overlooked the garden. Stairs led down to a path that circuited the enclosure behind the house. “Allow me to fetch my bonnet.” Thankfully, it was resting on a table nearby since she’d already gone outside earlier.
As she tied the hat beneath her chin, David offered another small bow to Ivy. He replaced his hat on his head, then came to Fanny and presented his arm.
Her heart tripped faster again at his proximity. His scent of clove and pine filled her nose and only heightened her awareness. They were quiet until they walked outside.
“How are you today?” he asked.
“I’m so glad you called,” she said at precisely the same moment.
They laughed, and he guided her down the stairs to the garden.
She clutched his arm perhaps a bit too tightly, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to slip and fall down the stairs in another Fanny Moment. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Ivy made sure I was warm to the point of discomfort for the remainder of yesterday.”
“I see. Your sister cares for you a great deal.”
“She does. I’m quite lucky to have her. She’s more than adept at dealing with my Fanny Moments.”
“Fanny Moments?”
“As you’ve noticed—and I believe I told you when we first met—I’m rather clumsy.”
“I had noticed, and truly, you didn’t need to tell me at all. You tumbled down a hill the first time I met you.” His brow creased as they started along the path. “And at our second meeting, there was that dancing disaster where you fell again. You also fell down the third time I met you. By God, descending the stairs was a risk we should not have taken.”
She laughed. “I refuse to live in fear. I simply try to be more careful. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t.”
“Well, I do hope it isn’t me. I’d hate to be the cause of any misfortune.”
“It isn’t you, I assure you.” They strolled through the roses that were not yet in bloom. “I understand my brother-in-law may have interrogated you last night. What happened?”
He made a noise in his throat that was part laugh and part grunt. “Interrogated is perhaps too strong a description. He wanted to meet me, to glean whatever he could about my character.”
She tipped her head to the side and looked at his profile. The angles of his face were sculpted elegance—from the subtle jut of his forehead to the slender slope of his nose to the curve of his lip. “And what did he glean?”
“You’d have to ask him, but I believe he found me acceptable. It was a pleasant, genial encounter.”
“So you passed his test, whatever it was.” That West had somehow determined David should be tested and that David recognized it too only strengthened her belief that something was happening between them.
“I seemed to, but West’s good opinion means nothing without yours.” His words sparked a heat in her belly that spread through her.
“If you’d spoken to me like that yesterday, there wouldn’t have been any concern that I would be chilled.”
His gaze met hers, but he quickly pulled it away and laughed. “I wouldn’t have—there were too many people. You, on the other hand, have no problem saying things regardless of the audience.”
He was referring to her discussion of their kissing. Or almost kissing. “They’re my friends, and they won’t say anything, nor will they judge. I have, however, learned my lesson. I will refrain from discussing kissing with you in public. I must also request that you refrain from almost kissing me in public. That will make my task so much easier.”
They were near the back corner of the garden, a fair distance from the house, but still within view if anyone cared to look. He stopped and turned toward her. “I want you to understand that I do not go around kissing young women.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
“And I really shouldn’t start now.” He started walking again, albeit more slowly than they had been.
“You actually started back in December,” she pointed out. “If you’re having an internal debate as to whether you should kiss me again, would it help to know that my sister isn’t watching us? She’s reclining on a chaise far from the windows. She’s expecting a child later in the summer, so she’s very tired.”
He sent her a brief glance, his lids low over his eyes. “You’re not helping my resolve.”
She smiled cheerfully. “I’m not trying to.”
“Fanny.”
She waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, she decided she’d robbed him of speech. Perhaps if they were stationary, he might be more inclined to kiss her again. Especially if they were at least partially shielded from the house. “Come, let’s sit for a moment.” She steered them toward a bench that was tucked behind and beneath a tree that provided a bit of privacy.
Reluctantly, she took her hand from his arm and sat down on the smooth stone. He joined her, stretching one leg out. “How are you finding London?” she asked, thinking that if they stopped talking about kissing, he might forget he was trying not to and stumble into it.
Was she trying to manipulate this entire encounter to obtain another kiss? It certainly seemed that way. She was not very good at this demure-young-lady business.
“A bit complicated. Though I did take a walk early this morning. I’m enjoying the birds in Hyde Park.”
Of course, birds! “Yes, I’ve noticed that too. I admit I’ve taken up bird-watching since meeting you. I kept hoping I’d encounter you at Stour’s Edge again. What were you doing so far from Huntwell that day?”
He turned slightly toward her. “We have a parcel of land that adjoins Stour’s Edge. It’s only about three hundred acres, and I should probably sell it to Clare. However, my uncle keeps a small lodge there where he hunts. Or used to in his younger days. Now he goes there to paint. I sometimes visit to watch for birds. And to be alone.”
“Do you prefer that?”
“Sometimes.” His answer seemed a bit noncommittal. “Why do you live with your sister? Is it because she’s sponsoring your Season?”
“Yes, and because my life in Yorkshire with my parents was unfathomably dull.” Particularly after her dearest—and really only—friend had married two years ago. Fanny suppressed a shudder when she thought of how she could be married to the odious Mr. Duckworth. “I hail from a small town called Pickering. It’s just north of Nowhere, right next to Nothing.”
His mouth ticked up in a slight smile. “Sounds heavenly.”
“It isn’t. Or at least, it isn’t with my family. With the right person, it might be. There is an astounding number and variety of birds. I’ll return at some point. I wish to start a—never mind.” She was beginning to learn that she didn’t need to tell everyone everything, and doubted he’d care to hear about her workhouse idea.
“I shall make a point of visiting someday, especially if you’re going to be there. Were you going to say something else?”
He looked at her with such avid curiosity that she wondered why she would keep anything from him. “I plan to start a workhouse that will help unmarried mothers and orphans. We’ll train them to find positions outside the workhouse to give them the best possible life.”
His gaze swept over her face with warmth and admiration. “You’re still testing my resolve, Fanny.” The words came out soft but with a scalding heat.
She edged closer, scooting an inch or two along the bench. “I wasn’t trying just then, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“I really should resist.” He leaned closer. “But you make it blessed difficult.”
She tipped her head back as he loomed over her. “And I’m trying to be a proper young Society miss, but I’d much rather kiss you.”
&nbs
p; “Then we are in agreement there.” He hesitated the barest moment before muttering something she couldn’t quite understand. Then his lips claimed hers and his arms came around her back, pulling her closer.
She’d dreamed of this moment so many times but had long ago given up hope. Until she’d seen him at the ball the other night. Then her imagination had taken flight once more, and now here they were. She put her hands on his chest and slid them up his coat as his lips opened over hers.
Sensation threatened to sweep her away when her tongue touched his. The memory of his kiss had filled her for four long months, but the reality was more intense than she imagined. There was wet heat and a surprising urge to thrust into his mouth and claim what she wanted. She felt brazen and seductive. Powerful. But also a willing recipient of his boldness, of his seductive power. He might not make a habit of kissing women, but he was certainly skilled.
One of his hands cupped the back of her neck as he tilted her head and slanted his mouth over hers, gaining deeper access and joining them more intimately. With his other hand, he pulled her flush against his chest so that her breasts tingled from the contact. Indeed, her entire body came alert with sexual curiosity and need. An image of herself throwing her leg over his lap and straddling him invaded her mind and set off a burst of heat between her thighs.
She clutched at his neck, returning his kiss with all the fervor bursting inside her. The hand on her neck moved to cup the side of her face as he drew away—not far, just enough to look into her eyes. His had darkened to flinty steel. “Fanny, this is dangerous territory.”
“It’s lovely territory. I’m keen to explore more of it.” She pressed on his neck, urging him to kiss her again.
With a soft groan, his mouth crushed hers, his tongue licking along her lips and his teeth grazing her flesh. She gasped while his thumb stroked her cheek and his tongue plundered her mouth. Their first kiss had been sweet with a bit of spice, while the second had been audaciously exciting. This was something wholly different. This was primal and urgent, utterly demanding. He insisted upon her response, and her body required satisfaction.
He pulled away again, this time breathing heavily and putting space between them. “I think that’s enough for today.”
Disappointment chilled her, but she knew he was right. She wasn’t entirely sure what would happen next, but she knew it oughtn’t take place on a bench in her sister’s garden. Even so, she could think of no better place. She’d met him outside and associated the smell of earth and the sound of birds with how it felt to be in his arms.
She took in the rigid planes of his face and allowed her gaze to dip over his frame. Men were at a distinct disadvantage, for their arousal was often plainly visible through their garments. She wondered if hers was in any way. She felt a woozy desire, a need that pulsed between her legs, but surely none of that could be seen. “How do I look?” she asked, barely recognizing the low rasp of her kiss-drenched voice.
His attention sharpened, indicating he might have been suffering the same woozy state. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m trying to determine if you can see how I feel. The way I can see you.” Her gaze dropped again to his crotch.
He smiled. “Ah. You are rather observant.”
“It’s hard to miss,” she said wryly.
He leaned close and whispered, “Just imagine if we were standing. Then you’d feel it against you.”
Molten fire dripped through her, tightening the desire she felt below her belly. “Now who’s testing our resolve?”
“You make it far too easy.” He turned from her and inhaled deeply. “No more kissing.”
“Ever?”
“Not today.”
She was still disappointed, but acknowledged that was the smart plan. “Well, if I can count on kissing you each time I see you—or at least nearly—I shall be quite content. Though, I may have to give you one of my sister’s Untouchable nicknames. The Duke of Kisses, I think.”
He turned back toward her, his gaze sharp with alarm. “Oh, bloody hell, no. I do not want one of those. Furthermore, you can’t call me that to anyone, for they’ll wonder how you came up with it.”
He had a rather good point. “You’re aware of these names, then.”
“Clare mentioned them last night. I’d be mortified to have a nickname.”
“I’ll do my best to ensure you don’t—at least publicly. To me, you are already the Duke of Kisses, I’m afraid.” She brushed a speck from his shoulder and allowed her hand to linger. “But it’s our secret.”
“Good.” He stood and held his hand to help her up.
She took it, wishing they weren’t wearing gloves. Or hats. Or clothes at all.
Rising, she tucked her hand over his arm for the walk back to the house. “Are you presentable?” she asked with a soft laugh.
“I will be. Just watch your mouth—don’t say anything provocative.”
“I would never do that.” At his bark of laughter, she added, “On purpose.”
He slid her a dubious glance. “I’m not sure I believe that, but I must rely upon your good grace.”
“When will I see you next?” she asked, already eager for the encounter.
“Where will you be tonight?”
“A small dinner party. Unfortunately, nowhere you’ll be or can be.” She frowned. “Tomorrow? You could come to the park. And tomorrow evening is the Newcastle ball.”
“I’ll do my best to be in the park, but I will definitely make an appearance at the ball. You can help me decide if I should purchase a phaeton on Monday.”
“You absolutely should, and I hope you’ll drive it to the park. I can’t wait to see it. Perhaps you can teach me to drive it.”
He laughed again. “Fanny, the idea of you driving a high-perch phaeton strikes fear deep into my heart.”
She swatted at his arm, grinning. “Perhaps it will be the one thing at which I will be graceful and thoroughly adept.”
As they neared the stairs, he gave her a heated stare. “I can think of at least one thing at which you are quite adept.”
“Oh, now you’re breaking your own rules. That isn’t well done of you.”
His mouth spread in a smile that turned her knees to water. “No, it isn’t.” He made no apology, and she suddenly understood why some females swooned. “Let us hurry. I need to take my leave before I reach an embarrassing state once more.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” she murmured. She did, in fact, want that and looked forward to the day when she could coax him to that state and let the consequences be damned.
Chapter 4
As he settled into his coach for the ride back to Bolton Street, a smile teased David’s mouth. He’d never met a woman like Fanny. She was so genuinely charming and unabashedly alluring.
And yet a voice in the back of his mind—his father’s voice—kept reminding him that he had a duty, a promise. A promise he’d made to a dying man…
He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the squab, allowing that memory to wash over him, but just for a moment. He never could have foreseen meeting Fanny again here in London or the strong connection he felt to her.
The coach pulled to a stop in front of his house, and he didn’t wait for the footman to open the door before jumping out and striding inside. The butler, Trask, welcomed him into the hall. “The countess and your uncle have arrived, my lord.”
He’d been expecting them, but his current frame of mind didn’t encourage company. Perhaps he’d be fortunate to learn they were resting. “Where are they now?”
“Awaiting your arrival in the drawing room.”
Of course they were. Quashing his annoyance—which was really directed at himself—he handed his hat and gloves to Trask. “Thank you.”
Ascending the stairs, he did his best to push his frustration aside and summoned a smile as he walked into the drawing room. “Welcome to London, Mother, Uncle.”
His father’s brother stood upon David’s
entry. Uncle Walter wasn’t as tall as David’s father had been, but his hair was less gray and his eyes more so, and his frame more athletic. In some ways, David supposed he took after him, but then they did share blood.
Uncle Walter came forward and clasped him in a brief but warm hug. Walter had never married and had moved into the dower house at Huntwell when David’s grandfather had died a few years ago. It was unclear where he would live once David’s mother moved there. But then that wouldn’t happen until David took a wife.
The unsettling sensation he’d had in the coach and really several times over the past few days—of promises not kept—stole over him before he tucked it away.
David went to his mother and leaned down to kiss her cheek. He took in her dove gray costume. “You’ve moved on from black, I see.”
A handsome woman with blue eyes and brown hair streaked with gray and white, she smoothed the skirt of her gown over her knee. “It was time.”
David felt a twinge of sorrow. He didn’t like to think of things moving on without his father, but of course, they must. “Did you have a pleasant trip?”
“Yes, thank you.” She smiled up at him and patted the space beside her on the settee. “Sit and tell me how things have been.”
David dropped onto the settee, and his uncle took a chair across from them. He wanted to tell them about Fanny, that he’d met a young lady he wished to court, but he hesitated. “Very well. I am acclimating to things as you’d expect. I’ve made a few friends who are shepherding me through.”
“Who are these friends?” his uncle asked.
“The Earl of Ware and Mr. Anthony Colton—his father is Viscount Colton.” And because it would impress his mother, he added, “And the Duke of Clare.”
His mother nodded in approval. “Well done. Who else have you met? Have you made the acquaintance of Miss Stoke?”
And there it was. David tensed. “I haven’t yet.”
Mother’s brow furrowed. “Why not? They are expecting you to call.”
