by Eva Devon
“Wood to the fire?” he repeated, doubting his own ears.
“Indeed.” She ventured a smile. “It seems to be growing low. You look as if you’re quite capable of carrying a great many logs.”
She thought him a servant? He wasn’t in his usual attire, true, but surely she would recognize the authority of his demeanor.
Sometimes he struggled to tell what a person was actually thinking, let alone feeling. So, he forced himself to assess her. Her cheeks were pink. Her eyes sparkled. Her lush, golden hair spilled about her face as if she had given no thought to it, not at all something he was used to in the women who came into his company.
Usually, they had curls that were tight and arranged in artful patterns.
Not this one.
“Miss,” he said, “please get up and leave the room.”
“No.” She snapped the book back open, declaring her determination to stay.
“Why ever not?” he demanded, refusing to beg. Dukes did not beg. But his options were growing rather limited.
“Because I don’t like it out there,” she replied with unapologetic passion.
“You don’t…” He wondered if she might make short work of that newly appointed head of the French army, Napoleon, if given the chance. “You don’t like it out there?”
“No, not at all,” she said, adamant.
“Well, that’s really none of my concern. Though I don’t like it out there, either.”
“Look,” she said, “if you absolutely must have the chair, of course I shall give it to you. I’m not an awful person, but really I was quite enjoying it and I don’t wish to go back out there.”
“Then don’t go back out there,” he said. “You can go to the kitchen.”
“With your dog?” she asked, her eyes crackling.
He gazed down at her, stunned by the lushness of her person, the curve of her body, the way her lips parted. She was consumed in the intensity of their discourse, as was he. In his whole life, there’d been no woman who caused him to feel both absolutely infuriated and full of desire at the same time.
She was astounding. He couldn’t recall a single person who had ever told him to hie off.
He surprisingly liked it.
Edward stood perplexed, and he knew there was really only one thing to do to make her go. He let a slow smile curve his lips. “If you do not go, then I will kiss you.”
Surely, a proper young lady would run at the threat of seduction and potential ruination. And then his chair would be his again. That was what the only thing he longed for, after all. Wasn’t it?
She stood still for a moment, as if actually contemplating the bold offer, and then she swallowed hard enough to see her throat work, lifted her chin, and dared him right back. “Well, go on then, if you’re so determined.”
Chapter Two
Something terrible and incredible had overcome Miss Georgiana Bly.
She stood staring up at this massive man, totally unafraid, absolutely furious, and stunned because there was something about him that made it impossible for her to either give in to his order to leave, or to behave as she normally would.
He had done something to her.
Something had made her feel absolutely compelled to keep her spot in this room and not go back to face the glittering company.
Who did he think he was, ordering her about? She was tired of being told what to do.
From her mother, to her father, to her oldest sister, to her aunts, everyone seemed to think they knew exactly what was best for her. And, truthfully, she felt certain the only person who really did know what was best was herself.
She was willing to listen to others, of course, and she’d often tried to take the advice to be more successful in company. But time and time again, she’d fallen short.
And though the ruggedly beautiful giant of a man was insisting she go back into the elegant masses, she had no place in that ballroom upstairs. Oh, her family had been invited, a rare opportunity for the Blys, who were genteel but only just. No doubt her eldest sister, Elizabeth, was thriving. She was an excellent conversationalist and admired wherever she went, but Georgiana?
Georgiana had a tendency to walk into potted plants or servants bearing wine, and her propensity for saying the wrong thing had become the stuff of legend in her house. She still had not lived down the episode with Lady Farthington and her unfortunate comments about the lady’s wig.
She’d learned this the hard way more than once. Despite the fact that she occasionally wished she was a swan sailing gracefully through society’s waters, she was, in fact, a practical duck of a person. And she wished her family would come to that same conclusion, so they would stop trying to make her something she could never be.
She wasn’t meant for the complicated demands of balls. She was meant for small libraries, such as the one she was standing in now, which was why she was not willing to go.
The ballroom was the worst possible place for someone like her and she was not about to let the threat of a kiss convince her to leave the safety of this nook.
When the beautiful, overbearing man had told her she needed to leave or be kissed, she had chosen to be kissed because he had to be bluffing. What sort of man did that, anyway? Stride into a room, bark orders, and then kiss one?
It didn’t seem to match anything she’d read in novels or seen in public life. So, even when he wrapped his massive arms about her, she still was not entirely convinced anything more would happen.
The cad was just trying to make her run.
Well, she wouldn’t run. She was not that sort of girl. And when she drew in the masculine scent of him, she ignored the thrilling of her body.
All would be fine. She wasn’t the slightest bit afraid. It mattered not that he towered over her and his shoulders had the sort of breadth to them that a Corinthian column possessed. He wasn’t the least bit frightening. Was he alluring? Yes. In fact, his lips were most interesting and she wondered what effect they might cause upon her own, for she had read of the pleasurable effects of kissing…
No, no, she truly didn’t desire to be kissed by him. It was all just a tactic on her part to call his jest. Such a girl as herself would never wish such a thing. But as she tilted her head back, gazed up at his remarkably sinewy person and eyes as dark as sin, she found it incredibly difficult to breathe.
Her lips parted and her body was melting in the most delicious and delightful of ways. Botheration, she wanted to be in his arms, and she loved how they were as molten as marble.
She was enveloped in pure sensation, a state to which she had never before had opportunity to be in.
Men did not usually go about embracing ducky sort of girls. No, they preferred the swans, as far as she could tell. Remarkably handsome man that he was, he would be no different. She was unaccustomed to being at the attention of such a vital person. And it seemed to leave her slightly off foot.
He certainly took most of the air out of the room, and yet, somehow, she felt empowered in his arms, as if she was just as strong as he.
So, when he cocked his head to the side and his black hair, as jetty as any raven’s wings, touched his cheek, she matched the angle of his head, ready to take his kiss, should he so choose to give it.
And give it, he did.
His mouth came down upon hers, devouring with a sort of heady hunger that left her gasping for breath, and yet she did not wish him to stop. Oh no. She wished this kiss to never end. His hands stroked her back, guiding her closer to him, arching her into his hard, tempting frame.
Sense abandoned her. She was utterly unprepared for the force and temptation of him. And she did not consider herself an easily led ninny of a person.
As if of their own accord, her hands stole to his biceps. She could feel his perfect skin through the linen of his damp white shirt. Georgiana slid her arms up over hi
s muscled arms to his shoulders, then to the strong curve of his neck, where her fingertips brushed silky strands of his thick hair.
It was heaven.
Glorious, perfect, unbelievable heaven.
And she found she could not put any thoughts together except that she wished to be kissed more.
His tongue gently teased the line of her lips. Startled, she opened to him, and his tongue touched hers. It was like drinking the sweetest, spiciest wine, and she wanted to quaff greater quantities. As he kissed her with a wild hunger, she attempted to kiss him back, still hardly believing this was happening.
With each moment, she kissed him with more confidence and more pleasure, until, breath for breath and kiss for kiss, she knew she was in danger, for his hands began to rove all over her body, moving to the angle of the curve of her hip.
She felt as if they were becoming one, single, delicious body as the heat between them intensified. What would happen next, she could not say; all she knew was she did not want this moment to end, for it was the most alive she had ever felt.
Until, suddenly, a voice chimed from the doorway. “It seems we have found the future Duchess of Thornfield.”
What? Who?
Georgiana’s blood turned to ice and she froze in his arms. The languid sensation that had made her body feel like warmed honey disappeared in a crush of frigid reality. She didn’t need to turn to know they had been well and truly caught.
“Hello, Aunt Agatha,” the man ground out.
Georgiana’s gaze swung to Aunt Agatha and her chest squeezed with horror as she spotted her regal hostess, Lady Strathmore.
The titters of several ladies filled the small room, and all at once, the pieces fit together with a snap. The sound of her future shifting course so swiftly it gave her whiplash.
Georgiana took a horrified step back, her fingers trailing down the Duke of Thornfield’s arms—she was touching the Duke of Thornfield—and she gaped up at him. Her mind rioted with unmitigated horror. It couldn’t be. Every part of her screamed at the impossibility of this scenario. She had not just kissed the duke!
But she had. She truly had. And dread replaced the horror rattling through her. If she could have made it do so, the floor would have opened up and swallowed her whole.
His passion vanished as fiercely as it had appeared. Now he gazed down upon her with hard suspicion. The intrigue and hunger that had filled his eyes just a few moments before was gone, replaced by shards of ice.
“Got what you wished, did you?” he drawled before extricating himself from her as if she were a plague victim. He took a rapid step back and strode from the room.
She longed to cry out no! But the word choked in her throat.
How could she explain that the life of a duchess was the last thing she’d ever wanted? Because she would utterly fail at it.
…
Control.
Edward needed control.
He stormed out of the great house to the back servants’ courtyard. The refreshing chill of a Yorkshire night hit his face, and he savored it. Away from the choking air of those judging stares, he tilted his head back and stared up at the flickering silver points in the black sky.
Out here, he could think. It was going to require a good deal of thinking, deep thinking, to sort out this mess with any semblance of civility.
He sucked in long breaths of cold air, trying to still the emotions threatening to come undone. He focused on the damp chill filling his lungs and the sharp breeze brushing over his exposed skin.
But then he strode forward and his boots slammed on the cobblestones, shattering the control he’d gathered. Fury pulsed through him. Again and again, he flexed and unflexed his hands, looking for an outlet for the charged feelings thundering inside him.
He’d been caught.
He, the Duke of Thornfield. In a bloody wedding trap.
How in damnation had that happened?
All he’d wished for was a few moments alone. Just a bit of time to collect himself before facing all those marriage-minded fools. He needed that time. Time to make certain he didn’t say the factual yet apparently unkind thoughts in his head. That time in his chair meant he could be still, contained, for a few moments and thus survive the hum and overwrought energy of those who wished to be at the perimeters of his power.
Not only had that time been stolen from him, but now his future, too.
All because she’d refused to go.
All because she’d trapped him.
All because he’d had to, for some inexplicable reason, kiss her.
The world spun about him and he sucked in another set of slow breaths. He had to get a hold of himself, and this situation. Allowing himself to come apart would do him no good.
Even as he willed himself to accept that chit had invaded his rooms without invitation, the cobbles seemed to rattle under his feet. The cold air he loved all but shook around him.
A growling curse tore from his lips. “Bloody poxing hell—”
“Dear boy, we did not allow you to attend Oxford to espouse such verbiage.”
Edward ground his teeth together as he closed his eyes for a moment. “Aunt Agatha, not now.”
“On the contrary,” the firm, formidable voice announced behind him, “now is the only time we have.”
“That is a blatant falsehood,” he bit out, refusing to look at her, or else lose his resolve. The gorgon of a woman had been his sole comfort and guide since his parents’ unfortunate and untimely death. “Come back in five minutes.”
She tutted. “In five minutes the entire house will know your tongue was in that young lady’s mouth.”
“Aunt Agatha!” He turned to face her, finally, taking in her resplendent and fashionable figure standing upon the limestone step.
Even in his frustration, and despite the fact he’d just insinuated he did not need her, he now found himself relieved that she had followed him. She was, after all, the only person living who remotely understood the challenges he had faced since boyhood.
Her silver hair shone nearly white in the moonlight, curled artfully and without fussiness. She’d eschewed powder some years ago, and her face, though wrinkled, was still beautiful.
The face of a woman who knew her power and how to wield it.
He loved that face.
For though it was stern, it was one of the few he’d come to understand.
“Don’t feign innocence at me, my lad,” she declared, driving her silver-headed cane down with a considerable thump onto the step. “I know you’ve put other parts of your anatomy into ladies for some years now.” She hesitated, only the rustle of her silvery purple gown filling the silence. At last, she said, “Still, a girl like that? From no family of consequence? She’ll be the talk of the ton and ruined to boot if you don’t do something. Or…will you ruin her?”
His chest tightened as he took in her stoic visage. “You know the answer to that.”
“Do I?”
“I should hope so,” he said with an arch of his brow. The entirety of his life had been spent doing the right thing. The hard thing. Even when it earned him displeasure and censure from the more pleasure-driven parts of the peerage.
In answer, she rolled her eyes. “My dear boy, all I know is that you vacated your room abruptly and said she had gotten what she wanted.” She shrugged her bead-trimmed shoulders. “I assume you mean matrimony, but I don’t like to assume anything. One never knows the workings of the male mind.”
He was certain that she was now being hyperbolic. His aunt knew the workings of the male mind very well. She’d managed enough of them quite effectively over the years. But he also knew he held a special place in her heart to which she might feel blind to his potential faults in such a circumstance as this.
She would love him no matter what, even if he disappointed her, but he wasn’
t about to do such a heinous thing.
“You know the sort of man I am,” he reminded her.
“Indeed.” She gave a slight nod with the barest of relieved smiles. “You’ve never shirked your duty, Edward. I cannot be quiet and let you start now.”
It was true. His father and mother had taken great pains to ensure he was loved, cared for, and taught the importance of respect, even if he struggled to show it in a meaningful way at times. It would be an immense betrayal of them to shirk anything off.
Edward groaned. “This is an utter disaster.”
His aunt looked at him without mercy. “Perhaps you should have considered that before you kissed her.”
He was not given to having conversations about kissing with his aunt Agatha, though neither of them were prudes. He quite enjoyed carnal activity. He’d garnered a reputation of a rake at Oxford. But kissing a young, innocent lady of Yorkshire was not to his liking.
No, that was a patent falsehood. He’d quite liked kissing her. Like was not even the correct word. He’d been completely bowled over. She was the devil, there was no question. That kiss was going to ruin him, not her. Rather, that kiss was going to be the making of her.
Neither of their lives would be the same.
“You must find her immediately and remedy this situation, Edward,” Agatha pressed. “The entire house will be abuzz with the gossip of that kiss if you do not act quickly.”
He hated when his aunt was right and he wrong. After all, he spent a great deal of time ensuring he was always doing the right thing. He loathed having to go backward. He loathed making a mistake even more. Over the years, he’d fought so hard to prevent making them.
Making such a large one now galled him.
“I’ll announce it, then,” he stated.
His aunt blinked. “Announce what?”
“The wedding, of course.” He folded his hands behind his back, determined to choose stoicism over drama. Just as Aunt Agatha had done. Just as they would always do.
“Oh dear,” she lamented. “I had truly hoped to see you wed this year but I never imagined this is how it would be. And with such a girl.”
