Never Say Duke

by Erica Ridley

  He crossed his arms and gave her a good scowl. “I can read quite well. I’ve been making my way through Azureford’s library.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Azureford has a library?”

  He grinned. “Want to see it?”

  She bounded out of her chair. “At once.”

  He fished his crutches from the floor and led her down the corridor to the duke’s library.

  Virginia’s eyes shone as she took in the fireplace, the comfortable chairs, the towering rows of books, the proliferation of Roman statues on pedestals.

  “It’s marvelous,” she breathed.

  Theo wished he could show her his private library. Fewer statues of Juno and Cupid, but just as many books. He would love to see Virginia’s face.

  “Azureford must be a wonderful friend to allow you the use of his library.”

  “Azureford is a terrible friend. He left me at the mercy of his butler. I will have stern words for him when he returns.”

  Virginia frowned at the stacks. “All his books are arranged by size and color.”

  “That is the fashionable manner in which to display them. Libraries are meant to be aesthetically pleasing, not utilized.”

  She spun to face him.

  “Aha,” he said. “You missed my eyebrow. Now you will forever wonder whether I shelve my books in rainbow order or according to height.”

  “Neither,” she said. “You’ve given yourself away by reading the one I loaned you. You appreciate books. Symmetry is lovely to gaze upon, but a ridiculous manner in which to organize a library. We should fix Azureford’s.”

  Theo nearly choked. “We should what?”

  “Organize it for him.” Virginia lifted a palm toward the impeccable display. “Fiction with fiction, science with science, diaries with diaries.”

  “Azureford will hate it,” Theo said. “It’s exactly what he deserves. Where do we start?”

  She grinned at him. “Follow my lead.”

  If Theo had found her beautiful before, Virginia was positively luminous when immersed in a task she was passionate about. Listening to her explain which categories should be grouped and which should never be conflated, which subjects were the most browsed in the castle library and therefore should be shelved as close to eye level as possible…

  She was sweet and funny, clever and whimsical. The more he tried to hide his attraction, the harder she became to resist. It wasn’t just that he wanted to taste her mouth in a kiss. He enjoyed her company, her unpredictability. The way she was completely and unapologetically Virginia.

  When she came from around a bookcase staggering under the weight of an unwieldy stack of tomes, his protective instincts snapped into place.

  “Put that down at once,” he commanded.

  “You’re on crutches,” she said as she lurched forward. “I’ve got it.”

  “You—” Theo shut his mouth.

  She did have it. He just didn’t like it. He wanted to be the one lifting heavy things for her.

  “I’ll sort these,” he said gruffly as she sat the stack upon the closest table. “Lug as many backbreaking piles as you please.”

  A smile tugged at her lips. “I will.”

  They were halfway through their reorganization when a book of poetry whisked Theo’s mind from the library altogether.

  “What are you reading?” came a soft voice.

  He jumped and shoved the book back onto a pile. “Nothing.”

  She picked it up. “Poetry?”

  “Not everyone spends their days reading about the migratory patterns of African swallows.”

  She tilted her head. “You spend your days reading poetry?”

  That wasn’t what he had meant to admit at all.

  “I have an affinity,” he hedged.

  She sat on the edge of the closest chair and motioned for him to do the same. “Tell me about it.”

  “Right now?” He glanced around. “We can’t leave the library like… this.”

  “Trust me,” she assured him. “It’s not worse.”

  He sat. “I love poetry. I have a signed first edition copy of poems by Matilda Bethem. It’s practically an extension of my soul. Is that what you want to know?”

  She did not laugh at him or question why someone else’s words could speak for him more eloquently than he could do so himself. She simply nodded as if books being the extension of one’s soul was perfectly understandable.

  He slid the slender volume from an inside pocket. He’d never shown it to anyone before. It truly felt like baring his soul. “My most prized possession.”

  “You had it with you when you went to war?”

  “It never left my side.” He tucked the poems back into their hiding spot and patted his chest. “If someone wished to stab me through the heart, they would have to do so through a hundred pages of poetry.”

  “That’s beautiful,” she said. “Of course it protected you.”

  Theo opened his mouth to argue the point, then realized she was right. He had been shot, trampled, scarred more places than not, but he would be fine. His heart had been safe behind its protective armor. The poems had done their job.

  “Which one is your favorite?” she asked.

  He considered. “The one that haunts me is called The Heir.”

  “What is it about?”

  “A man who does what he must,” Theo replied grimly. “Even forsaking the woman whose soul is entwined with his, because duty to one’s title must always come first.”

  Her eyes widened. “It sounds ghastly.”

  Living it? Yes. The poem? No.

  “It gives me peace to know no matter how bleak a situation one might find oneself in, beauty can always be made of it.”

  “Your face has not lost its beauty,” she said softly. “How does your leg feel?”

  “Almost good enough to dance,” he promised. “If my knee could be trusted not to buckle beneath me.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” She disappeared between the stacks.

  Faster than he expected, the books were back on the shelves in the library in perfect working order. Not in the condition in which Azureford had left it, of course. But fiction with fiction, science with science, and all the poetry books at Theo’s height.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “You did that?”

  She blinked back at him innocently.

  “We did this.” She hesitated. “About dancing with Lady Beatrice…”

  The words scraped like nails. Theo wanted nothing but Virginia on his mind for as long as possible. And he definitely did not want to think too hard about what that might mean.

  “There may be a solution,” she continued, “Even men without crutches aren’t expected to dance every set.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “True.”

  She glanced at the clock in the corner. “I can spare another half an hour. What does a gentleman do when he’s promised a set to a lady, but they’ve agreed not to dance?”

  “Sneak her out to the balcony for a kiss?” Theo guessed hopefully.

  She shook her head. “No balcony in here.”

  He blinked. Would a kiss have been an option if he’d said “between the stacks” instead?

  “I’ve never stood up with a gentleman at a ball,” she said. “For dancing or otherwise. You practice whatever is done in such situations, and at the same time I will learn what it is I am meant to do.”

  The idea of Virginia spending her time with other gentlemen—locked in a dance or otherwise—soured Theo’s stomach.

  “There’s nothing to practice about spending half an hour with an honorable gentleman,” he said. “What you need to learn is not to be taken advantage of by a boorish suitor.”

  “Perfect,” she said. “I’ll be me, and you can be my boorish suitor.”

  He grabbed her wrist and tugged her into the center of the room. When she complied, he glared at her. “That was the first test. You should not have come with me.”

  She f
rowned. “This is where you dragged me.”

  “I’m the boorish suitor,” he reminded her. “Never let the boorish suitor drag you anywhere.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” she asked.

  He pointed at his cheek. “Slap me.”

  “You’re on crutches,” she stammered.

  “Don’t slap me with one of my crutches. Just slap me.”

  She nodded as if taking a mental note. “Anytime a loutish gentleman tries to drag me somewhere I do not wish to go, I will slap them.”

  “Not just dragging,” Theo said quickly. “If he makes lewd comments you dislike, touches you anywhere unwelcome, acts fresh or forward in any manner at all, slap him with your glove. If you’re still wearing it, even better.”

  She nodded. “Understood.”

  “Next scenario,” he said. “What do you do if a scoundrel tries to kiss you?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Mostly just stand there until he finishes.”

  He stared at her. “Does this happen often? I thought you’d never stood up with a man to dance before.”

  “Kissing isn’t dancing,” she pointed out. “Men needn’t write their names upon one’s card in order to steal a kiss.”

  “Writing their names upon your card is the very least that—” Theo clenched his fingers about his crutches and tried to slow his pulse. The blackguards in her past were not currently present for Theo to teach a lesson. He started again. “With the right man, you’ll enjoy kissing. With the wrong one, slap him.”

  She made a face. “He was definitely the wrong one.”

  Theo tried to ignore the flash of relief at the realization that there had been only one such incident before. With Virginia, any of the usual assumptions were out the window. He wanted their first time to be perfect. Theo hadn’t been this nervous about the thought of kissing a girl in twenty years. He didn’t want her to look back on the memory and wrinkle her nose, but to sigh happily.

  His heart skipped when he realized this meant he was thinking of their first kiss as a foregone conclusion. As inevitable as the tides, or the waxing of the moon.

  “Here we go.” He was glad they had the pretext of “boorish suitor” to protect them. If he kissed her as himself, in the way he truly wanted to… Who knew what would happen?

  He closed the distance between them. Their toes were now touching. His lips could be on hers in a heartbeat.

  “You’re not wearing a fichu,” he said. “I can look down your bodice from this angle.”

  She stared back up at him in silence.

  “Slap me,” he whispered. “That was an extremely impolite thing to say.”

  “You can see down my bodice from that angle,” she said. “Do you like it?”

  “I like your bosom from every angle,” he growled. “That’s not the point. The point is—”

  Good Lord. He didn’t even have to act to behave poorly.

  Her lips curved. “I like how you look from every angle, too.”

  “Do not say things like that to a self-important cad,” he warned her. “He’ll think you mean them.”

  “I mean it with you.” She peered up at him shyly, then glanced away. “I find you attractive.”

  Desire pulsed through Theo’s blood. This lesson was not at all going the way he had planned.

  “You are more than attractive.” He could barely fight the craving to kiss her. It was more than the allure of plump red lips and long lashes over bright green eyes. It was Virginia. Everything about her was irresistible. “Scoundrels will be as captivated by you as I am. You must defend yourself.”

  “From what?”

  “From this.” He lowered his mouth to hers.

  It was not a gentle kiss, as Theo might have intended, nor the carnal claiming that haunted his dreams. This was hard and firm and make-believe. Closed mouth to closed mouth. A common blackguard illustrating which one held the power. A kiss like this was not romance. It was a warning.

  She didn’t slap him.

  As the moment stretched on, Theo found it increasingly difficult to keep up the arrogant, tightlipped pressure of a puffed-up lout. All Theo wanted to do was sink his fingers into Virginia’s hair and kiss her the way she truly deserved to be kissed. He felt his mouth softening despite his best intentions. His lips parting of their own accord.

  He jerked his head away before the kiss could turn into something he actually meant.

  She immediately slapped him.

  “Thank you,” he said in relief. The torture had not been in vain. “Boorish scoundrels deserve retribution for stealing an unwilling kiss from a lady.”

  “I was willing,” Virginia said. “I slapped you for stopping before it got better.”

  “Good God, woman.” Theo staggered backward before he gave into temptation and did exactly that.

  He absolutely, positively could not allow himself to touch her and mean it. Could he?

  He was not yet spoken for. Nor was she. He was willing. So was she. They were alone. No one would ever know. He cast his eyes toward heaven. “Lord, please give me a sign.”

  “What?” Virginia stepped forward.

  Theo backed away, lest he lose the last thread of control… and crashed directly into one of the many statues on pedestals. Something sharp pierced him as the figure wobbled off its base.

  He tried to intercept it without dropping his crutches.

  Virginia dashed forward and caught the statute before it could tumble to the floor. She placed the figure back on its pedestal and arranged it to face them.

  Cupid.

  Of course.

  “You have got to be bamming me,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  He’d asked for a sign, hadn’t he? The Romans had answered. “Do you believe in Cupid?”

  Her eyes widened. “Why?”

  “His arrow just stabbed me in the back.”

  She held up her palm, where a spot of red marred the surface. “He got me, too.”

  “Then this is Fate,” Theo growled, and slanted his mouth over hers.

  This kiss was nothing like the first one. It was confident and real. Vulnerable and unapologetic. Now they both knew the truth. His only weakness was her. This kiss proved it.

  Her lips were soft and yielding beneath his. Plump and inviting, as sweet and perfect as he had imagined. Yet he wanted more.

  “Slap me,” he whispered as he coaxed her lips to part.

  “I will, when you do something I don’t like,” she murmured and opened her mouth to his.

  Her kiss was exactly the nectar he had been dreaming of. Sweeter than the scent of roses. More dangerous than their thorns. This was a kiss he could lose himself in completely. He would not escape unscathed.

  Each time Virginia relinquished power, she somehow also took it from him. He deepened the kiss. It did not give him the upper hand. She returned each kiss with the same abandon he had tried for so long to keep in check.

  But it was a mirage. A wild, utopian fantasy they could indulge once, but never keep. He might not have signed a wedding contract, but his future was preordained. He would marry for his title, not his heart. Which meant he had no right to let Virginia think otherwise, even for a moment.

  Reluctantly, he tore his mouth away and touched his forehead to hers.

  “I would spend every minute of my time here kissing you if I could,” he forced himself to admit. “But that’s all it could be.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  He lifted his forehead and nudged up her chin with his knuckle to force her to meet his gaze. “You deserve more.”

  “I know,” Virginia whispered. Without another word, she turned and left.

  Theo sat down hard on the closest chair and shoved his crutches to the floor. There. He got his way and finally scared her off.

  It didn’t make him happy at all.

  He rubbed his face with his hands. Being a marquess was like being a military officer, he reminded himself. One did as one must, not as one wishe
d.

  Chest tight, Theo pulled the book of poetry from its spot next to his heart and tossed it on to the closest shelf. It hadn’t protected him today.

  A black cloud slunk out from behind his chair and darted between the stacks of books.

  Theo sighed. “You’re a terrible chaperone, Duke.”

  At the sound of his name, the cat stalked out from its hiding place to bare its teeth in displeasure.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Theo said sarcastically.

  Duke immediately rolled his paws skyward, twisted to scratch his back on the carpet, and gave a loud purr.

  Theo blinked. “What in the—”

  Duke stopped purring and stared at him.

  Theo narrowed his eyes. “Duke.”

  The cat leaped onto its feet, claws out, and hissed.

  This time, before it could run away, Theo immediately added, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  Duke’s claws vanished as he threw himself back to the floor, wriggling and purring in obvious pleasure.

  Theo let out a surprised snort of laughter. The cat wasn’t the prickly, antisocial creature he had seemed.

  He had just been waiting to be treated like he mattered.

  Chapter 8

  Virginia hesitated before the front step to the Duke of Azureford’s cottage. No matter how hard she tried, she had not stopped thinking about the kiss she and Theodore had shared.

  She did not blame him for trying to remind her of the walls between them. They were more insurmountable than he knew.

  Even if he’d been willing to throw away his good standing and become the laughingstock of the ton by taking her as his bride or his mistress, Virginia was not. She would not risk her freedom.

  Virginia was done being laughed at, looked down upon, less than. But although London was out of the question, she could choose to make the most of what time with Theodore remained.

  She adjusted her basket, rolled back her shoulders, and knocked.

  Swinton answered the door immediately. If he had watched her dither on the front step, he gave no sign. Instead, he motioned towards the corridor. “Front parlor today.”

  Virginia raised her brows. The front parlor was the furthest point from Theodore’s guest quarters… and from the library where they had shared their kiss.