The Dutiful Duke

by Joan Overfield

  "What were you thinking of to have brought such a pensive look to your face?" he asked, raising a hand to brush back an errant curl from her cheek.

  Nia flushed at the intimacy of his touch. "I . . . I was thinking how lovely the garden looks, and how peaceful," she stammered, gathering the strength to turn away from him. "Gardens are so wonderful, you know," she continued in a voice that strained to be light. "Even when everything else fails, you can count on them. No matter what, they keep blooming, filling the world with their fragile beauty."

  "Those sound rather profound thoughts," Wyatt said, moving to stand at her side. He'd debated whether or not he should come back downstairs, knowing he shouldn't be alone with Nia. In the end he was unable to resist, although he was hoping to keep his distance. Then he had seen her in the moonlight, and no power on earth could have kept him away.

  Nia could feel the warmth and strength emanating from him, and it took all of her control to keep from responding to it. She forced herself to concentrate on something else instead, and drew up an old, forgotten memory.

  "There was a garden in Portugal," she began, closing her eyes as she lost herself in the past. "That is, it had been a garden. We turned it into a field hospital after a rather bloody skirmish with the French. I can remember walking past the rows of bobbing white jasmine as I helped my father tend the wounded. It sounds odd, but even over the stench of the blood, I swear I could smell the sweetness of that jasmine . . ." Her voice trailed off and she opened her eyes, appalled at what she had said.

  "I'm sorry," she apologized, her emotions suddenly raw and vulnerable. "I don't know what made me say that. I hadn't meant to grow melancholy, I assure you." She turned to leave, terrified that in a moment she would reveal something even more personal.

  "I really ought to be going," she said, knowing she was babbling, but unable to stop. "It is grown quite late and . . ."

  "No," Wyatt caught her by the arms, drawing her slowly against him. "Don't go. And don't apologize either." He bent his head, laying his cheek against her forehead as he held her in a comforting embrace.

  "I'm sorry you had to witness such things, Nia," he whispered, forgetting his own pain at the thought of what she must have seen and how it must have hurt her. He'd never been allowed to serve in the army, but he knew no woman should have been exposed to such horror. If it was possible, he would have taken that pain onto himself. But he could only hold her, murmuring comforting words as he tangled his hands in her hair.

  Nia's eyes closed as she surrendered to the need to be held. Her arms crept up around his neck and she pressed herself closer, silently accepting the succor he offered.

  "It's all right," he soothed. "It's over now. You're safe. I hate it that you should have known such ugliness, but I'm glad, so very glad that you had the jasmine to comfort you."

  Nia's arms tightened. That he understood so perfectly touched her beyond expression, and she finally admitted the truth, a truth as bitter as it was sweet. She was in love with Wyatt.

  He continued holding her, his hands and voice gentle as he gave her what sustenance he could. She felt so good in his arms, he thought, the blood pounding in his veins as the desire to give comfort gave way to older, more powerful desires. He struggled against the tide of passion rising in him, telling himself sternly that this was neither the time nor the place for such errant foolishness. He might have succeeded in convincing himself had she not chosen that particular moment to raise her head, her hazel eyes sweetly enticing as she looked up at him.

  Nia met Wyatt's heated gaze, too dazed by her own feelings to think coherently. She could see the desire burning in his eyes, and it sparked an answering flame deep inside her. She knew she should excuse herself and go back into the house, but somehow she couldn't form the words. All her life she'd fought to do what was right and honorable, but now she didn't care. She loved Wyatt, and even though it meant risking more than she could afford to lose, she would stay where she was.

  Wyatt saw the turbulent emotions cross her expressive face; saw the doubts, the determination, but above all the desire. The wonder of it overwhelmed him. Closing his mind to the pain of the past and the dangers of the present, he slowly raised his hands to cradle her face between his palms.

  "Do you know, my sweet, that you are rather like that jasmine yourself?" he murmured, burying his fingers in the thick hair coiled at the base of her neck.

  "I am?" Nia closed her eyes, biting her lips to hold back a sigh of pleasure at his touch.

  "Mmm." Wyatt noted her reaction with satisfaction. "You are soft and delicate, but like the jasmine you are sturdy enough to withstand anything, even the horrors of war." He plucked the spectacles from her face and folded them closed before laying them on the ledge beside her.

  Her eyes flew open at the intimacy of his actions. "What—what are you . . ."

  "Shh . . ." His hands slipped back up into her hair, removing the pins until the soft waves tumbled into his hands.

  "There's another way you are like jasmine," he continued, bending to press a moist kiss on her neck. "You fill a man's head with your sweetness." His lips nibbled on the curve of her chin. "You intoxicate him with your fragrance until he trembles with desire."

  "Wyatt . . ." Nia sighed, turning her head to seek his searching lips. "This is madness . . ."

  Her soft words made him laugh, his voice rife with sensual promise as he touched the tip of his tongue to the corners of her mouth. "The moon is full, my sweet," he told her in a husky voice, his body throbbing with pleasure as he drew her into an intimate embrace. "What better time for madness?" And he took her lips in a kiss that sent both of them shooting straight into heaven.

  Chapter 12

  The feel of Nia's lips beneath his own filled Wyatt with exquisite desire. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wanted a woman so desperately, and he gave himself up to the sweet pleasure of holding her. "Nia," he whispered hoarsely, his arms shaking as he drew her against his throbbing body, "say this is what you want, what you need . . ."

  Nia trembled at the naked yearning in his voice. She knew he was as caught up in the embrace as she, and it touched her that he would put her feelings above his own. All she had to say was no, and he would let her go. She met his gaze shamelessly.

  "This is what I want," she said, a lifetime of reticence cast aside as she stood on tiptoe to brush her mouth over his. "You are what I want."

  Her words filled Wyatt with wild hunger and he bent his head, returning her shy kiss with a blazing ardor that bordered on desperation. He'd never felt like this with any woman, and he knew he never would again. He loved Nia, and the admission tore his soul from him. Closing his mind to the pain, he concentrated on the sweetness of her mouth, his tongue flicking teasingly against her lips until they parted.

  "You are so sweet, so sweet." He groaned, nipping at her chin as he pressed her to his burgeoning hardness. "You make me burn . . ."

  His hoarse voice thrilled Nia almost as much as the intoxicating feel of his hands brushing over her breasts with breathtaking mastery. Her heart was beating so fast it felt as if it would burst, and her legs trembled so that if he hadn't been holding her, she was certain she would have fallen. She tilted her head back, her arms tight around his neck as she wantonly offered herself to him.

  Wyatt took what she gave, emotion and desire making him blind to everything but the need to love her. He slipped the bodice of her gown lower, baring her soft breasts to the pale silver moonlight. Unable to resist their temptation, he took one of the rosy nipples in his mouth.

  "Wyatt!"

  The sound of his name being cried out in pleasure had the odd effect of bringing him out of the sensual mists swirling in his head. He realized that if he did not stop now, he and Nia would be making love in full view of anyone who perchanced to look out the window. Cursing himself, his belated sense of duty, and the situation, he stepped back from the brink of passion, gently covering Nia's breasts with her gown.

  "I was wro
ng, my love," he whispered in a husky voice, resting his forehead against hers as he fought to regain control of his senses. "It's not jasmine you resemble, but brandy. Rich, potent brandy that warms a man's blood and makes him forget everything but the moment."

  The admission thrilled Nia, even as his sudden withdrawal left her aching and confused. Her emotions overcame her natural modesty, and she raised her hands to smooth back the hair that had tumbled across his forehead. "Then why are you stopping?" she asked, searching his flushed face with anxious eyes.

  Wyatt's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Mayhap because I've never had a head for strong spirits," he quipped. "And mayhap because in spite or all that's happened I still count myself a gentleman. I care for you, Nia, far too much to take everything when I can offer you nothing in return."

  "But Wyatt—"

  "No." He silenced her with a firm kiss. "Now, are you taking Amanda for a ride tomorrow morning?"

  The unexpected question and the calm tone in which it was asked left Nia gaping at him in mortification. "I—I'd planned on it," she replied, flushing to hear herself stammering like a lovesick school girl. That he could be so cool and disinterested after their heated embrace infuriated her, and for a moment she was tempted to slap his arrogant face. Instead she pushed herself out of his arms, her chin coming up as he fixed him with her haughtiest look.

  "Have you any objections, my lord?" she challenged, determined to keep the truth from him at all costs.

  The sharpness in her voice made Wyatt grin. "Now you are an English rose, bristling with thorns," he teased, picking up her spectacles from the ledge and sliding them on her nose.

  She glowered up at him, her hands shaking as she tried to restore some semblance of order to her hair. "Well?" she demanded, abandoning her hair and concentrating her efforts on her clothing. "Do you mind if I take Amanda out, or don't you? But I warn you, if you do have any objections, you may be the one to tell her so. She has been looking forward to seeing the lambs again."

  "I've no objections, so long as you take a groom with you," he told her with that same maddening smile on his face. "In fact, I'll be out showing Ambrose some of the improvements I've made since he was last here. Perhaps we'll encounter each other."

  "Perhaps," she replied, praying none of her emotions were discernible to his sharp eyes.

  He gave a soft laugh at her stiff reply, then, unable to resist, bent his head for a final kiss. "Good night, sweet jasmine," he whispered, his tone as provocative as his kiss. "Sleep well, and mind you guard your sweet petals."

  "Are you awake, Miss Pringle, are you awake?"

  The bright voice shattered Nia's fitful sleep, and she opened a bleary eye to find Amanda standing next to the bed, wearing a new riding habit and an eager expression. When she saw Nia watching her, she broke into a wide grin.

  "Annie said I wasn't to wake you," she said, hiking up her sapphire velvet skirts and scrambling onto the bed beside Nia. "But I knew you wouldn't want to sleep forever."

  "Wouldn't I?" Nia mumbled, hiding a yawn behind her hand. "What time is it?"

  "It's very late," Amanda replied solemnly, shyly stroking Nia's golden-brown hair laying across the pillow. "Uncle Wyatt and Mr. Royston have already ridden out. They wouldn't take me." She added this last with a sigh that indicated she considered herself to have been sadly mistreated.

  "Very late" was not so precise a time as Nia would like, but she supposed it would have to suffice. Besides, she decided ruefully, given the fact that it had to be well after two in the morning before she finally managed to drift off, she was probably better off not knowing the exact hour. Patting back another yawn, she gave Amanda's nose an affectionate tweak.

  "Poor poppet," she teased. "I suppose I shall have to take you myself. Give me an hour to breakfast and dress, and I'll meet you at the stable. How is that?"

  That was fine with Amanda, and after pausing to deposit a kiss on Nia's cheek, she dashed off to show her new habit to the parlor maids. Nia stared after her, her smile of affection fading as memories of last night washed over her.

  What was she going to do? she wondered bleakly, her mind drifting toward thoughts of Wyatt. They'd come very close to making love, and she was honest enough to admit that if she remained at Perryvale, chances were they would make love. The thought should have shamed her, but it did not. She loved Wyatt, and nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to love him completely, the way a woman loves a man. His touch filled her with forbidden longings she now blushed to recall, and the thought of yielding to those longings was sweetly tempting.

  Yet despite those temptations and the love she bore him, she knew she could never forfeit her honor and become his mistress. And that's all she would ever be, she reminded herself sternly. She was a penniless governess, and even if by some miracle Wyatt did return her love, he would never marry her. His position required that he should wed a lady of equal rank and fortune, and one of the things she most admired about him as his unwavering devotion to duty. The last thing she wanted was to force him to choose between responsibility and desire.

  These unhappy thoughts were much on her mind as she and Amanda rode out into the soft sunlight that June morning. The groom Wyatt had selected rode at their side, and Nia was grateful for his taciturn presence, not only for the protection he offered, but because with him there to answer Amanda's many questions her own silence was less remarkable. She was free to brood over her situation, and the more she considered the matter the more she realized there was but one answer. She would have to leave Perryvale.

  "Oh look, Miss Pringle, there's Uncle Wyatt!"

  Amanda's excited exclamation brought Nia out of her brown study, and she glanced up just as Wyatt and Mr. Royston appeared over the edge of a low hill. They must have spotted them at the same time because Wyatt suddenly changed direction, whirling the bay Arabian he was riding around and sending him thundering down the hill. Suddenly a shot rang out and Wyatt went flying from his horse, tumbling and rolling down the hill until he came to rest in an ominously still heap.

  At first shock and horror held Nia immobile, and then she was galloping toward him, terror blanking out every thought. By the time she managed to kick her stirrups free and dismount, Mr. Royston was already kneeling over Wyatt, and she shoved him roughly aside without the slightest compunction.

  The first thing she noticed was that Wyatt was breathing. After sending a fervent prayer heavenward, she concentrated on searching for serious injury. The skills she had learned at her father's side stood her in good stead as she swiftly completed her examination. It didn't take her long to find the blood seeping through the shoulder of his torn jacket.

  "Is he all right?" Ambrose's voice was grim as he stared down at Wyatt's white face.

  "I don't know." Nia forced the words past her frozen lips as she continued to examine Wyatt. "His heartbeat is strong, but he'll need a doctor and a stretcher." She glanced up as Amanda and the groom galloped up to join them.

  "Amanda, stop that crying at once!" she instructed in clipped tones, taking charge as she had seen her father do in the past. "You"—her fierce gaze flew to the groom—"I want you to take Lady Amanda and return to the house. Have them send someone into town for the doctor, and then I want you to return with some blankets and a stretcher." She didn't wait to see if her commands were being followed before she turned her attention back to Wyatt.

  "What of me, Miss Pringle?" Ambrose asked as the others raced off in opposite directions. "Have you any orders?"

  Nia shot him a sharp glance, the hard edge of her fury softening at the worry in his blue eyes. "I want you to help me hold him still," she said. "I don't believe he has broken any bones, but I don't want him thrashing about and perhaps doing himself a greater injury."

  Ambrose obligingly bent over his friend, resting his hands gently but firmly on Wyatt's shoulders. He'd no sooner done this than Wyatt's lashes flickered, and a moment later his eyes fluttered open.

  "What the bloody he
ll . . ." he began in a slurred voice.

  "Now, now Wyatt, you must watch your tongue," Ambrose remonstrated, increasing the pressure of his hands as Wyatt struggled to rise. "There is a lady present."

  "Who . . . ?" His gaze flicked to Nia and he blinked groggily. "Nia?"

  "I am here." She was aware of the tears wending down her cheeks, but she didn't bother wiping them away. "How are you feeling? What about your vision? Is it blurred?"

  Despite his aching head and the burning pain in his shoulder, Wyatt managed a weak grin. "I might have known you would start firing questions at me," he said, laying his head on the grass and closing his eyes. When he was certain he could open them without disgracing himself, he met Ambrose's anxious gaze.

  "I take it I was shot?" he asked without preamble.

  "The bullet came from the woods," Ambrose answered in the same controlled manner. "A pistol, I'm thinking."

  "It was a rifle, probably a Brown Bess," Nia corrected, deciding if they could be so calm, then so could she. At their suspicious scowls she managed a cool smile. "You forget I spent most of my life following the drum. It was a rifle shot, and judging from the angle of the wound, I would say you're dashed lucky. If you hadn't turned when you did, the bullet would have struck you square in the center of your back instead of grazing your shoulder."

  There was an uneasy silence as the two men exchanged grim looks. "I think we had best send word to London," Ambrose said with a heavy sigh. "It appears we may have located Elliott."

  "Who is Elliott?" Nia demanded, sitting back on her heels and eyeing both men with marked impatience. She'd already determined the injury to Wyatt's shoulder wasn't overly serious, but she was still anxious to get him home so that she could tend the wound under more agreeable conditions.