Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues

by Caldwell, Christi

  She stepped to the first beat of the music and winced. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as she assumed it would. Soon, he was swirling her and helping her to make the turns. She barely had to do anything. And more, there was nothing awkward about it. His strength and confidence were so strong as the skirt of her gown belled about her legs.

  A feeling of awe settled over her as she realized that this was truly happening. This was not some torturous dream wherein she was teased by a future she could never have.

  Could she dance?

  As he led her around the floor, picking her up and gently placing her beside him at every opportunity, she realized that, with him, yes she could.

  With him, she traveled the floor with ease. It was tempting to look at the faces encircled about the floor. She longed to see their responses. But she could not tear her gaze from him. From the strength and confidence which seemed to be flowing straight from his body to hers.

  And for the first time in months, she felt light. The burdens of the past lifted and she allowed herself to be transported by the music and his presence. It was absolutely terrifying.

  Chapter Six

  As the last notes of the music reverberated into silence, Adam smiled. Not a grin. It wasn’t a sally, but a true smile of pure happiness. He couldn’t help himself. It had been the most remarkable feeling to have her in his arms and see her transform from a defiant and angry young woman to one who realized that, perhaps, her prison wasn’t quite as small as she’d imagined.

  If he could give her anything, it would be the knowledge that she was no prisoner at all and she never had to be again.

  Adam gazed down at her beautiful face as they stood, taking in the last moment of their dance. He waited for her to smile in turn.

  She did not.

  Instead, she gazed up at him, her eyes wide, filled with some unknown emotion. Whatever it was, he felt as if he were falling into it.

  She gave a very shallow curtsy then lifted her chin. “Right.” A pert nod followed the short, almost emotionless word. “Wager won.”

  With that, she turned away from him and began to make her way across the floor. Without him.

  He gaped, alone on the dance floor. It was the last thing he’d expected.

  Head held high, her dark curls teasing her neck, she slowly walked, her gait slightly hitching through the crowd.

  Sadly and not to his surprise, but disgust nonetheless, half the room watched her depart as though she were an animal in the Tower. Someone to be studied and measured.

  What a fool he was. To think that a dance might help her. He’d gotten her to come inside from the garden. To abandon her solitude. To dance. But the problem was far deeper than just her own view.

  Society believed her own self-condemnation. . . That she was a curiosity and somehow broken.

  He flexed his fists and arched a brow as if he could sneer at the entire room. As if nothing had just transpired, he strode from the floor and took up his stance by the greenery, avoiding the looks of the wary mamas who had all hoped he would ask their daughters to dance.

  In this moment, he wanted to loathe them all for hurting Lady Beatrix.

  In his experience, things that had been broken were more beautiful and made stronger by the experience. Even so, he wished she didn’t have to suffer.

  For though she had every comfort a woman could want, he’d seen it. He doubted she’d wished him to. But it was there, deep in her eyes, deep in her beautiful soul. That pain that only resonated in those that had been shaken to their very core.

  He’d felt it himself. In very different circumstances. Even now, he could feel the fingers of the past lacing out, determined to drag him backward. But he’d learned how to ignore that old feeling. To let it pass.

  And that, he knew, was why he longed to help her. He had to assure her that she, too, could turn the darkness away whenever it came back, taunting at her door.

  Was it a foolish desire?

  Should he even contemplate it?

  “How did you convince her to dance?” Lockhart drawled beside him.

  It was tempting to ignore the arrogant lord who suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere. “My charm.”

  “Well,” Lockhart said as he cocked his head to the side, his dark hair falling like a shadow against his hard jaw. “It must be fairly defective. She left you the first chance she could get.”

  Adam sighed. It was the truth. “So she did.”

  Lockhart turned ever so slightly, handling his crystal wine glass as if what he was about to say was as trivial a comment as a mention of the varying degrees of rain in England. “Stay away from her.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Adam said with little emotion, “Sod off.”

  “No.” Lockhart’s jaw tightened, his anger palpable but in control. “I appreciate that, somehow, you persuaded her to come to the room, but did you see how they looked at her? They thrive off the gossip she’s given them now.”

  Though he knew the truth of it, he protested rather hollowly. “Surely their lives are not that dull?”

  Lockhart’s lip curled.

  Adam nodded. He hated to admit the lord was right.

  Then, at last, he said abruptly, “Don’t you think she could use a friend?”

  “You?” Lockhart scoffed, raising his glass of wine. “She doesn’t need friends. She has her family.”

  “A person can always use a friend,” Adam replied softly. It was a sentiment he meant with all his heart.

  Lockhart smiled, a slow, dangerous smile. “Not you.”

  Adam knew that smile. He knew the sort of danger hidden inside of Lockhart. The half-madness of a soul ripped apart by war. But it was not a smile that could dissuade him. After all, he had seen the ravages of mankind and not blinked.

  So, instead of retreating, he quipped merrily, “You just envy me my winning personality and sense of optimism.”

  Lockhart snorted. “You’ve the personality of a peasant and your optimism appalls me.”

  Adam bowed, knowing the best way to irritate the hell out of the man was to make light of every damned thing he said. “Thank you.”

  Lockhart’s chest expanded in a long breath before he replied, “For some reason, my family finds yours tolerable.”

  He looked pointedly at the young lord. “They also, somehow, tolerate you.”

  “I’m family,” Lockhart stated.

  “So am I.”

  Lockhart laughed. “No, you’re not.”

  Adam angled his body towards Lockhart and looked down. He was not a great deal taller but, at this moment, he was not above using the slight difference as he glared down. “In the eyes of God, pup, I am. Even the law.”

  Lockhart scowled so vehemently his eyes flashed. “Go to the devil.”

  “I’d rather go find Lady Beatrix,” Adam sallied. He would not use Beatrix as a pawn in Lockhart’s dislike of him, but he did feel every wish to go find her and ease her discomfort.

  “She doesn’t need someone like you causing her distress,” Lockhart gritted. “She’s already had a terrible year.”

  “I’m aware of it.”

  “Then leave her be,” Lockhart snapped as he strode off.

  Except he wouldn’t leave her be. For the very simple fact that he truly believed that Lady Beatrix did, indeed, need a friend. And not a family member. He could tell Lockhart truly cared about her. Her whole family did. But, she needed someone who cared about her who was not blood.

  Sometimes, someone just needed that extra bit of confirmation that they were still worthwhile. That their existence was needed and meant to be. Being left behind was no easy thing. Somehow, he longed to show her that she could come out of the darkness. And he was going to prove that before he headed back out to sea. It would be the last thing he did in London and he was going to enjoy every damned minute. And she would, as well.

  Chapter Seven

  Beatrix picked up her green, leather-bound book for the tenth time and tried to lose herself in the cr
isp, ivory pages. The morning light spilling in through the tall window was ideal for reading. The temperature was pleasant. The sounds of the street were a gentle hum which should have blocked out the riot of her thoughts. The cool blue damask walls should have soothed her. The room often did. It was a place of serenity. A raft, in the wild sea of her pain.

  Instead, she found herself thinking of the infuriating Captain Adam Duke. His beautiful, hard face, a face that seemed as if it had been carved from stone then given life by the gods, kept invading her thoughts.

  She briskly turned a page. The black ink blurred. Blast!

  The new novel by An Anonymous Lady, should have kept her completely absorbed. For who could not be swept up by the plight of sisters in such circumstances?

  How dare he do what he’d done?

  Worse still, he’d looked so pleased as though she should be overcome by his crumbs of kindness.

  Ha!

  She snapped another page, not giving a whit that she had not read the last one.

  She had no need of his generosity.

  But then again. . . When he had touched her. . . For a brief moment, she’d recalled how, once, she’d loved to dance and to banter away with young men.

  Her fingers curled on the page, an ache settling in her heart. That touch, it had awoken something in her. A longing had begun, like a burning cinder in her soul, longing to be fanned to life.

  That was all done now. There would be no grand passion. No great marriage. No friends to while the hours away with as they passed from amusement to amusement. She was alone, despite her cousins. She felt alone.

  Oh, once she had had several female friends. Most of them had slowly abandoned her, unable to navigate the awkward map of Beatrix’s misfortunes. She did still, in her most secret moments, miss female companionship. But in truth, she had always loved the male sex.

  There was something so lively about the company of men. She’d adored men who loved life, like her father, her brother, and all their friends. Their house had always been full of intellectuals, adventurers, and men who longed for change not stagnation.

  Captain Duke certainly seemed to be one of that wonderful lot.

  Once, oh once, a word she’d come to despise with every part of her being, she would have flirted and danced and then dared him to a horse race come the morrow. Then perhaps, she might have found a way to steal a kiss. For what young lady wouldn’t wish a kiss from such a man?

  She swallowed, as if tasting bitter gall. She let her book fall into her lap, giving up all hope of it. And of stolen kisses with a man like Captain Duke.

  Now, that was impossible.

  She gazed out the window, trying to allow the late morning light to lift her dark sprits. Two years ago, she would have been barraged by the callers come to visit her family at such a time. It had seemed as if their house had been an ever-revolving carousel of fascinating people.

  Now, she sat in her nook, hoping to be left alone.

  The knock at the front door jarred her.

  By now, she should have been used to the many callers that came to the house. The Hunts were social and always welcoming new people, artists, politicians and old friends.

  No doubt, the visitor was such a person.

  She supposed she still found the sound of a knock distressing because she knew it would never be for her. It was pitiable. It was essential that she not allow herself to drift into self-sorrow. At least, not as she had felt it just a few months ago.

  So, she propped her book up again and, with renewed determination, turned the page only to recall she clearly had not read the last paragraph on the previous page. In fact, she had been oblivious to the last several pages.

  Letting out a muttered curse, she slammed the book shut in her lap. It was a satisfying action in a world where a young woman had few outlets for her feelings.

  Was it possible the four walls of a room were no longer acceptable? She looked again to the window, hearing the sound of carriages and horse’s hooves. But going out was almost unbearable.

  A soft knock rapped on the morning room door and she swung towards it in terror.

  Who was disturbing her peace?

  The door swung open and the dignified, elder butler entered. “Captain Duke, my lady.”

  What in the blazes? She nearly yelled, no! Had someone suddenly thought she wished callers? She’d turned them all away for months. Was this some new scheme from the family?

  She barely had a moment to gather herself.

  Captain Duke strode through in all his wild male glory, making the good-sized room seem suddenly dwarfish. From his sandy hair, which looked constantly windblown, to the coat and breeches which clung to his body as if they were a second skin, the man was perfection. It was both extremely irritating and compelling. After all, how often was one exposed to such a remarkable specimen?

  “Good day,” he declared loudly with a brief but surprisingly dramatic bow.

  “It is not,” she blurted, inching backward on her delicate chair.

  The butler’s eyes flared only slightly as he backed out, leaving the door ajar. Though in this house, propriety was not adhered to with any noted strictness.

  Captain Duke had the strangest smile on his handsome face.

  “Are you unwell?” he inquired as he gestured to her person. “You look marvelous.”

  She drew up, wondering if she could shoo him from the room. “I am not unwell but I do not require visitors.”

  “Of course you don’t,” he said, unabashedly. “But I’ve come to apologize.”

  “Well, you can just—” She stopped mid-sentence and frowned. “To apologize?”

  “Yes,” he carried on as if all this were a perfectly normal occurrence. “Horribly rude of me last night. I wasn’t thinking when I threw down the gauntlet, so to speak.”

  That strange accent rolled over her, made beautiful by the rich timbre of his voice.

  “You were rude,” she confirmed, even as she felt herself yielding just the smallest degree. “And arrogant.”

  He grinned. “That, I can’t help.”

  “Oh?” she asked, pursing her lips. “Did you not have a tutor?”

  “Two. But they never took effect,” he said brightly with a shrug, his sense of self-assurance almost impossible to describe. “Even university education could not cure me. It seems ingrained, and neither wind nor rain can wash it from my soul.”

  It was so tempting to send him off, but as she gripped the book in her lap, she forced herself to wonder what, exactly, she would do if he left. Attempt to read again? Stare out the window? Pace the room, staring aimlessly?

  It barely bore considering. Even so, she was not about to start accepting visits out of pity.

  “Have you come to invite me for a ride?” she challenged, as if she might be able to make him leave through sheer outrageousness.

  His brows rose and he took a step further into the room. “It never crossed my mind. Do you own a horse?”

  She bit her lower lip before admitting, “No.”

  “Ah.” He pointed at her, knowing. Somehow knowing. As if he could read through her pain and into her past. “But you used to.”

  She sighed and put her book aside. “Well, I suppose I still do, but she’s in the country.”

  “Do you miss her?” he inexplicably asked.

  Stiffening, she remarked, “That is an incredibly impertinent question.”

  “So it is,” he agreed amicably. He appeared to, somehow, be completely at home standing in her sanctuary. “Only, I could never be far from my ship.”

  “A ship is not a horse.”

  “They are not completely dissimilar,” he countered. “They both get a person from place to place.”

  She blinked. How did he go about life so. . . So. . . Happy? “You have the most bizarre of minds.”

  “Thank you,” he replied with a twirl of his hand and a nod of his head.

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” she said dryly.

  “I
’m ever the optimist.”

  She looked him up and down, trying with every ounce of her being to make him see he was being absurd. Yet, it was very difficult. . . For he possessed an extremely admirable physique. “So I see by your visit.”

  The door suddenly opened. “Tea, my lady."

  “I did not request tea,” she flustered as a wave of panic crashed upon her. Tea? Would she be forced to make pleasantries with Captain Duke?

  The butler entered without hesitation, a silver service upon his arm. “The dowager duchess thought it might do the American gentleman good. She mentioned that a man of his size must constantly require fuel to maintain himself.”

  Maintain himself, indeed.

  She nearly let out a bellow of frustration but restrained herself. No doubt, Hyacinth had very different reasons for the tea. One, it would be much harder for Beatrix to kick him out, teacup and scone in hand.

  She was not yet so far gone.

  “Set it beside me,” she said with as much graciousness as she could muster. What else could she do?

  “Yes, my lady,” the butler said politely, but there was a devilish air of triumph to the curve of his lips. He exited with far less fanfare than he’d entered.

  “Do you drink tea?” she asked, as if he might be a heathen.

  “Not since it was all chucked in Boston Harbor,” he quipped.

  As she lifted the ornate, silver, teapot to pour, she studied him. “Are you mad?”

  “Aren’t we all?” he asked, waggling his brows. “And I was only jesting. Tea is acceptable.”

  “Acceptable,” she tsked. “Do you disparage our national beverage?”

  Carefully, as trained since a small girl, she held the strainer over a cup and poured. Steam billowed delicately from the spout and the soothing, dark liquid filled the beautiful, porcelain cup.

  “How could I do such a thing? I think the English are incapable of being disparaged, if you ask. But I confess, it is great fun to play the American.”

  “Play the American?” she asked, the teacup held aloft.

  “Oh yes.” He looked to the chairs about the room. “May I sit?”

  “Oh.” She frowned. It had been rude of her not to offer, and it occurred to her it was because he had seemed so at ease standing. “Please do.”