Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues

by Caldwell, Christi

  This is a strange request and, yet, I must make it. . .”

  Before she could continue on to the next, hopefully more articulate line, the library door opened and the butler announced in his sonorous tones, “Captain Duke, my lady.”

  The name penetrated her reverie and as soon as she looked up, there he was. As if by magic.

  His name, despite the goings-on, had continued to press into her mind throughout the night and into the early hours of the morning. Over and over again. A dangerous taunt. A taunt that there would be no adventure between them now. Surely, adventures were not meant for mothers of earls.

  Still, as she gazed at him now, she was transfixed. How did he do that? Whenever he was present, it was as though he were her north star, ever pulling her towards him.

  Had she somehow summoned him? Had he heard her call in the dark of night? Preposterous. She shuffled her papers, then pushed them aside.

  He strode in amongst the green leather chairs and carved tables. His usual confident self looked as pleasant as ever.

  “Good morning, Lady Beatrix,” he greeted, a smile on his tawny visage.

  “Good morning,” she replied, not feeling pleasant at all. Well, she felt something, something exciting. Something which thrilled her through her blood at the very sight of him. But that had to end. Right now. It was essential that she end whatever was between them so she was not tempted to stray from her course.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to order tea, but the hour was already near evening and she had something rather important to impart to him. Tea was too congenial. A drink was probably far better.

  As the butler left, she gestured to a chair. “Do sit.”

  He grinned at her formal offer. “Thank you, I shall.”

  Once he had sprawled, in his careless, yet powerful manner, he hooked an arm over the back of his chair. “I’m going to the Astons’ this evening. Do tell me you shall, too.” He gave her his devilish grin. “We can make a glorious scene.”

  “I am going,” she said, her breath hitching. She stiffened her spine. “But not to make a scene.”

  “No?” he queried, still grinning. “Whatever shall we do then?”

  She shook her head. “I- Well-”

  His amusement dimmed ever so slightly, replaced by concern. “Lady Beatrix, you appear quite flustered. Is aught amiss?”

  “I am to be married,” she blurted, feeling nearly sick as she said it.

  He froze, his affability falling away. Much like a fortification, his eyes veiled and the boisterous energy that usually surrounded him vanished. “Felicitations.”

  “Thank you,” she managed, though she did not believe his congratulations. In fact, it had almost sounded like a comment about the weather.

  Cocking his head to the side he said lightly, though there was a barb to his seemingly innocent tone, “How long have you been engaged?”

  Carefully, she put her quill down. Ink spattered over the blotter. “I am not.”

  His brow furrowed. “And yet you are to be married?”

  “Yes,” she replied evenly. She did not have to justify this to him. To anyone.

  He gazed down at his nails in a show of indifference. “Forgive my poor American brain, but I don’t follow.”

  She cleared her throat, knowing he would be repelled by her sudden turn. “I am in search of a husband.”

  Nodding, he continued to stare at his hand, as if looking at her now was an impossible thing. “And how long have you been searching?”

  She fought the urge to wriggle uncomfortably in her seat. His change in demeanor was far more upsetting than she had expected it to be. “Not long.”

  He laughed then. A deep, not altogether pleasant sound.

  Squeezing her hands together, she observed, “You seem perturbed by my announcement.”

  Slowly, he lifted his dark gaze to hers. “Do you know what I was doing last night?”

  “I confess, I do not have the powers of a seer,” she quipped, desperate to see the Adam Duke she was familiar with, not this hard, relentless creature.

  “I was convincing my brother that I wasn’t ruining you,” he drawled. “That the wild conversation we had yesterday meant nothing. I promised I would come here and make that plain to you. It seems you have beaten me to it.”

  Drawing in a slow breath, she refused to be bothered by his shift in mood. Indeed, she was not bothered. They barely knew each other, after all. “So, I have.”

  “Forgive my surprise.” He cocked his head to the side, feigning confusion. “Only, it did seem as if yesterday you were planning to run off with me and engage in an altogether different sort of adventure.”

  She swallowed as she recalled the fancy of her words. Even now, the thought of him, his hard body pressed against hers came unbidden. “Things have changed.”

  “In a day?” he challenged.

  She nodded.

  The long look that followed her nod, seemed to steal the air out of the room, and her heart ached, brutally. What was happening? How could she be feeling as if she’d done something truly terrible? Surely, he did not care about her. Not a man like that.

  A forced smile tilted his lips and the feeling in the room vanished. “Well, then I shall save my breath.”

  “We are still to be friends?” she asked, realizing that it was now likely they would not see each other again in an intimate setting.

  “I don’t know if that is wise,” he replied. “If you are husband hunting, having me about you might be off-putting.”

  “So it would,” she agreed, deflated.

  “There you have it then.”

  “But I like you so very much,” she blurted, hating that this was happening. He filled her with such joy that now that this was happening, she could not imagine him not being in her life. “Can we not find a way?”

  “Beatrix,” he whispered, leaning forward, his elbows braced on his strong thighs. “Tell me what has happened. You are clearly not in love. You are acting much like the secretary you promised me. Do you have a list of fellows then, since you are not yet promised?”

  Her cheeks burned.

  Another laugh, another bitter one, rolled out of him. “By God, you do.”

  “It’s the most efficient way,” she defended.

  “And efficacy is what you aspire to in this?” he asked softly, his disbelief ripe in his voice.

  Good God, why was this so terrible? She felt she’d let him down terribly. When had she come to care so much about his opinion? “Yes.”

  His hands balled into fists and he looked away. “I pity you then.”

  “Don’t you dare,” she bit out.

  “I never did before.” He whipped back towards her, passion lighting his eyes. “But at this moment? I do. You’re setting yourself up for misery.”

  “I am not,” she protested, her calm rattling away. “This is my chance.”

  “Your chance?” he echoed. “To be a grand lady of society? I thought more of you.”

  “Clearly, you were mistaken,” she snapped, knowing she should say more. Explain more. But the intimacy between them which had seemed so wonderful had disappeared, leaving them both eyeing each other like rivals.

  Then he stood and slowly crossed to her. He crouched down then so that their gazes were level.

  “No, I wasn’t,” he said, his voice a low purr which hummed over her. “I see you. I see the person that you are. And making perfunctory lists of unknown suitors isn’t it.”

  “They aren’t unknown,” she returned quickly, even as his proximity did the strangest thing to her belly and limbs. Jelly. That was it. She was jelly and, at any moment, she would slide against him.

  “Acquaintances?” Shockingly, he clasped her hand in his, the warmth of his hand swallowing hers up. “You’ll find your lord and master amongst them?”

  Her mouth twisted, even as her heart skipped at his touch. She wanted that hand to hold hers forever. She wanted that hand on her body. But it couldn’t be. “What a
n awful thing to say.”

  “A true thing according to English law,” he said tightly. “Are you ready to become a man’s property?”

  She tried to tug her hand back. “It is a sacrifice I am willing to make.”

  “Are you, by God?” he asked, refusing to let go.

  “I think. . . I think you should go.”

  Nodding, he slipped his hand from hers, placing it on the chair beside her. “We are not to be friends.”

  “It seems not, though it saddens me.”

  He gazed at her through hot, half-lidded eyes. “And you aren’t going to run off with me and see the world?”

  “I never was.” She licked her lips, beginning to feel as if she were unsure where her body ended and his began with him so close. “You know that.”

  “Do I?”

  She nodded wordlessly, her breath suddenly becoming difficult. That alluring scent of the sea surrounded her. And just the sheer size of him before her made her think of a rock that she might crash herself upon. Or be rescued by.

  “There is little to say then,” he whispered.

  Was he going then? The ache in her heart was alarming despite the fact that it was what had to transpire.

  “Of course, since it’s what you wish. But first, I want to do something. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t. Since we are to not be friends, I don’t see why I shouldn’t.”

  As if her body knew exactly what he intended, her lips parted of their own volition. “What?”

  “Do you truly wish to know?”

  Good Lord, she knew she should say no. But instead, she nodded, wordlessly.

  Though he was now almost kneeling before her, he held her in his seductive gaze and cocked his head to the side, contemplating every detail of her face.

  His sandy hair fell against his neck and she was possessed with the desire to slip her fingers into it. She did not, but sat almost painfully still, hardly believing that this was anything but a dream.

  Then, he reached out and slid his hand to the nape of her neck, his fingers slid into her curls and he tilted her head back.

  She gasped as, oh-so-slowly, he brought his mouth to hers. It was not a taking. It was a complete seduction. His sensual mouth teased hers in slow, languorous kisses. One after another, unyielding in their headiness.

  Her thoughts flew and all she knew was him and the feel of the promise burned by his kiss. Her hands came to rest on his shoulders and his hard chest met hers.

  The touch of her breasts to his coat sent a spike of a need she’d never known lacing through her.

  Her eyes fluttered shut and she gave herself up to the moment.

  Gently, he touched his tongue to her lips.

  Astonished, she opened her mouth and his velvet tongue slipped inside, teasing her.

  It was like being overtaken by a crashing wave. She did not know which way was up or down or how to breathe. All she knew was that she was lost to it and it was the most wickedly beautiful sensation she’d ever known.

  She arched to him, moaning slowly.

  At that sound, he pulled back and, taking in her face, memorized it.

  His own chest was rising and falling in harsh breaths.

  “I want you, Lady Beatrix. I will always want you.”

  “Adam-”

  He shook his head then slowly slipped his hand from her hair. “I wish you luck.”

  She could make no reply. Her mind was still so stunned by his kiss.

  He backed towards the door, surprisingly languid. And then, he swept her a deep bow. “So much for adventure, my lady. I wish you happiness on safe shores.”

  Before she could cry out for him to stop, he was gone.

  Leaving her alone, her fingers curling at the sudden loss of his touch and a desperate desire to call out for him and never let him go.

  But she had to. For her family’s future. Did she not?

  Chapter Twelve

  Adam didn’t care. Not a bit. He stormed up his gangplank as night fell, a mist rolling over the river, ready to demand his bosun be sent to him in his cabin.

  He’d been in London too bloody long that’s what it was.

  All these damned larks. They’d been entertaining at first, but good God, he hated them now.

  He hated the feeling of complete recklessness flooding him. He hadn’t felt that way in years. Not since he’d learned to keep the darkness at bay. But at this damned moment, he wanted a fight. The idea of hammering his fist into some man’s face sounded like heaven.

  Yes, it was time to make sail. The office was almost ready. Surely, he could leave orders to have it completed. For his own sanity, he could justify it.

  But it would take time to make departure. Half his men were, no doubt, lounging about the city, drinking, whoring, enjoying the good times to be had.

  What in the blazes had he been thinking, befriending a ton girl?

  He’d been setting himself up for hell from the beginning.

  Throwing open the door to his cabin, he was ready to get dead drunk. The need for her hammered through him. It had raced through his blood since he’d finally kissed her. It was relentless. It was all he could do to stop himself from turning about and demanding more from her. Like a man in need of opium.

  Damnation, but he wanted to pull her to the floor after she’d opened her mouth to his kiss, pull her skirts up and thrust up into her sweet, wet heat, making her his and his alone.

  Who the hell was he fooling?

  Coupling wouldn’t make a woman like Beatrix his.

  But it would have been a damned good start.

  “You planning murder, old boy?

  Adam twisted to the low voice and his hand went to the dagger concealed in his coat.

  There in the shadows on the bench at the windows which provided his view, a man lounged, black boots up, big hat propped atop his head in the style of the previous century. It fairly shook with a peacock feather and a jeweled buckle.

  The man’s coat was rich and embroidered with gold, a tattooed hand rested on his large belt. He was a picture out of the golden age of the high seas.

  And Adam knew him on sight. He didn’t need to see the wicked face beneath the brim.

  “Aston,” he bit out.

  “Indeed, ’tis me,” the fellow replied, jolly as ever.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Adam hissed.

  “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

  Adam rolled his eyes. He’d known Aston years ago, when the English duke had made an outcast of himself and had made his living in more nefarious ways. The man was a legend and not necessarily a notorious one.

  There were no accusations of vicious bloodshed to be put at his door, but he was as dangerous as any squall. His presence, since his marriage, had become more benign and they had seen each other several times since being reunited the year before on Adam’s ship when he had commandeered Alexander and his soon-to-be wife.

  “I’m not in the mood, Aston,” he bit out, tired and not in the mood for a verbal sparring session.

  “You seem in the perfect mood, if you ask me.” Aston let his hand drop from his belt. “I love a man in a temper.”

  Searching the shelves for his brandy, he denied the accusation. “I’m not in a temper.”

  Aston arched a brow.

  “All right then,” Adam admitted. “I wouldn’t mind punching someone’s nose in.”

  “I’d volunteer, but the wife adores my face. She can’t stand to see it bruised.”

  Adam was not misled by this boisterous claim. Aston was a devil in fight. It would be touch and go as to who came out bloodier between them.

  “What do you want?” Adam demanded, rummaging through his cabinets.

  “How direct.”

  “I was to see you tonight in any case.” He shoved aside a cask of tea leaves. “You must want something.”

  “Indeed, I do,” Aston merrily agreed.

  “Out with it then. You’re interrupting my drinking.”

  �
�Hmmm.” Aston’s lips pursed in dramatic thought. “In love are we?”

  Adam tensed. “Why in God’s name would you say that?”

  “Only one reason a man wants to drown in a bottle, old boy. And that’s the kind with bosoms.”

  Adam blew out a harsh breath. “I’m not in love, but I am at an impasse.”

  “The lass will not open her lap to saint-seducing gold?”

  “She’s not the kind you pay,” he roared, anger pumping through him.

  “Ah.” Aston nodded as if he hadn’t just lit a match to Adam’s fury. “A Juliet then. She doth teaches to burn bright, and all that.”

  Sighing Adam replied, “Yes, actually.”

  “Ah, the bliss of a beautiful woman.”

  “She’s. . .” He frowned. How did he explain it? How did he explain her? “Not exactly beautiful.”

  “Worse then,” Aston groaned. “She’s interesting. Give up now, man. An interesting woman is the downfall of men like us.”

  He was not about to pursue that he and Aston belonged in the same category of man.

  “She’s getting married,” Adam informed him, the words a bitter gall on his tongue.

  “Marvelous.” Aston took off his hat and twirled it on a black-gloved finger. “You can bed her then in a few weeks.”

  Adam narrowed his eyes. “Would you say the same of your wife?”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Aston replied simply. “She’s married to me.”

  Adam snorted.

  “And I might add,” Aston clapped his hat back on his head. “Ros is a superior sort of woman who’d never marry someone she was not completely and totally in loving lust with. Clearly, your lady is subpar.”

  Adam paused. There was something wrong in all this. “I didn’t think so.”

  Aston stared quietly then observed, “It’s a surprise then.”

  He gave a curt nod.

  “Something happened then to push her to the brink.” Aston tilted his head back gazing up at the stars hidden somewhere behind London’s coal-darkened clouds. “It’s never a whim. Women are not driven by whims as many men would believe. It’s usually cold, hard logic that pushes them into wedded misery.”

  His breathing slowed. He’d never asked her why. God, what kind of a man was he? He’d proposed to be her friend. . . And what? He’d just thought the worst of her?