“I beg to differ, I think you just made your opinion known.” He snapped back, unsure of what else to say to defend himself. It rubbed him wrong that he couldn’t completely disagree with her and that she had indeed pegged him right, but he was much too proud to play the fool and admit the error of his ways to himself, let alone her.
“Very well, then there won’t be any pretenses between us, that’s a relief.” She quipped though she felt like a hypocrite for saying it when she knew there would always be a bigger secret between them.
They sat in silence, avoiding each other’s gaze until the sound of silence became so loud it was deafening. Hope fiddled with her skirt, giving her hands something to do, keeping her eyes downcast to avoid having to look at the duke.
Pierce was the one to finally break the silence, “You act as if marrying me is akin to facing the guillotine. Is the prospect of being my wife really that unappealing?”
Hope had to hide a smile behind her hand at his outburst. Apparently he was used to women fawning over him and the thought that the very lady he was practically betrothed to was not impressed with him obviously perturbed him greatly.
“Let’s just say it wasn’t a choice I would’ve made for myself.” She replied honestly, knowing full well that she hadn’t made the choice to pose as lady Noelle and marry the insufferable duke, though if things would’ve been different and she really had been born a lady, who’s to say she wouldn’t have chosen someone like the Duke of Kerrington? His dark hair and chiseled features attracted her and she had a hard time looking at him without remembering the thrill she had felt as he caressed her ankle with his large hands or his masculine smell as he held her against his hard, broad chest. But then she remembered his arrogant manner and she immediately decided that she would never have chosen to be tied to a conceited, vain aristocrat on her own.
Pierce leaned back casually against the wall, trying to mask his irritation at her words, “I suppose you think you could’ve made a more advantageous match than marrying a duke?”
“Ha!” she said flailing a hand in front of her, “A duke, an earl, a marquis, none of that matters to me. The measure of a man is his honor, not his title.”
“If your taste is so exceptional, than why haven’t you made your own match by now? Let me guess, no gentleman can measure up to your exacting standards?” he asked acerbically.
There was a pregnant pause before Hope finally answered, “Perhaps I have yet to meet a man that—thrills me.” She inwardly winced, having no idea where that had come from.
“Thrills you?” he barked, and before she knew it he was sitting next to her on the settee making her feel small next to his overpowering frame.
His face was inches from hers and she could feel his warm breath on her face as he spoke, “If you’re looking to base a marriage off thrills alone, this union might not be completely hopeless. If there’s one thing I can deliver, it’s thrills.” And with that he took her head into his hands and pressed his lips to her own.
Hope was speechless. The feel of his firm lips on hers had shocked her completely at first but as the initial forcefulness of the kiss dissipated and turned gentle she found she couldn’t focus on anything other than his kiss, though she knew she should protest and object to his forwardness. His hands wound into her loose hair, caressing her scalp and causing her spine to tingle. The kiss deepened and she found herself forgetting about anything around her, the very fact that they were sitting in the middle of the drawing room where someone could walk in at any moment didn’t even cross her mind.
Though Pierce had initially kissed her to prove a point he soon found himself completely immersed in her, nothing existed but the two of them. She was warm and responsive and smelled clean and fresh and slightly of lavender, unlike most of the ladies of his acquaintance who wore so much perfume it repulsed him. He could tell by her initial hesitation and reservation that she hadn’t had much experience kissing and it gave him a secret thrill to realize that as her husband he would be the one to teach her the art of passion. When she moaned softly he moaned in response, wrapping his hands in her hair and tugging her head back to give him full access to her neck as he trailed tiny kisses down her cheek and over the slim column of satin skin feeling her pulse beat under his lips. He slowly moved back up to her lips where he placed a final kiss before reluctantly pulling back to look at her flushed cheeks and eyes that had darkened with passion.
“Tell me that didn’t thrill you,” he growled.
He didn’t know what he expected her to say but he was caught completely off guard when she put a dainty hand over her mouth and began giggling. He failed to find the humor in what had just occurred.
“What’s so humorous?” he asked.
“You just snarled at me, like the grumpy gnome in one of my stories that snarls when he speaks. I couldn’t help it that you reminded me of him.”
“How flattering to know that I remind you of a gnome. And for the record, I don’t snarl.” What was with women telling him he snarled lately—first his mother and now her?
“You most certainly did your grace. Do you make a habit of it because if so I’m not sure I can go through with this arrangement. To think I’ll be spending the rest of my life with a man that snarls is unthinkable.”
“That’s all you have to say? I just kiss you passionately and all you can do is complain that I snarl?”
She felt herself weaken at the reminder of that passionate kiss. It had shaken her up more than she was willing to admit so instead she said, “I suppose it was pleasant enough, thank you.”
“Pleasant? I’ve been told my kisses are many things but never have they been described as merely pleasant.” He was provoked by her indifference to a kiss that had sparked more passion in him than he could ever recall experiencing but he would never admit it if she wouldn’t.
“You’re snarling again—and maybe you haven’t gathered enough opinions.”
“I can assure you that I’ve kissed plenty of women,” he raked one hand through his hair causing it to muse adorably. “And this is a highly inappropriate discussion.”
“No more inappropriate than your previous actions.” She said as she purposely scooted away from him, it was much too hard to think clearly when he sat so close she could feel the heat radiating off of his body.
He couldn’t seem to help himself and he snarled.
“Truly you must overcome that, it’s quite an unbecoming habit.”
“I can’t seem to help myself, you seem to bring out the surliness in me.”
“Don’t try to place the blame on me, I’m sure you’re quite capable of that all on your own.” She couldn’t help but goad him, hoping to take his ego down a notch or two. Pierce leaned back, his arms crossing over his chest as he perfected a pout that quite irritated Hope, especially since it only seemed to draw attention to his full lips and she did not want to think about those lips and what they had felt like on her own.
The loud clearing of a throat caused both of them to jump. Pierce sprang to his feet and smoothed out his jacket as he moved to greet Lord Brattondale with a handshake. Hope sat as still as she could, nervous about playing Noelle for the first time in the Earl’s presence. She hoped he wouldn’t see through her act and see to punish her as he saw fit, not to mention the embarrassment the scene would cause her by being called out on the deception in front the duke. For the second time within a matter of minutes her breathing was coming rapidly, but this time it was as a result of nerves and not passion.
“Your grace,” Lord Brattondale nodded at Pierce as his fleshy hand reached out to grip the much leaner and more muscular hand of the duke, “I’m glad the arrangement has already been made for your betrothal to my daughter or surely this scandalous scene would warrant such actions.” He looked suspiciously at Pierce’s mused hair before turning to glance at his daughter, shocked to see her in a state of such dishabille.
Hope rose and walked towards the earl, anxious to defend herself, “Oh no
father, it’s not what you think. I have the most horrible news—Hope has left in the middle of the night to run away with one of the stable boys. I only appear this way because I couldn’t properly ready myself without the assistance of a maid so I came to tell you post haste, to ensure I get a replacement promptly.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently concerned, then gesturing one hand toward Pierce she continued, “It was quite by accident that I met his grace on my hurried search for you.”
“I suppose the loss of your lady’s maid is quite tragic,” she wasn’t sure if he was being facetious or not. “I will arrange for a replacement without delay. Now at least go get some stockings and slippers on and pull your hair up properly, I assume you can manage at least that much on your own?”
She nodded silently then turned to exit the room but not before she heard Lord Brattondale saying, “I apologize, your grace, she’s not always so imprudent.”
And the duke responding, “No apology necessary, I have a feeling your daughter is quite full of surprises, the least of which is her reckless appearance this morning.”
If he only knew.
Chapter 11
Hope returned to the drawing room directly behind a maid who had brought in tea. She had managed to right herself to a more respectable appearance—her legs and feet were now well covered and she had pinned her hair back simply, leaving a few waves loose to fall around her face. Her ankle was still sore and walking up the stairs had only seemed to aggravate the injury. She tried to hide her slight limp by opting to sit in the closest chair she could reach while also making sure it was far enough away from the duke. She avoided eye contact with him as she sat and waited for tea to be served.
Pierce watched as she situated herself into a far chair, noting the slight limp as she had entered the room. He hoped she would take it easy for a few days to avoid further injury. He quickly perused her and found that he much preferred it when she hadn’t looked so proper. His fingers itched with the desire to pull the pins from her hair, freeing its silky mass so she would look wild and free like she had before.
Hope had successfully avoided looking at the duke until she had a steaming cup of tea in her hands. She chanced a quick look only to see him staring at her as he spoke, his dark eyes boring into her. She couldn’t read the expression on his face before she quickly averted her gaze, embarrassed that she had been caught looking at him. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking she was interested in him, for she certainly wasn’t. In fact, she’d be fine if she never had to see the man again, listen to him snarl, or have to endure another one of his kisses.
“Noelle, Kerrington was talking to you, have you no manners?” Lord Brattondale barked.
Hope snapped out of her reverie, still avoiding the duke’s gaze instead choosing to look at the earl, “I apologize, what was he saying?”
Pierce interjected, “I was saying that my mother is planning a country party this upcoming week for us to announce our engagement. She also figures it would be a good time for us to get better acquainted with one another. We’ll need to leave in two days time, I trust you’ll have another maid by then and will be able to accompany me to Ridgecrest Manor.”
“Do I have any other options?”
“Noelle!” the earl roared. “You will not speak to his grace in such a manner. From here on out you are betrothed to the man. The banns are scheduled to be read immediately following the announcement of your engagement and I will not have you disrespecting your fiancé any further. You may not have asked for this marriage but you will cease complaining, do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly,” she mumbled feeling contrite, and then turning to Pierce she muttered, “Please accept my apology, I’ll be ready to embark with you to Ridgecrest Manor as you’ve arranged.” She tried to ignore the smug look on his face, knowing he was reveling in the admonition the earl had given her.
***
Hope watched as a shiny black coach pulled up in front of the townhouse, feeling a moment of anticipation at the prospect of riding in such a fancy carriage, for it was far fancier than anything the Parrish’s owned. She allowed the duke to assist her into the carriage, trying hard to ignore the current of energy that surged between them at the contact. She made herself comfortable on the seat as he then assisted her newly acquired lady’s maid, Esther, up into the carriage before getting in himself and sitting on the seat directly opposite of her. She felt uncomfortable having him so close, and the constant way he scrutinized her only added to her discomfort.
They rode the first few miles in silence and though it was early in the day she kept wishing that he would just fall asleep so she could relax and enjoy the ride in peace. But the duke seemed anything but tired as he stretched his legs, crowding her space as well, for she tried to sit as far away from him as possible in hopes of avoiding any further contact with the man.
Apparently he had noticed. “I don’t bite you know.”
“I suppose one can never be too sure—you do snarl and that very well could be a prelude to more worrisome habits.”
“You give me too much credit,” he stated dryly.
They went back to sitting in silence before he spoke once again, reminding her that he couldn’t seem to tolerate the quiet, much to her disappointment.
“So, tell me about your writings.”
“My writings?”
“Yes, you mentioned that I remind you of a gnome in one of your stories. I assume that implied you wrote.”
“Oh that,” she waved impatiently, “it’s nothing really.” She hoped he wouldn’t pry further, for it was something she didn’t talk to anyone about and she wasn’t inclined to begin with him.
“Really? You referred to me in relation to a grumpy gnome, I figure since you were the one who brought it up it was a safe subject to talk about. That is, unless you’re embarrassed.” He watched her face for a reaction, noticing the slight reddening of her cheeks, “You’re embarrassed, aren’t you? Don’t tell me you write frivolous romance stories with dashing heroes and simpering heroines, I would have to agree that would be an embarrassment and a complete waste of time.”
“For your information, your grace, I would never bother writing about something I don’t believe in.”
“You don’t believe in romance?” he asked incredulously.
“Most likely it’s love I don’t believe in. I’ve never pursued it before and I don’t plan to start now.”
Though he was of the same mind, it caused an odd pain in his heart to hear her speak so hopelessly about the elusive emotion, having no desire to experience it for herself. She was too young and much too beautiful to have given up all hope of romance and love, feeling only a sense of honor and duty in the marriage contract. He should’ve felt relieved that she had no such expectations in her marriage to him, but it bothered him all the same.
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, “You don’t entertain the idea of meeting a gentleman who would adore you and sweep you off of your feet?”
Hope laughed mirthlessly, “It wouldn’t matter if I did, it’s too late for such trivial fantasies, my future has already been decided and that future is you. There will be no dashing knight in shining armor coming to my rescue, and I never expected there would be. I find you can’t be disappointed when you have no expectations.”
Her feelings mirrored his own. “So, I guess that works to my advantage, if you have no expectations than surely I can’t disappoint.”
Not knowing how to respond, she just shrugged.
“So tell me what you do write, if it’s not romance or poetry like I imagine most females are inclined to do.”
“Goodness, you’re persistent!” It was his turn to shrug. She glanced over at Esther who had her eyes closed. Whether she was sleeping or just pretending Hope couldn’t tell, but either way she didn’t seem intent on the conversation going on around her.
“It’s nothing exciting really, I just write stories of fantasy—faraway lands that a
re completely made-up in my own imagination, funny little creatures, like the grumpy gnome, who live in these worlds I create and have funny little misadventures.”
Her eyes had taken on a faraway look and Pierce could see how passionate she was about her writing, for it was the first time he had seen her truly interested in something and he briefly wondered what it would be like if she was as interested in him as she was her stories. He shook his head to dispel that thought, reminding himself that he didn’t care whether she was interested in him or not. “That sounds exciting. What inspired you to begin writing?”
Hope was amazed that he seemed genuinely interested. “It wasn’t anything that inspired me, it was actually a man I knew when I was younger. His name was Patrick, an Irishman that used to spend hours telling me stories of fairies that lived hidden in the meadows. He would weave such fantastic tales I would just sit there enthralled listening to him for what seemed like hours. I suppose one day he grew tired of me asking him to relay the tales and he encouraged me to start creating my own. At first I wasn’t sure I could do it but with practice I realized I was surprisingly pretty good. I would just think of something in my mind and start creating a story based on that thing. It was a nice diversion from life and as I got older I began writing the stories down. It gives me something to do, something to preoccupy my mind.”
Pierce narrowed his eyes as he looked at her quizzically, surprised that a lady of the ton would find other ways to preoccupy her mind other than with shopping, dancing, and finding ways to snag a beau. He was astounded by her depth and creativity and blurted out, “I would love to read some of your stories sometime.”
Hope laughed, “Oh, I don’t suppose I’ll allow that. I’ve never let another living soul read a word I’ve written. I’m really no expert, I just do it for my own entertainment.” Then to turn the attention from herself she asked, “Do you have any secret hobbies, your grace?”
Deceiving the Duke of Kerrington (Ladies of Deception) Page 8
