The Dangerous Duke

by Christine Wells

  Crystal clinked as Romney poured himself brandy. “Want some?” he barked over his shoulder.

  “Please.” Maybe brandy would take the edge off him. He needed something to calm him down, that was certain.

  Romney handed him the drink, and Max’s hand shook as he took it. Fortunately, Romney was in one of his rages and didn’t notice.

  Thick eyebrows lowered, his overly long auburn hair flying in all directions as if he’d tried to yank it out, there could be only one cause for Romney’s fit of temper.

  “What has Fanny done now?” Max resigned himself to the inevitable.

  “Wants to go back to town,” Romney grunted. “The whims of pregnant women! She’s supposed to be resting, for God’s sake, and she wants to go back to London. She’s bored here, if you please! We’ve only just arrived.”

  Max made sympathetic noises, letting his cousin fume about the iniquities of his wife. Fanny and Romney were never happy unless they were fighting, so Max wasn’t unduly concerned.

  He tried to think of a way to extricate himself from the conversation so he could continue his reading. “I’m sure Fanny will see reason. Just let her calm down a bit.” He put down his brandy glass and gathered up his papers, making as if to rise. “Now, I really must g—”

  “She says I’m smothering her.” Romney sighed, rubbing his forehead. “M’mother died in childbirth, you know.”

  Smothering a groan, Max eased back in his chair. He regarded his cousin with sympathy. “Fanny is healthy as a horse. She’s had an easy pregnancy. There’s no reason to fear.”

  Romney breathed deeply through his nostrils. “Yes, you’re right. But I won’t take any chances. She’s not going back to London. I’ve made that clear. Ordered her to stay.”

  “And did that work?”

  Romney sipped his brandy. “She’s packing her bags as we speak.”

  Max could well imagine. “Romney, tell me. Is it important to keep her in the country?”

  “Lord, yes. The doctor recommended quiet and fresh country air for her confinement. She’s been queasy, you know, and another journey in a closed carriage back to town won’t do her any good.”

  “Then, my friend, you will have to practice diplomacy,” said Max. He held up his hand before Romney could argue. “I know it’s unfamiliar territory, but you need to think of your wife’s well-being. Don’t command her. Ask her to stay. Tell her you are worried for her health. You might even confide in her about your own mother. Be assured, her tender heart will melt at your concern.”

  Romney turned a little green. “Ask her to stay?”

  “I know this will be a novel experience, but you can do it,” said Max encouragingly. “You might even plead.”

  “Plead? Are you mad? If I back down on this, she’ll walk all over me like an old carpet for the rest of our lives. She’ll lead me around by the nose like a performing bear. She’ll—”

  “No, she won’t. Who will be getting their way if she gives in to your plea? You will.”

  “At the expense of my pride,” grumbled Romney.

  “What’s more important? Your pride or your wife’s health?”

  Romney muttered into the dregs of his brandy, then tossed them off and set down his glass with a decisive snap. “You’re right. Damme if I ever thought I’d be taking marital advice from you, coz, but stranger things have happened.”

  Max smiled rather grimly. “I’m certainly wiser about other people’s affairs than I am about my own. Go to her now. You don’t want to have to drag her back from London.”

  Romney launched himself out of his chair, looking like a sulky lion. “Plead, you say?”

  “On bended knee. She’ll fall all over you, I guarantee it.”

  “Oh, all right.” At the door, Romney thought of something and looked back. “The mysterious female in the tower. Lady Kate, I take it?”

  Max grunted. “Yes.” He fingered the papers that burned his hands. “I’ll tell you the details later. Go on. Do your duty like a man.”

  With the deep breath and set shoulders of someone marching into a losing battle, Romney left the room.

  The second the door closed behind him, Max leaped up and turned the heavy key in the lock. He didn’t relish any more interruptions.

  Max settled back into his chair and found his place. He swallowed a healthy dose of brandy and continued to read.

  By the time he’d finished, he’d realized two things— first, this mysterious lover was a figment of Lady Kate’s imagination; and second, he was as hard as a block of wood with wanting her.

  He felt inordinately relieved about the first revelation. It hadn’t been difficult to detect. One night, the lover would come to her in London; the next, they would make love on a gondola in Venice. There was no way they could travel so quickly between the two cities. And no flesh and blood man could possibly be that perfect.

  The writer of this erotic journey had let her imagination run to the realms of fantasy but something told Max she had little real experience between the sheets. And the combination of innocence and blatant, inquisitive eroticism made him wild for her.

  Max swallowed the last of his brandy. Lady Kate’s sensual world had so enthralled him, he’d left his glass untouched at his elbow for some time.

  He rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. As the sky had darkened, he hadn’t even interrupted his reading to light a lamp, he’d been so engrossed. How long had he sat there?

  Lady Kate’s form rose in his mind. She was up in that tower now. He needed to go to her, not least because she would be hungry and bored, wondering where he was.

  He left the library, lengthening his strides, clutching the diary and Louisa’s translation. Louisa! Now he understood her reaction. No doubt the task had appalled her.

  Max groaned. He ought to speak to her, apologize for making her translate a text that no maiden lady should see. The awkwardness of that forthcoming conversation was enough to make him blanch, but it had to be done.

  He jogged upstairs to his bedchamber to hide the diary and the translation. Pray God he could return the diary to Lady Kate’s house before she discovered it was missing. She’d be mortified if she knew he’d read it.

  Even as he thought it, Max knew he would keep the translation.

  He ought to burn it. A gentleman wouldn’t have read it in the first place.

  Well, he’d never pretended to be a gentleman.

  He left his chamber and let himself out a side door to walk over to the tower. He wished there was a convenient fountain he could dive into to relieve the hard, hot ache in his loins. He needed to calm down before he saw her again, regain mastery over his emotions. It was clear from her diary what Lady Kate liked in a lover—someone smooth and gentle and polite.

  He was none of those things. He’d been rough with her last night. He winced at the memory of taking her like some common doxy against a wall when there was a perfectly good bed they could have used. He should have been kind and gentle, especially when she’d suffered such terrible treatment at the hands of the unknown killer.

  A surge of anger and desperate protectiveness rose within him. Yes, he’d been furious last night—furious with himself for allowing that attack to take place—and he’d taken it out on her. He hoped he hadn’t given her a disgust of him.

  He thought back over the morning, to the handful of passionate kisses they’d shared. She hadn’t seemed upset, but you could never tell with women. And Lady Kate was a master at masking her emotions. Witness the iron control she’d shown after the attempt on her life.

  There was a light on in the tower room. He scanned the window, half expecting to see her silhouetted there, waiting dreamily for her phantom lover.

  At the foot of the stairs, George sat carving a block of wood.

  “Go and get dinner and some rest, George. Come back in the morning.”

  George didn’t make any lewd comments, which showed his respect for Lady Kate. “Right you are, guv. Miss Louisa was he
re afore, talking to her ladyship. I didn’t see no ’arm in letting her up.”

  “None at all,” said Max. He couldn’t imagine his sister mentioning the diary. Had she already guessed at the author? He hoped not.

  George left with a grunt of thanks, and Max continued up the winding staircase, the sense of anticipation building with each step. He’d do better this time.

  He swung open the trapdoor and continued up the stairs. A stab of unease told him to be vigilant; the next instant, something solid swung at his head.

  He ducked, then shot through the opening, grappling with his attacker. In no time, he realized his assailant had womanly curves and a soft, fragrant body. He relaxed his grip on Lady Kate’s shoulders, then tightened it again when she tried to hit him.

  “It’s me, Lyle,” he barked.

  “I know it’s you!” she said, pummeling him ineffectually with her hands. Her small fists were trapped between their bodies and felt like no more than butterfly’s wings beating against his chest.

  She glared up at him. “How dare you frighten me like that?”

  Surprised, he let her go and she swung a fist at his face, but she was so much smaller than he was, she missed.

  Trying not to laugh, he gave up defending himself. He just hoped she wouldn’t hurt her knuckles as she settled on his stomach as a target.

  Whack! “I’m tired”—thump!—“of being”—thwack!— “a victim! I do not wish to stay locked up in a tower like a heroine from some stupid novel!”

  She bunched her hands in his waistcoat and glowered up at him like a pugnacious fairy. “Give me a pistol.”

  “You don’t know how to shoot.”

  “I don’t care! Give me one and teach me. There’s nothing else to do here anyway. Teach me to fight and I won’t feel so—so damned helpless!”

  She must be laboring under severe emotion to swear like that. He stepped away from her to kick the trapdoor shut. “I’m here to protect you. There’s no need—”

  Something he suspected was a chamber pot whistled past his head and smashed on the wall behind him.

  Max flinched. “Now see here—”

  “No! You see here!” She launched some other piece of bric-a-brac at him, but her aim was terrible and she missed again. “I refuse to be a sitting target while you pat me on the head and tell me you know what’s best.”

  She launched into a tirade, brandy eyes flashing fire, her teeth biting off the words.

  Max’s temper flared. The idea she could defend herself against a paid assassin was ludicrous. Couldn’t she see that? Did she think he couldn’t protect her himself? Was this her way of punishing him for what happened to her in the bath?

  He’d had enough. Gripping her by the wrists, he yanked her towards him. And silenced her the only way he knew.

  OH, Lord! Lyle’s mouth swallowed her words and ravished her lips until they felt tender and bruised and she couldn’t think anymore. Furious as Kate was, something inside her seemed to melt and flow out from her fingertips, down her body. Something warm and liquid and hugely exciting.

  She could barely catch her breath, but she drank him in. His arms around her made her feel safe, protected, cherished even. He was so strong and big and hard and everything she wasn’t.

  She gave a small sigh and sank into the kiss, and when he felt her yield he picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all and carried her to the bed.

  Urgent, impatient, he threw her down and came over her, working at the buttons on her bodice with fingers that were too large for their task. Buttons popped and his hand closed over her breast, still covered with her corset and shift.

  She gasped at the instant pleasure of his touch. He tugged at her corset, but it laced up the back and the stiff fabric wouldn’t yield. He gave a growl of impatience and bent his head. The next instant, she felt his tongue and his lips through layers of fabric, teasing her nipple, his teeth grazing it gently.

  A jolt to her loins made her moan and twist her body restlessly. He hadn’t even touched her there, but she was mad for him, couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Oh, please.” She writhed beneath him, wishing she had the courage to say what she wanted.

  He seemed to know exactly what she needed, because he left off the preliminaries he’d tortured her with the previous night.

  Freeing his erection from his trousers, he pushed her skirts up and positioned himself. With one, clear thrust, he was inside her, stretching her to the limit, and she sighed at how right it felt.

  She put her hands up to stroke his shoulders and his body trembled. “Oh, God,” he panted. “I can’t slow down.” He kissed her hard on the lips and breathed, “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  She didn’t know quite what he meant, but his hips pumped fast and hard, rubbing a place inside her that turned sliding friction to exquisite torment. She rose higher and higher, spinning out of control until her flesh tingled and her bones shattered and showered down in tiny glittering shards.

  Her whole body convulsed around him. Seconds later, he gave a guttural groan and collapsed on top of her.

  She was raw and sore. She couldn’t breathe, but she loved the weight of him, the feel of his hard body against her soft one, pressing her into the mattress. When he rolled away to lie next to her, she didn’t want him to go. But she couldn’t find the words to tell him.

  She lay there, sparkling under her skin, euphoria flooding her body, and he said, “Oh, God. I’m sorry.”

  The shock was like a dash of icy water in the face. A sick sense of inevitability washed over her. Why had she thought it might be different with Lyle?

  Staring at the silk canopy overhead, she found her voice. “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t think. I . . .” She glanced at him and saw his Adam’s apple move, as if he swallowed past a lump in his throat. “I treated you like a common—” He took a deep breath, rubbing his palms down his face, not looking at her. “It won’t happen again.”

  She would never forgive him for that. For those few minutes, she’d been caught up in his passion. Abandoned herself to her own desire as she’d never done before. And the result had been sublime.

  Until he apologized. Until he made her feel like a whore.

  “I’d like you to go now,” she whispered. She flung her forearm across her face, feeling the hectic heat on her brow, suddenly aware of the damp stickiness between her thighs. All tawdry and sullied now.

  A true lady wouldn’t . . . She screwed her eyes shut to block out Hector’s voice.

  Lyle seemed to hesitate, as if he wanted to say something, but apparently thought better of it. He adjusted his breeches—he hadn’t even taken his coat off, she now realized, or his boots—and launched himself from the bed.

  “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

  She wouldn’t. The room could be burning down around her before she’d ask for his help. She made herself speak, though her voice came out painfully cracked. “Don’t come in again without knocking or I’ll brain you with that chair.”

  That ought to have made her feel better, but she just wanted to curl up and die.

  She could feel his gaze boring into her. “I give you my word it won’t happen again.”

  The trapdoor closed quietly behind him. Kate rolled onto her side and let the tears fall.

  Twelve

  I dreamed that Hector found us. In flagrante delicto, bodies entwined. Shocked delight.

  Hector has never seen me naked before . . .

  LOUISA dismissed her maid and sat at her dressing table, staring into her reflection, as if she could find the secrets of her soul there.

  Before that diary came into her life, she’d not been satisfied, nor content, but she’d endured. She’d maintained her poise, and though she ached inside for what she could never have, she hadn’t allowed her pain to show through her cheerful demeanor.

  But when she read the diary, it became so true and real to her that her carefully constructed façade start
ed cracking like old plaster. And every time Jardine appeared, another part of her veneer flaked away.

  What did he want? Why did he persist in tormenting her when he must know there was no hope for them if he continued in his present way of life? How could she make him leave her alone?

  A movement in the looking glass caught her eye. She gasped, but before she could turn, large gloved hands settled on her shoulders, holding her in place.

  “I said I would follow you.”

  Her hand trembled as she brought it up to her throat. She met his dark eyes in the glass.

  “How did you—” No. It was pointless asking how he’d gained entrance to her bedchamber. Jardine could move like the wind. No locked door could keep him out.

  At least he hadn’t made a scene this time. If Max found out . . .

  “What took you so long?” she managed.

  He snorted a laugh and gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. “That’s my girl. I had business to attend to or I would have been hard on your heels. With your permission?” He drew up a chair and straddled it, keeping just behind her and to her right.

  She watched him in the glass. His dark eyes glittered in the candlelight, an almost manic expression beneath those devilish black brows. The hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. Her breath came faster, though after that first caress, he hadn’t touched her again. She reached for a pot of cold cream and clenched her hand around it, trying to anchor herself.

  Jardine pulled a sheaf of paper from his waistcoat. Her eyes widened as she recognized the hand. The diary!

  She shouldn’t have done it, but she couldn’t resist making a copy of the translation for herself.

  “Oh, God!” She choked.

  “Yes, I really think you must explain this, my dear,” purred Jardine, flinging the pages onto her dresser in a gesture that coupled disdain with banked fury. “I haven’t read all of it. To be frank, it turned my stomach in parts. Your prose is a little too florid for my taste, but I caught the general gist.”

  He thought she’d written it. That the encounters in the diary were real. “No! You don’t unders—”