The Dangerous Duke

by Christine Wells

  “I’ll patrol the perimeter,” said Perry, bowing. “Ladies, you may depend on me to keep you safe.” His words addressed them both, but his gaze fixed on Louisa. He seemed to want to impress her, perhaps because she was Lyle’s sister?

  Kate thanked him and hurried Louisa on their way. “That young man gives me shivers,” she whispered to her friend when they were out of earshot.

  “Who, Perry?” Louisa raised her brows in surprise. “Why, he’s harmless.”

  Then why is he guarding me? thought Kate. She said no more as they walked the short distance to the barn. Kate found the rich, pungent scent of a working farm oddly calming. It reminded her of the carefree days of her childhood, growing up in Stratham.

  Louisa crossed the barn and started up the ladder to the hayloft. When Kate didn’t follow, she looked back. “The hay will cushion our fall.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Kate, wishing she’d never started this. “Are we likely to fall, do you think?”

  Obediently, she climbed up the rough ladder to the loft, where the hay lay scattered and soft at their feet.

  Louisa dusted off her hands and placed them on her hips. “Now. I want you to try to strike me.”

  “All right.” Kate adopted a boxing stance she’d seen her brothers use, elbows bent and fists bunched in front of her face.

  Louisa broke into a peal of laughter. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m getting ready to strike you.”

  Still grinning, Louisa said, “Well, go on then.”

  Kate hesitated. “But what if I hurt you?”

  Louisa giggled again, a strangely youthful sound. “Somehow, I doubt you will. Oh, go on! What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “I might bloody your nose,” said Kate. “I don’t like the sight of blood.”

  Louisa rolled her eyes. “Well, what’s the good of that? You can’t be squeamish if you mean to defend yourself.”

  “No, you are right,” said Kate, remembering the sheer terror of the attack, and also recalling the heat of fury that drove her to throw punches and ornaments alike at Lyle. “If I am in that situation, I think I would be desperate enough not to worry about the sight of a little blood. In the cold light of day, it’s different.”

  “Well, what chance will you have if you don’t learn proper techniques?” Louisa said reasonably. “Now, try to hit me and I’ll show you how those women deflected the blow.” She took hold of Kate’s shoulders and moved her bodily. “Come here and face me . . .”

  They practiced for about half an hour. Kate had almost mastered breaking free from a hold when she heard voices and footsteps, coming into the barn.

  “Shh!” Kate held up her hand. “Who is it?” she whispered to Louisa.

  Her friend’s eyes widened a little, as if she recognized the newcomers, but she didn’t answer and laid a finger to her lips.

  A deep, masculine rumble sounded directly beneath them, then a scuffle, followed by feminine scolding.

  “Unhand me, sir! I must go along to the dairy and see how the cheese is progressing.”

  “Fanny, you are pregnant. You should leave the dairy to Mrs. Burton. Take things more gently, m’dear.”

  There was a wicked giggle and a rustle of fabric. “What, everything? But you know I like some things . . . hard.”

  The man gasped. Then he groaned and said in a thick voice, “My dearest devil, you would tempt a saint.”

  “Well, that certainly leaves you out of the equation, doesn’t it, darling?”

  Their laughter mingled, then the lady let out a soft shriek. “Ah, I love it when you do that. No, don’t stop. Don’t stop!”

  “We shouldn’t,” said a ragged deep voice.

  No, you really shouldn’t, agreed Kate silently.

  “The doctor said—”

  “Hang the doctor!” gasped the woman. “I—ohhhh. Harder. Yes! That’s it. Oh, that’s so good, Romney, you—”

  The lady broke off with a moan, then launched into a series of high, sobbing sighs. The sighs and groans increased their pace, until Kate was ready to slit her throat before she’d listen to any more.

  She glanced at Louisa, who had buried her face in her hands. Goodness, if Kate, a widow, was shocked, what must a spinster lady think?

  The encounter seemed to go on forever, but in reality, it must have lasted only a few minutes. Both parties seemed equally—and quite vocally—satisfied with the result.

  Good for them, thought Kate sourly, wondering why she should feel as resentful as she was appalled.

  With more breathless endearments and a deal of lewd suggestion that made Kate turn a brighter shade of red than she was already, the couple left the barn. When they moved beyond the shelter of the loft, she glimpsed a large, shaggy gentleman fastening the fall of his trousers as he followed his lady outside.

  Louisa still covered her face with her hands. Kate eyed her, somewhat at a loss.

  How was one to deal with a situation like this? It wasn’t her place to educate her friend about what they’d heard. But was Louisa distressed by the incident? If Kate didn’t speak with her, might Louisa wonder, and worry?

  Louisa lifted her head, eyes streaming, mouth agape. Oh, no! Kate twisted her hands in indecision. Until Louisa took one look at Kate’s face and burst into gales of laughter.

  Laughing! “I don’t see how you could think that was funny,” Kate scolded. “I didn’t know where to look!”

  “Oh, dear. I do apologize.” Louisa wiped her eyes and glanced at Kate, then collapsed into another peal of hilarity.

  “The look on your face!” she gasped, lying flat out on her back, shoulders shaking. Her slim hands clutched her midriff. “Oh, I feel ill with holding it in.”

  When the last gust of merriment subsided, Louisa sighed and shook her head. “They do it all the time.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Our noble hosts—my cousins! Oh, they think they are discreet, but the number of occasions I’ve overheard Fanny and Romney having, er, relations in odd places . . .” Louisa struggled up on her elbows. “Are you offended? They are married, after all, and they thought they were alone.”

  Kate realized her mouth was all scrunched up like a prune. She forced herself to relax, even smile a little, but she couldn’t bring herself to share Louisa’s mirth.

  Was she a prude? Kate pondered the subject. She had always prized her virtue, certainly, and taken pride in her constancy. Faced with a disastrous and passionless marriage, many women of her station would have strayed. No one in her circle of acquaintances would have blamed her, as long as she remained discreet.

  But the truth was, she’d never been tempted to sin, except between the pages of her diary. And surely, her phantom lover didn’t count.

  What if Lyle had come to her while Hector was alive? What then?

  No. Futile and destructive to think about what-ifs— especially dangerous where Lyle was concerned.

  Louisa was still regarding her curiously.

  Kate realized she hadn’t answered the question. “Offended? No. Shocked, perhaps, but then I am unused to such . . . open displays of affection.”

  Particularly from a husband, she added silently.

  She sounded priggish and stiff, she knew. Yet her inability to laugh off the experience wasn’t entirely due to disapproval. When she’d heard the lovers’ frank exchange, a tendril of envy had unfurled in her heart.

  Lady Fanny had been lusty and demanding, and from her husband’s reaction, he’d loved every minute of it.

  Kate swallowed past the lump in her throat. If Lady Fanny was any indication, then she, Kate, wasn’t so unnatural in her desires, after all.

  Why couldn’t she find such happiness, too?

  FUMING at the delay while he kicked his heels waiting for a special license, Max dispensed with the carriage and rode back to Hove. For all he knew, Holt could have sent a message to his sister by now and it would all be for nothing.

  He pushed that thought aside. He d
idn’t want to contemplate Kate’s reaction when she found out what he’d done. He’d compound his sins by wedding her before she could discover them, but that, too, was something he wouldn’t face before he had to. As always, he would do what must be done.

  Max clenched his jaw. The one thing he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do was make love to Kate before their wedding night. He’d taken advantage of her quite enough as it was. Perhaps, when she discovered the worst, she’d chalk up this gesture to his credit. He thought of her slender, delicate beauty, her warmth, her smile. Resisting her, even for one night, would be punishment of the severest kind.

  He’d given himself a head start on the vicar, but he couldn’t, in all conscience, marry Kate while continuing to jail her brother. He’d given orders for the vicar’s release and hoped that by the time Holt caught up with them, the rebels would be in his custody.

  Perhaps, when he brought those men to justice, when he explained the horror of their crime, Kate would see how necessary it had been to treat her brother that way.

  He snorted. And pigs might fly. She’d be furious, that was certain. But would she forgive him? He had to believe that in time she would. She must.

  He rode to the stables and handed the reins of his gelding over to a groom, too impatient to see her to adhere to his usual habit of rubbing down horses himself.

  Without stopping to pay his respects to those inside the house, he strode to the tower and looked up.

  Her light was on. If there were any footholds in the smooth stone surface, he’d climb up to her window, as her phantom lover had done.

  One must be practical, however, so he chose the stairs, nodding to George as he went past.

  “Er, guv?” George’s hoarse voice echoed and bounced between the stone walls.

  What now? “This had better be important.”

  “Jest thought I oughta tell yer, that young Perry were here today, guarding the ladyship.”

  Max’s brows drew together. “How came that about?”

  George patted his stomach. “Something I ate took me real bad. Casting up my accounts all over, I was. They ’ad to carry me orff.” He jerked his head. “Young lad Perry offered to take my place. Well, he couldn’t have done a worse job than me, I was in no case to do anything but vomit, and I knew Lord Jardine were at hand if anything went wrong, like.”

  Max clapped him on the shoulder. “You still look ghastly, my friend. Thank you, George. You did the right thing. Go and get some rest.”

  As he climbed the staircase, anticipation hummed in Max’s blood. He was nervous, he realized with surprise. He’d never proposed marriage before. He wasn’t entirely sure how one went about it, except for voicing the obvious question. He rather thought a lot of preliminary compliments and palaver went on beforehand, though. A pity the phantom lover hadn’t asked for his lady’s hand in that diary. Maybe then Max would know how she’d like it done.

  He reached the summit and braced himself for his task.

  Just in time, he remembered to knock.

  There was a pause. Then her voice said, “Come.” And he swallowed hard before he pressed his open palm to the trapdoor to lift it up.

  KATE was in bed when Lyle came through the trapdoor.

  “Oh! I thought you were Louisa.”

  She scrambled to cover herself with the wrapper that lay on the counterpane, refusing to meet his eye. She wanted to pull the sheet up to her chin. Ludicrous behavior after the intimacy they’d already shared.

  Kate’s stomach fluttered wildly. She needed to catch her breath, just a little time to assimilate his presence, so unexpected and so powerful.

  “In bed already, my lady? You do keep country hours.” Lyle advanced towards her, smiling with a very masculine brand of satisfaction. As if she’d arranged herself this way to entice him.

  “It’s so deadly dull here without”—she cleared her throat awkwardly—“without Louisa, that I might as well go to bed early. Since my only outing each day is to the barn.”

  Kate had developed the habit of retiring early in the evenings because Louisa kept Fanny company after dinner and Sukey slept in the house.

  She’d deemed it unnecessary to subject Sukey to a pallet on the floor in this small room when a bed in the servants’ quarters would be far more comfortable. She barely acknowledged, even to herself, that she was happy to dispense with Sukey’s chaperonage at night.

  Most evenings, Kate read. The other occupation she used to enjoy in moments of solitude—writing in her diary— didn’t appeal any more. Not that she had the diary with her. When she returned home, she’d probably destroy it.

  She needed to start living again.

  He crossed to the bed and took her hand. “I returned as quickly as I could.” His palm was large and warm, with that faint roughness that never failed to intrigue her. Those hands . . .

  He regarded her gravely. “Your brother has been released.”

  “Oh, what a relief!” A rush of warmth filled her chest. She smiled at him. “And I have you to thank.”

  He made a gesture of repudiation, but she shook her head. “No, I know it was your doing, don’t deny it. When may I see him?”

  He cleared his throat. “Soon. I’ll arrange it.”

  Lyle sat on the bed, as one who had the right—and perhaps he did, at that. “I said we would discuss matters when I returned. Do you remember?”

  She nodded, a little wary. He looked serious and a little troubled. Had she become a burden in his mind?

  “I’ve missed you, Kate.” He looked down at their hands, turned hers over and bent to kiss her palm. Thrills tingled up her arm, but apprehension quickly swamped the sensation. Something wasn’t right.

  All she could say was, “Oh.”

  Why did he not take her in his arms and show her how much he’d missed her? This elegant restraint wasn’t like him at all.

  “I’ve been thinking about us,” he continued. “And I believe—” He met her eyes and drew a deep breath. “Kate, I want you to be my wife.” One corner of his mouth quirked upwards, as if he laughed at his own awkwardness. “Will you?”

  “Yes.” The word was out almost before she heard the question. She’d known, perhaps from the first time they’d made love, that she would marry him if he asked. Even in the heat of passion she wouldn’t give herself to a man lightly. That wasn’t in her makeup.

  She’d enjoyed her independence, but she’d paid the price of loneliness for her autonomy. And although Lyle was occasionally stubborn and a little autocratic, he wouldn’t be a tyrannical husband.

  Did she love him? She gazed at his dear, strong features with that distinctive break in his nose. She’d ached for him while he was away, thought about him every moment.

  Yes.

  He took her face in his hands and kissed her lips—just one, light touch—and then her cheek.

  Kate savored the feel of him—the warmth, the texture of his skin, but he granted her the merest taste.

  She wanted more—to lean into his kiss and abandon herself to him, to throw her arms around him and rub her body against his.

  He released her and eased away. “I’ll let you sleep.”

  “Don’t you—don’t you want to stay?” she asked, cringing inwardly at the nervousness that lent a tremor to her voice.

  He hesitated, as if he might be persuaded. If only she were more skilled in seduction! But she feared giving him a disgust of her, as she’d done to Hector. Lyle didn’t seem like the sort of man to object to such overtures, but then, she’d thought Hector would like them, too. And she’d been so very, very wrong about that.

  Glancing down at the night rail she wore, Kate realized she was scarcely dressed for the role of temptress. White lawn embroidered with tiny rosebuds. She looked like a little girl.

  “It’s not that I don’t—” Lyle raised his gaze to the ceiling and breathed heavily out his nose. “I want to, very much, but I promised myself we would wait until we are married.”

  She wet
her lips with her tongue, thinking of his kisses, longing for the confident possession of his touch.

  “And when will that be?”

  Lyle’s gaze fixed on her mouth. His chest rose and fell rapidly. “Tomorrow. Morning. Early. As early as I can find the parson to do the job. I’ve a special license. I hope that doesn’t sound presumptuous, but if you said yes, I wanted to marry you straightaway.”

  She stared into his face. Was he as unhappy with this arrangement as she? He hadn’t moved, but a burning light in his eyes told her she might sway him if she tried.

  She threw back the counterpane and slid out of bed. “It will be as you wish, sir. But before you go, might I have a proper goodnight kiss?”

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

  She moved towards him and put her hand on his chest. He flinched, but she held it there, regardless.

  “I can feel your heartbeat,” she whispered.

  Holding his gaze, she slid her hand up to his nape and drew him down to her.

  “Kiss me, Max,” she breathed.

  So close. Their only contact was her hand on him, but his heat enveloped her. She could almost feel his lips on hers. Drowning in desire, she closed her eyes, waiting for the descent of his mouth, a rising tide of passion ready to burst forth.

  But he was strong. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently set her at a distance.

  The magnetic pull between them severed. Her eyes snapped open, disappointment crashing over her like an icy wave. He frowned at her.

  “Don’t you want me?” she blurted out.

  Lyle ran a hand through his hair. “Of course I want you. If I didn’t . . . But I made a resolution—a very noble one, I might add—and I want you to respect it.”

  His expression softened. “You wouldn’t respect me if I threw away my principles, however sorely tempted I might be.”

  He turned and started for the trapdoor. “It’s best that I go.”

  “But they are stupid principles!” she cried, following him to the steps. “We’ve already—I mean, what is the harm now?”

  He turned back. “No, Kate.” His expression told her he was adamant.

  Kate stopped. She wasn’t going to beg. If he wanted to go, let him. She folded her arms and pressed her lips together.