The Dangerous Duke

by Christine Wells

  “Lyle!”

  His eyes snapped open. Glazed and bright, it was a moment before they focused on her. “Kate!” Horror flooded his face. “Oh, hell.”

  He quickly covered himself with his dressing gown and belted it, but the exotic fabric tented where his rampant arousal nudged. “Should’ve known better than to listen to Romney,” he muttered.

  “Pardon?” she said, thinking she couldn’t have heard right. But he didn’t repeat himself. He just looked at her with a strange, agonized hunger that unsettled her even more.

  “What are you doing?” she burst out. “I mean, I quite see what you were doing.” She didn’t see at all. “Of course, I’m not so naive that I don’t know”—yes, she was, or she had been, until this moment—“but . . . why, Max?”

  Aren’t I enough?

  He opened his mouth, then shut it and ran his hand through his hair. “Oh, hell,” he said again. He took her arm and guided her back to his bedchamber.

  When they stood next to the bed facing each other, Lyle gripped the bedpost and half turned away from her, his hand flexing and tightening around the carved wood. He seemed painfully embarrassed at what had occurred, hardly knowing where to begin to explain.

  But she couldn’t let him off this time. Why would he feel the need to do that to himself when she was there, in the next room, ready and waiting? A sick sense of foreboding filled her. Was there something wrong with her?

  Suddenly, she wondered if she could bear to hear the answer to that question. Perhaps he did this for the same reason Hector had stopped coming to her bed. Perhaps, like Hector, he couldn’t maintain his . . . hardness for very long unless he gave himself assistance? Perhaps she simply didn’t excite him enough? Had she been too bold in their previous encounters? She’d tried so hard to be quiet and submissive, to let him take the lead.

  His color still high, Lyle finally spoke. “Kate, I don’t know how to wrap this in fine linen, so I’ll just say it. When a man desires a woman as much as I desire you, sometimes he will, er, achieve orgasm before the lady is ready. That is unsatisfying for both parties. Sometimes, the man gives himself an orgasm first, so that he can pleasure his lady without, er, finishing prematurely.” He hesitated. “You prefer things slow and gentle, and sometimes, my—my need is so overwhelming that I can’t go slowly. I had to . . . do that so I could please you. Does that make sense?”

  Relief broke inside her. How could any woman mind that her husband desired her too much for his self-control? But what was this about her preferences? Where had he come by that idea? “Frankly, I think it’s the most arrant nonsense I’ve ever heard! I don’t want you to hold back with me. When did I ever give you the impression I desired such restraint?”

  For a moment, he looked thunderstruck. Nostrils flared, he strode to a chest of drawers and drew out a book. He flung it in the air, and it fell with a flutter of pages onto the bed.

  One glance told her what it was. Her heart lurched. “My diary?” She launched herself at the bed and snatched up the small book. “You stole my diary? And you read it!” The most wretched humiliation swamped her. She sat on the bed, hugging the diary to her. “Why?”

  Lyle sighed. “I thought it was your political diary.”

  She gave him a blank look. What was he talking about? She felt sick.

  “When you were going to threaten Sidmouth you said you’d base your memoirs on a diary,” he explained.

  Kate passed a weary hand over her eyes. “Oh. That diary. But that diary doesn’t exist.”

  “So you told me. Still, I believed it did exist when I stole it from your house.”

  “And you read it,” said Kate, slowly shaking her head. Hot waves of shame surged through her anew. Dully, she said, “I didn’t know you were fluent in the Italian tongue.”

  He made a grim attempt at a smile. “There are so many responses I could make to that, but I’ll hold my peace.”

  “This isn’t funny, sir!” Kate threw down the diary and launched off the bed to pace. It wasn’t simply that he’d discovered her secret longings, her deepest thoughts. Embarrassment, and the sense of violation, she could bear. But it seemed he’d cross any line to get what he wanted. Could she live with a man whose sense of honor was so skewed?

  Trembling with hurt and fury, she rounded on him. “What next will you tell me? First you incarcerate my brother, then you kidnap me and hold me to ransom. And now you’ve read my diary. The first two you explained. You were doing your duty. I hope you won’t try to tell me reading my private . . . imaginings—” She huffed a breath. “I hope you won’t try to tell me that was part of your duty also. Is there nothing you won’t do to get your own way?”

  The ravaged expression on his face told her there was more. Her stomach heaved and turned over. She gripped the bedpost and set her jaw. She was strong. She’d come through so much. She could bear this.

  “What is it? Max, if you don’t tell me everything now—”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “Louisa has read the diary, too. She translated it for me. I didn’t know what it was until she finished.”

  “Louisa!” she said. “Louisa has read that—that nonsense?”

  “Not nonsense,” he said quietly. “Many parts were lyrical, beautiful even. I was moved by what you wrote. And aroused.”

  Kate knew he meant it as a compliment but the mere thought of him reading that diary sent another suffocating wave of humiliation through her. That he’d enjoyed it only made it worse. If she’d written it for him, she might have reveled in the knowledge, but she hadn’t. She’d written it solely for herself. And Louisa! Oh, dear Heaven, what must she think?

  She fixed him with a pained gaze. “Does Louisa know I wrote it?”

  “I haven’t discussed it with her, but she has probably guessed.”

  Kate plucked at the counterpane. Fresh recollections of things she’d written rained on her like arrows, piercing her flesh. She bunched a fistful of fabric in her hand, forcing down the urge to scream, to release the humiliation building inside. How she wished she’d burned that stupid book!

  But her embarrassment paled beside the gravity of what Max had done. Would he even understand why she was so upset? She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Reading my diary—and worse, using the knowledge you gained in your dealings with me—don’t you see how wrong that was?”

  His face had turned to granite, but those gray eyes, usually so cool, burned into hers. “It was wrong. Very wrong. I knew as soon as I’d read the first page.” He swallowed hard. “I’m sorry.”

  He’d admitted his fault and apologized, but still, it wasn’t enough. “Yet, even tonight, you acted on the information my diary contained. If I hadn’t caught you doing”— she made a sweeping gesture with her hand—“that, would you have told me the truth? And you hustled me into marriage, knowing you’d deceived me on all these points. What if I didn’t forgive you so easily, or at all? Did you even consider that?”

  “I did,” he answered, cutting his gaze away. “I took a calculated risk.”

  She gave a cry of disbelief. “Oh, yes! What was that motto of yours? ‘The end justifies the means.’ How very apt!”

  In two strides, Lyle reached her. He caught her to him, wrapping his arms around her. Something wild and desperate in his eyes called to her, even as she tried to resist. Her treacherous body responded, instantly, fiercely, and she struggled to quell the excitement that thrummed through her veins. She needed to fight for their future, not melt like an ice sculpture under the sun’s blaze.

  She tried to push him away, but it was like trying to move a granite boulder. With a ragged sigh, he released her, but his hands slid up to frame her face in a gesture so tender her heart gave a painful twinge. “Kate, I told you what I am—what I’ve been. When I took that job for the Home Office I was desperate for money—five mouths to feed and debts to pay . . . There was no room in that existence for decency and honor.” His thumb caressed her lips. “But all that will change now. I lo
ve you.”

  She didn’t doubt his sincerity. His eyes spoke of his love as clearly as his words. His deep voice throbbed with it. The power of that love, the nearness of him almost swayed her, almost convinced her to put this incident out of her mind. But he’d loved her and still he’d taken unfair advantage. How could she trust him not to repeat his behavior?

  His hands slid down to linger on her arms. “Kate. Don’t—don’t leave me. We can sort this out.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “Just give me another chance.”

  Kate forced down answering tears. “But how will I know?” she whispered. “How will I know whether you’ve changed until it’s too late?” She shivered, digging her toes into the carpet’s thick, soft pile for some vestige of comfort. “Let’s not speak of this any more. I—I want to be alone for a while. I need time to think.”

  Lyle gripped her wrist, his face pale and taut with anguish. “That’s no way to resolve this. I won’t let you go.”

  She gave a broken laugh. “Will you lock me in a tower? Are you going to make me believe things will be different?”

  He flinched. The deep hurt in his eyes was almost too much for her to bear. Her soul ached for him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him all would be well, as one told a frightened child during a thunderstorm. But on this, she couldn’t compromise. For the sake of their future happiness, she couldn’t give in now.

  Max must have seen the resolution in her face. Slowly, he detached his fingers from around her wrist and turned away.

  MAX heard the pad of her bare feet cross the carpeted floor, the soft clicks as the communicating door opened and closed.

  She was gone. His guts twisted with the feeling she’d never truly come back, just as he’d feared when she’d confronted him in the hall that afternoon. A fierce, sobbing pain burned in his chest. His throat tightened until he could barely breathe.

  He gripped the bedpost, head bowed, eyes closed, struggling to force down the most powerful sense of loss he’d known since his father had died, unforgiven, by his elder son.

  Had he truly forgotten what it was to be a gentleman, a man of honor and integrity? He’d considered his Home Office persona to be like armor he donned to do battle with the villains of the London underworld, trappings he’d discard once he put that existence behind him.

  But he’d been mistaken. Kate had the right of it. Jailing her brother, kidnapping her, and holding her to ransom— those pieces of ruthlessness could be excused because he’d performed them in execution of his duty. He’d vowed to find those rebels and punish them. He hadn’t known her and loved her when he’d used such underhanded tactics to achieve his goal.

  Reading the diary, using the information he gleaned there, was different. As soon as he’d realized what the diary contained he should have burned the translation and found a way to return the original to its rightful place. But by then, he’d been so enmeshed in that world of passion and sensuality he’d barely considered the ethics of what he did. Later, he’d been so desperate to please her, he’d ignored his own culpability.

  An ugly realization, that. He’d chafed against the necessary evils of his work, never dreaming he’d adapted completely to that existence. He’d assumed he could simply shed that life like an old coat and begin afresh.

  Was Kate right? Was it too late for him to change?

  Max clenched his jaw. No, it couldn’t be too late. But how would he make her see the difference in him? He needed to prove himself worthy of her trust.

  The alternative was far too bleak to contemplate.

  Eighteen

  Pleasure is chance and fleeting. Only love endures.

  SUKEY unpacked the last of her ladyship’s—no, she corrected herself—Her Grace’s trunks and sorted the clothes into which must be washed and which aired and ironed.

  “The green silk tonight, I think.” Sukey hummed to herself as she laid the gown on the counterpane. Just a light press and it would do. The duchess always looked very fine in that shade of green. And the emerald set to go with it. The duke would be proud.

  A scratch at the door interrupted her. She looked up, to see one of the upstairs maids bobbing a curtsey, a sly look in her eye.

  “Well? What is it, girl?” said Sukey briskly. She wasn’t one to forget her exalted position as the duchess’s personal maid, and she wouldn’t let others forget it, either.

  “If you please, Miss Phillips, gentleman aksed me ter give yer this.”

  The girl held out a screwed-up note. Now Sukey saw the reason for that knowing look.

  She ought to refuse to receive notes from strange men. Sukey licked her lips. But this particular man . . .

  “Ever so ’andsome, he is,” said the girl, speculation bright in her eye. As if to say, I’ll take your place if you’re having none.

  Over my dead body, Sukey thought and snatched the note. “All right, don’t stand there gawking. Off you go!”

  She watched until the maid left the bedchamber, then she hurried to shut the door. She thought she’d never see him again, but he’d come back to her. Couldn’t stay away.

  Her fingers fumbled as she opened the note.

  Meet me behind the laundry at eleven o’clock. Don’t fail.

  Well! She wouldn’t be meeting him anywhere after a summons like that. No sweet words, not even a civil request!

  With a sniff, Sukey slipped the note into her pocket and went about her task.

  Of course, she would need to go to the laundry at some stage today. Until she found a laundry maid she could trust, she must oversee the care of all the duchess’s intimate garments.

  And if she happened to see him while she went about her business, who could cavil at that? She’d ignore him, of course. No more than he deserved for thinking he could call her like a dog to heel.

  Unhurriedly, she finished sorting garments and picked up her overflowing basket to take it to the laundry.

  A warm glow of anticipation swelled in her chest.

  THE day was bright and fresh, flush with birdsong and the scents of spring blossom. Kate failed to appreciate the natural beauty surrounding her as she drove out with Louisa to visit some of Lyle’s tenants. She’d rather be in bed with the blinds drawn and the covers pulled over her head.

  Duty called, however, and Kate knew she’d do better to occupy herself, instead of dwelling on the disaster her marriage had turned out to be. But despite keeping busy all morning, despair over Lyle mired her thoughts and made her sluggish and irritable. Part of her wished she could simply overlook the incident and get on with her new life. But she couldn’t. She needed to know there were some lines of decency and honor Lyle would never cross. She needed to know she could trust him.

  The trouble was, she didn’t know how he might go about earning her trust. If only she could set him three tasks to prove himself, like the labors of Hercules. If only she might have some guarantee. But it wasn’t that simple. Perhaps, in the end, she would need to take his good behavior on faith, but she wasn’t ready to do that just yet.

  They passed through an avenue of cherry trees, laden with blossom. “Isn’t this pretty?” Louisa broke the silence that had gathered and swelled between them since leaving the stables. Her tone was overbright, as if she attempted to jolly Kate along.

  Kate tightened the reins, slowing the horse to a walk so Louisa might look her fill.

  She didn’t quite trust her voice to answer. It had taken all her resolution to face Louisa after Lyle told her his sister had read her diary. She still couldn’t meet Louisa’s eye.

  At least she knew her sister-in-law wouldn’t be as shocked by those passionate writings as she might have been. From her reaction to that scene between Lady Fanny and Romney in the barn, it appeared Louisa had liberal views about relations between men and women.

  Still, Kate’s embarrassment seemed larger than she was. It filled her and spilled over the sides, rising in her throat, choking her.

  After a few minutes of attempting to instigate c
onversation and observing Kate’s blushes, Louisa said, “You know, don’t you?”

  After a slight hesitation, Kate nodded.

  “I am sorry! So sorry!” Louisa burst out, distress drawing down her features. “Lyle told me the translation was necessary for his work.” She searched Kate’s face. “Was it? Necessary, I mean.”

  “He stole the wrong diary,” said Kate flatly.

  “Oh. Oh.” Louisa hesitated. Then she laid a hand on Kate’s knee. “My dear, can you forgive me? I should have done more to protect you. I very nearly refused to give the translation to Max, but he assured me the information was vital to his government work.”

  Louisa regarded her anxiously. Kate bore her scrutiny until she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Don’t look at me!” she said in a tight, hard voice. “I’m so ashamed.”

  Softly, Louisa said, “You should be proud.”

  Kate dropped her hands and stared at her friend. The gig lurched forward, and she quickly tightened the reins again.

  “It’s not easy for me to say this,” said Louisa, “but since you have had to bear your private thoughts read by strangers, I will tell you something. You could have been writing my life.”

  Kate’s shock must have been evident. Louisa hastened to add, “Oh, I don’t mean the, er, liaison part of it. That would be ridiculous. But . . . I’ve known the pain of loneliness that you described, an ache for companionship that’s so strong, it’s almost physical. It never would have occurred to me to find solace in writing, but perhaps I will try that one day.”

  Kate was so moved, she could barely speak. That someone had read her diary and understood! But the despair layered beneath Louisa’s words sobered her. “Is there no hope for you, my dear?” she asked quietly. “I assumed you loved someone unsuitable, for a lady with your gifts wouldn’t remain unwed for so long if she didn’t choose to do so. But the marquis . . .”