by Tamara Gill
He stuttered, unable to respond straight away. “I wouldn’t know how to give such advice.”
She harrumphed, and he refused to look at her. How could he when he didn’t want her thinking of any of the gentlemen of the ton in that way. Not that she was for him either he reminded himself, simply he thought it best for Darcy to remain a spinster for the remainder of her days. Perhaps travel the continent and become an expert in embroidery. Anything but to marry again where he would have to watch her from afar.
“So, you’re not able to tell me which men I should consider and those that I should keep well away from. You’re around the gentlemen when they’re ensconced in their little club. I should think you’d hear everything they really think and mean, certainly more than any woman would ever know.”
“Even if I did know of a few gentlemen who’d be suitable, I could not in good conscience tell you of such things. It’s against my moral judgement.” He lost contact with her for a few steps before he pulled her out of the dance to stand beside a partially open window.
“Tell me, your grace, do you think your high moral judgement will keep you warm in bed? Do you not yearn for the comfort of a woman, to have her love you in all ways that a man and woman should?”
Athelby swallowed. This conversation was well beyond his knowledge, and he tugged at his cravat that was suddenly too tight. “You should not say such things.”
Darcy moved closer than she ought now that they were no longer dancing and yet, to his dismay and pleasure he did not pull back, move away to where he was safe. Damn it, he was turning into his brother. A man who could not say no to a woman.
“Would you, do you think your grace, be suitable as my lover?”
He turned and looked at her, and damn it, he could not hide what he’d tried to for so many months. To tell her that she was all that he thought of when alone. That when she’d been married to that coxcomb Earl of Terrance, that the thought of her with him in his bed, of lying with him, night after night had tormented him. The stoic, cold man that he was could not wholly be blamed on his reckless sibling, a lot had to do with his jealousy of the Earl and who he had as his wife.
But as much as he longed to have her, he would never succumb to the baser elements that haunted many fellow man, not just himself. He was not a rake, a rogue to have any woman he wished, only to discard her when he no longer had use for her. Or engage in stupid carriage races where you ended up dead.
The woman he married would be an upstanding, well connected, virgin. A woman of impeccable manners. Not the bedevilling minx staring up at him right at this moment, daring him with her crystal blue eyes to bend down and kiss her before all the ton.
“Never, Lady de Wolfe. We would not suit.” His words were cutting, and he tore his attention back to the gathered throng so to ignore the flash of hurt, the flash of despair that had entered her eyes.
“What about your friend the Marques of Aaron. Maybe I should take him to my bed.”
He clasped her harm, pulling her to look at him. “You will not, and nor will he.”
She raised one brow in disbelief. “And you know this how?”
“Because I told him to keep his filthy hands off you.” Athelby strode toward the supper room doors just as a footman announced the short repast was ready. He did not turn back, and yet the burn of Darcy’s gaze against his shoulders scolded him and did not abate for the remainder of the evening.
Darcy found it hard to sleep that night and many nights after what the duke of Athelby had said to her, before he scuttled off like an injured wolf.
It wasn’t to be borne. He could not just say something like that and then leave! And no matter how much they might dislike one another, there was an odd attraction between them that they both needed to admit to.
Act on…
She lay back in her bath, splashing water on to the floor. What am I to do with this absurd attraction? Athelby was not the kind of man who indulged in liaisons. Something tugged inside of Darcy. Had he ever been with a woman at all, in any way, not just intimately, but even a simple kiss?
After what he’d told her of his brother, she doubted he would’ve allowed himself the slightest slip in giving into the base desires of man.
Tonight, was the Fox’s masquerade ball, a sought-after event that marked the middle of the season. She had not attended when married since Terrance had forbidden her to. Of course, his denying of her own entertainments did not stop him himself from taking part and often returning home with ripped clothing, a missing mask and numerous love bites over his neck and body.
The door to her room opened and closed just as quickly before the light footsteps of her maid pattered across the Aubusson rug. “Your gown is ready, my lady. Would you like me to help you out of the bath?”
“Yes, thank you,” Darcy said, standing, and taking her maid’s hand as she stepped out. The gown of royal blue with a second skirt of embroidered gold thread would suit her dark colouring and golden mask. “I’ll wear my hair half down this evening, Jane.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Within a couple of hours, Darcy found herself in the ballroom of the masked ball. The terrace doors were open and allowed the hundreds of revellers to walk the lawns and gain some air should they wish it.
The abundance of candles, the patterned gowns, and beautiful masks would make finding anyone she knew difficult, and yet there was only one person that she really wanted to find.
Darcy danced a couple of reels and the first waltz with a gentleman who played as coy and secretive as she did. For her first masquerade, Darcy found she was enjoying it very much. To be incognito was liberating, and she was pleased to find her flirting abilities had not died along with her husband.
It was while dancing a jig, where many a partner was changed during the movement of the dance, that a shiver of awareness ran down her spine. Her new partner clasped her hands and moved her along with the dance.
She looked up and recognised Athelby’s grin. “We meet again, your grace.”
“I see my mask has not fooled you.” He did not sound pleased, but Darcy paid no heed to his tone. Tonight, she would kiss this man if it were the last thing she did, and once and for all, she would see if this absurd attraction she had to him was warranted or some figment of her warped imagination.
“I would know you anywhere, Athelby.” And if she did not recognize him by sight, her body alerted her to his presence. Just as it had this evening, and if she were honest, for many years before.
Athelby frowned down at Darcy. Anything, but let the little minx know that having her in his arms again left him reeling, warring with his morals on what he desired to do and what he ought to do.
The biggest conundrum he had, and one he hated to admit to, was that Darcy made him nervous. Each and every time he was around her he fought not to babble like a fool. And after their discussion about who would suit her best as a lover or future husband, something told Athelby that his nervousness would only increase.
“I find that hard to believe, Lady de Wolfe.” He used her title, not her given name. The less intimacy between them the better. Or so he told himself. Even though the dance commanded he change partners, he simply kept Darcy in his arms.
“Do you? I simply have to look for the angriest looking gentleman, the one who’s scowling at everyone and I know I’ve found you. Even behind your mask you ooze annoyance. You’re like an elephant trying to hide behind a stick.”
“Really, what an absurd similarity.” Athelby tried to take offence, and yet he found his lips twitching to smile. He would discuss this maddening attraction to a woman who wasn’t suitable to be his duchess at his next visit to Dr. Duncan. Surely there was a pill of sorts one could take to cure themselves of feelings.
The dance ended, and he walked her toward the terrace doors. “Would you care for a stroll. You seem a little flushed.”
“As long as you do not try and seduce me duke.” Darcy grinned up at him and slid her arm about his, leading h
im outdoors. The air was chill, but refreshing after the stifling ballroom.
“Your reputation is safe with me. I should say, you’re probably the safest woman in England right about now.” Not exactly true… Watching her out the corner of his eye, she looked up at the stars, and his gut clenched at how very pretty she was, the mask no impediment to her beauty.
They strolled toward the back of the garden, the sound of running water and some whispered voices all that could be heard. With the Fox’s estate backing onto Hyde park, the gardens were quite extensive, and there were many places people could disappear to for a tryst or stroll.
Athelby would not be one of them.
A marble bench glowed under the moonlight, and Athelby led Darcy toward it to sit for a time. Taking the opportunity, he pulled off his mask and was glad to see Darcy did the same.
“Have you ever kissed a woman, your grace?”
The question caught him by surprise and he sputtered before answering, “Of course.” He’d kissed his grandmother hello and goodbye, and other family members too. So, in all truth, what he stated was not a lie. Not really… But he understood her question and that truth was no. He’d never kissed a woman with passion. To make them both yearn and crave where kisses were won’t to lead people. His brother kissed too many women in his younger years, his foolish actions all in the name of women led to his early demise. He would not make the same mistake. He was the last surviving Athelby heir. If he died, the ducal title would with him.
He could feel Darcy’s regard on him, and as much as he wanted to not look at her, he couldn’t help himself. He turned, and the pit of his stomach clenched in the most intoxicating way. A feeling he’d never suffered before but wanted to. Again, and again.
“Would you like to kiss me, Athelby?”
God damn it yes, he did. “No.”
Chapter 4
Damn him to Hades and back. After such a question, the last thing Darcy thought any sane man would do was stand upright as if he’d been poked by a scalding fireiron and take ten paces. She remained on the seat, watching him and not ready yet to give up her quest for the evening.
Athelby needed to be kissed, to be shown that just because his brother may have passed away after a very reckless life, it did not mean that one kiss with her would lead his grace down the same road. The man needed to be shown that life could be passionate without peril, disaster, and death. Not everyone was like his late sibling.
“No, I would not. I do not know what game you’re playing, my lady, but I do not find it amusing in the least.”
She shrugged. “I want to kiss you, so I asked if the feeling was reciprocated. You have stated it is not. There are no hurt feelings or broken hearts, I merely wanted to show you that by kissing me, the ducal line shall not fall. It’ll be there tomorrow just as it is today. That is all.”
“You wanted to use me?”
She barked out a laugh, not the most ladylike thing to do, and yet for the first time ever, his grace didn’t scald her about it. “No, I wanted to kiss you. Simply a man and woman enjoying each other.” She stood and sauntered over to him, amused when he retreated away from her until his back came up against a large oak tree.
“I do not want to kiss you, Lady de Wolfe.”
“No? Well, that is a shame.” She ran her hand down the lapels of his coat, the accelerated breathing and heartrate telling her more of what the duke was feeling than what he was saying.
“Aren’t you the least bit curious about what it would be like. We’ve rarely got along, but maybe we would get along grandly in this regard.” The more she spoke about kissing the man, the more she wanted to reach up and do it. Take his lips, that looked perfectly in proportion to the rest of his face and see if they were as soft as she suspected they were.
“We would not,” he said, his attention snapping to her mouth.
Darcy bit her bottom lip and didn’t miss as his jaw clenched. Oh yes, the duke wanted to kiss her. And if she were a woman of the world, which she was in a way, he wanted to do it with a desperation that she herself admitted.
“Just a little one. You wouldn’t deny a lady that small request, would you?”
He frowned, and she clasped the lapels of his jacket, going up on her toes so to reach him better. “Do not deny me, duke,” she whispered.
“Damn you, Darcy.”
She gasped as the little control she had just a moment ago vanished and she was seized by the duke, wrenched against his chest, his mouth coming down hard against hers, his tongue thrusting against her own.
She moaned. Shocked and delighted at the pleasure that coursed through her. Darcy had not anticipated wanting to do a hell of a lot more with the duke than a kiss, but she certainly did now.
This would never be enough. She wanted more, so much more and the hard part would be how she could get what she wanted. How to convince the duke that they could be together like this, without his fear of becoming a debauched rake like his brother impeding his decision.
He held her firm, his hands slipping further around her back where one thumb brushed against her bare shoulders. Darcy tried to keep up, but her mind was spinning. The duke could kiss, very well, considering he’d not kissed anyone like this before.
He may say otherwise, but knowing him and his ways, Darcy was sure she was the first.
Leaning up further on her toes, her breasts brushed him as she slid her hands through his hair, keeping him exactly where she wanted him. The kiss turned molten, and she grappled not to lose the little control she still held.
Athelby slid his hand over her delectable body, barely hidden by her silk gown and clasped her thigh, lifting it a little against his thigh. His breath came out in a rush and his heart threatened to burst. Darcy kissed him with a desire that ignited him to flame. His cock hardened, painfully so and her pleading whimper when she rubbed against him almost made him lose himself in his breeches.
He ought to be ashamed of himself, this was not what he should be doing with her. His moral compass had completed deserted him. Athelby tried to think of his brother, his death and the woman behind it. Remind himself that his sibling's recklessness over a woman, a woman the family would’ve never allowed him to marry in the first place, was the reason he partook in that stupid carriage race that had killed him.
But when Darcy slowed the kiss, her tongue coaxing his, all Athelby wanted to do was ravish her. Take everything and all that she would give. Her kiss was all that he thought it would be and it would never be enough. Not for him.
“Let me court you, my dear. I need more than just this one night,” he said, taking her lips again as if his life were dependant on it.
Darcy’s mind whirred at the mention of courting. She’d already married a man who was controlling, mean and vindictive. Not that the duke was vindictive, but he could certainly be cutting and liked control most of all. She might wish to take him as a lover, but never as a husband. She did not escape by chance one terrible marriage, only to enter another of very similar credence.
She wrenched herself out of his arms, and he stepped toward her, his gaze unfocused and mad with desire. “What are you doing?” he asked, breathless.
“Saving us from a mistake.” She righted her gown and fixed her hair, holding up a hand when he reached for her. “No more your grace. I shouldn’t have teased you so into kissing me, and I apologize.”
He stood there, shock, and annoyance settling on his features. The duke took a calming breath and ran a hand through his hair, looking about and seeing if anyone had been watching their blatant fondling session in the garden.
“It is I who should ask forgiveness. I was carried away with unexpected emotion.” He bowed. “Good evening, Lady de Wolfe.”
Darcy placed a hand across her lips to stop herself from asking him to stay, to finish what she’d feared for some weeks now, was between them. Desire, a scorching, intoxicating need for each other, that she was fearful she had sparked to life tonight with her teasing and their kiss.<
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She watched him disappear up the garden path and sat back down on the bench. There was only one way forward from tonight. She would have to keep well away from the duke, not attend any events that he might also attend and try and keep herself from doing exactly what she wanted to again.
Take the duke of Athelby to her bed.
Athelby had, up to tonight, been successful in avoiding Darcy de Wolfe, but upon entering Earl Musgrove’s and his wife’s musical loo, which was to be followed by a light supper repast, his days of avoidance were over.
He stood at the front of the music room where Lady Musgrove had set up chairs before a makeshift stage where fellow guests would perform, and a small orchestra would play to compliment the singers.
These types of events he had, up to tonight, enjoyed very much. He did not have to converse too much with those attending, and with supper served just afterwards, most were eating and therefore conversation was again, not overly required.
His location gave him the perfect opportunity to watch others as they arrived, and he nodded as the Marques of Aaron discussed the latest Crown Lands Act in parliament. But his mind was otherwise engaged. In fact, his mind and body had not been his for the past fortnight. It belonged to another.
Endless hours of reliving the kiss he’d shared with Darcy haunted his mind. His body ached as it never had before. He’d lost count of how many times he’d woken in the middle of the night, his cock as hard as a rock, and sometimes, at his lowest ebb, he’d found his hand had been clasped about it, stroking it, teasing it as he wished she had.
Utterly mortifying and inappropriate and he would quite literally die of shame, should anyone know what he’d been thinking. Of what he’d been longing to do with the little minx who stood laughing at something her friend Lady Oliver was saying. The way he was going, he would be a debauched as his brother was before the Season’s end.
“If you keep staring at de Wolfe the way you are, you’ll be made to marry the chit. What have you done with the lady that’s made you so possessed with her person?” Aaron asked, taking a sip of his wine.
