The Duke's Temptation

by Addie Jo Ryleigh

  Her happy expression turned into a frown. “There isn’t much to tell. I was looking out my window when I saw a man sneaking around the garden. I went to stop him,” she added with a shrug, as if it was of no consequence.

  Gabe couldn’t form words to speak. Did she just admit she’d knowingly left the house to confront a strange man? He somehow gained control of his voice. “What do you mean, you went to stop him?”

  “I mean, I grabbed a candlestick and went to the garden to stop him before he could reach the house.”

  He didn’t attempt to stop the harshness from engulfing his words. “Are you daft? Why in the hell would you go after a stranger, a man no less, on your own?”

  Her brows snapped together as she pushed herself away from the pillows, bringing her closer to him. “I did what I thought right. And I would do it again.”

  Realizing she’d callously risked her life all over again had his anger roaring. “Do you think I don’t have the resources to replace whatever material object he would have managed to make off with? Besides, I doubt if he would have been successful. Even if he had gained the house without being detected by one of the servants, the odds he actually would break in and not get caught would be small.”

  The tone of her ire matched his when she retorted, “Oh, I see. The all-powerful Duke of Wesbrook decreed no thief should dare enter his domain and take what is his, so of course it would never come to pass. Have you ever stopped to think what would have happened if he did manage to enter the house and someone unexpectedly came upon him? What if that person happened to be Phoebe? What then? Do you think he would have spared a child?”

  At the mention of his daughter, his sharp retort evaporated. It might not be rational to think a simple burglar would stoop to harm a child, but Gabe couldn’t ignore its possibility. New beats of tenderness at Elizabeth’s loving nature flowed through him with each thud of his heart.

  Calmer, his voice lost its rough edges. “You did this for Phoebe? A child who isn’t even yours?”

  Her features softened. “I would do anything for her. Anyone would.”

  “Not anyone. I doubt her own mother would have.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Oh, but I do. It isn’t much of a stretch to know what Cecilia would have been capable of. The safety of her child would never have been high on her list of priorities. Besides, the facts speak for themselves. She couldn’t even find it in herself to care for her own child. Instead, she’d had her daughter fostered off on a nanny.” Gabe’s voice took on an edge of bitterness.

  Elizabeth sat silent, eyes downcast, fingering the bed sheets. Her desire to ask him something was written clearly on her face.

  He decided to give her a bit of a reprieve. “Yes?”

  She glanced up. “What?”

  A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. She was so transparent. “I know something is nagging you, Minx. Out with it.”

  “Do you love her?” she blurted.

  “Who? Phoebe?”

  A pause of silence beat between them and when she finally spoke, he had to strain to hear the words. “No . . . Cecilia.”

  Never expecting her question, it took a moment for Gabe to know how to answer. “My relationship with Cecilia was . . . complicated.”

  Her gaze fell once more. “Oh. I see.”

  “No, you don’t. Even I don’t know.”

  She finally cast her eyes on him and he lost himself at what they held. Their green, so deep and pure, held a trace of uncertainty. He wished he could lay her fears aside and dispel any possibility he’d ever cared for Cecilia. But he wasn’t about to lie to Elizabeth if at all possible.

  He took a deep breath and wondered how she’d managed to create such a hold on him that for the second time in one day he found himself divulging something he never spoke of. “I met Cecilia two months after my father’s death. It was the only time in my life when I thought it might be possible to break away from him and his influence. Little did I know his influences would endure from the grave.”

  Inside him, the anger and disgust associated with his father mingled with the pain and betrayal lingering from his relationship with Cecilia—both sides fighting for control of his emotions. After years of perfecting the art, he shoved all the feelings deep before they won the battle and broke the surface.

  Elizabeth continued to regard him intently, unaware of what sharing this would cost him. “Instead of mourning my father, since I’d felt nothing but relief at his death, I stayed in London to finish out the season. Cecilia was an actress. She was new to the theater and didn’t play the lead, but I don’t know of any man who hadn’t been drawn to her on some level. She was so beautiful and vibrant. The first moment I saw her and felt the attraction, I realized this was my chance to have a relationship with a woman my father wasn’t in some way dictating.”

  Her eyes shifted, and he knew his declaration had hurt her. Unable to upset her further, he avoided detailing the power of his attraction for Cecilia. It hadn’t simply been her bottomless blue eyes and perfect porcelain skin that had captivated his attention. After years of his father ruling his life, despite Gabe’s attempts to prevent it, he’d been drawn to her open nature.

  Even now, looking back he couldn’t be sure if what he’d felt for Cecilia had been honest emotion, or if in some inner crevice of his mind, he’d seen his chance to prove he was capable of a straightforward relationship and thus convinced himself his feelings were true. Though none of it had mattered in the end.

  “So, you did love her.” Her voice cracked.

  He didn’t stop to think before he engulfed her hand within his. “No.”

  Hope flared in her eyes. “You didn’t love her.”

  He hated to stomp out the hopeful flicker of light, but it wouldn’t be right to let her believe it was that simple. “I’m not saying that either.”

  As he expected, her face fell and she hesitated for a moment before she asked, “Then what are you saying?”

  He wished he knew what the hell he was trying to say. He released her hand and tugged at his hair, unsure how to answer with the truth without hurting her at the same time.

  A sharp knock on the door saved him from having to figure it out. Mindful of the consequences of being found on her bed, he quickly got to his feet before he called for the person to enter.

  Expecting Elizabeth’s maid, Gabe had never been happier to see Wilkes opening the door. His relief quickly melted at Wilkes’ obvious trepidation. “What is it?”

  “I have some unfortunate news, Your Grace,” Wilkes answered with a hint of worry that cracked his usually unflappable deportment.

  Gabe glanced at Elizabeth, sitting up and listening attentively. She might crave information but after all she had endured, he didn’t want to upset her with whatever Wilkes had to say. “Let’s discuss this in the hall. Elizabeth needs her rest.”

  Wilkes nodded in accord before he left the room. Gabe started to follow but at Elizabeth’s voice he stopped, his jaw instantly tightening.

  “I’m not a child, Gabe. You don’t need to protect me.”

  A fresh tide of panic crashed into him. He’d almost lost her. What would have happened if he hadn’t been there? The very idea had him spinning around before he could mask the stark emotion flashing in his eyes. “Don’t. Don’t even try to dismiss everything that happened tonight as an innocent encounter.”

  She didn’t back down. “I’m not about to. But it would be nice if you’d stop tiptoeing around me like everyone else. I’m not going to break. Whatever Wilkes had to say, could have been done in front of me.”

  “Maybe so, but it is my duty to protect you. I promised Marcus I would. Though you might see it as being overprotective, I see it as doing my duty to a friend,” he replied without thinking of how it would be perc
eived.

  “Duty? Is that all I am to you? A duty?” Her words came out hushed, but there was no mistaking the heat behind them.

  Oh, bloody hell. He hadn’t meant that. “No. Of course not. You know I care for you. That I think of you as a friend. I would never think of you as a duty.”

  At her silence he wondered if she believed him. As much as he wanted to stay and convince her, he needed to speak with Wilkes. “You’ve been through a terrible ordeal and you need your rest. It is late. We can talk tomorrow. Will this quarrel hold until then?”

  The reminder of their usual clash of differences had erased some of the tension from her face. “I guess that will have to do.” She settled back into the pillows and Gabe took it as a dismissal. He’d almost reached to door when she spoke again.

  “Oh, and Gabe, don’t forget, you have a story to finish.”

  Chapter 29

  Gabe found Wilkes waiting a short distance from the room.

  “Well?”

  “The intruder managed to escape.”

  Disbelief had Gabe struggling to respond.

  “He must have come to before the footmen could locate him.”

  “Did they search the entire garden? How about the grounds?” His voice rose along with his mounting anger. The prospect of having another go at the man had been the only thing keeping his rage manageable.

  “Yes, Your Grace, everything was searched. I ordered lanterns to be lit throughout the garden. There was no sign of the perpetrator. When he wasn’t found there, I had the entire estate inspected. Other than boot marks and a set of horse tracks on the south end of the property, there were no signs of the man.”

  Gabe’s fury exploded, the desire to pummel something boiling in his veins. Through teeth clenched, in a jaw held as tightly as his fists, he ordered, “Have men follow the tracks. Even if they have to chase him to the shores of England, I want this man found. Until he is in custody, I want armed men patrolling day and night.”

  “You think he will be back?”

  “I don’t know, but I’m not leaving it to chance. Not after what happened tonight. See it done.”

  “Immediately, Your Grace.” Understanding the urgency behind the command, Wilkes hastened to do as instructed.

  Still fuming, Gabe stalked through the hall to the only place he would find an outlet to ease his frustrations. Once he reached his destination, he flung the door open, not even flinching when it banged against the wall. Too agitated to worry about the lamps, his familiarity with the room—and the bluish glow of moonlight shining through the windows—helped him reach his destination.

  Never breaking stride and loosening his cravat as he went, he strode through the room and didn’t stop until he stood before the large bag filled with sand hanging from the ceiling. As soon as he freed the intricate knot, he tossed the cravat to the floor and proceeded to strip off his clothing, leaving him bare from the waist up.

  His knuckles itched to feel the pain ring through his hand with the first strike. After years of practice, his body naturally eased into a fighting stance, elbows close to his side, fists up and feet braced apart.

  With eyes seeing nothing but Elizabeth lying helpless in the garden, Gabe struck out, hitting the bag with all the force of his muscles. The vision, combined with the rage and frustration at her attacker escaping, sent his imaginary opponent flying. He itched to replace the bag with the man who had the nerve to lay even one nefarious finger on the woman Gabe loved.

  When the bag swung back from the power of his hit, Gabe used his other fist to send it swaying again. The twinge of pain that flared at each punch focused his attentions and vanquished some of his temper. It kept his mind from dwelling on his inability to keep Elizabeth safe. Not to mention his further disappointment at failing to capture the perpetrator.

  Soon Gabe’s punches flowed without thought. The strikes became almost mechanical. His body seized the opportunity to lose the turmoil that had become commonplace since Elizabeth had affixed herself to his life.

  All the pain and hurt he’d felt as he’d recounted the tale of his childhood and Mary’s death pooled and exploded with each blow to the bag. Before he knew it, he felt nothing. Yet he didn’t stop. His body washed in sweat, he continued to pound on the bag. When his arms started to feel dead and began to tingle, still he continued.

  Wrapped in battle with the punching bag, he almost missed the glow of a candle lightening the room. When the light didn’t recede, he knew he wasn’t alone. And, when the hint of lilac reached him, breaking through the smell of his sweat, without turning, he knew who’d joined him.

  Elizabeth.

  All his emotions spent by the physical exertion, he felt drained, empty. He had no willpower to construct a wall between the two of them, not after everything. Besides, this moment had been inevitable. Things had remained unsettled between them ever since that night at the inn. It scared the hell out of him. Because no matter what his body craved, or what his heart yearned for . . . despite wanting to be the man she deserved, he’d never achieve that goal.

  He didn’t possess the willpower to escape the room without touching her. Lowering his fists, Gabe turned to her, and for her sake, dreaded what was about to come.

  Elizabeth’s mouth went dry at the sight of his bare chest covered with a gleam of sweat. The light from the candle she’d carried from her room shone off the dampness, and the desire to stroke the curved muscles with her fingertips momentarily stunned her. The strength of her longing to be with him shook her to her core, sending a wave of need pooling there.

  “You are supposed to be resting.”

  His empty expression chilled her fervor. She shook off the veil of longing, and attempted to achieve an even tone when she answered, “I couldn’t sleep. I kept wondering what news Wilkes brought.”

  She thought a smirk crossed his lips, but he looked away before she could be certain. “I should have known you’d not do as you were told.”

  Her eyes fixated on his chest as he lifted a damp cloth and wiped off the result of his exertions. Due to Marcus’s boxing, she was familiar with the sport. Even so, she’d still been mesmerized at the sight of Gabe sparring with some sort of bag hanging from the ceiling. Any shock had been quickly overpowered by her fascination at the tightening and release of the muscles in his back as he landed hit after hit.

  Realizing she hadn’t moved her concentration from his bare skin, she lifted her eyes, only to find him smiling at her with knowing eyes. Her cheeks flared at being caught studying him so intently. “Umm . . . yes . . . well, I needed to know,” she stammered, straining to recall what they had been speaking of.

  He threw the linen cloth to the side but didn’t move to collect his clothes strewn across the floor. Instead he took a few steps closer to where she stood inside the doorway. “I still say you should be in bed. I should take you there myself.”

  The words hung between them. Visions of him joining her in that very bed sprang to her mind, melting her from the inside out. His eyes narrowed, deepened, as if he too realized what the words implied. Instead of retracting the words as she expected, he crossed the final distance separating them.

  Her hands trembled and she almost dropped the candle held in her weak grasp. Before it fell, without a word or breaking his gaze from her face, he eased it from her fingers and set it on the small table beside the door.

  The candle taken care of, he lifted his hand and gently traced his finger along her temple. Tentacles of heat spread through her, igniting from the very spot he touched. Engulfed in warmth, her body craved his touch, begging her to lean further into him.

  He broke the spell when he noted softly, “It is starting to bruise. Does it hurt?”

  Mesmerized by the feel of his finger on her skin, she failed to comprehend his question. When she didn’t answer he continued, �
��Where you hit your head, it is starting to color. Does it pain you?”

  Finally understanding, she murmured, “Not much. Maybe slightly.” She failed to convey that she felt nothing besides a fierce yearning to raise her lips and kiss him. He didn’t need to know everything.

  His hand spread and instead of a single finger, his entire hand curved along the side of her face, cradling her jaw in his palm. “I’m so sorry, Minx.”

  Her brows lowered in confusion. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

  Misery filled his eyes. The power of his caring hit her in the center of her heart. “For not protecting you. I should have protected you.”

  Anxious for him to listen to her, she lifted her hands to his chest. The feel of warm skin beneath her palms fought with her concentration, and her fingers wanted nothing more than to slide over the sculptured expanse. She barely retained control of her wits. “You did. If it hadn’t been for you, who knows what he would have done? Gabe, you saved me.”

  “It never should have happened. I failed . . . again.” His voice trailed off and Elizabeth finally understood more than the events of the day were torturing him. His inability to stop her assault had become intertwined with his guilt surrounding Mary’s death.

  She pinned him with her imploring gaze, noting the despair in his brown eyes. “No matter what you think, I know you saved me tonight. Not only that, you saved me when I was nine. If not for you I don’t know if I would ever have crawled out of my grieving after my parents were killed.” Her soft voice resonated with determination. “Don’t you understand? You are always saving me. Gabe, I trust you with my life.”