Her voice had grown stronger the longer she talked, but it didn’t seem to change his stance any. He just kept staring at her with a piercing gaze. An oddly compelling piercing gaze.
It was most unsettling. “Because you know very well,” she went on, “that the minute I do, you’ll abandon me and go off on your own.”
“True.”
She gaped at him. He hadn’t even bothered to deny it. “Well, I can’t have that. I have to protect my brother.”
“Do you?” He pushed away from the bureau. “I begin to think you have a darker goal.”
That took her completely by surprise. “Darker goal?” she asked, her blood freezing in her veins.
“When I first met you, I assumed you weren’t part of his scheme. But your playacting today proved that you are masterful at pretense. How do I know that our entire conversation this morning wasn’t a charade? That you aren’t leading me away from London at this very moment for some devious purpose?”
Devious purpose? Masterful at pretense? He thought she was some sort of swindler! “That’s a vile accusation! I would never do such a thing!”
“And why should I believe you?” He strode nearer, his face dark with threat. “You’ve proved yourself very good at dissembling. For all I know, you and your brother cooked up this plan together.”
“B-but why? Why would I do that?”
“That’s what I want to know.” He loomed over her. “I ought to have you tossed in gaol until you tell me the truth.”
“Because I cry well?” she squeaked.
“Because you are attempting to defraud me,” he said in an ominous tone.
He was going to throw her in irons, all because she could do some acting in a pinch. Oh, Lord, Manton’s Investigations would be ruined! Dom would never forgive her!
“I swear I’m not doing any such thing,” she began, her heart in her throat. “You know why I insisted on your taking me with you. You do! I don’t know where you’ve got this daft idea that I’m some . . . some swindler, but nothing could be further from—”
Inexplicably, he started laughing. She gaped at him, now all at sea.
That merely made him laugh harder. He paused just long enough to gasp, “You’re not the only one . . . good at pretense.”
And suddenly she understood. This was revenge for her playacting this afternoon.
Planting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “You are a horrible, horrible man! How dare you terrify me like that? Why, I ought to—”
He dropped onto the settee, laughing so hard he could scarcely speak. “If you . . . could only have seen . . . your face . . . when I mentioned . . . gaol . . .”
She walked up to hit him on the arm. “That was not remotely amusing!”
He just laughed even more. “I . . . beg to . . . disagree . . .” he choked out, holding his stomach as he lost himself in mirth.
Glowering at him, she strode over to the ewer, brought it back, and poured its contents on his head.
He jumped up off the settee sputtering. “What the blazes was that for?”
“For making me think you were going to pack me off to gaol, you . . . you . . . oaf!”
“Oaf?” he said as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his face. “That’s the best insult you can offer?”
She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Cretin. Devil. Arse.”
He smirked at her. “Careful now. Aren’t you supposed to be a respectable married lady?”
“You nearly gave me heart failure!”
“You deserved it after all that crying and nonsense.” He mimicked her. “ ‘M-my brother was right. I sh-should never have m-married you!’ ”
Tossing the empty ewer onto the settee, she crossed her arms over her chest. “The words might have been feigned, but the sentiment is still valid.”
“It wasn’t my idea to do this,” he reminded her.
“It wasn’t my idea to pose as a married couple. Thank God that’s pretend.” She headed for the other room, hoping to find another ewer of water so she could wash her hands.
“Oh yes,” he said irritably as he followed close behind her. “You would hate being married to a wealthy duke who could buy you whatever you wanted and show you the world you so obviously crave to see.”
That he had noticed so much about her love of travel vexed her more than she liked to admit. She whirled on him in a temper. “I would hate being married to any man who would own me. Who would want to tell me what to do, when to do it, how to do it, and with whom. No thank you.”
He slicked back his wet hair. “Is that really how you see marriage?”
“As a prison for women? Yes.”
“And you see no advantage in it,” he said as he came right up to her.
“None.”
“What about children?”
“My mother had two. She wasn’t married.” Though Lisette would never follow that example, she wasn’t about to admit it to His High-and-Mighty Grace.
He lifted one arrogant brow. “And you ended up in poverty as a result.”
“So did my half brother, and he was legitimate. The truth is, in this country, unless you’re the eldest, you inherit at the whim of your father. Marriage is no protection against that.”
“That’s not true. Women’s families can insist that any children be provided for in the marriage settlement before the couple even weds.”
“Only if the women have something to barter with.” She lifted her chin. “Dom’s mother married above her when she married the viscount; she brought no wealth to the union. So she couldn’t make any demands on her husband, even after he took my mother as a mistress. She had no recourse. Poor women never do.”
“All right, I’ll grant you that, I suppose,” he muttered. “Forget about the financial aspects, then. What about companionship?”
“I have two brothers who will never abandon me. That’s companionship enough for me.”
“And love?” he asked softly. “What about love?”
She glanced away, not wanting him to see her ambivalence on that subject. “Love is the chain men use to hold a woman prisoner. They offer her love, and in exchange for her devotion, they give her none. In that regard, I learned well from my mother’s example.” Forcing a bright smile to her face, she met his gaze once more. “So you see, Your Grace, I find no advantages to be had in marriage.”
“You’re forgetting one more,” he said, his eyes locked with hers.
“Oh, and what might that be?”
“Desire.”
She fought a shiver at the sensual way he said the word. She hadn’t forgotten that one. She’d ignored it. There was a big difference. “Desire is only an advantage for the man.” She’d been telling herself that for years, but it somehow rang hollow when she said it to him.
“You can’t be that naïve.” His voice was now a low thrum. “Surely your mother enjoyed her nights in your father’s arms.”
“I wouldn’t know. She didn’t talk about such things.” Maman had been determined to act respectably outside the bedchamber, probably thinking that it would convince Papa to marry her. Obviously it hadn’t worked.
“And you? No man has ever tempted you with desire?”
“I’ve been kissed a time or two. But it never tempted me to do more. I was always too aware that desire brings nothing but trouble.”
Something flickered in his face. The thrill of challenge, perhaps. Or something darker, more visceral. “Then clearly you haven’t been properly kissed.”
And before she could even react, before she could even think, he grasped her head in his hands and bent toward her.
She froze. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Tempting you,” he murmured, then covered her mouth with his.
Oh, Lord help her. His lips were on hers, hot and hard and demanding, and that annoying fluttering in her belly began. The whole world seemed to tilt sideways, sending her spiraling down into a place where heat and longing and
need seemed perfectly appropriate.
At some point she must have opened her mouth, for his tongue swept inside, surprising her. Then melting her. He delved deep in a motion far more intimate than the play of their hands earlier.
She shouldn’t let him do this, shouldn’t let him plunder her like the rakish adventurer she’d glimpsed this morning, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He did it so very well. Every stroke of his tongue deepened her awareness of him as a man, one who made her blood roar and her heart thunder. He smelled of the most expensive cologne water, the heady scent adding to the sensual fog swirling about her.
Though her mind protested his outrageous possession of her mouth, her body wanted to sink into it, to join the conflagration he was stirring deep inside her. The intensity of her sudden urge for more alarmed her.
Tearing her mouth from his, she murmured, “Please, Your Grace . . .” but he seemed not to hear her, for he merely shifted to scatter kisses over her cheek, then her ear, which he tugged at with his teeth. Did he mean to devour her in truth?
“Your Grace, please . . .” she said again, and when he did not answer, she added, “Max, you mustn’t.”
That got his attention at last. He paused in caressing her ear with his mouth. “Why not?” he breathed.
“Because I do not wish it.”
He drew back to stare at her, his gaze heavy-lidded, his breath coming quickly. “Are you sure about that?” he rasped.
She wasn’t. And her hesitation to lie to him had him seizing her mouth once more. Only this time, his hands slid down to grip her waist, to pull her against his body so she could feel the hard heat of him through the damp fabric of his waistcoat and shirt, feel the hard thrust of him lower down. It was alarming.
It was heavenly. He offered kisses so all-consuming they made her breath burn in her throat. Soon she was gasping and clutching at his shoulders, slipping into some seductive oblivion where all she could feel and think was that he kissed more gloriously than she could possibly have imagined.
So this was how desire was supposed to feel—intoxicating, maddening, and yes, tempting. That made it dangerous. Oh so dangerous.
Now he was tangling his tongue with hers, inviting her to play, to tease, and that was more enticing than he could know. No other man’s kisses had affected her so. She felt herself lifting her hands to clasp his neck, sliding her body flush against his. His mouth turned positively ravenous.
A knock came at the door.
She froze, then shoved him away. They stood there staring at each other, both breathing heavily, both tense.
“Mr. Kale, I’ve brought your dinner,” said a voice from out in the hall.
Max grimaced, then glanced at the door. “Yes, of course,” he called. “Come in.”
A servant hurried in with a large tray. Seemingly oblivious to the tension in the room, he set out the dishes, bowed, and scurried out, probably rushing to take care of all the other guests who’d been disgorged by coaches.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Lisette whispered, “You must promise never to do that again.”
Max’s eyes blazed at her. “Why?”
She glanced away, unable to face that heated look. “Because I have no intention of ending up a duke’s mistress. Bad enough that I watched Maman throw her life away on a man who could not love her. I will not follow in her footsteps.”
“Ah. That reason I can understand. I was afraid you were going to claim you didn’t feel desire between us.” His gaze bore into her, clearly seeing far too much of what she fought so hard to hide. “We both know that would be a lie.”
She wanted to deny it. She wanted to argue that his arrogant assumption was wrong.
But he hadn’t said it arrogantly. And she wasn’t in the habit of denying what was blatantly true. “So you agree to do as I ask? Never to . . . kiss me?”
“If you will agree to do something for me in return.”
Her gaze shot to his. “What?”
“Never lie to me.”
She stared at him, perplexed. “To my knowledge, I never have.” She’d omitted bits of the truth but had spoken no out-and-out lies.
“This afternoon, when you burst into tears, for a moment I . . .” He muttered a curse. “I couldn’t tell it was feigned. I knew it had to be, but it felt real. It felt horrible. With my father, I was never sure—”
He halted, then turned coolly nonchalant. “I understand that in playing this ‘role,’ you’ll have to say things that aren’t true. But when you and I are alone, I want to be sure you’re speaking the truth to me, being forthright in your dealings with me. Can you promise that?”
“Yes, of course.” How many lies had he endured in his life to make him even ask such a thing? To make him so bothered by her pretense of tears? What was it that he’d never been sure of with his father?
She would dearly like to know, but it was clear he didn’t want to tell her.
“Thank you,” he said tersely. “Then I believe we have a bargain.”
“I believe we do.”
Thank goodness. She did not need him bringing all his sensual powers to bear on her for his temporary amusement. Because what other reason could he have for it? He would never consider marriage to her.
But as they sat down to dinner, with the air between them still thick with desire, she realized that for some tiny, aberrant part of her it didn’t matter whether he would consider marriage to her.
That part of her would still very much like to have him kiss her again.
6
DINNER WAS A tense affair. Not that Maximilian was surprised. He’d just been ravishing Lisette’s mouth, after all. It would be damned near impossible for either of them to forget that.
And what a mouth she had, too—soft and far too sweet. He’d expected more resistance, more outrage. He certainly hadn’t expected the fire that had flamed between them the second his mouth touched hers. At least now he knew he wasn’t alone in his attraction. She had definitely responded to that kiss.
The thought of it aroused him all over again, made him ache to touch her, to caress her. Her skin was as delicate as wild rose petals, as silken as any man could want. And he had wanted, oh, how he’d wanted, to lay her down on that settee and show her what real desire was.
That hunger still coursed through him, the need that had made him take her mouth with overwhelming force and intensity and—
Passion. He’d never considered himself a passionate man. There had been too much passion in his parents’ lives—too much emotion and chaos in general—which was why he kept an iron control on his mind and body, relegating his feelings to the dungeon in the fortress of his heart.
Oh, he satisfied his urges when necessary, and he and his friend Gabriel Sharpe had done some sowing of wild oats in their time, but not that often. He hadn’t been that keen on going to demireps, all too aware that his father had once caught syphilis. He’d always thought it odd, since Father had never struck him as the kind to go to whores, but perhaps in his younger days he’d been indiscreet.
Father had been lucky—the disease hadn’t had any lasting physical effects—but Maximilian had never wanted to take any chances. Especially since he hadn’t found casual swiving satisfying. It had always been purely physical, like scratching an itch or quenching a thirst.
Kissing Lisette had been more than scratching an itch. The damned female got under his skin as no woman ever had.
So he wasn’t altogether disappointed that she wanted to halt it before it blossomed into anything. Because he didn’t like feeling that much out of control of his senses. It reminded him that one day he could expect to be like Father—completely out of control of his senses.
It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
He started to pour himself a third glass of wine, then reconsidered. This was no night for drowning his fears in drink.
Lisette was toying with her own wineglass. “I take it that you’ve had some experience with people lying to you.”
When he would have left it at that, she prodded, “Who would dare to lie to a duke?”
A cynical laugh escaped him. “Nearly everyone. The servants who will say anything to keep me happy, the tradesmen who will say anything to sell me something, the matchmaking mamas who will claim anything to gain their girls a duke for a husband, and my family, who—”
He caught himself. He hadn’t meant to say that. But she had this way of drawing things out of him with her forthright nature.
“Your family?” she said, pouncing on his slip.
He scrambled for an explanation. “I have a few spinster cousins who plead poverty regularly, in hopes that I will pay their gaming debts. To save the honor of the Cale name, of course.”
“And do you?”
“Sometimes. Depends on the cousin. And the debt.”
“Of course.” She steadied her shoulders. “I thought perhaps you meant your parents.”
He had, but he wasn’t about to reveal that. Because then he’d have to explain what they’d lied about and why.
Her long, slender fingers turned her wineglass round and round. “My own parents lied to me a great deal.”
The bald statement took him by surprise. “About . . .”
“Oh, Papa lied about how he was going to marry Maman one day, which he never did. And Maman lied about how Papa loved us madly.”
“Perhaps that was true.”
“Then he should have provided for us,” she said stoutly. “He shouldn’t have made it so we had to leave our home the day after his death.”
Holy God. “How was that even possible? I know your eldest half brother cut you off, but surely your father signed some agreement with your mother that ensured you at least had a home.”
“Sadly, no. Maman was young and naïve when they first met in France. She’d had one spectacular season in the theater, and this handsome viscount came along, wanting to whisk her away to England, away from the war and the poverty of her family. I think she would have done anything to escape France at that point, even take up with a married man. So she didn’t sign any papers.”
The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires Page 9
