The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  Her husband’s equipped state brought her some comfort. If Sauveterre did happen to find them, James could protect them.

  He’d better, because she had no weapon.

  Not from lack of asking. When James originally attached his holster, she’d asked him for a knife too. He’d told her he had enough to worry about without her accidentally stabbing herself. She glanced at his waist, frowning into her stew. The nerve of the man! As if she was useless. While she might be unskilled with a blade, she could fathom which side of the blade was supposed to go into a ruffian and which one went in her hand.

  Partners, my blooming arse.

  He’d been this way since they’d climbed into the carriage late that morning. What had happened to the man who’d held her in his arms as if she was precious to him?

  During the first hour of their journey, she’d attempted to make conversation. James had told her the name of the town they were going to, and then fallen silent as he’d reviewed a seemingly endless stack of files brought forth from his portmanteau. Eventually, Vivian had grown tired of only talking to Arden, especially when she still wasn’t sure why the duke’s youngest sister accompanied them on this trip. Most newlyweds didn’t need a chaperone.

  But most newlyweds weren’t fleeing from a threat on their lives, so there was that.

  Ignoring her ire, James stood and brushed his hands off on his breeches. He went to find the tavern wench so that he could pay the bill, as she’d disappeared once she’d realized James had no interest in her. Vivian’s scowl deepened. That was definitely a second knife sheathed in his holster too. Why should she have to rely entirely upon him for protection? It didn’t seem like good sense to keep her unarmed.

  Arden caught her eye and winked. “Don’t worry. I have a knife you can use.”

  She didn’t have time to express properly her appreciation, for James returned to the table.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “Still a few hours left, and I want to be there before dark.”

  A few more hours trapped on the same bench as him, while Arden read her book on the bench across from them. Vivian couldn’t ask James the questions she wanted to with Arden present, and so the need to know chafed at her like an uncomfortable itch she could not scratch.

  Their small party proceeded out into the courtyard toward the carriage. Vivian eyed it suspiciously. Every postchaise she’d ever seen had been a yellow bounder, but this one was painted black with no defining markings. Distinctly different from the Spencer’s usual coach and four, which bore the Abermont crest of arms. Distinctly covert.

  She was beginning to wonder if Sauveterre had been right. Even their jarvey appeared barbarous, a mammoth of a man with broad shoulders and a chest that reminded her of a tree trunk. There was so much about the Spencers that didn’t add up—yet she was certain she’d never found any indication that he was financing a revolution in France.

  Perhaps Sauveterre had the right idea, but the wrong execution...

  She pressed her lips into a thin line. As soon as they arrived at their destination, she’d get answers, even if it meant she had to smack some sense into James.

  He helped her into the carriage, holding the door open for Arden too. Through the open curtains of the carriage, Vivian saw Arden shake her head, instead accepting the reins of a bay mare from the jarvey. The driver helped Arden up onto the horse.

  James slid onto the bench next to her. “Arden is going to ride alongside the hack. Apparently she longs for fresh air.”

  “Understandable. Had I known that was an option, I might have considered the same.” Vivian remembered Arden’s earlier wink. Maybe having a new sister could be beneficial after all.

  James frowned. “We can’t have you out in the open.”

  She gave him an arch look. “Hence why I said might.”

  The door to the carriage slid shut, and a moment later they were off again.

  Chapter 13

  Vivian leaned her head back against the crimson brocade squabs and wondered if this was what her life would be like. While the black Padua silk-lined walls and soft bench seat were an improvement on the hired hacks she was used to riding in, at this moment she would have given up any convenience for some certainty. Some security.

  James drew out yet another folder from his portmanteau, signaling that the next three hours would be spent in silence again.

  Vivian snatched the folder from him, holding it up and out of reach. She did not, however, account for the fact that he was taller than she was and had longer arms. He easily reached past her, his hand covering hers on the file.

  But she would not be defeated so easily. She dug her nails into the paper, refusing to let go.

  “Vivian,” James said warningly, and if she weren’t so bloody frustrated she might have done the proper thing and released the file.

  She didn’t. She gripped it harder, because if she were to do the proper thing, she wouldn’t be in this carriage as a new duchess. “All I want is for you to spend one hour of this trip actually conversing with me. Do you realize you haven’t said more than two words to me since you told me where we’re going? I swear to you, James, if you intend for the rest of our marriage to be passed in silent observation, I will go mad. Silence causes slow deaths, I am sure of it.”

  “The last thing I would want is for you to die slowly,” he said dryly, dropping his hand from the file. He held his palm outstretched. “At least allow me to put the folder away properly.”

  She considered this. He was a crafty man. If she handed him the file back, he’d probably move to the bench across from her and continue reading. So she lowered the file and slid it underneath her, sitting back down on it.

  “Don’t think that’ll stop me from getting it.” His gaze swept from her to the file and back to her again, his lips curving into a slow smirk. “Especially since I’ve been aching to put my hands on your delectable rear since the first night I saw you.”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks pinked again—maybe more than just her cheeks, for she felt warm in certain areas that had been unexplored until he’d kissed her. “So that kiss was not a chance occurrence?”

  That wasn’t the question she’d meant to ask. She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. It was so much harder to think properly when he looked at her.

  He shifted on the seat, nudging her with his leg. “No. Do you really think I would have asked you to marry me if I wasn’t attracted to you?”

  “You said, and I quote, ‘Marriage is like an equation. You and I are both variables.’” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, the full strength of her frustration on display. “How was I to know one of the variables is also your attraction?”

  “I told you to never doubt that I wanted you.” His voice was coarse, like the late evening stubble on his chin.

  He cupped his fingers underneath her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his. The desire reflected back at her surprised her; he was a coiled beast, ready to strike if she gave him permission. And oh, how she wanted him to strike.

  The sapphire ring on her finger glinted in the sunlight, reminding her who she was now. A duchess—his duchess. When he’d kissed her before, her fear over Sauveterre had quieted. She’d felt safe in his arms, and she wanted to feel that way again.

  She started to reach forward, but stopped herself. What would his hair feel like without her gloves? Stripping off one glove and then the other, she felt his eyes upon her, tracing her movements hungrily. She ran her hand along the curve of his cravat, the starched linen stiff against her skin. He kept his hair shorter than the fashion. Up her fingers traveled, the black locks slipping through her fingers. He let out a groan of approval. The satisfaction on his face emboldened her. The rocking of the carriage had taken on a rhythm that heightened her, and she moved with it.

  “You’ve said you didn’t want to talk about where we’re going.” The huskiness of her own voice surprised her. “But we have much time to pass...”

  He pulled back from her, scooting further down t
he bench. “We shouldn’t.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Well, you could tell me how you managed to procure an unmarked carriage so readily. Or, you could tell me why your sister is on this trip with us. Or, you could tell me exactly where in Guildford we’re going. Or, you could tell me—”

  James’s left eye started to twitch with her first question, increasing as she continued. He held up a hand to silence her, and she shut her mouth. But only because she’d run out of questions, not because he’d told her to.

  “When I kissed you before, it was because all I’d been able to think about for the last two weeks was kissing you.” He made this sound as if it was a very bad thing, and she was hard-pressed to follow his reasoning. “My thoughts should be about keeping you away from danger, not about how bloody perfectly your lips fit mine, or how you manage to smell like my blasted garden and home all in one. I need to focus, Vivian. When I get distracted, bad things happen. People die.”

  The intensity behind his words took her aback. How many near-death situations had he been in, exactly? She filed that as a query to make later, because the rest of his statement was infinitely more interesting.

  “James,” she began, edging closer to him, the corner of her traveling habit brushing against his buff breeches. “I know I may not have given you the best impression of me, given that I ended up on your doorstep under...let’s say nefarious purposes, but I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

  “Never against a foe like this.” His jaw clenched, and his eyes found hers again, pain and sadness and longing, too. For her.

  She nodded, hoping it conveyed as much as his mannerisms usually did. “That’s why I have you. Together, we’re a force to be reckoned with.”

  James swallowed. “I can’t lose you. Not you too.”

  Of course. How could she not have seen it? He’d already been through so much loss.

  She came even closer, until she was almost sharing the same space with him, her leg so near to his. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m not going to die. Not with you here and certainly not with that brute of a coachman you seem to have dragged from a traveling act.”

  That brought a small smile to his lips. “Nixon is a good man.”

  “Good man or not, one look at him and Sauveterre will run for cover.”

  “That was the idea.”

  “I think you’ve accomplished that goal quite well, then.” Her hand drifted to his arm, her fingers running up and down his coat sleeve. “But we’re still alone in this carriage for a while.”

  James watched her fingers track, his eyes darkening. He ran his tongue across his lips, those lips she wanted so badly on her own, stripping away her apprehension and leaving pleasure in their wake. “You make it very hard to say no to you.”

  Vivian trailed her hand up further, tracing the curve of his ear. “So you’ve said. I believe you also called me impossible.”

  “And aggressive,” he reminded her, leaning into her touch. “When we are together the first time—and we will be together, Vivian—I want it to be right. It should be you and me, no worries, no doubts.”

  She dropped her hand, her meager attempts at seduction now seeming tawdry compared to the real connection he described. But he caught her fingers, intertwining them with his own, and he brought her hand to his lips to lay a sweet kiss upon her skin.

  “I want that too,” she murmured. “A proper wedding night, if one can still call it that when it isn’t the night you marry.”

  “So much about us is already unconventional. Who says we cannot defy the calendar too? Our wedding night can be whenever we please.”

  “How rebellious,” she said. “I like it very much.”

  When he released her hand, she went to make her way back to her side of the carriage, but he stopped her. In one quick movement, he’d dropped down to the floor of the carriage and knelt in front of her at eye level. “I’ll make you a promise.”

  “Another one?”

  He’d already promised to save her life, to cherish her, and to call her his wife forever. How much more could he give her?

  He leaned in until they were almost nose-and-nose. “If you’re willing to follow my instructions exactly as I’m showing you how to fight, as well as teaching you other certain skills you might need to learn—”

  She bristled at his demand for obedience, but she was intrigued enough to let him continue.

  His expression became grave. “I’m serious. Complete focus. I can’t take the chance that something will happen to you.”

  “Fine, I agree,” she said because he refused to continue until she did.

  “Then I think we can explore whatever...this is.” He waved to the tiny space in between them. “Within reason, of course.”

  “Kisses, then,” she put forth helpfully. “And some touching.”

  His eyes settled on her breasts, covered by the thick fabric of her traveling habit. “A lot of touching. Because when I see you all I want to do is run my hands down every inch of your body.”

  Her mouth suddenly felt quite dry indeed, but he seemed to be waiting for her to say something. For her to grant him permission. Damn his chivalry, for now she had to think of a suitably hoydenish remark. “I would not be opposed to a lot of touching.”

  “Good.” Another nod, so quick this time she almost missed it, for then his lips were on hers, and the world was spinning.

  He kissed her deliberately, thoroughly, as if he’d made it his objective to tear out any thought in her mind that wasn’t related to him. His lips crushed hers, demanding her obedience, but she gave it all back to him in a kiss that was neither gentle nor refined but was in itself an unstoppable act. She’d lacked control over almost every aspect of her life in these six months, and she lacked control in this kiss.

  But his hands gripped her shoulders, anchored her, and suddenly the loss of control wasn’t a problem. She gave herself in to this, into the unruliness, swaying as the carriage moved.

  She darted her tongue out, tasting the smooth plane of his lips. He opened to her, his own tongue thrusting forward to toy with hers. They tangled like this, an intricate dance she did not know the steps to beforehand, yet seemed to follow intrinsically. And through it all, the heat in her body rose, rose, rose in the tips of her breasts, in that private juncture between her thighs, but it was a welcome, wonderful warmth that made her feel safe. She was not alone. She had him.

  He drew back from her, kissing her neck. His tongue dipped into the hollow of her ear, then behind her lobe. Tingles shot through her, first in her hands, then traveling through the rest of her body as he nipped at the bottom of her ear. She had never imagined such pleasure could be found in this. He kept at her, alternating between licking and nibbling, until she was panting with desire. Her head lolled back against him, exposing more of her neck.

  “God, you are so beautiful,” he murmured against her throat, his nimble fingers undoing the top buttons of her dress to give him more access. Her collarbone was now bared to him, and he ran his fingers swiftly against her skin, leaving trails of fire wherever his fingers lingered.

  “What next?” She barely managed the question before his hand slid forward, cupping her bosom.

  Once, she’d seen him when he was bare-knuckle boxing with Lord Haley, and she’d watched as his fists inflicted pain. But now all they did was cause her bliss. He kneaded her breast, holding her and then caressing her in turn. Her nipples hardened to peaks under his touch, straining against the confines of her stays. The traveling habit that had seemed so loose this morning now felt too tight and far too hot. He switched to her other breast, giving her the same attention until her belly tightened with want and she thought of nothing else but his hands gripping her. His tanned skin against her traveling habit. The scars on the backs of his hand from too many fights.

  “More,” she whispered, though she could not breathe without the smell of him, the feel of his presence. Still it was not enough.

  “You are a
flippant minx.” She felt his grin against her neck, heard the approval in his voice, though she could not see his face. Climbing up on the bench next to her, he leaned her forward. His fingers made hasty work of her buttons, despite the rollicking of the carriage.

  She should have cared that her bosom was on display for him. She should have felt revealed. Yet when she glanced up at him, the heady desire streaked across his face made her feel...empowered. Delightfully wanton. She leaned back against him, helping him to shove the fabric down to her waist.

  Somehow, he managed to turn her around, so that she now faced him. It was the quickest of movements, his deft precision reminding her of how smooth he’d been executing his defense maneuvers. He was a man who could keep her safe at all costs, a man who knew exactly how to go after what he wanted.

  And what he wanted was her.

  She wouldn’t question it. Wouldn’t breathe a word of denial that she was too plain, too wallflower, too anything but interesting enough for his attentions. Today she would pretend she had the confidence of a woman who could catch his eye. Today she would pretend she deserved everything he’d done for her so far, because God she wanted to believe she did. He saw a better version of her, and she wanted to be that person.

  She wanted him.

  “You’re killing me, woman,” he ground out, at the sight of the pink ribbon tied underneath her breasts, in the same shade as her garters. Judging from his reaction, Vivian no longer considered extravagant undergarments as a needless expense.

  “It will be a wonderful death,” she found herself saying, as his fingers worked deftly at the knot.

  “If I can but die with you naked before me, I’ll reconsider my stance on living long.” He plucked at the last knot, unfastening her stays. She sat before him now with her chemise and her stays spread wide, her gown pooled around her waist. He helped her remove the stays, tossing them aside.