A Duke’s Distraction: Devilish Lords

by Dallen, Maggie

  Drat, one kiss and she couldn’t remember that he was still a duke, and her host, and practically another brother. Wasn’t that what she’d told him?

  Mary’s laugh surprised her. “Oh, I see now. You are teasing, are you not? Pretending that you were unaware of the duke’s romantic interest, you sly girl.” Mary gave her a shake of her head and a knowing look.

  Too knowing since it was clear she knew far more than Georgie about what on earth was going on. Georgie took a sip of her own tea, stalling for time as she forced her brain into action. She needed more information, clearly, and Mary seemed to have it.

  Of course she did. The incurable gossip made it her life’s mission to know everything about everyone. At this particular moment, perhaps she ought to be grateful. Setting her cup back down she feigned a calm she did not feel. “I’m merely surprised that you know,” she said with her sweetest, most innocent smile.

  Mary hated that smile. Her own withered and died, replaced by an irritated frown.

  Good. Needling her friend would be the safest way to gather information without revealing her own ignorance.

  “Well, it isn’t exactly a secret, now is it?” Mary returned, her tone holding more than a hint of challenge.

  Georgie’s knowing smile threatened to falter. What did that mean? Had she assumed wrong? Did everyone know that the duke had kissed her?

  Mary let out an exasperated sigh that sounded remarkably like a horse’s snort. “The man outright said as much to Lord Malcolm, a man he hardly knows,” she said with a sniff. “It’s hardly a secret.”

  Georgie had no idea what her face was doing now. She had a sneaking suspicion her smile had turned to a sneer as she tried to understand her friend. “He told Lord Malcolm?”

  Mary’s eyes instantly lit with triumph that she once again had the upper hand in this conversation. Blast that Mary. “Didn’t you know? Why, Lord Malcolm told me straight away.” Her eyes filled with mirth. “The poor man was shocked, considering the way you’d brazenly flirted with him on the dance floor.”

  “He said…he said…he what?” Georgie’s voice was a squeak. “I flirted with him?” The nerve of that man.

  “That I saw with my own eyes,” Mary said.

  Georgie narrowed her eyes. Oh you little…

  She gave herself a shake. This was not the time to bicker with Mary. There were far more serious issues to contend with. Like what, exactly, had Roxborough said to Lord Malcolm…and why had he said it?

  She found herself staring at Mary, unseeing and not speaking as she tried to make head from tail of this new conundrum. Either way she looked at it, it did not make sense.

  Rather than distract her from the miserable, ceaseless questions that had been hounding her since the kiss, Mary’s words only added more fodder to the questions. Georgie hadn’t known it was possible to be any more confused than she’d already been. She couldn’t take it any longer.

  She stood so quickly, Mary looked up at her with wide eyes. “Is everything all right?”

  No. It most certainly was not. But Georgie had wasted enough time sitting and stewing and wondering what on earth was going on in the unfathomable mind of the great and surly Roxborough.

  It came to an end now. Forcing a tight smile for Mary’s benefit, she made a hasty excuse. If you will excuse me…developed a headache… She wasn’t entirely certain herself what she had just said, but it seemed to do the trick.

  Mary was leaving, albeit not without a handful of questioning looks and indignant huffs as she walked away from her unfinished tea and untouched scone.

  The moment Georgie heard the door close behind her friend, she whirled about and headed down the hall to find Roxborough.

  She still had a million questions. It was about time she got some answers.

  Chapter Eight

  Silence once again reined at Roxborough Manor, but it did not bring the sweet salvation Roxborough had hoped. Rhys drummed his fingers on the desk as he peered at the document his estate manager in Devonshire had sent over. He peered, but he did not read. It was time to acknowledge that no amount of staring with narrowed eyes would help to impart the words into his brain.

  But this blasted silence. It set him on edge.

  Granted he’d wished for normalcy ever since his visitors arrived, and silence was normal. Ever since the ball there had been a singular lack of laughter in this home. A noted absence of one particularly spirited voice.

  No, this silence was not a balm. It was an accusation. This quiet was fraught with unspoken words—namely, an apology. His apology.

  Her silence might as well have been a condemnation. What a bloody fool he’d been. He’d had no right to kiss the girl.

  But he didn’t regret it.

  Damn. That right there was the crux of his dilemma, the reason for his part in this silent exchange. He ought to tell her it was a mistake, because it had been a mistake. One that he still could not explain, even to himself. He’d spent hours reliving those few seconds but he was no closer to understanding what had come over him. He’d been angry, outraged even, at her mention of his family’s scandal. It was a topic everyone was aware of but no one spoke about.

  Leave it to Miss Cleveland to break that unspoken rule.

  He tried to muster up some of that original anger at the thought of her impudence, but he couldn’t quite manage it. His mind kept getting stuck on what had happened after she’d spoken out of turn.

  He could not stop reliving that kiss.

  Good God, it had been glorious. He wasn’t some young buck, wet behind the ears. He’d been with his fair share of women, but nothing he’d experienced had come close to that one too-quick encounter.

  Of course, it had been a mistake. But every time he tried to formulate words to that effect, he found himself incapable.

  He realized with a start that he was no longer even pretending to read the document before him. His gaze was fixed on the door to his study as some errant portion of his mind pondered where Georgie might be at this particular moment. Was she still in her bedroom or was she out with her sister somewhere?

  Wherever she was, was she thinking about that kiss too? Had it affected her as much as it had him?

  His guess was yes, judging by her dazed and delirious expression when he’d finally and reluctantly let her go. Oh hell, he truly did owe the girl an apology. He might not regret that moment—in fact, he had a feeling he’d remember it always, and not without a good deal of fondness. But despite her excessively outgoing behavior and her devilish wit, the girl was an innocent. He didn’t doubt her sincerity with regard to Lord Malcolm. Her horror at the idea was entirely genuine, as was her anger at his assumptions.

  He shifted in his seat, still uneasy about that. Like Lord Malcolm, he had made faulty assumptions about her character. He’d assumed the worst, and he’d been wrong. He owed Georgie an apology and it was about time he overcame this ridiculous reluctance that made him want to seek her out while also oddly fearful of running into her.

  Perhaps because he wasn’t quite certain what he would do if left alone with her again. Lord knew he hadn’t intended to kiss her the first time, and now that he knew just how soft and luscious she felt in his arms, how sweetly pliable and how temptingly—

  Hargrove’s sudden entry gave him a start. “Miss Cleveland, Your Gr—”

  “Pardon me, Your Grace.” Georgie swept into the room, her voice quick and clipped. Her lips pinched as she came to a stop directly in front of his desk.

  Hargrove was still trying to announce Georgie’s entrance, stammering the rest of his words with a quizzical note, clearly uncertain how to proceed in such circumstances.

  Rhys turned to him. “Give us a moment, please, Hargrove.”

  His butler slipped out, leaving them alone.

  All of Rhys’s good intentions left the study along with the butler. He couldn’t utter an apology, not when all he wanted was to do it again. Lord, she was beautiful. A breath of fresh air in his stuffy study, wit
h her bright blonde hair and her overall hum of energy.

  She was a bolt of lightning. There was that analogy again. Bloody hell, he was no poet. Best to leave that up to Lord Malcolm.

  She stood there in silence for a moment. Blasted silence, so loud and accusatory. He stood slowly, while trying to gather his wits.

  And words. Words would be useful at a time like this.

  It seemed there was no need. Despite her barely concealed tension, despite the fact that she fairly hummed with it, she gave him a polite smile. “Pardon the interruption, Your Grace.” Her voice sounded breathless. Oh hell, he hoped she wasn’t nervous to be in the same room with him.

  “That’s quite all right, I was just—”

  “But you see, the most interesting news has come to my attention.” She’d continued as if he’d never spoken.

  “Oh yes?”

  “Yes.” Her green eyes met his and didn’t look away. “The most astonishing news has just reached me and I was hoping you might shed some light.” She took a step toward him, then another. He had the unsettling feeling he was being stalked by a panther.

  “I would certainly be happy to try.”

  “You see, it’s recently come to my attention that you intend to court me.”

  He stumbled back a step. “Uh…er…” Yes, those were sounds coming out of his mouth, but no one would label them words, as such. He fought for some semblance of ducal grace and refinement, for the kind of civil distance he’d been raised to embrace. “I, er—”

  Bloody hell. She was even more of an innocent than he’d thought. One kiss and she thought they were beholden in some way? Lord, he should have explained earlier that it had been a mistake, whether he meant it or not.

  “You see, Miss Mary Beaucraft was just here to see me,” she continued, her hands clasped in front of her as she continued to smile. She looked as though they were discussing the weather. Only that coiled tension he felt in her belied her casual tone.

  He, on the other hand, scrambled to keep up with the conversation. There was nothing calm about his demeanor—he couldn’t even feign calm. Coming around the desk, he tried to focus on what she was saying but his mind kept getting caught on the one phrase. You intend to court me.

  Visions of what it might mean to court Georgie Cleveland made it impossible to think beyond that phrase.

  “She related the most astonishing news,” Georgie continued.

  “Oh yes?” He was temporarily distracted by the sight of her lips. Now that he knew exactly how they felt and tasted, the urge to try it again was far more potent than he’d like. That kiss—well, it wasn’t supposed to happen at all—but since it had, it ought to have satiated that curiosity.

  His body had not gotten the message.

  And Georgie was still talking. “It seems there’s a rumor going about in society that you intend to court me.”

  “Er—” A rumor? What exactly was she on about?

  Her lips pinched together for a moment as he came to a stop just before her. Bloody hell but she had beautiful lips.

  “They are saying that you informed Lord Malcolm that you had intentions toward me.”

  Her words registered this time, and they struck with all the force of a thunderbolt. Oh bloody hell. If he got his hands on that damned, no good—

  “Would you care to explain, Your Grace?” Georgie tilted her head to the side as she arched one brow in a politely curious look that fooled no one.

  She was angry. Irate, even. And he couldn’t say that he blamed her. But hell and damnation, he’d said that to help save her honor. She might not be demure, and Lord knew she lacked the ability to be quiet and unassuming, but that didn’t give Lord Malcolm the right to speak of her as though she were a silly simpleton, or worse—a loose woman.

  “Yes, about that,” he started slowly.

  Her calm pretense dropped so swiftly it came as a shock to see her fierce, undiluted anger. “What on earth did you say?” she demanded, taking a step toward him so he had a better glimpse of the fire in those expressive, glittering eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Didn’t mean to imply?” She repeated his words, making them sound even more ridiculous than they were.

  “Now just wait a moment,” he started. “I didn’t exactly say—”

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “What exactly did you say?”

  He straightened to his full height, puffing out his chest as his own levels of irritation rose to match hers. For the second time in his life, he could feel his tight grip on reason and rationality slipping out of his reach. “There was a misunderstanding.”

  “I’ll say there was,” she said. Her voice was bitter and angry and—

  And she was gorgeous when she was livid. She was also irritating beyond measure. “I don’t appreciate your tone.” Bloody hell, was that him speaking or his father?

  She took another step closer. This did not help matters. It only made his tentative grasp on calm become shaky. Control threatened to crumble altogether as her feminine, floral scent floated around him and those eyes drew him further into her spell.

  “What did you say?” she demanded again. “And why?”

  He opened his mouth to speak but stopped short. He’d forgotten what he was going to say. This woman surely practiced some sort of witchcraft. There was no other explanation for the way she muddled his senses and singlehandedly destroyed his will power. Even now it was with the greatest of effort that he kept his hands at his sides rather than reach for her as he longed to do.

  She stood too close. He could smell her scent and it threatened his resolve even further.

  She widened her eyes until they were impossibly big, pleading almost. “Why did you do it, Roxborough?” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and he couldn’t look away. “Were you trying to humiliate me?”

  He started. Those words finally jarred his mind back into action. “No, of course not, why would you—”

  “Then why would you do such a thing?” she interrupted. “We both know you would never court me.”

  “How do you know that?” He was more shocked by his words than she was, he could guarantee it. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. But her words needled him, so irritatingly certain that she knew him and his desires.

  She made a scoffing sound in the back of her throat that was so very unladylike, it proved her next point. “Because I am hardly duchess material.”

  No truer words had ever been spoken.

  She arched her brows. “I’m certainly not on that precious list of yours, now am I?”

  The mention of his list made his lips turn down in a disapproving frown. “You are speaking out of turn.”

  He saw a flicker of amusement cross her features, there and gone so quickly a less observant man might have missed it. But Rhys? Well, it seemed his lot in life was to be keenly aware of this woman before him.

  “I suppose I am speaking out of turn,” she said, lowering her voice just enough to hint at his disapproving tone.

  Bloody hell, this little minx was mocking him.

  Again.

  She cocked her head to the side, mischief turning her eyes a magical shade of green. “But then again, kissing me was out of turn as well, don’t you think?”

  He stiffened. But this time it wasn’t outrage that had him clenching his fists, but a fierce, sweeping desire. The memory of that kiss was never far from his thoughts, but hearing her speak of it brought back a visceral memory that nearly made him forget where he was and who he was. He was dangerously close to reaching out for her.

  Again.

  “Is that why you kissed me?” Suspicion clouded her gaze and he was horrified to see that impish mischief replaced by something like…hurt.

  Damn. His chest tightened at the sight of it.

  “What are you on about?” His voice came out too gruff, like he hadn’t spoken in decades.

  She took a slight step back, not far enough that his senses were safe from her bewi
tchery, but far enough.

  Too far.

  He felt her absence like he’d feel his own limb pulling away from him.

  “Did you kiss me to prove some point?” she asked. “Did you wish to teach me a lesson, perhaps, on speaking out of turn?” She took another step back and her eyes widened as she was clearly struck by another erroneous thought. “Or did you take Lord Malcolm at his word? Did you believe him that I was—that I would—”

  She didn’t have to finish that thought for the flush of color in her cheeks told him exactly what she meant. Could she honestly believe that he’d kissed her because he’d thought her to be morally loose? Did she truly believe he would take advantage of her like that? Of any woman like that?

  Anger rippled through him fierce and hot, the feeling so rare and utterly dangerous. His control wavered under a wave of outrage. He knew what she meant and it was a blow to his honor as much as hers. “I am not in the habit of seducing innocents, Miss Cleveland.” His voice was more growling than speaking, but it took all of his power not to shout. He leaned forward slightly and watched as her eyes widened in alarm.

  “Then why?” she asked, her tone quieter and lacking in anger, but the raw emotions in her voice made his own anger die a quick death. But even without the anger, his emotions were still out of his control. His mind was clouded by desire and…something else. Something he could not name. It made his senses heightened and his mind incapable of lies or diplomacy. It stripped him bare and left him feeling like some sort of primitive.

  “Why?” she asked again, this time close to pleading.

  Oh hell. “Because I wanted to.”

  The silence between them was thick, heavy with emotion. The only sound was their labored breathing as they stared at one another. Her eyes flashed with emotions, strong but indecipherable.

  He battled the urge to kiss her again. Her lips trembled. Did she feel it too? Did she want it too?

  Time seemed to stand still as they squared off. Facing each other like opponents. Like they were about to spar…or make love. His tight hold on control wavered. He needed to kiss her like he needed air to breathe.