by Marie Force
“Have no fear, my dear lady. Your shrewishness has caused my ‘thing’ to wither and die, so if you’d like me to warm you, I can assure you that you’re entirely safe from my fornicating tendencies.”
Shrewishness? “I’ll rely on the blankets to warm me, thank you very much.”
“Mmm.”
“Are you sleeping? You can’t sleep here!”
“Hmm.” He kept his eyes closed as his breathing settled into a steady cadence. “Since you’re wide awake, why don’t you tell me what brings you here and from whence you came—and remember, you promised me the truth.”
Since he didn’t seem compelled to remove himself from the bed, Catherine sat up and reached for the mountain of pillows behind them to form a line down the center. Satisfied that she had at least a small barrier in place to protect herself from the big, rutting beast, she settled back against her own pillows.
“Feel better now?” he asked in that sultry, sleepy tone that sent shock waves rippling through her. And what, exactly, was that tingle between her legs? She didn’t dare ask him for fear of what outrageous thing he might utter in response.
“I’m quite comfortable, thank you.” His hand snaked beneath the pillows to rest on her belly. Shocked to her core by his audaciousness, Catherine didn’t dare move as the heat from his hand branded her sensitive skin. “Whatever are you doing now?”
“Testing your fence.”
“Apparently, I’m unable to keep the riffraff out.” She pushed his hand away. “If you won’t remove yourself, at least remain on your own side.” But even as she pushed him away, she wanted him closer. As unnerved as she was to awaken inside the home of a duke, being in a bed with his estate manager was, without a doubt, the most exciting thing to ever happen to her. And it wasn’t like it would matter if he ruined her. He was a fine alternative to the viscount her father had chosen for her. Speaking of rutting beasts. Catherine trembled just thinking of him.
“Are you chilled again?”
“ No.”
“You aren’t afraid, are you? Of me? I mean you no harm.”
Somehow, she knew that was true. She knew she could trust him—the same way she’d known instantaneously that she could not trust the viscount. Her instincts certainly hadn’t failed her there. “I know that.”
“Whatever you’re running from, whatever has brought you here, I can help.”
Catherine turned to find him lying on one of the pillows she’d put between them to protect her. A fine bit of good that had done her. “I still don’t understand why you want to.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He looped a lock of her blond hair around his finger. “You’re a beautiful young lady, obviously far from home, clearly afraid of something, in need of assistance. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t offer all the help I have at my disposal?”
“What kind of gentleman finds his way into a young lady’s bed without the benefit of marriage?”
“One who has been very lonely for the companionship of a lady who not only stirs his desires but also fires his mind with witty conversation.”
Catherine stared at him, mouth agape. “I stir your desires?” she somehow squeaked out.
“I believe I’ve already provided ample proof of that.”
Catherine had hoped to forget about touching his manhood, but of course he wouldn’t let her. “I’ve never stirred anyone’s desires before.” Except for those of the viscount, of course, and that was hardly the same. The passing breeze stirred his foul desires. And poor Ian hadn’t lived long enough to share any kind of desire with her.
“What’s wrong with the gentlemen where you live? Are they without sense?”
Intrigued by his obvious interest in her, Catherine turned on her side to face him. “They’re all mad about my sister, Madeleine. She’s the fetching one. They called her the Belle of the Season.”
He continued to play with the lock of her hair. “She isn’t the fetching one.”
“How can you say that? You’ve never even seen her!”
“I don’t need to see her. The fetching one is here. With me.”
Heat crept from her breasts to her neck and then her face. No one had ever said such things to her, and after years of being pushed aside by suitors anxious to get closer to her dazzling sister, she rather liked it.
He brushed his fingers lightly over her face. “Have you ever been kissed, Catherine?”
Rendered speechless by the question, she shook her head.
His fingers moved from her cheek to her jaw, sending shivers of sensation straight to that spot she’d recently discovered between her legs.
“Would you like to be?” he asked.
“I believe I would.”
For the longest time, he didn’t move. While she waited to see what he would do, Catherine’s heart beat faster, her mouth went dry and the trembling began anew. Just when she thought she’d go mad if he didn’t do something, he raised himself up, removed the pillow between them, and cradled her face with his large hand. He leaned in slowly and finally touched his lips to hers.
Catherine couldn’t help but feel let down. That was it? That was kissing? But then he came back for a second taste, this time sliding his lips back and forth over hers, once again setting off that maddening tingling sensation that converged into a throb between her legs. What was that? It made her feel itchy and unsatisfied. She tightened the muscles in her thighs, hoping to make it stop, but that only seemed to intensify the nameless urges.
“What do you think so far?” he asked, his face a mere inch above hers.
Finding it hard to breathe, let alone speak, Catherine looked up to find him gazing down at her. “It’s pleasant.”
“Pleasant,” he said with a chuckle. “In that case I must be doing something wrong.”
“It’s not supposed to be pleasant?”
He feathered kisses over her face and jaw, making her breathless. “Pleasant,” he said between kisses, “is how you describe a kiss on the cheek from your father or brother or perhaps a favored uncle. A lover’s kiss should be much, much better than ‘pleasant.’ Shall we try again?”
Before she could process the word “lover,” he dipped his head and captured her mouth in an all-consuming kiss. His tongue pressing against her lips shocked her profoundly. She’d had no idea that was part of kissing and wasn’t sure if she should pull him closer or push him away.
“Open for me,” he whispered as his tongue teased her bottom lip. “Open your mouth.”
Still too shocked to speak, Catherine attempted to do as he’d requested.
He shifted so he was pressed even tighter against her. “More.”
Moaning, Catherine opened her mouth. As his tongue rubbed against hers, the tingling between her legs became a burning need for something else. She had no idea what.
“Touch me, Catherine,” he said between kisses.
Tentatively, she put her arms around him and sank the fingers of her left hand into his silky dark hair.
This time, he moaned. “God, you taste so sweet.” His kisses became more carnal as she responded in kind.
Catherine couldn’t keep up with the feelings and needs spiraling through her. How was it possible that a man whom she’d never seen before today had her pinned to a bed and clutching his hair while he kissed her madly? The thought brought her back to reality, and she abruptly turned away from Jack’s passionate kisses.
Breathing heavily, he pressed his lips to her neck. “I’m sorry if I got carried away. I’ve never kissed anyone quite so sweet.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
“It’s the truth, Catherine. Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I’ll think of nothing else until I can have another.”
“Nothing at all?” she asked with a coy smile she wouldn’t have thought herself capable of before now, before him.
He raised his head so she could see his face when he said, “Nothing.”
Overwhelmed by all she saw on his face, she lowered her eyes.
“I should hate to distract you so thoroughly.”
“I believe I shall enjoy being thoroughly distracted by you.”
Chapter Four
Derek told himself it wasn’t really a lie. He’d been drawn to her from the first instant her mane of blond curls tumbled from the ridiculous cap she’d worn to dig in the grove. And now that he’d had the exquisite pleasure of her kisses, he had no doubt the ruse was essential to getting another taste.
If he told her the truth, that he was the Duke of Westwood, she’d be gone long before he ever got a chance to explore the attraction simmering between them. For once in his life, he had the opportunity to be a regular man and not a duke with more land and money and privilege than most people knew in a lifetime. Nothing could keep him from pursuing the opportunity that had literally landed in his arms when she fainted dead away the day before. Maybe he’d come to discover that she actually liked him, Derek (or rather Jack), and not the damned Duke of Westwood, and maybe, just maybe he’d found the answer to his deadline problem.
That was why he’d assembled the household staff at dawn’s first light. Glancing to the back row of gathered servants, he spotted Nathan from the stables, who’d been summoned when he had failed to appear. Satisfied that everyone was there, Derek nodded in greeting. “Thank you all for getting up early. Our guest is resting comfortably, and I believe her fever has broken.”
“That’s a great relief,” Mrs. Langingham declared.
“Indeed,” Derek concurred. Now for the sticky part. “Lady Catherine is going to remain a guest for the immediate future. Mrs. Langingham, I’d like you to open the dowager duchess’s home and see to its cleaning.”
“But we could keep her plenty comfortable here.”
“For a number of reasons, I believe she’d prefer to be elsewhere.” He took a deep breath before he continued. “She believes I’m Jack Bancroft, the duke’s estate manager.”
Mrs. Langingham gasped. “But Your Grace—”
Derek set his jaw and pressed on. “No one is to refer to me by my title until further notice. I’m Mr. Bancroft or sir. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Your . . . sir,” Rutledge said.
The others murmured their acquiescence, but Derek watched the shock register on their faces.
Mrs. Langingham trained a steely stare on Derek, letting him know he’d answer to her the moment they were alone. He expected nothing less.
“And I, sir?” a male voice intoned from the far right. “What’s to become of me in light of your, ah, situation?”
Derek turned to face off with his estate manager. “My apologies, Mr. Bancroft, for absconding with your name.”
Jack smiled broadly. “No harm, Your Grace, er, sir. I’m flattered.”
“I believe this would be an excellent time for you to visit your mother in Kent. Do you agree?”
“I’ll be off by sunset,” Jack said with another smile.
“With my most humble appreciation.” Derek cleared his throat. “As far as our guest is concerned, the duke has gone abroad to America for the summer, and I am in charge in his absence. Are there any questions?”
When he was met with silence, Derek dismissed them to their duties with his thanks. He had no doubt he’d be the topic of their scandalized whispers below stairs as they went about their work.
As expected, Mrs. Langingham followed him into his study and closed the door. Hands on broad hips, she stared him down with sharp eyes that missed nothing. “What are you about, Derek Eagan?”
He lowered himself to the chair behind the desk. “An opportunity has presented itself. I intend to take full advantage.”
“Explain yourself.”
“I’ve been a duke since I was six years old. I’ve never had the chance to be anyone else. I find myself intrigued by our guest, and I’d like to get to know her better. If she knew I was the duke, that wouldn’t happen.”
“What has she against the aristocracy?”
“That’s one of many things I hope to discover.”
Mrs. Langingham’s eyes narrowed with displeasure. “You play a dangerous game, young man.”
“It’s no game. I assure you that once her business here is finished, she’ll return home, and I’ll resume my regular, mundane life with her none the wiser that she deigned to lower herself to befriend a duke.”
“And what exactly is her business here?”
“She is looking for something on the southeastern quarter. I don’t know much more than that. Yet.”
“It’s not like you to be dishonest in your dealings. That’s not how you were raised.”
“You’re quite right, madam,” Derek said, making some effort to control a flash of temper. “I was raised to be exactly who and what I am, but for once, just once, I am going to take something for myself. For however long it lasts, I am Jack Bancroft. Now, will you see to the arrangements for opening my grandmother’s home?”
She stood before his large desk studying him shrewdly. “As you wish, Mr. Bancroft.”
“And when my uncle returns, you’ll inform him?”
“That you can handle on your own, sir.”
Apparently, even the most faithful of servants had her limits. “Very well.”
“Will Lady Catherine require a lady’s maid or cook in her new home?”
“I don’t believe so, but I’ll inquire and let you know.” Derek suspected she’d rather fend for herself than be fawned over by servants.
Mrs. Langingham headed for the door but stopped just short of it and turned back to him. “I urge you to be cautious with your affections, Mr. Bancroft. As someone who has watched over and cared for you all your life, I’d despair to see you harmed in any way by an untruth that went too far.”
“While I appreciate your concern, I have no intention of being harmed.”
He had no doubt she wished to say more but wisely took her leave and left him to wonder if a couple of torrid kisses really had the power to send him over the bend into madness.
* * *
Catherine woke alone in the big bed and reached out to the other side while trying to decide if she’d dreamt the whole thing. Finding herself alone, she brought fingers to lips that were swollen and sensitive. Not a dream. She had kissed Jack Bancroft like a brazen hussy and lain abed with him all night long. He’d bathed her face with a cool cloth when her fever had returned in the predawn hours and held her through the chills. While she knew she should be scandalized by the liberties she’d allowed him, rather she was far more concerned about where he’d gone and when he might return.
Glancing at the fireplace, she noticed he had stoked the flames to ensure she’d wake to a heated room. The gesture warmed her inside as well as out. Her body ached as she eased herself up and reached for the dressing gown the housekeeper had left at the foot of the bed. When the floor moved beneath her feet, she quickly lowered herself to the edge of the bed to get her bearings.
That’s where Jack found her when he knocked and entered with a breakfast tray. As memories of their passionate kisses the night before swirled through her mind, Catherine found it difficult to look at him. It was just as well that the tantalizing aromas coming from the tray caused her empty stomach to growl, which made them laugh, cutting the tension in the room.
“Feeling better?” he asked with a kind smile that made his sun-browned face crinkle attractively in the corners of his eyes. His was a face that had smiled often and laughed freely—discoveries that comforted her.
“Yes, a little.”
“I didn’t know what you like, so I asked our cook, Amelia, to make you some of everything.” He put the tray down and removed covers from dishes to reveal eggs, bacon, toast, jam and pastries—a veritable feast for someone who hadn’t eaten regularly in weeks.
Her stomach growled loudly again.
He laughed and held out a chair for her. “Well, come on.”
Not trusting her own legs, Catherine got up slowly only to gasp when the room again shifted under her.
<
br /> Jack rushed to her side and put his strong arms around her.
She sagged into him, closing her eyes against the sickening swirl of the room.
“I’m afraid the fever has weakened me.” Before she could recover herself, he swept her into his arms and settled her back into bed. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I need to get up.”
“I’ll bring breakfast to you.”
“But I need . . .” Heat scorched her face. One didn’t discuss such things with a man.
He turned to her. “What do you need? I’ll get you anything you desire.”
“I, um, desire the chamber pot.”
Jack tossed his head back and laughed. “I can do you one better. The duke had indoor plumbing installed in all his homes several years ago.” He carried her to the en suite water closet.
“Do you mind?” She gestured to the door.
“Oh. Right. I’ll wait for you outside.”
“Thank you.” Even though she was still dizzy, she attended to her personal needs and then used a silver-plated brush she found on a chest of drawers in an attempt to tame her unruly hair before she called Jack to come back in.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concern etched into his stunning face.
Catherine had never seen a more attractive man in her life. He was so beautiful that he apparently rendered her mute.
He moved to her side. “Catherine?”
“I’m fine. Just hungry.”
“Do you feel up to sitting at the table?”
“Of course.”
Jack held her chair and helped her get settled. “May I serve you?”
Her heart fluttered with awareness of him—his large, muscular frame, the clean scent of leather and citrus that clung to his skin, the dusting of dark hair on the back of his hand as he reached for the first covered dish. “Please,” she managed to say. It was all she could do not to devour everything he put on her plate. Instead, she waited until he was seated across from her before she began to eat slowly. “Have you broken your fast?” she asked when she noticed he hadn’t filled his own plate.
“Hours ago.” He poured something with a robust scent into a delicate china cup. “I’m used to waking early.”
