Daring to Love the Duke's Heir

by Janice Preston

  She didn’t understand. How could she possibly understand? This was his destiny. His duty. He was the Duke’s heir.

  ‘But...it is madness! The lady you choose... Dominic...you will be bound to her. For ever. Surely you want to be happy?’

  ‘That is not how our world works. Many people marry for convenience.’

  ‘Olivia and Hugo did not. Nor did the rest of your family, from what Olivia has said.’

  A suspicion seized him. ‘Did my sister put you up to this?’

  ‘No! No, of course not. Although I do know she is worried about you, too.’

  ‘No one needs to worry about me. My life is under control. My control.’

  Then why haven’t you decided yet? Why do you still hunger after what you cannot have?

  He thrust down that inner voice.

  ‘And in answer to your question, the rest of my family are not in my shoes. I am my father’s heir. He married my mother for the future of the Dukedom, to keep it secure for the generations to come. It is my destiny...my duty...to do the same. Happiness does not come into it.’

  ‘But that is so sad. It sounds a lonely life to me.’

  He shrugged and could see his indifference infuriated her. But it really did not matter to him—any one of those ladies on his list would do.

  ‘What do you actually want from this marriage, Dominic?’

  ‘Me?’ He paused, pondering her question. ‘I want to do my duty. To do what is right for the title and for my father. And I am ready to start a family. I want my children to grow up close in age to Olivia’s twins and to my father’s second family and my little cousins.’

  ‘So you will choose duty over happiness?’

  ‘There is no reason for me to be unhappy once I make my choice.’

  ‘Dominic...’ his name on her lips and the hand she rested on his chest as she gazed up at him sent his silly heart tumbling ‘...please...at least consider other young ladies in addition to your shortlist.’

  ‘Like you?’ His voice rasped. The unfairness of that question shocked him, but that did not stop the rest of it from spilling out. ‘Or maybe you still harbour hopes for your sisters?’

  She snatched her hand away and stepped back, hurt in her eyes. ‘That is not what I thought for one moment. I know only too well that neither I nor my sisters match your requirements. Dominic... I am speaking to you now as your friend. At least, I hope we are friends?’

  He raised his hand to the back of his neck and rubbed. He craved more than friendship with this woman. But it could never be. And he should have known better than to accuse her of self-interest. He had seen her passion for protecting those she cared about, from her brother to a stray dog. And she cared for him, too. She felt that same connection between them that he was trying so hard to resist.

  Of course she would want to protect him from making what she saw as a mistake. He should expect no less.

  ‘I apologise. That accusation was unjustified. Yes, we are friends and I value it.’

  ‘Then, as your friend, please think again about your choice of bride. I don’t believe any of those on your shortlist will make you a comfortable wife.’

  ‘Comfortable?’ He huffed a laugh. ‘I do not seek a comfortable wife, Liberty. I seek a suitable wife. There is a world of difference.’

  ‘And there is a world of difference between a suitable match on paper and the reality of marriage to that same person.’ She laid her hand upon his sleeve. ‘Please reconsider. There is nowhere as lonely as a poor marriage. Make certain you have at least something in common with your bride.’

  ‘We’ll have the most important thing in common,’ he growled. ‘Breeding.’

  She shook her head and sighed. ‘I can say no more.’

  A door opened at the far end of the hall and Hugo and Olivia emerged.

  ‘Do you go to the Attwoods’ ball tonight?’ Liberty asked Dominic as the others joined them.

  * * *

  The evening was mild for April. Afterwards, Liberty used that as an excuse for what happened at the Attwoods’ ball. If it had been cool, she would never have ventured alone on to the terrace instead of going to supper. There were a few others out there, taking the air, but she did not approach them, preferring her own company. One by one, they returned inside, but she had no wish to indulge in more polite conversation. She sighed, propped her hands on the stone balustrade and gazed up at the stars. Somewhere, up there, Bernard was watching her, wishing her well. She was sure of it even though, with every year that passed, his memory faded—his features more indistinct; his voice more silent; his touch... She shivered, pushing that memory away. But that old guilt persisted. That nagging feeling she might have saved them, if only she had done more.

  His scent alerted her to his presence and she turned. His features were in shadow as he stood close. Almost too close.

  ‘I neglected to ask you earlier. How is that dog?’

  ‘Romeo? He is—’

  She fell silent as he erupted into laughter. ‘Romeo? You could not give that mongrel a more inappropriate name if you tried!’

  Still shaky after her memories of Bernard, she shoved at his chest. ‘Do not mock me!’ She pushed past him, heading for the French window and the ballroom beyond. As she reached for the handle, Dominic grabbed her wrist, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Don’t go!’

  She would not look at him. ‘Why not?’

  He tugged her to the side, away from the window and out of the patch of light that spilled on to the terrace and into the shadow of the house wall. He turned her to face him and, his free hand on her shoulder, he backed her against the wall. The bricks were hard and cool through the silk of her gown, but she was anything but cold as her stomach flipped and heat spiralled through her. He towered above her—dark, strong, masculine—the trace of his spicy cologne mingling with the scent of wine and brandy on his breath. He moved closer, his body against hers, all that hard, solid muscle...all that strength...all that power... Her breathing hitched and her lips parted as she desperately sucked in a new breath.

  His head bent towards her as his hands slid lower to settle on her hips. It was too dark to decipher his expression, but his tattered breathing punctuated the silence of the night air and his thudding heartbeat vibrated through her.

  ‘Liberty...’

  Warm breath feathered across her face and the ache in his voice tore into her heart. She reached up to touch his mouth...those fascinating, sensual lips she had fantasised about kissing. Her forefinger traced his bottom lip and she craved...oh, she craved... Her fingers splayed and her hand slipped up and around his cheek, learning the shape of that sculpted cheekbone, tracing the curve of his ear and pushing into the thick softness of his midnight-dark hair.

  With a tortured groan, he slid his hands around her, hauling her away from the harsh unyielding bricks at her back, crushing her against his sculptured heat, his hands cupping her bottom, lifting. His lips captured hers, demanding as his tongue plunged into her mouth. Helpless to resist, she returned thrust for thrust, relishing every moment of that stormy kiss. Her arms wrapped around him, clinging, as that initial passionate desperation eased, as the movement of their lips slowed and gentled, as their murmurs of appreciation mingled in the night air...until the sound of the musicians resuming play in the ballroom ended their kiss.

  Dominic’s tight embrace eased, his hands gliding soothingly up her back as she regained her balance. He rested his forehead against hers, his chest heaving even as Liberty, too, struggled to catch her breath. Eventually, he raised his head and she caught the glitter of his silver-grey eyes as their gazes met. And held.

  Frustration tangled her stomach into knots. Nothing had changed. Nothing could change. Not unless Dominic changed and turned away from what he had grown up to believe was his duty. And, unless that miracle happened, Liberty could never be m
ore to him than...

  ‘Just friends?’

  ‘Friends.’ His eyes bored into hers, sending waves of longing crashing through her. ‘It is all we can ever be.’

  Regret coloured his tone, but also resolve. Could she accept his decision, even though it broke her heart?

  ‘I... I should not have kissed you.’ His fingers brushed her cheek. ‘It was self-indulgent and I am sorry.’

  ‘I am also at fault.’ The blame was equally theirs. They were both grown-ups. He had not forced her. ‘We shall forget it happened.’

  She gathered every vestige of strength she could find and stepped aside, away from his warmth and his strength. She turned from him and returned to the ballroom.

  She had survived worse, although it would be hell watching him with another woman. Especially when she fully believed he was heading towards disaster. Without volition, her eyes swept the ballroom until she had seen each one of his shortlist, but her worried gaze lingered on Lady Sybilla. Olivia believed she was now his preferred option—option! How cold that sounds—and of all of them, she was the one Liberty knew the least about. Oh, she knew the public guise, but of the woman beneath that ice-cool exterior she knew nothing. Did Dominic know any more than she did, or had he, too, only ever seen what the lady chose to reveal?

  There was little she could do other than hope he came to his senses in time, but if she wanted to protect herself...her heart...she should not risk being alone with him again.

  Heavens! The entire surface of her body heated at the memory of that kiss and her stomach swirled with unspent restless energy. How had she become entangled in the web of desire so quickly? So fiercely? And now, if she allowed herself to, she could easily succumb to misery, knowing there could be no happy ending. But she would not indulge herself. She had known him but a few weeks. Passion would fade. It couldn’t be anything more...meaningful.

  It couldn’t be love.

  Could it?

  With Bernard there had been a slow, sweet build to love and desire over the years they had known one another. There had never been that sudden violence of passion that had held her in its thrall on the terrace.

  It couldn’t be love.

  ‘Miss Lovejoy.’ Lord Silverdale, an attractive man in his middle thirties, bowed before her. ‘If you lack a partner, may I request the pleasure of this dance?’

  The distraction welcome, she accepted, smiling up at the Earl. As he led her into the set, she caught sight of Dominic, with Lady Sarah as his partner. Their gazes fused and a shiver chased across her skin, desire pulsing at her core. She tore her eyes from his and directed her attention to Lord Silverdale, pushing all thought of Dominic from her mind.

  * * *

  Afterwards, she stayed close to Olivia and Hugo when possible and occupied herself by watching Gideon as he danced attendance on Lady Emily Crighton, and her sisters, both happy, both contented, partnered by a succession of good-looking, handsome and eligible bachelors.

  ‘You are not still worried about your brother, are you?’ Olivia asked later.

  ‘No. He and I...we had a talk—’ she would never admit to Olivia that Gideon had found her weeping ‘—and he has allayed my fears.’

  Olivia’s silvery gaze swept the room, settling on Dominic and Alex, deep in conversation. ‘I wish I could say the same about my brothers. I fear Alex will never change and Dominic is still determined to select his bride before Father arrives.’

  Liberty did not want to talk, or even think, about Dominic and his future wife and she soon took her leave of Olivia and wandered around the perimeter of the ballroom, trying not to catch any gentleman’s eye. She really was not in the mood for dancing. She spied an empty chair in an alcove and settled gratefully into in, partially shielded from the floor by a floral arrangement on a pedestal. She relaxed, closing her eyes, trying to dismiss that kiss from her mind and her heart and yet reliving every second of it, and relishing it. Her heart sang—he had kissed her as though he meant it—and it ached, because that kiss could never lead to what she now admitted she wanted above all else.

  Him. And her. Together.

  ‘Why are you hiding away?’ Her eyes flew open at Dominic’s question. ‘Are you unwell?’ He stood two paces away, worry creasing his brow. He lowered his voice, but came no nearer. ‘Are you upset about what happened?’

  Her throat ached. This was torment. Did she have the strength to see him, talk to him, to pretend that kiss had not pierced her heart?

  ‘I am not upset, merely enjoying a little peace.’

  ‘I cannot leave you sitting in here all alone—who knows what manner of undesirable men might corner you?’ His smile slipped, becoming crooked, and she longed to soothe it. To soothe him. ‘Will you allow me to escort you to Mrs Mount or to Olivia?’

  Dominic held out his hand and, as she placed her hand in his, he murmured, ‘Are you certain nothing is troubling you, Berty?’

  The strength of his fingers as they closed around hers, and his use of her private nickname, stirred all sorts of warm feelings deep inside. They were still friends and, if she could expect nothing more from him, she would settle for that.

  As she rose to her feet, she said, ‘I am certain.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  Liberty stepped towards Dominic, her hand still enclosed in his, her midnight-blue gaze open and honest. The silky fabric of her blue gown clung to her curves, her décolletage enticingly framed by her low, lace-trimmed neckline. Her honey-blonde hair was piled on her head, leaving tendrils to frame her face and brush her bare shoulders.

  His hands twitched with the longing to stroke. To caress.

  His back was to the ballroom, blocking her from view and, without volition, his forefinger trailed down her arm, from the lace that trimmed her short sleeve to the edge of her elbow-length glove. Her skin was warm satin and his eyes charted the shiver that followed in the wake of his touch.

  He was playing with fire. Again. He clenched his jaw and locked his feelings inside, placing her hand on his sleeve as he turned to face the room and escort her to Mrs Mount.

  ‘I am engaged with Lady Sybilla for the next,’ he said. ‘But I hope to see you in the Park tomorrow afternoon.’

  Her face lit and her soft gasp whispered past his ears, but the glow in her blue eyes quickly dimmed. Her tawny brows gathered in a frown.

  ‘Why?’ Her whisper was fierce.

  ‘Why what?’

  ‘You kiss me. You say we can never be more than friends. Yet still you stroked my arm and now you “hope to see me in the Park”. What is it you want from me, Dominic?’

  He wanted her, that was the truth. And she was right to rebuke him. He was being unfair and he would take greater care from now on. But tomorrow...he was almost tempted to tell her the reason he mentioned the Park and to reveal the secret Alex had told him earlier. But it was not his secret to tell. And although he would be wise to stay away, he could not wait to see her face. Was it so wrong to indulge himself?

  He told her none of that. ‘I am sorry.’

  He bowed, leaving Liberty with Mrs Mount, swallowing past the emotion that thickened his throat as he walked away. He had struggled to keep away from her after that kiss, knowing that all he wanted was to kiss her again. And again. But he must protect her reputation and so he had kept his distance. Until Alex had let slip that it was Gideon and Liberty’s birthday the next day and that Gideon and her sisters had planned a surprise for Liberty. In the Park.

  And because Dominic would never have the right to give Liberty a gift of any kind, he could not resist the chance to see, and to share in, her joy and excitement when Gideon revealed his present to her.

  He did his utmost to push Liberty from his thoughts as he danced with Lady Sybilla, but it proved impossible. Sybilla was utter perfection in her looks: a beautiful brunette with burnished locks and porcelain skin. Her serene expressi
on rarely altered and her behaviour was correct in every way: she never displayed a vulgar excess of emotion; she agreed amenably with every opinion he uttered; she, quite properly, revealed little knowledge about any subject under discussion. Dominic had spent enough time with her in the past week or so to know she was polite to servants, but never overly familiar, and that she never appeared to look down on anyone she might deem beneath her because of their more lowly birth. In short, she was the perfect bride. She was exactly the lady he had set out to find at the start of the Season.

  And he was already bored. She was simply too perfect. Try as he might, he couldn’t imagine her having fun, teasing him, cuddling a child, rescuing a dog, crouching beside a child to help it read until her legs were so stiff she couldn’t rise without help. The entire time he danced with Sybilla, it was Liberty’s face he saw in his mind’s eye. Liberty’s lips he could still taste. His head ached with the constant inner battles that plagued his thoughts and, lately, kept him awake at night.

  What would it matter if you changed your mind? Why not follow your heart? Others have and the world did not end.

  But what of my promise to Mother? And how can I abandon my duty to the succession and to the family name?

  He had spent his boyhood trying to live up to his mother’s expectations...trying to be good enough...determined to be worthy of that approval he had glimpsed just before she died. And still he chased that image of duty and responsibility that was part of the expectations of society as well as his own expectations of himself.

  Still he strove to conform.

  He escorted Sybilla back to her mother, the Duchess of Wragby, the arguments still raging inside his head, which was starting to throb.

  ‘Well, Avon?’ The Duchess looked him up and down with approval. ‘Do you have news of your father’s arrival in town?’

  ‘Indeed, Your Grace. He and my stepmother arrive next week.’

  Time is running out.

  That thought had clawed at him for days now. The time was coming when he must announce his decision and his future would be set in stone. His stomach clenched with nerves. He had always been decisive, but now he dithered, unable to take that final, irrecoverable step. And his indecision, he knew, was because, in his heart of hearts, he simply didn’t care who he wed, unless it was Liberty.