The Duke of Desire

by Darcy Burke

His brows arched slightly as he let her go. Then he nodded once, and it was as if they’d shared a silent communication. She’d pulled away from him every other time they’d come into contact with each other. This time, she hadn’t.

  Before she could dissect that thought, Lord Wendover turned around and addressed the group. “We’ll need to turn back as it’s started to rain. Since we’re going downhill, I suggest moving more quickly so we don’t get drenched.”

  He started down the hill, and everyone waited for him to move to the front of the pack again. Lady Pelham quickened her gait to keep up with him.

  That left Ivy with Clare at the back, along with Miss Kirkland and the other gentleman who’d been walking with her.

  Clare didn’t immediately start down.

  “What are you waiting for?” Ivy asked.

  He looked up toward the top of the hill and frowned. “I was really looking forward to that view.”

  Ivy had been too. “Are you going to continue?”

  He put his hands on his hips and exhaled. “I’d like to.”

  Her chest pulled. “Oh, to be a man.”

  His gaze settled on her. “Why?”

  “Because you can decide if you’d like to continue to the top of the hill or not.”

  “You could go if you wanted.”

  “With you?” She shook her head. “Even you can surely comprehend how that would look.”

  “Yes. I’m afraid I didn’t think that through. I see what you mean about being a man.”

  Miss Kirkland had passed them while they were talking. Her gentleman companion had hurried ahead as the raindrops had begun to fall more steadily.

  Ivy glanced toward the darkening sky. “I don’t think this is going to be a light shower.”

  Clare looked up again. “I think you’re correct. I suppose I’ll have to finish the walk another day.”

  A shriek drew them to turn downhill. Miss Kirkland was on the ground.

  Clare rushed down to her, and Ivy followed as quickly as she could. The ground was already growing slick. Miss Kirkland must have slipped.

  When she reached the fallen young woman, Clare was kneeling beside her. “Let me help you up.” He took her arm and put his hand against her back.

  Miss Kirkland tried to stand but fell right back down. Her dark eyes were full of fright. “I’ve hurt my ankle.”

  “It’s all right,” Clare said. His voice was deep and soothing. The rain began to fall more heavily.

  Ivy looked down the hill and was surprised that no one else had come back to see if Miss Kirkland was all right. Some of them were already almost near the bottom. They were clearly in a hurry to get back to Greensward.

  Clare adjusted his hat so that the brim was a bit lower over his eyes. “Miss Kirkland, I’m going to carry you down the hill. I’m afraid there’s no help for it. If I leave you here, you’ll become quite drenched.”

  Miss Kirkland looked as though she were about to cry. Or maybe she already was. Her face was tilted up to look at Clare, and raindrops were cascading down her cheeks.

  “Do you understand?” he asked when she didn’t respond.

  “Yes. Please hurry.”

  He nodded as he swept her into his arms. He looked toward Ivy. “Can you go ahead and fetch help? I won’t be able to move as quickly.”

  “Of course.” Ivy wished she’d thought of that right away instead of watching Clare move into commanding action. It was oddly arousing.

  Arousing?

  Clenching her teeth, she started off down the hill as quickly as she dared. Every now and again, she turned her head to check their progress. Clare kept a steady pace despite his burden and the rain.

  Oh, the bloody rain. It was now coming down even harder, some of it sideways. Ivy’s dress was completely sodden, sticking to her legs and impeding her progress. Still, she started to run, eager to get back.

  At last, she reached the rear lawn. Footmen were waiting at the top of the patio stairs with blankets. Ivy ran up the steps. “You must go and help the duke. Miss Kirkland is injured, and he’s carried her down the hill.”

  She turned to look back out over the grass and saw them moving slowly against the sweeping torrents of water.

  Two of the footmen ran down the stairs and across the lawn. They threw a blanket over Miss Kirkland and another over Clare’s head.

  “Come inside, miss,” one of the remaining footmen urged as he handed her a blanket.

  Ivy wrapped the soft wool around her head and shoulders but didn’t move. She stood there in the downpour until Clare started up the stairs.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked as he reached the patio. “Get inside before you catch cold.”

  He rushed past her into the house, and she followed him inside.

  Wendover was still in the drawing room as they entered. He stared wide-eyed at Miss Kirkland. “Egads, Clare, what happened?”

  “She tripped coming down the hill and hurt her ankle.”

  “What a disaster.” He looked over at one of the footmen, a rather large, wide-shouldered young man. “Thomas, would you please take Miss Kirkland from the duke?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Clare transferred the pale young woman to the footman as Lady Wendover came into the drawing room, followed by Mrs. Kirkland.

  “Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Kirkland cried. “Whatever happened?”

  “Come, let’s get her upstairs,” Lady Wendover said, taking charge. She led them from the drawing room, leaving her husband with the handful of drenched guests who were still dripping on the carpet.

  “I’ll make sure you all have hot baths,” the earl announced. “And you, Clare, shall have a bottle of my finest whiskey waiting for you upstairs.”

  Clare bowed. “Why, thank you. I shall endeavor to rescue someone every day.” This earned laughter from those in the room.

  Everyone departed the drawing room, but Ivy hesitated.

  “What are you waiting for?” Clare asked. He took his hat off and water sluiced from the brim onto the carpet.

  “I’m—” She shook her head, unable to answer his question. “That was remarkable.”

  “It was necessary.” His gaze was dark and intense. “I’m not a hero, Miss Breckenridge.”

  That she could believe, but she began to wonder if there was more to him than her preconceived notions.

  “Ivy?” Lady Dunn came hobbling into the drawing room, leaning on her cane. “Good gracious, you’re sopping wet! Come upstairs and let’s get you dried off.” She waved her arm, beckoning Ivy forward.

  Ivy sent one last look toward Clare and left the drawing room.

  Today hadn’t gone remotely as planned. She was disappointed about not reaching the top of Wendover Hill. But more than that, she was shocked to realize she looked forward to seeing Clare again.

  Chapter Four

  After an invigorating morning grouse hunting, West decided to head downstairs to see what the afternoon’s entertainments might include. Or maybe he just wanted to see if Miss Breckenridge was about.

  She hadn’t come to dinner last night, but then neither had several of the people who’d been on yesterday’s walk. The sudden rainstorm had likely forced them to take to their beds. He hoped she wasn’t ill. Her employer, Lady Dunn, had been at dinner and the gaming tables, but his efforts to overhear any comment she might’ve made about her companion had been wasted. She hadn’t mentioned Miss Breckenridge once while he’d been around. He’d ultimately surrendered his task and had gone to the gentlemen’s parlor.

  As he reached the top of the stairs, he saw a game of blind man’s buff underway down in the hall. All the young unmarried people were playing, as well as a few married folks who were undoubtedly serving as chaperones.

  Two ladies were sitting off to the side—Miss Kirkland with her leg elevated on a stool, certainly due to yesterday’s mishap on the walk—and Miss Breckenridge. She sat next to Miss Kirkland and watched the game. Viscount Townsend, a young buck with a quick
smile and an even faster opinion, was currently blindfolded. As he stumbled around, arms extended, trying to find a target, everyone dashed out of his way. With the exception of the pretty Miss Forth-Hodges who seemed as though she wanted to be caught.

  West descended the staircase and stood on the last step watching the action. Townsend finally found his quarry, and it was, in fact, Miss Forth-Hodges. She giggled as he ran his hands over her face. West noted that his fingertips seemed to linger against her lips.

  “I do believe this is Miss Forth-Hodges,” Townsend said.

  Everyone erupted in laughter, and he swept off the blindfold with a grin. “Your turn.” His gaze seemed to convey something rather…intimate, if West wasn’t mistaken. And he rarely was when it came to such matters. Townsend handed her the blindfold.

  Miss Forth-Hodges accepted the length of black silk. “Thank you.” She turned and went to Miss Breckenridge. The two conversed for a moment, and West was desperate to know what they were talking about.

  Axbridge ambled over to the staircase where West was leaning against the newel post. “Are you going to play?”

  “I can’t believe you are,” West said.

  Axbridge’s blond brows climbed his forehead. “And miss the opportunity to grope young women?”

  West smiled faintly and shook his head. “Not even I’m that indecent.”

  “I beg to differ, but in any case, I was jesting.”

  “Not entirely, I’m sure.”

  Axbridge laughed. “Come on, it’s an amusing way to spend the afternoon.”

  West saw Miss Breckenridge stand. She tied the blindfold around Miss Forth-Hodges’s head and spun her around three times. Then, instead of returning to her seat, she moved quickly away from Miss Forth-Hodges. If she was playing, West would too.

  “All right,” he said to Axbridge. “If you insist.”

  “Excellent.”

  West stepped down onto the marble floor and easily evaded Miss Forth-Hodges. She moved around slowly, her arms outstretched. Laughter and taunts filled the air as everyone worked to keep away from her. Then people began to get cheeky as they pushed one another toward the blindfolded young woman. This was met with even greater laughter and more excessive movement as people dashed this way and that.

  Miss Breckenridge sidestepped the young Mr. Travill, the adult son of the Travills. Then her gaze found West’s, and she didn’t look away. Neither did he.

  She was stunning—those vivid green eyes of hers delving deep into his and stirring a most inconvenient arousal. Her red-gold hair was still captured in that scrupulously severe style, but today a lone strand had escaped. The wispy tendril caressed the side of her face, and he longed to be that length of hair.

  The moment broke when Miss Forth-Hodges grabbed Miss Breckenridge from behind. “Aha!” she declared, her hands immediately reaching for her captive’s face.

  Except she met her upswept hair. How West wished he could wrap his fingers in the rich, silken mass.

  Miss Breckenridge looked alarmed, her eyes widening and her lips parting. “Should I—” She snapped her mouth shut and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them again, West saw the irritation in her gaze.

  “I recognize that voice,” Miss Forth-Hodges said gleefully. “Miss Breckenridge!”

  “Is that her name?” someone asked from somewhere nearby. Of course they wouldn’t necessarily know her since she was a companion. Still, it annoyed West. Everyone should know her name. Or at least not talk about her as if she was of no consequence.

  “Yes,” Miss Breckenridge said quietly.

  Smiling, Miss Forth-Hodges untied the blindfold and removed it from her head. “It’s your turn next. Are you ready?”

  Miss Breckenridge’s mouth tightened. She looked distinctly uncomfortable, but she nodded. West longed to put himself in her path, but he didn’t dare. Rather, he stayed on the periphery as Miss Forth-Hodges tied the black silk around Miss Breckenridge’s eyes. The sight of her with the blindfold, her pink lips parted, stirred West’s lust in a most inopportune manner. He reined in his body lest it betray his arousal.

  Miss Forth-Hodges spun her about, and then the game was on. Everyone scattered, and for a moment, Miss Breckenridge simply stood there. When she finally stepped forward, she put her hands up, but didn’t extend her arms. This was going to take forever if she didn’t move more quickly and use her arms to reach for someone. More than ever, West wanted to step in front of her, if only to make this easier. He didn’t want to see her flustered. He imagined she would hate that, especially with an audience. He’d somehow gleaned that pride was one of her most prized possessions.

  She came toward him, and he made a show of dashing out of the way, just as he was certain to bring his heel down hard on the marble so she could hear that someone was close.

  She spun and lost her balance, tottering for a moment. He resisted the urge to take her into his arms and keep her upright, but she recovered. She thrust her arms out to right herself and it was then that her fingertips grazed his coat.

  Turning toward him, she grasped the fabric in her hand. “I’ve got you.”

  The low insistence of her voice combined with the ownership those words evoked coaxed his lust even higher. He was going to have to quit the room before he embarrassed himself. Except now it would be his turn to be blindfolded. Unless she didn’t guess it was him.

  He stood still, and the room was silent as she moved closer. He felt her warmth as she drew near. She smelled of lemon and spice, a fresh and surprisingly intoxicating scent.

  Her hand still clutched his sleeve while the other came up and pressed against his chest. He drew in a sharp breath but was certain only he and Miss Breckenridge were aware of his reaction.

  “It’s a gentleman,” she said, stepping even closer. She released his sleeve and put both hands on his shoulders. Her fingers trailed over his collarbones upward along his neck. She wasn’t wearing gloves so the brush of her flesh against his sent heat spiraling through him.

  He held his breath while his gaze was locked on her face. The contrast of the black silk blindfold against her creamy flesh was stark and beautiful. He could think of a thousand things he’d do to her while she couldn’t see. If she’d let him.

  Her hands continued up to his face, stroking along his jaw. He had to work to keep himself perfectly still. Every muscle in his body screamed to touch her.

  Her thumb caught his lip. He could so easily draw it into his mouth or lick the pad. He didn’t dare. The collective stare of everyone in the room seemed like a living, breathing thing, pressing in on him and ensuring he kept himself in check.

  She splayed her fingers out and grazed over his cheeks and eyes. He almost told her to be careful, but that would give him away.

  She skimmed along his forehead, her fingertips brushing through his hair. Then she inhaled through her nose. She pulled her hands back, her lips parting in a soft gasp. “It’s you,” she whispered.

  “It’s me,” he answered softly.

  “The Duke of Clare,” she announced loudly.

  Everyone cheered and applauded. She reached back to untie the blindfold, but had trouble.

  “Let me,” he said.

  She turned, and he unknotted the silk. At least one of his wishes came true as he touched her hair while working the blindfold free. He clutched it in his hand. She spun around slowly, her gaze finding his.

  “How did you know it was me?” he asked, keeping his tone low.

  “Your scent. You smell like sandalwood and pine.”

  The desire he was barely reining in threatened to overtake him. “You know what I smell like?”

  She dropped her gaze. “Apparently.” She didn’t sound particularly happy about it.

  “Your turn, Clare,” Axbridge said from somewhere behind West. His tone was rather smug.

  “So it is.” He held the blindfold toward Miss Breckenridge. “Would you mind tying this?”

  “You’re rather tall, Your Grace.”r />
  “I’ll do it,” Axbridge offered. He had an inch or two on West. The marquess came to his side and took the silk from his hand.

  “Pity,” West murmured. He didn’t take his gaze from her until the blindfold dropped over his eyes, and he was plunged into blackness.

  Axbridge tied the silk tight. “There we are. I’ll let you spin him around, Miss Breckenridge. Do your best to make him dizzy.”

  West heard the humor in his friend’s voice. He didn’t care what she did to him so long as she touched him again.

  Her hands clasped his arms, and she turned him—with his help, of course. Three times, and then she was gone.

  West made quick work of finding someone and knew immediately it was a gentleman. It wasn’t Axbridge, and he was fairly certain it wasn’t Townsend. That left Travill and a handful of others. If he guessed wrong, he’d have to go again. He considered that because another chance meant he could maybe find Miss Breckenridge. But the odds of him doing so weren’t great.

  Focusing on his captive, West used his observation skills to deduce his identity. The gentleman was shorter than him and slighter of frame. He ran through those in attendance and came up with his answer without touching more than the fellow’s shoulders. “It’s Mr. Upton.”

  “That was the fastest one yet!” a feminine voice declared.

  “Clare’s always such a show-off,” Axbridge drawled.

  West swept the blindfold away and quickly tied it around Upton. After spinning the gentleman, West quickly put distance between him and the new blind man. He glanced around and was unable to locate Miss Breckenridge.

  He wasn’t surprised that she’d fled. He’d seen the apprehension in her gaze after the blindfold had been lifted. What he didn’t know was the cause of it. Was there any chance she was as attracted to him as he was to her?

  Probably not. And therein lay his misery.

  Chapter Five

  A shadow fell over Ivy’s book as a cloud drifted overhead. She glanced up and contemplated whether rain was possible. Ah well, at least today they were close to the house should they need to run for cover.