The Duke of Desire

by Darcy Burke

  Only, he was within her grasp. At least temporarily.

  He’d sent a note inviting her to meet him in the conservatory at eleven. And it had been written as a charming invitation:

  My dear Miss Breckenridge,

  I would be honored if you would “meet” me in the conservatory at eleven.

  He hadn’t signed it, but he hadn’t needed to. She recognized his handwriting by now. It was elegant for a gentleman. Very attractive. Like him.

  She was, however, curious why he’d put the word meet in quotes. Were they to meet or pretend to meet or something else? She was woefully unpracticed at this sort of thing.

  Thankfully, her thoughts were interrupted by a conversation starting up on the settee to her left. Mrs. Pippin and Mrs. Chalmers were trying to talk quietly, but Ivy could hear every word, which probably didn’t bother them given their gossipy nature.

  “Do you think her parents will allow him to court her now?” Mrs. Pippin asked, looking toward where Emmaline stood with Townsend on the opposite side of the room. “I can’t imagine they will, and I sincerely hope not. Even though he apologized to Harry, I can’t look past his behavior.”

  “Nor can I,” Mrs. Chalmers said. “Really, Miss Forth-Hodges could do better. I still can’t fathom why she hasn’t married yet.”

  “Do you suppose there’s something wrong with her?”

  “Like what?” Mrs. Chalmers sounded breathless with anticipation.

  Ivy rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to tell them to be quiet and mind their own business. Instead, she stood and moved away from the harpies. As she took up a new position near the windows, she saw Clare—West—come into the room. He scanned the space, his gaze drifting right over her.

  Had he not seen her?

  He walked to where Axbridge was chatting with Kirkland and stayed for a few minutes. She pulled her attention from him and caught sight of Emmaline and Townsend leaving the drawing room. Emmaline’s parents followed on their heels.

  Ivy turned her head to see the reaction from the harpies. Their heads were bent together, and the way they kept flicking glances toward the doorway made the topic of their hushed conversation obvious.

  Stifling a snort, Ivy turned her head back and immediately sucked in a breath. Standing a foot from her was Clare. West. She was surprised she could come up with one name, let alone two.

  “I’ll only stay a minute,” he said just above a whisper. “You got my note?”

  “Yes.” She pressed her lips together. “Why was the word ‘meet’ in quotes?”

  He grinned and seemed as though he might chuckle, but didn’t. “We will meet, but if anyone sees us, we will play it off as a chance meeting and immediately go our separate ways.”

  That made sense. “I see. You are alarmingly adept at this.”

  He inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  “I’m not entirely sure that’s a compliment,” she said with more than a touch of irony.

  He couldn’t keep from chuckling this time, but it was low and soft, and she felt it more than heard it.

  “Trust me.” His lips curved up into a half smile, and he walked away.

  Trust him? She didn’t trust anyone, not even herself.

  With a couple of hours to while away before eleven, Ivy took herself upstairs to the sitting room after seeing Lady Dunn situated at one of the gaming tables. Ivy tried to read the book West had sent her, but she kept having to reread entire passages because her mind had wandered.

  To the conservatory. And what might happen.

  Did she really think they would fall into an embrace? Distant memories assaulted her, but she kept them mostly at bay. Mostly. She allowed herself to think of that first time Peter had kissed her. The need she’d felt in her gut had been almost overpowering. She’d wanted him very badly. Enough to behave like an utter fool.

  This is different, she told herself. She was no longer a green girl, and she’d already suffered the worst that could happen and resurrected herself. Granted, she had no desire to do it again, but knowing that she could save herself gave her courage. Maybe she did trust herself a little bit after all.

  “Oh, Ivy!” Emmaline rushed into the sitting room, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m so glad I found you.”

  Ivy closed the book and set it beside her on the settee. “Whatever’s the matter? Come sit.” She patted the cushion and pivoted to face her friend.

  Emmaline sat down and wiped her hands over her face. “The most awful thing has happened. Townsend has asked to court me.”

  Ivy didn’t understand. “How is that awful? I thought you liked him.” More than that, really.

  Emmaline pursed her lips and gave a little shake of her head. “The awful part is that my father said no.” Another tear streaked over her bright pink cheek.

  Ivy put her hand on Emmaline’s shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. Did he say why?”

  “He said Townsend’s finances are in disarray, but I think it’s what happened this afternoon at the shuttlecock match. Father also said he needed to learn to rein in his temper, that he lacked maturity.”

  Ivy couldn’t disagree with the bit about Townsend’s temper. Perhaps he did need to mature a little.

  Emmaline’s eyes narrowed, and her jaw clenched momentarily. “They told him that if I am still unmarried in a year, they’ll reconsider—provided he improves himself. It was mortifying!” The tears had stopped, and she seemed angry more than anything else. Good. Ivy had long thought that tears were useless.

  “A year isn’t such a long time,” Ivy said softly.

  Emmaline glared at her. “I don’t want to wait a year, and I don’t want to marry anyone else.” She straightened and brushed her hands over her face again, seeming to regain much of her composure. “I’ve fallen in love with him, and he with me. We will be married.”

  Ivy heard the determination in her tone and recognized it. Emmaline sounded exactly as Ivy had ten years ago. How wrong she’d been.

  She tried to find the right words to comfort her, but she also wanted to be pragmatic. “I know how terrible this feels right now, but truly, waiting a year isn’t so bad. You don’t have to marry anyone else in the meantime. Your parents wouldn’t force you, would they?”

  Emmaline looked away from Ivy and seemed to ponder the question. “They haven’t so far. I’ve been fairly particular, and they’ve allowed that.” She frowned. “Although they did push me toward Sutton. They were very upset when he didn’t formalize things.” She snapped her gaze back to Ivy. “Maybe they will try to force me.”

  Ivy knew too well how unyielding and awful parents could be. But she wouldn’t say so to Emmaline. She needed comfort and support, not Ivy’s dire warnings based on horrid experience. “I’m certain you can remain unmarried and wait for Townsend. He’s committed to fighting for you, yes?” That was the most important question. None of this mattered if Townsend wasn’t serious about their future together. Ivy knew that better than anyone.

  Emmaline nodded sharply. “Yes. Absolutely.”

  Ivy patted her shoulder. “Then you have only to be patient.”

  “A year is so long.” Emmaline sounded defeated but not demoralized. This was good. “Thank you. I’m a bit better, but not well enough to return to my parents yet. Can we just sit here together for a while?”

  Ivy glanced toward the clock on the side table and tensed. It was already five past eleven. She was late. West was waiting for her.

  She looked toward the sad eyes of her friend and knew he’d be waiting all night.

  Chapter Seven

  The morning sun tried to penetrate the clouds but was utterly incapable of casting more than a grayish light over the earth. West loitered in the hall as he watched the procession of house party attendees gather to attend church in the village of Wendover. He didn’t particularly want to go, but if Miss Breckenridge went, he’d make the effort.

  She’d failed to meet him last night. He’d wandered the conservatory until nea
rly midnight before finally admitting defeat. Disgruntled and disappointed, he hadn’t slept well as he’d tried to puzzle why she hadn’t come.

  All he could conclude was that she’d had second thoughts and surrendered to them. He only hoped their liaison—or whatever it was—wasn’t over before it had even begun.

  A swish of silk caught his ear. He tipped his head up to look at the top of the staircase. The silk didn’t belong to Miss Breckenridge but to her employer. Miss Breckenridge was garbed in something far more durable—a beige muslin with a repeating pattern of flowers or something. It was hard to tell from this distance.

  It seemed that she was going to church.

  West went outside to where the vehicles were staged and saw that his host had also provided horses.

  Wendover strode toward him. “Morning, Clare. Would you care for a mount, or will you ride in a coach?”

  He wanted to ride in a very specific coach with a very specific person, but he knew a private conversation wouldn’t be possible. “I’ll ride.”

  “Very good. I worried we might not have enough space, but we are down a person this morning, I’m afraid.” He lowered his voice and leaned in. “Townsend’s left.”

  West was surprised to hear this. He’d noticed him with Miss Forth-Hodges in the drawing room last night. “What happened?”

  “Not sure, but I daresay Mr. Forth-Hodges declined his suit.” He gave West a pointed look. “Can’t say that I blame the fellow given Townsend’s behavior yesterday. Still, it’s a damnable blight on the party. Lady Wendover isn’t pleased.”

  “I can imagine,” West murmured, his gaze pinned on the doorway. He didn’t give a fig about what the countess was feeling. He was a bit sorry for Townsend, who’d seemed quite keen on Miss Forth-Hodges.

  Miss Breckenridge exited the house on the heels of Lady Dunn. As they were ushered toward a carriage, Miss Breckenridge’s gaze drifted to West’s.

  He smiled faintly but redirected his attention to Wendover lest the earl catch notice of anything. Which wasn’t likely. Wendover wasn’t particularly observant or aware. If he were, he’d realize that his affair with Lady Pelham wasn’t as covert as he believed.

  After Miss Breckenridge and Lady Dunn were settled in their coach, West found a mount. He decided to ride out and take a circuitous path so as to enjoy the exercise.

  By the time he rode up to the church, which was situated on a hillside outside the town, all the vehicles had been emptied, and it seemed as though everyone was inside. He dismounted and handed the reins to a footman, who took care of the horse while West walked toward the porch. He paused as he saw Miss Breckenridge standing just inside the open doorway.

  Her gaze found his, and he glanced around to see who was about. Seeing no one, he quickened his pace, eager for even a moment alone with her.

  He stopped in front of her. “Miss Breckenridge, you are lovelier than ever.”

  She edged backward so that he could step just inside the covered porch. The porch was somewhat enclosed, sheltering them from both the exterior and interior. “Thank you. I want to apologize for last night. I was…detained by Miss Forth-Hodges. She’s, ah, she’s a friend.”

  He hadn’t realized they were more than acquaintances. “I understand Townsend has left.”

  Her eyes widened briefly. “Has he? That’s unfortunate. Miss Forth-Hodges did not come to church this morning. Nor did her mother.”

  “House parties are never dull.”

  She looked at him with a flash of resentment. “I hope you aren’t finding pleasure in another’s heartache.”

  “Of course not. Is that what happened? The rumor is that Forth-Hodges declined Townsend’s suit.”

  “Yes.” She turned her head for a quick moment to look toward the nave. “Emmaline was quite disappointed.” She fixed him with a steady stare. “I thought I might finish the walk up Wendover Hill later this afternoon while Lady Dunn is resting. I should like to see the view.”

  If she were any other woman, West would know definitively she was inviting him to join her. However, Miss Breckenridge was not any other woman. She was utterly, deliciously unique. “I’m keen to see that as well. Perhaps I’ll take the same walk.”

  “I hope you do,” she murmured before dropping her gaze from his and turning to enter the church.

  And now he knew—she wanted him to join her. He stifled an eager smile.

  As he watched her move inside, he considered leaving. He’d obtained what he’d come for—another meeting with Miss Breckenridge. However, if he left, he’d have to amuse himself for the next few hours. Why not spend at least part of that time in the same location as her? He could steal as many glances at her as he wanted, particularly if he sat in the back.

  He went into the nave just as the service was starting. She sat on the aisle next to her employer, maybe halfway along the length. He took a seat in the back pew and was afforded an unhindered view. He was careful not to stare, but he looked his fill. She was strikingly beautiful with a brash tilt to the tip of her nose and a strong jut to her chin. The curve of her jaw and the elegant sweep of her neck stirred the artist within him. He hadn’t sketched in a very long time but suddenly wanted to put pencil to parchment.

  When the service was over, he meandered outside and waited for an opportunity to speak with Wendover. He caught the earl’s gaze, and Wendover made his way over. “How was your ride, Clare?”

  “Very good, thank you. Your stock is excellent. In fact, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take another ride before returning to Greensward. I’d hate to waste this fine afternoon.”

  Wendover laughed. “Fine for this summer, I suppose. Would it be terrible to have a bit more sun or less of a chill?”

  Today’s temperature was fair enough, but the breeze was cool. “At least it isn’t raining. I shall be thankful for small favors.”

  Wendover nodded in agreement. “We’ll see you at dinner, then, I expect.”

  “Indeed.”

  West watched as Miss Breckenridge strolled to her coach with Lady Dunn. She glanced in his direction, and they exchanged the barest of nods.

  Anticipation swelled within him as he mounted his horse and rode into town in search of a pub. After taking refreshment, he rode slowly toward Wendover Hill. He’d specifically wanted the earl to know that he’d be gone all afternoon. Riding. He would tether the horse near the hillside while he and Miss Breckenridge took their walk.

  Once he’d secured the horse and patted him down, West made his way to the walking path. Rather than wait for Miss Breckenridge in plain sight, he found some shrubbery to conceal himself.

  However, as he stepped around it, he stopped short. Limbs entangled, but thankfully still clothed, Mr. and Mrs. Travill were sprawled atop a blanket on the grass.

  West tried to back away quietly, but he somehow betrayed his presence. The couple broke apart, and Mrs. Travill let out a sound that was half shriek and half gasp. She rolled away, pushing her hands down over her skirt, which had been on the rise with Travill’s assistance.

  Travill adjusted his fall. “Damn me, Your Grace. You gave us a start.”

  West turned from them. “My deepest apologies. I was only looking for a bit of privacy myself.”

  “Is that right?” Travill’s jocular tone hinted that he knew what West was doing. Or would be doing as soon as a woman arrived.

  “Actually, I’m out for a ride and was looking for, ah, a moment of respite. I shall find another location.”

  “That would be rather sporting of you.”

  “Carry on.” West departed the scene and immediately caught sight of Miss Breckenridge coming his way. He glanced back over his shoulder to make sure the Travills had stayed put behind the hedge. Satisfied that they were occupied, at least for now, he waved at Miss Breckenridge and pointed along the hillside.

  She paused, but he couldn’t see her expression. He started walking in the direction he wanted her to go, moving quickly with long strides.

  Sh
e understood and altered course.

  West continued to survey the scene to make sure the Travills stayed behind the shrubbery and that no one else decided to come for a walk. Or any other activity.

  He looked for a second path but didn’t see one. Eventually, he found another grouping of bushes and moved behind them. A few minutes later, Miss Breckenridge joined him.

  “What are you doing?” She looked utterly bemused, her red-gold brows pitched. It was rather fetching. She was normally quite self-possessed.

  “Waiting for the Travills to finish their rendezvous behind the bushes over yonder.”

  “Their wh—” She blushed. “Never mind. How do you know they’re there?”

  “I was going to conceal myself while I waited for you. Apparently, it’s an excellent location for…concealment.”

  “I see.” She looked around. “As is this.”

  He took a small step toward her. “Are you suggesting we have a rendezvous?”

  “Isn’t that precisely what we’re doing?” She blushed again. “Sort of.”

  “I don’t know precisely what we’re doing. I’d be more than happy to copy the Travills, however.”

  “I don’t—” She pressed her lips together. “No. I came to walk. If that no longer interests you, I’ll return to the house.”

  She started to turn, but he touched her elbow. It was the slightest connection, but he felt it in every bone, every muscle, every nerve. “Please don’t. I’ll behave.”

  She arched a brow at him. “Do you know how?”

  He chuckled. “Clearly, I do. I’ve been on excellent behavior since you took me to task.”

  She nodded primly. “Indeed you have.” She exhaled and brushed her gloved hands down her skirt. “What are we to do, then?”