Forbidden to Love the Duke

by Jillian Hunter

  “Do you see, Rosemary?” Lilac said. “This is what happens when one is cut off from society for five years. One loses perspective.”

  “One loses one’s mind,” Rosemary muttered, walking straight past Oliver to the door with her pen and notebook in hand.

  Lilac stared after her. “Don’t you have something else to say?”

  “Yes. I have a pounding headache and I’m going to lock myself in Ivy’s room for the day. Aside from the delivery of a pot of tea and an apple tart, I would appreciate not being disturbed again.”

  * * *

  Sir Oliver studied Lilac’s generous curves from the chair in which she had forced him to sit and let her fuss over him like an angel of mercy. He had come close to asphyxiation in that passageway, and revival by a woman with a fine pair of bosoms and glittering blond curls had helped restore his temper.

  She didn’t seem to suspect a thing, which made him wonder if he had chosen the wrong sister to pursue and whether it was too late to change tactics without looking like a complete bounder.

  Lilac was lovely. Lilac was also lame. But he hadn’t intended to take his heiress wife to London, so in that regard her appearance mattered less than her fortune.

  All the sisters appeared to be enamored of the manor house. He didn’t foresee a problem leaving his bride to rusticate while he carried on his usual affairs.

  He reached around the chair for his jacket. “Lovely angel, it would be wrong of me to allow anyone else to catch us alone together in this bedroom and assume the worst.”

  Lilac sighed. “That’s thoughtful of you, but there’s no one in this house to care anymore, Sir Oliver. I don’t know why my sisters think you’re up to no good.”

  He pulled down his jacket sleeve. “Sisters? You mean Rosemary is not the only one?”

  “Rue doesn’t much care for you, I’m afraid,” Lilac admitted.

  He feigned a smile. “But you do?”

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

  “I can think of none, Lilac.”

  Chapter 19

  James didn’t see Ivy in the morning. His first instinct, which happened to be his basest instinct, urged him to seek her out. Inquiring about the condition of her hand was a plausible excuse. However, since he couldn’t trust himself to face her with the memory of last night’s interlude fresh in his mind, he went to the last place he’d seen her—the Chinese Room. He knew she wouldn’t come here again of her own volition.

  But no sooner had he entered the darkened chamber than he heard the provocative whisper of silk. His heart pounded in anticipation. Had his unworldly governess sought him out to make sense of last night’s passions?

  He waited until he heard the door close before he turned—only to see Elora crossing the room with a grimace. “What an appalling room. I know chinoiserie was the fashion when your father built this house, but, eh, James, what excess. A pagoda. I’m embarrassed on your behalf. Who would ever sit on that couch? It looks for all the world like a courtesan’s bed. Whatever are you doing here?”

  “I was thinking.”

  “About—let me guess. About Ivy?”

  “I can’t believe I ever considered an arrangement between us,” he said, laughing reluctantly. “You aggravate me to no end. Why would you presume to know what was on my mind?”

  “It might have been that lost look on your face when I came in.”

  “My back was turned to you. For all you know I could have been sticking out my tongue at the water carrier on the wall.”

  “But you weren’t,” she said, approaching the couch. “You were thinking about her.”

  He sighed.

  “It’s all right as far as I’m concerned,” she went on conversationally. “But you must remember that whether she’s fallen in position or not, she was still born a lady.”

  “So were you,” he said, arching his brow. “Even if I can’t recall a time when you acted like one.”

  Elora stared at him in speculation. “And that remark, James, is one I would expect from a brother teasing a younger sister.”

  “Which would explain why we never became lovers even though we had ample opportunity.”

  “A blessing, isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “But allow me to defend myself for a moment. I had nothing to do with Ivy’s unfortunate circumstances.”

  “As far as I can tell, you’re not offering her redemption. I did see the look on your face when you carried her to your bedroom after her accident.”

  “The sight of that much blood is always distressing,” he said, turning his face from hers.

  “Did you carry off the wounded soldiers in your regiment on the battlefield with such solicitude?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Did you stroke their foreheads and turn hysterical when one of them pricked a finger or required stitches for a wound?”

  “I thought she was going to fall out the window. Did that scare me? I won’t deny it. Furthermore, I did not ‘stroke’ her face. I merely wiped away a streak of blood to make sure there wasn’t a gash on her head from the broken glass.”

  Elora studied him with her lips compressed as if she didn’t believe a word he’d said. She knew him too well, he realized. He might delude himself, but it was damn hard to deceive someone he had trusted.

  “Head injuries can be dangerous,” he added as an afterthought. “So can falling from a window.”

  “Falling in love with someone who has no defenses against the world is dangerous, too.” She picked up a twig from the couch and examined it from several angles. “Are you in love with her?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” God help him. Elora couldn’t have any idea where that twig had come from; she had been miles away from here last night. “I’ve only known her for—”

  “—five years?” she said, flicking the twig in his direction.

  He deflected it with his left hand. His good hand, as he’d once thought of it, lifted a second too late, feeling as if it belonged to a puppet he was still learning to work.

  Silence passed, and James felt compelled to speak, if only out of fear of what Elora would say next. “How was Walker during your visit? Did he behave?”

  She plopped down on the couch. “Walker is a little beast. But what can you expect?” She laid her head back on the cushions and studied the pagoda. “I took him straight to his governess. She didn’t seem at all herself this morning.”

  “Perhaps her wrist is causing her discomfort.”

  “This room is quite secluded, isn’t it? Did you bring her here last night for a rendezvous?”

  He almost choked.

  She lifted her head. “Sticking out your tongue again? You should be careful. My grandmother always said if you did it often enough, it would freeze in that position. Imagine how painful that would be.”

  The only pain James felt in the next few moments was the deep sting that radiated down his right shoulder and his arm to his fingertips as he grasped Elora’s hand and hauled her to her feet. He’d attempted to hit a target on a tree before dawn and had narrowly missed Carstairs instead.

  Some duelist he was.

  And since he suspected he would probably not make a good liar, either, he decided to ignore Elora’s impertinent remarks, neither repudiating nor confirming what they both knew to be true.

  As they reached the door, Elora balked and pulled out of his grasp. “Allow me to give you a little advice. You do not want to be seen by the woman you desire with the woman you supposedly desired before you realized who was the true object of your desires.”

  He glanced down the hall. “If I hadn’t known you half your life, I wouldn’t have understood a word you just said.”

  “Another thing, James—Oliver Linton might act like a fop but he can be quite deadly when he’s crossed.”

  “How the devil do you
know—”

  “Mary isn’t the only one with big ears. I know Oliver. Don’t underestimate him.”

  * * *

  Ivy had taken a solemn oath at daybreak that she would never be caught alone with another man again—unless the duke appeared before her, in which case she doubted her vow would hold up to his charm. Still, it was better to be prepared.

  Mary dragged through her lessons that morning, and if Walker hadn’t whirled around the room like the four winds, Ivy might have dropped her head on the desk and slept from sheer exhaustion. The duke had depleted her emotional reserves.

  “Walker, sit in the corner and finish your arithmetic. Mary, come to the globe and put your finger on India.”

  Mary trudged to the desk, yawning all the way. “I think it’s here, my lady.”

  “That isn’t even the correct continent. It isn’t a continent at all. It’s the sea.”

  Mary rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Ivy softened her demeanor. She needed to bear in mind the turmoil in the children’s lives. “Neither did I.”

  “Because of my uncle?”

  “His Grace had nothing to do with it. I heard thunder, and it woke me up.”

  “He was furious at you,” Mary whispered. “Especially after what he saw you doing through his spyglass.”

  Ivy felt blood rush to her face. Indignation chased away her fatigue. “He used an instrument to spy on me?”

  Mary nodded slowly. “He had a proper fit, too.”

  Ivy glanced at the longcase clock standing against the opposite wall. “Look at the hour. It’s fifteen minutes until luncheon. I’ll ring for Sally to help you wash and change.”

  “It’s twenty-five minutes to the hour,” Mary corrected her, craning her head as Ivy ushered her to the door. Walker hadn’t needed another prompt. He’d already bolted into the hall.

  “That clock is slow.” Ivy crossed her fingers behind her back and renewed her oath. After her upcoming confrontation with the duke, she would never be caught alone with a man again.

  * * *

  James had just sifted through the post in his study when he heard Ivy and Carstairs outside the door. Carstairs spoke in his usual polite monotone while Ivy’s voice rose to a crescendo that signaled a problem in the house. He wondered what the children had done now and wished he could appease them with a letter from their father.

  The instant Ivy stood before his desk, he realized that she had come on a personal matter. He should have been focused on her consternation, but instead he was stricken with an insensible desire to take her in his arms and make right whatever had caused the distress in her eyes.

  Until he realized that he was the cause of her distress.

  “You wicked, unscrupulous duke.”

  He stood and came around the desk, grateful that Carstairs had closed the door. “I knew you would have misgivings about what we did last night, but I visited that room this morning, and felt no regret.”

  She banged her good fist down on the desk. “I’m not referring to what we did. It’s what you did I cannot forgive.”

  “Didn’t we do it together?” he asked cautiously. He reached for her, reconsidered at the glare she gave him, and lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. “What did I do?”

  “You spied on me.”

  “I told you I was anxious about your return.”

  “You spied on me and Oliver with a spyglass.”

  His eyes narrowed. “That’s what I get for trusting an eleven-year-old girl who’s already beheaded her first king.”

  Ivy gasped. “You don’t deny it?”

  He shook his head. “How else was I supposed to keep watch for your arrival? In another few minutes I would have been on my horse and galloping to Fenwick. I told you I saw you through the window.”

  “Do you watch the other female servants with your spyglass?”

  “What other female servants? The maids who are married to the footmen? Cook, who is old enough to be my mother? Or the housekeeper who once changed my nappies?”

  “Are there peepholes in my bedchamber?”

  He laughed impolitely. “Not as far as I know. I can have some holes bored in your wall if that’s your pleasure.”

  “It isn’t,” she said, her voice almost as deep as it had been in the dark last night. “I can’t believe that you let Mary catch you in the act.”

  “Is that right? Well, I wouldn’t have been at the window with the spyglass to be caught by the child if her governess had been home on time. As agreed.”

  Ivy looked taken aback. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Good.”

  She swept up her skirt in her hand. “Not any of it.”

  James realized he’d just been snared in a trap of his own making. “What precisely does that mean?”

  “I shall henceforth maintain a professional demeanor and distance from you at all times,” she said, raising her chin.

  He made the dreadful mistake of laughing again. “Ivy, we both know that maintaining a distance between us is impossible.”

  Her mouth thinned. “For you, perhaps.”

  His blood flared. She couldn’t be serious. “Is that a challenge?” he asked, his gaze flickering over her as if they were opponents in a tournament.

  “If it strengthens your will to think of it that way, then yes. It’s a challenge.”

  He blew out a breath. “You’re challenging my will? For how long?”

  “I doubt you can survive a week without trifling with a woman. You kissed me while you were waiting for Elora to arrive.”

  “That’s different. Elora is in love with my brother.”

  She walked sedately to the door. “You didn’t know it at the time.”

  “But I did know that Elora and I were wrong for each other. Why else would I have written advising her not to come to Ellsworth?”

  “Good day, Your Grace.”

  He darted around her to the door she had just opened, placing his arm against the panels. “I don’t think we’ve established all the rules yet.”

  Ivy tried to open the door all the way. “What good would it do? You would only override them. Your Grace, kindly remove your person from the doorway. I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you.”

  “Do you see me trembling in my boots?” he asked, his voice evocative of last night’s pleasures.

  “Do you think me incapable of resorting to violence to escape you? It isn’t something I’d enjoy doing, but if you drive me to it, you might see a different side of me.”

  She pulled a little harder at the door. He ignored the pain and grinned.

  “If I didn’t fall for Sir Oliver’s silly poetry,’ she said, “I’m assuredly not going to be swayed by a man behaving like a bully.”

  “Bully? You think this is bullying you?”

  “Well, you aren’t letting me leave.”

  “Only because I hadn’t finished talking. But since you are intent on breaking my elbow, I wonder in truth who is bullying who. Just don’t bring up that poet in my presence again.”

  “As you wish. Should I meet him again, it will be in secret.”

  He felt his anger rising. “That is not my wish. I showed you last night what I wished for you to do.”

  Her cheeks turned red. “What you really want is my property,” she said, pulling at the door with every word.

  “Correction,” he said, realizing he should have the sense to move before she broke the door. “What I really want is you as my property.”

  “Subtle as a sledgehammer, aren’t you?”

  “I didn’t exactly try to hide how I feel toward you.”

  “It’s impossible.”

  He shook his head, smiling at how easily he could fluster her. “It’s inevitable. Do you think I couldn’t court you if I set my
mind to it?”

  All of a sudden she looked more than flustered. She looked furious. “It isn’t in my nature to be cruel, but in my opinion you deserve a setdown, waste of time as that will probably be.”

  “Criticizing one’s employer is not part of a governess’s job.”

  “Satisfying said employer’s unspeakable desires are not, either, unless I missed that in the contract.”

  “You didn’t read the contract.”

  “No. I was desperate and I trusted you. But right now, well, let me just say that Sir Oliver is famous in London for collecting hearts. If I didn’t fall for his nonsense, why should I fall for yours?”

  He snorted. “I wasn’t the only one with unspeakable desires last night, and do not ever compare me to that jingle-maker again.”

  “Poet. He is a poet. Women love his poetry. They swoon at his feet.”

  His lips curled in derision. “Then why aren’t you swooning at his feet instead of attempting to shatter my bones?”

  “Because I have work to do, and if Your Grace would be so kind as to release me, I shall go about my duties.”

  He shrugged, lifting his arm. “There. You are free.”

  She reached for the doorknob. “Seven days, remember.”

  He stared at the back of her neck. What he remembered was nibbling past her shoulder to her plump breasts. And her voice, urgent, low, when she had climaxed.

  “Your Grace?” She turned her head. “On second thought, maybe we should establish a few rules to follow.”

  “Follow where?” he said absently.

  She closed her eyes briefly as if asking for help from above. “Are we to speak to each other? If I accidentally walk into a room and you are present, am I to leave immediately? Shall I raise a fan to shield myself from any lascivious glances you cast my way?”

  “What lascivious glances?”

  “The ones you give me when I bend over to pick up an object one of the children has dropped.”

  “Can you pick up objects and hold a fan to your face at the same time?”