Daring Deeds 0f A Forbidden Duchess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Violet Hamers

  Isabel perked up at the idea. “That’s a lovely idea, Your Grace. I’ll have the cook begin the preparations.”

  And before he knew it, she was hurrying off. David didn’t know what to do in that moment. He had expected... more. Instead, she looked to only be surprised that he was here and then she was gone.

  Has someone else already captured a piece of her heart?

  He tortured himself with that thought as dinner was being prepared, sequestering himself in his study. He wanted it to fuel his determination to stay away from Miss Isabel. What he was feeling for her… it was no good and it was bound to end badly for her. If she made an impression at the debutante ball like he suspected, then that was a good thing.

  Then why do I feel so… envious?

  She was a vision that night. He could remember it as clear as day, the beautiful gown that had wrapped her so delicately. The angelic lady he knew so well came alive in that white gown and David had half a mind to forget about Blackpool and stay there with her, just so he could dance with her at least once. The thought scared him, but also the intense need to grab her in his arms and kiss her the way he wanted to.

  Dinner is going to be difficult to get through if I keep thinking like this.

  The Marquess and Marchioness’ presence at dinner should help as a buffer for his feelings, though he was well aware that it wouldn’t do much. Still, as they all made their greetings and got seated around the table, David made sure to keep some distance between him and Miss Isabel.

  “Your Grace,” Lady Pemperton started off. “You’ll be happy to know that the ball was splendid. Miss Isabel made quite an entrance.”

  David tensed. He glanced at Miss Isabel to see that she was looking down at her plate with a slight blush on her cheeks. “Is that so?”

  “Oh, it was lovely,” Lady Pemperton went on. “At one point, I was afraid she might have danced her feet off. She barely got any rest!”

  “Really, Lady Pemperton?” Miss Isabel spoke up, her tone idle. “I would have never guessed that you were afraid of such a thing when you were pushing me to dance with every gentleman that approached me.”

  “And I’m happy I did. So many potential suitors came from that ball, you know.”

  David didn’t want to hear about this. He didn’t want to know just how desired Miss Isabel was by other men. But it was his duty to know. “I suspect you have someone specific in mind, then?” he asked Lady Pemperton, hoping she wouldn’t be too descriptive.

  “A lovely Count has been calling on her every day since the ball. Paul Metier, Count d’Ylles. Have you heard of him, Your Grace?”

  “Vaguely,” he muttered.

  “He is quite wealthy,” Lord Pemperton spoke up. “From what I’ve seen, I think he would make a good match for Miss Isabel. And she seems to be quite fond of him, aren’t you, Miss Isabel?”

  David looked at her. He couldn’t tell if she was making an effort not to look in his direction when she nodded and said, “I do enjoy my time with him.”

  David looked back at his plate. It was one thing to hear how many gentlemen were vying to become her suitor after the ball. He could handle that, though he’d much rather not hear it at all. He could even handle hearing about one particular gentleman who seemed to be applying more pressure than the rest of them.

  But to hear her say that she was enjoying her time with him was something David couldn’t deal with. His chest grew hot with jealousy and suddenly, he wanted to see just who this Count was. He wanted to know who had managed to capture the attention of his Miss Isabel.

  He stopped himself from gripping the knife too tightly, trying to remain the picture of calmness.

  She is not mine. Not in that way. When will I learn that?

  Right now, no matter how many times he gave himself that mental reminder, he kept picturing Miss Isabel sitting with a faceless gentleman, talking, laughing. He pictured the excitement in her eyes when he came to call on her again, the same excitement David would see whenever she visited his bedchamber in Brighton.

  She should only look at me like that.

  “Your Grace?”

  David pulled himself out of his rapidly spiraling thoughts and looked up at Lord Pemperton. He noticed suddenly that they were all staring at him with expectancy.

  “Yes, My Lord?” David asked, trying to relax. He prided himself on being able to keep his emotions in check, no matter how much he wanted to let them loose, and he desperately hoped he wasn’t failing at that right now.

  “I was saying that it would be great for you to meet him,” the Marquess continued. They all resumed eating but David could feel Miss Isabel’s heavy eyes on him. “The Season has only just started, of course, but the Count has made such a lovely impression that I have a really good feeling we will have a proposal soon. That is, of course, if Miss Isabel decides to accept it.”

  David chanced looking at her. He knew it was detrimental to his mental state, but he wanted to see if she was considering it, if for a moment she looked happy at the prospect of it. But she was neither blushing nor smiling. She simply looked at the Marquess and said, “We have a long Season ahead of us, My Lord. So we’ll see.”

  Lord Pemperton nodded in agreement. David tore his gaze away. Her response was as vague as it could be and it only made him unsettled.

  “There is one more thing, Your Grace,” Lady Pemperton spoke up.

  He looked at her with a frown. Her tone was somber, quickly eliminating the excited air that had settled in the room. “What is it, My Lady?”

  “Something occurred at the debutante ball that you must know about,” she said. Her husband looked grim as well and when David looked at Miss Isabel again, she was staring at her plate without eating. “Someone handed Miss Isabel a note. We don’t know who it was because they disappeared before we could get a good look at them. But what the note said is what matters most right now.”

  “What did it say?”

  “It said that if I want to know the truth about my parents,” said Miss Isabel, “I should go to Hyde Park the next day. And I shouldn’t tell anyone about it.”

  “What?” It was a mere whisper, but the sheer anger running through that word had everyone at the table stiffening. “You have no idea who might have done such a thing?”

  “We assumed it was a rival family trying to bring Miss Isabel down, since her debut went so splendidly,” Lady Pemperton said, but her tone told it all. She didn’t quite believe that.

  And neither did David. “And if it’s not? Then that would mean there is someone out there who knows about Miss Isabel’s past and is trying to use that against her. Were there any attempts made to find this person after the ball?”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” said Lord Pemperton, who seemed to suddenly be sitting taller. “But we had no luck. The only thing we managed to secure was the list of gentlemen who attended the ball.”

  “Which brings me to this, Your Grace,” Lady Pemperton spoke up, sounding oddly chirpy all of a sudden. “My husband and I should throw a ball. We can use the list we acquired to help find a suitable husband for Miss Isabel. It will be the entire aim of the ball, but whoever handed her the note is likely to come back again. We can try to find him then.”

  As angry as he was at the thought of that person, the idea of a ball centered on finding Miss Isabel a husband didn’t sit well with him at all. But he knew he had no choice but to nod and say, “It sounds like a good enough plan considering all that we know, My Lady. I say we go ahead with it.”

  Lady Pemperton smiled broadly. “Wonderful, Your Grace.”

  Miss Isabel was silent. She had resumed eating while they were talking but she kept her head down, her eyes on a single spot on the table. David couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but he knew it couldn’t have been anything good. Being reminded of her parent’s death in such a manner must not have been easy for her.

  It's fine. She’ll find herself a husband and I’ll no longer have to wear the burden of her troubles any l
onger.

  The thought didn’t convince him as much as it should have.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Shortly after dinner, the Marquess and his wife left. The moment they were gone Isabel instantly went on alert, realizing suddenly that she was alone with the Duke. Not truly alone, not as alone as she wanted them to be, but after wanting him for weeks while he was in France, and then not being able to attend the ball with him, she was eager for any sort of interaction she could get.

  They had both seen Lord and Lady Pemperton out and silence had descended around them in the foyer. Isabel was standing just slightly behind him so she could stare at him as much as she wanted. She wanted to make the first move, to say something, but didn’t know what to say. For the first time in a long time, she felt nervous around the Duke. After the friendship they had built in Brighton, she didn’t think that would ever happen again.

  But I don’t know if we are friends anymore. It doesn’t seem to be that way.

  She couldn’t let the quiet seep in any longer. She had to say something, if only to minimize the chances of him walking away and leaving her all alone again.

  The Duke beat her to it. He turned suddenly, facing her, and she quickly clammed her mouth shut. “Would you like to unwind with me in the drawing room, Miss Isabel?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she said instantly. She glanced away, her face growing hot at her eagerness.

  His Grace nodded and swiftly walked away in the direction of the drawing room. Isabel followed behind. She couldn’t read him at all right now.

  Does he have something specific he would like to say to me? Why do I get such an ominous feeling all of a sudden?

  The feeling increased tenfold when, after arriving at the drawing room, the Duke shook his head at his valet, discouraging him from entering with him. Isabel, with a frown, did the same to Elisa who nodded and stood to the side.

  The room was warm, a small fire already cackling in the fireplace. Isabel lingered at the door, staring after the Duke as he made his way straight over to the drinks tray in the corner.

  “Is something wrong, Your Grace?” she spoke up, venturing closer. He seemed to be filled with agitation, but Isabel didn’t know if she was simply interpreting it wrong.

  “Of course there is something wrong, Miss Isabel,” the Duke said, his voice cutting through the room.

  She stiffened at the sound of it. She came a step closer, then closer and closer until she was standing before the fire. “Does it have anything to do with the matter you heard at dinner regarding the note?”

  The Duke whirled. He held two glasses in his hands, but Isabel’s eyes were focused on his face, watching the shadows dance over his strong jaws and deepen his eyes. “It isn’t a matter that should be taken lightly,” he said.

  “I know that, Your Grace,” she responded. “And we won’t take it lightly. I know I can’t.”

  “Are you all right?”

  The way his voice softened had some of the tension melting from her shoulders. She sighed and sat in the chair by the fire, fingers playing with the material of her skirt. Every time the note was brought up, she felt the same apprehension from before, though it was more muted when she was around him. Now that the Duke was aware of what had happened, she felt safer. As if anything or anyone that wanted to hurt her was no longer as scary as before.

  It had something to do with the look in his eyes, the fierceness that hadn’t been there before. Now that she was seeing it, she realized that it had been there since dinner, since his anger had rendered everyone nearly speechless and Isabel herself had almost forgotten her own fear. When Lord Pemperton had mentioned it, she once again fell into her spiraling, fearful thoughts. She had tried to rein it in, hoping that the Duke wouldn’t see how scared she was.

  Can he tell right now? Is that why he’s staring at me like that?

  She could hardly breathe. Though there was space between them, it felt as if he was so close to her and yet he wasn’t close enough. She wanted him before her, his arms around her, keeping her safe from whoever out there wanted to see her hurt.

  I wish I could at least say that to him.

  Finally, he looked away, breaking the moment. Isabel continued to stare, however, watching as he picked up a bottle of wine and brought it over to a seat by hers.

  “You don’t have to pretend to be fine, Miss Isabel,” he said. “You, more than anyone, have all reason to be on edge.”

  “I know,” she admitted. “But my parents died years ago. I shouldn’t be affected so badly anymore.”

  “The years don’t matter,” he said as he gazed into the fire. Isabel had an inkling he was thinking about the loss of his own parents. “Ten, perhaps twenty years from now, you may still be hurting. Especially knowing how sudden and violent it all was. No one expects you to ever be all right after all that.”

  “Would you have been, Your Grace?” she murmured.

  He heard her, and when he turned to look at her, his eyes went straight through her body. She had never seen that before. When the Duke looked at her, he would do so as if she was the only lady in the room. Now, she wondered if he even remembered she was present.

  “You’re a strong lady, Miss Isabel,” he said. “I don’t know what I might have done if I found myself in the same situation. I’m—”

  He broke off, looking down at the unopened bottle in his hand. Isabel leaned forward expectantly. “You’re what, Your Grace?”

  “It’s nothing. Here, have some wine.”

  The Duke proceeded to open and pour the wine. The mouth of the bottle missed the glass by an inch and the liquid came splashing out on his clothes, making him jump to his feet.

  “Oh, heavens!” Without thinking, Isabel rushed forward. “Are you all right, Your Grace? It’s all over your—”

  She froze, realizing suddenly what she was doing. She had bent to see the stain, which was now soaking through his trousers and she slowly stood taller, shame washing over her. She was afraid to look at him, afraid to see how he was looking at her, especially since he was yet to step away from her.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace—” Once again, Isabel was rendered speechless. She looked up at him to see that his eyes were smoldering with something she couldn’t name. She could only focus on the fact that they were standing so close, and that he was no longer staring into her eyes, but on her lips.

  They were both leaning closer to each other, drawn together like magnets. The moment his lips brushed against her, Isabel closed her eyes, letting out a low breath of contentment. She could hardly believe what was happening.

  I can… I can feel his tongue!

  And she was kissing him back. Her body was on fire, her mind empty but for one word playing over and over again.

  More, more, more.

  She pressed further into the kiss, her hand itching to reach out and touch him.

  Suddenly, he pushed her away. Her eyes flew open in alarm and embarrassment.

  “Miss Isabel,” he rasped, taking several steps backward. Each one he took shoved the knife deeper and deeper into her heart. “I’m terribly sorry. I… I should have controlled myself better. Please, forgive me.”

  Isabel didn’t know what to say in response. He had that special effect about him, the ability to render her speechless in times where she should say something. She tried to think of something to say, but all that came to her mind were apologies and the urge to ask for more. To tell him that that was what she had wanted all along.

  Neither came to the fore and she watched as he continued to step away from her, retreating to the farthest corner of the room. Watching that hurt more than when he pushed her away.

  “It’s all right, Your Grace,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She lowered her gaze to the floor, unable to stand and watch him anymore. “Please, if you would excuse me.”

  She wondered if he was staring after her as she left. She nearly turned back just to see, to tell him what she really felt. But the embarrassment she f
elt was much too strong and she just kept going, trying to get as far away from him as she possibly could.

  Elisa didn’t say a word when she exited the room. She merely fell in step with her while Isabel tried not to run toward her bedchamber. She hardly knew how she made it there, but the moment the doors were closed behind her, she went straight to her bed and cried.

  * * *

  David nearly ran after her. He had to fight the urge with everything in him, knowing the detriments of such an action. Even when he saw the hurt in her eyes, and saw her grappling for something to say, he tried his best to keep himself away from her, amazed at how difficult it was.