The Duke of Hearts

by Jess Michaels

  “I cannot imagine you were not read the same rules as we were when you came in here, sir,” the stranger said. “The ladies are to be unmolested. To behave as you are is to court banishment, I believe.”

  Her attacker’s eyes narrowed farther. “You work for Rivers, then?” he spat.

  “I don’t, but I can certainly call someone who does.”

  “For a whore,” the man spat. “A woman who lowers herself to come here and then denies what she’s exhibiting for all to see. Whore!”

  He shouted the last over the stranger’s shoulder toward Isabel, and she turned away in embarrassment.

  Now the stranger’s posture grew even angrier. He actually seemed bigger as he tugged her attacker close and growled. “This woman has just as much as right as you do to come and go as she pleases. By coming here she did not ask to be molested by a drunken fool. Her desires are no dirtier than your own. Now get out or I will find your way out for you.”

  He pushed the other man then, sending him staggering into the crowd. Her attacker glared at them, then skulked away.

  Now the stranger turned to her, all the anger gone from his expression, replaced with concern. “Are you well? Did he hurt your wrist?”

  She glanced down and found that she was still gripping it in her opposite hand. “Oh, n-no,” she stammered, working hard to find words, harder than it should have been. “I’m fine. Thank you so much, sir. I cannot think of what I could do to tell you how much I appreciate your interference and your harsh set-down of that lout.”

  His eyes went a little wider and she blushed slightly as she realized the double entendre of her words. Now she had no idea what he would think of her, and if she had just jumped out of a cozy frying pan and directly into a burning fire.

  Chapter Two

  Matthew was having a hard time focusing as he stared down into the lovely face of his masked companion. Her delicate features were impossible to hide, even beneath the brocade mask that sheltered her identity. She had full lips and thick dark hair spun up in a simple Greek style that framed her face perfectly.

  He hadn’t been thinking of how beautiful she was when he approached. In truth, he hadn’t been able to see her, only the lout who was holding her, demanding what she clearly didn’t want to give.

  But now…now he found himself feeling things he hadn’t for years. Wanting things he’d determined he would not seek during his night at the Donville Masquerade.

  He shook his head. Robert was rubbing off on him.

  “Does that often happen here?” he asked.

  A flush of color filled her pale cheeks, but she shook her head. “No. It’s never happened before. They are very careful at the masquerade. It is full agreement or nothing at all.”

  He pursed his lips. She spoke as though she was very experienced in what happened here. That implied she might be a lightskirt, though he couldn’t believe that was true. There was an innocence about this woman. Her very proper accent and her careful choice of words said lady to him. Perhaps she was a bored wife or a wild heiress.

  “I suppose this Rivers fellow must keep rules in place or risk no ladies coming at all for fear of being accosted,” he continued. In truth, he didn’t really care about the club, for he had no intention of joining. But he didn’t want to step away, and that meant he had to keep talking.

  She was watching him, her gaze unreadable. “Does that mean you are a new member, sir?”

  “I came with my friends,” he said, motioning toward the door. When he turned he found that Robert was gone and Hugh stood talking to a curvy redhead who seemed very focused on tracing the line of his jaw with her fingernail.

  He cleared his throat. “Apparently they have found their desires, though.”

  “And what about you?” she asked. “What is your desire?”

  He swallowed. “Well…”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. That was a terribly forward question and I shouldn’t have asked it. I-I—”

  She looked ready to run and he reached out to gently touch her arm. “I suppose under normal circumstances it would not be proper, but here…well, isn’t that what here is all about?”

  She licked her lips and he watched her pink tongue move. How long had it been since he felt someone’s mouth on him? Someone’s hands on him? Too long, if the first possibility made desire spike so high in him.

  “I suppose you’re right,” she whispered, her gaze darting out into the rowdy, writhing crowd.

  All around them people were doing such wicked things, Matthew hardly knew where to look. So he followed her stare to the dancefloor. There some couples were dancing to the music like in any ball. Others ground together in a public display of desire…foreplay.

  “Would you like to dance?” he found himself asking.

  She gasped and her gaze returned to him. “Dance?” she repeated.

  “Not…not like that,” he said, shuddering as one couple began to kiss passionately. “Just dance.”

  She hesitated, but then she slowly nodded. “Very well. I would be pleased to dance with you.”

  The words were more impactful than he wished them to be. His head spun and he took a few seconds to gather himself before he held out a hand to her. Neither was wearing gloves—this wasn’t the kind of establishment where such propriety would be expected or wanted. She looked up at him, those eyes of hers wide and dark. Her fingers trembled as she set them in his palm, and he realized in that moment that she was just as set on her heels by whatever electricity crackled between them as he was.

  Somehow that didn’t help.

  He drew in a few deep breaths as he guided her through the crowd and onto the dancefloor just as the orchestra began the next song. It was slow, a waltz meant to force its participants into each other’s arms. Matthew had not danced a waltz in years. It was once Angelica’s favorite, so he hadn’t the heart.

  Now he began to move in time to the music, guiding the lovely stranger in his arms in a circle around the floor and wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into.

  Isabel couldn’t breathe as her protector danced with her with such grace. His hand was warm in hers, rough; the other pressed against her hip and made her very aware of the fact that she wore no undergarments beneath her clothing. Just a thin scrap of silk separating his skin from hers, his desire from hers.

  The room was spinning, and not just because of the waltz. She had come here before and just watched, but now she was swept up in the rhythm of the dance, in the sexual intensity that crackled all around them. In the man who held her so close and stared down into her eyes like she was the only woman in the room.

  She didn’t know what exactly was happening, but it was hypnotic and powerful, and she didn’t want it to end.

  “Why are you here?” he whispered, almost to himself more than to her.

  She blinked, the question breaking through the hazy fog that had settled around them. “Why is anyone here?” she retorted.

  He frowned and his gaze darted around them. “For sin. Did you come here for sin?”

  She swallowed and then found herself jerking out a nod. “I suppose I did. I’m not supposed to see what I see here, not supposed to feel how I feel. And yet I…I…”

  She broke off and lost her footing a fraction. He steadied her by tightening his fingers on her hip, and yet that did nothing to ground her. Her body just felt like it caught on fire, her legs trembling and the apex of her thighs throbbing.

  She’d felt like this before, of course. Long ago in her marriage, and now in her bed alone after nights here when she brought herself to completion.

  But never so intensely.

  “You like it,” he said softly.

  She glanced up at him. “That’s wrong, I suppose.”

  “I don’t know what’s wrong and what’s right anymore, I don’t think,” he said. “Right now it feels very…muddled.”

  She caught her bre
ath. Certainly it did that. This wasn’t what she’d come here for, this wasn’t how far she’d declared she’d go. And yet here she was, in a stranger’s arms, talking about things no woman was supposed to talk about.

  Or so she had been told.

  “Why did you come?” she asked.

  He blinked, like her question woke him from a dream. “I don’t know. Because…because I’ve stayed away from my life too long. Because someone told me I needed to come back to it. To this.”

  There was something a little mournful in those words. Pain behind the soft, deep, hypnotic sound of his voice. She shifted a bit closer and his hands tightened on her again, like he wanted her nearer.

  It was in that moment she realized they had stopped moving on the dancefloor. They stood in the middle, couples all around them, and he was just staring down at her. She up at him. Perhaps it was the masks, the anonymity, perhaps the environment, perhaps the fact that she’d been alone for a long time and that she feared a future that would potentially keep her locked away from these feelings for the rest of her life…whatever it was, she didn’t feel odd standing with him.

  She felt alive. For the first time in a long time, she felt alive.

  He bent his head slowly, and then those full lips she had mused about from across a crowded hall were on hers. At first he was tentative, gentle, the kind of kiss a man would give to a nervous bride. Something to ease and comfort.

  But then heat took over, desire took over. He drew her closer and his mouth opened. She did the same and then he was inside, his tongue probing hers with deft, powerful precision. He tasted faintly of scotch, of mint, of potent male desire.

  She lifted into all of it, clutching his lapels as his fingers tightened even further on her hip and pulled her flush against him.

  She was drowning and she didn’t care. She’d come to watch, but this was better. This joining of mouths, this clashing of tongues…she wanted more of it. She wanted more of everything and she didn’t give a damn about the consequences.

  They were jostled by a drunken couple flitting by, and the stranger broke his mouth from hers. The spell was broken with it. She stared up at him, still mesmerized by his handsomeness, his command, by whatever had wrapped itself around her and made her drop every barrier she’d had in her life.

  If she didn’t stop now, if she didn’t walk away, she would give herself to him. A stranger, a man she had no idea about. And while that thrilled her, it also terrified her. The water was too deep and she realized she was out of control.

  “I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, then turned on her heel and ran.

  It had been an hour since the beautiful masked stranger had fled the masquerade, and yet Matthew’s hands still shook as he rested them on the terrace wall. In the shadows he heard the grunts and moans of couples in the throes of passion, but he ignored them as he stared out toward the garden below.

  “There you are.”

  He didn’t turn. He knew it was Robert intruding upon his privacy. Of course it would be. Hugh would be tactful, Robert less so. It was like Matthew was being tested.

  “I’ve been here a while,” he said, still without looking at his friend. “Seems you’ve been busy.”

  “Very,” Robert said with a chuckle as he stepped up beside Matthew. He was more disheveled than he had been when they first arrived, and Matthew forced himself not to roll his eyes. Trust Robert to find his pleasure without any worries or questions or consequences.

  And Matthew couldn’t stop thinking about a damned kiss.

  “Who was she?” Robert asked.

  Matthew jerked his gaze toward him. Robert’s face was impassive. At least he’d find no judgment here.

  “I didn’t know you saw her,” he said as a way to dodge the question. “You were already gone with your conquest.”

  “You just didn’t see me,” Robert said. “I may have found my conquest, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t take an interest in yours.”

  Matthew’s hands tightened against the edge of the wall. He didn’t like the idea of Robert having an interest in the lady he’d danced with.

  “I don’t know who she was,” he admitted. “We didn’t exchange names.”

  Robert drew back with a low whistle. “Anonymous. Very sensual.”

  “No. Yes. No.” Matthew drew a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

  Robert wrinkled his brow as he turned toward Matthew. “Only you could make a stolen moment so complicated. Great God, man, so you liked a woman. A very beautiful woman, even with her face half-hidden by a mask. You forgot your melancholy for five minutes. What’s the harm?”

  Matthew turned away from. “Sod off and find your pleasure,” he snapped, far more harshly than he meant. Perhaps more than Robert deserved.

  But his friend was undeterred. He clapped Matthew on the back. “I love you. That may be the drinks talking, but I do. You’re my brother, just like all the rest of them. It’s proven by the way you put up with me despite your disapproval.”

  Matthew looked at him. Beneath the jovial mask, beneath the slightly drunken sway, Robert was serious. “I don’t—” he began, then stopped himself. “Very well, I suppose I do disapprove of you sometimes. But more for your own good than what I fear you do to others. And I care for you too.”

  Robert smiled. “I just don’t want to see you drown in misery forever.”

  Matthew bent his head. “I know. I know.”

  “If a moment with this lady you danced with, you kissed—”

  “You were watching,” Matthew breathed.

  “Of course. I thought I might have to extend my backroom privileges to you and I was ecstatic.” Robert shrugged. “Mostly because I hoped that you might find a little light if you gave in.”

  Matthew sighed. “To be honest, there was light. I have not been drawn to a woman like that since…since Angelica. It was unexpected and powerful, and I think had she not run I might have done exactly as you hoped. So perhaps you are right not to give up on me.”

  “I’d never give up on you,” Robert said. “Now come on, I’ll go introduce you to Marcus Rivers.”

  Matthew followed as his friend took him back inside. “The owner?” he asked. “Why?”

  “So you can interview for a membership, of course,” Robert tossed back over his shoulder as he moved toward the back corner of the room and a man stationed at the foot of a set of stairs.

  Matthew couldn’t help but laugh. “You are persistent.”

  “I must be. I’m the only one of our group with any sense at all,” Robert said as he stopped in front of the man at the stairs. “We’d like to see Mr. Rivers, to inquire about membership for my friend.”

  The young man bobbed his head and disappeared up the stairs. Matthew knew he should put a stop to this, but he didn’t. In the end, perhaps Robert really was right. Maybe it was time to go toward the light.

  And maybe if he came here regularly, he’d bump into the lady he’d met earlier. The one who’d reminded him that there was light left in this world after all.

  Chapter Three

  Isabel sat at the table in her uncle’s breakfast room, but she hadn’t touched the plate of eggs and sausage placed before her. She couldn’t do it—her stomach was still aflutter from last night.

  From what she’d done on a public dancefloor with a stranger, a man who had no name and only half a face. It was entirely wanton and wrong.

  And she desperately wanted to do it all again.

  “Eat,” her uncle snapped, and she jumped at the sudden sharpness of his tone.

  “I could suggest the same to you, Uncle Fenton,” she said carefully, using the first words they’d spoken to each other that morning to gauge his moods.

  That was always the worst part of her day, when she didn’t know what his emotions were. Fenton Winter could be kind and gentlemanly, talking to her of books or music or old family stories that made them both smile. Or he could be withdrawn and da
rk, drowning in a grief that had pulled him under over and over again for three long, desperate years.

  He smashed the paper he’d been reading down on the table, and she flinched. A bad mood, it seemed, if his dark expression was any indication.

  “Something in the paper trouble you?” she asked softly as she speared her eggs and began to eat them. They tasted like nothing at all in her current state.

  “Society is agog over that bastard Tyndale, that is all.” Her uncle slammed a fist against the table, and the dishes shivered with the force of his anger. “The paper goes on and on about him, what an eligible bachelor he is.”

  Isabel took a sip of tea and took the moment both to gather herself and to observe her uncle. He was a riddle. He could be so decent, so loving. He’d been kind to her as a child and that kindness had extended to her after the death of her husband, when she’d been left with so little. Uncle Fenton had taken her in without hesitation and provided a small allowance that kept her from scraping and begging.

  But beneath that kindness lurked something more. His grief. His anger. His hatred for the Duke of Tyndale, the man he currently railed against.

  No amount of time had eased that.

  “I understand what it is like to lose someone you…you care for,” she began carefully.

  He turned on her with a shake of his head. “You do not. At least your husband wasn’t murdered like my Angelica.”

  She flinched. On his worse days, Uncle Fenton did this. Railed about how his daughter, her cousin, had been murdered. Drowned on purpose, rather than in the accident, as the world believed. And he blamed Angelica’s fiancé. He blamed Tyndale.

  As for Isabel, she didn’t know what to believe. Men of power certainly had the means to cover up a crime they’d committed. Tyndale had much of that. His presentation to the world that he was a man deep in grieving could all be a cover, meant to thrust attention elsewhere.