The Duke's Untamed Desire

by Amy Jarecki

  “She’s averse to socializing—though I aim to cure her of the malady this Season.” The woman’s lips pursed as the maid brought in the tea service. “Thank you, miss.”

  Fletcher stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles in an attempt to appear reserved and patient while Her Ladyship poured. Four years of dukedom had taught him not to reach across the table, shake a gentlewoman by the neck and demand answers. Truly, he’d never stooped so low as to shake any woman by the neck. He drummed his fingers on the armrest and looked toward the door.

  “It must be very unnerving to have a daughter so lovely, yet so shy,” he ventured.

  Lady Derby handed him a cup and saucer. “I wouldn’t say she’s exactly shy, but Georgiana has led a reclusive life.”

  “Oh?” he asked with an incline if his head, willing her to tell him more.

  “Six years ago, she married a poor scholar.”

  A lead ball sank to the pit of Fletcher’s stomach. “I see.” He did see. Every time he met a woman who remotely interested him, she was married.

  “The man took her to the country where we rarely saw her. And to my dismay, Georgiana only grew more withdrawn. Why, just yesterday I convinced her to stop wearing mourning clothes.”

  The lead ball levitated. “Mourning, did you say?”

  “Yes. Daniel has been gone over a year. And it is high time Georgiana spent a Season in London and realize there is more to life than being miserable in a shabby cottage.”

  “Ah, so that’s why I haven’t seen her at any affairs in London before.”

  “Exactly. Hardly a soul has seen her in six years, the poor dear. And I intend to ensure she enjoys everything the Season has to offer.”

  “Including dancing?” he asked, recalling how Lady Georgiana had all but refused to take her dance card.

  “Especially dancing, the theater, music, soirees, luncheons.”

  For a recluse? He swallowed his question with a sip of tea. “I’m sure Her Ladyship will be delighted.”

  “She will be.”

  “Is she here?”

  SEATED AT HER WRITING table, Georgiana nibbled a bit of toast as she read a paper delivered earlier that morning. Seeming to be a lady’s journal from the fashionable rendering of an evening gown on the front page, the title was rather odd: The Scarlet Petticoat.

  Halfway down the page, an article caught her eye:

  “The Duke of Evesham has been caught exiting a sedan chair dripping wet. Our sources report he was doused during an exhibition of a fire pumper at the Southwark Fair and that a mysterious woman did the dousing. Has the ton’s most notorious rake at last had his fiery lust extinguished by a shunned lover?”

  She looked up in disbelief. Roddy had manned the hose and Mr. Walpole had given the lion’s share of the presentation. How had someone targeted her as the culprit, let alone a shunned lover? The ridiculous article went on to prove the inaccuracies of news reporting. The only possible truth might be the subject concerning Evesham. He was definitely wet, most likely hailed a sedan chair for a lift home, and even Mr. Walpole knew of the duke’s philandering reputation.

  With a snort, Georgiana slapped the paper on the table. The pile of lies was naught but a miserable gossip tabloid fit only for the rubbish bin.

  “My lady?” Dobbs, the family butler’s voice came through the timbers.

  “Come in.”

  “The Duke of Evesham has asked to see you.”

  Sixty leaping lords bounded through her stomach while a lump the size of Gibraltar took up residence in her throat.

  “Evesham, did you say?” she managed in a strangled whisper. Oh dear, oh dear. He’d realized who she was and had come to bury her.

  “Yes, he’s in the parlor with your mother.”

  Lord save me. Clutching her midriff, Georgiana sprang to her feet. “Tell him I’ve stepped out.”

  Dobbs threw out his hands. “Stepped out? But Her Ladyship—”

  “Tell them I’m walking the dog. Where can I find Rasputin and...and his lead?”

  “He’s most likely in the kitchens. Are you sure you can handle a hunting dog?”

  “Of course. I’ve walked a dog before.” Georgiana snatched her new bonnet and gloves. “I’m off. Tell Mama I’ve already left the house.”

  As soon as she entered the kitchen, Rasputin bounded up to her, planted his paws on her shoulders and licked her face. Shifting her head away, Georgiana gave the Pointer a push. “Are you ready for a walk, chappie?”

  With a display of enthusiasm, slamming his tail into every standing object in the kitchen and knocking over a stool, the dog dashed to the door and fixated upon the lead dangling from a hook.

  “Right-o. You’re a bright lad, are you not?” She snapped the clasp onto his collar. “Where shall we go? Green Park?”

  Rasputin yowled. Only about a quarter-mile away, it was likely where Papa took the dog on their morning jaunts.

  Lead in hand, she pushed outside into the drizzle. But a tad of rain wasn’t about to stop her from a stealthy escape. Evidently, Rasputin thought the same as he scampered through the rear garden at far too fast a pace.

  “Heel.” Georgiana tugged on the lead. “We’re not in a footrace. Has my father not taught you proper manners?”

  Her question was met with a slap of his tail as the dog scrambled with long strides, tugging against his collar with such force the beast made choking noises.

  Yes, Georgiana had walked a dog when she was still living at home. At the time, the family’s beloved pet was an overweight Corgi who generally waddled up the street and back, after which he was ready for a long afternoon nap. But this year-old Pointer clearly took to the idea of a stroll in a completely different light.

  Before Rasputin managed to pull her arm from its socket, she yanked him beside her with all her strength. “I say heel. What on earth does my father feed you, gunpowder?” She gave another hearty tug. “We are walking to the park, you four-legged ox.”

  Georgiana tried to stop and check for traffic at the corner of Stratton and Piccadilly, but Rasputin would have nothing to do with slowing the pace even in the face of certain death by an oncoming phaeton with a high-stepping team. She had naught but to grip the lead, blink away the rain, and cower while the dog dragged her zigzagging across the cobbles to the tune of more shouts and curse words than she’d heard at Southwark Fair the day prior.

  Once they reached the path leading into the park, Georgiana tried to catch her breath and compose herself, but the Pointer had different ideas. Gurgling with ravenous snorts, he tugged on the lead as if he’d been starved for weeks and had homed in on a roast goose. The beast hauled her beneath sycamores dripping sloppy globules of water that slapped her in the face.

  “Heel!” she shouted, having given up all semblance of a ladylike demeanor while she fought desperately to hang on, praying the dog wouldn’t run roughshod over any elderly passersby.

  Abruptly, the mangy mutt stopped. Thank God. Panting, Georgiana planted her palms on her knees and took in a deep inhalation. “Surely, you mustn’t misbehave this badly with my father.”

  After creeping forward, Rasputin pointed. Left paw tucked up, head low, tail straight out like a ramming rod.

  In the five minutes that she had come to know the animal, without a doubt, pointing meant nothing good. Not for a hunting dog confined in the midst of a city.

  Quack, quack.

  “Nooooooo!” Georgiana howled, her arm yanked forward while her feet pummeled the ground at a run.

  Barking loud enough to alert every Bow Street runner in the city, Rasputin darted straight for the pond. A flock of ducks set to flight just as the bedeviled hound took a soaring leap. At the edge of the water, Georgiana released her grip, but the accursed leash caught on her finger.

  Shrieking, she flung out her hands as she dove, face-first into a grove of lily pads. Murky water filled her mouth as she hollered for help, only to be choked to within an inch of her life. Engulfed by cold and wet, a simple st
roll with a dog became a fight for her very breath while the weight of her skirts and petticoats dragged her downward. Her right shoe dropped as she battled against lake weed, stretching her feet toward the bottom.

  With a rush of strength, her head broke the surface. “Help!” Georgiana coughed and sputtered, gasping for air.

  As if the hands of God had swept down from the skies, big meaty fingers clamped around her waist.

  “I have you,” growled a deep voice, one that made gooseflesh pebble her skin. Water whisked away as the man lifted her into his arms. Georgiana curled into his protective chest.

  “Thank you ever so much,” she said, looking to his face. If a woman could die from shock, this would be the moment. “Ah...Your Grace,” she squeaked.

  The Duke of Evesham grinned at her much the same as he’d done the night before but, this time, it was in complete daylight. The sun peeked through a gap in the clouds, making him look as if a halo encircled his black hair—his rugged face framed by a hint of fiery light. “Lady Georgiana, I presume?”

  “How did you guess?”

  Even his eyes sparkled beneath those fierce brows. Was it natural for a man’s eyes to be so inordinately amber? “Your mother became quite concerned when the butler mentioned you’d taken the dog for a stroll.”

  “And now we both know why.” She glanced toward the ground. “I believe it is safe to put me down.”

  “I suppose it would create a spectacle if I carried you to your doorstep.” Chuckling, he gently placed her feet on the grass as if she were as light as a feather.

  Georgiana felt anything but steady. Was she floating? The dog rubbed his wet body along her leg and sat wagging his tail while he smiled up at her, his tongue lolling to the side. “Now I know why my father named him Rasputin. This beast is the spawn of the devil.”

  Evesham gave the mutt a pat. “I think not. This fellow is just a pup. Pointers love running and need plenty of exercise. It is difficult for them to be in Town.”

  Was this the same man who’d practically seduced her at Almacks last eve? “You’re fond of dogs, are you?”

  “Love them. I have a pair of Gordon Setters.”

  “Setters and Pointers? We ought to have a grand hunt. The dogs would be overjoyed.”

  “They would.”

  The air swelled with silence. Unable to pull her gaze away, Georgiana’s shoeless foot turned inward. There he stood, the same man who told her to throw the steam pumper in the Thames who was again dripping wet—at least to his waist—but he seemed completely unperturbed by his discomfort. Should she tell him?

  Absolutely not!

  “Ah...I truly am in your debt, Your Grace,” she managed. “Thank you ever so much for coming to my aid.”

  She reached for Rasputin’s lead. But the duke relieved it from the tips of her fingers. “No thanks is necessary, though I would not be fulfilling my gentlemanly duty if I didn’t see you home.”

  Hugging her shoulders, she forlornly watched his hand wrap around the leather strap. Why was he being so nice? Where was the irate gentleman from the fair? Was he a chameleon? Irate to sensuous to kind? How many faces did Evesham have?

  She nodded toward the path. “Very well.”

  “Your mother told me about your recent loss,” he said as Rasputin walked at heel, pretending he hadn’t just nearly caused her death. “Please accept my condolences. You must have thought me inordinately forward last eve.”

  “Thank you.” Had he come to call to offer an apology? And why didn’t her heart twist into a knot like it usually did when someone mentioned Daniel’s passing? “Honestly, I didn’t know what to think. It had been so long since I set foot in Almacks I’d forgotten where to find the lady’s withdrawing room.”

  A droplet fell from his black hair onto his shoulder. He didn’t look entirely like a duke. He looked more like a Gypsy in duke’s clothing—a very attractive, somewhat dangerous man of Romany descent. “Where you were heading to spend the evening reading, I’ve been told.”

  “I performed my duty and made an appearance with Mama to spare my father a dreary night out, mind you.”

  “It was very nice of you to accompany her.”

  “She does love the Season.”

  “And you do not?”

  Georgiana shivered. “I abhor it.”

  “But why, especially now you are free to do as you please?”

  Hmm. What she pleased was to find a financier and promptly return to her hovel in Thetford. “Ah, but my mother has other plans.”

  “And as the dutiful daughter, you have chosen to humor her?”

  “Something along those lines.” No, she definitely never would mention the steam pumper to His Grace.

  Evesham stopped at the entrance to the alley. “Shall we take Rasputin in through the rear?”

  “Positively not.” Georgiana hastened her step. If the duke caught sight of the steam pumper, he’d throttle her for certain. “I cannot allow a man of your station to venture back through the mews. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  He followed, thank heavens. “You mustn’t think of me as being inordinately lofty. I haven’t always been a duke.”

  “But you are now.” She stopped at the bottom of the town house steps and held out her hand. “I think I can handle the dog from here. And thank you ever so much for coming to my aid. I truly am grateful.”

  A furrow formed in his brow while his gaze dipped to her lips...and perhaps a tad lower. Something deep inside came awake like a cat that had been sleeping for ages. “You’d best don some dry clothes.”

  Georgiana glanced down. How daft could she be? Her bodice clung to her breasts. Worse, her nipples were as erect as Rasputin’s tail had been when he’d spotted the ducks. Drawing an arm across her bosoms, she dipped into a hasty curtsy. “Good day, Your Grace.”

  She couldn’t dash up the stairs fast enough.

  “Good day, my lady,” his deep voice called after her, carrying a touch of humor. “And if you should ever decide to walk your dog again, please do send for me beforehand.”

  Too polite to ignore him, she cast a gracious smile over her shoulder and slipped inside.

  Chapter Four

  THREE DAYS LATER

  “Georgiana, is that you?”

  Smiling radiantly, a dear friend from Georgiana’s distant past approached with outstretched hands through the crowded vestibule of Covent Garden. “Eleanor? Oh, how lovely to see you!”

  “My, you look absolutely stunning.” The daughter of the Viscount of Lisle, Lady Eleanor Kent had been a dear childhood friend. “I had no idea you were in London.”

  “’Tis a bit of exchange, really. I’m accompanying Mama to her social engagements...” Georgiana drew in a deep breath. The opera was about to start and there was little time to explain all that had transpired in the past few years.

  “And what are you gaining?” Eleanor asked.

  Georgiana glanced to her mother, deep in conversation with a woman wearing a great many diamonds. “I’m trying to find a financier for Daniel’s steam pumper.”

  “He finished it?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Oh dear, why do I have the feeling something horrible has happened?”

  “Because it has. There was an accident. And...he’s gone.” Georgiana whispered. Blinking away tears, she snapped open her fan and hid behind a flurry of fluttering.

  Eleanor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “How awful for you. I am so sorry I wasn’t aware—how on earth have we lost touch? Please accept my sincere condolences.”

  “Thank you.” It seemed few people knew. Not that Daniel’s death had made the papers in London. And Georgiana hadn’t written anyone. After moving to Thetford, she’d fallen out of contact with her friends, even Eleanor. “It has been over a year since the accident, and Mama feels I need to reenter society.”

  “But it cannot be easy for you to be out and about, not after all you’ve been through.”

  “I have my motives, and it i
s nice to see Mama with her friends. She’s such a social butterfly.”

  “She always has been.” Eleanor nodded at a passing dandy. “Tell me, do you have any children?”

  “No.” Georgiana’s gaze followed a man who winked at Eleanor over his shoulder. Was her friend flirting? “And you? I do not recall reading about your wedding.”

  “That’s because I am far too busy running my father’s affairs.”

  “After all this time, you’re still taking care of him?”

  Tugging up her gloves, Eleanor cringed. “Someone must keep the household afloat.”

  “I’m surprised the viscount hasn’t received a war pension.”

  “He has—enough for his basic needs, but not enough to fill his coffers.”

  The bell rang, indicating all should take their seats for the opera.

  “I’d better go.” Eleanor squeezed Georgiana’s hands. “I’d love to hear more about your steam pumper. We must have tea soon.”

  “I’d absolutely adore that.” What a boon to find an ally. And why hadn’t Georgiana thought of her dear friend sooner? True, she had only been in London a week, but she needed a confidant and Eleanor would fit the bill quite nicely.

  Smiling, she joined her mother as they ascended the stairs to their second-tier box.

  “Was that Lady Eleanor with whom you were speaking?”

  “It was, indeed.”

  “Are you aware she’s still a spinster?” Mama whispered behind her fan. “’Tis a frightful shame. I’ve always considered her such a lovely girl. Her hair shines like copper.”

  Georgiana’s shoulders tensed. “She has her hands tied, taking care of her father.”

  “Why must the burden fall to her? They have servants.”

  “I’m certain there is a good reason for it.” She rubbed her neck. “Besides, I commend Eleanor for looking after the viscount.”

  “Hmm.” Mother handed two tickets to the usher waiting at the top of the stairs. “Box five if you please.”

  “Yes, my lady. Have you seen Don Giovani before?”

  “Not for years.”

  He led them down the corridor. “Then you are in for quite a treat.”