The Duke's Untamed Desire

by Amy Jarecki

The maid drew down the bedclothes.

  “She was,” said Fletcher. “Quite violently. Where is the sherry I ordered?”

  The maid curtsied. “I’ll go check on it.”

  “Thank you,” said Lady Derby, moving to the bedside and putting her hand against Georgiana’s forehead. “Are you fevered at all?”

  “Of course not.”

  “What a relief. Now let me see your wrist.”

  She pulled her arm from beneath the linens. “It looks like I swallowed a tennis ball and the silly thing went straight down my arm.”

  “Oh, that does look rather bad,” said the baroness. “What if this had happened whilst you were alone in Thetford?”

  “I promise you, I do not go on fox hunts and jump horses in Thetford.”

  “I should say not. I’ll have Cook send up two slices of flan.” Lady Derby patted Fletcher’s arm and gave him a once-over. “Goodness, Evesham, you look as if you’ve been thrown as well.”

  “Just a tad muddied from assisting Lady Georgiana, forgive my shirtsleeves.” He gestured to his coat. “My jacket bore the brunt of it.”

  “I am grateful you were there to help her. My daughter believes she is ever so independent, but we all need each other now and again. It isn’t natural to live alone.”

  Georgiana rolled her eyes to the bedcurtains. “We are not having this conversation, Mama.”

  Fletcher took Lady Derby’s hand and escorted her toward the door, giving a wink for good measure. “A slice of flan sounds absolutely delicious. I would be ever so grateful if you would see that someone brings them up.”

  “Yes, of course. Straightaway.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  When he turned, Georgiana was giving him a pointed look. “I have a sore wrist. I’ll not be treated like an invalid. I’m sure the swelling will go down by tomorrow morning, and I’ll be perfectly fine.”

  He sauntered toward her. “You have experience with wrists swollen to the size of my fist?”

  “Not exactly, but this is far from the first time I’ve sustained an injury.”

  “I’ve never seen a woman so fiercely averse to being pampered.”

  “Well, I do not have time for mollycoddling.”

  “Whyever not? Because you must return to London and resume you duties accompanying your mother to all the engaging events of the Season?”

  She pursed her lips and looked away.

  Fletcher’s gut squeezed, and not in a pleasurable way. “What else is so pressing you cannot enjoy a bit of attention for a sennight or two?”

  “Nothing.” She released a heavy sigh. “Perhaps Mama was right.”

  As a dozen questions filled his head, Lady Derby returned with the physician. He was a wizened man with kind eyes and mentioned he’d known Georgiana since she was a babe. Fletcher stood, looking over the man’s shoulder while he methodically asked questions and examined Her Ladyship’s wrist, then had the wherewithal to have her move her feet and knees and turn her head this way and that before he pronounced that she had a badly sprained wrist and must wear a sling for at least a fortnight—longer if the pain didn’t subside.

  Once he took his leave, Georgiana swiveled her feet over the edge of the bed. “Well that’s that. I cannot attend the ball.”

  Letting Lady Derby take the lead on the topic, Fletcher poured the sherry which had arrived during the examination along with the flan.

  “You are not serious. You are the guest of honor!” Her Ladyship drew her wrist to her forehead as if she were about to swoon. “Clearly you are averse to being bedridden. You cannot even manage to stay put for a single afternoon.”

  “I refuse to attend a ball wearing a sling.”

  Fletcher gave the baroness a glass, a bit overfull for good measure. “Perhaps we could fashion something out of lace—or something to match your gown.”

  Lady Derby took a generous sip. “Oh, I do like that idea. And we can all talk about the hunt and how His Grace rode to the rescue.”

  Georgiana groaned. “Right, and how incredibly clumsy I am.”

  Fletcher poured for her. “The fall had nothing to do with you and everything to do with a horse that was too old to be jumping hedges.”

  The baroness completely emptied her glass. “See? There’s plenty of riveting conversation just between the three of us.”

  “I shall wear gloves—if I can find a pair to fit over this lump. And no sling, otherwise the guest of honor will be elsewhere. And mark me, I will not be dancing.”

  Fletcher refilled Lady Derby’s sherry. “Has your daughter always been this difficult?”

  “Always. She’s been stubborn since she was in the womb.”

  “Thank you, Mama. I’m sure His Grace wants to hear stories from your confinement.”

  He raised his glass. “I’d love to.”

  “Perhaps another time.” Lady Derby sipped as she backed to the door. “If you don’t mind excusing me, I must go check to see if the hunting party has returned. We’ve quite an afternoon planned.”

  “More games?” asked Georgiana.

  “What would a house party be without games?”

  Once they were alone, Fletcher offered his elbow. “Will you join me on the settee for a bite of flan and a glass of sherry?”

  “Wine sounds marvelous.”

  “Then let us drink to your swift recovery.”

  “You know, you do not need to remain here and keep me company.”

  “Oh, but I do.” He plucked one of her curls and drew it to his nose. Mm, he loved her scent. “You’re the reason I’m here.”

  She used her left hand to take a bite of flan, then licked a morsel from the corner of her mouth. “Remember our agreement. Our liaison is for the duration of the week only.”

  “I see...so you can return to your life as a hermit in what your mother calls a hovel?”

  “Mm hmm.” She kissed him, her lips sweet. “And you can tend to your far greater responsibilities to king and country.”

  Not about to let her ease away, Fletcher slipped his fingers behind her neck and plunged in for a proper taste. Sighing, she kissed him with equal fervor, making him chuckle. “So, my self-proclaimed wallflower, you will fade off into the sunset and hide from the world as if this...” Ever so lightly, he brushed his lips over hers. “Never happened?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “THIS REMINDS ME OF our first ball,” said Georgiana from her perch on the settee as she watched Eleanor lightly dab a hint of rouge with her ring finger. “Do you remember?”

  “How can I forget? After my first attempt with the rouge pot, I looked as if I had scarlet fever.”

  “The perils of the forbidden use of beauty treatments on unsuspecting debutantes.”

  “Of course, anything taboo was all the more alluring. At least the rouge disaster was a lesson quickly learned.” Eleanor turned from the mirror. “Are you still planning to go to Richmond Park on the morrow?”

  Georgiana smoothed her hand over her wrist. The swelling had gone down a tad, but it still looked as if she was hiding a tennis ball in her glove, not to mention it hurt like the devil. “Absolutely. I’d go even if the fall had broken my leg.”

  “But how will you manage?”

  “I’ve asked Tom, the groomsman to have a curricle hitched first thing in the morning. He’ll take charge of the ribbons.”

  “Then you have it all planned?”

  “I do.”

  “And Evesham still knows nothing?”

  She sighed, but the week had come to an end and so had her affair with the handsome duke, no matter how much her heart ached. “Correct.”

  “’Tis a pity.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s so very fond of you. And you pair enjoy each other’s company ever so. Have you given any consideration as to what it would be like to marry him?”

  “Marriage?” Georgiana’s stomach fluttered, but she drew her fists against her midriff to stanch it. “And walk away from Daniel’s dreams?”r />
  “I don’t see why you can’t just hold forth an tell Evesham about your pumper. I think you’re not giving him the benefit of the doubt, my dearest.”

  The queasiness in her stomach dropped like a lead weight. “Doing so would ruin everything.”

  Georgiana rose and moved to the window. A light mist was falling, yet the guests would be arriving soon. What if she did tell Fletcher about the pumper? Mayhap she ought to start by showing him the drawings—after all, he’d studied Watt. Once he understood exactly the capabilities of the machine, she could then tell him the story of how disastrous her first demonstration was...and why.

  But now wasn’t the right time to bare her soul. Perhaps after they returned to London, he might call. If she served tea in the parlor and created an amiable atmosphere, she ought to feel comfortable enough to make such a confession. That would be far preferable to taking such a risk on her birthday—during a ball where she was the guest of honor. Besides, Mama had gone to so much trouble.

  Georgiana spotted a carriage approaching and then another.

  What if Fletcher didn’t storm out when she revealed the truth? What if he laughed and said he knew it was her all along? What if he did propose marriage?

  Gooseflesh rose across her skin.

  She’d never considered what it might be like to be a duchess. Such a station would be akin to becoming her mother. Georgiana would be called upon to host balls and soirees, to be a benefactor of countless charities...though she wouldn’t mind that part. But in no way would she ever be permitted to act the wallflower at any social event. Egad, how on earth could she act the part of social butterfly? The mere thought made her swoon.

  A knock came at the door. “May I have a word, Lady Georgiana?” Fletcher’s deep voice resounded from the corridor.

  Eleanor headed across the floor. “I’ll see you in the reception line.”

  “Ah, you look lovely this evening,” Fletcher said as the door opened.

  Sidling into the corridor, Eleanor gestured across the chamber. “Not as lovely as the matron of honor.”

  Smiling, Georgiana held out her hands. “I do believe if there were a contest for the loveliest, we’d all receive top marks.”

  Fletcher’s gaze met hers with a crackle of energy, so potent, Georgiana scarcely heard the door close. “Must you grow more radiant every time I lay eyes on you?”

  A low chuckle rumbled from his throat. “The question is, must you?” Evesham looked the part of duke from his wildly stylish hair to the tips of his polished shoes. His neckcloth was pristine, and he wore a black velvet tailcoat over an ivory satin waistcoat. Ivory knee breeches with white stockings, ribbon ties to match his doublet. Good Lord, the man looked as if he might be ready to sit for a portrait.

  Stepping before her, he gently raised her injured hand. “And how is your wrist?”

  “Since midday?”

  He bowed and kissed her hand, then examined her arm. “I do believe none of the guests will notice.”

  She drew her hand away. “Hopefully no one will be looking at my wrist.”

  “And what about the reception line?”

  “The gentlemen will simply have to kiss my left.”

  “I’d be happy if they left all the kissing to me.” Giving a sly grin, he pulled a box tied with a silk bow from inside his coat. “Happy birthday, love.”

  Georgiana reached out her hand but didn’t quite touch it. Love? The endearment made her knees go weak. But it hadn’t been a declaration of undying love, it had just been used in passing. And thank heavens, because the fair was tomorrow. Then everything would change.

  And he’d ride off into the sunset, or whatever it was that dukes did after a week of bliss.

  She looked up, dozens of warring emotions swirling through her. “You know you shouldn’t have.”

  He pushed the box into her palm. “You have given me a respite I shall never forget. For that, a bit of jewelry seems insufficient.”

  “Thank you.” Why not accept it? He wanted to give her a gift, and Georgiana doubted she’d ever experience another house party, let alone an affair with a man like Fletcher Markham.

  She pulled the ribbon, opened the gift, and ran her finger around the exquisite pearls. “They are almost too beautiful to wear.”

  “Nonsense.” Slowly, he drew the necklace from the box and coaxed her to turn around. “And they’ll look ideal with your pink satin. Hmm, you even have pearls embroidered into the trim.”

  Watching in the mirror, Georgiana studied Fletcher’s face as he worked—contemplative, gentle, yet angular with a powerful jaw. “You are far too kind to be a scoundrel.”

  “I believe you are the only person in Britain who feels that way.”

  “Oh?” She donned the earrings. “What about the maid at the jewelry shop? To her, you are a hero.”

  “She doesn’t count.”

  “I think she does. And how could you say such a thing? You endured poverty and hardship before you came into your fortune.” Georgiana looked at his reflection and paused for a moment. “Or have you forgotten?”

  Fletcher reached around and pinned the crown in front of her chignon. “No. Admittedly, I will never forget.”

  “Then the maid’s opinion counts, yes?”

  “Yes.” As he tugged her into his arms and kissed her, all trepidation of the future melted. “I like your pragmatic ideals. They ground me.”

  She slid her hands around his waist while delightful kisses wandered along her jaw and down to her neck.

  “Are you certain you will not dance this evening?” he asked in a low growl, making her head swim.

  “Absolutely not. The only positive thing about the fall is it gave me an excuse to...”

  “Mingle with the guests?”

  “I suppose Mama will not allow me to retire to the ladies withdrawing room to read.”

  Georgiana’s reply was consumed by a hungry swipe of her lover’s tongue.

  FOR THE FIRST TIME in his life, Fletcher didn’t mind standing in a receiving queue, though Lady Derby was emphatic about enforcing the aristocratic pecking order. He was introduced first, then Ravenscar and his mother, then the hosts, followed by Georgiana and Lady Eleanor, Mr. Peters, his daughter, and finally the vicar’s son, Mr. Greg. A number of guests held up the line when stopping to talk to Lady Georgiana, which wasn’t unusual considering the ball was in her honor. Though on the other hand, she was a self-professed recluse. How could she possibly know them all?

  With every passing day, she wove her tendrils around his heart. In truth, Georgiana was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman—pleasing to the eye, passionate, a sharp mind, yet she didn’t take herself too seriously.

  And once the guests had all been announced, the object of his affection approached, leading Lady Eleanor by the arm. “Have you a partner for the grand march?”

  He waggled his eyebrows. “I thought you might do me the honor.”

  “I was serious, no dancing for me, not even the march.” Georgiana looked to her friend. “Though Lady Eleanor hasn’t had an opportunity to have her dance card signed and Mr. Greg is stepping out with Miss Peters.”

  “Oh, bother.” Eleanor fluttered her fan as if she hadn’t a care. “I do not need to parade around the ballroom in all my finery. This is your day, Georgiana.”

  “Yes, and that’s why I want to see two of my dearest friends enjoy themselves.”

  Friends? Fletcher looked to the slender neck he’d just adorned with kisses and pearls. Though he ought to be appreciative of the fact that Her Ladyship had referred to him as a dear friend and not just a friend. Heaving a sigh, he offered his elbow. “My lady, I believe we’ve received our marching orders.”

  “How apropos.” Lady Eleanor smiled at him as he led her to the dance floor. “She likes you.”

  Such words bolstered his bruised ego. “I’m glad of it.”

  “Just give her time.”

  “I’m not certain time is what Lady Georgiana needs.”
/>   The march began. Fletcher rarely arrived at a ball early enough to partake in the grand march. Which always suited him. Parading around a ballroom like a peacock made him uncomfortable. And yes, everyone was watching. After all, the march was intended for the busybodies to show off their regalia and to gawk without being obvious.

  In truth, strutting with Lady Eleanor on his arm made him feel like a pompous boor. Just like two-thirds of the other dandies in their expertly tailored velvet tailcoats.

  “Are you heading back to London on the morrow?” asked Her Ladyship.

  Fletcher hadn’t thought much past this evening, but this was the grand finale of Lady Derby’s house party. He nodded. “I’ll need to take Max and Molly back to Colworth first.”

  “And then return to court and your duties in the House of Lords?”

  “Do not remind me.”

  Lady Eleanor gracefully swept around the corner. That she was a spinster posed a bit of a quandary. “I think this is the best attended private ball I’ve ever been to.”

  “Is it?”

  “You do not?”

  “I suppose it is—especially since Twickenham is relatively close to London and the turnpike runs nearby.”

  “And everyone knows the baroness is a fabulous hostess.”

  “She is—quite amiable as well.” Fletcher raised Eleanor’s hand to make a bridge for the dancers approaching from the opposite direction to walk beneath. “I wonder why Lady Georgiana is so different.”

  “Oh, I think Georgiana is one of the most good-natured people I know.”

  “I didn’t mean to infer she isn’t but, in everything else, she is quite the opposite of her mother.”

  “I suppose you’re right, though if I had to live with one of them, I’d choose the daughter without hesitation.”

  Fletcher smiled. “Can you imagine being married to Lady Derby? A man would never have a moment’s rest.”

  “I don’t know. Lord Derby manages to maintain his sanity quite well.”

  “That’s because he spends a great deal of time at the gentlemen’s club, fobbing off his escort duties to his daughter.”

  Together, they grasped hands and began their passage through the tunnel. “This Season. Mind you,” Eleanor replied. “He isn’t as scarce when Georgiana is in Thetford.”