The Duke of Desire (The Untouchables Book 4)

by Darcy Burke

  West squinted after him. “He might be too much of a prude for this party.”

  Axbridge howled with laughter. “Perhaps. Wendover will work it out and weed him from the lot for next time.” He sipped his whiskey, his blue eyes dancing with mirth.

  West turned his scrutiny to Axbridge. “Really, your reputation is far worse. You actually kill people, whereas I provide a service.”

  Axbridge’s blond brows waggled. “By fucking other men’s wives.”

  “By making love to other men’s wives. That’s the entire point. When our time together is finished, everyone is quite pleased with the outcome. When you deign to take a wife, I’d be more than willing to help her enjoy the marriage bed.”

  Axbridge nearly choked on his whiskey. He coughed and sputtered, and West smacked him between the shoulder blades.

  “My wife—should anyone be foolish enough to marry me—will not require help in that quarter, you jackanapes. I’ll provide all the pleasure she needs. In any case, you sleeping with my wife would require me to call you out, and I think we both know how that would end.” It wasn’t a boast but a statement of fact.

  Axbridge was a crack shot who’d fought two duels, one of which had resulted in the maiming of his opponent, and the other, death. Axbridge had left England for a year after that.

  “It’s been, what, two years since you dueled? Perhaps you’ve lost your edge.”

  Axbridge laughed again. “Perhaps. Wendover has organized a shooting exhibition, so that will give me a chance to assert my skill.”

  “Excellent. That will be quite the show.”

  The marquess moved closer and lowered his voice. “Are you on the hunt? I already received a proposition from Lady Greaves in the drawing room earlier.”

  West knew the countess well. He’d assisted her several years ago. He’d been a young man, maybe twenty-one, and she’d been more than ten years his senior. “She’s a bit long in the tooth, isn’t she?”

  Axbridge gave him a sharp look. “She’s still quite striking.”

  West supposed so. He had to admit that once he’d had an affair with a woman, he viewed her differently. She became a friend, someone he could no longer imagine having sexual relations with. There were no emotional attachments of any kind and certainly no desire to maintain the affair longer than necessary.

  Some women claimed to fall desperately in love with him, but he assured them it wasn’t their brains talking, that their minds still loved their husbands. In the end, they always willingly returned to their spouses. There were no hard feelings, no regret, and all parties were universally satisfied. Especially the husbands. They now had wives who couldn’t wait to get them into bed.

  It did, of course, take some effort with these gentlemen. Occasionally, West ran across a fellow like Fowler, who wouldn’t know how to make his wife come if someone held a pistol to his head. West instructed the wives in how to instruct them. And then he had a pointed conversation with the gent about how his life was about to change for the better. Nearly every single man had thanked him later.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Axbridge said. “Do you have an assignation planned for the party? Since you’re between liaisons, you’re free to dip your staff wherever you like.”

  “That’s a bit vulgar, isn’t it?”

  Axbridge shrugged. “I imagine once in a while, it’s nice to have a good old-fashioned shag as opposed to a business arrangement.”

  That sounded mercenary. “There is no money involved.”

  “Of course not.”

  Axbridge was correct on the first point, even if his description was crass. Between the affairs in which West provided his service, he indulged in whatever struck his fancy. Sometimes he kept a mistress. Other times, he simply took advantage of opportunity. Such as at a house party like this one.

  Again, the lovely Miss Breckenridge came to mind.

  But she was off-limits. He didn’t corrupt unmarried misses, particularly companions. Pity, he had the sense Miss Breckenridge was wound tight as wool around a spindle and could use an unspooling.

  West swallowed a mouthful of whiskey, relishing the rich, smoky flavor on his tongue. “What are your plans for the house party?”

  Axbridge lifted a shoulder. “Nothing particular. Just looking for a bit of amusement.”

  There would be plenty of that—fishing, grouse hunting, picnics, and of course the requisite game play and dancing, if enough people were interested. This was a large, diverse group. West could see any number of things going on, from clandestine romantic interludes to breathless proposals of marriage amongst the younger set. He supposed he ought to consider himself part of that group, but at nearly two and thirty, he felt as though he’d graduated from those expectations. Marriage-seeking misses and their mamas had stopped eyeing him years ago. But it really had nothing to do with his age and everything to do with his reputation. Still, once in a while, someone came along who hoped to catch his eye, thinking they’d somehow entice him into marriage. He supposed it wasn’t impossible, but he just couldn’t imagine it. Nor was he particularly interested. He thrived on change and provocation and excitement, and marriage, as far as he could tell, would be none of those things.

  “Amusement, you say… Aren’t we all looking for that?” West lifted his glass again, and they clinked them together before polishing off their whiskey.

  The group disbanded a short while later, and West found himself meandering into the library. Wendover had an expansive collection and added to it constantly. The room, devoid of people, was large yet cozy with its massive fireplace and collection of seating arrangements. Or perhaps it was the smell of paper, which always reminded West of his father’s study. Specifically, it brought to mind the hours he’d spent drawing pictures while his father worked. West recalled those quiet afternoons together with fondness, when things had been idyllic and he’d been utterly innocent.

  He went to one of the shelves and perused the spines. The whispery sound of a soft gasp ruffled the silence. He turned toward the alcove tucked into the corner and saw the one inhabitant.

  It was her.

  She sat in a high-backed chair, which was situated with its back to him, her head poking around the side. Then her head disappeared as she pulled herself back into the chair, masking her presence once more.

  Except he knew she was there.

  He moved toward her, slowly, as though she were prey he might frighten away. A tension seemed to stretch between them as he neared the chair. He half expected her to jump up and flee, as she’d done earlier from the drawing room.

  “Hello.” He stepped in front of her chair and looked down at her.

  Her head was tipped forward, her gaze buried in the open book. She said nothing and made no indication that she’d heard him or even realized he was there. But of course she did. She’d looked right at him.

  He liked her obstinacy. He sat in the chair opposite hers, the only other one in the alcove, and leaned back as he stretched his legs out in front of him. “What are you reading?”

  She spared him the slightest glance then, barely raising her eyes from the book. Her lips pursed, and he had the sudden urge to capture them with his, to sample their pillowy softness and see if they tasted as good as they looked. “A novel.”

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  She didn’t look up. “I don’t know you, Your Grace.”

  “True, but you’ve formed an opinion nevertheless. That’s a pity. I think we could be friends.”

  Her gaze lifted from the page at last, and she stared at him, her expression one of disbelief and disturbance. “Are you mad?”

  “Not at all. Has someone told you I am? I am aware that people gossip about me, but that, I must admit, is something new I hadn’t heard.”

  She blinked. Her lashes were golden brown and terribly long. They fluttered briefly against her upper cheek before he was rewarded with the brilliance of her steady green eyes. They bored holes into him. “Do stop try
ing to flirt with me. Perhaps you forgot that I am a lady’s companion.”

  “I did not. It is of no consequence to me. Can’t I sit down and exchange a few pleasantries with you? What else is a house party for if not to make new acquaintances?”

  She blinked again and cocked her head to the side, lowering the book to her lap but still keeping it open. “I’m confident you can derive plenty of other reasons for a house party. Associating with a lady’s companion ought not be one of them.”

  “Is that right? I wasn’t aware of this rule. So I’m not to speak to lady’s companions. What else should I not do?”

  “A great many things, I’m sure, but I highly doubt you would heed my advice.”

  He smiled, enjoying this conversation even more than he’d anticipated. He liked needling her, and she made it far too easy. “Oh, I don’t know if that’s true,” he said softly, folding his hands in his lap. “Please, do reward me with your counsel.”

  She let out a low, somewhat inelegant sound that was a bit like a snort. He smiled more widely.

  “Reward you?” she asked. “Pray tell, why ever would I reward you? You’ve done nothing to earn such a thing.” She pressed her lips together and glared at him. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. You’re just trying to provoke me.” She closed the book and started to rise.

  He scooted forward in the chair, sitting up straight and leaning toward her. “Don’t go, Miss Breckenridge. I find you intriguing. Would it be so terrible to sit and talk with me for a few minutes? You seem an intelligent—certainly razor-witted—sort. I meet so few women like you.”

  “Then perhaps you should reassess the company you keep.”

  He couldn’t argue with her there. Some of the women he helped were astute and interesting, while others were rather empty-headed. He tried to ascertain a woman’s character before he agreed to provide his services, but it was sometimes difficult to gauge her mental agility until after they’d spent time together.

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” He noticed she hadn’t tried to rise again. “Does this mean you’ll stay and talk with me?”

  She pierced him with a withering stare. “I should like to stay and read.”

  He pushed out a breath and settled back in the chair. “Then by all means, read.” He dipped his head and turned it to the side, trying to read the spine on the book.

  “It’s Patronage by Maria Edgeworth.”

  “I haven’t read her. Should I?”

  She clutched the book in her lap. “I wouldn’t begin to suggest reading material.”

  “Because it’s the counsel I was hoping you’d reward me with?” He watched her nostrils flare slightly as he struck the nerve he’d intended. She was both a challenge and frighteningly easy to provoke. The challenge, he realized, was in provoking her in a different manner—to smile, or at least to relax. “Yes, reward was a poor choice of words. Let me try again.” He took a deep breath and looked at her earnestly. “Would you honor me with your counsel?”

  There it was—the barest chink in her armor. It wasn’t a smile but a slight loosening of the muscles in her jaw. “You think you’re charming, don’t you?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Well, to me you are a nuisance.” She stood up then, and he jumped to his feet.

  “Why?” He touched her arm as she started to turn. “Why do I frighten you, Miss Breckenridge?”

  She shook him off and took a step away from him. “It isn’t fear but distaste. I want nothing to do with you.”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “You say you aren’t scared, but that’s three times you’ve shrunk away from me. Do you have something against me personally, or is it men in general?”

  Her eyes widened slightly, and he knew he’d struck that nerve again. Perhaps deeper than before. Her lip curled. Yes, he’d hit the target, and since they had not been acquainted before today, he had to assume it was the latter.

  “If it’s men, perhaps I can help.”

  “You can’t be—” She snapped her mouth closed. “You’re unbelievable. Are you”—she turned her head to survey the empty library and then spoke in a near whisper—“are you trying to seduce me?”

  “Would you like me to?” Hell, he hadn’t meant to say that. She wasn’t his type. Actually she was. He longed to take down the mass of her red-gold hair and thread it through his fingers as he kissed her senseless.

  But no, she wasn’t. She was a lady’s companion, as she’d told him multiple times, and she was unmarried. Which meant she was innocent, and he ought to leave her alone.

  She was also past the blush of youth and would likely spend her days in spinsterhood. Lonely, boring spinsterhood in which she would never know the joys of shared pleasure.

  Oh yes, Miss Breckenridge was a challenge. And he suddenly didn’t regret asking her if she wanted him to seduce her. Because he suddenly wanted to.

  Her eyes turned hard, and her tone threatened to freeze the nearby canal. “No, I would not. In fact, I would like it if you’d leave me alone.”

  She turned, and he let her go, but not without a parting shot. “It will be a long fortnight, Miss Breckenridge, and the house is only so big.”

  He caught the subtle twitch of her shoulders as she moved through the library and then departed.

  Chapter Two

  The post-supper conversation in the drawing room amongst the ladies that evening focused on the activities that were planned over the next few days—a vigorous walk up Wendover Hill, a ride to the nearby village of World’s End, where they would take luncheon at the Swan Inn, and a gentlemen’s shuttlecock tournament, which they were all invited to observe.

  Ivy sat on the periphery as usual and didn’t partake in any discussion. It was just as well because she would ask why they couldn’t have their own shuttlecock tournament, which was certain to horrify several attendees.

  A young woman approached Ivy and gestured to the chair next to her. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

  Ivy looked up at the pretty blonde and recognized her as Miss Emmaline Forth-Hodges. “Not at all.”

  “Thank you. I’m afraid I’d endured quite enough of Mrs. Chalmers,” Miss Forth-Hodges said softly.

  Ah yes, Mrs. Chalmers was a known gossip, and a rather shrill one at that. “I understand,” Ivy murmured.

  Miss Forth-Hodges cast a sidelong glance toward Ivy. “You’re a friend of Lady Sutton’s, aren’t you?”

  Ivy tensed. “Yes.” Aquilla was one of her dearest friends, and she’d—according to some people—stolen Lord Sutton away from Miss Forth-Hodges. The reality was that he hadn’t been officially courting Miss Forth-Hodges. Even so, that didn’t negate any disappointment that Miss Forth-Hodges might have felt when he’d moved his attention from her to Aquilla. Ivy had heard a range of speculation—that Miss Forth-Hodges had been devastated and that she’d been relieved. Absent hearing it from the woman herself, Ivy chose to believe none of it. Still, she couldn’t help feel bad for the woman because, if nothing else, she had to suffer that annoying speculation.

  Ivy couldn’t imagine why Miss Forth-Hodges would bring the topic up. Unless she wanted to unburden herself for some reason. But why with Ivy?

  Miss Forth-Hodges rested her hands in her lap. “You’ve been friends with Lady Sutton for some time, haven’t you? I remember seeing you together last year.”

  She did? Ivy didn’t think anyone of Miss Forth-Hodges’s station would notice her or her wallflower friends. “Yes, we’ve been friends for about five years.”

  “Along with Lady Dartford, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “That’s correct.” Ivy shifted slightly so she could study the younger woman. She was exceptionally beautiful, with pale blonde hair and shimmering blue eyes. With skin like porcelain and a lithe figure that encouraged the perfect drape regardless of what she was wearing, Miss Forth-Hodges was a diamond. And yet she was unmarried after two seasons. Ivy wondered why but wouldn’t ask. She’d long ago learned to keep her wayward
tongue in check.

  “How lovely that must be.” Her tone was wistful. She turned her head to look at Ivy, and her gaze held a shade of sadness. “I have three much older sisters, but they never wanted much to do with me. By the time I was old enough to be interesting, they were already out and on their way.”

  “I’m sure you were plenty interesting even when you were young.”

  Miss Forth-Hodges smiled, but regret inhabited the lines around her mouth. “Not to them. They were too concerned with hairstyles and gowns and attracting men.”

  “Are they all married now?”

  She nodded. “Yes. For years. They have several children among them.”

  “So you still aren’t close?”

  “We scarcely write.” Miss Forth-Hodges straightened and brushed her hand along her lap to sweep some infinitesimal speck from her gown. “What a maudlin conversation. My apologies. I merely wanted to get away from Mrs. Chalmers, and when I looked around the room, you were alone. I thought it might be nice if we could be alone together.”

  Ivy was taken back to that first night she’d met Lucy and Aquilla. The two of them had already befriended each other, but they’d seen Ivy in the corner at some ball, and Aquilla had said almost the exact same thing: alone is so much better when you can do it together.

  She suddenly felt a kinship with Miss Forth-Hodges, and was just as shocked by this development as when she’d befriended Lucy and Aquilla. Both were from respectable families and had much more social mobility than Ivy. That they saw her as someone worthy of spending time with had greatly improved Ivy’s outlook.

  “Alone together is always better,” Ivy said. “Do you like house parties?”

  Miss Forth-Hodges shrugged. “I suppose. It depends on the attendees. This one seems promising. There are several eligible young men. Which is why my parents wanted to come.”

  Ivy’s gaze strayed to where Mrs. Forth-Hodges sat. She was an amiable woman, if a bit domineering. At least that was Lady Dunn’s opinion. Ivy didn’t know her well enough to say.

  “So you’re husband hunting, then?”