If the Duke Demands

by Anna Harrington

  “It’s because of the singers,” he pressed on, although he knew he should stop. This conversation was for courtesans and demimondaines, not for innocents like Miranda. But he simply couldn’t help himself. The reaction she created inside him was too titillating to eschew. “Hearing all those high notes,” he boldly whispered into her ear, “stirs a man’s blood.”

  She froze for a moment, not visibly reacting to that blatant and wholly improper flirtation. For a heartbeat, he wondered if he’d gone too far and pushed the limits of their newfound friendship too hard—

  Then she breathed out, “It’s all that passion, isn’t it?” She spoke so softly he barely heard her, but each word seeped into him like liquid heat. “Watching it onstage, hearing it swirl around you, becoming swept up in it until you’re part of it…”

  “Exactly,” he murmured, then thrilled when she exhaled a shaky sigh in the first signs of quiet arousal.

  “And if you’re hidden in the shadows, in the darkness, where no one can see nor ever know…I suppose it would be tempting for a woman, too.”

  Shamelessly wanting to see more of how his words affected her, he asked, “Tempting how?”

  “For a woman to be able to ask for what she wants.” Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. “If she wants the man she’s with to kiss her, or touch her…or something else.”

  The scent of rosewater filled his senses. “Would you, Miranda?” Intoxicated by her nearness, he pressed wickedly, “Ask for that?”

  Even the shadows couldn’t hide the blush that now darkened her cheeks or the way she trembled. “I—I might.”

  His heart skipped. Inexplicably, he wanted nothing more at that moment than to be alone with her in one of those boxes with its curtains pulled, hearing her ask for what she wanted from him, with nothing else in the world to worry about but pleasing her.

  But that was what he wanted as a man. As a duke, he could never have it. His days of finding physical pleasures in theater boxes were over. They’d died right along with his father. Knowing that only sharpened his frustration.

  “And you?” she asked in a breathy whisper, completely unaware of the turmoil she churned inside him. She didn’t dare to turn her head to look at him. “Does the opera stir your blood?”

  He stared at her profile in the shadows, his gut tightening at the raw pull of her, and confessed, “You stir my blood, Miranda.”

  She froze, except for her lips, which parted with a silent gasp of surprise. Then she slowly turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes wide. Her breath came in soft, shallow little pants. “Sebastian—”

  Suddenly, the audience burst into applause, destroying the illusion of privacy created by the shadows around them. He snapped his attention back to the stage as the curtain dropped for intermission and an army of attendants swarmed through the opera house to raise all the lamps. The theater became a flurry of activity as everyone rose from their seats to seek out refreshments in the lobby, gain a closer look at the other operagoers, and trade bits of gossip.

  So did all the people inside his box. Except Miranda, who continued to stare at him in stunned confusion. He didn’t blame her. He was damned confused himself at his own behavior, certain the Mozart had driven him mad.

  He glanced past her at Downing, who rose to his feet with a puppy-dog smile for her. The man was completely oblivious to the scandalous whispers Sebastian had shared with Miranda only a few feet away. He should have felt guilty, he supposed, given both the man’s close proximity and that Downing was here to capture Miranda’s attention for himself, not to have it snatched away.

  But guilt was the last thing he felt. He’d enjoyed that conversation too much to regret it.

  “Do you like the opera, dear?” Elizabeth Carlisle stepped to her side and affectionately squeezed her hand.

  “It’s amazing,” she confided, beaming. The improper conversation from just moments ago was now forgotten by her, even if he would be thinking about it for the rest of the night. “I want to go backstage and see all the costumes, the musicians, the stage sets…Do you think they’d mind if—”

  “No,” Sebastian refused firmly. “Proper ladies don’t associate with opera singers and actors.” Nor did dukes, he reminded himself with a pang of contrition. “They enjoy the performance from their seats.”

  But the determined look on her face raised the hairs on the back of his neck in warning. Oh, he knew that look. It was the same one he’d seen in the green eyes behind the masquerade mask the night she’d sneaked into his bedchamber.

  When his mother and Josie moved toward the door to head into the hall with the rest of the crowd, Miranda slid away after them.

  Oh no. That little force of nature was going nowhere.

  Sebastian slipped between her and the door, just as his mother and Josie stepped out into the hall. They disappeared into the crush of bodies shuffling toward the retiring rooms and lobby.

  “I think you would enjoy remaining in the box during intermission,” Sebastian told her, his polite words belying the firm order in the tone of his voice. He knew perfectly well that the curious woman would find her way backstage and straight into trouble if he let her out of his sight for one moment. He slid a sideways glance to her right and smiled coldly at the banker, who hadn’t left her side since he arrived at Audley House to escort her. “With Mr. Downing to keep you company.”

  Oblivious to the true meaning of the exchange between them, Downing’s smile widened. “What a grand idea.”

  “But I want a glass of punch,” Miranda insisted, irritation sounding in her voice at having her backstage plans thwarted.

  Downing eagerly offered, “I’ll fetch one for you.”

  “What a fine idea.” Sebastian grinned at her. He might come to like the man after all.

  Her eyes narrowed, her hands drawing into clenched fists at her sides as she glared at him. “And leave me alone in an opera box with a man, unchaperoned?” She arched a brow in challenge. “What if the music inspires us?”

  Sebastian forced back the laugh rising inside him, both at her consternation and at her insinuation about Downing. The man was perfectly harmless.

  He arched a brow. “Then that would be a magic flute, indeed.”

  A strangled sound of half fury, half mortification tore from her. And heavens, that was a neat trick! How her face turned so scarlet so quickly.

  “Besides,” he reminded her as he moved toward the door, “if you need anything, I’ll be right outside.”

  As he stepped into the hall, the last glimpse Sebastian caught over his shoulder was of Downing smiling fondly at her while she stared daggers after him. He smothered down his laughter but not the smile that he couldn’t prevent. After all, he felt freer to be himself tonight than he had in years. Who would have ever believed it would be because of Miranda Hodgkins?

  Astonishing.

  * * *

  The second act began, but Miranda couldn’t concentrate on what was happening onstage.

  They had all shifted seats inside the box, thanks to Josie’s suggestion that they rotate two chairs to give everyone a different view of the stage. That put Miranda in back next to Charles Downing and put Sebastian at the end of the front row farthest away from her.

  Charles tried to lean closer and engage her in conversation, but while he was a sweet man and very attentive, he simply wasn’t able to hold her attention the way the opera did as it unfolded on the stage below them. Or the way Sebastian had with that sordid conversation he’d lured her into, the one that made her pulse race with all the scandalous images he’d put into her head of what went on in private boxes behind pulled curtains.

  And especially when he’d said that she stirred his blood.

  She frowned as she stared at the back of his head, his attention focused on the stage below. Of all men to pull her into such an improper conversation…Sebastian. And she’d gone willingly, titillated by the brush of his hot lips at her ear and the faint ache his warm breath tingled between her
thighs. The same way he’d made her feel the night of the masquerade with his talk of dancing when what he’d truly meant was ravishment. More, in fact—because it wasn’t only a physical allure that drew her to him tonight, but also an intellectual connection. One she was beginning to suspect she’d never have with Robert.

  Confusion swirled through her. She wanted to laugh at fate’s cruel sense of humor, that the brother she wanted had yet to notice her as an alluring woman while the other engaged her in flirtations that made her head spin. But none of that mattered in the end. Because Robert wanted Diana Morgan, and Sebastian wanted a duchess. And the only person who seemed to want her…

  She turned her head and caught Mr. Downing smiling at her.

  Forcing a demure smile back at him, she turned away. Heavens. Nothing about courting and love was as easy as it appeared from the outside.

  She needed air and a few minutes reprieve to collect herself before the opera finished and she’d have to plaster on a smiling face for the carriage ride back to Audley House, when she would have to pretend that nothing was wrong and confusion wasn’t bubbling inside her. So she leaned forward and tapped Josie on the shoulder.

  “I’m going to the retiring room,” she whispered.

  With sisterly concern, Josie nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Stay and enjoy the opera,” she insisted, not wanting Josie to miss any of the production. “I’ll only be gone a moment.”

  With an apologetic smile for the others, she rose from her chair and slipped from the box.

  Except for attendants positioned outside the doors and one couple moving tardily back to their box, the hall was empty, and she hurried away, making her way quickly through the theater to the retiring room. She took a few minutes’ privacy there to splash cool water on her face and calm her bewildered heart. Alone in the room, sitting at the dressing table in front of the mirror, she stared grimly at herself. To think that she’d promised to inform Sebastian of all the retiring room gossip in return for his help with Robert—what a sad state their pact was now in.

  By the time her breathing had returned to normal, she’d convinced herself that Sebastian hadn’t meant what he’d said about stirring her blood. That he’d only been caught up in the passion of the opera, exactly as she had been. Certainly it couldn’t have been anything else.

  But when she emerged from the retiring room, the last place she wanted to go was back to the box. Not when the only thing waiting for her there was more confusion. And Mr. Downing. So she asked directions to the back of the stage from an attendant in the lobby, then hurried away.

  The opera house was like a maze, but she was determined to see backstage, to watch the singers up close and marvel over the sets and costumes. Most definitely not the province of respectable ladies, but oh, she simply didn’t care! This was most likely her only chance to be backstage at an opera, and she refused to let the opportunity pass her by.

  She was only fleetingly surprised that no one guarded the stage door nor tried to stop her when she slipped into the dark shadows of the wing. But then, who else would be sneaking back here but her? Taking hesitant steps, her pulse pounding like a drum in her ears, she carefully approached along the rear wall, creeping up as close to the lighted stage as she dared. The dark shadows and heavy set pieces from the first act that had been pushed aside into the wing hid her from all view. Not even the musicians playing in the pit nor the backstage hands busy with the technical elements of running the production could see her there.

  It was simply amazing! In the darkness, she was free to watch the singers from only a few feet away, their voices so strong and vibrant that her chest reverberated with each note they sang. The effect was mesmerizing, and even though she knew she had only a precious few minutes’ escape from the box, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. The lamplight dazzled and the shadows thrilled, and her chest rose and fell with each musical phrase that poured from the two women on the stage. She barely remembered to breathe.

  A hand touched her elbow from behind. She jumped, turning in surprise and ready to scream—

  “Shh,” Sebastian warned as he stepped up behind her, touching his fingers to her lips to keep her quiet. Then he nodded toward the stage, silently giving his permission to keep watching.

  With a smile of gratitude, she turned back toward the stage. Excited happiness surged through her that he’d granted her this small concession and didn’t demand she return immediately to the box. But neither did he move away, remaining close behind her. So close that she could feel the heat of his body radiating against her back.

  Then he shifted even closer, and her heart pounded furiously. When he lowered his mouth to her ear as his hands lightly held her upper arms, the silly thing leapt right into her throat!

  “I knew I’d find you here.” The warmth of his breath tickled across her cheek and sent tingles coursing through her.

  “I couldn’t resist,” she returned in the same soft murmur. He stood so close…could he feel the way he made her heart race with just a whisper, or know how the masculine scent of him made her ache? “Haven’t you ever wanted something so much that you were helpless to resist?”

  His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her arms. But Miranda noticed. At that moment, with her senses heightened by the music swirling around them and the interplay of the lamplight and dark shadows, she noticed everything about him, every subtle shift of his body, every deep breath he drew. His nearness confused her…yet also pleased her more than she wanted to admit.

  “Yes,” he murmured against her ear. That single word sent heat cascading through her and spun the confusion inside her until it churned into a tight knot in her belly.

  Yet she kept her gaze locked on the singers, not daring to turn her head to look at him. If she did, he would see the unbidden effect he had on her, and she would never be able to live down the embarrassment. Especially when he’d most likely only followed her here to summon her back to the box like a chaperone. “Then you understand why I had to come backstage.”

  His lips curled against her ear in a teasing smile. “And abandon poor Downing?”

  Oh, that smile! It twined around her spine and made her long to feel those lips against hers. “He seems capable of withstanding my abandonment,” she countered in a breathless whisper.

  His hands drifted slowly down her bare arms, fanning goose bumps in their wake. “You don’t enjoy his company?”

  “I couldn’t—” Her breath hitched when his hands reached her wrists, and instead of letting her go, they slipped beneath her arms to rest on her hips. Well, that was definitely not the touch of a chaperone. Swallowing hard to clear the nervous tightening of her throat, she began again, confessing with a twinge of embarrassment, “I couldn’t have the same kind of conversation with him that I had with you.”

  “I certainly hope not.” He slipped one hand around to her front and splayed his fingers wide across her belly. “You’d have had the poor man in a lather.”

  She trembled, not knowing what to do or say. Sebastian was holding her in his arms, his hard chest brushing against her back, and his hand…Heavens, his hand! Good Lord, did he realize how scandalously he was holding her? Even if he meant only to keep her still so no one would see her move in the darkness and catch them watching from the wings, where he held her—

  Suddenly very nervous, she gave a soft laugh, one that emerged far more sultry than she’d intended. Blast it! Even her laughs were against her. “Charles Downing? I think not.”

  “You don’t like him?” he pressed, his lips brushing tantalizingly against her ear.

  She squeezed her eyes closed against the shiver his hot mouth sent racing through her. “He’s nice, but…”

  “But he isn’t Robert,” he finished, a strange timbre dulling his voice.

  Her heart skipped. That couldn’t be jealousy she heard. Impossible! Certainly not from Sebastian. Still, though, she liked the sound of it, and she knew that now was not the time to a
dmit to suspecting that Robert might never be hers, not if she wanted to hear it again. Which she did. Very much.

  “No,” she whispered, softly baiting him, “he’s not.”

  He shocked her by nuzzling his mouth against her ear, and she gasped. That, oh, that was clearly not an accidental brush of whispering lips! He’d meant to caress her, and the warm longing it sent spiraling through her for another touch like that nearly undid her. Drawing a deep breath as she threw all caution and sense to the wind, she tilted her head to give him access to her neck and shoulder, unable to deny the temptation of having his mouth on her.

  With a pleased smile against her ear, he took her silent invitation and nibbled at her earlobe. “What is it about my brother,” he murmured, “that draws you so?”

  Before she could answer, the tip of his tongue traced the outer curl of her ear, swirled down, and plunged inside. She shuddered at the delicious sensation, and his hand pressed tighter against her belly to keep her still in his arms.

  The confusion inside her gave way to a tingling warmth that ached low in her belly. With one little lick, Sebastian had set her blood humming, making her body shiver and her thighs clench the way he had that night in his bedroom when she thought he was Robert. She knew who was kissing her this time, yet knowing he was the wrong Carlisle brother made no difference to the heat rising through her traitorous body. She should step away—this was Sebastian, for heaven’s sake, and the most wrong man in the world for her, save for the king himself—but she simply couldn’t make herself leave the circle of his strong arms.

  “Robert is masculine,” she breathed, her words barely audible above the aria swirling around them and fanning the longing inside her to be touched, in all the most wicked places.

  “Most men are,” he answered, dancing heated kisses down the side of her neck.

  When he placed his mouth against that patch of bare skin where her neck curved into her shoulder, a hot throbbing sprang up between her thighs. She bit her lip to keep back a soft whimper. She shouldn’t like having his hands on her this much, shouldn’t let them wander over her so freely like this…certainly she shouldn’t want to be touched even more intimately. But she did, and she could barely stand still in his arms.