A Duke’s Distraction

by Maggie Dallen

  His eyes sparked with fire. The effect left her breathless. She’d never seen anything more than disdain and cold civility in his gaze. But this…this was passion. “How should I know that you prized your reputation when you think nothing of making a spectacle of yourself with your laughter and your incessant chatter and your—”

  Her gasp of hurt outrage cut him short and he clamped his mouth shut, his nostrils flaring with barely concealed anger, and something more. Something so dark and dangerous, and so not at all befitting a duke.

  At least, not this duke with his stodgy bearing and his cold, impervious manners. But seeing this side of him unleashed her own passionate nature, her anger obliterating the last of her sense. She took another step closer, forgetting her earlier mistake. She leaned in so she was far closer than was proper, her eyes narrowed. “How dare you?” she bit out. “You—you pompous bore.” Hurt battled with anger now as his words and their meaning struck her in their entirety. But anger was easier to cling to and was the safer option. There was no way she would let this man see how badly his words had hurt her. “Perhaps you have no respect for me, but surely you know how much I admire and love my family. Do you really think I would risk their honor?”

  “Ha!” His bark of laughter was harsh, but she forgot all that when he leaned in closer as well. They were so close she could smell the brandy on his lips and feel the heat of his breath against her cheek. “Your family’s honor is untenable at best. I’ve only met one Cleveland who can claim—”

  Her slap resounded through the hallway, echoing off the walls as though a cannon had blast through the roof.

  He stared at her, clearly stunned, and she felt a sickening wave of regret. But she was still in anger’s firm grip, first and foremost, and though her hands were shaking with hurt pride and shock at her own actions, she found herself saying something she knew she would regret. “You and your family are hardly ones to speak of honor, Your Grace.” She drew in a deep breath, her lips trembling with effort to hold back a sob. “You should know as well as anyone that society never forgets a scandal.”

  She’d crossed a line that she knew instinctively was far more hurtful than her meager slap. His shock was replaced by anger so quickly it took her breath away, not because she was afraid but because it made him so utterly human. So beautifully, shockingly human.

  “What do you know of my family’s scandal?”

  She stared up at him. She didn’t regret the words as she’d thought she would. Not really. After all, he’d thrown her family’s scandal in her face and she had returned the favor. But she wouldn’t respond. There was vengeance and then there was cruelty, and she knew better than anyone how deeply a family scandal could cut one to the bone.

  Though in his case, as far as she knew, the scandal was dead and buried. His father had been accused of espionage during the war with France, but he had been proven innocent. Still, the rumors lingered even until this day, and the one thing a Cleveland knew was how insidious, how disruptive, how utterly transformative rumors could be.

  She knew he would not strike her back, but the rage in his eyes made it clear that were she a man, it would be a different story. A flicker of pain shot through his anger and for a moment her heart went out to him. But then she’d remembered what he’d said about her and about her family.

  No, she did not regret a thing.

  Their labored breathing filled the silence, tension growing so thick it was hard to breathe. But she couldn’t look away and her anger…shifted.

  There was no other explanation for the way her rage turned to something else, equally passionate, but confusing. It made her brain muddled, unable to form words or thoughts, and unwilling to look away.

  His dark gaze was magnetic. Hypnotic. She saw the same shift in him. The way his anger turned to stormy passion, the way breathing grew ragged and his tension palpable.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the gaze lengthened into something meaningful. Something more than a stare or a glare or a glower. She couldn’t breathe properly and words wouldn’t come.

  When he lowered his head, she knew what he was going to do but she couldn’t protest. Instead, she found herself leaning in to meet his kiss.

  His lips were warm and firm, and the sudden intimate contact made her gasp. The sound seemed to unleash something in him. He moved suddenly, pulling her close so the length of her was pressed to him, all hard planes and taut muscle against her soft curves. He held her tight, his arms wrapped tightly around her as he slanted his mouth over hers, parting her lips with his as he intensified the kiss.

  She clung to him, caught in a swirling storm of emotions and sensations. A delicious, thick heat spread through her, making her limbs heavy and her head empty. She was spinning, lost in this heady dream world. Caught up in a tangle of sensations that made her achingly satisfied and desperately needy.

  It was confusing and also oh so right. It could have lasted an eternity or a moment, she didn’t know. Time ceased to exist. The sound of a door opening and closing in the distance was the only thing to break through that monumental haze of longing.

  He pulled back and she found herself standing there with her eyes closed, hating the sudden coldness where his warmth had been.

  But then reality set in, swift and merciless. Footsteps were coming. She could not be caught here, with the duke. Not like this.

  She pulled away abruptly, not meeting his gaze, not even risking a glance at his face to see his expression before turning on her heel and racing down the hall, back to her sister and the others in the crowded, noisy ballroom.

  She had the horrible sensation she knew exactly what she’d see if she looked into his eyes. Validation. He’d been proven right. One kiss and she’d lost herself entirely. She’d let him touch her intimately, she’d let him kiss her after going on about her reputation and her honor.

  She paused just inside the entry to the ballroom, blinking rapidly at the sudden brightness and sounds which were an onslaught to her already beleaguered senses.

  Claire was at her side in a moment. “Georgie, are you all right?”

  She stared at her sister.

  “You look flushed,” her sister said, a frown marring the legendary perfection of her features.

  She tried to smile but could not. “Perhaps I have, er…overexerted myself.”

  That was one way of putting it.

  Her sister clutched her arm and drew her toward the front hall. “Come, let’s get you some air.”

  She nodded and meekly followed along. But it wasn’t air she needed. It was answers.

  Namely, what had happened back there? With him, but more importantly what had come over her? She didn’t recognize herself. She’d never acted so rashly in all her life.

  She tried to laugh it off. Their lack of judgment, their obvious moment of insanity, it should have been humorous.

  But she couldn’t laugh. Her insides still trembled as she followed Claire’s lead, not seeing nor hearing the crowd around her. It took all her concentration to walk normally, to smile as usual, when she had the inexplicable sensation that something had altered within her.

  That kiss had fundamentally changed her and she couldn’t explain how. She clutched Claire’s arm tighter. Perhaps her sister would know. After all, she kissed Nicholas on a regular basis. Maybe this shaken, unsettled feeling was a normal result of kissing. But how could she tell Claire that she had kissed her brother-in-law, their host? Even if Claire kept it a secret, she would form some sort of opinion about Rhys and his behavior, perhaps even speak to him of it, and that she could not have.

  Why?

  She didn’t know. But the fact of the matter was, she didn’t want to tell anyone. This was her secret. It was a memory she knew she would treasure, but more than that, she needed to make sense of it. She wanted the time and the space to sort through this bizarre response. The way her chest kept tightening at the mere thought of him, as though the laces of her stays had suddenly been cinched too tight.
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  Besides, there was every possibility that these feelings were natural. Perhaps every kiss brought on this sort of internal disruption, as though she’d lost her balance or—oh dear. Oh heavens.

  Almost as though she’d been swept off her feet.

  She blinked rapidly at the back of her sister’s head as though her pretty blonde hair might have the answers. Was this sort of reaction typical? Had her body’s instant and bone-deep response to his lips and his body been normal?

  How would she know? She’d never been kissed before. Perhaps it would fade. Yes, that was surely the case. She lifted her chin as they reached Nicholas, who was also peering at her with obvious concern as he asked after her.

  Once again she muttered something about being overheated. Just then she glanced back toward the hallway through which she’d reentered the ballroom and caught sight of Rhys…no, Roxborough. Heavens, one kiss and her mind gave her airs of some sort of intimacy.

  Roxborough had reentered the party and the air in the room seemed to grow a thousand times more dense, thick with heat and tension. She took a gasping breath. Did no one else feel it?

  His chin was held high—of course it was, he had nothing to be ashamed of. She was the one he’d thought to be a tart for going to meet Lord Malcolm. And just when she’d thought she’d made her point, he’d gone and proved her a fool and a liar with that kiss.

  Why, she had practically thrown herself into his arms. A wave of embarrassment made her look away. Was that how he’d seen it? Did he think her easy of virtue because rather than push him away she had encouraged him? Was it so very wrong that she’d enjoyed it?

  And oh how she had enjoyed it.

  “Are you certain you’re all right?” It was Nicholas asking this time. Her dear, sweet, formerly rakish brother-in-law. A handsome, charming man who pursued her sister with heartwarming alacrity. A man who so adored her sister he’d forsaken his old ways and devoted himself to becoming worthy of her goodness and her love.

  But then again, Claire was good. For all her mischievous ways and her wry wit, Claire wasn’t foolish nor false.

  You think nothing of making a spectacle of yourself with your laughter and your incessant chatter. She winced at the memory of his words, so harsh, yet so true. Her talkative nature and her inability to remain silent and solemn had always been her mother’s bane. It had also been the one trait to draw her attention from Claire and Georgie was self-aware enough to realize that perhaps that had only helped foster her bad habits. And now…well now she was who she was.

  And who she was seemed to be a disappointment. Certainly not someone the duke found worthy. Though that hadn’t stopped him from kissing her.

  A mix of emotions churned in her belly. Shame and anger, longing and embarrassment. She didn’t know what to think nor what to feel.

  Nicholas was still watching her with concern, waiting for her to answer. For a moment she felt weepy at the sight of him, this man who was so very different from his brother. So kind and accepting. But then again, she was also so very different from her sweet and elegant sister.

  Claire at least had the outward appearance that Roxborough would surely want in a wife. She might have a wicked sense of humor and a lust for adventure that most of the world didn’t recognize, but to the casual observer and at a ball like this one, Claire must seem the very definition of a duchess. Regal, cool, and unflappable.

  So very unlike Georgie.

  Without meaning to, she sought out Roxborough in the crowd. He was speaking to a woman she recognized. Lady Regina. Proud, proper, and absurdly pretty standing next to the large, overbearing duke.

  Something dark and unsavory twisted through her veins at the sight of them together. She turned away quickly lest Roxborough should see her staring. It wasn’t jealousy she was feeling, it couldn’t be. This was nothing like that competitive demon inside of her that had her constantly in a friendly battle with Mary Beaucraft.

  This was something else entirely, and she was certain she did not like it. But it did not fade, nor did that unsettled feeling that the world had tipped over on its head. She was discombobulated, there were no two ways about it.

  And now that she knew where Roxborough stood, and with whom he was talking, it was nearly impossible to look anywhere else. Her traitorous eyes kept seeking him out, as though the sight of him might answer the questions that were swarming her brain.

  Why had he kissed her? What did he think of her now that he had? And what on earth was this insane reaction she was having?

  Above and beyond all that, another question loomed bigger than all the rest. Why, oh why, did she so desperately want to kiss him again?

  Chapter Seven

  That night Georgie tossed and turned but still got no answers. The following day she still had no answers but more questions were added to the list. For example, had Roxborough truly been too mired in work to join his family at dinner or had he simply been trying to avoid her?

  The day after that, she still had no answers, but she did have a visitor. Mary Beaucraft’s presence typically served as a pleasant diversion for Georgie. When they were not bickering or feuding, they were gossiping. All of which was done with high spirits as only two ladies with similarly quick minds could manage.

  But today, Mary was the only one with a smile on her lips and laughter in her voice as she sipped her tea. Not even her friend’s arrival could distract Georgie from that unsettled and uneasy state she’d fallen into after that kiss. She was starting to despise this state. It was too emotional and far too serious. If this kept up, she’d soon start reading gothic novels and swooning like a ninny.

  After twenty minutes or so of one-sided gossip, Mary set her cup down with a loud clink. She fixed Georgie with an exasperated stare. “Are you really going to continue to stay silent on the matter…with me, of all people?”

  Georgie blinked at her friend. What was she on about?

  Mary sighed and her tone grew injured. “Everyone from the ball is talking about you two. Honestly, Georgie, how could you not tell me first? I thought we were dear friends.”

  An anxious feeling had her sitting up straighter, tightening her grip on her cup as she tried not to assume the worst. Someone else had heard about Lord Malcolm’s intent. If Roxborough had learned of it—How, though? That was still in question. But if that stodgy old bore had learned of Lord Malcolm’s suggestion and assumed the worst, it stood to reason that others would leap to the same erroneous conclusions. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She’d been so single-mindedly focused on that kiss, she’d nearly forgotten all about Lord Malcolm and the indecent proposal that had led to her fateful meeting with Roxborough in the first place.

  “I know we’ve had our differences,” Mary continued. “But I never thought I’d have to hear about your latest romance from gossips at my mother’s—”

  “What are they saying, Mary?”

  Mary jumped slightly at her sharp tone. But then her eyes widened and she leaned forward slightly. “Do you mean to say you do not know the rumors?”

  Oh drat. She hated to give Mary the satisfaction, but there was nothing for it. She shook her head.

  Sure enough, Mary’s lips curved up in a smug smile. “How interesting.” The irritating young lady sipped her tea slowly, clearly reveling in her advantage. “And here I thought for sure you knew—”

  “Mary.” Her voice held an edge and she narrowed her eyes at her friend in barely veiled threat. “What are they saying?”

  Her heart was racing as she waited for her friend to tell her that the Cleveland name was once more being dragged through the mud. And this time it would be all her fault.

  Mary shifted in her seat, preening at Georgie’s undivided attention. “You cannot be too surprised, after the way you two danced together and then—”

  “Nothing happened.” The words burst out before she could stop them. But really, the fact that her best friend could believe the worst of her was just too much to bear. Yes, perhaps she
ought to have told someone of Lord Malcolm’s indecent proposal, but keeping silent was not the same as—

  “Of course not, dear.” Mary’s expression was filled with confusion as she sat there with her teacup hovering in front of her face. “No one would ever presume that His Grace would behave disgracefully.”

  Georgie blinked at her friend as those words registered. Mary thought…Horror made her blood run cold, even as her cheeks heated as the implications struck her with brutal force. How did Mary know about that kiss? How did everyone know?

  “Now you on the other hand,” Mary added slyly before taking a sip of her tea.

  Georgie nearly missed her friend’s teasing jibe. The rush of blood in her ears made it difficult to hear. Someone must have seen them. That was the only possible scenario. But who? And how much had they seen? Clearly not the actual kiss or she would have heard about her ruination by now. She hadn’t seen anyone else in the hallway, though. She hadn’t heard anyone either, so who could—

  “Why do you look so distressed, dear?” Mary asked, her smirk fading to a frown. “I must admit, this was not the reaction I’d expected to see today.”

  “It’s not?” Georgie said, for lack of anything else to say. Her mind had taken a sort of holiday, it seemed. Too frazzled by this latest bit of news to be up for another round of sparring with Mary.

  Mary pursed her lips as she studied her. “No. I rather expected you to be gloating over the fact that a duke intends to court you.”

  She blinked slowly this time, certain that she was trapped in a dream. A confusing, emotional dream. “Pardon me?”

  Her voice sounded breathless and she clutched her hands to her diaphragm. She’d never fainted before, but now might be the time to start. At the very least it would put an end to this nerve wracking and mysterious conversation. Not to mention the fact that it would give her a respite from the questions and doubts that had been plaguing her ever since that kiss.

  That kiss which may have been witnessed. Oh Lord, did Rhys know? Er, Roxborough?