Duke Du Jour

by Petie McCarty

  Ari felt tears prick at the backs of her eyelids. He had truly missed Harry. He just hadn’t wanted anyone to see. In all the years she had known Jared, she had never witnessed him showing any animal an overt or even covert sign of affection. He had often jeered at her for kissing her “filthy dogs.” She could not bear to break up the joyous reunion and slowly backed away to make her escape.

  Jared spotted her movement.

  “Lady Ariana, wait! I wish to speak with you.” He paused, then added, “Please.”

  She was well caught and had no choice but to proceed ahead to join the pair who patiently awaited her. No one gainsaid a duke. Not more than once anyway. And this duke had said please. That word didn’t normally reside in a ducal vocabulary.

  Jared showed no sign of embarrassment over his roughhousing with Harry, who lumbered forward to greet her, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth and sudsy with Harry’s special brand of slop. She held her right hand out to keep Harry from jumping up and spattering said sloplets onto her hands and clothes. The dog dropped to his haunches.

  Jared smiled. “He minds you well.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You taught him, Your Grace.”

  “Ah yes, so I did. But now, he minds you.”

  She nodded.

  “Why did you come back?”

  She could feel her cheeks flush. Honesty was required here. To aid her, she pinned the picture in her mind of Jared holding Lucilla. “I came back to make sure you took care of Harry, Your Grace.”

  “Didn’t you used to call me Jared?” he asked, ignoring her barb.

  She felt a mixture of excitement and panic. This man was no longer her childhood friend and hero—things had changed between them years before—though she had indeed used his Christian name in her youth and at his behest.

  “I suppose I did once upon a time, but I was much younger then, and I would never presume—”

  “I would prefer it, if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes, Your Gr—I mean, Jared.”

  He smiled.

  There was something very different about Jared Langley. Something she could not quite put her finger on, though he had acted like his usual self in the library—that of the consummate rake—with Lady Wilder. Even so, something seemed definitely different.

  “You used to call me Ari,” she said and immediately regretted her impropriety.

  “I did?”

  She frowned.

  “I mean, I did. May I again? When we are alone?”

  She inclined her head, she hoped regally.

  Her acquiescence appeared to please him. “I owe you an explanation and an apology,” he said.

  What is this? Who is this?

  “The apology is for the scene in my library into which you unknowingly stumbled.”

  Her cheeks flooded with warmth. She tore her gaze from his, unable to look him in the eyes any longer and fearful he might see her emotion—oh, all right, leftover jealousy—at the mention of Lucilla. She detested that woman.

  “My explanation is for the same thing,” he continued.

  Do I want to hear this? Certainly not.

  “Your Grace, you don’t—”

  “Jared,” he said, cutting her off, “and yes, I do. I must.”

  “Oh, very well.” She turned so she would not have to face him while he rambled on about Lucilla.

  “I have had a bit of an accident.”

  “Well, of course you have. Your war wound.”

  “No, I mean today,” he said. “I fell earlier at the fountain there in Cook’s garden and struck my head, knocked me out completely.”

  She glanced at the fountain and then at him.

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “Actually, I fell into the blasted fountain. My clothes got soaked, which is why I look so disreputable.”

  She fought her own grin.

  “Excuse my language,” he swiftly apologized.

  She inclined her head. His clothes looked more odd than disreputable. Sleeping clothes perhaps?

  “When I came to, I—” He paused and looked uncertain. “I could not remember everything.”

  This time she felt her eyes grow wide. “You mean amnesia?”

  “You have heard of it?”

  “I have read about it.”

  He didn’t even blink. Her admission should be nothing new to Jared. He was one of the few people who knew about the tutors her father had hired for her education and the scores of books and scientific journals she had read, a fair number of them borrowed from Jared’s own library. In fact, Jared was the one who had instructed her never to let others know of her education, or the gossips would label her bluestocking, and any potential suitors would steer clear.

  At the time, his comment had hurt her feelings for she had wanted Jared to be her suitor. She sighed. That worry had been a long time ago.

  Oddly enough, he looked pleased at her admission. “Well, I remember places fairly well, like the manor house and the grounds around here for the most part. Just not people.”

  He’s serious. Amnesia is serious.

  “Did the doctor examine you?”

  “Padwick?” He made a face. “That bloody quack stuck a dozen leeches on me while I was unconscious.”

  Her gaze shot to his face again.

  “Excuse the language. Again.”

  She waved that off. “Your description was frighteningly close to accurate. Padwick thinks leeches to be the cure for everything.”

  Jared had stepped closer during their exchange and only a foot or so separated them. “I did not grab Lady Wilder,” he said suddenly. “Probably not gentlemanly to carry tales about a lady, I realize, but I wanted you to know that I didn’t start things. I trust you will protect her reputation.”

  Protecting that particular reputation is like closing the stable door after the stallion ran out. No, all the stallions.

  “I don’t remember her,” he went on, “so I would not have grabbed a complete stranger outright. No matter how beautiful.”

  She frowned.

  “And I apologize for you having to witness the—”

  “Attack?” she blithely offered.

  He gaped. “Well, I wouldn’t exactly call it that.”

  She raised one skeptical eyebrow.

  He grinned. “Then again, maybe she did.”

  She suddenly grinned, too. If he did not remember Lucilla, did that mean—

  “Do you remember me?” she asked quickly before she lost her nerve.

  His expression grew chagrined, and her stomach plummeted. She had hoped, for but a moment. In the next instant, she received the greatest shock of all.

  He stepped so close only inches separated them. “But I wanted to remember you,” he said softly. “I wanted to know you right away—the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  Her lips parted in surprise. With no prior memory, he had finally noticed her as a woman?

  He stared into her eyes. “I feel drawn to you…Ari.”

  His voice turned low and husky when he breathed her name, and the sound drifted over her like a lover’s caress. His pupils dark as night, he slowly leaned in. His lips nuzzled hers, softly at first and then with more pressure. His hand cradled her cheek, and her skin tingled with the heat of his touch.

  Ari fought the initial urge to flinch at the touch of his lips, so startled was she, and he swept a muscular arm around her back to hold her steady—or bind her in place. She was not sure which, and she didn’t really care. And if she was completely truthful with herself, she had wanted this for a very long time.

  Having had but one prior kiss in her life—and that a quick peck on the lips stolen by Baron Dalton, and only a peck, because she had jerked back in shock—Ari was unprepared for the riot of emotions flooding through her. Joy, anticipation, shock, and yes, hunger for something instinctive and quite beyond her reach.

  As his lips pressed more firmly to hers, Jared tilted his head and slipped the tip of his tongue gently across her lower lip. The s
ensual shock made her gasp, and his tongue slid further into her mouth to press and tease against hers. She started to pull back, and Jared’s large hand swept up her back and threaded into her hair. He gently tilted her head back, enabling him to deepen the kiss, and his tongue began a gentle game of tag with hers that left her light-headed enough she reached up to grab his shoulders for support. This changed the tempo immediately, and Jared’s strong arms pulled her tight to his chest. Evidently, he did not want the kiss to end any more than she did, and she smiled against his lips.

  Her insides had warmed enough to melt butter, and her arms and legs felt fluid enough to pool in a puddle at his feet. This man looked like the rake Jared, but he was not. She should pull free, but she could not bring herself to try. This Jared was tender and gentle and—when the game of tongue tag turned into a heated waltz—hungry. She had seen the rake Jared kiss a maid once out in the garden at a country dance, and he had not been gentle, more like a boulder rolling downhill, though the maid had not seemed to mind.

  Ari heard someone call out a warning and vaguely wondered if it was a human or merely the suspicious voice in her head. If the voice was human, she should worry the two of them would be discovered kissing, which could damage her reputation. In London, she would be quite ruined if caught in a situation such as this, but in the relaxed country society around Dolan, this would merely rate a few gossip sessions about her, and she would be considered a bit fast. Worse still, she could not dredge up the slightest concern over either possibility. All she knew was that she did not want her first real kiss to end. What did that say about her? Was she truly a bit fast?

  The warning shout came again and seemed closer, way more than a foggy ghost voice in her mind. The shout was swiftly followed by a definite rumble that she felt all the way to her toes.

  Jared noticed immediately, and his head came up despite her whimper of complaint. Without warning, he jerked her off her feet and tossed her into the air.

  Chapter Four

  Jared twisted his body to cushion Ari as they hit the ground. The landing was hard, and the fully loaded oxcart rumbled past with mere inches to spare. A large thud echoed farther down the hill, followed by a series of smaller thuds. He lay on his back and tried desperately to breathe.

  Dear God, have I collapsed both lungs?

  Despite his dire breathing predicament, his libido still made a dramatic effort, given the fact Ari’s lithe, slender body was presently draped full-length over his. If he did not immediately remove her luscious figure, she would swiftly notice his errant ducal flagstaff had risen to half-mast.

  She lifted her head. Enormous green eyes full of confusion and sensual turmoil stared back at him.

  He attempted a partial breath and painfully rasped, “Are you all right?”

  She nodded weakly. “Are you?”

  Her concern made him want to smile and forget the painful lungs upon which she still rested. Wise as it would be to remove her, he found he only wanted to wrap his arms tightly around her and keep her right where she was, painful lungs and all. The same wave of primal protectiveness he’d felt in the mansion foyer swept over him again. He could not ever remember feeling such a strong need to protect a woman before. A sharp pain stabbed with his second intake of air and caused him to wince. Best to save his protectiveness for later when he could breathe normally.

  “What happened?” she whispered. No doubt her own wind had been knocked from her.

  “I am sorry if I hurt you.” He tried not to groan as this breath fully expanded his lungs. “But I had to shove us quickly else we be run over.”

  She lifted her head higher to glance around. Her eyes went wide. “’Twas the oxcart. It barely missed us.”

  He nodded.

  Pounding footsteps sounded from the direction of the manor house, and a concurrent dampness chilled Jared’s left side. Twisting his head slightly, he found a stream of water pooling where his body had made a convenient dam. People were running toward them.

  “Reston!”

  “Master Jared!”

  “Your Grace!”

  The voices drew closer.

  Jared rolled them both to his right, still unwilling to let her go, and the dam of water flowed beneath him. “I’m getting wet,” he wheezed.

  His libido had thankfully gone dormant. All it took was a near-death experience and a good soaking—or resoaking in this instance.

  “Oh, it’s the fountain!” Ariana cried, her breathing no longer encumbered.

  She scrambled to her feet and allowed Jared to shift his body out of the streambed. Bullen, Gordy, and another new stranger converged on them. Bullen and Gordy had streaked from the rear of the house, the stranger from the direction of the woodshed.

  “Who are you?” Jared demanded of the new stranger.

  “What’s wrong with you?” The stranger stared nonplussed. “It’s me.”

  “Who is me?”

  “I’m Dex—your best friend. Are you blind?” the stranger asked indignantly.

  Blond and blue-eyed, the man was obviously a noble, judging by his attire and speech. He easily matched Jared’s large size—an uncommon size from what he knew of this time period. But his best friend?

  Jared glanced at Bullen and waited.

  Bullen glanced back and forth at the two men. “Not even him?” he asked Jared, who shook his head.

  “What does that mean?” this Dex demanded.

  “He hit his head earlier and has some memory loss,” Bullen informed him.

  “What do you mean some?” the man prodded.

  “People mostly,” Bullen said. “Some places.”

  “I am standing right here,” Jared said and turned to Dex. “Now who the hell are you, another over-educated servant?”

  Ari gasped, and in case it was over his cursing again, he apologized—again. He never cursed, but today he had been given plenty of reasons.

  The stranger drew himself up to his full three or four inches past six feet and glared Jared in the eye. “I am the Earl of Dexter, your classmate at Eton and Oxford, and your best friend.”

  “And the man who came from the direction of the woodshed right after the oxcart broke free and nearly ran us over,” Jared accused.

  “I called out to warn you, you simple-minded bastard!” Dexter roared.

  “Before or after the cart took off?” Jared demanded—unsure why he was making accusations, only that the cart had seemed anchored and stable when he passed by. A little voice in his head warned this was no accident.

  “We did hear him call out when we first ran from the house,” Bullen offered, “and we didn’t yell ourselves till we cleared the rose garden and spotted you. By then, the cart was almost upon you.”

  “Did you see anyone else?” Jared asked.

  Bullen shook his head.

  Jared turned to Dexter, but the earl glared and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Well, did you?” Jared asked suspiciously.

  “No!” Dexter snapped.

  Jared ran a hand through his wet hair and turned back to Ariana. The pain in his lungs had subsided, so no collapse after all.

  Except for his fountain.

  His magic fountain.

  His only-way-home fountain.

  The stream of water that soaked him had come from the fountain. The runaway cart had crashed into the sidewall—that first loud thud he had heard—and collapsed a four-foot-wide gap in the bricks, the secondary thuds he had heard. Water continued to trickle out of the fountain between the collapsed piles of bricks.

  He stood on the damp earth in the rubble of the fountain, and a wave of panic nearly buckled his knees. He was good and truly stuck here. In 1816. What if he never got back to the future? The edges of his vision blurred. Was he going to pass out again? Nausea crept in with the dizziness.

  Through his horrified angst, he felt a tiny hand slip into his. Thin, delicate fingers wrapped around his longer ones and gently squeezed.

  “Are you all right, J
ared? You’ve gone a bit pale.”

  He stared down into Ariana’s upturned face, worry clouding her emerald-green eyes. He couldn’t look away. Those mesmerizing, take-in-everything eyes held him, willed strength into him.

  Those eyes whispered to his soul, Don’t be frightened. I’m here. Everything will be all right here.

  He could almost believe it. The edges of his vision cleared and righted themselves. Jared massaged his forehead and stifled a groan. He was not going anywhere for now. He wanted to scream No! and rant about losing his means to return home to his own century, but he would only look crazy, and he certainly could not find a way back to the future from incarceration at Bedlam. He could, on the other hand, fix his damned fountain.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “For what?” she asked.

  Right—he had only cursed in his head. He would need to pay better attention if he wanted to keep up his masquerade.

  “Um, for any cursing I might do in the future.”

  She laughed. Bullen did, too. The new fellow Dexter only glared.

  Something about that man Jared didn’t trust.

  ****

  Heddy pushed a mahogany tea cart into the morning room, where Bullen had eventually herded everyone, and the housekeeper insisted both Jared and Ariana sit down and assess any physical damages after their near disaster. Jared had unsuccessfully hinted for Lord Dexter to take himself off to wherever he had begun his travels, but the stranger had accompanied them indoors. Jared especially did not care for the way Dexter eyed Ariana, like she was the choicest lemon tart Heddy brought along with the tea. He experienced an intense desire to smash one of those lemon tarts squarely in Dexter’s face. Or better yet, his closed fist.

  Ariana took a seat on the chaise, and Dexter quickly claimed a nearby wing chair, which had Jared grinding his jaw since the next closest seat to Ariana was a settee farther away. Bullen joined him on the settee, which shocked Jared at his familiarity.

  Ariana only smiled.