What the Duke Desires

by Jenna Petersen

  Lillian heaved a great sigh of relief as the party began to trudge its way back across the fields toward the Billingham manse in the distance. It had been a long and trying day, and the headache she had feigned earlier was beginning to become a reality.“He watched you all afternoon,” Gabby murmured at her side.

  There was no need to clarify which he in the party her friend referred to. Simon was the only man whose stare had flitted to her on a regular basis. Sometimes he smiled, acknowledging that their eyes had met.

  And sometimes he simply stared. Later in their chamber, when she could speak freely about the day with her friend, Lillian would say that Simon’s scrutiny made her uncomfortable. Or that she was angry that he was obviously as much of a lecher as his hated father.

  But those statements would be untrue. Even though she tried to ignore it or judge it, every time Simon looked at her, she thrilled at his attentions. She felt his eyes on her even when she wasn’t looking at him, and she quivered inside at the thought that he remained interested in her beyond the mere politeness of a host to his guest.

  Self-directed disgust filled her. Was she so easily swayed by the attentions of a handsome man that she would forget the duty that brought her here? Her father’s dying wish and her mother’s honor had to be worth more than that.

  The two of them fell behind the group a bit, and Gabby linked her arm through Lillian’s. “Do you want to tell me more about it?”

  “There is nothing to tell,” Lillian said quietly, seeking out Simon in the group.

  He was walking with one of the other young women and her chaperone. A strange tension made Lillian’s stomach clench, but she refused to look away and acknowledge, even to herself, that she didn’t like him turning his notice toward anyone else in the group.

  “Of course there is something to tell,” her friend pressed. “He stayed behind specifically to check on you, somehow convinced you to come with him, and then you two walked alone down to the picnic site. Something of interest must have occurred in that time.”

  Lillian squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and tried to block out the memory of everything Gabby described. It was impossible, just as it had been all day. Those same thoughts had plagued her since she parted ways with Simon a few hours before. Thoughts of how entertaining it had been to tease him when he offered to stay behind and tend to her. Or how genuine his concern had seemed when he asked after her welfare.

  But mostly she had spent the intervening time pondering his words about his family. She had been moved by his kind sentiments about his sister. Once she and her brother had been so close, and she missed Jack terribly.

  Simon had also spoken highly of his father, which did not surprise her. That was the common opinion about the late duke, after all, that he was everything decent and good. But when Simon said those words, it seemed he truly believed them.

  Which meant he was totally naïve about his father, and if she succeeded in revealing the truth, she would devastate him. Or it meant Simon was just as accomplished a liar as his father had been and was determined to keep up the charade that Roger Crathorne had been everything commendable.

  Neither option pleased her overly much.

  “It was the usual chatter,” she said when she realized Gabby was waiting for her to speak. “Nothing of interest.”

  She didn’t know why she was so reluctant to share her moments with Simon with her most-trusted best friend, but somehow it seemed wrong.

  Ahead of her, Simon’s mother, the Dowager Duchess of Billingham, made her way through the crowd toward her son. Lillian stared as the two women accompanying him moved away and the mother and son stepped aside from the moving group to the right of the path. They spoke for a brief moment, and then the dowager duchess walked away, leaving Simon to stare after her.

  When he turned his face back into Lillian’s view, she saw that his mouth was pinched with displeasure. She thought of her final question to him about his mother. At the time she asked, she’d thought his avoidance of the topic had to do with the fact that they’d found the picnicking group.

  Now she wondered if there was something more to his hesitance to share information about his one living parent. She had yet to see any warmth between them since her arrival at the estate. In fact, the duchess spent little time conversing with Simon at all.

  Interesting, indeed.

  Suddenly Simon turned toward her and their gazes met. Heat suffused her cheeks at his focused stare, and she couldn’t help but draw in a breath as his eyes darkened with emotions far different from the troubled ones reflected there after his discussion with his mother.

  Reluctantly she glanced away, but felt his eyes on her for several more seconds before he fell back in with the crowd and they reached the house.

  “Nothing at all interesting, eh?” Gabby whispered as they entered the foyer and a servant took their wraps. “It seems to me that if you don’t define that significant glance you just shared as interesting, you may not be familiar with the meaning of the word.”

  But as her chuckling friend followed the ladies of the group up the stairs, Lillian covered her eyes. The last thing in the world she wanted was any more interesting encounters with Simon Crathorne.

  And yet it seemed they were destined to occur.

  Chapter 5

  Simon looked around the spacious room that was his father’s office. With a shake of his head, he corrected himself. His office. This was his space now. Or at least it would be once he managed to wade his way through the towering mounds of paperwork and correspondence his father had left behind.

  The late duke had been a fastidious man in all ways but this. He had never been able to throw away a paper in his life and kept meticulous notes about anything he thought important. Which was an excellent thing when it came to his thoughts and recollections about an important piece of legislation or letters pertaining to an historic event.But not so much so when the notes were about the birthing of foals on another estate or the letters were from his father’s peculiar and long dead aunt Paulette, who rambled on about her sewing group and the scandal of men who no longer wore wigs and buckled slippers.

  Yet both kinds of paperwork were here, stacked haphazardly across the desk, in piles behind the chair, teetering on the bookcases.

  And part of Simon’s duty, before he left for London, was to sort through these things and determine what to do with it all. He was actually thinking of putting together a memoir of his father’s life, and he was certain some items in this room would be of great use for that purpose when the time came.

  He would have liked to dive into the business of sorting straightaway since there were duties as host he would have to perform in a few hours, but he couldn’t. The previous day after the picnic his mother had requested…well, rather demanded an audience with him this morning. So he awaited her before he moved to the piles.

  As if on cue, the door to the office opened and his mother stepped in. She shut the door behind her and looked around with a sniff.

  Once she had been considered a flawless beauty. Stories still circulated about her coming-out year and how men had fought over a chance to simply touch her hand. But Roger Crathorne, who would soon become the eleventh Duke of Billingham, had staked his claim to her early, and everyone knew that Crathorne always got what he wanted one way or another.

  Simon sighed as he thought of how their relationship had deteriorated. He looked at his mother. There was no denying she was still quite lovely. Her dark hair had only a hint of gray and her skin remained smooth and blemished by only a few wrinkles.

  And yet there was something lacking in her. Her brown eyes were never very happy, and bitterness made her lips flat and harsh. When Simon looked at her, he was put to mind of every time she had turned away from him. Every time she had stared at him with unmasked disdain.

  He had never determined what he’d done to invoke such ire from her. His father had always shrugged it off as if the question wasn’t important, though the late duke had
certainly showered Simon with enough love and affection that Simon knew his father somehow recognized the deep void her disinterest created.

  “How many times I told him that his office was a disgrace,” she said, snapping Simon from unpleasant memories.

  He forced an indulgent smile. “It is a mess. But I’ll clean it up somehow.”

  Her gaze jerked to his unexpectedly and held there for far longer than she normally looked.

  “Yes. I expect you will,” she said softly.

  “Is that what you wished to speak to me about this morning?” he pressed, suddenly uncomfortable beneath her deeper examination. “Are there items you’d like to inspect yourself or keep as mementos?”

  She shook her head and paced away from him. “Nothing. I have no interest in his things.”

  Simon wasn’t surprised by her answer. In truth, he blamed his mother more than his father for the breach between his parents. The late duke had always been patient and kind toward her even in the face of her contempt. Still she shunned her husband, just as she shunned Simon. Nothing was good enough for her.

  “No, your father is not the reason I wished to speak to you.” His mother turned with folded arms. “It is about that girl, Simon.”

  He blinked. He had expected to avoid this conversation until at least after the welcome ball that was scheduled for the next evening. His interest in Miss Mayhew must have been obvious indeed, for his mother to broach the subject so early.

  “Girl, Mother? Which one, there are quite a few here, you know.”

  He supposed his response was childishly purposeful baiting, but there were times when her coldness stung. If she didn’t care about his life, why dictate it?

  Her eyes narrowed. “Please do not play games with me. I don’t appreciate, nor have time for it. You know I am talking about Lillian Mayhew.”

  “I see.”

  “And so do I,” she said, her head tilting. “The way you looked at her all day yesterday during the picnic made it clear you have some interest in her.”

  He shrugged, unwilling to lie, but also unwilling to discuss the subject until forced.

  “And even if I hadn’t seen it, the Duke of Waverly brought it to my attention himself.” His mother’s eyes lit with some kind of petty triumph.

  Simon sighed. Rhys knew how uncomfortable his relationship with the dowager duchess was. His friend would have to be highly concerned to bring her into the discussion about the worthiness of potential brides.

  He leaned against the desk, barely managing not to tip over any of the piles of paperwork.

  “Is this not why the ladies are here, Mother?” he asked, controlling his tone carefully. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that now that I have ascended in title, I have a responsibility to the family name to marry and produce heirs as quickly as I can. This party serves some part in that purpose, does it not? If I have an interest in one of the women here, should you not be delighted?”

  His mother moved on him a few steps. “Great God, Simon! She wasn’t even invited in the first place. It is only out of respect for the specific wishes of Lady Gabriela’s father, the Earl of Watsenvale, that I agreed to allow her to attend at all.”

  “How charitable of you,” he murmured.

  She pretended not to hear his interruption, though by the angry twitch of her lips, he was certain she had.

  “She is entirely inappropriate in every way. You must see that.”

  He shook his head as he thought of the spark in Lillian’s gaze and the fascinating dichotomy in her actions, not to mention the arousing perfection of her countenance and soft body.

  “I’m sorry, Mother, but I don’t see it. I find her both intelligent and interesting.”

  “As if such things matter when making a match!” his mother burst out in exasperation. “Her father was untitled, and had no great fortune to leave her as a dowry. Even if he had, their family connections are questionable! Her brother…”

  “Rhys mentioned he was a bit wild,” Simon said with a shrug. “But few men of his age are not. I refuse to judge him simply because he is overindulging his senses at present.”

  “Then think of her mother! The rumors, Simon, the implication that she might have taken her own life…those things are unconscionable!” She held up her hands. “I forbid a match between you. I cannot support it!”

  Simon almost laughed. He wondered if she knew that her distaste for Lillian only made the girl all the more alluring to him. Certainly it did not deter him.

  He rose from his perch against the desk and moved forward. His mother held her ground, but he could see she wished to step back.

  “You forget, madam,” he said softly, “that I am no longer a reticent child who you can control with the flick of your wrist. I am the duke now, whether you like that fact or not. What I do, who I pursue, and where I go…those things are my affair and mine alone.”

  Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared with rage that was so powerful when it flashed through her eyes that it took Simon off guard. But then it was gone.

  “Yes. I suppose that is true,” she said through clenched teeth.

  He stepped away. “However, I do appreciate your concern. I shall certainly take your uneasiness into account.”

  “Thank you,” she ground out.

  He tilted his head. “Will that be all?”

  His mother jerked away from him toward the door. “Yes. Good day.”

  And then she was gone. Simon let out a sigh. His entire life he had been trying to please the woman, but he’d learned years ago that it was a losing battle. Certainly he wasn’t going to base his choice in bride or friend or lover on what she said was right or true.

  No, in matters of the heart, he was going to listen to his own instincts and no one else’s.

  Croquet had never been a strength of Lillian’s, no matter what kind of rules the game followed. She always whacked the ball far too strenuously. It was no surprise to her, then, that she was put out early in the second round of the tournament-style game arranged for entertainment that day and forced to watch the rest of the match from the sidelines.It wasn’t as if she minded. She didn’t want to play. She could learn much more when observing from outside to see how everyone interacted. So much personality was revealed by chance in a game.

  Gabby was excellent, of course. It seemed there was little she could not do, and Lillian couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s enthusiasm and laughter. She was equally pleased to note her friend had caught the gaze of a few gentlemen in attendance.

  The others who remained in the game had varying levels of play. She noticed that Lady Philippa, an earl’s daughter, pretended to lose her balance every time she shot because she was standing next to Simon and he would right her when she went off kilter.

  The daughter of a marquis, Lady Theresa, was hitting such poor shots that Lillian couldn’t believe they weren’t purposeful. It appeared the foolish chit didn’t wish to outperform Simon or any of the other eligible men; after all she had fared just fine in the first round that had matched her against the other ladies of their party.

  Lady Anne, the Duke of Waverly’s fiancée, played just the opposite. She was careful and steady in her play, but each time she hit a perfect shot, Lillian noticed her eyes lit up with pure triumph. She almost liked Lady Anne for that.

  And then there was Simon. He calculated his every move carefully, never executing a shot with anything less than the perfect pressure or exact placement. He was always in control, always calm.

  He moved in to make his next play and leaned over the ball to line up his mallet for the shot. But suddenly his eyes lifted and she found him looking at her. Staring, really, was the word for it. He gave her a half smile and then he cracked the ball.

  It spun out of bounds, smashing through low brush until it came to rest out of sight.

  “Lost ball,” he called out with feigned exasperation. “By our tournament rules, it appears I am out of the game.”

  Lillian’s jaw
dropped open in shock, and it seemed she was not alone in her reaction. A few of the young women still playing looked genuinely distressed, the Duke of Waverly hardly acknowledged the statement, and Lady Anne rolled her eyes slightly.

  Simon handed off his mallet to another player and began across the lawn toward her with purpose in his expression. Lillian stiffened. Just as had occurred the day before when they entered the picnic together, his obvious attention drew every eye on the lawn toward her. And many of them were not approving.

  The blasted man was making her the center of attention and ruining everything!

  And yet her heart leapt as he stopped before her with a smile.

  “Do you mind if I join you, Miss Mayhew?” he asked, then stepped in beside her without awaiting her answer.

  She cocked an eyebrow as she looked him up and down. “If you truly missed your shot by chance, I shall eat my bonnet.”

  He barked out surprised laughter, and his strange green eyes twinkled in a way that was quite mesmerizing. Lillian had to force herself to look somewhere else.

  “The whole bonnet?” he asked, leaning back as if he was examining the hat perched on her head. “Including the feather?”

  “Especially the feather,” she retorted with a smile she had not bidden.

  She pressed her lips together in frustration the moment she had spoken. It seemed she was too willing to abandon her plans the moment Simon turned his charm her way. Gabby said she had to allow his interest to play out, but that didn’t mean she should like the way he looked at her or smiled at her.

  “Well, I would not want to be the cause of your indigestion,” Simon said with a shrug. “Therefore, I concede I missed my final shot on purpose.”

  “Whatever for?” Lillian asked. “You were doing quite well.”

  “I was more interested in speaking to a young lady who is apparently one of the worst croquet players to ever pick up a mallet.”