Guilt etched her expressive face. “I’m trying to save money. When I’m done here, I hope to take a few days and visit Scotland. Do you know if it’s true what they say? That the men go naked beneath their kilts?”
His lip curled in exasperation. “What is it with you women and Scotsmen? An Englishman is worth two of those barbarians any day.”
Daisy grinned at him, the sparkle in her eyes making him want to kiss her again…urgently.
“Nevertheless,” she said primly. “I cancelled my original reservations and I’ve been spending as little cash as possible. I guess a man like you couldn’t understand that.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “A man like me?” They had played this verse before.
“You know. Rich.”
He decided to let that comment pass. “Why are you so determined to see this through? Most people would have cut and run the first time I told you to leave.”
Vulnerability shadowed her face, and he sensed that what she was about to say wasn’t something she told just anyone. “I grew up in a children’s home, knowing very little about my birth family, so genealogy has become a passion of mine. I have a few leads about my great-grandfather, a faint possibility that I hope to follow up in Scotland, but without being hired by the Wolffs, I could never have managed to get here. I owe it to them to uncover the answers they seek. And hopefully I can find some of my own.”
“I see.” He admired her spunk and independence. Daisy Wexler was as determined to steer her fate as he was to steer his. And despite the strictures of his upbringing, he was a man accustomed to action.
Suddenly, a shocking idea came to Ian, one that guaranteed him more time with the delectable Daisy and at the same moment offered a possible solution to a very awkward situation. “I have a proposition for you, Daisy. In exchange for my cooperation on the research front, you could do me a favor.”
She looked suspicious. And rightly so. “What kind of favor?”
He stood up and rounded the desk, propping his hip on the priceless antique. Daisy shrank back in her seat, her eyes wide.
Leaning forward, he took her hand and drew her upward to stand beside him. “Tell me, Ms. Daisy Wexler. Do you know how to dance?”
Chapter Thirteen
Daisy found herself in danger of swooning like a Victorian miss. The Duke of Wolffhampton at close quarters was an impressive figure. She was fairly certain that the buttons on his worsted wool suit were made of sterling silver imprinted with a coat of arms…no doubt the crest of the mighty Wolffhampton dynasty.
But as beautiful as the garment was, Daisy couldn’t help thinking he would look better naked.
She nibbled her bottom lip. “Dance?”
He played with a strand of her hair, his crooked grin lazy and sexy. “A man. A woman. Romantic music. You know the drill. Saturday is Valentine’s Day…and it also happens to be my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. We’re having a little soiree here at the castle to celebrate. Nothing too fancy. A hundred people or so. I’d like you to accompany me as my date.”
Daisy might not have had a speck of aristocratic blood in her veins, but she knew a scam when she saw one. “It’s a little hard to believe that a duke has to troll for female companionship a few days before an event.”
“I’m in a bit of a pickle. My sainted nana has invited a young woman who Grandmother hopes will agree to be my bride.”
Daisy’s heart plummeted to her feet. “You can’t find your own girlfriends? Seriously?”
Ian drew her across the room to the one piece of furniture that actually looked cozy…a low, cushiony love seat. They sat hip to hip, his big, hard body warming hers. “In case you haven’t noticed, this monstrosity of a house is a money drain. I am in the unenviable position of being the first Duke of Wolffhampton who may actually have to deed the property over to the National Trust and let strangers tramp through the house in order to pay the taxes. We’ve been limping along so far, but Grandmother fears that I am depleting my personal fortune and throwing good money after bad.”
“And are you?”
He leaned back and stretched out his legs, his thighs rippling with muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his trousers. With his hands behind his head, he gave her a sideways glance. “Truthfully? Yes. Grandmother has decided that the only solution is for me to marry an heiress. Guilliana’s bloodlines are impeccable, and her father is, as you Americans say, stinkin’ rich.”
Daisy hated the woman already. “Does she want to marry you?” Of course she did. What woman with a brain and two eyes wouldn’t? Ian Furchess was a catch.
“I have no idea. But Grandmother has invited Guilliana to the party, and since I’m not yet ready to throw myself on the sacrificial altar, it occurs to me that you would be the perfect diversion.”
Not a very flattering offer, but then again, Cinderella was surely entitled to one evening with the prince, even if the shoe didn’t fit. “And in exchange for my cooperation, you’ll allow me full access to your family records?”
Ian stuck out his hand. “Deal?”
She wrapped her fingers around his, noting the exact moment when the warmth and vitality of his touch sparked an insurrection in that secret spot deep in her core. “Deal.”
Chapter Fourteen
Five days later, Ian cooled his heels in the foyer, waiting impatiently for his beautiful Daisy to appear. The past week had been the happiest days of his life. He’d taught her how to ride a horse. Or tried to. Witnessing Daisy’s utter lack of proficiency, he’d laughed and taken her up with him on his mighty stallion, riding across fields and hedgerows at full gallop.
In the afternoons, he had spent hours with her in the library, combing over old documents. When at last they discovered the definitive piece of evidence proving a connection to the American Wolffs, he and Daisy had celebrated with an impromptu hug that quickly turned into a scorching, highly un-duke-like kiss. This time he could not stop the wild mating of lips from becoming much more intimate.
Ian locked the library door, lifting Daisy and coaxing her legs around his waist. “My bedroom’s too far,” he groaned. “I need you. Now.”
She responded by circling his neck with her slender arms and nibbling the tendons that stood out in relief. “Hurry,” she panted.
He steadied her against the wall and fumbled to free his aching shaft. Daisy wore a soft skirt and nothing underneath but panties. With no patience left to remove them, he pushed aside the narrow cotton band, fit the head of his erection to her core and thrust upward.
“Oh, Ian…”
Still remembering in vivid detail the way her soft, warm body had welcomed his, Ian swallowed hard and began to mentally list the monarchs of England in backward order from Elizabeth. It wouldn’t do for the duke to be caught with an embarrassing boner.
His impatience to see her again was tempered with wry amusement at how his plan to make Daisy his decoy date had mushroomed. The women on his staff had jumped on the idea, more, he suspected, out of a delight in transforming the pretty American tourist than to curry Ian’s favor.
Now, the man of the house was on tenterhooks. His bow tie felt as if it was choking him, and his shoes were too tight. Where in the hell was Daisy?
Grandmother was dining in her suite tonight. The ball would tax her stamina enough as it was, so she was resting until the last minute. Ian had picked at a tray of fruit and cheese in his bedroom while he dressed for the evening, his mind on matters more erotic than nutritious.
The ball was to commence at eight o’clock. Finally, at a quarter past seven, a faint noise on the upper landing caught his attention. He looked in that direction and his heart stopped dead in his chest.
A woman stood at the top of the curved staircase wearing a fairy-tale gown of deep, royal blue chiffon and satin. After a split second of shock, he recognized her. It was Daisy, his Daisy. Her white shoulders were bare above a bodice that glittered with tiny bugle beads and crystals. The dress nipped in at the waist and then billowed out
in dozens of fluffy layers that barely brushed the floor. Her blond hair had been carefully upswept in a sophisticated do that gave her the graceful bearing of a young Grace Kelly.
When he saw the uncertainty on her face, though, his heart kicked into gear. Bounding up the steps, he met her halfway. With Daisy still one step above him, they stared at each other, eye to eye.
“You look beautiful,” he said gruffly, wishing he had thought to offer her jewelry to wear. But then again, with that skin and those eyes, the family sapphires would have been cast in the shade.
Daisy blushed, an adorable pink that tinted her cheeks alluringly. “Thank you,” she said softly, smiling. “I feel like a little girl playing dress-up.”
His gaze drifted without volition to the mouthwatering curves of her cleavage. God in heaven, give me strength. “Definitely all grown up,” he croaked. Heedless of any eyes that might be watching from shadowy corners, he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his. Small hands settled on his shoulders. He cupped her narrow waist in his palms. She tasted of sweet cream and strawberries. The head gardener loved to keep the succulent fruit available in the greenhouse year-round, if possible. At the moment, Ian was imagining sharing a bite if Daisy felt generous.
Their lips clung, parted on exhaled breaths and came together again. “I don’t want to mess up your lipstick,” he said, his pulse racketing away like a steam engine. He touched the center of her lower lip with his forefinger.
“It’s supposed to last for eight hours,” she deadpanned, humor dancing in her eyes.
“Good…that gives us plenty of time to experiment.”
Chapter Fifteen
Daisy thought she must be dreaming. And it was such a lovely, fantastical, whimsical, imaginary delight, she really didn’t want to wake up.
She was dancing…waltzing to be exact. With Ian Furchess, Duke of Wolffhampton. He held her in his arms, his long legs trapped now and again in her voluminous skirts as they whirled across a polished marble floor.
The enormous salon, decorated in pink-and-silver tulle with gamboling cherubs, was filled with men in formal eveningwear and women garbed in a rainbow of expensive gowns. But Daisy had eyes only for Ian. In a tuxedo and tails, he looked like a prince.
He held her more closely than was strictly necessary for a waltz. And the warmth of his hand on her back reminded her that he was a flesh-and-blood man, not a fantasy. Everything about him was real. Solid.
His lips brushed her cheek. “Are you having fun, Daisy?”
She tilted her head, smiling wryly. “Except for the part where your grandmother stabbed me with her eyes, yes. I half expected her to tack a scarlet C to my chest for commoner. Or better yet, an A for American.”
He chuckled. “Don’t take it too seriously. She and I play this game. I stay in the perpetual doghouse for not giving her great-grandchildren, but I insist on waiting to marry until I find someone I love as much as she loved my grandfather.”
“How long were they married?”
“Sixty-three years. He died five years ago.”
“She must miss him very much.”
“Indeed. Theirs was a great love affair in a time when arranged marriages were still the norm among the aristocracy. But despite the fact that they barely knew each other when they wed, my grandfather wooed his young bride, and she fell in love with him.”
Daisy fell silent, content to float on air in Ian’s embrace. Envious gazes all around them tracked their progress, but curiously, Guilliana’s was not among them. The slim, gorgeous countess had been introduced to Daisy early in the evening and had greeted her with charm and a mischievous smile. Nothing in her demeanor indicated a prior claim on the duke’s affections. If anything, Ian and Guilliana seemed more like siblings as they exchanged comfortable conversation.
During the course of the ball, Ian led all sorts of women out onto the floor—his “courtesy dances,” he called them. But Daisy was no wallflower. A line of handsome, amiable young men claimed her hand time and again. Fortunately, she was a quick learner and her partners steered her well. She did know the basics of dancing, but the formality of the occasion was a bit overwhelming.
Ian returned to her side as often as was socially acceptable. Which was not nearly enough for Daisy’s liking. The hours were slipping away, and now that they’d both fulfilled their ends of the bargain, this could well be Daisy’s final night with Ian…
Chapter Sixteen
At ten o’clock, Ian escorted his grandmother out onto the floor for her birthday dance. She was frail in his arms and smelled of liniment. He felt a rush of affection for her, despite her contrary ways.
As they moved circumspectly in time to the music, he caught her gazing at Guilliana with calculating eyes. “Forget it, Nana,” he said. The less formal address was one he usually used only when they were alone together. “I won’t be bludgeoned into marriage, not even for you.”
She glared at him with snapping dark eyes, keeping her mouth curved in a smile to avoid gossip. “That countess would solve all our problems, and she’s a beauty, too. Any man would be glad to have her in his bed.”
The tops of his ears warmed. No one, not even a duke, wanted to discuss sex with his grandmother. “I don’t love Guilliana. I’m not even attracted to her. I know I’m disappointing you, but I’d rather deed this pile of stone over to the National Trust and hide out in a single wing while tourists tramp through the halls than tie myself for life to a woman who doesn’t make me happy.”
“And this Daisy person? Does she make you happy?”
Ian had fudged a bit on the details of his relationship with Daisy to his grandmother. He might possibly have insinuated that they had met before. A tiny white lie, but one he regretted already.
Instead of answering her question, he countered with another. “Do you believe in love at first sight?” He had her there. He’d been told on countless occasions of how his grandmother had met her suitor reluctantly, but upon seeing him for the first time had given her heart without hesitation.
Her chin lifted. “You’re an impertinent boy. Of course I do. But I married someone of equal wealth and station. Your little librarian is a nobody. Without two shillings to rub together. I can’t believe the Wolffhamptons have come to this.”
Feeling the weight of his grandmother’s disappointment—along with the disapproval of the many ancestors whose painted eyes stared at him from gilt-framed portraits hung along the walls—Ian bowed his head for a brief moment.
Perhaps he was making a selfish mistake, choosing to be a man first, and a duke second. But for the first time since his parents and brother had died in the accident, he was doing what was right for him instead of what was expected of a duke. He’d made a phone call today, determined to master this impossible set of circumstances that had been set before him.
Over his grandmother’s shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Daisy across the room. She was laughing, surrounded by a bevy of single men on the prowl, lured in by her infectious Southern accent and her unself-conscious charm.
“You asked me a question, Nana, and I didn’t answer.” He hugged her tightly as the dance came to an end and the room erupted in a chorus of “Happy Birthday.” Stepping back to give her a formal bow, he eyed her solemnly. “Yes, Grandmother, she makes me happy.”
Chapter Seventeen
Seeing Ian move slowly across the floor with his elderly grandmother in his arms brought tears to Daisy’s eyes. His gentle strength was evident, as was the esteem in which he was held by his peers. Everyone in the room regarded Ian Furchess as a decent, honorable man. Was it right of Daisy to coax him into a temporary indiscretion that he would surely regret?
He joined her for the last dance of the evening, pulling her gently into his arms and holding her close for the romantic classical ballad. She rested her head on his shoulder. “You’re a wonderful grandson,” she said, feeling melancholy chill her heart.
Ian’s fingertips brushed the nape of her neck, sending prickles o
f awareness down her spine. “If that were true, I’d be cheek to cheek with a countess right now.”
“It’s not too late,” she whispered, her throat tight. “I could invent a headache…go up to my room.”
His arms tightened. “You’re not going anywhere. I asked you to be my Valentine for the evening. You’re stuck with me.”
“I don’t know what that involves…the Valentine thing. Would you care to elaborate?”
He pulled back and searched her face. The words she had tossed at him were light and teasing, but the tremor in her voice was audible.
Ian brushed her temple with his lips, the fingers of his right hand squeezing her left ones tightly. “I’m not entirely sure. I’ve never chosen a Valentine before…at least not since I wore knee britches and had a crush on my nanny.”
Daisy smiled wistfully. “I feel honored.” Pausing for a moment to weigh the risk of a personal question, she plunged in, feetfirst. “The real reason your grandmother is so eager for you to wed is that you’re supposed to produce a nursery full of babies to carry on the family name…right? Fruit of your loins? Tiny toddler dukes?”
As if her question had conjured up an inescapable vision, Ian stumbled, his arm tightening around her waist. His momentary awkwardness was as stunning as it was unexpected. What was he thinking?
Before he could respond, the music trailed to an end, and the lights came up, signaling an end to the party. Ian cursed soft and low, his heart beating against her breast in time with hers. “I have to say goodbye to all the guests.”
“Of course.” She agreed readily, though it was a physical pain to release him, knowing this magical evening was at an end.
“If you don’t mind lingering for a bit while I finish my hosting duties, I’d love it if you would meet me upstairs in the gallery later.” He pointed to the balcony that stretched across the far end of the room. “I want to talk to you about something.”
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