I Dared the Duke

by Anna Bennett

  “Nothing.” She let out the breath she’d been holding and smiled. “For once, I’m not worried about anything.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed, feeling light and free.

  The boom and crack of several rockets fired in quick succession startled her; the spectators applauded and cheered.

  “The show is over,” the duke murmured.

  He released her hand, and the crowd around them grew restless. The malicious whispers behind her grew louder. A group of revelers near the hedge grew rowdy. Uncle Alistair looked confused and began to wander.

  Beth sighed. The magic, it seemed, had fled.

  Chapter ELEVEN

  A few hours later—long after she should have been asleep—Beth lay in her bed, pondering all that had occurred at Vauxhall Gardens.

  At the conclusion of the fireworks show, Uncle Alistair and Julie had left together in his coach, and for a brief instant, Beth had a fierce longing to join them—to return to her uncle’s cozy parlor, cluttered with unfinished paintings, sewing projects, and pages of sheet music strewn across every surface. To be back where she belonged, in the company of those who truly knew and loved her.

  But she could not shirk her duty to the duchess who, in the coming weeks, would need her more than ever. Beth didn’t pretend to understand the duke’s reasons for wanting his grandmother out of his house, but she’d made a deal with him and would honor it.

  Their coach ride from the gardens to the duke’s Mayfair house had been quiet. The duchess’s head bobbed against the plush squabs of the coach as she dozed peacefully. The duke had looked out the window, his expression brooding—so much so that Beth wondered whether she’d imagined the connection she’d felt to him earlier.

  Now, as sleep proved elusive, she scolded herself for behaving like an ingénue whom the duke could manipulate—for surely that’s what he’d been doing. He needed her to convince his grandmother to move to his country estate. Once that deed was accomplished, he’d have no use for her.

  She would do well to remember that.

  After all, he was a powerful man accustomed to having his way. A rake of the highest order, renowned for his skill in seducing women.

  Blast. Too restless to remain in bed, she threw off the sheets and plucked her dressing gown off of the back of a chair. She thrust her arms through the sleeves and tightened the sash before cracking open the door to her bedchamber and peeking down the dark corridor.

  Surely, the duke’s servants had long since turned in for the night. The house was utterly quiet. No harm could come from a quick trip to the library. She’d select the most boring book on the shelves, take it to her bedchamber, and hope that after reading a few pages her eyelids would grow heavy.

  Not bothering with slippers, she picked up the small lantern at her bedside, skulked into the corridor, and padded toward the grand staircase. Feeling deliciously rebellious, she glided down the stairs, rounded the corner, and headed toward the duke’s library. She’d never actually been in it, but she’d caught a glimpse of the impressive collection and had longed to explore it at leisure. Tonight presented the perfect opportunity.

  She was in the hallway near the library when she heard a sound. A moan—low and haunting.

  Good heavens. What was it the duke had said about locking her bedchamber door at night? What if he hadn’t simply been trying to intimidate her but had legitimate reasons for issuing the warning?

  She swallowed, wondering if her ears were playing tricks on her. Old houses made noises sometimes.

  Then again, so did ghosts. Not that she’d ever encountered one, but she remained open to the possibility—no matter how much her sisters mocked her.

  They loved to tease her about her fascination with spirits and unearthly creatures. Maybe her slight obsession came from the scary tales their father had spun while they sat around the fireplace in their parlor. Beth had shivered in delight each time he told the most chilling bits. Or perhaps she merely wished to believe that there was more to the world than what one could see. Something beyond the ordinary and mundane. Something truly exhilarating.

  Pure foolishness. She chided herself—but she walked a bit faster down the hall, just the same.

  The library—which would have been an excellent hideout for spirits, with all its old books and reading nooks—was blessedly quiet. Beth found a volume on monsters featured in Greek myths, which had not been her plan, precisely, but she’d been unable to resist. Besides, who knew? Perhaps tales of the Hydra, Minotaur, and Cyclops—complete with their detailed, colored illustrations—would be just the thing to lull her to sleep.

  She tucked the book under her arm and headed back to her bedchamber. But once she was in the corridor, she heard the moaning again. This time it was unmistakable—and it seemed to emanate from the duke’s dark study.

  The sound grew louder as she approached the doorway. Deep and otherworldly, it reverberated through her, sending a shiver down her spine.

  She should definitely walk right past the study, go directly to her room, bar the door, and hide beneath her covers. It was the only prudent thing to do. Indeed, every nerve in her body screamed for her to flee.

  Instead, she paused in front of the study door and slowly nudged it open. The moaning stopped, which made perfect sense. It wasn’t as though any self-respecting ghost would float over and introduce himself.

  The lantern she held lit a small section of the room, and all looked as it should. No objects floated in midair. No desk drawers opened and closed of their own accord.

  Vaguely disappointed, she listened intently. There was a scraping sort of sound, like boots on the floor. Then a tortured groan, the likes of which she’d never heard before, echoed off the walls.

  Dear Jesus. The lantern’s handle slipped from her fingertips, the flame extinguished, and darkness enveloped her. She jumped back and knocked her elbow into the doorjamb. Hard. The book fell to the floor with a thud, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream building in the back of her throat.

  Panic rose in her chest. What kind of creature lurked in the duke’s study? She had to return to her room. Now. But she couldn’t leave the lantern and book in the middle of the hallway. She dropped to her knees and felt around, frantically searching for both objects.

  But then she heard footsteps—felt them vibrate the floor beneath her palms—and she froze.

  A large hand grasped her upper arm and forcefully hauled her to her feet. “Who are you?” The voice was gravelly but unquestionably human … and she knew exactly whom it belonged to. Oh no.

  “Forgive me, your grace,” Beth squeaked.

  “What in the bloody hell—”

  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” The moment she spoke the words, heat flooded her cheeks. Though she was hardly an expert on romantic assignations, she felt certain she’d interrupted the duke in the act of … that is, while he was enjoying … hang it all, she’d caught him making love to a woman. The duke’s reputation, combined with the moaning, provided overwhelming evidence of such.

  Which meant that there was another person—almost certainly a beautiful young lady—occupying the study and that Beth’s level of humiliation was about to double.

  “Why are you roaming the halls in the middle of the godforsaken night?”

  “I wasn’t attempting to spy on you, if that’s what you’re implying.” To be fair, he hadn’t implied anything of the sort, but this was all new territory for her.

  “Come,” he ordered. Still grasping her arm, he pulled her into his pitch-black study and firmly shut the door behind her. “Don’t move.”

  She didn’t have much choice in the matter. As he fumbled around his desk, presumably searching for a candle to light, she wrapped her robe tightly about her, bracing herself for the moment when the room would be illuminated and she’d come face to face with the duke’s mistress.

  But when the soft glow of the candle banished the darkness, the only people in the study were she and the duke. H
is jacket was nowhere to be found. His waistcoat and cravat had also apparently gone missing. His shirt was open at the neck, and the sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong, sinewy forearms. The whole effect was rather captivating.

  He sat on the edge of the desk and crossed his arms as his gaze lingered first on her unbound hair, then on the collar of her robe, and finally on her bare toes. “Good evening, Beth.”

  Blast. What on earth had possessed her to permit him to use her name?

  She inclined her head in as haughty a manner as she could manage, given her state of utter dishabille. “Your grace.”

  A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Why are you out of your bed?”

  She did not like having to explain herself to him, but she supposed it was a valid question. “I could not sleep.”

  “So you thought you’d snoop about my study?”

  “No.” She glanced around the imminently masculine room and shrugged. “I don’t find it nearly as fascinating as you seem to think I do.”

  He arched a sardonic brow. “And yet, here you are.”

  Touché. “I took the liberty of availing myself of your library. I didn’t think you would mind.”

  “I don’t. But you still haven’t explained why you were crawling on the floor outside my study.”

  “If you must know, I heard a sound coming from inside.”

  He rubbed the light stubble on his chin as though intrigued. “And you took it upon yourself to investigate? What did you think you were going to find?”

  Either a ghost or a seduction-in-progress. But she couldn’t very well admit to either. One made her sound addle-brained and the other … well, lustful. “I don’t know, but the sound … I thought someone was in pain.” As she looked into his glassy, bloodshot eyes, realization dawned. “Are you—in pain?”

  * * *

  Beth was far too perceptive for Alex’s liking. He’d kept the nightmares secret. From everyone. And with good reason.

  Sometimes he awoke drenched in sweat. Other times, his face was wet, like he’d been … well, like he’d been … crying. Not the sort of news he wanted bandied about his club. And he sure as hell didn’t want Beth to pity him.

  Armed with his most charming smile, he leaned forward and spread his arms wide, palms out. “Do I look like I’m in pain?”

  She swallowed as her gaze drifted over him. “I don’t see any blood. That’s a good sign.”

  “It is indeed.”

  Her forehead creased in concern. “But perhaps you are ill. Do you have a fever?”

  “Are you trying to play nurse with me, Miss Lacey?” An intriguing idea, to be sure. With her flushed cheeks, loose hair, and bare feet, she looked as though she’d stepped directly out of a Botticelli masterpiece. Beautiful enough to make a man forget about horrific nightmares and the recent attempts on his life. Hell, as he stared at the silky robe caressing her curves, he could barely remember his own name.

  “No, I am satisfied with my role as a companion,” she said dryly. “In any event, you seem to be hale and hearty—a perfect physical specimen.”

  “If you feel the need to conduct a more rigorous examination”—he flashed a suggestive smile—“I am willing…”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said quickly.

  “So you see, there’s nothing amiss. All is as it should be.” He waved an arm around his study, hoping he sounded convincing.

  “All seems well,” she said with a frown. “But I know what I heard—moans. Tortured moans.”

  Christ, she wouldn’t give up. “You think you know what you heard. It’s late.” He shrugged. “Perhaps your mind was playing tricks.”

  “No,” she countered. “I know what I heard.”

  “Do you?” He pushed himself off his desk and walked all the way around her in a slow, deliberate circle. “There are all sorts of moans, Miss Lacey. Moans of pain … moans of pleasure. They sound remarkably similar.”

  Her eyes went wide. “I do not pretend to be a connoisseur of moans, your grace, but I shall take your word for it.”

  “It’s Alex. And maybe you shouldn’t.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She tossed her head, tousling her wavy tresses and exposing the delicate column of her neck.

  “You shouldn’t take my word for anything. A moan of pleasure is something you should experience for yourself.”

  Chapter TWELVE

  Beth could imagine the duke whispering those wicked words to countless women, in ballrooms and bedchambers, parlors and pubs: a moan of pleasure is something you should experience for yourself.

  Indeed, the line was so ridiculous that she might have laughed out loud—if she’d been able to breathe.

  It was difficult to scoff at his words when the delivery was smooth as silk, and full of promise.

  Crossing her arms over her breasts, she pretended to consider his proposal—if it could be called such. “Do you want to know what I think?”

  He walked up behind her and leaned in close. Though he didn’t physically touch her, she felt the warmth of his breath on her neck. “Tell me,” he whispered.

  Willing her pulse to slow, she turned to face him. “I think that you are attempting to distract me.”

  His gaze fell to her mouth. “From what?”

  “You’re hiding something. You don’t want to tell me the truth about what was occurring in here when I happened to walk by.”

  “I can assure you it was nothing sinister or particularly interesting,” he said. “That’s the truth.”

  “You are permitted to have secrets, your grace. You’re certainly under no obligation to reveal to me—your grandmother’s companion—whatever clandestine activities you may have been engaged in.”

  He chuckled—a rich, deep sound that heated her blood. “That is a relief.”

  For the space of several heartbeats, neither of them spoke. Then she said, “I do, however, admit to being curious.”

  The duke reached for a long curl that rested on her shoulder and gently wound it around his finger. “There’s nothing wrong with being curious, you know.” If his innuendo wasn’t obvious from the words, the smoldering look he leveled at her made his meaning crystal clear.

  Beth’s breath hitched in her throat. Beneath the thin lawn of her robe and night rail, her nipples hardened and her toes curled. He stood so close that she could see the thick lashes framing his eyes, the light stubble on his chin, and the sprinkling of hair above the open collar of his shirt.

  If she was honest with herself, she was curious. About him. The man who pushed his grandmother out of his life one moment and doted on her the next. The man who scolded Beth for leaving their party at the gardens but held her hand beneath the fireworks. The rogue who had a reputation for pleasuring London’s most beautiful women but seemed to be flirting with a renowned wallflower—her.

  And if she was very, very honest with herself, she was curious about something else—namely, what lay beneath his shirt.

  Lord help her, she was about to do something foolish, but she was too dizzy with desire to care. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she placed a palm against the hard, flat planes of his chest. Beneath her hand, his muscles tensed and his heart galloped—evidence that she affected him too.

  “You said you were having difficulty sleeping,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I know of two particularly effective remedies.”

  “Let me guess,” she replied, amazed that her tongue was capable of functioning while her fingertips were pressed to the thin, fine fabric covering his chest. “The first would be brandy.”

  “Very good.” He slipped a hand beneath her loose hair and caressed the back of her neck. “Care to guess the second?”

  “Er. Willow bark tea?” Heavens, her legs were going to give out any moment.

  “Not even close,” he murmured. “Let me show you.”

  Wrapping an arm around her waist, he hauled the length of her body against his—and brushed his lips over hers.

  Her skin tingled every
where he touched her—and even where he didn’t. Of their own accord, her fingers curled against his chest, clutching a fistful of his shirt like she was hanging on for dear life.

  This was the kiss she’d been waiting for forever. And she hadn’t even known it till that very moment.

  Everything in the room seemed to be spinning or tilting or sliding—everything except him. Solid and strong, he held her like he desired her. Like he wanted her.

  His lips, warm and firm, teased the corner of her mouth. The stubble on his face lightly abraded her skin—in the most delicious way. When she parted her lips, he deepened the kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue as though he wanted to devour her.

  It was a heady feeling, being in the arms of London’s most notorious lover. Before this kiss, she’d never understood why otherwise perfectly intelligent young women would sully their reputations for a night with him. But as he speared his fingers through her hair and trailed kisses down the side of her neck, she understood all too well.

  It would be easy to ignore her good sense and surrender completely to him.

  Not that she had any intention of allowing things to go that far. She would be content with a kiss. And a few caresses. Perhaps even a peek at his chest.

  With a large hand on her hip, the duke slowly walked her backward till her shoulder blades bumped against the closed door of his study. She thought it odd—until he leaned into her, pressing his body to hers.

  His weight anchored her to the door, but her hands were free to explore. She clung to his shoulders, then dared to touch the bare skin above his shirt collar. All the while, he kissed her like she was the center of his world.

  And though she knew very well that she was not, the mere illusion was rather intoxicating.

  “Beth,” he murmured against her mouth. “Tell me to stop.”