I Dared the Duke

by Anna Bennett

  “You have that all wrong. Worse, you don’t understand,” he said, frustration oozing from each word. “I cannot fully devote myself to finding the would-be killer if I’m sick with worry over you and my grandmother.”

  She understood wanting to protect family and the people one cared about all too well. It was why she couldn’t leave Alex.

  “I need to know that both of you are safe,” he said. “Once I discover who the culprit is and deal with him, you may return.”

  It was a sweet sentiment, but Beth knew better than to imagine a long-term arrangement, wherein she lived under the same roof with Alex and his grandmother. Beth’s relationship with the duke was like the fireworks at Vauxhall, lighting up the sky for an all-too-brief moment before fizzling out.

  When he tired of her—as he most surely would—he’d revert to his rakish ways, spending night after night in the arms of London’s most beautiful women.

  And while she knew it to be inevitable, she didn’t wish to witness it with her own two eyes. When she moved out of the duke’s house, she wouldn’t be coming back.

  But she wasn’t at all ready to say good-bye to him yet.

  “I need some time to come to terms with this news,” she said. However, what she really needed was time to devise a plan—a way she could help Alex before gracefully exiting his life with her dignity intact. She wasn’t foolish enough to imagine her heart would remain intact, but she’d have a lifetime to lick her wounds.

  For now, she’d focus all her energy on convincing Alex to allow her to stay. She could be quite persuasive when she put her mind to something, and lately she’d acquired a new weapon in her arsenal: seduction. She hadn’t yet become a master at wielding it, but she was a quick study.

  And she was learning from the best.

  “Time is in short supply,” Alex said. “Every day you remain here places you at greater risk of injury—or worse.”

  “I’m not asking for days. Come to me later tonight, when we can talk freely about our options.”

  “There are no options, Beth. You must—”

  The sound of servants talking in the corridor cut him short, and he stood quickly, putting distance between them.

  “I think I shall check on the dowager before retiring for the night,” Beth said loudly. In a whisper, she added, “I’ll wait for you.”

  * * *

  It was after midnight when Alex hesitated outside Beth’s bedchamber. He probably shouldn’t have come, but he couldn’t forego the chance to hold her one last time. And before she left, he needed to convince her that she was no more a wallflower than he was a rake. Making a clean breast of it wasn’t going to be easy, but she deserved to know the truth.

  He reached for the handle, found the door slightly ajar, and quickly entered, turning the key in the lock behind him.

  Bathed in the soft glow of a bedside lamp, Beth sat in a chair with her feet tucked under her, wearing nothing but a diaphanous night rail. The long, loose waves of her hair begged to be touched; her luminous, dewy skin begged to be kissed.

  Christ. She was the antithesis of a wallflower. Most definitely a siren. And in that moment, he knew that no matter how noble his intentions had been, he was powerless to resist her.

  Upon seeing him, she smiled serenely, set down her book and glided toward him, her breasts bouncing with each step. Twining lithe arms around his neck, she pressed her body against his. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

  “You should have worried that I would,” he growled, running his hands over the silky fabric of her nightgown.

  “No. I’m glad you told me about the attempts on your life. Now I understand why you want your grandmother to move to the country. I shouldn’t have assumed the worst about you.”

  “I’m no angel.” It was an admittedly half-hearted attempt to warn her off. “If I were, I wouldn’t have come to your room.”

  “I’m no angel either.” She brushed soft lips above his shirt collar. “If I were, I wouldn’t have invited you.”

  Already painfully aroused, he moaned. “We should talk. About how to effect the move as quickly as possible. I know my grandmother will be disappointed about not having time to finish redecora—”

  “Shh.” She pressed a cool fingertip to his lips. “We can discuss those details later. You haven’t slept in two days. Come, lie down.”

  Beth was right. He was dead tired and probably not in the best frame of mind to make decisions. The bed looked incredibly inviting. So did she.

  Taking his hand, she turned and pulled him toward the four-poster, her deliciously curved bottom swaying as she walked. “I’m glad I don’t have to remove your boots,” she teased, patting a pillow near the upholstered headboard.

  “I’ll rest for a bit if you will too,” he said, laying his head on the feather pillow and sinking into the thick mattress.

  “I napped earlier today, while you were out.” Nimble as a cat, she climbed onto the bed and leaned over him, running her fingers lightly through his hair and over his face. “While I was lying here, I thought about last night. I was remembering the stars in the sky and the breeze on my skin and your hands on my body. But mostly I dreamed of how lovely you made me feel … when you touched me.”

  Jesus. “Beth, there’s something you should—”

  “And then I thought that I would like to touch you. To make you feel the same way.”

  He swallowed, momentarily speechless—and hard as a rock.

  “You don’t have to do anything except tell me what you like,” she said, shrugging adorably. “I’m quite new at this.”

  “You could have fooled me.” He took one of her hands, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to the palm. “I like everything about you, Beth. Everything.”

  Seemingly pleased, she opened his shirt at the front, pushed it to his sides, and stared at his naked torso. As her fingers traced the contours and planes, lingering on the fuzz above the waistband of his trousers, his heart pounded. Hell, it was all he could do not to haul her down and crush her mouth with his.

  “I want to taste you.” She didn’t wait for him to grant permission, but rather, bent her head and trailed kisses over his neck, chest, and abdomen. As she leaned over him, her silky hair tickled his chest and her night rail gaped open, revealing the pink tips of her full breasts. That did it.

  Growling, he flipped her over and pressed a leg between hers. “I can’t lie still while you touch me.”

  She smiled seductively. “You could touch me back.”

  Before the words were out of her mouth, he slid a hand up the inside of her leg and kneaded the supple flesh of her thigh. “Out on the balcony last night … is this what you liked?” he asked.

  “Not quite,” she said breathlessly.

  He cupped her bottom, caressing the sweet curve just above her leg. “How about this?” he teased.

  “You’re getting closer.”

  At last, he stroked the spot that would give her pleasure. “And now?”

  A moan escaped her as she opened to him. “Yes.”

  Thank God—and the widow who’d pulled him into a pantry during a ball two years ago and showed him, quite explicitly, how to pleasure a woman in this way. With the widow, it had been a lesson—a perfunctory act in which he felt more like a detached observer than a participant.

  But being with Beth was all-consuming. Her pleasure was his, and he wanted nothing more than to feel her come apart … for him.

  He pulled down the collar of her nightgown and took the peak of her breast in his mouth, sucking lightly.

  “Alex.” She gripped his shoulder and whimpered with need. God, he hoped it was with need. He wanted this, her introduction to passion, to be amazing for her.

  If his sexual prowess was half as impressive as the ton believed, she’d be crying out in ecstasy by now. The truth was that he hadn’t bedded a woman in over two years … and would have to make up for what he lacked in skill with pure determination and effort.

  He brushe
d his lips over her skin, loving the taste of her, and skimmed his palms over her curves, reveling in the perfection of her body.

  He speared his fingers through her hair and poured everything into the kiss that he could not say. I’m not the man you think I am. You are more than I deserve. And I want you more than anything.

  He touched her, listening intently for every hitch of her breath, every sigh and every moan, seeking to discover precisely what brought her the most pleasure. Humbled by her trust in him and awed by her beauty, he committed it all to memory. The birthmark to the right of her navel, the ticklish spot behind her knee, the sensitive skin at the curve of her neck.

  Though he was far from a legendary lover, Beth seemed to appreciate his efforts.

  Flushed with arousal, she clutched fistfuls of his loose shirt. “Alex,” she panted. “This feels … oh, God.”

  As her body tensed and the wave overtook her, he held her, reveling in the glorious power of her release.

  A minute later, she smiled sleepily at him, looking both sated and stunned. “I never knew.”

  The hell of it was, neither had he. Brushing a curl away from her face, he asked, “How do you feel?”

  “Hmm,” she said, rolling her eyes mischievously. “I feel like that was extremely enlightening.”

  “Enlightening is good,” he said, both pleased and relieved with her verdict.

  She propped herself on an elbow and gazed down at him while trailing her fingertips over his chest and abdomen. “But I think that I’d like another lesson.”

  He closed his eyes, trying valiantly to maintain control. “Beth, I’d love nothing more. But I think we should—”

  Her hand slid lower, over the front of his trousers, which barely contained his erection.

  And just like that, any semblance of coherent thought was obliterated.

  Chapter TWENTY-THREE

  Beth could hardly believe her own daring. But she trusted Alex and was immensely grateful that at least one of them knew what to do.

  Letting instinct guide her, she stroked the hard length of him through his trousers. Encouraged by his moans, she slipped her hand beneath his waistband and reached for—

  “No,” he said, pulling away and rolling off the bed onto his feet.

  Good heavens. It seemed she couldn’t do anything correctly.

  As though privy to her thoughts, he said, “It’s nothing you did. Believe me, I would love nothing more than to spend the whole night in your bed. But it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  She shook her head, disbelieving. She’d been under the impression that someone like him had no scruples. That he cared about nothing except taking pleasure where he could find it. Perhaps his protest was merely part of the rake’s repertoire—some heartfelt words meant to seduce innocents who were reluctant to surrender their virtue.

  Didn’t he realize that she was willing? There was no need to ply her with pretty—if empty—words.

  “I fail to see how spending the night in my bed would be unfair to me. Do you snore excessively or steal the sheets?”

  “No.” He shot her a weak smile. “It would be unfair because you can’t stay. If I were to lie with you and send you on your way, I’d be the worst kind of scoundrel.”

  Beth had to bite her tongue. After all, he was rather known for being the worst kind of scoundrel, and the label had never seemed to bother him before.

  Why did he hold a piece of himself back? She wanted him to trust her, to invite her in to the darkest corners of his heart. Let her chase away the demons.

  When she trusted herself to speak, she said, “Very well. I’ve been thinking about your request that your grandmother and I leave.”

  “It’s not a request,” he interrupted. “It’s a necessity. For your safety and my sanity, you need to move out of this house.”

  “Then I suppose you will have to tell your grandmother over breakfast. It will break her heart, of course. At this very moment, she’s probably dreaming of wainscoting, draperies, and sconces.”

  “Beth,” he pleaded. “I need your help with this. She wouldn’t understand. She’d think I was simply trying to rid myself of her. And I can’t hurt her like that. I’m not adept at showing it, but she’s the center of my world.”

  She shrugged as though the admission didn’t touch and cut her at the same time. It must feel lovely to be at the center of his world. Not that she wanted to encroach on his grandmother’s place in his heart. “I feel certain you’ll find the words to make her understand.”

  Dragging a hand down his impossibly handsome face, he sank onto the mattress beside her. “She cared for me after the fire. Day and night for weeks. My pain was hers, and she refused to leave my side. Not even to attend my parents’ funeral.”

  Tamping down a wave of empathy, Beth held firm. “She’s a strong woman, and she loves you.”

  “Indeed. If I were to tell her about the attempts on my life, she’d be beside herself—hysterical, even. I’m afraid she’d make herself sick with worry.”

  “I quite agree.” Feigning nonchalance, she hopped off of the bed, plucked her robe from the chair, and slipped it on. “Once your grandmother recovered from the shock, I’m sure she’d go to the authorities. She might even write a letter to the king informing him of the situation.” His jaw twitched at that. “Then she’d likely spend her days sitting by a window, fearing the day a messenger brings news of your demise.”

  “We can’t tell her about the murder attempts,” he said emphatically.

  “I don’t plan on telling her anything.”

  More stunned than angry, he approached her, imploring. “You could persuade her to move to the country without telling her the truth.”

  With his naked torso glistening in the lamplight, and his heated gaze focused on her, it was difficult to deny him anything, but she resolved to remain strong. “You give me too much credit,” she said. “Besides, we had a deal. I’ll abide by the terms we set forth earlier.”

  “The deal?” he asked, incredulous. “I inform you that someone’s trying to kill me and that you and my grandmother are almost certainly in danger, and you demand that I uphold my end of an inane deal?”

  “Aren’t you trying to hold me to my end?” she countered.

  “Well … yes,” he stammered. “But now you know the reason why. It could be a matter of life and death.”

  “The reasons are irrelevant,” she said with feigned callousness. “A deal’s a deal.”

  “Beth.” When he gazed into her eyes, she wanted to melt. He looked so sincere, so vulnerable. “Please help me.”

  She’d never been able to resist an earnest plea for help, and from him it was doubly hard. But she wouldn’t capitulate. “Regardless of what you may believe, I do want to help—just not in the manner you’d prefer.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I may have a way for you to grant your grandmother’s third wish and catch the killer.”

  He leveled a look at her, skeptical. “I’m listening.”

  * * *

  Beth took Alex’s hand and led him to the chair she’d been reading in earlier. She perched on a footstool opposite him and leaned in. “I presume you have a list of suspects?”

  “Just two, as of now.” His and Darby’s inquiries earlier in the day hadn’t ruled out either Newton or Haversham. Both had plenty of time and opportunity to damage Alex’s balcony. “Darby and I have been keeping an eye on them, waiting for one of them to make a mistake.”

  “Instead of spending so much effort trying to track them down,” she said slyly, “why not make them come to you?”

  “I see. I should throw open the front door and invite them to dinner?”

  She bit her lip. “I thought perhaps a ball.”

  “A ball?” He repeated, incredulous.

  “Er, not just any ball … a masquerade.”

  Over his dead body—which, unfortunately, was not a stretch. “Absolutely not.”

  Beth stood, circled beh
ind his chair, and trailed her fingertips up one of his arms and across his shoulders, making it damnably hard to think straight.

  “Your grandmother admitted to me this morning that it’s her fondest wish.” She sighed. “My first inclination was to agree with you—that a masquerade would be ill-advised.”

  “Scores of people wearing disguises and mingling in a room with two potential murderers is a horrible idea—a recipe for mayhem.”

  She leaned close to his ear. “Unless we had a carefully orchestrated plan to unveil and capture the scoundrel.”

  “Beth, this isn’t a serial novel featuring a bumbling, guileless villain. We’re not playing a game here. I won’t willingly put you, my grandmother, and a couple hundred guests at risk.”

  “I know that,” she said soberly. “Neither would I. But with each day that passes, our enemy grows bolder. You don’t know where he’s lying in wait or when he will strike. If we control the setting, we have the advantage.”

  Though her use of the pronoun we warmed him, it also scared the hell out of him. She shouldn’t be inserting herself into this mess. “What makes you think the real villain would come to a ball?”

  “He will not want to raise eyebrows by refusing. It’s the best way for him to avoid suspicion,” she reasoned.

  Alex pondered this. “Assuming the would-be killer does attend, how would we go about exposing him?”

  “I haven’t quite figured out that aspect of the plan,” she admitted. “But I’m sure that between you, Lord Darberville, and me, we will think of something rather ingenious.”

  “Your confidence is impressive,” he said dryly … but perhaps the plan had some merit.

  “Do you resist because you don’t wish to wear a costume?” she teased, kneading his shoulders with a sorceress’s fingers.

  “That’s not funny.” He paused for a heartbeat. “But I do detest costumes. Why does it have to be a masquerade ball?”

  She shrugged. “Mostly, because your grandmother requested it. However, there are some benefits. If the villain believes his disguise will hide his true identity, he might be more reckless—and more inclined to make a mistake.”

  She had a point. “We would need to know where both suspects are at all times. Disguises would complicate things, but if we stationed someone at their houses to follow them here, we could be certain we know who is behind the masks.”