I Dared the Duke

by Anna Bennett

  “I don’t know.” Beth ushered the duchess into the foyer. “The countryside has much to recommend it—fresh air, wildflowers, a sense of freedom.”

  “I have all the freedom I require,” the dowager said, patting Beth’s hand affectionately. “I’ve no desire to run though muddy meadows or dodge pecking hens each time I venture out of doors. More importantly, I’m needed here. You see, Alexander may not admit it—he may not even know it—but he needs me.”

  As Beth contemplated the duchess’s words, her lady’s maid met them in the foyer, fussed over her mistress a bit, and offered to take her upstairs.

  Alex and his grandmother had a bond forged through pain, grief, and love. Maybe the dowager was correct, and Alex really did need her nearby. Or maybe she only wished to be needed.

  Beth knew the feeling all too well.

  The dowager gratefully handed her bonnet to the maid. To Beth, she said, “You should rest as well. I shall see you later this afternoon for our meeting.”

  “Yes, of course.” But Beth had no intention of resting. There was far too much to be done. For one thing, she should see how the wallpapering was progressing in the study. And if the workers were not currently there … perhaps the duke would be.

  When she rounded the corner, she found the door closed. Which meant either that the workers were finished for the day or that Alex had kicked them out.

  The thought of seeing him made her belly flip. Smoothing her hair behind her ears, she approached the door and raised her hand to knock—but froze at the sound of voices coming from within.

  Shamelessly, she leaned close, her ear almost touching the door. One of the voices was definitely Alex’s, and the other seemed to be Lord Darberville’s. It was difficult to make out the entire conversation, but she heard muffled snippets.

  “… I’ll wait outside Haversham’s house…”

  “… don’t let him out of your sight…”

  “… nowhere near Miss Lacey…”

  “… I’ll track Newton…”

  “… a costume could hide weapons…”

  Despite the warm weather, a chill ran the length of her spine.

  So, the suspects were Lord Haversham and Lord Newton. Beth never would have guessed. Not that she knew either gentleman particularly well, but Lord Haversham seemed too old and portly to be much of a threat to someone as fit and strong as Alex. And Lord Newton had always seemed a decent sort—at least he had never openly ridiculed Beth or her sisters.

  But Alex must have his reasons for suspecting them, and, clearly, whoever wanted him dead was enlisting the help of other, equally unscrupulous villains.

  Shuffling sounds from within the study roused Beth from her thoughts. Quickly, she backed away from the door and glided down the corridor to the drawing room, where she sat at the duchess’s escritoire and pretended to be absorbed with the papers there.

  Her pulse had scarcely returned to normal before Alex strode into the room, his broad shoulders and dark hair making him look more swashbuckling pirate than privileged duke. He glanced around the room. “We are alone?”

  “Your grandmother is resting after our outing to the dressmaker’s,” she said breezily, pushing aside a paper as though it were an important piece of business when, for all she knew, it could have been a list of items needed from the market.

  His mouth pressed into a thin line, and his brown eyes flashed with something akin to … anger. “You shouldn’t have left the house without telling me, Beth.”

  “I might have thought to inform you,” she said coolly, “if you had been here—but, alas, you were not.” Why did he wish to pick a fight with her when their time together was so limited?

  He stalked closer and stopped, his boots stopping only inches from her slippers. “You knew the danger, knew the risk, and yet you still choose to gallivant about London with my grandmother in tow?”

  She stood so that he would not tower over her. At least not as much. “The risk is to you, not us. And if you don’t confine yourself to the house, I don’t see why you should expect us to.”

  He wiped a hand down his face, beyond exasperated. “Because you seem to forget, Beth, that there are very bad people in this world. People who would hurt those I l—”

  Without finishing his thought, he turned, stalked across the room, and sank onto a sofa, his head in his hands. But she was almost sure she knew what he’d been about to say, and tears filled her eyes, unbidden.

  She took a second to compose herself, then went to him. “Alex,” she said, sitting close, “no harm came to us—not so much as a scratch. We are both fine.”

  “I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” he said, “or directed my ire at you. Hell, I don’t know who to be angry with. Forgive me.”

  “I understand. You want to protect me and your grandmother.” She brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. “I’m touched by your devotion. But you look exhausted. Have you slept at all these last few days?”

  “A little,” he admitted. “A killer is out there, and I have no idea when he will strike. I’m constantly trying to anticipate the next move of an unnamed enemy.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “But you do have some idea.”

  “Just a couple of theories. And it’s possible neither is right.” He snorted as he rubbed a hand along his jaw.

  Her heart ached for him. “You’ve been living under a constant threat. That would take a toll on anyone.”

  “It’s not the threat that has me pulling my hair out. It’s the fact that there’s nothing I can do. No decisive action I can take. All I can do is minimize the risks. That’s why I don’t want you or my grandmother to leave the house unescorted. I’m trying to exert a modicum of control … even though I know it’s futile. Sometimes, I feel as though I’m going mad.”

  “You’re not,” she said firmly.

  “Maybe not. But I’ve realized there are more than a handful of people in the world who would dance a jig on my grave. It’s rather disheartening.”

  Boldly, she placed a hand on his thigh—and heard his intake of breath. “So, you have a few detractors. But you also have me. And I…”

  She wanted to tell him that she would go to the ends of the earth for him.

  That no one else had ever made her feel as special or trusted or understood.

  That she loved him.

  But the timing didn’t seem quite right. She took a deep breath and gazed into his wounded brown eyes. “… well, I happen to think that you’re not so bad.” With a shrug and a smile, she added, “For a womanizing duke.”

  A wicked grin slowly lit his face. “You’re not so bad either. For a prudish wallflower.”

  “Prudish?” she said, blinking. “Have you forgotten?”

  “God, no.” He slid a hand behind her neck and caressed the curls at her nape. “I’ve missed you, Beth. More than you could possibly know.”

  Her throat constricted. “But you’ve been avoiding me.”

  He closed his eyes briefly before speaking. “You must have faith. I am not in a position at the moment to make promises,” he said carefully. “But I hope that someday soon, I will be. Until then, you must believe that this”—he paused to press his lips to the back of her hand—“is real.”

  The mere brush of his lips over her skin made her weak with desire. “Give me proof,” she demanded, leaning close and kissing his neck. “Make me believe. Again.”

  Chapter THIRTY-ONE

  For five days, Alex had done his damnedest to resist Beth.

  Now, as she trailed kisses over his neck and slid her hand over his thigh, he realized the futility of it. Nothing could keep him from claiming her, from showing her just how much she meant to him.

  From making her his.

  And yet, he couldn’t ravish her on the drawing room settee at four o’clock in the afternoon while the door was ajar. No, he definitely had to find a more optimal location.

  Her bedroom was too close to his grandmother’s, and he didn’t want to
risk one of the staff finding her in the vicinity of his bedchamber either. It was impossible to walk two feet in his study without tripping over a hammer or paintbrush, and one never knew when an army of workers would descend, so that room was out of the question as well.

  Good God, there must be close to forty different rooms in his house, and he couldn’t think of one suitable for an afternoon tryst. Unless—

  “Come with me.” He pulled her toward the door. “Most of the staff are working in or around the ballroom, but if we should happen to encounter any of them, allow me to explain our presence below stairs.”

  Though her eyes were full of questions, she followed him silently into the hall and waited there while he retrieved a key from the desk in his study. Then he led her down the staircase to the ground floor and down a back staircase to the basement.

  They were tiptoeing past the stillroom when a servant carrying a tall stack of crates and whistling an unrecognizable tune headed toward them.

  Damn it. Alex ducked into a dark storeroom, pulled her in with him, and pressed her back to the wall. Dank and dusty, the closet smelled of Brussels sprouts.

  Beth, on the other hand, smelled like citrus and sunshine. He nuzzled her neck while he waited for the servant to pass.

  “What happened to explaining our presence?” she whispered dryly.

  “This option seemed less complicated.” Regretfully, he peeled himself off of her and stuck his head into the hallway. “But I think it’s clear now. Come.”

  They glided past the housekeeper’s room and stopped in front of a low, arched door.

  “The wine cellar?” she mouthed.

  Grinning, he pulled out his key. “Precisely.” He’d recently had the cellar repaired and renovated, and while it might not be as comfortable as a bedroom, it was intimate and charming.

  Quickly, he opened the door, ushered her inside, and lit a candle before locking the door once more.

  He stooped to avoid hitting his head on the low, domed ceiling, but Beth was able to stand upright. She made a slow circle, taking in the barrels at the end of the long, narrow room and the neat rows of bottles lining the walls on either side of them.

  For a wine cellar, it was clean. Alex’s butler fawned over the room like it was his newborn baby. Not a speck of dust was permitted to settle on a bottle. Not a drop of wine was allowed to stain the floor. While there was no furniture, a sturdy basket above the barrels contained a few provisions—a large quilt, extra candles, and a pair of wine glasses. Alex supposed they were there in case of emergency. If someone were trapped in the room for any length of time, at least they’d be drunk and warm.

  Swallowing, he tried to view the room through Beth’s eyes. He found the brick walls and uneven stone floors appealing, but when paired with the lack of windows, he feared she might find the accommodations rather … dungeonlike.

  At least she didn’t scare easily. It was one of the things he loved about her—and one of the things that drove him mad. If she had a care for her own well-being, she wouldn’t be staying in his house or investigating murder attempts. Then again, she wouldn’t be here with him now.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “Delightfully cozy.” Crossing her arms, she shot him a saucy smile. “However, I’m not particularly thirsty.”

  “Neither am I, siren.” With a low growl, he hauled her against him and captured her mouth in a kiss.

  She melted into him. Hair pins hit the floor as he speared his fingers into her hair. His cravat landed on the neck of a wine bottle. Desire thundered through his veins.

  “Alex,” she whimpered, “I need you.”

  It was almost his undoing. He loosened the laces of her gown and corset, then tugged both down, baring her breasts. She wriggled her gown over her hips and kicked it aside, so that only her chemise hung loosely from her shoulders.

  Her hair, a glorious mass of curls, shone in the candlelight. Her satin skin begged to be touched. Sweet Jesus, if he could stare at her for a hundred years, it wouldn’t be long enough.

  He kept his gaze fixed on her as he hastily shrugged off his jacket and waistcoat. “At the risk of sounding trite, I’ve never longed to be a painter—till right now.”

  “And what would your painting be titled?” she teased, pulling his shirttail free and sliding a hand inside.

  Easy. “A Wallflower’s Revenge.”

  “I like that,” she murmured. “And I will have my revenge.”

  “I have no doubt.” She’d already turned his world upside down—in the best possible way. “Now … come here.”

  * * *

  Beth’s breath hitched in her throat. Alex’s heavy-lidded eyes held the promise of pleasure—and more.

  She stepped into his arms, and he guided her toward the barrels at the end of the room, where he reached into the basket and pulled out a soft, clean quilt.

  “I can spread this on the floor,” he said to her. “Or we could try something … different.”

  Dear God. Her knees went weak, but not because the choice was particularly difficult. “Different.”

  With an approving, feral smile, he laid the folded quilt on top of a barrel that was about as high as her chest. “Turn around,” he said.

  Trembling with anticipation, she faced the barrel. He swept aside the curtain of her hair and nibbled on her ear, neck, and shoulder. “Tomorrow night at the ball,” he murmured against her skin, “when other gentlemen pay you compliments and twirl you around the dance floor and whisper pretty things in your ear”—he hiked up the hem of her chemise and reached in front of her, touching the sensitive flesh between her legs—“remember this.”

  Dear God. As if she could forget. “I … will … try.”

  He took the weight of her breast in his hand and squeezed, lightly pinching the taut peak between his finger and thumb. An exquisite form of torture, his touch sent a razorlike hum of desire through her body.

  When she whimpered, he breathed, “I would be by your side for every moment of the night if I could. But even when I am not there, you may be sure that I’m thinking of you.”

  He found the center of her pleasure, his wicked fingers circling the spot till she was coiled tightly, on the brink of bursting.

  “Alex,” she gasped, leaning her bottom against the hard length of him, “I need you. Now.”

  With a muffled curse, he briefly released her and unbuttoned his trousers. His hard, warm flesh pressed against her bare bottom, and she thrilled in the knowledge that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

  Settling a large hand on her hip, he pressed against her entrance and slowly, tentatively eased into her. “I want this to be good for you,” he said huskily.

  He hesitated, wanting confirmation that she was all right.

  But while she appreciated his thoughtfulness and consideration, she was all too aware of how fleeting their time together was. And if this was to be their last time making love together, she didn’t want half-measures or lukewarm passion. She craved every part of him—the wounds, the strength, the grief, and the joy.

  So rather than answer him in words, she rocked back, taking all of him inside her.

  “Jesus, Beth.” Breathing hard, he froze—as though he still feared hurting her.

  But she knew he wouldn’t. At least not physically. She would be hurt when she had to say good-bye to him, but she couldn’t think about that now. Nay, she could scarcely think of anything when she was this close to him. As close as two people could be.

  “I love … the way you make me feel.”

  Alex growled in response. He began to move inside her, and she met him thrust for thrust. She felt him all around her—his chest at her back, his mouth near her ear, his hand in her hair. His muscles quivered with restraint.

  “Come for me.” He slid a hand in front of her and touched her where their bodies joined. Instantly, the delicious pulsing in her core began to crescendo, lifting her until she was floating. Her legs trembled, but Alex held her tigh
tly, whispering in her ear. “God, you feel good, Beth. This is how it should be … you … and—”

  Her release came, fast and long and sweet, drowning out his words and taking over her body. She grasped the quilt and let the waves of pleasure rush over her, savoring each exquisite moment.

  Alex held her, patiently waiting for the last blissful ripples to subside, then pulled out. Still in a dreamlike state, she watched as he grabbed his cravat and spilled his seed onto it. She adjusted her chemise and went to him, resting her head on his back and lightly running her fingers over his scarred flesh.

  “I didn’t mean to take you so hastily,” he said. “You must think my surname fitting.”

  She thought for a moment. “Savage?” she said, smiling. “You may be a bit uncivilized, but if you must know, I rather like your rough edges.”

  He tossed aside the cravat, reached for the quilt, and laid it on the floor. “Come.” He sat with his back against a barrel, his long legs extended and crossed at the ankles. Patting a thigh, he said, “Lie down and rest your head for a while.”

  She sank onto the quilt, surprised to find it quite comfortable.

  But maybe her sense of contentment stemmed more from having recently been duly ravished.

  Resting her cheek on his hard, warm thigh, she sighed happily. With heartbreaking tenderness, he ran his fingers through her hair and caressed her shoulder, lulling her into a trancelike state.

  “We need to talk, siren.”

  Chapter THIRTY-TWO

  Alex felt her tense, and she sat up abruptly.

  “What is it?” Beth asked, her blue eyes full of concern. “Don’t tell me there’s been another attempt on your life.”

  “None that I know of,” he said, smiling. “But there are some things that I need to say, and since I’m not certain when we’ll have a chance to speak privately again…”

  She nodded soberly, as though bracing herself for the worst. “I’m listening.”