My Dashing Duke

by Andresen, Tammy

  Or the lovely sweep of her long neck, her delicate shoulders, the plump rise of her bosom— He reigned in his thoughts. Surely it was his gratitude playing tricks on his mind but he found himself wondering for the briefest moment what being married to Lady Noelle Bailey might actually be like.

  Noelle. The name fit her. Festive, colorful, and sparkly like her bright green eyes.

  Then he blinked. Such thoughts were best pushed from his mind. His hand clasped hers and the strangest sort of energy vibrated through his palm. He’d experienced attraction many a time but this… this feeling overwhelmed his senses.

  Dash brought her gloved fingers to his lips and laid a light kiss on the embroidered fabric. Then he started. Did he smell gingerbread? Lowering her hand a bit, he didn’t let her go. In fact, subtly, he pulled her closer. Indeed, he caught a whiff of the hint of that sweet Christmas cookie. “May I ask you something before I go?”

  She cocked her head to the side, assessing him before she answered. “Of course.”

  “I smell…” he leaned closer and she started, pulling back just a touch, “hints of…” He moved his nose back and forth. In her wrist, he could feel her pulse fluttering. “Gingerbread.”

  “Oh,” she answered, her voice breathy in a way that made him clench. Her lips parted and he had the distinct urge to kiss them closed. “I’m afraid that I am very fond of cookies. Gingerbread is my favorite. We used to bake it with my mother this time of year and it reminds me of her.”

  Reminds? His insides clenched in discomfort. “Your mother is gone?”

  She nodded, biting at her lip. Much as he tried, he couldn’t look away as he watched her pearly teeth delicately nibbling the supple flesh. Then she drew in a shallow breath making her bosom quiver. Hells bells, he was in trouble. “Yes. This will be our first Christmastide without her. It was her favorite time of year.” The tone of her voice lowered and she swallowed hard and then dropped her gaze to where he held her hand. “The gingerbread makes me think of her.”

  He grimaced, ridiculously aware of the quickening beat of her pulse under his thumb, the flush of color that had risen in her cheeks, the way her sad smile made her eyes crinkle at the corners.

  “I lost my father a few years ago too,” he admitted. “We didn’t have a particularly strong relationship, but I still can’t believe he’s gone.” Had he really just shared that? What was the matter with him?

  Emerald eyes rose to meet and search his. “Was it difficult to take over the barony?”

  He blinked. Just the one time. But it kept him from wincing at the lie which he suddenly regretted having told. “It was.”

  She nodded. “I would imagine so. My mother’s death has left a chasm in all our lives that none of us can seem to fill. Part of it was emotional of course, but I didn’t expect everything else. I didn’t know how to run a house, or manage my father, or keep my sisters from falling into such a melancholy.”

  He slowly drew her closer until he could feel her heat through his jacket. Ah, so sweet, he leaned down and drew in the Christmastide scent once again. “So, you hope to help your sisters and your father?”

  She tilted her chin up and he had to clench his other fist at his side to keep from touching her face. “More than anything.”

  Perhaps that was the reason she hoped to marry him. On the one hand, a woman shouldn’t want a man she’d pulled drunk from a snowbank. On the other, any husband would elevate her status enough to aid her sisters in making matches. And if she knew he was a duke…

  “Lady Noelle, it has been a most interesting morning.” He dropped her hands, more than a little shocked at the direction of his thoughts. “I shall see you at tea.”

  When he will have regained his sanity enough to tell her in no uncertain terms that her request was an impossible one. But the thought of marriage didn’t hold the same vitriol that normally filled his mouth.

  She dipped into a curtsey. “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your attendance and your consideration.”

  He turned and exited the room, his gut rumbling. He’d like to blame the amount of alcohol he consumed last night but he might swear that what really troubled him was leaving her side. Which was ridiculous. He’d known the woman for all of a morning.

  Although…that wasn’t exactly true. He’d known her for those few moments the night before—when she’d briefly covered his body with her own—when she’d pressed her lips against his.

  Good Lord, his sorry self would still be buried in the snow if not for her.

  As he left the house and crossed the common, he walked past the bakery on his way to the inn and did his best to ignore the distinct scent of gingerbread. He frowned as he hurried past the establishment. He’d not eat the sweet cookie now. No. He’d have a man’s breakfast of steak and eggs and potatoes. Then he’d drink a full cup of ale and he’d think on all the debaucheries he’d like to participate in once they’d arrived at the widow’s party.

  If they made it that far, that was. Frost hovered in the air, portending additional snow. Damn and blast.

  He’d drink his fill. Kiss droplets of brandy off of…what was her name? He couldn’t even picture the widow’s face.

  Susan? Mary? Persephone? He shook his head.

  As he reached the Crowing Cock Inn, his memory failed to summon images of anyone but one particularly managing miss.

  Noelle. Lady Noelle Bailey.

  The beat of her pulse, which had momentarily fluttered under his thumb, matched that of his own heart.

  Damned ridiculous. Next thing he knew he’d be writing sonnets.

  He walked by the desk and made his way into the common room, not surprised to see Nick sitting exactly where he’d left him, his head cradled in his hands. “Well, you survived the night, I see,” he called to his friend by way of greeting.

  Nick didn’t so much as grimace when he lifted his head. “This place is cursed.”

  Dash raised a brow as he lowered himself into a chair. “You spent the better part of the last year in France and you’re already cursing England?”

  “Not England. Just…what bloody village are we in?” Nick dropped a heavy hand on the table, a loud thunk echoing through the room.

  “Maybridge Falls,” he answered. “At least that’s what a little gingerbread fairy told me. And really, don’t bang your head on the table so loudly.” Now that he was no longer distracted by soft lips and an even softer figure, the pounding in his head had returned.

  “Gingerbread fairy? Have you lost your bloody mind?” Nick straightened. “Since when do you go on about such drivel?”

  Dash leaned forward setting his jaw in a hard line. “I say drivel whenever I damn please.”

  Nick grunted, scrubbing his chin. “That sounds more like the surly duke I know.”

  “If I’m spouting drivel then you’re particularly foul. Hangover that bad?”

  Nick shook his dark head. “No. It is a normal sort of hangover.” He frowned. “But, I just saw a ghost.”

  “A ghost?” Dash scrunched his brow together. What had gotten into Nick? But he didn’t have time to ask more as Jack walked into the room by way of the front door.

  “Do you know what the most annoying thing on the whole of this Earth is?” He took the third chair at the table, looking nearly as cross as Nick. “A young woman who thinks she is intelligent.”

  “Is she?” Nick asked, flagging the innkeeper. “Intelligent?”

  “No. Just full of herself.” Jack scrubbed his hands through his hair. “Imagine some little miss telling me to get out of her way. I’m an earl and ten years her senior if not more.” He made a fist at the back of his head. “No respect.”

  Dash glanced back and forth between his two friends. Everyone was out of sorts and no one was being specific as to why. Not that he was going to start sharing. They were the drink-until-passing-out sort of friends, not the ones to whom a man bared his soul. Not that he ever shared much of anything with anyone. His parents had made certain he knew how t
o keep those around him at a hostile arm’s length. Dear old mother and father had been excellent teachers, barely tolerating him and hating one another. For a moment, he allowed himself to consider what it might be like to lay his head on a nice bosom and share his darkest hurts.

  Then he shook his head. He’d better eat a large breakfast and pull himself together before this tea. Hangovers made him weak.

  As did dark-haired young women who tasted of gingerbread and stared at him with the eyes of an angel.

  * * *

  “Stop watching out the window, for heaven’s sake.” Her aunt’s hand on Noelle’s shoulder pushed her back onto her chair, but at the same time Aunt Winifred drew back the curtain herself and peeked out searchingly.

  Noelle stretched her neck to look outside around her aunt’s ample frame. “It’s snowing again. What if he doesn’t come?” Although, if he failed to arrive for tea, weather would most likely not be the reason behind his absence.

  “Mr. Clark said he specifically requested this meeting. Why on earth would he cry off? It’s not as if he’ll have anywhere else to go today.” Aunt Winifred could be utterly practical in some ways and utterly impractical in others. Rather than wearing a conservative day gown for tea today, she had donned a scarlet silk evening gown with a loose-fitting high waist and a very low bodice. Feathers of all colors sprang out from the snowy white hair piled atop her head.

  Noelle realized that she’d never actually extracted a promise from him. He’d been quite vague, in fact, with his answer.

  She’d informed Mr. Clark about the tea and Mr. Clark had, in turn, informed her aunt that the Baron would return this afternoon.

  Would he come?

  Noelle bit her lip. Lord Blitzencreek had said she was pretty, but he’d then gone on to say that she was interesting.

  Interesting? What exactly had he meant by that? Such a comment could just as easily be construed as criticism as a compliment.

  But whether he found her pretty was of no consequence, it didn’t matter what he thought of her. What mattered was that he like her sister, Eve!

  Even if his eyes had held an unusual warmth when he’d looked at her.

  Noelle’s gaze flitted to the clock on the mantle and then back to the window. Ah, yes, flurries danced in the air again. It would make for as good of an excuse as any for his absence.

  And yet she could hardly believe he would fail to make an appearance for tea. He did not seem to be the sort of man who would run from his responsibilities. There was something…honest about him. Character. That was it. The man had character.

  He’d commiserated with her when she’d told him about their mother and he’d not hidden the hurt from his eyes when he’d admitted to missing his father.

  Noelle trusted her instinct that he was a decent fellow—that he was a true gentleman. Which is why he’d be perfect to save her sister.

  “Why is he coming for tea exactly?” Holly gripped a crochet hook and fiddled with some yarn in her lap but she might as well be dancing on her seat. She never sat still these days.

  “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.” Eve didn’t bother looking up from her embroidery as she answered from her seat on the settee. Noelle frowned when she dropped her gaze to examine her older sister’s circle. Eve had looped through the same place several times. How odd. Her sister’s stitches were usually excellent.

  “You’re ruining it.” Noelle offered.

  “You’d ruin it too if everyone expected you to be perfect all the time.” Eve snapped and with a frown began undoing her stitches.

  “No one expects you to be perfect.” Noelle shook her head, her older sister’s demeanor baffling her. Occasionally Eve might chastise Holly, but she never snapped at Noelle. At least, she hadn’t in a very long time. Eve was almost always quiet-natured, solemn, serene. Noelle hoped her sister’s tranquil disposition returned before the Baron arrived.

  It wouldn’t do for Eve to be snapping at him. That wouldn’t do at all.

  “He’s here.” Aunt Winifred flitted back to her chair and fumbled to locate her knitting needles. Once settled, she made for a surprisingly regal picture, sitting in the tall-backed throne-like piece of furniture—even with those feathers sticking out of her head. “Sit up straight, Noelle dear. Eve, take that pinched look off your face, and Holly, for heaven’s sake, sit still.”

  Nerves tore through Noelle when a knock sounded and then masculine voices drifted through the foyer.

  A moment later, Mr. Clark opened the door and then stepped to the side. “My ladies, Lord Blitzencreek, I’ll return shortly with tea.” He bowed and backed out of the room. The door made a distinct sound when it clicked closed behind him.

  She’d hoped she wouldn’t have the same awareness of him upon their second official meeting as she’d had in their first. Those butterflies would have to remain tightly sleeping in their cocoons.

  She’d hoped in vain.

  He’d not even glanced in her direction and yet her chest felt suspiciously tight. Somehow all the air sucked out of the room and she could hardly breathe. He was even more handsome than she remembered, his lashes thicker, his eyes midnight pools of sensuality.

  “My lord. May I present you to my nieces? Lady Eve, Lady Holly, and Lady Noelle.” Her aunt’s voice broke into Noelle’s thoughts and air swooshed into her lungs again. After he’d bowed to each of them, Aunt Winifred added. “Won’t you sit down?” And gestured toward the only empty seat in the room.

  Which was the seat beside Eve that Noelle had carefully maneuvered to be vacant.

  Confusion flashed over Lord Blitzencreek’s face, but he quickly replaced it with a polite smile.

  “It is our pleasure to meet you, my lord.” Her aunt initiated the conversation. “I trust you are quite recovered from your harrowing experience?”

  He pinned his gaze on Noelle at first but then twisted his mouth into something of a grimace. Noelle couldn’t help thinking that his lips had the loveliest curve to them. He’d be devastating when he smiled. “I am, my lady. I don’t know what I’d do if your, er—butler—hadn’t been awake to help me.”

  “Mr. Clark has become quite indispensable over the years.” Aunt Winifred waved a hand through the air and then her eyes narrowed. “Tell me, my lord, I’m not familiar with Blitzencreek Barony. Are you far from home then?”

  “I and the gentlemen traveling with me are on our way to a…house party, Lady Winifred. We intend to depart as soon as the snow melts and the roads are drivable.” His lashes dropped in a slow blink and he seemed to swallow hard.

  Every eye in the room shifted toward the window. The flurries from a few minutes ago had thickened into fluffy snowflakes.

  Noelle took a deep breath. “You will be in need of entertainment then,” she offered. “My sister, Eve, that is, Lady Eve, would be delighted, I’m sure, to show you some of her drawings. If you don’t care much for art, she is also an excellent musician.”

  Dropping her jaw, Eve stared at her. “I haven’t played in ages, Noelle.”

  Lord Blitzencreek rubbed his chin and then glanced between the two of them. “That is very generous of you, Lady Eve.” And then, “But what of you, Lady Noelle? Do you have any talents you might be willing to share over the course of my stay here?”

  “The usual, my lord,” Noelle wished she could hide her face as heat climbed up her neck. Somehow, she didn’t think he was referring to typical genteel talents, exactly. And in front of her sisters and aunt, no less! “My sister is also well read. Eve, what book are you currently reading? Something fascinating, I’m certain.”

  Eve lifted the book from the table beside her in order to reveal the cover. Vindication of the Rights of Women.

  The Baron chuckled. “Mary Wollstonecraft. One of my favorites.” Sarcasm dripped from his tone.

  “Which part, my lord?” Noelle had leant the book to Eve and his mocking tone was more than a little insulting. She’d wager he’d never even read it.

  Again, his gaze met her
s with gratuitous intensity. “I find Mrs. Wollstonecraft’s views on marriage particularly interesting. Especially the passage where she asserts that marriage usually leaves both husband and wife in a miserable state.”

  “But,” Noelle sat forward. “She also writes that this is because most ladies are ill-prepared for such a union. If a lady is educated, and an interesting person in her own right, then the institution of marriage provides both husband and wife with friendship, a helpmate, and companionship.”

  “She insisted too, if you may press yourself to recall, that the two participants ought to avoid physical intimacy with one another. What good is such a union?”

  When he spoke the words “physical intimacy,” a rushing sound roared in her ears. He licked his lips and Noelle wondered what it would feel to be kissed by him when he was sober. The man had devastated her when he’d been barely awake.

  The door opened in that moment, saving Noelle from having to come up with a response.

  Mr. Clark lowered the tray onto the table. “Thank you, Mr. Clark.” But Aunt Winifred didn’t seem all that interested in the tea. She hardly looked at the tray, instead focusing on their guest. “Fascinating, my lord. I think you make an excellent point.

  “Shall I serve, Aunt?” Eve rose from her seat beside Lord Blitzencreek and lifted the delicate-looking pot without waiting for an answer. Noelle sent her a grateful glance. She had no wish to discuss physical intimacy in the presence of their aunt.

  And although Noelle was purposely not looking at him, she knew he was still watching her—and she felt like she might as well be on fire. She clenched her thighs together and swallowed hard.

  Tea. Thank heavens for tea!

  “Cream and one lump of sugar, for me, Eve.” Noelle kept her voice even as her sister carefully served everyone. Why wasn’t he giving his attention to Eve? She was everything any man should ever want, with soft and shiny auburn hair like their mother’s had been, and her slim graceful arms and legs. Noelle had often thought Eve reminded her of a ballerina. She’d make for an excellent baroness.