by Lauren Smith
But Christ, he’d wanted Rebecca. There was a side of her that was wild and wanton, and yet she was also so bloody sweet. He’d never been with someone like her. Every kiss and caress had elicited an excited shiver in her. The way she’d reacted to her first climax had overwhelmed him. She was fascinating like no other woman, and it wasn’t merely due to her passionate responses. She was amusing, devilish, and delightful when she wasn’t under her mother’s scrutiny. She could laugh at herself and enjoy being teased. And she seemed to love a good challenge.
Never had a game of shuttlecock aroused him before. Yet playing with her had had him both panting and hard. Her need to match him stroke for stroke would undoubtedly carry over into the bedchamber. Even though he was well known as a rake, his other interests in life remained unchanged, and Becca seemed to share those interests. Riding, reading, and playing—whether it be games or teasing. He’d always preferred women who were lighthearted and enjoyed life, rather than arrogant ladies who required drama and tension in their lives to keep them entertained.
The thought of going back to London and seeking out his usual bed partners and haunting gambling tables for amusement now seemed rather unappealing. Lounging in bed with Becca, reading a Gothic novel to her and making love to her bathed in the warmth of morning sunlight—that appealed to him.
“This is madness,” he muttered to himself. “I cannot be falling for her. She doesn’t even know that I’m Miles, not Justin. And certainly not after such a short time.” His brother had been right to test Lydia’s affections by this charade, but Miles hadn’t expected to encounter a need to reveal the truth about his own identity. What if he dared to fall in love with Rebecca only to be spurned by her because he’d lied to her about who he really was, regardless of the motivations? The idea bloody terrified him. And nothing had ever scared him before, not like this.
Justin leaned against the doorframe, a smug expression on his face. “So it’s true. You’ve fallen for Rebecca. Lydia told me she suspected as much.”
How long had his brother been lurking in the doorway?
“Justin, we have to switch back, first thing tomorrow morning. I have to confess to Becca who I really am. I…” He swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lie to her anymore, not if it runs the risk of hurting her.”
“I’m glad you like her, though I must admit she’s not your usual type of woman.” His twin came into the room and closed the door to prevent anyone from overhearing them.
Miles frowned. “What do you mean? I admit, she’s certainly not what I’ve been seeking out all these years, but…”
Justin kept smiling. “I mean, she’s what you need. Just as Lydia is what I need. I hope you have the good sense not to walk away from her.”
“I don’t know what I intend to do, only that I need her to know the truth. If there is something there…”
Justin nodded. “Give me until tomorrow night. Then we may switch back after dinner.”
“Have you considered whether Lydia might be furious with you for the deception?” Miles asked.
Justin was quiet a long moment. “I believe few women would be upset to learn the man they desire is in fact a duke. Her position will only be bettered by the revelation of our temporary switch. I believe you may face the greater challenge, given that Rebecca might be entertaining thoughts of being a duchess.”
It was a concern that Miles had been trying not to face. He knew Rebecca was not the favorite child, but what if, during this little playacting as the duke, he’d led her to become hopeful that she was really falling in love with a duke, and now her dreams might be dashed? Perhaps she even hoped her mother would find more value in her if she won the heart of a duke.
Because of my lies, she may despise me for what I’ve taken from her by not being what she was led to believe.
His brother said good night and left Miles to settle in for bed. But sleep did not come easily. He stayed in his trousers and removed his waistcoat, leaving his shirt on. Then he slipped on his dressing gown and left his chambers. He and Justin had rooms close to one another, and he could hear his brother speaking softly to his valet in the room across the hall. Other than that, the large manor house was silent, save for the occasional creak and groan as the stones and wood settled. Somewhere inside, his Rebecca was removing her gown, letting her petticoats slide to the floor, and brushing out her lovely dark-brown hair. She would climb into bed, blow out a candle, and slip into the land of dreams.
Would she dream about him? He desperately hoped she would after what they’d shared together that afternoon. She’d been so exquisite, so free in his arms, and all he wanted was to hold her again, to taste her lips and run his hands over her and lose himself inside her. It hurt him to think that neither of her parents seemed to care that she was lonely. His chest ached when he recalled the look in her eyes when she’d been trying to paint and seemed genuinely surprised to hear herself being called interesting. The poor woman was so lost in her sister’s shadow that she must feel invisible.
Miles wandered down the hall and headed toward the library. He froze, however, when he realized someone was already there. Rebecca. She stood by one of the shelves, a candle held aloft as she examined the titles of the books closest to her. She wore a nightgown that was thin enough that the candlelight illuminated her figure through the cloth. Miles groaned softly at the sight of her full hips and breasts creating such tantalizing curves beneath the nightgown.
He knew he should turn around and go back upstairs, but he’d be damned if he could stay away from her when she looked like a tempting Gothic heroine in desperate need of seduction.
He whispered her name as he stepped into the library. “Becca…”
She gasped and turned to face him, but she soon relaxed when she saw it was him.
“Your Grace! Oh, you frightened me.” She laughed a little, and the sweet sound made him smile.
He joined her at the shelves. “My apologies. There was no easy way to announce my presence without startling you.” He kept his gaze on the books, trying not to stare down at her when they were both indecently dressed.
“Did you need to find something to read as well?” She pointed at the bookcase.
“Yes. I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d find the most boring book in here and read it. Ah, yes…” He pulled a book from the shelves and let her see the title in the candlelight.
“The Essentials of Animal Husbandry? Oh dear. Yes, that would certainly put one to sleep.” Rebecca giggled.
“And you?” Miles asked. “What will you read to put you to sleep?”
She studied the shelves and then pulled one out.
He stifled a laugh. “The History of Taxation Policies? Excellent choice. I think I’m drifting off just from reading the title.”
“I do enjoy discussing economics,” she admitted. “But the history of taxes sounds most…taxing.”
Miles grinned. “Indeed.” He resisted the urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her senseless, but that didn’t stop him from speaking.
“I was wondering if…you might wish to go riding tomorrow? Just the two of us? After what happened in the garden I would understand if you are hesitant to be alone with me, but I should very much like to…” His voice trailed off.
She waited for him to continue. His heart was racing madly, and his blood was whooshing loudly in his ears. At last she had to prod him. “Yes?”
“I would like to court you, Becca. Will you allow me to?” Lord, he wanted to desperately, but tomorrow night he would have to confess his true identity, and he might lose her forever.
“I…” She looked up at him with those sweet blue eyes, and it nearly killed him. “Yes, I would like that very much, Your Grace.”
He wanted so much for her to call him Miles, but he couldn’t ask that, not when she still believed he was Justin and he had to keep up pretenses for one day longer.
“Then, if I may, I shall steal one kiss good night.” He slid an arm around her waist, pulling
her against him, giving her every chance to pull away, but she came willingly, eagerly, and it made his heart soar. They paused when their mouths were but an inch apart.
“Lord, woman, you are beautiful,” he said as he lost himself in her eyes. How had he ever thought this woman plain? She wasn’t a striking beauty, true, but the beauty she held was timeless and potent. Each slow smile cast a spell, and each slumberous look made his pulse race. The soft curve of her nose, the gentle arcs of her dark brows—all of it came together in the most pleasing way. It made him want to gaze upon her for a century, knowing he would never become bored.
“Do not tease me, Your Grace. We both know Lydia’s the real beauty,” she whispered, her lashes fanning down on her cheeks as she closed her eyes in embarrassment.
He nuzzled her, nose to nose, before he whispered against her lips, “You’re exquisite, inside and out. I never want to hear you say anything else. Do you understand?”
She nodded, and he claimed her lips in a slow, sweet kiss that made her melt into him. He wanted so badly to carry this beauty to his bed, to show her how wonderful she was, but if he claimed her fully before she knew who he truly was…that would be a betrayal of trust, and it would destroy any chance he had of winning her over as himself once the performance had ended.
When their lips finally parted, they both shared a smile of delight.
“Time for bed,” he whispered and looked toward the door. He made sure to pick up the book on animal husbandry; otherwise, he’d be tossing and turning all night with fantasies of kissing her.
“Yes. Good night, Your Grace.” Becca carried her candle and book out of the library. He stood there watching her in the dark, feeling torn between hope and fear of what tomorrow might bring.
“Good night, Becca,” he replied long after she was gone. Only the shadows could hear him.
4
“I do believe the duke is interested in you, Becca,” Lydia announced the following morning, a merry twinkle in her eyes. They both had come to breakfast early and were seated in the duke’s fine dining room, surrounded by portraits of the serious-looking men and women who made up the Wiltshire bloodline.
Rebecca reached for a piece of toast as she tried to quell the sudden excitement rushing through her veins. The duke might actually be interested in her?
“That’s nonsense, Lydia. You know full well they both are entranced with you. I saw him after you finished singing. He was enraptured.” Rebecca laughed, but it came out a little breathless.
Lydia dipped a knife into a pot of orange marmalade and cocked her head slightly as she stared at Rebecca.
“Oh, he was, but not by me. Becca, he was looking at you the entire time. He didn’t look at me even once. I was watching both him and Mr. Beresford while I was singing.”
There had been a few times, when she’d been comfortable enough with her playing, when she’d looked up and had seen him watching her, but it couldn’t mean he was interested. Many people simply liked to watch someone play the harp, since it was a difficult instrument.
She had been watching him the entire evening the night before, hoping to glimpse that devilish dimple near his mouth when he smiled, but he hadn’t smiled. Not until she played the harp. One minute he’d been staring glassy-eyed at the wall as Lydia recited a few verses, and the next moment he was gazing intensely at her. It had taken every ounce of will for her to focus on the music. But she was the one affected by his gaze, not him. He was too handsome. A man blessed with such looks was likely to be a rake, and therefore he could not be trusted to show genuine interest in any woman.
Lydia slid her chair closer to Rebecca’s and put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “Perhaps he sees in you what I’ve always seen.”
“A spinster with no accomplishments and little beauty?” Rebecca half joked, but her words dug deep like poisoned barbs.
Lydia propped one hand under her chin, striking a thoughtful pose. “You know, if you learned to value yourself, I believe you would draw suitors like bees to honey.” A devious glint flashed in her sister’s eyes. “Why don’t we make a game of it?”
“A game?” Rebecca couldn’t fathom what her sister meant.
“Yes. I challenge you to pretend as though you are witty and beautiful. I challenge you to make the duke fall in love with you.”
“Oh, Lydia, that’s ridiculous. You know Mama wishes for you to marry Wiltshire.”
“I will only marry Wiltshire if I decide I wish to,” Lydia replied. “And the Becca I know never backs down from a challenge.”
Lydia was right. Rebecca didn’t like to back down. A part of her thrilled at the prospect, ridiculous as it was. She wanted to pretend she was like her sister, perfect and desirable. So long as it was just a game, well, there was no harm in that, was there?
“Fine. But then you must do the same with Wiltshire’s brother. Mr. Beresford has been most attentive to you. I’ve never seen a man so lovestruck.” Rebecca worried that her sister might wish to marry Mr. Beresford. Their mother would be furious. Lydia was destined to be a duchess.
“I do like Mr. Beresford. There’s a kindness to him that I find most wonderful.” Lydia’s cheeks pinkened. “The duke is kind enough, but it’s as if he is fulfilling an expected role. When Mr. Beresford looks at me, I don’t feel like a woman on a pedestal or someone being pandered to or humored. Rather, I feel as if he really listens to me. Does that sound silly?”
“Certainly not. He sounds like a good man, Lydia.” Rebecca was relieved to see that her sister seemed genuinely attracted to the duke’s brother. It made her feel less guilty if the duke did indeed find her more interesting than Lydia.
“Are we agreed, then? You must not hide yourself from Lord Wiltshire, and I shall see if Mr. Beresford is for me.” Lydia waited for Rebecca to nod and then hugged her. Together, they left the dining room.
They found their mother seated in the drawing room, a needlepoint hoop resting in her lap. “Your father is outside watching Wiltshire and his brother play shuttlecock. We are to join them now that you’ve finished breakfast. I convinced the gentlemen to take you down to the lake to paint this afternoon.” She raised her teacup smugly. “Things are going quite well, Lydia. Unless I am mistaken, Wiltshire will surely propose to you by the end of the week.”
Lydia shot Becca a glance and shook her head before Rebecca could tell their mother that Lydia was more interested in Mr. Beresford.
Rebecca’s heart sank. Painting. She despised painting, largely because she was quite wretched at it. It was, however, a perfect choice to show off Lydia’s talents, which was no doubt her mother’s intention. When the duke saw how dreadfully Rebecca painted, he might cringe or laugh at her, and she didn’t think she could bear either response.
“Mama, couldn’t we do something else?” Lydia voiced the question Rebecca was unable to ask.
“It’s fine,” she whispered to her sister. Resisting their mother’s schemes never ended well.
“See?” their mother said, dusting crumbs from her hands. “It’s settled. Now eat quickly. There are husbands to catch!”
Lydia rolled her eyes, and Rebecca stifled a laugh. Their mother was like a compass pointing toward eligible bachelors rather than north.
After breakfast they joined the men outside. Both Wiltshire and Mr. Beresford were dashing about the bright-green lawn, rackets in hand as they battled each other in badminton. It amazed Rebecca that the two tall, muscled gentlemen could take such a delicate little shuttlecock and turn it into a deadly missile. Whenever one brother scored against the other, they exchanged a boast or retort that made her laugh.
After studying the duke and his brother closely, she catalogued more ways in which they were different. Miles was perhaps half an inch taller, his face slightly leaner, and he moved with more precision and focus. The duke, however, had a natural rolling gait and a relaxed leonine grace to his movements that fascinated her. He seemed entirely at home in his body, and for some reason that made her fl
ush with wild, uncontrollable thoughts.
She pressed the back of her hand to her face, feeling the heat beneath her skin as she watched the duke remove his coat and toss it down. His white shirtsleeves billowed in the breeze, and she could just see the hint of his muscled arms where the sunlight shone through the thin fabric.
“Game!” cried Mr. Beresford, leaning over, hands on his knees as he panted for breath. “Well done, sir.”
Wiltshire shot a triumphant glance at his brother, that wicked smile on display again, but it was touched with a gentleness this time, which surprised her. It was clear now how close the two were, how much they enjoyed one another’s company.
Just as Lydia and I feel about each other.
For a moment she entertained the daydream of being married to Wiltshire and Lydia being married to Beresford, and how they might spend much of their time together. They would live close by and never be parted for long. It was something she would give almost anything to have, a life close to her beloved sister. But it was a dream. Wiltshire was not for her. Yet her sister had dared her to be bold and brave, to be herself.
The duke sauntered over the women like a proud and conquering warrior, taking the empty chair next to Rebecca. He rolled his racket handle along the length of his lean thigh, watching her through hooded eyes.
“Do you play, Miss Livingston?” She could have sworn she saw him wink.
“I do…as well as any lady, I suppose.”
“Excellent. We shall play while Miles takes your sister to the far side of the lake.”
Lydia joined them as Mr. Beresford handed over his racket. Rebecca’s father looped their mother’s arm through his, a delighted grin on his face as he escorted their mother away toward from the lake, no doubt to allow love to blossom away from prying eyes.
Mr. Beresford turned to Lydia. “I’ve set up your easel by the lake, Miss Lydia. It would be my honor to take you there.”
