Say Yes to the Duke (2 page)

It was very much like the respect she’d earned from her old friend Dickon. When she
was eight and he was nine, she could balance on one leg much longer than he could.
This man was looking at her the same way, as if she had a talent. A skill of some
kind. A special trick.

And you do,
the thought came to her.
You’ve got all sorts of special tricks and talents.

It was a big, wonderful notion, and it hadn’t occurred to her in a very long while.
Confidence surged through her. “I’d like to know what trick
you’re
up to, sirrah. I’m Lady Janice Sherwood. And this is my abigail, Miss Isobel Jenkins.”

“Of the traveling circus Jenkinses,” Isobel interjected proudly.

He raised a brow, and Janice let him wonder. Izzy never passed up an opportunity to
speak of her family and their interesting way of life, and Janice, for one, adored
her all the more for it.

“You’re being most irregular suggesting we’re here under false pretenses and planned
our little accident,” Janice accused him. He leaned lazily against the carriage door
frame, presumably unaffected by her ire. “Had I not been rattled by the shock of hearing
that the dowager isn’t well, coupled with the tumble we nearly took within this carriage,
I’d take even more offense. What’s your name?”

“Luke Callahan,” he said in serious tones. “Thank you for asking. You’re the first
ever to ask, of all the strumpets who’ve come to see the duke in the six weeks I’ve
been here.”

Oh, goodness. His eyes.
The pupils were like little black diamonds inside those sapphire irises.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Callahan.” Janice swallowed. “Wait a minute, what did you say?”
She stared at Izzy. “Did he call me a strumpet?”

Izzy nodded, her eyes wide.

“I’ll take it back”—his tone was completely unapologetic, but his gaze felt like a
caress—“if you’ll cooperate. It’s too late to return you to the village. The snow
has lent you the best excuse yet to stay—even better than that broken wheel. But you’d
best behave while you’re here.”

“Behave?” Janice practically squeaked the word, she felt so prim at the moment—and
she only felt prim whenever she was in over her head. “I don’t know what you’re about,
but it makes no sense. No sense at all. Why, look at my bonnet and cloak! They’re
perfectly respectable—”

“Come now.” He shot her a sympathetic grin. “You and I both know they don’t disguise
your true hot nature.”

“My
what
?” She inhaled a breath. “If you don’t stop spouting nonsense—”

“Let me explain a little closer,” he said, and, without ceremony, half-entered the
carriage, grabbed her by the hand, and pulled.

Janice’s heart went wild. “What in heaven’s
name
? Just what do you think you’re doing?” Shock turned to anger, and anger made her
fierce. She clung to the door of the carriage with every ounce of strength in her.

Yet with one quick motion the groom tugged her free, and she fell into his arms, like
a fly into a spider’s web.

Isobel screamed just as he kicked the door shut and set Janice on the ground. “You’re
good,” he said in an approving tone while holding her pinned tightly against his chest.
“Not many know the dowager is in residence. And that wheel … you must be hell-bent
on deliverance. From what, though? Why would a spitfire like you need saving?”

“Unhand me,” Janice said, low. From behind her, she heard Isobel opening the carriage
window. “I’m the daughter of a marquess.”

“That’s what they all say,” he said with relish, and captured her arm behind her back.
“I must warn you. If you expect anything worthwhile from that excuse for a duke you’re
after, you’ll be disappointed. If you’re wise, you’ll leave as soon as the roads clear.”
He paused long enough to rake her from head to toe with an appreciative glance—she
put every ounce of scorn in her possession into the haughty expression she shot back
at him—and then he kissed her, a bawdy, lush kiss that demanded immediate compliance.

It was a miracle how quickly he redefined kissing for her, a marvel how well her lips
fit with his in the brief second before she gathered her wits and attempted to knee
the blackguard in the groin. She caught him on his thigh instead.

“What the devil?” He drew back and stared at her, not releasing her arm, which he
still held vice-like behind her back.

“See?” Janice was breathing hard. “I really am here to see the dowager, you reckless
rogue of a man!”

Snow fell between them, and she had the uncanny feeling she was in a dream.
It’s he,
her heart said—her foolish, foolish heart—even as her lips stung, her throat tightened
with white-hot anger, and her brain immediately pegged him as no good.

The man like no other.

The one Mama had told her she’d find someday, who Marcia had also assured her would
come her way despite the fact that her experience with Finn Lattimore had shaken her
to the core and made her distrust men entirely.

But Luke Callahan—this groom—couldn’t be he. He wasn’t a gentleman, not by half.

He grinned. “So I’ve erred.”

“You most certainly have.” She gave a yank on her arm.

He let it go, but now he put his hands on the small of her back and pressed her close.
“Devil take it,” he said in that easy way he had of speaking, “you’re a luscious mistake
I don’t regret.” He perused her face. “Do you? Do you wish I’d never supposed you
were anything other than a proper lady?”

She blinked several times. “I can’t answer that,” she whispered. “And you’re a blackguard
to ask.”

He roared with laughter. “I like you, Lady Janice. You and your circus maid. She’s
watching right now. Let’s ignore her, shall we?” And with a wicked gleam in his eye
he bent down and kissed Janice again.

What was she
doing
?

But he was good … oh, so good. If a man could be called
good
the way she called a warm fire good, or a cup of steaming chocolate, or a … a mouth
that spoke to her without speaking, the way his was.

You’re made for love.

You tantalize me.

I want you.

Messages that made her entire body wake up in a way it never had before. She was quivery,
like a newborn lamb. Her eyes were closed, but the world unfolded like a bright spring
meadow.

His lips brushed soft yet insistent against her own, but hardness was what she was
thinking of, the solid weight of him—of his chest, and his belly, and the security
of his thighs against hers.

Mr. Callahan’s thighs.

Three words she never knew she’d say. She’d never even heard of the middle one,
Callahan.
But in that moment, they were the three most important words she’d ever put together.

Life was full of surprises.

Chapter Two

Janice’s mouth was still scorched twenty minutes later when she arrived at the Duke
of Halsey’s Elizabethan manor. Every snowflake that touched her lips practically sizzled
off them. Never,
ever
had she envisioned that a fire could spring up so quickly between a man and a woman—and
on a slush-filled rut in a road, no less, with clouds of their breath mingling in
the frigid air and the musky smell of wet wool and leather in their nostrils.

It was the sort of surprise that she could dwell on for days, weeks,
months.

Which was why she was relieved to see that the house was as indifferent to her presence
as any upper-crust English pile of stone could be. She didn’t need any more surprises
today. The ducal manor would make a fine place at which to pass time, to look up suddenly
and realize that she’d wiled away a month stitching pillows, playing the pianoforte,
and providing solace to an ill older woman while the busy outside world passed her
by.

“What is it, my lady?” Isobel asked her, a pucker on her forehead. “You look ready
to jump out of your skin.”

Janice kept her eyes on the house. “I don’t want a duke,” she muttered grimly.

“Of course you don’t,” Isobel said. “All you want to do is forget the rest of the
world for a while. Am I right, my lady?”

“Yes.” Janice sighed. “I’m tired of trying to meet everyone’s expectations.”

“And you think the best way to forget them is to kiss that groom again.”

“Please don’t remind me.” Janice’s insides jangled with a confusing mix of anger and
longing. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About
him.
Blast Mr. Callahan’s hide. And blast yours, too, Izzy, for being so perceptive. You
mustn’t tell anyone. I’ll recover eventually.”

“I won’t. I promise, although”—the maid looked over her shoulder—“I have to tell you,
when you slapped his face, it was the most exciting thing I’ve ever witnessed in my
life. It had been going
so well
up to that point.”

Janice sighed. “I wish you’d looked the other way.”

“How could I possibly have done that? I felt as if I was at a play and I was watching
two perfect lovers meet onstage. Except one was a very handsome, naughty groom and
the other was a lady. It wasn’t proper at all. It was the opposite of proper, which
made it even more exciting. And then
you
—”

“I know. I had to slap him. He was … oh, never mind.” He’d been caressing her bottom,
and she’d actually moaned aloud. Even now, as she thought about it, her cheeks grew
hot. She looked around, feeling completely skittish.

“I understand, my lady,” Isobel reassured her. “With my own ears I heard him laugh
and then tell you to slap the duke, too, if he ever dared touch you.”

Janice got huffy just remembering. “How many women did he say had slapped him before?
A hundred?”

“No, my lady. He said over a hundred
should
have, but none actually had. You were the only one. Ever. And he liked it.” Isobel
giggled.

“He said that to make me angry. Surely if he’s kissed at least a hundred women another
one would have put him in his place by now.”

“Oh?” Isobel’s answer was arch. “Perhaps he’s such a good kisser, everyone else forgot
to. In fact, I’d have done far worse than moan, as you did, my lady—I’d have fainted
dead away with pleasure.”

“
Izzy.
I didn’t moan, for goodness’ sake. I-I was struggling to get away. Sort of. As soon
as I heard Oscar and the duke’s carriage approaching…”

But the maid threw her a sideways glance and sidled over to the unfamiliar vehicle—borrowed
from the duke’s own stables—to watch Oscar overseeing the removal of their bags. It
was Isobel’s way of disagreeing with her mistress without outright contradicting her.

All right, heaven help her, Janice
had
moaned and clung tightly to the man’s muscular neck long enough that her knees gave
out and a delicious tingle between her thighs stole her breath away. And she wasn’t
proud of it. She’d behaved like the desperate spinster she was fast becoming.

How had she reached such a point?

Her first Season had gone splendidly. She’d turned down several proposals, being in
no rush. But her second Season was different. Her callers dropped off. At balls, men
looked right through her, as if she didn’t exist.

Perhaps she’d done it to herself. After her humiliating romance with the no-good Finn
Lattimore, she’d read more books. Been less willing to speak up. Was more wary. She
thought she’d gotten over him—no, she
knew
she had.

But still. She persisted in being a failure. Somehow this visit to the country was
supposed to help restore her luster. She’d wondered how, but now she knew:
more kisses from Luke Callahan.
She’d been like a tarnished silver teapot that had just been rubbed to a gleaming
finish.

She didn’t want to tarnish again.

Meanwhile, Mr. Callahan’s warning about the duke echoed in her brain, but she shrugged
it off.
I’ll make up my
own
mind about His Grace,
she thought, and prayed the duke knew she was arriving. One more person in this large
place wouldn’t be too much a burden, would it? She didn’t believe that he’d be vastly
pleased to hear she was coming—he was a duke, after all, and had more important matters
to attend to than the comings-and-goings of his grandmother’s friends—but in Janice’s
daydreams she wished that he’d be pleased.

Lady Janice is at my door?
she imagined him saying.
The Lady Janice? The one with tremendous powers of observation and a quick wit? She
spilled lemonade on me once, and I’ve never forgotten.

He’d run to his bedchamber and change his cravat before he was to meet her because
he’d be slightly nervous. And in this musing of hers he’d show her round his library
and tell her it was hers to peruse at any time of day or night. He’d watch to see
which books she’d take down.…

Oh, she needed to stop weaving these girlish fantasies, as if she were an ingénue
who could afford to indulge in them.

No duke was going to notice
her.

The windows at the ground level were heavily curtained in a deep maroon velvet. Within
she caught a glimpse of bookcase, a chair, a portrait. The face of a maid, and then
her swift withdrawal.

Janice wondered what rooms the dowager had and another sweep of dread rushed through
her: Mama didn’t know a thing about the dowager believing she was the Queen and never
would have let Janice be chaperoned by her had she been aware of the state of things.

But Janice didn’t want to return to London. She’d do anything to stay.

And hide.

And … and maybe kiss that groom again. If she could ever find him. He’d led the way
back to the house but disappeared as soon as the vehicle stopped near the front steps.
No doubt he’d returned his own mount to the massive stable block, which housed some
of England’s finest horses.

The snow was back to downy flakes, sweetly falling, while perfectly formed curlicues
of smoke drifted lazily away from the chimneys. She was counting them when the Duke
of Halsey himself appeared in the distance, coming from the stables, surrounded by
a pack of dark gray hounds and two other men. A cheroot hung from his lips, and he
was outfitted in a heavy coat beneath which she caught a glimpse of impeccably cut
country tweeds. His friends dressed in similar impressive fashion.