A Duchess to Remember (10 page)

“Pure academic interest,” he said. He held out his hand and repeated, “If you please.”

She shrugged and went to retrieve it from where she’d left it on Ashburn’s desk. Handing it to him, she said, “And my brother’s papers?”

He flipped the diary open and began to leaf through it. At her question, he hesitated, as if debating whether to tell her the truth.

Then he laid down the diary on the table beside him and said, “I am afraid my staff have not been able to locate them yet.”

He spread his hands, a gesture meant to convey openness, but it didn’t fool her. He added, “I am sorry to have brought you here under false pretenses, but there was no way I could send you a message.”

She suspected he was very well able to find a way to communicate such news to her if he wanted. She’d wasted her time coming here; risked her reputation and Montford’s wrath for nothing.

He moved closer, until she smelled the intriguing hint of his cologne.

“May I?” Before she knew what he was about or could answer him, his hands had pushed back her hood and his fingers delved into her curls to locate the ties of her mask.

She felt the cool rush of air against her heated face as the mask fell away and tumbled to her lap.

His fingertips trailed down to the ties at her throat.

She experienced the oddest sensation, light-headedness and a sharp tug of excitement in her viscera.

She ought not to allow this. “Your Grace, I didn’t come here to—”

“Call me Rand,” he murmured, working at the strings that held her domino together.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate.” She put up her hand to bunch the ends of her domino together and remove them from the deft manipulation of his fingers.

Why she needed to do that or was so panicked at the notion of his removing her outer garment when she had on a perfectly respectable gown beneath, she didn’t know. She counted herself a practical person, unfettered by missish rules and illogical conventions.

Yet it was not the well-schooled debutante who objected to this intimacy but the instinctive, animal part of her. It felt frightening, thoroughly exposing, as if he peeled away more than an unnecessary outer garment.

“Are you afraid of me, Lady Cecily? I would not injure you.”

The perceptiveness of his gaze nearly undid her wits. Not injure her? She felt as if she danced on a precipice with him, that together they’d fall at any moment.

“I did not come here to—to flirt with you,” she said in as strong a voice as she could manage.

His lips twitched. “You think this is flirting?”

She ignored that. “You know why I came.”

Ashburn regarded her steadily. “I think that even if you did not acknowledge it to yourself, you knew why I wanted you here tonight. And I also think,” he added, holding up a hand to silence her protest, “that in your heart of hearts, you want what is going to happen now.”

His voice had taken on a deep, husky timbre, almost hypnotizing in its mellifluence. His face was close to hers; his breath, sweet with wine, feathered over her lips. Those amber eyes captured hers; then his eyelids lowered and his gaze fixed on her mouth.

Her lips tingled under that compelling inspection. He wasn’t even touching her, yet he commanded her utterly. Her usual flippancy deserted her like a rat from a sinking ship.

Inwardly, she cursed herself for sitting there frozen and wide-eyed like a startled deer, but some greater force seemed to hold her in its grip.
Had
she wanted this to happen? No, surely she’d thought only of that letter, of Jon.

A protest clanged in her head like a ship’s bell, but it didn’t strike louder than the drumming of her heart.

With an amazing effort of will, she drew back a little. “You promised me intelligence about the Promethean Club tonight.”

“All in good time,” Ashburn said softly, moving closer still.

His sharp, handsome features swam in her vision. Her brain ordered her to protest, to move away, to run, but her insubordinate body stayed where it was. Her breath suspended in that silent moment of anticipation.

Ashburn set his mouth to hers. The world rocked beneath her, and everything she’d ever known about herself was upended in an instant.

The sensation was an extraordinary mélange of heat and excitement and uncertainty. His lips were hot and firm, gentle and provocative, calling forth an answer from her that she’d never suspected she was capable of giving. Her response was untutored, inexperienced, embarrassingly clumsy, but that did not seem to bother him.

With a soft groan, he smoothed one hand up her back to her nape, pressing her closer to the growing firmness of his kiss.

Desire surged through her in a dizzying rush, made her revel in his growing urgency, made her seek to match it with equal power and fire.

She ought to call a halt to this. In some vague, distant corner of her mind, she knew that. But no man had ever kissed her like this before and perhaps no one ever would again. Curiosity as much as the unprecedented feelings he evoked stopped her from stopping him as she ought.

His arm stole around her waist; his tongue delicately teased her bottom lip. She made an involuntary sound of shock and pleasure and allowed her head to fall back against the arm of the couch.

She sensed a change in his mood then. His mouth left hers, drifted over her cheek, to her ear; then he kissed the side of her neck. He murmured something as she shivered with helpless delight. His body half covered hers and his hand—oh, Lord!—his hand smoothed up her bodice beneath her domino to caress her breast.

She couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs. The warning bell clanged louder, penetrating her dazed senses. She must not let this go any further.

“No. Stop,” she whispered, struggling to sit up. “You must stop now.”

Ashburn froze. Then he expelled a harsh sigh and drew back, raking a hand through his cropped hair. Frustration rolled from him in waves.

Cecily scrambled to her feet, pulling the edges of her domino together as she backed away from him. “I did
not
come here for this, whatever you might think.”

She thought he might laugh at that. She’d certainly given a convincing impression of a woman who had precisely such an amorous purpose in mind.

Ought she to tell him about Norland? But no, she rather thought that would make her appear even looser in her morals than she did already. Besides, she doubted news of a rival would cool Ashburn’s ardor.

“I know you didn’t come here for this,” he said, surprising her. His tone was anything but apologetic, and the heat had not left his eyes. “You ought not to stay if you don’t want a great deal more. Cecily, you present far too great a temptation for me to withstand.”

His words left her fluttery and shamefully pleased. But she said, “A true gentleman ought to be in control of his baser desires. I hope you do not seek to blame
me
for your lack of—”

“Of course I don’t blame you,” he said impatiently. “But if you remain in this room looking like that, I’m going to do it again.”

Instead of fleeing like any sensible person, Cecily said, “Looking like what, pray?”

His eyes glittered. “Like cherries and cream and chocolate,” he said. “Like a sweet, soft banquet waiting for me to feast.”

That sentiment shocked her but it intrigued her, excited her, too. A subtle shift in the lights in his eyes told her he knew it.

In a leisurely fashion, he rose and moved toward her. She stood her ground, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from that firm-lipped mouth, nor her mind from speculating on what that mouth might do to her if given the chance.

She ought to find a way to steer the conversation back to the reason she’d come, but she’d completely lost control of this voyage of discovery. Ashburn had staged a neat form of mutiny tonight.

Had he kissed her solely to frustrate her purpose? She would not like to think him so calculating, but she couldn’t discount the possibility. He was a man entirely capable of such an act.

If it weren’t for that letter, she hoped she’d have the sense to stay away from the Duke of Ashburn. But she had to retrieve it. And she had to know more. Why had Ashburn taken Jonathon’s papers? What had he done with them? And what role had the Promethean Club played in all this?

She didn’t trust Ashburn. Not enough to explain the truth of her quest. She couldn’t ask Ashburn outright for that incriminating piece of correspondence. That letter could ruin all her hopes of marrying Norland if it got into the wrong hands.

The danger in Ashburn’s eyes convinced her she’d not learn any useful information from him tonight.

He took another step toward her. It was an effort not to flee.

Hurriedly, she said, “Very well, I shall leave now, but you must send word to me when those papers are found.” She did her best to ignore the unsettling way he stared at her. “Sh-shall I see you at my come-out ball?”

He smiled down at her, another gleam of white teeth. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Cecily moved to snatch up her mask from the floor where it had fallen, but he was there before her, scooping up the stiff concoction of beaded satin.

“Turn around,” he said.

She had an impulse to argue that she would tie the mask herself, but that seemed petty and craven. She obeyed, but her heart jumped into her throat when he moved to stand close behind her. She felt his heat all down her body as the mask pressed against her face. His fingers were in her hair again, fastening the ties.

An agony of embarrassment flooded her. Would she ever meet him now without remembering that kiss?

“Is it tight enough?” His voice sounded a little hoarse.

“Yes. Thank you.” Cecily fought the stupid urge to sink back against him. Instead, she stepped away.

“You must promise to behave yourself at my ball,” she warned. “My cousins will watch me, not to mention Montford.”

“I think my self-control extends to refraining from ravishing you in public, my lady,” said Ashburn, amused. “With or without your fearsome relatives in attendance.”

“Well, how should I know what you would do?” said Cecily, exasperated. “I am inexperienced in such matters.”

“Most women count that as a virtue.” He cocked his head, as if making a discovery. “But not you, Lady Cecily.” He regarded her with dawning sympathy. “Ignorance in any form bothers you, doesn’t it? You so hate to concede the advantage.”

The truth of his statement struck home. How had he, a man who’d met her only once before, understood how greatly she disliked being unenlightened on this or any important subject? Even more irksome, her lack of experience left her at a loss in her dealings with him.

She might have been prepared to flout most constraints on a lady’s education and occasionally to court danger in her nocturnal adventures. But even she’d never plucked up the courage to rebel against the tenet that a lady must remain pure for her husband.

Of course, no one had ever offered her the opportunity to be impure before.

But even setting aside the morality of it, there were too many risks involved in those sorts of liaisons. Despite her sheltered upbringing, she’d heard tales about fallen women. The man always walked away unscathed and blameless, leaving the lady pregnant and disgraced. Well, Cecily might be innocent, but she was not a fool.

That didn’t mean she wasn’t burningly curious about the sort of intimate relations both her married cousins so obviously enjoyed.

Ashburn nodded as if she’d spoken her thoughts. “I suppose I need not tell you that the best remedy for ignorance is
education
.”

Though the severity of his expression hadn’t changed, his deep voice warmed with amusement. He was laughing at her!

Cecily looked him straight in the eye and dropped a disdainful curtsy. “My thanks, Your Grace, but in this case I believe ignorance is bliss.”

He returned her courtesy with an elegant bow, but there was an unholy gleam in those brilliant amber eyes. “Bliss can be a relative term, Lady Cecily.”

His low laughter followed her as she turned on her heel and fled.

Chapter Seven

Rand did not move for many moments after Lady Cecily had gone. His heart had not yet resumed its normal pace after that astonishing kiss. His body remained hot and urgent. It had taken all his will to obey her command to stop.

He’d given no idle warning when he said it was better for them both if she left.

Laughable the way his careful plans had flown from his head the moment he’d laid eyes on her. The debacle with Louise and Freddy had shaken him; that was true. But Lady Cecily herself was the cause of far greater disturbance to his equilibrium.

The romantic waltz he’d planned, the moonlit walk in the garden, all of it had vanished from his mind as soon as he’d seen her. He’d thought her striking when garbed in a page boy’s costume. He hadn’t been prepared for the vision she presented when clothed as a woman, with her feminine curves molded and revealed so enticingly. The deep, shining purple of her domino made her eyes appear like pools of gleaming chocolate in the pale cream of her face. And those lips … God. His body gave a reminiscent shudder.

Lady Cecily had taught him another salutary lesson tonight. He was not at all in the habit of denying himself when it came to carnal pleasures. But then his interest had never alighted on a gently bred virgin before.

It was a damnable predicament.

Or was it? His heart picked up pace again as the idea struck him like the slap of another man’s glove.

Had he in fact found the perfect wife?

The most powerful and swift sense of rightness overtook him at that notion. He had an insane impulse to go after her this very moment and make his proposals.

No, that would not be wise. Despite the overwhelming certainty
he
felt, she would need convincing.

A duke generally assumed that if proposed, the lady in question must say yes. But Rand would lay steep odds that if he ran after her now, she would not have him. That only made her more attractive.