Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) (21 page)

Langdon tossed down his cards, crossed his arms over his chest.

Minerva glanced over at Ashe, her lips still upturned, and it was all he could do not to lean in and plant a kiss on them. “We may cheat at cards, but we do own up to it when we’re caught.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not playing then, as I don’t know how to cheat.”

“I could teach you if you like.”

He’d rather she be the pupil for what he wanted to teach her—how much passion could flare between them. Still, he knew a man would be a fool to pass on her offer, but he couldn’t accept without the risk of her discovering his shortcomings. So he decided to turn the conversation in a totally different vein. “Did you ask your brother about his garden?”

“What about my garden?” Lovingdon asked, in such a way that Ashe was left with the feeling that he either didn’t like him or didn’t trust him. Smarts obviously ran in the family.

“Ashe was wondering if he could use it to take a photograph . . . of me.”

The last two words carried a self-conscious lilt. Ironic that she was uncomfortable posing for him fully clothed when she’d been willing to do so with silk hiked up to the edge of her hips. Recalling that he’d heard the duke had acquired his heir, he said, “To show my appreciation, I’d be willing to photograph your family.”

“You saw the pictures from his trip to Africa,” Minerva said. “You know how talented he is.”

He studied Ashe as though searching for an ulterior motive. He shifted his gaze to his wife, who gave him a smile that seemed to communicate far more than any words ever could. “I suppose there’s no harm in it,” he finally groused, as though he thought there probably was harm in it. He simply couldn’t figure it out.

“Lovely. When would you like to do it?” Minerva asked.

“If the weather is clear tomorrow, around ten if that’s agreeable,” Ashe said. “Morning sunlight is more forgiving.”

“Forgiving of what?” Lovingdon asked.

“My meager talents. It creates a softer image, which I prefer over stark lines.”

“How did you ever learn all this?” the Duchess of Lovingdon asked.

“Mostly trial and error, searching for perfection.”

“I’ve never found perfection particularly interesting,” the Duchess of Avendale said, looking at Ashe as though she’d just discovered he’d stepped into a pile of horse manure. She wasn’t particularly pretty, and he wondered how, as a commoner, she’d managed to snag herself a duke. Of course, Minerva was a commoner as well, and she was going to nab a duke, but then, she was bringing with her a fortune. The Duchess of Avendale had brought only a criminal record.

“Perfection in my style, not my subject.” Although in his private collection he was searching for perfection in lines, something to shove out the horrific images that had bombarded him as a child.

The duchess lifted a shoulder as though to say that perhaps his boots weren’t so mucked up after all.

“Are we going to play cards?” Avendale asked.

“You can’t play and talk?” Ashe challenged.

“Not the way we play,” Minerva said. “We’re all terribly serious about winning.”

She also thoroughly enjoyed the game, that much was obvious. And he enjoyed every aspect of her. Proving to her that what he felt for her would be enough was more challenging than he’d anticipated. But he wasn’t going to give up. He wanted her back in his bed permanently.

T
HE following morning Minerva fought not to be nervous. She kept reminding herself that this was Ashe and that she had posed for him wearing far less. He was setting up his camera on a tripod while she paced near the pond.

Before Ashe had arrived, she’d had a small spat with her brother because he’d wanted to stand watch. But she wanted to be alone with the duke without her brother interfering. Ashe had departed from the club last night before they’d finished their card game, so she hadn’t had a private moment with him.

She stopped her pacing. “Why do you want to photograph me?”

He looked up from whatever it was he was adjusting. “You’re not comfortable with your features.”

“That’s no secret. As I’ve told you before, I look like my father.”

He gave her a small, provocative smile that warmed the depths of her heart. “Hardly.”

He went back to work, she went back to pacing. Halted in her tracks. “Why did you toss your scotch on Sheridan?”

He straightened completely. “Because I don’t like him.”

“He wanted to marry me.”

He studied her for a moment, but it appeared he was carrying on an inner debate. Finally, he met her gaze head-on. “He was bemoaning the fact that you had rejected his suit. I took exception to some things he was uttering. While he didn’t admit it to Darling, before we were done, I hit him.”

She couldn’t help the wonderful sense of satisfaction that swamped her. “You were being my champion?”

With three long strides, he was standing before her, the crook of his finger tilting up her chin. “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“Why would you be?”

He shook his head slightly. “How can you not understand how much I adore you? You’re a combination of boldness and timidity that I find irresistible. Not to mention the passion that flares between us.”

“Yet you haven’t kissed me since you arrived.”

“Opportunity has been lacking. I would kiss you now except that I suspect your brother is in an upstairs window watching us through a spyglass.”

She smiled. “He does have a telescope.”

“Make no mistake, Minerva, I spend a great deal of time thinking about kissing you, doing other things as well.”

His eyes darkened with promise, and her stomach fairly dropped to the ground. He took her hand, cupped his other hand against her waist. “I need you here.”

He guided her to a spot just shy of the bridge. “I want you to sit with your legs curled against your hips.”

“I should get a blanket.”

“No, you’re a woman who doesn’t care one whit about grass stains on her skirt.” Providing her with support, he lowered her to the ground. He had no qualms about touching her, moving an arm here, a hand there, shifting her leg so the skirts flowed just so. She was enthralled watching his concentration. He was entirely focused on the task at hand, lost in the moment of creating something that meant so very much to him. She did hope that he wouldn’t be disappointed with the results.

He cradled her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilted her head to the side ever so slightly. “Now don’t move,” he ordered.

Then he covered her mouth with a kiss that was both sweet and profound, that in spite of its quickness managed to elicit pleasure in every corner of her being. When he drew back, mischief sparkled in his eyes. “Be a good girl and I’ll have another one of those for you when we’re done.”

“Thought you were worried about my brother watching.”

“From this angle, he can’t discern the details of what I’m doing.” He sobered. “You may have to be still for a while, though. I want the sun just so.”

“I’ll pretend I’m in church.”

He skimmed his thumb over the round curve of her cheek. “I’d tell you that I think you’re exquisite, but I don’t think you’d believe me.”

She stared at him.

“There,” he said, with a grin. “Keep your lips relaxed and parted just like that.”

And then he was gone.

K
NEELING—Ashe cared not one whit about grass stains on his trousers—he looked through the lens of the camera. Because of the angle he’d wanted, he’d used a short tripod. He believed photos could be so much more than people standing stiffly, staring into the camera. Photography was in its infancy, its potential yet to be explored fully. But he had no doubt that it was art, and the image before him only reinforced that belief.

Minerva wore an elegant yet simple wide-brimmed hat and a pale yellow gown with voluminous skirts. Her burnished hair and brows, deep brown eyes, and strawberry red lips stood out in stark contrast. She was slightly to the right of the bridge, so it and the pond behind her served as background. But the focus, the key element of the piece, was her. The morning shadows, the filtering sunlight were almost exactly where he needed them for maximum effect.

He loved this moment, when he was in absolute control, when he decided the outcome of his efforts. If only numbers came as naturally, when he looked at her he wouldn’t have to see a dowry. With her acumen with figures, he knew that she could help him manage his estates, that she could help ensure he had a magnificent legacy to pass on. But that would require revealing the mess he was in presently—she would neither understand nor appreciate his predicament. With her aversion to fortune hunters, how could she view him as anything else?

“We’re almost there,” he called out.

She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge him. Her control, her discipline amazed him.

The sun grew bolder, the shadows retreated only slightly. He captured the moment.

He stood, walked over to her, and extended his hand. She looked up at him.

“It’s finished?”

“It is.”

“That was relatively painless,” she said, placing her hand in his.

He drew her up, latched his mouth onto hers, welcoming the taste and feel of her. She pushed back slightly.

“Lovingdon.”

“Let him watch.”

“I fear he’ll do more than watch. He’ll claim you compromised me and insist we marry.”

“Would that be so bad?”

She furrowed her brow. “You mentioned marriage last night, but you can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious.” He pressed his thumb to her lips. “Don’t answer, but think on it.”

“Why would you marry me?”

“Why would I not?”

“You can’t answer a question with a question.”

He snaked his arm around her waist, drew her up against him, and angled his mouth over hers. Why did she have to be so suspicious? Why did she have to question his motives? He cursed every man who had come before him so that his task now was all the more difficult. Then he cursed her brother because he
was
probably watching. Ashe didn’t want to force her into marriage. He wanted to lure her into it. Drawing back, he gazed down into her languid eyes. “There’s fire between us and no reason to think that another night together will extinguish it.”

“For anything long-lasting, there has to be more than the passion.”

“I’ve already told you that I adore you. I admire you. You fascinate me. So perhaps the fault is with me. You find me lacking.”

Turning on his heel, he returned to his equipment to begin packing it up. The duchess did want a family photograph taken, but thank goodness, she wanted it done on another day, when the heir wasn’t so cranky.

“Ashe?”

He glanced back at her.

“I don’t find you lacking,” she said. “I’m simply not accustomed to a man’s desiring me. I had decided to accept my life as a spinster.”

“Decisions can be changed.” He picked up his equipment. “And I’m not one to give up, so get used to that as well. Walk me to the gate?”

With a nod, she fell into step beside him. “When will you show me the photo?”

“Soon.”

“I might not want to see it. When I was eight, my mother had a portrait painted of me. When I saw it, I took a piece of coal and blackened out the face. I have the most unattractive nose.”

“Sometimes, Minerva, we look at things and see what we expect to see rather than what’s really there. But when I look through the camera lens, I see the truth.”

“The truth isn’t always pretty,” she said.

No, it wasn’t. And there were truths about himself that he would never tell her.

Chapter 16

A
SHE was standing in the foyer of Ashebury Place when he heard the gentle sneeze and spun around to find Minerva in the open doorway. It had been three days since he’d seen her, since he’d taken the photograph of her in the garden. While the servants were managing most of the move, he needed to oversee some areas. Spending much of his time here did not leave him in the most amicable of moods. But seeing her now, he realized his foolishness in withdrawing. The gladness that swamped him at her presence was a bit disconcerting, was far beyond anything he’d ever before experienced.

“My apologies,” she said. “I was passing by on my way to the milliner when I saw all the activity going on here and recalled that you were moving in. I thought to stop by to see how you were doing with the memories.”

The only memories revolving through his mind at the moment involved her: at the Nightingale, at the club, at the ball. He wanted to jerk her to him, claim her mouth, carry her up the stairs, and claim her body. Instead, he tamped down the beast ravaging through him, and lacquered on a veneer of civilization. “I’m afraid I’m not really set up for visitors yet.”

“I don’t mean to impose, but I hadn’t seen you at the Dragons. I just wanted to ensure you were all right. I know how difficult all this must be.” Sneezing again, she pressed a lace handkerchief to her nose.

“Sorry, the servants have been uncovering things for days now, disturbing twenty years of dust.”

“Has it been that long?”

He nodded. “The house was closed up when I was taken to Havisham. A few years back, I came to check on it. Didn’t make it past the foyer before realizing I wasn’t ready to live here, so I leased a place.”

“But now you are ready?”

Forced to be ready. The edge of poverty made a man do things he otherwise might not. Like marry. Although the notion of spending the remainder of his life with her almost made him glad to be reclaiming the house. “I think so, yes. The ghosts are a bit quieter now.”

She glanced around. “From here, it looks to be quite grand.”

“Would you like a tour?”

“I don’t want to impose.”

“No imposition. As I said, it’s not quite ready, but I could show you this level, so you can get a sense of it.”
Since it is bound to become your home as well.

“Yes, all right. I’d like that.”

As he escorted her down one of the hallways, servants bustled out of their way. Seldom seen, they were usually more discreet in taking care of matters, but so much needed to be done here that they had no choice except to work an odd schedule. The rooms spoke for themselves: a sitting room, a private parlor, the breakfast dining room.

They stepped into the library. Servants were pulling down the sheeting that had protected the shelves.

“I think the number of books a person owns says a lot about them,” she said, glancing around, apparently pleased to see so many leather-bound volumes.

“My father liked to collect books, but I don’t recall him reading them.”

“You were a child. You were probably in bed long before his reading time.”

He’d never considered that. She wandered to a shelf, touched a spine. “My vision of my father when I was eight was very different from my vision of him now.”

He walked over and leaned a shoulder against a shelf. “And how did you see him at eight?”

“So large. I had to crane my head back incredibly far to see him towering over me. He seemed scary, easily displeased. He was gone a good bit, managing the club. And he made my mother laugh. He never had a harsh word for her. The same couldn’t be said of my brothers. He was quick to admonish them if they misbehaved. Not so quick to chide me.”

“And now?”

She grinned. “He’s rather a kitten.”

Ashe laughed deeply, the sound vibrating around them. “I don’t quite believe that. I think any man who made you unhappy would find himself floating in the Thames.”

“He does have a reputation for being surly, doesn’t he?”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Ashe didn’t fear the man, but he did respect the power he wielded. He could easily destroy anyone who displeased him or brought sadness to his daughter.

He led her back into the hallway. “I would show you the gardens, but they’re rather a jungle presently.”

“Will it be difficult being back here?”

“Not as hard as I thought. I already have a pleasant memory to replace the not-so-pleasant ones—as you’d hoped I would. I’m glad you stopped by.”

She faced him as they reached the entryway. “I know you’re remarkably busy, but I wondered if you might be attending the Claybourne ball tomorrow night.”

“Only if you promise me the first and last waltz.”

She smiled with pleasure. “They’re yours. I’ve missed seeing you.”

“I’ll make up for my absence to you tomorrow.”

“I can hardly wait. Have a good day.”

With that, she spun on her heel—and he thought he heard the barest tinkling of chimes. Standing in the doorway, he watched as she strolled down the path to a waiting carriage, watched as she was assisted inside by the footman, watched as it traveled out of sight. His plan involved seducing her, yet he couldn’t help but feel that he was the one being seduced. Every time he saw her, he was charmed just a little bit more.

I
T began with the explosion. The crash of engines, the splintering of wood, the eruption of fire.

It ended with the mangled bodies, strewn over the ground—

And Ashe sitting up in bed, breathing heavily, covered in sweat, tangled in sheets, feeling as though he would suffocate.

Years had passed since he’d had a nightmare as vivid, as horrific. He clambered out of bed, strode to a small table, poured himself a full glass of scotch, and downed it all in one long swallow. He should have expected this. It was his first night to sleep in the residence, his first night encased in the memories.

He walked to the window, gazed out on the darkness, fought to push out the gruesome images of blood and gore. He imagined tiny toes curled against his thigh, his hands folded around a shapely calf. His breathing calmed, his clammy skin began to cool.

He thought of Minerva stretched out on the bed, her face hidden by her mane of hair, the silk resting at her hips revealing the long length of her slender legs. The delicate ankles. He began to concentrate on the details: the heart-shaped birthmark, a tiny mole behind her knee. Everything a camera could capture. Her fragrance as passion took hold. Her taste. Everything that eluded the camera.

Her perfection, beauty conquered the demons of remorse and regret. He tried to recall other women posing for him, but she was all he saw. From the beginning, something about her was different. From the beginning, something about her had called to him. From the beginning, she had somehow managed to work her way into the fabric of his being.

He wanted her as his wife. It was time he stepped up his game.