My Dark Duke (14 page)

Oh. My.

Despite her vast inexperience, she knew that he was exactly her opposite. His mouth moved skilfully and persuasively on hers, coaxing a response which she instinctively gave. He took his time deepening the kiss, his lips soft and his tongue playful, working against the seam of her lips. With a soft sigh of surrender, she melted against him, sliding her arms around his shoulders. She felt his hands brace her body against his even as her mouth opened to his tongue's gentle assault.

His kiss was harder now, fiercer. The pressure of his mouth increased and she kissed him back just as wildly, shivering as the tip of his tongue traced patterns on the sensitive inner surface of her bottom lip. Her own tentative foray into his mouth was met with a sensuous sucking, the resulting sensations making her arch into his lean frame.

Growling low in his throat, he backed her into the wall by the side of the fireplace. Without breaking off their kiss, he pressed her hard into the rough brick, bracing a forearm next to her head as his mouth ravaged hers with little apparent thought for her innocence. Trent's warm hand suddenly cupped her breast, making her eyes fly open and a gasp escape her lips.

The sound made him tear his mouth away from hers, and they froze. Alethea's breath was shallow and rapid, her heart beating so quickly that she did not think it would ever slow down again. She stared into eyes which glittered with lust, vaguely noticing that his chest was heaving and that a flush coloured his cheeks. The fire crackled loudly next to them, the only sound in the room besides the sound of her heart pounding in her ears.

To her mortification, she felt the tip of her breast tighten into a bud against his palm. She stood still, barely daring to breathe while she watched his eyes dilate. For the briefest moment, his hand tightened around her soft flesh and then he stepped away.

Back turned to her, they stood unmoving, like two figures on a frozen stage tableau. For how long, she didn't know. But it was long enough for her breathing to return to normal, her heartbeat, almost so. Long enough for her to come to her senses, so that she knew what he was about to say when he finally spoke.

‘You realise what this means.'

‘Yes, but . . . I do not wish to discuss it at this moment.' And she didn't. She wanted not to ever have to think of the consequences of this night. But if she couldn't have forever, then she would take just the one night.

Trent turned slowly around. His hair was in disarray, half out of its queue. Oh Lord, had she done that with her hands like some wild creature? She was afraid that she had. And yet he still looked magnificent. If only she knew that he was making an offer for her because he truly wished it.

‘Lady Alethea, I need to ask . . .'

‘Please. Not now, I beg of you.' She pleaded with her eyes. She couldn't discuss this. Not now. Not after what had just happened between them. Her thoughts were in a jumble and she could barely think, much less engage in a rational conversation about their future.

He watched her quietly. Then, ‘Very well.'

It was barely evening, but she desperately needed to escape the dark eyes which seemed able to read her innermost thoughts as if they were the pages of an open book. She suddenly felt naked and vulnerable under his gaze, her thin shift providing no defence. Alethea fought the urge to cross her arms over her chest. ‘I . . . I'm tired. I think I will retire.' She didn't wait for an answer before crossing the room and climbing into the damp, cold bed.

It took her a long time to fall asleep, her gaze drawn again and again to the man sitting unmoving before the fireplace, his gaze fixed on the flames. When she did, she dreamt that she was cold, so cold, her body shivering from head to toe as if she were in the midst of an ague. And then she heard his calm voice.

‘Hush now, you are safe.' And then there was blessed, blessed warmth as strong arms encircled her. Curled up against his chest, she finally fell into a dreamless sleep.

Our Hero Encounters More Than One Obstacle

Trent surfaced from sleep in degrees, which in itself was a rare event. His days were usually taken up with so much business, investment and estate matters that lazing abed was an indulgence he could ill afford. The lack of his usual alertness upon waking doubtless had something to do with the soft, warm and very female body that was pressed deliciously against his side. Blinking at the bright shaft of sunlight that was streaming in through the window, he looked down and saw the face of the woman who had not only occupied his thoughts the previous evening, but had also commandeered his dreams in slumber.

She was almost as lovely asleep as she was awake. He used the word almost, not because she was less beautiful, but because asleep he was unable to see the spark that made her who she was. It was the fire in her eyes and her spirited and oft-times impulsive remarks that he looked forward to each time they met. In sleep, though, she exhibited an innocence which in his lust-filled haze last evening he had somehow forgotten. But for once he did not regret his loss of control. The decision about their future had finally been taken from his hands, and he could not say that he was resentful. In fact, he was almost relieved.

Trent reached out and gently pushed a lock of hair away from her cheek. The frown that appeared on her face made his mouth twitch with amusement.

‘Not yet, Martha, another half-hour,' she mumbled. ‘And then you may bring me my hot chocolate.' The note of imperiousness even when she was half asleep made his mouth curve into a smile. Well, it seemed that he need not fear that she would be reticent in being the mistress of his household once she was his duchess.

In fact, it had been clear to him almost from the beginning just how suitable she would be as his wife. As the daughter of a duke, she would have been brought up with the expectation that she would eventually be the wife of a peer and schooled in all the appropriate topics, from music and needlecraft to the running of a household, no matter how large. The only question that had remained was whether she was suited to him. Yes, Cole had informed him that she was exceptionally handsome, but James had met many beautiful women and most of them had left him cold.

But then he had met Alton's daughter and he had felt as if his whole world had tipped on its axis. He had told himself that he was just imagining her effect on him. That the intrigue and curiosity she had aroused in him during that serendipitous first meeting was the result of the shock of a strange woman falling upon him. But then he had found himself standing before her front door without quite knowing how he had gotten there. Immediately after which he heard himself asking her mother if he could take her for a ride.

He had not imagined the attraction between them, for it was still present the following day. Even worse, it had increased tenfold during their drive together. Then there had been the musicale, followed by another ride, and after each occasion he had thought to distance himself from her. But even when he managed to stay away, it did nothing to quench his need to see her. It was during the Drakeford ball that he had realised that he was in deep strife. On the cusp of falling in love with her, he had tried to escape the trap by visiting his mistress, only to find himself weighed down with guilt, when he was not even married to Alethea.

The moment he had laid eyes on her the morning after, he had known what was to come. Alethea would have been schooled not to exhibit her emotions. More than that, she should have known out of a sense of self-preservation that she should not expose her inner feelings to him, and yet she had. The flash of joy that had appeared in her eyes at the sight of him had told him all that he needed to know. She had clearly formed an attachment to him. This was the reason why he knew her answer to the question he must ask would be yes.

A movement next to him drew him out of his musings. The lady squirmed against him, yawned sleepily then stretched, her arm reaching and sliding across his chest as she did so. Trent had to bite the inside of his lip to stop himself from laughing at what happened next. Her hand that was now resting on his side suddenly stopped. Then, with her eyes still closed, her hand started to move slowly, patting his side, then up to the middle of his chest, then vertically over his unshaven throat, like a blind man trying to make sense of what was under his fingertips. Her fingertips touched his chin, and then stopped still on his pursed lips.

Her eyes flew open; the look of horror that dawned on her face was so comical he was amazed he had managed to contain his laughter. ‘Good morning,' he said, against her fingers.

Alethea stared at him, frozen with shock.

‘Your fingertips are exceedingly soft for someone who rides as much as you tell me you do.' It was extremely tempting to take her fingers into his mouth, which he knew he shouldn't do lest he frighten her into leaping out of the bed. He was enjoying himself too much to remove them, though.

At that remark, she snatched her hand away in a flash. Her eyes still rounded in surprise, she managed to reply, albeit reflexively. ‘That's because I wear leather gloves when I ride and I use a cream made from sheep tallow to keep my hands soft. Mother wouldn't let me ride otherwise.'

Trent laughed out loud. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this entertained while he was in bed with a woman. He turned fully onto his side and picked up her hand, then brought it to his mouth and kissed her palm softly and lingeringly. He watched as her eyes dilated in shock and, if he wasn't mistaken, arousal.

She was impossibly beautiful with her ink-black hair lying loose around her and hiding the surprisingly generous bounty of her bosom. He felt his body stir at the memory of their kiss the night before. If it hadn't been for the gasp that had escaped her mouth, he had little doubt that he would have taken her virginity right there and then beside the fireplace, her innocence be damned. The guilt he was feeling was yet another reason why he had to make his offer.

‘Your Grace, about last night, I wanted to tell you that —'

Trent would never know what she was about to say because at that precise moment, the door to their room flew open with a crash and a dark-haired man burst in.

‘You blackguard!' shouted Ashbourne as he charged towards the bed, face dark with anger.

In one fast, reflexive movement, James threw back the bedcovers and leapt over the lady, landing on the floor between the furious marquess and the bed. Crouching slightly in a defensive position, he looked at her brother. ‘What the devil do you think you are doing, Ashbourne?' James kept his voice deliberately low, although no-one in the room could have mistaken the underlying warning in his voice.

At the question, an incredulous expression appeared on his opponent's face. ‘What the devil am
I
doing? What the devil are
you
doing, you whoreson?' he spat out. ‘How
dare
you take advantage of my sister!'

‘Calm yourself. I have done no such thing,' answered Trent quietly, trying to defuse the other man's anger.

‘Do you think me blind? Or just a fool? You shared the same bed. I can
see
that you spent the night together.'

Trent heard the bedclothes rustle but didn't turn around, not wanting to take his eyes off the dangerously angry man before him.

‘Marcus! I know this looks bad, but nothing happened, I promise you.'

The duke saw Ashbourne's gaze focus on the woman behind him, but instead of being pacified, fury appeared on the marquess's face. That was all the warning Trent received before Alton's heir launched towards him.

‘Marcus, no!' screamed Lady Alethea, as the two men fell on the bed. James fended off a blow to his jaw. As they scrambled for purchase, he felt the younger man's fist connect with his stomach while he grabbed the lapels of his opponent's coat. Even as he felt pain radiate from his abdomen, he reared up and shoved Ashbourne away from him, just managing to stop himself from butting the other man's jaw with his head. The marquess stumbled backwards and then regained his balance, bringing up his fists in readiness for his next move.

The duke had braced himself for a further charge when Lady Alethea swiftly moved between the two men, her back towards James.

‘Stop,' she commanded in a voice low and intense. ‘Stop this very instant, Marcus.'

‘Alethea, get out of the way. This is between Trent and me.'

‘No! This is between Trent and
me
, Marcus. Stay out of this.'

Her brother ignored her, focusing his eyes on James. ‘I demand satisfaction for besmirching my sister's honour. Meet me on the field behind the Lion's Head Tavern in Covent Garden in two days. I will wait to hear from your seconds —'

He was interrupted by Alethea. ‘I said stop! I will not allow this farce to continue. This was my fault, Marcus. I was the one who chose not to have a chaperone accompany us. If I had, none of this would have happened. So please, do not blame Trent. He has been nothing but honourable.'

Trent privately disagreed. If he had been honourable he would not have agreed to her request to travel without her maid. Yet he said nothing. At any other time he would have baulked at allowing a woman to interfere in a matter of honour between him and another man. But as he'd observed the interaction between Lady Alethea and Ashbourne, he had known that this was something that she needed to resolve. It was obvious that even with the hostility and tension between them, the siblings were close. And he would rather not maim or kill his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

The anger slowly faded from the younger man's face. ‘Alethea, even if nothing happened between you, it matters not. You know as well as I do that it is the perception that matters. You spent the night together in the same room with no chaperone.' He looked over at Trent. ‘Trent knows what he is bound by honour to do and so do you.'

Trent observed her as she crossed her arms over herself, cupping her hands on her arms as if she were cold. He frowned when he noticed her shoulders slump slightly. ‘Ashbourne,' he said, ‘step outside if you please. I require a word with your sister.'

‘I don't think that —'

‘Please, Marcus.' Her quiet voice silenced her brother where a demand from James would have failed.

The marquess regarded his sister for a long moment. He finally nodded. ‘Right. I will be waiting just outside the door.'

When the door closed behind Ashbourne, an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Trent walked over and picked up his coat from where it had been drying on a bedpost at the end of the bed and returned to her side. ‘Here, put this on.' She did, but she kept her eyes downcast even after he helped her into it. He waited for a while, but when she didn't look up he decided not to wait any longer.

‘Lady Alethea, I believe you know what I am about to say.' She remained silent so he continued, his throat dry. ‘As a result of the situation we find ourselves in, I wish to make you a formal offer of marriage.'

He watched as she slowly exhaled. The silence that followed was strained, and as the seconds ticked by, James felt tension stretch his nerves tighter and tighter. Why the delay in answering? He had expected her to acquiesce almost immediately, given her less than hidden feelings towards him. Or had he completely misread her? How was that even possible?

‘Lady Alethea?' His voice was controlled, betraying not a hint of the turmoil and doubt he was currently feeling, emotions he so rarely experienced that he did not know what to make of them. And so, as with all the other times when he felt uncertain, he tamped them deep down within him.

When she finally lifted her head, her dark eyes were wounded and her porcelain-pale skin was drained of all colour. Fear struck deep when he saw that the spark, the essence of who she was, had disappeared. Her voice was but a wisp of sound when she spoke. ‘I am dreadfully sorry, Your Grace. But I am afraid I must decline your offer.'

For a shocking moment he was sure he had misheard her. ‘I beg your pardon?' he asked incredulously.

‘I . . . I cannot marry you, so I must politely decline your offer,' she repeated, a little louder this time.

He heard the tremor in her voice and saw her visibly swallow, but he didn't care. Anger and hurt threatened to overwhelm his control. ‘This is no laughing matter. Do you realise what you are doing? Your reputation will be ruined beyond salvation. You will never be able to lift your head in society again.'

She lifted her chin slightly, firming her lips. Damn it. There it was. That stubbornness he used to admire was rearing its head again. A quality he had once found amusing, adorable even, now served to fan the flames of his anger.

‘I am aware of the consequences of my actions,' she replied quietly.

‘Your father will be a laughing stock, and as for your sister, the likelihood of her making any match better than a cobbler's son would be poor indeed.' He felt no sense of satisfaction at the sudden brightness in her eyes. When she shook her head, the hurt within him swelled, threatening to cut off his breath. What was so objectionable about him that even the possible loss of her family's reputation, one which had always been above reproach, could not move her to accept his offer? Was it his past? The thought that she would believe the rumours about him made him feel ill. ‘Tell me why!' he wanted to shout, but pride stopped him.

‘I am so very sorry, Your Grace,' she whispered. ‘I thank you for your offer, but my answer is no.'

Trent inhaled slowly, incrementally, trying to control his emotions. ‘I see. This is your final word on the subject?'

‘Yes.' Her voice was barely audible by now.

He looked at her, so tragically lovely with the tears in her eyes and the distress on her face that he could barely look at her without both wanting to kiss her senseless and throttle her at the same time. ‘I see.' He walked over to his boots which were standing next to the fireplace. ‘In that case, if you would allow me a few moments to collect my belongings, I will remove myself from this room and your presence.'