School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do (5 page)

“That’s why everyone expects you to be prime minister.”

He eyed her closely. “And you? What do you expect of me?”

He’d meant to turn talk back toward discussion of her group, but her spine went stiff as a palanquin pole. “Nothing. Except that you and I can be civil.”

“We’re being civil now.” He chose his words carefully. “If you want, I could even help you with your charitable group. Since it dabbles in politics—”

“We don’t dabble,” she said stoutly. “We’re serious about our aims. One way or the other, we mean to convince Parliament to reform the prisons.”

One way or the other? Just how political was her group? “It’s a good cause.”

“If you only knew the horrors those poor women suffer.” Her fingers dug into his arm, and her voice sounded haunted. “It’s time something was done about it. And just because a few idiot MPs trot off to the king to complain about me influencing their wives is no reason for us to stop promoting our cause.”

Ah, so that’s what had the king so agitated. Still, trying to marry her off was rather extreme. “Perhaps the gentlemen feel that a young, unmarried woman should not be involved in prison reform.”

“Only because my spinsterhood prevents them from vilifying me publicly.”

He shot her a surprised glance. “What do you mean?”

“They can’t complain that I neglect my husband or children, as they do with Mrs. Fry. My freedom to dedicate myself wholly to my cause makes it hard for them to criticize. Especially since they know in their hearts that my cause is just.”

“I see.” So the king wanted her married off to destroy her Joan of Arc appeal. Which meant that any man who agreed to His Majesty’s bargain would probably gain a significant political advantage. Good God, what was he thinking? He would be mad to consider marrying Louisa. Let her activities make things sticky for the king with Parliament. George deserved it for the havoc he routinely wrought with his private peccadilloes and personal vendettas. As long as the king didn’t actively oppose his return to politics, Simon could still achieve his aims. It might take longer, but—

Right. Probably much longer. After seven years, half the House of Commons was new, and the other half remembered Simon only as the man who’d taken a lengthy jaunt to India on his way to the top. Without the king’s support, he would have an uphill battle to become prime minister, much less institute any changes in policy. So he had to give the king’s bargain serious consideration. He needed a wife anyway, didn’t he? He glanced over to where Louisa walked beside him with uncommon poise. Being a lady-in-waiting to the late Princess Charlotte had given her polish, taught her to be less impulsive. She had handled the situation with Raji masterfully. And her interest in reform was admirable, as long she stayed out of politics.

Or allowed her husband to govern her activities. Yes, if Simon married her, he could steer her toward pursuits better suited to a prime minister’s wife. He might even tap her unbounded enthusiasm for his own aims.

You just want her in your bed. It was his grandfather’s insidious voice, snide with contempt. He stiffened. All right, so perhaps he did want Louisa in his bed. The hunger to possess her gnawed at his groin and surged through his veins. Who in his right mind would not want to possess the sloe-eyed beauty, to kiss that pale, lilac-scented throat and feel the pulse quicken beneath his tongue? That need not change anything. If they were married, he could better control his desires. Keep them from spilling over into his politics as they had last time.

You are too much a slave to your passions. He stifled a curse. Grandfather was wrong; he would prove that.

But before he considered taking up with Louisa again, he had to determine how serious she was about never wanting to marry.

He steered her toward a deserted path while broaching a subject to distract her. “I gather that Lord Trusbut is one of the gentlemen making protests.”

“Actually, no. We think he might support our aims. If we could make him see that we’re not trying to ‘

overthrow’ the government or any such nonsense—”

”—then he might let his wife join you. And use his influence for your cause.”

“That’s our hope, yes.”

“Understandable,” Simon said as he led her farther from the main crowd, praying that she didn’t notice. But Louisa was too busy wondering about the duke’s astonishing interest in her group to notice where they wandered. Perhaps people did change.

And perhaps she was a fool even to think it. Simon never did anything without a purpose; she just hadn’t figured out what it was yet. “Did you mean what you said about taking me to call on her?”

“Of course.”

She eyed him closely. “But why? And don’t give me that poppycock about repaying me for helping you with Raji.”

He shrugged. “Lord Trusbut’s support is as important to my aims as it is to yours. I see no reason why we cannot combine forces.”

“Except that I don’t trust you.” The minute the words left her mouth, she cursed her quick tongue. It wasn’t a nonchalant, devil-may-care thing to say.

He must have realized it, too, for he halted beneath a wide-stretching oak to search her face. “I thought you said you had put the past behind you.”

She fought for calm. “That doesn’t mean I forgot the lessons I learned from it.”

A Chinese lamp hanging from the oak’s low limb sent light dappling his golden hair, glinting in his brilliant eyes. Suddenly she realized that although they could still hear the sounds of the fete, they were essentially alone, cut off from the crowd by a stand of birch trees.

He stepped nearer. “I have not forgotten the past, either. But apparently my memories differ substantially from yours.”

The sudden feral hunger in his eyes spoke to the dark wildness that she’d suppressed inside her these many long years. Her breath hitched in her throat. “What do you mean?”

“I remember long waltzes and longer conversations. I remember a time when you did trust me.”

“Before I discovered how false your attentions were, you mean.”

“They were not all false,” he said softly. “And you know it.” He reached up to seize her chin in a firm grip.

As he bent his head, a frisson of anticipation swept her. “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, though she very much feared she knew.

“Finding out if you taste as good as I remember.” Then he covered her mouth with his. Heaven help her. He certainly tasted as good as she remembered. Memory catapulted her back to the first time he’d kissed her, with a magical tenderness that had captured her heart. But this wasn’t then, and this kiss wasn’t that one.

Firm, hot, lush…it was as exotic and thrilling as the India he’d commanded. The way his mouth commanded hers now, demanding a response.

And like some half-wit schoolgirl, she gave it, letting that secret, feminine part of her thrill to the fact that he could still desire her after what she’d done to him.

To him! How about what he’d done to her? She wrenched her lips free. “That’s enough, Your Grace,”

she said, struggling to sound cool and unruffled.

“Not enough for me,” he murmured as he bent his mouth to hers again. She wriggled away. “We’re done now, sir.”

Severely shaken, she turned to hurry down the path, eager to escape before she revealed how much he affected her.

His rumble of a voice came out of the darkness behind her. “Very wise of you, Louisa. You wouldn’t want me to find out that you have not put the past behind you after all. I might take advantage.”

A pox on him for reading her mind! She should ignore the taunt and walk away, but his arrogance was so annoying—

“You’re wrong.” She whirled on him. “I assure you I have outgrown you utterly.”

With a maddening lift of his eyebrow, he strolled up to her. “Then why are you rushing to get away?”

“I don’t want anyone to see us alone together and start up the gossip again.”

“No one is here, and no one is coming.” He cast her a mocking smile. “Admit it, you are merely afraid to let me kiss you.”

“Clearly I am not afraid, for I—”

“—barely gave me time to brush my lips over yours. That was not a real kiss.” He shrugged. “But I understand—you dare not give me a real kiss or you might discover you still have feelings for me.” His gaze drifted to her mouth. “Unless you simply don’t know what a real kiss, an intimate kiss, is like.”

An intimate kiss?

She’d once foolishly let some naughty fellow at court give her an “intimate kiss.” It was disgusting, and she’d hated it.

A slow smile touched her lips. How better to cure herself of any lingering attraction to Simon than to let him give her one of those messy and embarrassing “intimate” kisses?

“Oh, very well.” She stepped nearer and lifted her face to his. “I suppose you won’t rest until you have your ‘real’ kiss. So let’s get to it, shall we?”

For a second he stared at her, clearly not sure what to make of her sudden capitulation. Then his eyes narrowed and he took her mouth again, this time delving inside it with his bold, searching tongue. Oh no, she’d made a rather significant miscalculation. Apparently one’s enjoyment of an “intimate” kiss depended upon the man’s proficiency. And Simon was definitely proficient. Far too proficient. She moaned. Why hadn’t anybody warned her that an intimate kiss meant this series of sleek, silky forays into her mouth that sent her pulse into a gallop? Shouldn’t somebody have cautioned her that such a kiss could send her straight for trouble?

He thrust deeply, fiercely, his kiss an irresistible prelude to seduction. Delicious. Swoon-worthy, even though she never swooned.

But apparently he actually expected swooning, for he slid his arm about her waist to steady her. Unless it was just to draw her closer. And she ached to have his hands on her, craved the feel of his embrace. She spread her hands over his chest, and then, emboldened by the savage pounding of his heart, slipped them up around his neck. How long had it been since a man had made her feel wanted? Desired? So very long. Too long.

She’d thought she could swear off men, but Simon had made a mockery of that with just one kiss. Just as he’d made a mockery of her silly hopes years ago—

Shaken by how easily she had succumbed, she tore her mouth from his. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

“Why are you letting me?” he said in a low rumble.

The soft kisses he brushed along her cheek and jaw and throat made her positively dizzy. “Because…”

Because I’m a fool.

Although he’d proved she hadn’t put him behind her, she didn’t dare let him know it. “Because I figure it’

s best that we get it over with.”

He froze. “Get what over with?” he breathed against her neck.

Struggling to subdue the foolish clamor in her chest, she drew back. “Your insistence on a real kiss. Now that it’s done, we are done.”

“The devil we are.” His breath came quick and hard as his eyes blazed at her. “Don’t try to claim you weren’t affected.”

She pretended to think. “You know,” she said slowly, “I really wasn’t. It was an interesting experiment, mind you—”

“Experiment!”

“—to determine for myself if I have outgrown you. What a relief to find that I have.” Buoyed by her success at hiding her true feelings, she slipped from his arms and added with a smile, “It appears you no longer have any influence on me, Your Grace.”

His flinch at her formal address gave her a small measure of satisfaction. Until he dropped his gaze to her burning lips. “You could have fooled me.”

Though her smile wobbled, she was determined to have the last word. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that how it sounded. You kiss quite as well as any of my previous suitors. But I have aims that don’t involve you, no matter how well you kiss.” She lifted her chin. “And I still don’t trust you.”

“You always were eager to think the worst of me,” he snapped.

“You’re only angry because you’ve lost the power to twist me about your finger. Well, society may fawn over you, but I at least know what you are.”

He met her gaze squarely. “You know nothing about me. You never did.”

Something in his voice made her want to believe him. But she’d learned only too well that his silver tongue lied with consummate skill. “I know enough.”

She pivoted to stalk up the graveled path. From now on, she’d have to be more careful. No private encounters with Simon. No long walks where he could taunt her into things. And no kisses. Certainly no intimate kisses! He was just too good at them for a woman’s peace of mind.
Chapter Four

Dear Charlotte,

If Miss North and Foxmoor are as much at odds as rumor says, then perhaps she stole the duke’s monkey to annoy him. Though I cannot imagine what she would want with a monkey. Monkeys make poor reformers, you know.

Your fellow gossip,

Michael

F rustration knotted Simon’s insides as Louisa flounced away. The impudent chit had learned to be sophisticated in more ways than one during his absence. Someone had taught her how to kiss. Very well. Too well for his sanity.

And she dared to call that kiss an “experiment”? The devil she would!

He had half a mind to go after her and ravage her mouth until she admitted she hadn’t outgrown him. But he had his pride, too. He was not about to let her see how far he was from outgrowing her. He did not want her to know that he craved another taste of her…and another and another—

Deuce take her! Kissing her should have blunted his craving, not sharpened it. And why should he care if Louisa had put him behind her? Or had spent the past years learning seductive tricks designed to inflame a man’s desires? Or had let some insolent puppy at court plunder that lush, supple mouth? He did not care. Must not care. In the palace, men occasionally stole kisses from ladies-in-waiting, who occasionally let them. Allowing some foolish jealousy to eat at him would only increase his passion for her, and that was unwise. Especially if he meant to take her in hand. He could not have his wife leading him about by his cock.

Wife?

He curled his hands into fists. Yes, wife. He could no longer deny the advantages to accepting the king’s bargain. Aside from what the king could offer him, the MPs would be eager to show their gratitude if Simon tamed Joan of Arc.