The Duke Can Go to the Devil (17 page)

His eyes wrinkled at the corners, betraying his humor. “Did you think me cold-blooded?”

Oh, how to answer that question. She looked up at him, challenging him. “Well, you did refuse to kiss me in the park. If that's not cold-blooded, then I don't know what is.” Her stomach flipped at the mere word
kiss
.

She probably shouldn't have said it, but they were so close, and his hands so warm, and his scent so enticing, all she could think about was . . . “What would you do if I asked you to kiss me?”

He froze, all humor fleeing his features. “A lady—”

“Isn't here,” she interjected, knowing exactly what he would have said.
A lady wouldn't say such a thing. A lady wouldn't speak of kissing. A lady wouldn't allow herself to be alone with a man in broad daylight.

“Still, it wouldn't be right.”

“Says who?” She looked around pointedly at the empty landscape through the curtain of rain. “I see no one here to judge.”

“Except myself. I'm the one whose opinion matters most to me. I strive to live up to my own standards.” As retractable as he sounded, she could see the battle taking
place within him. He wanted to. If she knew nothing else, she knew that. Why wouldn't he bend a little? Why must he always be so rigid?

Except . . . he
had
bent. By coming here, by divesting himself of his armor, by submitting himself to her unusual hobby, he had pushed himself far beyond his usual limits.

Perhaps it was time she met him halfway.

Stepping as close as she dared, she gazed up at him, wanting him to see her honest desire. “And what would you do if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

His fingers tightened, the movement tiny but significant. “May,” he breathed, shaking his head. “Please.”

It wasn't a no.

His pupils had widened until they resembled gold-rimmed inkblots. It was one thing to test his own willpower. It was something else altogether to attempt to police hers as well.

“Please, what?” she returned, her voice dark and husky above the roar of the rain. She watched the battle rage on, his conscience at war with his desire. He was almost unbearably attractive at that moment, so beautifully raw and natural and honest. No stuffy clothing, no finely coiffed hair. No imperious attitude or invisible title hung from around his neck like the lead weight it was.

He swallowed, then wet his lips. “Please don't make this harder.”

She lifted up on the balls of her feet so that her eyes—and lips—were level with his. “Will you tell me no?”

She waited for one second. Two. Three. Four. But he didn't say a word. He just stood there, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath, clenching his jaw shut.

When she was sure he wouldn't speak, she slid her
hands around his back, took a deep breath, and leaned forward.

H
e could stop her. He knew he could. His hands were still wrapped around her upper arms, and it would take hardly any effort at all to push her away.

But he didn't. He
couldn't
.

His heart was hammering madly in his chest, his blood roaring even more loudly than the rain. He wanted this kiss. Needed it. Waited for it like a starving man awaited his first morsel of food.

She drew closer, and closer . . . and then her lips touched his.

The sensation of her warm, damp mouth pressed against his sent hot sparks showering through his body. It took everything in him not to pull her tight against him. This was her doing. He couldn't find it in himself to fight, but he couldn't simply give in, either.

Her fingers tightened at his back, pulling him the slightest bit closer. Close enough to feel the heat of her body, and to be enveloped in the exotic smell of her skin. The rain poured down all around them, and for a moment, he could imagine they were in another place, another time. Some place where rules could be broken, or at the very least suspended.

She kissed him again and again, driving him mad with the temptation of it all. He kept his lips pressed together,
trying to maintain that small amount of control, but even that will crumbled when her tongue slid along the seam of his lips.

With a groan, he gave in fully to her exploration, opening his mouth and pulling her flush against him. Their wet clothes proved to be no barrier at all to the contours of their bodies fitting together. She was slender, but the press of the small swell of her breasts against his chest sent his pulse pounding.

He'd kissed plenty of women in his life, but he couldn't even remember being so thoroughly kissed. She was in control, boldly exploring his mouth, eagerly twining her tongue with his. Her fingers scraped lightly across his lower back, making him shiver.

For endless minutes, he indulged in the pleasure of the moment, taking everything he could, knowing he couldn't ever allow it to happen again. It made him want far too much, and this was a woman he could never make his own. Nothing about them was compatible, other than the raw desire that burned between them now.

By the time they finally broke the kiss, they were both panting. He leaned against her, forehead to forehead, attempting to gather the strength to move away.

“Before you say anything,” she whispered, her voice raspy, “know that I will kill you if you apologize, denounce, or say that that should not have happened.”

She pulled away a few inches, looking him straight in the eye, so close that he could see the faint green streaks in the sea of vivid blue. “Because it most definitely should have. And I am not and will not be sorry for it.”

Despite all the emotions and doubt rioting in his gut, he found himself smiling at her command. “Then let us just say that it cannot and will not happen again.”

She pursed her reddened lips and looked off to the
side as though seriously considering the comment. After a moment, she shook her head and grinned. “
You
are free to say whatever you'd like.”

“May,” he said, drawing out the word.

“William,” she responded, shocking him. No woman had ever called him by his first name, not since reaching his majority. It very nearly reignited the spark he had so resolutely extinguished.

He exhaled and set her away from him. “You are my guest. I cannot take advantage of my position of host. If you will not agree that we cannot forget ourselves again like that, then I will be forced to steer clear of your company. Something I really don't wish to do,” he added, because it was true. She captivated him as much as she vexed him. He felt well and truly alive when he was with her, something he wasn't prepared to give up just yet.

“I think you are bluffing.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said, lifting a single authoritative eyebrow. “Dukes do not bluff.”

“Which could just be another bluff, since I've no other experience with dukes.” Her smile was downright wicked.

He crossed his arms. She was the absolute embodiment of trouble. “I have much to do around the estate. It would be very easy to leave you to your own devices. Perhaps Lady Radcliffe would be happy to entertain you.”

“Now you're definitely bluffing. You wouldn't dare leave me at the mercy of the duchess and my aunt.”

He wasn't prepared to give on this. He had his own self-preservation to think about, in addition to the preservation of her reputation. “Promise me you'll not attempt another kiss.”

“I will not.” Her legendary stubbornness was returning in spades.

He spread his hands. “Then you are on your own.” Bowing shortly, he turned and strode into the rain, welcoming the cold sting of the water on his heated face.

It was for the best. The more time he spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her. It was a dangerous cycle that could lead only to pain. The fact was, they would be parting soon enough, and he didn't want any regrets between them.

Any
more
regrets, that was.

She might think that she would be gone from this country for good once her father returned, but given what he knew about the state of the Company thanks to his own legislation, he suspected she would be in for a rude awakening.

They might well find themselves stuck in the same social circle for the foreseeable future, and it was up to him to be sure there wasn't any sort of expectation between them. No matter where she lived, she could have no part of his future.

*   *   *

Sometimes there was nothing worse than a man of his word.

Dropping her book to her lap, May glanced to the window for perhaps the tenth time that hour. Unfortunately, the lane was still free of any stubborn men on gray horses.

Where the devil had he been all day? The downpour of that morning had abated to a steady light rain, but it still seemed highly unlikely that he would be riding for pleasure in this weather.

“It appears that you are nearly as restless as I am, Miss Bradford,” Lady Radcliffe said as she laid down her
slender volume of poetry on the cushion beside her. “I do wish Radcliffe would have invited more people so we could have a proper party. We can't even have a card game with these numbers.”

May glanced to the settee, where her aunt had fallen asleep while knitting. “I daresay we are not the most exciting guests in the world,” she replied, sending the duchess a wry grin.

“In this rain, no one has hope of excitement. I would say we should take the carriage to town for shopping, but by the time we slog through these roads, all the shops will have closed.”

Coming to her feet, May walked to the elegant pianoforte tucked into the back corner. She suddenly wished Charity was here to play for them, and Sophie to keep them all entertained with her boundless energy. “I don't suppose you play?”

The duchess wrinkled her nose just enough to convey her displeasure for the idea. “I do, but I haven't any great love for it.”

Drat. “It's a shame my aunt would not allow me to bring my zither.” Nothing made her feel more relaxed or at home than her guzheng. It had followed her wherever she lived, and the sound always took her to a better place.

In this enormous house, built with little more than leisure in mind, surely there was something that would hold their interest. She thought of the children and brightened. “Perhaps we could devise an indoor scavenger hunt with the children.” The sheer vastness of the house would make for quite an impressive hunt.

Lady Radcliffe recoiled, her brows knitting. “Heavens, no. The two of them would tear apart the house, to be sure.”

May's first instinct was to defend them, but the place
was
filled with an ungodly number of priceless baubles, and the sound of that shattering vase her first day here was still fresh in her mind. “Perhaps a visit to the nursery would be more prudent,” she allowed.

“They are most likely having dinner right about now. I know,” the duchess said, glancing at Aunt Victoria before coming to her feet. “Why don't we take a turn about the conservatory? It will give us a chance to have a nice chat.” She gave a close-lipped little smile and waited for May to join her.

Just what she needed: more English greenery. Besides that, the duchess wasn't her first choice for a companion. May didn't dislike the woman, but there was something about her that made one wonder how much of her true personality she was presenting, although it might have just been a cultural idiosyncrasy. May had heard several remarks about the temperamental French since arriving in England. More likely, it was the odd detachment to her children that May found bothersome, though to be fair, that seemed to be how most of the upper class interacted with their children.

Regardless, with nothing better to do than watch out the window like some sort of love-struck fool—which she was
not
—it was as good a suggestion as any.

In order to avoid the rain, Lady Radcliffe took the long way, winding through the maze of corridors that seemed to go on for miles instead of cutting across the garden. At last, they reached the door leading to a short covered walkway out to the conservatory. May had passed by the huge, mostly glass building several times on her way to and from the lake, but she hadn't paid any real attention to it. Therefore, she was shocked when
they ducked through the doorway into a veritable wonderland.

The transition from traditional English gardens outside to vast tropical paradise inside was nothing short of incredible. She closed her eyes and breathed in the warm, damp air, savoring the fresh earthy scent. There were other scents, as well. A hint of citrus, a bit of floral sweetness, the pungent aroma of dirt and mulch—it was all so inviting.

“This is fantastic,” she said, turning with delight to the duchess. “I had no idea it would be like this. With the sound of the rain pattering on the glass and the warmth of the air, it feels like a jungle.”

The huge wall of glass on one side was fogged, blurring the surrounding landscape into indiscernible shapes. It made it possible to imagine they really were somewhere else. Somewhere that felt
familiar
. Nostalgia twisted around her heart. The only thing that was really missing was the hum of insects and the cry of distant animals. Even birds chirped throughout the space, some of which flitted back and forth around the nearby branches.

“It is lovely, no?” Lady Radcliffe plucked a tiny white flower as they started down the stone path. She spun the bloom between her fingers for a moment before tucking it above her right ear. The white petals contrasted beautifully with her brilliant red hair. “It never fails to impress visitors. Neither my husband nor the current duke show any interest in it, but its beauty is undeniable.”

May slowed to a stop, incredulous. William had no interest in this glorious place? Beauty aside, it must have cost a small fortune to keep the space maintained. Not only was there the care of the plants and the fuel for the boilers, but the number of windows lining the place must
have made for a terrifying tax bill. Why bother if he was uninterested in enjoying it?

“I can't imagine not wanting to spend time here. With so many hours to fill in the day, why not surround yourself with such beauty?” Knowing him, he probably felt it was far too exotic for his taste. Just like her.

The duchess arched a single thin eyebrow. “Hours to fill? Oh my dear, if only that were the case. William is not like his father. He insists on toiling like a fool, day in and day out. It is unnervingly common of him.”

What?
May gaped at her, completely taken aback. “He . . . works? Do you mean when parliament is in session?” Some men did tend to take their politics seriously, and he was just duty-driven enough to do so.

Lady Radcliffe shook her head. “He is well-known for his pet projects. He spends months, and often years researching, organizing meetings, and uniting his fellow peers for whatever legislation has caught his interest. In fact, he was heavily involved in politics before he ever officially inherited the title.”

“How interesting,” May murmured. How could she not have known all this about him? It wasn't as though they'd known each other long, but they had spent quite a bit of time in each other's company. She
felt
like she knew a lot about him.

Sighing, the duchess started forward again, trusting May to follow her. “Not so interesting. He lives a very tedious life, in my opinion. All his rules and talk of propriety. He's always so afraid of scandal disrupting his efforts.” She fluttered her fingers dismissively. “Such a dull existence.”

May's gut twisted a little with guilt. Was that why he was so determined to act a gentleman? And why he was always pestering her about rules and proper behavior?
When they had been in the park that last night of the festival, he had been adamant that they behave appropriately. She had seen it as a challenge, and later a disappointment. But if he'd worked for years toward something that might have been damaged in the blink of an eye . . . She shook her head, inwardly groaning.

She was a fool.

Smiling thinly, Lady Radcliffe slipped her arm around May's elbow. “Perhaps that's why he invited you here. He is so busy, I think he worried I might be lonely otherwise.”

Now that caught May's attention. She cut a surprised glance her way. “Oh?” After the kiss this morning, it was hard to imagine him having her tag along to play companion to his stepmother. The tension had been building between them well before the invitation. “I just thought he was interested in showing off a bit more of the English countryside before I left.”

“Trust me, he is not that considerate. Everything he does is with purpose, and since he has not seen fit to entertain this week, one can deduce his purpose.” She belatedly offered a sympathetic smile, as though she hadn't just implied May wasn't worth his time or interest. “Although, I suppose it was considerate of him to have thought of my comfort.”