The Duke Can Go to the Devil (22 page)

She scowled at the mention of her father's employer. “Why are you bringing the Company into this? Because of them, England has a wealth of products it could have never hoped to enjoy otherwise. I've seen you enjoy your tea. I've seen the quality of your own fabrics, and
you've readily complimented the quality of mine. Where do you think those things come from?”

Holding up his hands, he said, “You are obviously too emotionally attached to the Company to be able to speak of them with any amount of impartiality. And it is further obvious that we will never have an agreement on the subject at hand. I think it's best that we cease the discussion at once.”

She crossed her arms. “Seeing how you are too emotionally attached to this mill to be objective, I concur.” He was right, though she hated to admit he was right about anything at that point. The mill was up and running, and nothing she said was going to change that. And really, she
shouldn't
change that.

When she pushed away her personal connection, she could see that he wasn't doing anything wrong or even amoral. But the problem was, her sympathies lay elsewhere. The people she cared about were elsewhere. Their disagreement was simply indicative of the huge chasm that separated their lives. When the air around them was so charged she could barely think straight, it had been easy to ignore.

Mr. Perkins emerged from the stables then. He hurried their way, having no idea of all that had just transpired. “I've located a wagon you can use, but I thought I'd offer my horse first, in case you wished to ride back.”

Without consulting her, the duke nodded curtly. “Perfect. How soon can he be saddled?”

The man smiled, revealing a surprisingly charming smile. “He's already saddled and ready to go. I figured you might be wanting to be on your way.”

Relief sagged May's shoulders. She would have never thought she'd be eager to ride, but the sooner they could head home, the better. Apparently, Radcliffe agreed.
“Good man. I'll have him sent back to you before your shift is up.”

The duke turned and stalked toward the stables, leaving her where she was, which suited her fine. Something told her the ride home would be much quieter than the ride there.

T
he knock on his chamber door came shortly before midnight. William let out a low growl of displeasure. He should have known Vivian would ignore the rules. At least now he was smart enough to lock the doors. He hadn't always been that wise, unfortunately.

That particular thought only served to further darken his mood.

He would ignore it completely, but he couldn't be sure she wouldn't keep trying, which might wake May or her aunt. He was down to simply his breeches and his shirt, with the collar loose and his cufflinks long since tossed aside. Normally he would have been in bed an hour ago, but the events of the day had agitated him. He'd eventually sent word to his valet to retire for the evening, and said he'd see to himself.

Setting aside a book he hadn't really been reading, he padded barefoot to the door and pulled it open, scowl already in place. Only it wasn't Vivian standing there, mere steps away in the low light of the corridor.

It was May.

He stepped back, completely taken off guard. After the way they had parted, she was the last person he expected to see. Really, with the exception of his
stepmother, she was the last person he
wanted
to see. “What are you doing here? Have you gone mad?”

He knew full well that she had little concern for propriety, but this reached new—and more dangerous—heights. It mattered not that she was well covered in her pale blue wrapper and night rail. One simply couldn't come to a man's bedchamber, period.

“I need to talk to you,” she said plainly, as though they had just met in the corridor on the way to breakfast instead of at his bedchamber door in the middle of the night.

“Then I suggest you wait until a more acceptable hour to do so.” He started to close the door, but she put her hand out, stopping the movement with a thud.

Her brows came together in earnestness. “Please, it will only be a moment. I can say what I need to say from here, in fact.”

She really was mad. Fit for Bedlam, in fact. If someone caught them now, there would be hell to pay. But with her physically blocking the door, there was little he could do that wouldn't cause an even greater scene. “Fine, but you'd best speak quickly.” He crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at her with the cold, impartial stare that he had mastered by the time he was ten.

Unimpressed, she met his gaze squarely. “I'm sorry. I know the mill is very important to you, and I should have been more respectful of that.”

He lifted a brow. That was it? He waited for her to go on, to use the apology as an excuse to argue her point again, but she didn't say another word. Nodding once, he said, “Thank you. I appreciate the sentiment. Which, for the record, could have waited until morning.”

It did take the edge off his anger. Slightly. He still could scarcely believe she would attack both his mill's
product and his motives, as though it were all some sort of nefarious bid to make the world a worse place. He had thrown everything he had into making the estate thrive, so that those who depended on him could be secure.

A ghost of a rueful smile slipped across her lips. “Not if I'm to get any sleep. I've been mulling it over for hours, and I've come to the decision that the way I reacted today was inappropriate, and even wrong. Whenever I am in the wrong, I find it impossible to sleep until I attempt to right things.”

It might have been the first time he had heard her honestly admit to being wrong. How very novel. “Fine, good. You've apologized, I've accepted. Good night.”

The squeak of door hinges down the corridor was unmistakable. Stiffening, he made a split-second decision. He reached out, grabbed her hand, and yanked her into the room. In almost the same movement he eased the door shut, then turned to May, who was clearly startled.
“Quiet,”
he hissed, putting a finger to his mouth.

She nodded, actually listening to him for once. He leaned his ear to the door and listened.
Footsteps.
They came closer and closer, and he grew tenser and tenser. May watched the door with wide eyes, not moving an inch. For a split second, he wondered if she had planned this, but he quickly discarded the idea. She wouldn't do anything that might result in her having to stay in the country a day longer than necessary, let alone an entire lifetime.

The footsteps didn't slow, thank God. They continued on, receding to silence. His brow furrowed as he pushed away from the door.

“Who was it?” May whispered, her hand gripping his forearm.

“I'm not certain. Someone walked past. I don't think
it would be a servant, but that leaves only your aunt and my stepmother.” Neither of whom he wanted prowling the corridors while May was here in his room.

She shook her head. “It wouldn't be my aunt. Her schedule is as regular as clockwork. She disappears into her chamber at nine o'clock at night, and won't emerge again for a full twelve hours.”

He inwardly groaned. “That leaves Vivian. Perhaps she went to the library for a book.” Unlikely, but what else would she do? At least she hadn't stopped here. Still . . . he reached over and turned the key, locking the door.

May's eyes rounded with clear disbelief.

Blowing out a breath, he sent her a stern look. “I am not risking someone accidentally opening the wrong door and discovering your presence. I am also not risking having you leave until I know it is safe to do so.”

“I see,” she said, releasing her grip on his forearm and putting a hand to her hip. “So you must be scandalous to avoid appearing scandalous. I do like the way you think.” Her tone was teasing, as though the circumstances weren't at all alarming.

He narrowed his eyes. “Making light of a situation that is entirely your fault, are we?”

Lifting a shoulder, she said, “More or less. What else am I going to do while locked in a disapproving duke's bedchamber?”

As though he needed a reminder of where they were. Alone. In the middle of the night. He swallowed, suddenly realizing just how close they were, huddled together next to the door. But what were their choices? It was a huge room, with a seating area large enough to comfortably fit six situated between the door and the huge canopied bed that was placed against the back wall.

The problem was, any steps away from the door were steps closer to the bed, which was most certainly a
bad
idea. He really, really did not need to have May anywhere near the thing. Even with her innocent nightclothes and simple braid draped over her shoulder, something inside of him still responded to her. Never mind that, despite her apology, he was still displeased with their argument at the mill. He was nevertheless attracted to her in a way that made her presence here extremely ill-advised.

Gesturing toward the seating area, he said, “You may sit down. I'll stay here so I don't miss the footsteps when the person returns.”

She glanced at his inner sanctum and nibbled her bottom lip, looking unsure for perhaps the first time since he'd met her. “Actually, I think I'll stay here. It may sound ridiculous, but I do have my own standards for behavior, and waltzing through your room is not included.”

Of course it wasn't. If he was clever, he would have told her
not
to sit, at which point she likely would have gladly waltzed over and had a seat. “Why is it you always seem to know how to thwart me?”

“A talent, I suppose.” A small smile crinkled the corners of her eyes as she looked him over. “Do you truly forgive me?”

He lifted a brow. “For the argument at the mill?”

She nodded. “I have a sneaking suspicion you were just trying to get rid of me.”

“I was,” he said, earning a light smack to his shoulder. He allowed a small grin before returning to the original question. “For what it's worth, yes, I forgive you. You and I are opposites, Miss Bradford. No matter the issue, we will always have disparate views.” Her name felt
unwieldy on his tongue, but he was trying to force some distance in such an intimate setting.

It didn't seem to help.

She sighed and leaned against the wall, her eyes never leaving his. The lamplight was low, but it was enough to bathe her skin in a warm, golden glow. Her pupils were wide and fathomless, the blue around them almost lost to the darkness. “Yes, but it wasn't right of me to steal your moment of pride.”

Why did she have to be so reasonable sometimes?

He wet his lips. “I have ample pride, as you well know. I can stand to lose some.” His voice had fallen to little more than a murmur. The now-familiar desire to draw nearer to her squeezed his chest, making his pulse increase. She was wrong for him in a thousand ways—so why did she occupy so much of his thoughts? Why did his whole body respond whenever she was near?

She was quiet for a moment, her gaze flicking from his eyes, down to his mouth, then back to his eyes. She slowly shook her head. “What is it about you, William Spencer?” Her voice was low and the slightest bit breathy.

No one called him that. He was always Duke, or Radcliffe, or even William to a very select few. But no one ever just said his whole name, without the title that had defined him for so long. Even before he was duke, he was still known by his courtesy title, the Marquis of Salford. “What do you mean?”

But he heard the hint of longing in her voice. It was the same way he felt about her. Equal parts exasperation and desire. Knowing they were all wrong for each other, but having such powerful attraction, it was hard to be rational about it. She was strong and independent, two things he'd never looked for in a woman, but even as those were exactly the things that drove him mad at
times, they also impressed him. She could hold her own, and he had to admire that.

She stayed where she was, her shoulders pressed against the wall as she looked up at him. Instead of answering his question, she said, “I told my aunt after dinner that I wished to go back to Bath tomorrow.”

The thought of her leaving made his hands tighten at his sides. “You don't need to do that. You can certainly stay for the rest of the agreed-upon time.”

“No, I can't. You and I are like two pieces of flint. When we're not beating each other, we're causing sparks. I need to leave before one of us really gets hurt.”

Sparks. That was exactly the right word. He sighed and dragged both hands through his hair. “I suppose you are right.”

She tilted her head slightly, exposing the left side of her face more fully to the lamplight. “There is a statement I never thought to hear from you.” There was warmth in the words, despite her teasing.

He doubted he would ever forget her. Certainly he would never meet another like her. Stifling the desire to run his fingers down the smooth curve of her cheek, he said. “My siblings will miss you.”

She chuckled softly, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Yes, and they will be the only ones.”

“They
should
be the only ones,” he said, shaking his head wryly, “but they won't.” He shouldn't be saying such things. He should open the door, check the corridor, and send her on her way. But he didn't. He stayed exactly where he was, much too close to the woman who tempted him like no other.

One blond brow rose into a perfect arch. “I don't believe you.” She pressed her lips together against a smile
as she shook her head. “You Englishmen and your need for politeness.”

Something inside of him gave way, a release of the tight rein with which he had been holding himself in check. He stepped forward, moving before he could change his mind. Her eyes widened, obviously not expecting the move. There were mere inches between them, close enough for him to detect that exotic scent of hers. His heart hammered at his own audacity.

Without a word, he reached out, slipped both of his hands into hers and laced their fingers together. He lifted their joined hands, sliding them along the wall in a smooth arc until they reached shoulder height. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her eyes darkened further. Her lips parted as she watched him, surprised yet seeming to dare him not to stop.

He leaned forward, pressing her hands against the wall while he closed the distance between their lips, inch by tantalizing inch. When he was close enough to feel the heat of her breath against his cheek, he growled softly, “I'm not feeling very polite right now.”

She met his gaze, desire burning in the indigo depths of her eyes. “Neither am I,” she breathed, then leaned forward, eagerly meeting his lips. The kiss was searing, scorching . . . equally wanted on both their parts. Her fingers tightened against his as he leaned more firmly against her. The feel of her breasts pressed so perfectly against his chest was enough to drown out all common sense.

A last kiss,
he told himself, even as he kissed a trail along her jaw to her ear. It had to be. She was leaving him, and his life would finally be returned to something he recognized. He scraped his teeth along the sensitive
skin of her earlobe, eliciting a soft moan from deep in her throat. Tomorrow, he'd vow not to kiss another woman until he found his duchess. Tomorrow, he'd reevaluate his rules of conduct, and chide himself roundly for ever breaking them.

But for now . . .

He returned to her mouth, kissing her briefly before nipping her bottom lip. He was rewarded with another soft sound of pleasure, and he couldn't resist doing it again. She seemed to melt against him, molding her body to his.

Untwining his fingers from hers for a moment, his skimmed his hands down the slender length of her neck, reveling in the silkiness of her skin even as he claimed her lips again in a bold kiss. When his fingers met the fabric of her wrapper, he paused, wrestling with his own desire, before finally giving in and slipping a knuckle beneath the fabric. Her hands slid along his lower back, pulling him closer, imploring him not to stop. It was pure bliss.

With his heart pounding, he further deepened the kiss as his fingers dipped lower, parting the silken lapels of her wrapper. The fabric slid like cool water across her skin, revealing inch by tantalizing inch.