The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (12 page)

It didn’t matter—Lisette only had to survive the duke’s presence long enough to extricate
Tristan from this trouble. And standing up to Lyons when he tried to bully her wasn’t
the problem. She could manage that. It was when he was being sweet that he was most
dangerous.

Was that his current course—to kill her with kindness?

Trying to figure out his game consumed her throughout the next hour, while he went
off with the innkeeper to arrange for their room and their passage to Dieppe, have
their bags sent up, and ask that a meal be provided. So much for traveling as a regular
person. Clearly he had no idea how a regular person traveled.

Then again, he’d changed the rules by claiming to be a land agent. Such men did have
some money—they would be able to afford a decent room in an inn, and they would be
used to giving orders.

She had to admit it had been rather clever of him to hit on that role. It put him
in that nebulous land between gentleman and tradesman. He worked for a
living, but his position required a certain amount of polish and skill. It meant that
his accent wasn’t
too
odd, his knowledge of certain things too unbelievable. And clearly he had realized
that he knew the part well enough to play it.

She only wished she knew the role of wife half as well. Would a real wife let him
handle all the arrangements without voicing an opinion? Would she complain that the
rooms they were led to were too small?

Thank God there were two of them—a bedchamber and a sitting room. That somewhat eased
her fear of being alone with him. One of them could sleep on the settee while the
other took the bed. They wouldn’t be quite as much in each other’s pockets as she’d
feared.

He must have planned it that way, and for that she was grateful.

As soon as the innkeeper left, scurrying off to arrange for their dinner, His Grace
shed his greatcoat, then walked over to the ewer, poured some water in the basin,
and began to wash his hands.

The silence stretched maddeningly between them. “I imagine that you find the public
coaches very dirty, Your Grace,” she said as she took off her cloak and hung it on
a hook, longing to wash her hands as well.

“I find traveling very dirty regardless of the coach.” He dried his hands, then faced
her, leaning back against the sturdy bureau that held the washbasin and crossing his
arms over his chest.

His unreadable stare made her feel the first tendrils of alarm.

She ignored them. “It is, that’s true.” She walked over to her bag and opened it,
determined to appear as nonchalant as he.

“That was a very enlightening performance you put on in the carriage,” he said at
last. “I was impressed.”

She didn’t suppose “Thank you” was the appropriate answer. “You pushed me into a corner,”
she said defensively. “I didn’t have a choice. We agreed that I would help you find
Tristan if you would let me go along. You couldn’t expect me to jeopardize his safety
by telling you too soon where he is.”

Her voice had grown stronger the longer she talked, but it didn’t seem to change his
stance any. He just kept staring at her with a piercing gaze. An oddly compelling
piercing gaze.

It was most unsettling. “Because you know very well,” she went on, “that the minute
I do, you’ll abandon me and go off on your own.”

“True.”

She gaped at him. He hadn’t even bothered to deny it. “Well, I can’t have that. I
have to protect my brother.”

“Do you?” He pushed away from the bureau. “I begin to think you have a darker goal.”

That took her completely by surprise. “Darker goal?” she asked, her blood freezing
in her veins.

“When I first met you, I assumed you weren’t part of his scheme. But your playacting
today proved that you are masterful at pretense. How do I know that our entire conversation
this morning wasn’t a charade? That
you aren’t leading me away from London at this very moment for some devious purpose?”

Devious purpose
?
Masterful at pretense
? He thought she was some sort of swindler! “That’s a vile accusation! I would never
do such a thing!”

“And why should I believe you?” He strode nearer, his face dark with threat. “You’ve
proved yourself very good at dissembling. For all I know, you and your brother cooked
up this plan together.”

“B-but why? Why would I do that?”

“That’s what I want to know.” He loomed over her. “I ought to have you tossed in gaol
until you tell me the truth.”

“Because I
cry
well?” she squeaked.

“Because you are attempting to defraud me,” he said in an ominous tone.

He was going to throw her in irons, all because she could do some acting in a pinch.
Oh, Lord, Manton’s Investigations would be ruined! Dom would never forgive her!

“I swear I’m not doing any such thing,” she began, her heart in her throat. “You know
why I insisted on your taking me with you. You do! I don’t know where you’ve got this
daft idea that I’m some . . . some swindler, but nothing could be further from—”

Inexplicably, he started laughing. She gaped at him, now all at sea.

That merely made him laugh harder. He paused just long enough to gasp, “You’re not
the only one . . . good at pretense.”

And suddenly she understood. This was revenge for her playacting this afternoon.

Planting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “You are a horrible,
horrible
man! How dare you terrify me like that? Why, I ought to—”

He dropped onto the settee, laughing so hard he could scarcely speak. “If you . . .
could only have seen . . . your face . . . when I mentioned . . . gaol . . .”

She walked up to hit him on the arm. “That was not remotely amusing!”

He just laughed even more. “I . . . beg to . . . disagree . . .” he choked out, holding
his stomach as he lost himself in mirth.

Glowering at him, she strode over to the ewer, brought it back, and poured its contents
on his head.

He jumped up off the settee sputtering. “What the blazes was that for?”

“For making me think you were going to pack me off to gaol, you . . . you . . . oaf!”

“Oaf?”
he said as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and began to wipe his face.
“That’s the best insult you can offer?”

She narrowed her eyes to slits. “Cretin. Devil.
Arse.
”

He smirked at her. “Careful now. Aren’t you supposed to be a respectable married lady?”

“You nearly gave me heart failure!”

“You deserved it after all that crying and nonsense.” He mimicked her.
“ ‘M-my brother was right. I sh-should never have m-married you!’ ”

Tossing the empty ewer onto the settee, she crossed
her arms over her chest. “The words might have been feigned, but the sentiment is
still valid.”

“It wasn’t my idea to do this,” he reminded her.

“It wasn’t
my
idea to pose as a married couple. Thank God
that’s
pretend.” She headed for the other room, hoping to find another ewer of water so
she could wash her hands.

“Oh yes,” he said irritably as he followed close behind her. “You would hate being
married to a wealthy duke who could buy you whatever you wanted and show you the world
you so obviously crave to see.”

That he had noticed so much about her love of travel vexed her more than she liked
to admit. She whirled on him in a temper. “I would hate being married to any man who
would own me. Who would want to tell me what to do, when to do it, how to do it, and
with whom. No thank you.”

He slicked back his wet hair. “Is that really how you see marriage?”

“As a prison for women? Yes.”

“And you see no advantage in it,” he said as he came right up to her.

“None.”

“What about children?”

“My mother had two. She wasn’t married.” Though Lisette would never follow that example,
she wasn’t about to admit it to His High-and-Mighty Grace.

He lifted one arrogant brow. “And you ended up in poverty as a result.”

“So did my half brother, and
he
was legitimate. The
truth is, in this country, unless you’re the eldest, you inherit at the whim of your
father. Marriage is no protection against that.”

“That’s not true. Women’s families can insist that any children be provided for in
the marriage settlement before the couple even weds.”

“Only if the women have something to barter with.” She lifted her chin. “Dom’s mother
married above her when she married the viscount; she brought no wealth to the union.
So she couldn’t make any demands on her husband, even after he took my mother as a
mistress. She had no recourse. Poor women never do.”

“All right, I’ll grant you that, I suppose,” he muttered. “Forget about the financial
aspects, then. What about companionship?”

“I have two brothers who will never abandon me. That’s companionship enough for me.”

“And love?” he asked softly. “What about love?”

She glanced away, not wanting him to see her ambivalence on
that
subject. “Love is the chain men use to hold a woman prisoner. They offer her love,
and in exchange for her devotion, they give her none. In that regard, I learned well
from my mother’s example.” Forcing a bright smile to her face, she met his gaze once
more. “So you see, Your Grace, I find no advantages to be had in marriage.”

“You’re forgetting one more,” he said, his eyes locked with hers.

“Oh, and what might that be?”

“Desire.”

She fought a shiver at the sensual way he said the word. She hadn’t forgotten that
one. She’d ignored it. There was a big difference. “Desire is only an advantage for
the man.” She’d been telling herself that for years, but it somehow rang hollow when
she said it to
him
.

“You can’t be that naïve.” His voice was now a low thrum. “Surely your mother enjoyed
her nights in your father’s arms.”

“I wouldn’t know. She didn’t talk about such things.” Maman had been determined to
act respectably outside the bedchamber, probably thinking that it would convince Papa
to marry her. Obviously it hadn’t worked.

“And you? No man has ever tempted you with desire?”

“I’ve been kissed a time or two. But it never tempted me to do more. I was always
too aware that desire brings nothing but trouble.”

Something flickered in his face. The thrill of challenge, perhaps. Or something darker,
more visceral. “Then clearly you haven’t been properly kissed.”

And before she could even react, before she could even think, he grasped her head
in his hands and bent toward her.

She froze. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Tempting you,” he murmured, then covered her mouth with his.

Oh, Lord help her. His lips were on hers, hot and hard and demanding, and that annoying
fluttering in her belly began. The whole world seemed to tilt sideways, sending
her spiraling down into a place where heat and longing and need seemed perfectly appropriate.

At some point she must have opened her mouth, for his tongue swept inside, surprising
her. Then melting her. He delved deep in a motion far more intimate than the play
of their hands earlier.

She shouldn’t let him do this, shouldn’t let him plunder her like the rakish adventurer
she’d glimpsed this morning, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. He did it so very
well. Every stroke of his tongue deepened her awareness of him as a man, one who made
her blood roar and her heart thunder. He smelled of the most expensive cologne water,
the heady scent adding to the sensual fog swirling about her.

Though her mind protested his outrageous possession of her mouth, her body wanted
to sink into it, to join the conflagration he was stirring deep inside her. The intensity
of her sudden urge for more alarmed her.

Tearing her mouth from his, she murmured, “Please, Your Grace . . .” but he seemed
not to hear her, for he merely shifted to scatter kisses over her cheek, then her
ear, which he tugged at with his teeth. Did he mean to devour her in truth?

“Your Grace, please . . .” she said again, and when he did not answer, she added,
“Max, you mustn’t.”

That got his attention at last. He paused in caressing her ear with his mouth. “Why
not?” he breathed.

“Because I do not wish it.”

He drew back to stare at her, his gaze heavy-lidded,
his breath coming quickly. “Are you sure about that?” he rasped.

She wasn’t. And her hesitation to lie to him had him seizing her mouth once more.
Only this time, his hands slid down to grip her waist, to pull her against his body
so she could feel the hard heat of him through the damp fabric of his waistcoat and
shirt, feel the hard thrust of him lower down. It was alarming.

It was heavenly. He offered kisses so all-consuming they made her breath burn in her
throat. Soon she was gasping and clutching at his shoulders, slipping into some seductive
oblivion where all she could feel and think was that he kissed more gloriously than
she could possibly have imagined.

So this was how desire was
supposed
to feel—intoxicating, maddening, and yes, tempting. That made it dangerous. Oh so
dangerous.

Now he was tangling his tongue with hers, inviting her to play, to tease, and that
was more enticing than he could know. No other man’s kisses had affected her so. She
felt herself lifting her hands to clasp his neck, sliding her body flush against his.
His mouth turned positively ravenous.

A knock came at the door.

She froze, then shoved him away. They stood there staring at each other, both breathing
heavily, both tense.

“Mr. Kale, I’ve brought your dinner,” said a voice from out in the hall.

Max grimaced, then glanced at the door. “Yes, of course,” he called. “Come in.”

A servant hurried in with a large tray. Seemingly oblivious to the tension in the
room, he set out the dishes, bowed, and scurried out, probably rushing to take care
of all the other guests who’d been disgorged by coaches.