The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (33 page)

Assuming that he gets better
. Maximilian squelched the thought. The man
had
to live, damn it. He refused to accept any other outcome.

♦  ♦  ♦

T
HE NEXT NIGHT,
Lisette walked into the doctor’s cramped quarters and tossed her ribbon embroidery
onto the tiny table bolted to the wall. She felt like a sack of potatoes that had
been dragged across a rocky hill and tossed down a ravine.

Tristan entered behind her, having come to play lady’s maid for her before she retired.

“Any word on whether the quarantine has been lifted?” she asked him.

“I just saw the duke, and he said they were coming in the morning to make it official
that we can all leave the ship.”

She let out a breath. “Thank God.”

“How is the patient?” Tristan asked.

“The worst I’ve seen him,” she said, choking down her despair. “His fever is still
awful and his delirium gets worse by the moment.”

Thank God Max had been too busy today dealing
with the Privy Council and quarantine officers to spend time in the infirmary with
Victor. Yesterday she’d seen the haunted look in his eyes when Victor coughed so violently.
“If Victor dies, I don’t know how Max will endure it. Yet I don’t see how Victor can
survive, no matter how many of those draughts Dr. Worth slips down his throat.”

“Victor’s stronger than he looks. Don’t count him out yet.” Stepping behind her, Tristan
undid Lisette’s buttons. “Dr. Worth is a nice man.”

She sighed. “Not that again.”

“I’m merely pointing it out. He’s young, he’s handsome . . . he speaks well of you.”

“I’m not interested in marrying Dr. Worth,” she said sharply, “so stop it.”

He was quiet a long moment. “I hope you’re not so foolish as to have set your sights
on ‘Max.’ ”

“Why not? He’s young, he’s handsome . . . he speaks well of me.”

“Very funny,” Tristan growled as he worked loose her laces. “But I’m not joking, Lisette.
He’s a duke. That means something here in England.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Watching Max use his rank to deal with all those officials last night and today reminded
her rather forcefully that he was oceans above her in station. Impending madness or
no, he could have any woman he wanted. And any other woman would gladly meet his conditions.

But having seen his anguish, she knew she could
never do so. She loved him too much to leave him in the hands of strangers in his
final hours. And considering how dedicated he’d been to seeing to the welfare of a
man he wasn’t even sure was his brother, he ought to understand.

“Of course, if Victor does turn out to be Lyons’s brother,” Tristan said as he finished
loosening her laces, “then Maximilian Cale is not the duke anymore, is he? So I’d
better hurry off to the infirmary, or he might have figured that out and decided to
finish Victor off.”

She whirled to scowl at him. “Don’t you
dare
say such a vile thing! Don’t even think it!”

“I was joking, Lisette.” Tristan stared hard at her. “And I take it that you
have
set your sights on the duke.”

Tipping up her chin, she glared at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. Just because I defend
his character—”

Her brother snorted. “You don’t just defend his character. You cater to him as I’ve
never seen you cater to anyone, not even me and Dom. When you weren’t looking after
Victor today, it was ‘Max needs this’ and ‘I should make sure Max eats.’ ”

Good Lord, she hadn’t meant to be so transparent. She let out her breath in a long
sigh, and the urge to confide in someone,
anyone
, was too overwhelming to resist. “You don’t understand. I’m in love with him.”

A look of pity crossed his face. “Oh, dear heart—”

“Don’t say it. I know it’s hopeless.” Though not for the reasons he thought. “And
I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t seem fine. The two of you practically set fires off each other when you’re
in a room together.”
His eyes narrowed. “It makes me wonder what went on between you while you were trying
to find me. Especially since you persist in not telling me how you managed it.”

“It was nothing,” she lied. “And nothing went on. Max—the duke—was a perfect gentleman.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t keep the doctor waiting,” she said lightly.

Tristan cast her another concerned glance, then left. As soon as he was gone, she
changed into her night rail and dropped onto the narrow bunk. She should let the rocking
of the ship lull her to sleep.

But Tristan had her agitated now, obsessed with wondering the same thing she’d been
wondering since yesterday. If Victor proved to be Peter, how would Max react? And
if Peter—Victor—died—

Oh, Lord, that didn’t bear thinking upon.

A knock came at the door. She got up and opened it, only to find Max standing there.
It startled her. He hadn’t once tried to see her alone since they’d come aboard the
ship.

He stared at her, his face ashen and his eyes bleak in the lantern light. Seemingly
oblivious to her scanty attire, he came into the tiny cabin and sat on the bunk, saying
in a shattered voice, “I finally find my brother, and he’s going to be ripped from
me before I even get to know him. He’s dying.”

M
AXIMILIAN FELT AS
if Fate had been toying with him for its own amusement. What good was it to have
found Peter, only to lose him in the end?

“You saw Victor?” Lisette asked in a shaky voice.

“Just now. I . . . I went in to tell the doctor that the quarantine had been lifted,
and . . .” His throat closed up. “Victor was so ill that the doctor had resorted to
bleeding him. He was thrashing, and I had to help . . . hold him down. Oh, God, my
brother is dying. And there isn’t a damned thing I can do to stop it!”

After shutting the door, she came to sit beside him on the bunk. “First of all, we’re
still not even certain that he
is
your brother.” She patted his hand reassuringly. “And secondly, we’re definitely
not certain that he’s going to die.”

Maximilian ignored the part about Victor not being his brother. The resemblance to
Father was too strong to ignore. Victor had to be Peter.

Lisette threaded her fingers through his. “Tristan says he’s stronger than he looks.”

“Not tonight, he isn’t.” Maximilian stared at her, his throat raw with fear. “He’s
so bloody hot with fever. And he’s raving like . . . like—”

“I know,” she whispered. “And I imagine it’s even harder for you to watch than for
me.”

“Seeing Victor’s ravaged body buck the doctor’s hold is like watching Father all over
again,” he admitted.

“It’s not the same thing, though,” she said kindly. “Victor’s delirium comes from
fever. It will pass.”

“Assuming that he lives.” Squeezing her hand, he choked out, “And I don’t think . . .
I don’t think . . . he will.”

“Shh,
mon coeur
, shh,” she crooned. She hugged him to her. “It will be all right.”

“It will never be all right!” he cried, jerking back from her as fear scored his heart.
“All these years, I’ve tried to approach my future logically, to plan for my end to
be dignified. For it not to hurt anyone but me. I thought I could hold fast to that
plan. But I realize now, watching him . . .”

Gripping her hand in both of his, he struggled for breath. “I’m not that strong. I
can’t bear to end up like Victor, raving mad. At least he has us. But I’ll have no
one. Only some coldly efficient doctor, some attendant struggling to subdue me.”

Pity spread over her face, and it was a mark of how terrified he was that he didn’t
even care.

“Oh, God, Lisette, I can’t stand the thought of it,”
he bit out. “I meant to stay in that damned room with him tonight, but watching him
d-die is just too hard. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .”

She pressed a kiss to his mouth as if to calm him. But it only made him more desperate
for touch, affection . . . life beyond the grave.

Grabbing her face in his hands, he kissed her fiercely, passionately. He needed her
to blot out the fear, to make him feel in control again.

“Promise me you’ll marry me, Lisette,” he whispered against her lips. “Promise me
you won’t let me die alone.”

“Max, I—”

“No, you can’t refuse me this time. You mustn’t.” His breathing grew ragged, harsh.
“I won’t let you.”

Pulling her onto his lap, he began to devour her mouth. He needed to feel whole, alive.
He needed to know there was one person on this earth who cared about him. Because
if Victor died he would be alone again, and he simply couldn’t bear it. The thought
of going on in his empty existence without anyone . . .

He dragged openmouthed kisses up her cheek to her ear. “I thought I was resigned to
my solitary future with a woman I didn’t care about. I thought that I could manage . . .
to accept my lot.” His voice grew choked. “Then you came along, and I learned what
real hell is. It’s meeting the one woman you want and realizing you can’t have her.”

“You
can
have me, Max,” she whispered as she pulled back from him. “If not for your conditions—”

“To blazes with my conditions,” he growled. She’d breached his walls, and he knew
he could never build them back. He no longer wanted to. “I’ll take you however I can
have you, dearling. It’s utterly selfish, but I can no longer bear the thought of
going mad without you beside me to ease the way. Especially if it means I’m to be
deprived of you for the part of my life that’s worth living.”

Her eyes were full of a melting softness that soothed his ragged pain. “You don’t
have to be deprived of me,
mon coeur
,” she murmured, brushing kisses over his cheeks and jaw and lips. “I will never leave
you now. Never.”

He searched her face. “You promise? You swear it?”

She smiled. “I swear it.”

“You’ll marry me.”

“Yes. Oh yes, Max. As soon as you want.”

“Thank God,” he rasped, relief swamping him. Even if Victor did die, he wouldn’t have
to be alone anymore.

He kissed her again, achingly, thoroughly. “I want you, dearling.” He worked loose
the buttons of her nightdress. “I need to be inside you. I need to be reminded that
there is life somewhere outside this cursed ship. You’re the only one who’s ever given
me hope, and I never knew how desperately I needed it until you came along. Even if
it’s a futile hope, I need to believe that my future isn’t all bleak.”

“It’s not,” she gasped as he shifted her so he could drag her night rail off over
her head. “I know it’s not. We’ll have a lifetime together, I swear.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lisette,” he whispered. “Whatever time we have
is enough. We’ll make it be enough.”

Hastily, he undid his trousers, then his drawers, desperate now to have her. He settled
her astride him. “Make love to me, dearling.” He rubbed his rampant cock against her.

Her eyes went wide. “A woman can . . .”

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Kneel up and take me inside you.”

Just saying the words had aroused him even more—the image of her riding him possessed
him. So when she murmured, “Very well,” he thought for sure he’d come off right there.

Especially since she looked so very lovely perched astride him, with her skin luminous
in the lantern light and her eyes gleaming. And when she drew herself up and came
down on him like some intoxicating goddess, he gave himself up to her. She enveloped
him, his wild French rose, growing into every crack in his walls, surrounding him
with the scent of perfume and the sweetness of her petals.

And he knew he could never root her out now. That was what made her so very dangerous—he
no longer wanted to.

He cupped her breasts, kneading them, glorying in them as she began to undulate on
top of him. His cock was like iron inside her. He scattered kisses over every inch
of skin he could reach, branding her as his for all time.

“Take everything,” he choked out. “It’s yours.”

“I only want you.”

She kissed him then, entwining her tongue with his, then teasing it back into her
mouth. As she engulfed his cock below, he drove into her mouth above, setting a rhythm
that she echoed in her motions.

His blood sang as she rode him. She was a natural wanton, sure of her feminine power
and using it to hold him in thrall. He’d always feared just this thing—being possessed
by desire. But she’d taught him not to fear it. And next to the fear of being alone,
it was nothing.

“Do you like that, my pirate?” she teased, leaning over to thread her fingers through
his hair, her breasts pressing against his face. He sucked them hard, feeling his
release coming.

“Faster, dearling,” he rasped against her sweet bosom. “More. Ride me harder.”

“Yes,
mon coeur
.” She quickened her motions. “Whatever you want.”

“I want
you
.”

“You have me already.” Her breathing grew broken, rough. “You have it all, if you
will only take it . . . my body . . . my heart . . . my love . . . I love you, Max.”