The Forbidden Duke (13 page)

She laughed. “My goodness. I can’t decide if you’re a snob or just intensely aloof.” She slapped her hand over her mouth, her beautiful eyes widening.

He laughed with her, delighting in her honesty even while acknowledging that if anyone else had said that to him, he’d give them the cut direct. “Probably a bit of both.”

Her eyes lit with mirth. “So you enjoy being forbidden?”

“I
enjoy
being left alone. If not for my responsibilities in the House of Lords, I would hardly come to London.”

She sobered. “I see. I am just the opposite, I’m afraid. I’ve been alone for so long that I’m quite eager to be among people.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something else lurking in the depths of her eyes—an uncertainty or perhaps a sadness. Whatever it was, he wanted to banish it. He moved closer to her, drawn like a raindrop to the earth. His blood was roaring in his ears in a thoroughly primal fashion.
 

Again, he thought that he shouldn’t be here with her. This moment could be a scandal in the making.
 

Only if there was a witness
, his mind whispered.

“I enjoy talking with you,” he said. “It’s a crime that you were alone for so long.”

Her lashes fluttered. “I enjoy talking with you too.” Her voice was low, unintentionally seductive.

He desperately wanted to touch her, determine for himself if her flesh was as soft and warm as he imagined. So he did.

His fingers grazed her jaw. She sucked in a breath, and the sound evoked an even greater physical response, sending his body into complete abandon.

“We should return to the house.” Her words were barely audible, scarcely more than a breath.

Yes, they should, but he hated the ton’s stupid rules. Right now, he wanted to rebel against them. “We should. Only…” He wanted to kiss her. So badly. But he couldn’t. Not because of the rules, but because of what she’d already been through nine years ago.

He edged backward and was shocked when she placed her hand on his lapel. Her touch was light, hesitant.

“Would you…kiss me?” she asked softly. “I’ve only ever been kissed that one time, and it was awful.” She blinked rapidly and snatched her hand away. “Never mind. I’m far too brazen.” Her face colored, and he could practically feel her embarrassment.
 

He didn’t want her to be embarrassed. Nor did he want to deny her request. “You are not. It’s a sin that you haven’t been kissed properly.”

He stepped closer and lowered his head. He went slowly in case she changed her mind, but thankfully she did not. When his lips met hers, a dark pulse of desire swelled through him. He worked to keep a rein on himself. It would be so easy to get lost in her kiss.

Her hands came back against his chest, but more firmly this time. Her lips pressed into his, evidencing her participation. But then hadn’t she asked him to?

Yes, and he was going to make it good for her.

He tilted his head and lifted his lips briefly before kissing her again. He danced his mouth against hers, keeping himself in check while she acclimated herself to his touch. When her hands crept up to his shoulders, he took it as a sign to go further.

He put his arms around her and pulled her more snugly against him and parted his mouth against hers. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and he worried she would push him away.

Please, not yet.
 

This kiss was too honest, too beautiful, and he wasn’t ready for it to end. Not until he’d shown her a proper kiss.

He licked along the crease of her mouth, and she opened, perhaps in surprise. When he plunged his tongue inside, her grip became even tighter. Still, she didn’t pull back or shove at him. Instead, she tipped her head to the side, and it was all the invitation he needed.

He brought her flush against him, heedless of any sense of propriety. He stroked along her spine as he plundered her mouth. Her tongue met his, softly at first, but then more purposefully. He wasn’t sure at what precise moment this had progressed from a demonstration to a thoroughly impulsive act, but it had crossed that line, and Titus was in real danger of losing control.

With supreme effort, he pulled his mouth from hers and stepped back. “My deepest apologies, Miss Lockhart.”
 

Forget Haywood; Titus was the one who deserved a thorough thrashing. And yet, he couldn’t regret kissing her, nor could he stop himself from wanting to do it again.
 

But he wouldn’t.

She lifted her other hand to her mouth. Her eyes were wary, but something else flickered there—a spark of heat in the tawny depths. “Thank you. That was…quite different from last time.”

He laughed—he couldn’t help himself. “I am glad to have obliged you. But we can’t do that again.”

She dropped her hand to her side. “No, I suppose we can’t.” The look she gave him next brought his cock to full arousal. Her scalding gaze dipped down his frame and then back up to his eyes. “Pity.”

“Miss Lockhart, if you don’t go back inside right now, my self-restraint will be in shreds.”

Her eyes widened briefly just before she spun on her heel and hastened through the garden on her way back to the house. She didn’t spare him a backward glance before disappearing inside.

He exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath while she fled. Damn, he was a lecherous beast.
 

Hadn’t he threatened Haywood for doing precisely what he’d just done? Perhaps not
precisely
, but the end result would be the same—the ruination of a lady who deserved far better. And she was so close to the life she ought to have had.

A phantom voice in his head said he could give her that life if
he
married her.
No
, he didn’t want a wife. A wife was a nuisance, something he should probably have but didn’t particularly want or need, and even if he did, it wouldn’t be her. Once she learned the truth about his past, the role he’d played in her downfall, she would—rightfully—despise him. What sort of marriage would that be?

No, she deserved someone honorable, someone like Dawson, who clearly wanted a wife. He would treat her well, provide her with a comfortable life, and her past would be forgotten.

A small part of Titus hoped she wouldn’t forget their kiss. He knew he wouldn’t.

T
he following evening, Nora and Lady Satterfield were on their way to one of the largest balls of the Season. Hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Colne, it was bound to be a crush from everything Nora had heard. And she’d heard plenty that afternoon at the park.

Lady Satterfield looked through the window and craned her neck to try to see down the street. “My goodness, we’re backed up already. This is going to be quite a throng.” She looked at Nora with an animated expression. “I do hope Satterfield can find us.”

Lord Satterfield would be joining them later after starting the evening at his club.

With a sparkle in her eye, the countess turned her attention to Nora. “Tell me, who do you most hope to dance with tonight?”

Kendal.

But Nora didn’t say that. He wouldn’t be here in any case. “I expect I’ll dance with Mr. Dawson, and perhaps Lord Markham or Mr. Gilchrist.”

“Mr. Dawson seems taken with you. Do you feel the same?”

He was charming and witty and reasonably attractive. But he was no Kendal, whom she couldn’t stop thinking of since last night’s kiss. “He’s quite pleasant.”

Lady Satterfield brushed at her skirt. “I see. Well, that is not a glowing declaration.”

“I didn’t mean to disparage him at all. I do like him.”

“But do you like him enough to accept a proposal should he offer for you? It’s one thing to like a gentleman, and quite another to agree to spend your life with him. For some women, that sentiment is enough. For others, they might prefer to marry for love or…passion.” She gave Nora a meaningful look.

Yes, passion. Like the kiss she’d shared with Kendal last night. No matter how pleasant she found Mr. Dawson, she doubted he could make her feel like that. Furthermore, she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

“Anyway, you needn’t settle on Mr. Dawson—or anyone else for that matter—any time soon. Your popularity is only increasing, and I expect you will have several suitors clamoring for your attention.” She smiled widely as she leaned forward and gave Nora’s knee a quick pat.

“Thank you,” Nora said, grateful for any reprieve. Everything was moving so quickly. She’d gone from needing a job to provide for her future to being the toast of the ton.
 

She was having a hard time deciding what to wear. Selecting a potential bridegroom seemed a dizzying task.

Indeed, she found herself missing her quiet life in St. Ives—her roses and her books. Visits with her sister. She wrote to Jo nearly every day and eagerly awaited her sister’s replies, which came at the same pace. Jo was happy for Nora’s second chance, while at the same time astounded, like Nora, that she’d been given such a boon. Her father, on the other hand, had written only once—to say that he was now settled with his sister and brother-in-law. Nora felt sad to think that there was now nothing for her to go home to. In fact, she didn’t really have a home, unless she considered the Satterfields’, and she supposed she must.

“So what sort of marriage do you think you’d prefer?” Lady Satterfield asked. “I’ve been fortunate enough to fall in love twice. I admit I’d like to see the same happen for you.” She spoke with warmth and sincerity, and Nora was nearly overcome with gratitude and appreciation. In many ways, Lady Satterfield had become a surrogate mother, and, honestly, she was the best thing about all the abrupt changes in Nora’s life. The memory of Kendal’s kiss rose in her mind. Perhaps not the
best
thing…

“Love would be nice,” Nora said. “However, I have no illusions at my age. I should be quite happy to find companionship and mutual admiration.”

“Don’t settle for something you don’t want. The right man is out there. I’m certain of it.” Lady Satterfield looked out the window again. “Ah, we’ve finally arrived.”

The footman opened the door and helped the countess step down from the carriage. The night was cool but dry.

Nora took the footman’s proffered hand and stepped from the carriage. Then she followed Lady Satterfield to the door of the massive town house. Situated in the heart of Upper Grosvenor Street, the Colnes’ address was exceedingly fashionable. It was a place Nora could never have hoped to visit during her prior Seasons. Now, however, she seemed to have infiltrated the uppermost circle and could rub shoulders with the Untouchables. She felt like an utter fraud.

As they made their way inside and through the receiving line, Nora allowed her mind to wander. She paid just enough attention to the proceedings so as not to make a fool of herself, while indulging the fantasies taking root in her brain. She thought of a future where she didn’t have to choose a husband at all, but could instead be independent and carefree. In that dream world, she’d kiss whomever she wanted with impunity.

“Miss Lockhart, you are a vision!” Mr. Dawson greeted her with a grin, his brown eyes lighting with appreciation. “I do hope I’m the first to claim a dance this evening.”

“Indeed you are.”

“Excellent, I shall find you when the set begins.” He gave her a brief bow before taking himself off.
 

Over the course of the next quarter hour, Nora collected enough dance invitations to last her the entire evening. She ought to feel excited. After all, this was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it?

Except now that she had it, she wasn’t at all sure she was satisfied. It suddenly felt as though she’d taken her life of the past nine years for granted.

She danced with Mr. Dawson and tried to imagine a marriage with him. The
passion
Lady Satterfield had mentioned was nonexistent. But at the same time, he would make a perfectly acceptable husband.

That sounded so dull.

She danced with two more gentlemen before the supper break. When the music stopped, her partner led her from the dance floor, apologizing that he wasn’t going to stay for supper. Nora was suddenly quite glad, because there, standing beside Lady Satterfield, was the last person she expected to see tonight—the Forbidden Duke.