What a Duke Wants (14 page)

Dukes never let anyone else have the power.

And he hadn’t liked that moment when she’d asked what she would get. He trusted that she had not meant it as it sounded, that she was not a gold digger, but still . . . He had become very used to those who looked at him only for what he could give them.

Watching her from the corner of his eye as he stared straight ahead was beginning to give him a headache. He turned and faced her. He could not wait any longer. He needed to know—to know that she was his. He should be more persuasive, he knew that. But he could not bear to think of her on the streets—alone. Even if he gave her money, she would still be alone. “I have considered enough. I do not believe that we need to resolve the details now. I desire an answer.”

She paled at his words, but the muscles in her jaw clenched. “As long as you realize that the choice is mine. You would be wise not to forget that. It may not be a good choice, but still there is choice.”

He should have known she would only argue more. “You have told me you are a sensible woman.”

Her eyes dropped to her hands, which were twisting in her lap. Her lips were stuck tight together.

A part of him longed to lean closer, to draw a finger across their sweet pink curves, to soften them and then her. It would be so easy to tempt her into agreement, to inch near to her on the bench, to slip a foot under the edge of her skirts, to. . .

“Fine.” She said the word very softly.

“What?”

“You are correct. I am sensible.” Her voice spoke of despair. “If the choice is to be your mistress or starve, I will be your mistress. However, do not think that I do not realize that it is you who creates the choices I have. You have the power to give me another choice if you wish.”

She was right. He did have the ability to give her another alternative, to pay her way, to give her a recommendation. Only how would he know she was safe if he let her slip away? She might find herself in even worse circumstances. With him she was safe. “If you believe so.”

“So you will not simply give me some funds or help to find a position for me?”

“I have already suggested the position I wish you to fill and you have agreed.”

“Fine.” She did not look so fine. Her hands were no longer twisting but were clenched tight. She turned and stared back out the window without another comment.

He wished he could explain how he felt, how he needed her, how he feared for her, but the words would not come. He did not know how a duke would say them. Hell, he didn’t know how he would say them.

S
he had agreed. Isabella saw nothing as she watched the passing scenery.

He was right. She did have no choice.

“Why were you being pursued?” Mark’s voice interrupted her thoughts. She had believed they were finished.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Did her voice sound normal?

“Divers spoke to a man who could only have been asking about you. I’ve already set a man to investigate.”

She knew she paled slightly. “Call your man back. If I am to be your mistress then call him back. The past does not matter.”

He leaned forward, his face softening. He looked like Mark again. “Do you have a problem? I can help you. I am good with problems.”

“No. I will be fine.”

“Are you sure? A duke can solve almost anything. It’s not like you killed a man.”

“Just call your man back. I may reconsider my decision if you pursue this.”

He stared at her, his eyes filled with consideration. “I will do as you . . . request.”

This time it was he who turned away.

She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying to stem the tide of emotions that was rising.

She longed to be numb. Instead she felt as if she would burst apart from the swirl of emotions that filled her.

The worst was that even now she longed to be cradled against his chest, to feel his strong arms about her, to feel that sense of safety that Mark always gave her.

But that was Mark. This was Strattington.

Which brought her to the question at the center of it all. She had been prepared, indeed wanted, to have sex—she forced herself to phrase it bluntly—with Mark out of desire and dreams, but was she ready to do the same with Strattington?

Could she give her body to the duke?

Chapter 14

S
he was back in London. It had not changed much. Perhaps it was dirtier, more downtrodden, but that might just be her own view after the last years spent in the country. It was certainly gray.

The day was gray—whether it was fog or a single enveloping cloud she could not say.

The city was gray—not even a brightly painted door added color to the view.

Her mood was gray—that might even be an understatement. She verged on black.

The wheels rattled as the carriage sped over the city’s cobblestones. Each movement jarred her already aching brain. Her hands twitched with the desire to rub her neck, but she would not show such weakness to the man who sat across from her.

She closed her eyes. Her temples throbbed with lack of sleep and tension. She didn’t know whether to attribute it to her anxiety at being back in London, back at the scene of her crime, or to the strange, awkward silence that held between them. She would have thought her agreement to be his mistress would have brought peace. Instead. . .

“Why did you not send for me last night at the inn? I thought that once you had my agreement you would wish me in your bed.” She was too tired to attempt to play games.

Strattington turned and stared at her. Oh, how she longed for Mark. The duke must put on formality along with his tight cravats and brocade coats. “I thought that I was doing you a kindness, giving you time to adjust to your new life.”

“By leaving me awake half the night waiting?”

“Were you waiting?” Did she detect the glimmer of a smile in his expression? Mark’s eyes had glinted with humor and caring. Strattington’s eyes seemed to show nothing but the reflection of his surroundings.

“Yes, I waited. Does that make you happy?”

He turned and looked at her fully. “I want what makes you happy. You seem to be missing your usual sense of fun.”

Yes, she imagined that she was. What did he expect under the circumstances? “Where do we go now?”

His lips tightened and he turned away again. “I am still considering. I certainly go to my house in Mayfair. I am not sure what to do with you. It would not be seemly for you to accompany me.”

The duke really knew how to win a woman over. “I am sure you are correct. That does seem to leave you with a bit of a dilemma, though, doesn’t it?”

“I just said it did.”

Could you scream at your protector? Provider? She refused to call him master, even if it did seem that it should go with mistress. What did she call the blasted man? He certainly was not her lover.

“I will leave it to you, then,” she answered with complete calm.

“That would be best. I am trying to prevent you from having worries.” He sounded sincere.

“Thank you,” she replied, hiding her emotions.

“I am glad you appreciate my efforts.” He nodded.

Forget yelling at him. She was going to strangle him. Or at least kick him—and hard. One of the other maids had taught her exactly where to aim. She wouldn’t have to worry about whether he was her lover then.

He considered her a moment before saying, “I do think perhaps it would be best if you went to my uncle’s house for tonight. I do apparently still own it and have been informed that it is unoccupied except for the staff.”

“Your uncle’s house?” Understanding filled her. “You mean his mistress’s house. I thought I explained that I did not wish to go there.”

“I do not see that there is another choice, no matter what either of us might wish. I would put you up at a hotel, but that would be less than discreet.”

Oh, how she wanted to argue. The problem was she needed to be discreet also. She didn’t know which would be worse, if the men seeking her found her or if her family learned what she was about to do.

Violet had taken lovers, but she had taken care never to be any man’s mistress. She said that it was unwise for a woman to let a man support her outside of marriage, that such situations never ended well. Not, she had added, that marriage offered any guarantee. Men were men and were often beastly.

Isabella glanced over at Strattington.

S
he seemed to be taking it well—or at least acceptably. Mark had been nervous that she would react badly to going to his uncle’s house, but he could not think of another choice. He had not been to London since assuming the duchy and couldn’t think of another place to put her. He should probably have considered this before making his offer.

As an unemployed servant she could have been stuck in one of the maid’s rooms. For his mistress-to-be that did not seem suitable. And he didn’t mean to be thinking of sticking her anywhere, although phrased that way he could think of— Why did his brains seem to depart when he was near her?

He glanced across at her. Her lips were tight and she lacked her usual vitality. The gray gown was overshadowing her beauty.

He wished Divers were here with them—the first time he’d ever had that thought. He’d asked his valet about the correct way of setting up a mistress, but none of the man’s advice seemed quite right. Divers had assured him that Isabella would not mind staying at his uncle’s house for a few nights—although his tone had also implied it was not her place to question. Divers clearly did not know Isabella.

Mark would have to explain the situation to the man more carefully and seek further advice. He did want to do this right.

Damnation. He was not sure why everything had grown so tense anyway. He had been trying to do her a favor by leaving her alone last night at the inn and she’d taken even that badly. What had happened to the natural ease that had flowed between them? It had been so much easier when she had not known he was the duke. Now everything seemed endlessly complicated, endlessly examined.

Bother. He should be thinking of his coming meeting with the king, and instead his thoughts kept turning to Isabella, wishing she were in his arms.

Something was going to have to change.

I
t was not an awful house. It wasn’t even particularly bad. The furnishings might have been half a century out of date, and despite having a staff, it looked as if no one had lived here for ages. Isabella didn’t know how old the last duke had been when he died. Perhaps he had been too old to keep a mistress. Were men ever too old for a mistress? Isabella added that to the list of things she didn’t know.

The hall was cold. Outside it was warm enough to raise a sweat, but in the dark of the hall there was a distinct chill.

She turned in a slow circle and looked around. Strattington had deposited her in the hall, spoken to the elderly porter, and left. Her small bag had been taken upstairs and she’d been directed to a parlor to await her room being made ready.

Only nobody had come for her.

Should she go searching on her own? Her temples were aching again and she desperately wanted the chance to lie down. Somewhere, back deep in her mind, was the hope that she would sleep and when she awoke this would all be a dream.

“Come this way, miss.” The dour-faced housekeeper had finally remembered her. “I’ll show you to your room. I am sure you’ll find it delightful, quite a step up for a maid. It was decorated only a few years ago.”

Divers must have talked to the woman. Nobody else would have said she was a maid. Why did the man seem to dislike her so much?

“I am sure it will be lovely,” she said to the housekeeper.

“I reckon you’ll be wanting a proper meal and a bath.”

“Please.”

“It may take a while. We weren’t expecting you and it’s been years since anybody has stayed in the house.”

Had Mark’s uncle not used the house? “I thought you said it was redecorated recently?”

“I said that we hadn’t had anyone staying here—not that the house had not been used. I would think someone in your position would realize the difference. And don’t ask questions. Gentlemen like their affairs kept quiet.”

Someone in her position
. Isabella was too caught by the phrase to worry about the rest of the statement. She lost even that thought when the housekeeper swung open the door to her new bedroom. Isabella could only gape at the chamber beyond.

H
e hadn’t planned on visiting her tonight. In fact, he’d planned on staying away from her until he had new accommodations set. A home of her own would go a long way toward getting him back in her good graces.

He allowed himself a single sigh as he walked up the steps to his uncle’s house—well, his house actually. An evening spent with the king was enough to tire anyone. There had been several messages waiting when he arrived at his home in Mayfair. The king had made it very clear that his newest duke had better come calling the moment he arrived. Or at least as soon as his valet dressed him in a coat without a wrinkle—that also allowed no movement—and a neck cloth tied in so many layers that he’d felt like a lady’s petticoat. And that wasn’t even mentioning the satin knee breeches. Mark hadn’t known that they were required anywhere besides Almack’s. Divers saw it differently.

The new King George was not actually a bad man, or even a tedious one. He was, however, a demanding one. Mark never wanted to hear so many details about an event again. He simply did not care what types of herbs were going to be sprinkled on the ground before the king as he walked along. The coronation was important, the number of yards of train the king would wear and the number of attendants necessary to carry it were not.

Only a brief conversation with the Duke of Brisbane had kept the evening bearable. Now there was a man who understood with all his being what it was to be a duke.

Mark scowled. He was becoming a grouchy old man and he still had barely reached thirty.

Which was why he was here, standing on the stairs of a house he owned, wondering if he’d be welcome.

He needed her, not the cold woman of the last days, but the warm Isabella who reminded him of who he was, the woman who saw him as a man and not a duke.

Or at least she had. Now that she knew who he was could they go back to the way it had been?

W
hat was he doing here?

Well, Isabella imagined that she knew what he intended, but now? It was well after midnight and she had finally fallen asleep. He had no right to arrive now. Hurriedly she slipped out of bed and pulled on her robe.

Glancing in the mirror, she grimaced. Her hair was a curling mess about her head, and her face—well, yellow had never been her color and her bruised cheek looked like a lemon. How could she even think he’d want to have sex with her when she looked like lemon? A curly-headed lemon.

Not that she wanted to have sex with him. No, she did not.

She was not done being angry yet. It sounded petty even in her mind, but she still felt a cold fury when she thought of how she’d ended up here. She might have some blame in the matter, but she’d wanted Mark in her bed—not Strattington, not the duke.

Was it possible to have one without the other?

The question gave her pause, stilling her anger. Could she find Mark again? If she approached him in the right manner, was Mark still there? Could she have him and not the duke?

That was the question in her mind as she tiptoed down the stairs in her bare feet. The servants had put him in the blue parlor. At a guess she thought that was the front one. There wasn’t much blue in the room, but it looked like the carpet might once have been that shade.

At least he hadn’t just appeared in her bedroom, in her bed. A shiver took her at the thought and she was not quite clear on its cause.

A fire had been lit. It was true luxury on this temperate summer night, serving to dry the air and add a warm glow to the dark room.

Strattington sat in the high wing chair before it—only he didn’t look like Strattington. He looked like Mark. Perhaps there was hope. The dark waves of his hair lay mussed and disarrayed. His cravat hung untied about his neck. She was only surprised he had not removed his coat.

Her eyes must have portrayed her question.

Mark shrugged. “I can’t get out of it without help. It’s too tight. Silly, isn’t it?”

Should she offer to help? It seemed the natural thing for a mistress to do, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to touch him—not yet.

Or maybe the problem was that she was sure that she did? It was too easy to imagine running her hands over his strong shoulders. “It’s been years since I wore anything I couldn’t manage myself. I can even do my laces if needed.” She blushed as she said the last.

He really did seem like Mark again. She would never have made such a comment to anyone else.

“I’ve gone the other way. Until I inherited I’ve never had a garment I couldn’t manage. Come sit. I need some company.”

“Only company?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Yes, only company. Even I know it’s not fitting to show up in the small hours of the morning expecting more than that.”

The fire did look inviting. Watching him warily, she came and sat across from him. “I thought that was the purpose of a mistress, that you didn’t need to worry if things were fitting or not.”

“That might be the theory, but I have been informed it is not at all the practice.”

“Informed?”

“Well, as I’ve never actually had a mistress before, I only know what I am told.”

“And who exactly is doing the telling?”

It was his turn to act wary. “A man hears.”

She smiled slightly at his discomfort. He was not so imposing now. “I would imagine he does.”

He sighed loudly and let his head fall back. “And I must confess to being so sick of hearing. I spent the evening with the king and his friends. The chatter that surrounds them would send a magpie screaming.”

“And so you came here looking for company? Would you not have been better with quiet at home?”

The ceiling seemed to have an endless fascination for him as he continued to stare at it. “You would have thought so. After the night I’ve had, going home to my solitary bed in my solitary house should have had immense appeal. But somehow I find myself here.”

“Oh.” Her heart added an extra beat.

He lowered his face until he looked straight at her. “Do you want me to go? I should have realized I would be pulling you from your bed.”