Anything But a Duke

by Christy Carlyle

  The boy stuck his head in again. “Yes, Mr. Iverson.”

  Aidan donned his suit jacket and overcoat and made his way down to the street. He hailed a cab and directed him to the Merton town house. Calling unexpectedly might be considered bad form, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to learn more about Diana.

  He was admitted by a friendly housemaid and waited in the same drawing room he’d visited a week prior. Strange how the room seemed cool and lifeless now. He’d remembered it as a more vibrant color, but the only thing he could truly recall was the rich purple of Diana’s dress. The bright enticing blue of her eyes.

  “Mr. Iverson.” Lady Elizabeth entered the room and offered her hand in greeting. “You weren’t frightened away by talk of spirits the other evening. How refreshing.”

  “I thought we were talking to spirits.” He took the seat she indicated and crossed one leg over the other while she sat on the opposite settee and arranged her skirts. “Are the séances meant as a test to put off feckless potential suitors?”

  “No. But perhaps they should be. Thank you for the idea.”

  After Lady Elizabeth had poured them both a cup of tea, she settled back against the cushions and assessed him over the gilded rim of porcelain as she took a sip.

  “You didn’t come here today as a potential suitor, did you, Mr. Iverson?”

  “No.” Aidan offered her a tight smile. He had no wish to insult the noblewoman, but he had no intention of feigning interest either.

  “You haven’t offended me, sir. I promise. Tell me why you’ve come to call.”

  “I wish to know whatever you’re willing to tell me about Miss Ashby.”

  Lady Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “I thought you two were well acquainted. Perhaps I assumed too much when she asked you to accompany her last week.”

  “Miss Ashby and I are . . . quite recently acquainted.” He could hardly confess the truth. On the face of it, their agreement was inappropriate. He was beginning to wonder why it had made so much sense that day in Diana’s laboratory.

  But of course Diana was the reason he’d agreed. He’d been half smitten with her then. He was afraid to name what he was now.

  “What would you like to know?”

  Aidan worked his jaw and considered all his questions. Finally, he pulled one of Diana’s lists from his coat pocket and handed it to Lady Elizabeth.

  “Miss Ashby agreed to introduce me to eligible marriage-minded noblewomen.”

  “Like me?”

  “Yes. For each lady she introduced me to, she produced a list like that one.” He waited until she’d finished reading and chuckling under her breath at the effusive way her friend had described her. “I would like a similar list about Miss Ashby. You needn’t write anything down, of course, but I’d like to know what you can tell me about her interests, her motivations.”

  Lady Elizabeth cast him a sympathetic grin. “Diana is not terribly mysterious. One of the things I like best about her is that she is utterly bereft of pretense. She truly loves her science and engineering and inventions. Occasionally, I’ve seen her play the piano or ride a horse for pleasure, but for the most part I remember her as a young woman who was driven to create and make sure others understood the usefulness of her designs.”

  “Do you know why she doesn’t wish to marry?”

  “Most of us at Bexley had moments of rejecting the notion of marriage. Surprising, perhaps, to hear about a group of young ladies sent away to a finishing school. I recall one classmate who was the most vehement disbeliever. She insisted marriage was an institution designed to subjugate women.”

  “Is that what Diana believed?” he asked Lady Elizabeth.

  “I don’t think so. Diana wants exactly what she says: she wants her inventions to succeed.”

  “The device she’s created can succeed.” Aidan admitted to himself that he hadn’t been a believer when she’d presented her idea to the Duke’s Den. But now, he understood how the device could be useful. “I believe in Diana, and I should have seen the potential in her invention.”

  “That’s wonderful news.” Lady Elizabeth beamed.

  “So once Diana has the success she craves, what will she think of marriage?”

  The noblewoman’s mouth curved. “Unfortunately, the medium took her crystal ball with her when she departed the other evening, Mr. Iverson.”

  “Your best guess, Lady Elizabeth.”

  “I’m not a woman who offers guesses freely.” She took another sip of her tea. “I prefer facts. A bit like Diana.”

  All his life, Aidan had been willing to take risks. He’d run away from the workhouse with nothing but the clothes on his back. He’d learned the ins and outs of gaming and risked pence and pounds in back alley betting for years before building his fortune. He owned a gambling club, for bloody sake.

  But this was a different sort of gamble. One with consequences that he feared might break him in ways that the loss of money never could. While he sat stewing, Lady Elizabeth continued sipping her tea and casting him a skin-prickling look of assessment.

  “You can tell me nothing to ensure I might win her?” That was it. The heart of why he’d come. The most open appeal he could make.

  She tipped her head and her expression softened. Aidan had the sense she was considering whether to take pity on him. Finally, she drew in a long breath and let it out on a sigh.

  Leaning forward slightly on the settee, she cast him a sympathetic grin. “Without risk, Mr. Iverson, is there any real value in the reward?”

  Diana lifted the hammer again and again, working the strip of copper into the proper shape to fit into her third device. The metal gave way and formed itself against the wooden structure underneath beautifully. She was getting better at this part. Nothing like repeating the same processes over and over to become proficient.

  “We’re going, Di,” Dominick called from the conservatory threshold.

  Her next strike went wide and nearly caught her hand where she held the edge of metal in place.

  “When will you return?” Diana hadn’t paid close attention to the details of her brother and mother’s outing. She only knew that they were answering a long put-off dinner invitation from a family friend.

  “Late mostly likely.” Dom applied his gloves and sounded as unenthusiastic as Diana had been at the prospect.

  They’d all been invited, but Diana insisted she could not spare the time. That had turned into an argument and then another, until her mother finally capitulated and allowed her to beg off. It wasn’t so much that Mama understood her need to spend every moment she could working on the devices for Mr. Repton, only that she’d tired of trying to change Diana’s mind.

  But this had nothing to do with stubbornness. Mr. Repton’s deadline was fast approaching and she needed five devices in perfect working order by the end of the next week.

  “There’s apparently to be a musical performance, then dinner, then parlor games,” Dom said in a miserable drone. “Wish me luck. Or simply knock me over the head with that hammer now. You choose.”

  Diana laughed and stood to stretch out the knots in her back and shoulders before approaching her brother.

  “You’ll survive, I promise.”

  “Not if someone plays the harpsichord. I have an almost preternatural loathing of that sound. Either I will destroy the instrument or it will destroy me.”

  Diana reached up to straighten his askew tie. “I’m glad you’re taking this all in good stride.” She winked at him.

  “Be amused. You, in your metal-filled tower. I’ll do the honorable thing and endure an evening of hellish entertainment for the both of us.”

  “You’re very like a knight in shining armor.”

  “Tell Lady Sophie that.” The moment the quip was out, his eyes widened and he attempted to cover the admission with a choked guffaw.

  “Perhaps I will, brother dear. Perhaps I will.”

  “Don’t,” he said softly.

  “Domi
nick.” Their mother’s call was muffled and barely audible.

  “Go and enjoy yourself as much as you can.”

  Dom glanced around her crowded workshop, more cluttered now with the addition of materials for the five devices and three completed models. “Don’t hammer or nail yourself to anything, and don’t let anything combust.”

  “I haven’t burned the house down yet.”

  He finally lightened as he departed, casting one of his charming grins over his shoulder at her.

  Diana resumed her seat at the workbench and gripped her hammer. She ran her fingers over the copper, feeling for the spots that still needed shaping. When she’d determined where, she attacked the metal again.

  A series of knocks rattled through the house and she turned her head a fraction just as the hammer struck the spot where she was holding the copper in place. Her thumb took the brunt of the strike. Shooting pain lanced up her arm, and she let her hammer clatter to the floor. Lifting her hand to examine her thumb, she realized her whole arm was shaking from the pain. Tears streaked down her face, as if her body was determined to let the discomfort out somehow.

  Still the banging continued. A visitor was at the front door and, for some reason, none of the servants seemed capable of answering.

  She stood up from her chair and fought a wave of dizziness. The sharp sting had turned into a torturous throb and the edge of her thumb had begun to redden and bruise. She hadn’t broken the nail and she could move the digit enough to convince herself she hadn’t done any permanent damage. But it hurt like hell.

  As she headed down the hall, she encountered the housekeeper.

  “Sorry for the delay, miss. I can fetch the door.”

  “It’s all right. I’ll greet the visitor, but would you bring some ice and rags to my workshop, Mrs. Rudd?”

  The older woman’s face furrowed with concern when she noticed how Diana was sheltering one hand with the other.

  “You’ve hurt yourself, miss. I knew it would come to that eventually.”

  Diana tamped down the flare of irritation. “I’ll be fine. Just see to the ice.”

  Whoever was at the front door knocked again and it took her last vestiges of restraint not to shout at them to stop. After a quick swipe of her cheeks, she turned the knob with her undamaged hand and held the other close against her chest.

  “Diana.” Aidan cast her a look that was equal parts surprise and pleasure to find her answering the door. His mouth began to lift in a smile until he noticed her swollen thumb. “My God, what’s happened?”

  He began to reach for her and she instinctively pulled back, tucking her hand closer to her chest.

  “An accident. Nothing serious. It won’t slow me down. I can still get the five devices completed by the end of the week.”

  “To hell with the devices. Let me take a look at your wound.” He stepped inside, shrugged out of his coat, and deposited it in an unceremonious heap on the entry table.

  “The housekeeper is bringing some ice back to the workshop.” Diana hated the tremulous quality of her voice. She realized it wasn’t just her hand that was shaking. Her whole body had turned clammy and she couldn’t stem a case of shivers.

  “Lead the way,” Aidan told her and then gathered his coat in one hand before following her.

  Once she was seated in her workshop chair, he settled the garment around her shoulders. She didn’t protest. The chills persisted, even though the pain in her thumb had begun to wane.

  “How did it happen?” Aidan retrieved one of her wooden stools and sat in front of her. He offered his open palm, not touching her but indicating that she should place her hand in his.

  “The hammer. I was shaping that bit of copper.” Diana laid her injured hand gingerly in Aidan’s palm and indicated the tool and project she’d abandoned. “I missed.”

  “Just as you requested, miss.” The housekeeper entered the conservatory with a bowl of ice and a handful of rags, but she jerked to a stop when she noticed Aidan cupping Diana’s hand.

  “Shall I call for a doctor?” she asked pointedly.

  “Perhaps you should,” Aidan told her.

  “No, you should not, Mrs. Rudd. The ice will take down the swelling and I’ll have a fearsome bruise. No doctor required. Thank you,” she told the older woman to stop her from gaping.

  When the housekeeper retreated, Aidan leaned closer and ran his fingers gently along the edge of her hand. “Does it feel as bad as it looks?” Her nail had begun to discolor to a bluish plum shade and the skin of her entire thumb was still flushed a bright, angry reddish pink.

  “It does hurt a bit.”

  Aidan seemed to admire her attempt at stoicism, but he didn’t look as if he believed a word. “So what you’re saying is it’s agony?” he asked lightly.

  “Yes.” Diana pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

  “I have a flask in my carriage if you’d like me to retrieve it.” When she simply offered a quizzical look in reply he added, “Whiskey. To help with the pain.”

  “I’ll be fine. The pain is beginning to wane.” The throb had grown duller, but Aidan’s presence was a welcome distraction too. Focusing on him allowed her to fixate less on the pain. The gentle back and forth stroke of his thumb against the base of hers was soothing. She was grateful for his arrival, but it begged the question. “What are you doing here?”

  He looked taken aback by the question, as if he hadn’t expected it or hadn’t prepared an answer. “I wished to see . . . how you’re progressing with production. If you needed help, I intended to offer my services.”

  A strangled chuckle burst from her lips and he looked momentarily affronted.

  “What services do you have to offer, Mr. Iverson?”

  He narrowed one green eye at her. “A great deal fewer for a lady who addresses me so formally.”

  “And if I call you Aidan?”

  He slid his gaze over her face and leaned an inch closer.

  Diana forgot the pain, forgot to breathe. He was going to kiss her again and she wanted him to. Desperately.

  One inch closer and his knees bumped hers.

  She lifted her uninjured hand to touch his cheek, to feel the rough brush of stubble, the hard edge of his jaw. He waited, seeming not to breathe, until she lowered her head and pressed her lips to his.

  Aidan responded instantly but gently, allowing her to take the lead, to taste and slide her tongue along his lush bottom lip. When she broke the kiss, his eyes were glazed with the same hunger she felt thrumming inside.

  She edged closer to him on her chair, spreading her legs to let one of his knees rest between hers. The movement caused her thumb to bump his and she let out a whimper of pain.

  Immediately, he lifted his hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s my fault. I was too eager.”

  Keeping his gaze fixed on her hand, he smiled. “I like your eagerness.”

  With infinite care, he slid back and rose from the stool where he sat. He approached the worktable where Mrs. Rudd had left the bowl of now partially melted ice. After soaking a rag in the cold water, he wrapped the chips of ice inside.

  “See if this helps at all.” He offered her the ice-filled rag and then bent to retrieve the hammer she’d left on the floor. “Now tell me what to do with this to help you finish your work.”

  A painful lump rose in her throat. She never let her mother into her workshop, and Dom was only ever allowed if he vowed not to touch anything. No one had ever come with the intent of assisting her.

  “You see the spots where the metal isn’t quite flat and fully flush against the shape beneath? Those need to be worked on.”

  “I can do that.” He scooted his stool over toward where she’d been working and began tentatively.

  “You can hit it harder. The metal won’t break.”

  He did as she bid him, and he continued the work with impressive persistence. There wasn’t a moment’s disagreement when she redirected him to another spot on the
metal or advised him how best to hold the hammer.

  He was the most handsome, competent, and agreeable assistant she could have ever imagined.

  Though there was little she could do with a rag wrapped around one hand, Aidan made it feel as if they were working in tandem. He asked her questions about her design as he worked.

  “Anything else?” he finally asked when the copper piece was finished.

  Diana hesitated, uncertain whether she should ask him to do more.

  “I want to help. I’m here to help,” he insisted.

  She pointed to another sheet of unhammered copper. “The same needs to be done to that piece and the one below it.”

  Without hesitation, he retrieved a fresh plate of copper and began shaping it over the wooden block. His strikes with the hammer were already deft. After a few moments of working away at the metal, he paused and tipped a grin at her over his shoulder. “Banging away like this is strangely satisfying. I could get used to it.”

  Diana’s heart leaped in her chest. He’d made the comment lightly, his voice full of amusement, but the feelings it evoked were deeper. So potent that they frightened her.

  He looked so strangely right in her workshop, just as his lips felt perfect against her own. They always had. Even before she knew his name.

  “Yes,” she whispered, unsure if he heard her. “I could get used to this too.”

  When he continued working, she unwrapped her finger and approached, resting her hands gently on his shoulders. He stilled, but the muscles of his shoulders bunched and flexed under her touch. Then he laid down the hammer and pivoted on his seat to face her.

  “Thank you,” she told him.

  His eyes were bright, his mouth softened into a half smile. “You know those are words I will always owe to you, since the night we met.”

  “You can consider that debt repaid.”

  He chuckled. “After an hour of work? I must teach you to drive a harder bargain.”

  “In that case, I ask for a bit more than your labor.”

  Standing, he moved an inch closer, until their chests brushed in a delicious friction. “What else can I do for you, Miss Ashby?”

  Diana twined her arms around his neck and lifted off her heels. He caught her around the waist, and every heated inch of him warmed her.