A Duke Will Never Do

by Burke, Darcy

  He looked into her eyes as they straightened. “There you go saving me again,” he murmured.

  “Someone has to.”

  “Apparently.” He looked away, and she removed her hands from his waist. The feel of him against her—his warm, strong chest pressed into hers—was emblazoned on her body and mind.

  “Here, sit.” She looked to the settee and put her arm toward him but stopped short of touching him.

  He went and sat, stretching his legs out before him. Daffodil promptly attacked his foot again. “If it weren’t for the cat, I would have been fine.”

  “Maybe, but doesn’t it feel better to sit?”

  “Actually, it does. I suppose I should rest a bit more.” He didn’t sound entirely thrilled.

  “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps we can play a game later—cards or backgammon. Or I can bring you some books.”

  “Either would be lovely, thank you. For now, maybe you could just keep me company until my new jail, I mean new room, is ready.”

  Jane considered sitting beside him, but ended up taking a chair across from him instead. She was still feeling a bit flustered after last night. “I’d like to hope this doesn’t feel like jail.”

  “It doesn’t. I was teasing.” He sat up a little straighter, retracting his feet a bit. Daffodil nipped his ankle, but he didn’t even flinch. “I am incredibly grateful for your assistance and your concern.”

  “Daffodil!” Jane admonished, not that the kitten paid her any attention. It would take her some time to learn her name.

  “She’s not bothering me,” Lord Colton said, reaching down to scratch her behind the ear. Daffodil flopped onto her side and then promptly curled herself around his hand and ran her back feet against his wrist. Colton laughed. “She’s rather frisky.”

  “That’s what Culpepper said. I’ve sent him to fetch Daffodil’s sister so they will have each other to play with.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, although I daresay Daffodil can probably turn just about anything into a plaything.” He scooped her up in his hand and brought her to his lap, where he alternated between pressing her nose and tickling her belly. She attacked his hand with fervor, flopping this way and that. Their play was most entertaining.

  Watching him, she realized he held many attractive qualities, and she was again reminded of the proposition she’d made him last night. She’d wondered if he would pretend it hadn’t happened—she considered doing that herself—but he’d already mentioned it. Even if it was in the form of a self-deprecating comment.

  She decided not to raise the issue. She wouldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened, but neither would she press him. He wasn’t in any condition to help her anyway. Oh, why had she been so bold?

  Instead, she once again reverted to the subject of the rumor. “I’m hoping you recalled something else about that rumor you mentioned last night. I’m quite keen to find out who started it and why.”

  He continued to play with Daffodil as he cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t. That was five years ago. Truly, it’s been a very long time since I heard mention of it.”

  “But have you heard something since then? Does the rumor continue to follow me?”

  “I couldn’t say. I’m not exactly on the Marriage Mart myself.”

  No, of course he wasn’t. But he had been once. Presumably. “Were you looking for a wife at one time?”

  “Not really. Perhaps you should ask someone else about the rumor. Or, better yet, forget about it entirely.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Whoever started it was lying and must have had a reason to do so. They ruined my life. Surely I deserve to know why, if not an apology.”

  “And what will that accomplish?” he asked flatly. “What’s done is done. You can’t change the past, Miss Pemberton.”

  She recalled that last night, he’d called her Jane. That had been after she’d said they could share a bed. Heat started to rise in her neck. Had she actually said that?

  Clutching to the topic at hand, she said, “I plan to talk to Phoebe.”

  “Does she know that I’m here?”

  “Not yet, but I will tell her at some point—we don’t keep secrets from each other.” Besides, Phoebe was the closest thing Jane had to family. Her parents certainly weren’t going to visit any time soon. Or ever. And her sister Anne would be wed in a fortnight or so. Jane’s chest tightened when she thought of how she would miss her sister’s celebration. Because her parents wouldn’t allow her to attend. They’d said she’d made the decision not to come the moment she’d moved to Cavendish Square. To which Jane had retorted that she’d at least waited until Anne was betrothed.

  In hindsight, however, perhaps she should have delayed her departure until after the wedding. Except her parents’ pressure regarding Mr. Brinkley had grown untenable. They hadn’t been listening to her, and she’d feared they would announce a betrothal any day. She’d felt utterly trapped. This, where she was now—lonely as it might seem at the moment—was far preferable.

  “If you tell Phoebe, she’ll tell Marcus,” Colton said. “I’d prefer he didn’t know about my altercation.”

  Of course Phoebe would tell him. They shouldn’t have secrets either. Damn. “Why don’t you want him to know? Isn’t he your friend?”

  “Yes.” His tone was measured. “However, I am not in the mood for his…concern.”

  “Yet, you’re satisfied with mine.”

  “You are far more delightful. And prettier.”

  Jane laughed even as she realized he hadn’t really answered her question. He could be very enigmatic, particularly when it came to his behavior. She was a bit surprised he hadn’t asked for spirits yet. Although, maybe that was why he’d been going downstairs. She nearly asked, but decided he probably wouldn’t answer that either.

  So she couldn’t tell Phoebe that Lord Colton was here. That was unfortunate, because not only did she dislike lying to her best friend, she was also now unable to ask for advice as to whether she ought to seduce him.

  “What?” he asked. “You’re looking at me rather intently.”

  “Am I? I was thinking about lying to my dearest friend and how uncomfortable that makes me. Alas, I will honor your request, and when I visit her to discuss this disturbing rumor, I will withhold the fact that you are here—and why.”

  “You don’t even need to visit her about that rumor. Not really. As I told you, the past belongs where it resides—behind us. There’s no point dredging it up again, especially the unpleasant bits.” He spoke with a dark, provoking ferocity.

  She leaned forward, earnest in trying to make him understand her perspective. “This isn’t just a past mistake or regret. This is a mystery that deeply affected my life. I should like to know why it happened. As I said, I think I deserve that.”

  “Knowing what happened won’t change it,” he said grimly, his gaze clouding. “So long as you know that.” He looked away, and she felt a sudden chill. He had to be speaking about his parents. They’d been murdered by a highwayman, and their death had devastated him and Sarah. Nothing could ever change that past.

  Jane stood. “I’ll see if your bed is ready.”

  He glanced down at Daffodil, who was now curled into a ball asleep in his lap. “No rush, as I seem to be trapped.”

  His tone held a bit of mirth, but she still heard the darkness beneath it. Perhaps he was trapped. And maybe she could help set him free.

  * * *

  Anthony had awakened the next morning with not one, but two kittens curled up in a pile between his calves on top of the coverlet. He’d later learned that Daffodil’s sister, named Fern, presumably because of her pretty green eyes, had come to the household the previous evening.

  He’d heard that from Meg, whom he’d apologized to for being difficult yesterday afternoon. He hadn’t seen Miss Pemberton since then.

  Standing from the writing desk in his chamber, Anthony went into the narrow dressing room to tie his cravat. He wound the silk aro
und his neck and looked into the glass. At last, the swelling around his right eye had diminished enough so that he could actually see from it. However, the rest of his face still looked fairly awful. Some of the purples had lightened to blue and some of the blues had paled to green, but overall, it remained a colorful chaos.

  After tying the cravat into a semblance of style, he picked up his coat and tugged it on, wincing slightly as his ribs pulled. They felt a trifle better, but he understood why the physician had recommended he rest. Even so, he hadn’t been able to resist bathing and dressing today. He needed to feel like a human again. He brushed his fingertips over the short beard covering his jaw. Albeit a hairy human.

  Going back into the bedchamber, Anthony picked up the letter he’d just written and walked to the door. Before he could open it, someone rapped on the outside.

  “Come in,” Anthony said as he reached for the latch. He opened the door to see Miss Pemberton standing in the corridor.

  Her gaze swept over him in surprise. “You’re dressed.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re supposed to be resting. For at least three more days. Four, really. Maybe longer.” She pursed her lips, and he couldn’t help thinking they looked incredibly kissable.

  “I wanted to feel normal for a change,” he said. “And I wanted to see if Culpepper could have this delivered.” He held up the letter he’d written to his butler and valet.

  “Oh. What’s that?”

  “I’ve asked my butler and valet to send some clothing. I’m a bit weary of this costume.”

  “You shouldn’t be dressed at all. You have a nightshirt that I purchased for you. If you stay abed, that would be enough.” She glanced past him toward the bed. “But you don’t want to stay in bed.”

  “You mentioned cards or backgammon. I was hoping we might play. Lying in bed makes that difficult.”

  She narrowed her tawny eyes at him. “I still think you were just trying to sneak downstairs.”

  “If my intent was to play a game with you, how would I have maintained any amount of secrecy?” he asked wryly.

  “You determined that once you were downstairs, I wouldn’t force you to come back up.”

  “You have this all sorted out,” he said with a hint of admiration. Because she was right.

  “I’ll allow you to go downstairs—just for a game—if you can make it to the stairs without weaving on your feet.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t going to offer me escort?” He pouted.

  A smile teased her heart-shaped mouth. “I will stay close enough to catch you. Again.”

  “Then allow me to escort you,” he said, presenting his arm.

  She hesitated, but then placed her hand on his arm, and they started toward the stairs. Anthony felt much steadier on his feet than since he’d arrived, and he made his way to the stairs—and down them—without so much as a totter.

  “Did I pass the test?” he asked when they reached the bottom.

  She inclined her head. “Well done, my lord.”

  He guided her to the garden room. “My lord sounds so formal. You must call me Anthony.”

  She took her hand from his arm after they moved inside. “I couldn’t. That’s far too familiar.”

  “You’ve tended my wounds, allowed me to sleep in your bed, and seen me naked. What is more familiar than that?”

  “I can think of at least one thing,” she said, averting her gaze. “Also, I did not see you naked. Just nearly so.”

  Anthony tried not to think about that one thing. Or any of the other things that went along with that. “Oh, well, if that’s all…”

  She flashed him a wide, brief smile. “Let me give your letter to Culpepper.”

  “Thank you.” He handed it to her. “Could you send a coach to deliver it and have a footman wait to collect my belongings and then bring them back? That’s the only way I can think to keep my location secret.”

  “Of course.” She took the missive. “I’ll instruct Culpepper to arrange it.”

  “And perhaps have him bring some madeira or port?”

  She pressed her lips together. “I thought you were avoiding anything stronger than ale.”

  “Only because you said I had to.” He went to the table situated in front of the doors that led to the garden and sat.

  She tapped the letter against her hand. “If you can articulate a good reason for needing something stronger than ale, I’ll allow you to have it.”

  “Ha. You’re a malicious caregiver.”

  “If you think so, I suppose you can leave at any time.”

  “You’ve adamantly insisted I stay for at least a week.” He regarded her with interest. “Why the sudden change?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “I can’t force you to do anything. If spirits are that important to you, I suppose you must do as you will.”

  She was right—she couldn’t force him to do anything, including accept her proposal. But he was considering that, just as he was abstaining from everything except ale. “As I am healing rather well under your care—malicious or not—I am inclined to stay. And abide by your rules.”

  “I’ll take this to Culpepper,” she said, waving the missive. “And ask him to bring some ale.” She departed, and the two kittens dashed into the garden room.

  “If it isn’t Daffodil and Fern,” he said, smiling. They came to him and sniffed his boot-clad foot. He reached down and gave each of them a pat. “Are you terrorizing the house yet?” He glanced about the room for something for them to play with. His eyes landed on a ball of yarn, rather a ball with a long tail of yarn that had come unraveled.

  Anthony stood and fetched the ball from the corner. Fern’s head snapped toward him as he rewound the yarn around the ball. “Looking for this?” he asked.

  He squatted down and held the ball out on his palm. Fern scampered to him and swatted the ball, gingerly at first, then more forcefully so it went flying off his hand. Daffodil raced toward it, tackling her sister in the process. They tussled for a moment, seeming to forget about the yarn. Then they both froze and looked for the ball in unison, both launching toward it at once.

  Anthony laughed at their antics, feeling better than he had in ages.

  “What’s so funny?” Miss Pemberton asked. She sauntered toward the table, carrying a backgammon set.

  “The kittens. They are incredibly entertaining.”

  She set the game down on the table. “I adore them so much, and they’ve only been here a day. Fern hasn’t even been here that long, actually.”

  “What prompted you to get them?” Anthony asked, retaking his seat at the table and helping her to set up the backgammon board.

  “You, actually.”

  Anthony arched a brow at her and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Why?”

  “Because you were making a racket while I was trying to have a Spitfire Society meeting, and I had to come up with a reason for the noise. I blamed it on a kitten.”

  “And they believed you?” He didn’t remember what had happened, but imagined he’d made more noise than a kitten could.

  “They seemed to.” She looked at the kittens playing with the yarn. “And watching them sometimes, I think it’s maybe possible. Daffodil knocked several things off my dressing table this morning. I wonder if they even slept.”

  “They did. Meg let them into my room last night and kept the door cracked open.”

  Miss Pemberton looked at him in surprise. “They slept with you?”

  “When they weren’t attacking my feet.”

  “I see. How adorable.” She snapped her gaze to his. “Except it was probably annoying, and you need your rest. I’ll make sure they don’t bother you tonight.”

  “It was fine.” He narrowed an eye at her. “Or are you just trying to steal them for yourself?”

  She laughed. “Not at all. After you go, perhaps they’ll sleep with me.”

  After he went. He suddenly didn’t want to contemplate that. “Shall we play backgammon?”<
br />
  “Unless we set up the board just to look at it.”

  “Or for the kittens to jump up and bat the pieces around.”

  “Shhh.” She glanced over at them where Daffodil was launching a sneak attack on her sister. “Don’t give them any ideas.”

  “Shall we roll to see who goes first?”

  Miss Pemberton nodded and picked up one of the dice. Anthony plucked the other from the board, and they both rolled. “It’s you,” he said after rolling a two to her four.

  Culpepper appeared with two cups of ale, which he deposited on the table. “Can I bring anything else?”

  Miss Pemberton arched a brow at Anthony in question. He looked up at Culpepper to answer his question. “No, thank you.”

  After Culpepper left, Anthony raised his cup. “To the loveliest caregiver I could have hoped for.”

  She gave him an arch look. “I thought I was malicious.”

  He shrugged. “You’re still the loveliest.” He grinned at her before sipping his ale.

  She rolled the dice, and they each took a few turns before he spoke again. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her proposal. Which wasn’t all that shocking. It wasn’t every day a beautiful young woman asked him to seduce her. It wasn’t ever, actually.

  But was it really seduction? “So about this proposition of yours,” he said slowly.

  She perked up, her gaze meeting his. “Yes?”

  “What exactly are you looking for? Something transactional—I give you pleasure in exchange for your hospitality and care, and that’s that?”

  “Well, I suppose I’d like to give you pleasure in return. That seems only polite.”

  Polite? “This isn’t an exchange of favors, Miss Pemberton. What you’re asking will expose you—and me, and not just physically. There is an intimacy when one does these things.” He took another drink of ale. How could he have ever thought this—with her—would be transactional? “Well, there can be, and it’s better if there is.”