No Dukes Allowed

by Grace Burrowes, Kelly Bowen, Anna Harrington

  With a snap of its stem, she plucked one of the roses from its bush. “I’ll rebuff him in Brighton as I did in London.”

  Her friends didn’t seem at all confident about that. But she was certain of it. Pomperly might have missed the hint in London that she held no interest in becoming his new duchess, loathing the nickname, the Double Duchess, that the gossips had given her. As if marrying the man was an absolute certainty. But while he might believe that she’d make an excellent wife for him, she had other intentions. She’d refused to receive him at her town home whenever he called, just as she’d refused every request he made to dance with her at balls, to sit beside her at soirees, to join him in his box at Vauxhall… She’d returned every gift he’d sent her, including two doves. The most inappropriate—and ironic—gift of courtship she’d ever seen. Did he think that symbolized what their marriage would be like… her imprisonment in a gilded cage?

  The fact that he’d chased after her to Brighton changed nothing. “I’ll refuse his overtures here just as I did in Mayfair.”

  “He already stopped by the town house while you were with Maxwell,” Diana informed her.

  She grumbled, “I wasn’t with Maxwell.” At least not the way Diana had implied.

  Genie pulled a note from her pelisse pocket. “He left this for you. An invitation to dinner at the Pavilion.”

  “Then I’ll refuse him.” Her rejection was surely routine for him by now. Soon, he might just give up completely and—

  “You cannot.”

  Just watch me. She smiled confidently. “A lady always has the opportunity to forgo a soiree.” Especially a duchess.

  “Not when the king is in attendance.”

  Her stomach sank. “No,” she whispered, “not with the king.”

  Their slender shoulders sagging, the three of them seemed to deflate in unison, all falling into contemplative silence. They were all part of the ton, all knew what an invitation to the palace meant. A command appearance. She nearly laughed at the irony. Thrust inside a gilded cage after all—one that resembled an Asian pleasure palace.

  Then her stomach plummeted right through the floor as the full realization of what this meant fell over her. “Not when Pomperly sits on the board.”

  And not when she desperately needed every vote she could get.

  Her friends were right. There was no way out of the dinner, no way to keep from having to attend on Pomperly’s arm.

  “Unless…” The two looked at her hopefully as a desperate thought struck her—“Maxwell.”

  That made their brows shoot up.

  With a smile like the cat who’d gotten into the cream, she plucked the petals from the rose. “I cannot very well accompany Pomperly if I’ve already agreed to attend on the arm of another, now can I?” The petals fell to the ground, one by one. “ As one of the highest-ranking officers in Brighton, the brigadier has surely been invited.”

  Oh, it was turning into a perfect idea!

  Almost.

  It would mean having to be in close proximity to Maxwell all evening, to tolerate the ghosts of past heartbreaks and pretend that nothing was wrong between them.

  But she would suffer through it. After all, what was one evening in his presence compared to the torment of the past decade?

  “I’ll simply make certain that I arrive as Maxwell’s guest.” Somehow.

  Her friends exchanged unconvinced looks, before Diana asked, “But why would the brigadier agree?”

  Because he has no choice. “He wants my support with the academy, so he’ll do whatever he can to win my favor.”

  “Are you certain about this plan?” Genie asked.

  She tossed away the bare stem. “Absolutely.”

  Maxwell Thorpe might be the devil himself, but if he thought he could once more take her soul and cast her into hell without a fight, oh, he had another think coming!

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  Maxwell waited on the far end of the promenade the next afternoon, where he’d sent word for Belinda to meet him, and tugged at his jacket sleeves. Good Lord, he was nervous! He hadn’t been this much on edge since the last time he’d charged into battle. But then, this was Belinda. Little difference between her and the French.

  Both had good reason to shoot him.

  She’d surprised the devil out of him by asking to speak with him, but it wouldn’t be to simply reiterate that she thought him a monster and that she had no intention of supporting the academy. That could have been put into the message itself, with no need to see him face-to-face. Most likely, she planned to attempt to cajole him to her side and, when that failed, toss him onto the first ship bound for Australia.

  Still, the best defense was a good offense, and an experienced soldier never gave his opponent time to regroup. Which was why he’d told her to meet him at the edge of the town, right where the cliffs began to rise from the sea. And why he’d called in every favor he had with the men in the barracks to arrange the surprise waiting for her.

  As if out of a dream, her lithe figure appeared on the promenade.

  She walked toward him, with the skirts of her ivory dress stirring around her legs in the sea breeze and her bonnet shielding her face from the sun, and his pulse spiked. Old desires—and dreams—died hard.

  Dear God, she was beautiful, and not because of how she looked. Oh, she was pretty, certainly, but not classically. Not with that pert little nose that turned up slightly at the tip, those green eyes that were too big for her face, and that auburn hair that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be red or brown and never stayed in its pins.

  No, it was her soul that radiated beauty and commanded a man’s attention. While other women were content to follow, Belinda led with her heart. Always had. Indeed, he’d fallen in love with her because of it.

  And it was her kind heart that once again had them at odds.

  She stopped in front of him. When her eyes met his, an electric jolt sped through him so intensely that he lost his breath.

  “My apologies for being late.” The ribbons from her bonnet fluttered in the sea breeze, and she tucked them inside her jacket. “I dropped off a basket of sweet rolls at the hospital. It took longer than expected.”

  “No apologies necessary.” His gaze languidly drifted over her. He felt like a blind man given back his sight, and he couldn’t stop staring. “You look lovely.”

  “Maxwell, please don’t.” A faint blush pinked her cheeks, but he couldn’t have said whether from pleasure at the compliment or aggravation. At that moment, he didn’t particularly care which.

  “You’d rather I’d lie and say the exact opposite?” When he reached for her hand, she didn’t pull away. Perhaps she didn’t think him a complete monster after all. “Very well. You’re the most hideous woman I’ve ever met, and every time I’m near you, I want to flee.”

  She laughed at the absurdity of his words. But the urge to kiss her was simply too great to resist, and he turned over her hand to place a tender kiss against her palm.

  Her laughter died. She stiffened, as if waiting for him to wound her again.

  Her reaction eviscerated him. But he hid the pain by forcing a grin and adding, “I want nothing more than to put as much distance between us as possible.”

  “You do, do you?” Suspicion thickened her voice.

  “Absolutely.” He pressed his advantage by looping her arm around his and leading her down the steps to the rocky beach below. Her sweet scent of lavender filled his senses. “I cannot think of anything I’d rather do less than spend hours in your company.”

  “Then it’s a good thing that we’ll only have to suffer a brief conversation this afternoon.”

  He stopped short. When she slipped her arm free and walked on ahead a few paces, he stared after her. Did the little vixen mean that as part of their teasing in opposites, or was she serious?

  Once again, Belinda had him on his toes. No wonder dukes fought for the privilege of courting her. There was never a dull mom
ent in her company.

  He caught up with her and took her arm, guiding her along the beach. “This way.”

  “Where are we going?” She blinked against the late afternoon sun as it sank toward the horizon. “I was hoping we could talk.”

  “We will. But first, just a short walk along the beach.” When she hesitated, he purposely misread her reaction and assured her, “Don’t worry. The tide won’t be in for several more hours.”

  “It isn’t the tide that I’m worried about,” she muttered.

  His lips crooked into a half grin. “Worried that I’ll tie you down and hold you captive until you see reason and support the academy?”

  “I think you’d enjoy it.”

  A sharp pang of yearning reverberated shamelessly inside him at her unwitting innuendo. When they’d courted before, he’d never been anything more than a gentleman with her, no matter how much he’d longed to lay her down and strip her dress away. With his teeth.

  He cleared his throat, but it didn’t keep a husky rasp from his voice. “A man has to do what a man has to do.”

  She slid him a dubious sideways glance. “Including ropes and sailors’ knots?”

  “I’d never use sailors’ knots against you.”

  “Well, thank good—”

  “I’m a soldier,” he continued, deadpan. “We use irons.”

  Halting in her steps, she jerked her arm away. The hard look that she narrowed on him could have cut glass.

  He chuckled at how easily she’d risen to the bait, how much he’d always liked stirring the fire inside her. Ignoring her irritated but surprisingly adorable sniff at his teasing, he once more took her arm.

  He led her farther down the cliff face, until they were out of sight of the town and on an isolated stretch of beach fronted by tiny coves and other indentations carved into the soft limestone rock. Until they were alone.

  “Perhaps we should stop and talk now,” she suggested, the nervousness visible in her.

  “Perhaps we should explore what’s just beyond that next cliff.” Whatever it was that she wanted to say to him would keep until she saw the surprise. It was mercenary, he’d admit that, and done more than just to gain her favor with the board—he also did it simply because he wanted time alone with her. “There’s a stretch of sandy beach there that I think you’ll appreciate.”

  She arched an unconvinced brow. “And I think you’re simply hoping to get me alone so you can charm me into supporting the academy.”

  “You’ve given me no choice. When diplomacy fails, a good soldier attacks.”

  He sensed immediately that he’d said the wrong thing, despite his joking tone. The very worst thing because she stiffened, turning instantly cold.

  “I don’t need reminders of your military career, Maxwell,” she said into the wind, turning her face away as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. “I’m well aware of exactly how dedicated a soldier you are.”

  Damnation. He should have known better. “Then how about a reminder that I’m more than just a soldier? I’m out of uniform. Hadn’t you noticed?”

  “Oh, I noticed.” Yet she slightly turned her head back toward him in a surreptitious glance.

  He stopped her and tugged her around to face him. “Take a good look, Belinda.” She startled slightly at his order. “A good, long look.”

  For a moment, her bright eyes never left his as she stubbornly refused to do as he asked.

  Then, as if unable to resist, she slowly lowered her gaze, trailing it over him, from the neckcloth his man had taken great pains to knot to perfection, to the tan cashmere jacket and brown and white diamond-pattern waistcoat beneath. He was certain she’d stop her perusal there, but the audacious woman continued on, her eyes drinking in the cut of his brown trousers all the way down to his boots.

  When she began a languid return up the length of him, he nearly groaned at the torture that her heated look spiraled through him.

  A stray curl had escaped the confines of her bonnet, and using it as an excuse to touch her, he reached to tuck it back into place.

  “See?” He opportunistically caressed her cheek as he pulled his hand away, then thrilled at the soft shiver that sped through her. “This afternoon, I’m simply a civilian. Don’t think of me as a soldier.”

  “I don’t think I can,” she admitted. Ignoring the affectionate touch he’d just taken, she busied herself with securing the ends of the ribbons that once more danced in the breeze. But she couldn’t hide the shaking of her hands. “I’ve only ever known you as a soldier.”

  Feeling as if he were plunging right over the cliffs above them, he corrected, “You knew me as a man, Belinda.”

  “I thought I did.” Her breathless voice was so soft that it was almost lost beneath the noise of the wind and waves. “I was wrong.”

  “You knew me better than anyone.”

  “No.” She gave up on securing the ribbons and tossed them away in irritation. “The man I knew would never have abandoned me.”

  He didn’t attempt to lessen the wounding those words sliced into him, knowing he deserved it. Instead, he deepened the punishing pain by confirming her worst thoughts of him. “The man you knew would have done exactly that.”

  And did.

  When she opened her mouth to reply, he cut her off. “The past is over.” And nothing that he wanted to discuss with her. “We’re different people now, with different responsibilities and concerns, and there’s no point in arguing about the past when nothing can be done to change it.”

  She arched a piqued brow. “When we’re so able to argue about the future, you mean?”

  “When I’d rather not argue with you at all.” Solemnly, all teasing gone, he held out his hand in invitation to continue their walk. “You once trusted me. Give me the chance to earn back that trust.”

  She hesitated.

  “Please.”

  For a long moment, she didn’t move. Then she gave a jerking nod.

  Not letting himself think about the racing of his heartbeat when her hand slipped into his, he guided her carefully over the rocks as they gave way to sand just beyond the rounded front of the cliff face towering above them. Overhead, in the last light of sunset, gulls cried out against the din of the rolling waves striking far across the wide stretch of beach exposed by the outgoing tide.

  “What was it that you called me in yesterday’s meeting?” Although he knew very well. Despite not allowing it to show, he’d been pierced by the accusation. “A monster?”

  Remorse flashed over her face, yet the stubborn woman didn’t apologize. But he hadn’t expected her to.

  “I’m not a monster, Belinda. I’m simply trying to save as many lives as possible.” He stopped, turning so that he blocked her view into the narrow cove behind him. “Give me the opportunity to convince you that I have only the best interests of everyone at heart. That’s all I’m asking for. Just the chance to be heard.”

  He stepped aside to reveal the surprise waiting for her.

  * * *

  Belinda gasped. “A picnic?”

  She blinked at the sight, unable for a moment to believe her eyes. No, she was wrong—this was so much more than a picnic. This was… oh, this was simply magical!

  A sailcloth lay spread across the patch of powdery white sand, anchored in place against the wind on all four corners by large brass lanterns whose flames danced in the sea breeze, their oil giving off a spicy scent. Scattered across the cloth were several dishes covered with lids so that she couldn’t see what they contained, along with several pillows in jewel-tone satins and a long and narrow Turkish rug edging the side of the sailcloth. A small fire of driftwood flickered on the rocks a few feet away.

  All like something out of The Arabian Nights… exotic and romantic, complete with red rose petals scattered across the white cloth.

  “How…” She was too stunned to finish. Thank goodness that amazement covered her face, because it hid the confused thrill pulsating through her that Maxwell had
gone to all this trouble for her.

  “With the aid of the men at the barracks.” He led her to the rug and helped her to gracefully lower herself. “Do you like it?”

  She loved it. And yet… “I won’t support the academy, if that’s what this is about.”

  He repeated pointedly, matching her own stubbornness, “Do you like it?”

  “It’s tolerable,” she grudgingly admitted.

  Quirking a knowing smile, he placed one of the pillows behind her so she could recline. Then he sat beside her.

  She gestured at the spread. “Why go to all this trouble?”

  “Because you’re right. I want your support.” He reached to pour her a glass of wine. “I’m not above being the type of man who charms his way into a woman’s affections.”

  At that, she couldn’t prevent a little laugh. Charming. He was definitely that, all right. But she knew the truth. That he didn’t have to charm his way back into her affections because he’d never completely left them, despite everything. Which was what had always bothered her most… How could a man whom she’d known well enough to love with all her heart fool her so well?

  He held out the glass to her. “Surely you don’t begrudge a man the opportunity to use every weapon at his disposal?”

  “I suppose that would depend upon how the weapon was wielded,” she clarified, accepting the wine.

  His eyes shone knowingly. “And who was doing the wielding?”

  She pressed her lips tightly together. Drat him. She couldn’t properly answer that without digging herself deeper. The devil knew it, too. He was nothing if not razor-sharp, always had been. His mind had been one of the things she’d loved best about him. That and his understanding of how much her charity work meant to her, how much purpose she found in helping others.

  Yet she wasn’t a dolt herself. “Since when does a picnic count as a weapon?”

  “Wait until you’ve had my cooking.” He winked at her.

  Her breath hitched. She stared at him, speechless. She couldn’t have replied right then even if she’d known what to say.