He stilled, a strange shock of awareness holding him suspended, frozen in a sliver of time. It was a curious sensation, one he’d never experienced before.
He’d admired many women but he’d never reacted to any of them like this. A potent mix of emotions swept through him—desire, excitement, fascination, even tenderness. And all the while a beat in his brain said: Not her. Not now.
She recovered first, with a small shake of her head. Touching her temple with a hand that trembled slightly, she turned away. “I had best return to my guests.”
Finally, he found his voice. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
She halted with her back to him. Her head turned slightly, so he could see her profile, limned by candlelight from the ballroom. “Forgetting something? What do you mean?”
He strolled up to her, taking his time, drawing out the moment. When he stood behind her, close enough to feel the warmth of her body, he stopped.
He saw the ripple in her slender throat when she swallowed. Her lips parted to draw in a quick breath.
Reaching around her, he closed his hand over hers and took the pin she still held. He could have sworn she shivered at his touch.
He wanted to put his other arm around her and cup her breasts in his hands. He wanted to set his lips to that vulnerable spot at the junction of her collarbone and throat, above the gold filigree necklace she wore.
But only his breath touched her there, stirring soft chestnut tendrils, before he stepped back, allowing her to turn around to face him once more.
“Your hem,” he said. “Didn’t you say you needed to pin it?”
Her face flushed. She lifted a tentative hand to her cheek. “Oh, yes, of course. Give it to me and I’ll—”
Max smiled. “No, I insist. Allow me.”
He knelt before her, running his fingers around the hem of her flimsy garment. She was so still, she might have been holding her breath. When his fingers brushed her ankle, she started and quickly stepped back, whisking the silk from his light grasp.
Max looked up and caught a wild expression in her eyes.
“Where is the tear? I can’t seem to find it,” he said, careful to keep any suggestion of irony from his tone.
“Rather more to the left,” she replied, regaining her composure. “Do be quick about it, sir. I could have done it myself in half the time.”
He found the small rent in her hem and gave a silent whistle. Score one to the lady. He had not expected to find her excuse for lingering on the terrace genuine.
He repaired the tear quickly and tweaked her skirts into place, resisting the urge to touch her again.
Straightening, he held his arm out to her. “Your guests will wonder where you are. Shall we?”
She stared at his arm as if it were a snake ready to strike her. “Oh, no. Do, please, excuse me. I must see what that fellow wanted. Go in to supper and I shall be there in a moment.”
He raised his brows. “Why would you leave a party to see what that ruffian has to say? Were you expecting him?”
“Of course not!” she said lightly. “I’ve never seen him before in my life. But he’s made me curious, and I can never rest until I have satisfied my curiosity, you know, no matter how trivial the matter might be.” She gave a small hiccup of laughter that might be described as a titter. Strange. She didn’t strike him as the sort of female who habitually tittered.
So she wanted him to think she was just another vapid female, did she? She intrigued him more every moment.
He could have made it more difficult for her but he decided to let her go. He would follow her and eavesdrop. One more loathsome act to chalk up on his account. He’d be glad when this business was over.
Max bowed. On impulse, he captured her hand to raise it to his lips. “I shall see you soon, Lady Kate. I look forward to pursuing our acquaintance.”
If the brush of his mouth on her gloved knuckles affected her as it did him, she didn’t show it. She swept him an elegant curtsey, and there was a glitter in her smile.
“No more than I, Your Grace. No more than I.”
KATE hurried out of the ballroom, along the servants’ corridor. Had she allayed Lyle’s suspicions? She didn’t think so. He was far too acute for her peace of mind. Thank Heaven Ives hadn’t given her away.
Why had the duke been so rough with him? Had he guessed why Ives was there?
Stephen’s incarceration was not common knowledge, but Lyle probably knew about it. The old Duke of Lyle had granted Stephen his living at the local vicarage, after all.
London buzzed with gossip about the new duke’s inheritance. She seemed to recall someone mentioning that he had worked at the Home Office until recently, which made it even more likely that he knew where Stephen was and why he was held.
A most . . . unsettling man, the Duke of Lyle.
He’d seen her with Ives and he was intelligent enough to put two and two together. If she wasn’t careful, she might end up in prison, too.
Kate shivered, remembering the way the moonlight struck his thick black hair as he bent to fix her gown. She’d known a fleeting urge to set her hand in that coarse mass and run her fingers through it. His hair was slightly longer than fashionable and brushed in no recognizable style. The new duke was no fashion plate, that was certain, though his coat was well tailored, setting off his height and his broad shoulders to perfection.
Lyle might be careless of his own appearance, but those hard, gray eyes saw too much. A dark thrill had shot through her body when his fingers brushed her ankle. And when she’d met his gaze . . . Kate shut her eyes. Despite the threat he posed to her, she was inexplicably, powerfully drawn to him, and that was even more dangerous.
She slipped down the steps, cautiously peering over the rail to the bustling kitchens below. Had Ives done her bidding or simply given up and gone away? She placed no dependence on his reliability. But then Stephen hadn’t much choice but to trust the man, she supposed.
“My lady!” A hoarse whisper came from a darkened doorway to her left.
Thank goodness. She hurried down the stairs and slipped into a room where the empty preserving bottles and other odds and ends were kept.
Ives was there, waiting for her with an aggrieved expression.
“What news?” she whispered, trying to keep her skirts well clear of the dusty floor.
“You didn’t oughter ’ave pretended not to know me up there, my lady. That big brute could have taken it out on my hide, what’s more.”
“I saved you from him, didn’t I? How was I to know he’d be lurking out there in wait?”
Ives shuffled his feet and lowered his head. The light glanced off his balding crown. “Seems I deserve somefink in compensation, like. For the pain and suffering on account of that hulking fellow got the wrong end of the proverbial.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You mean you want more money. Well, I won’t pay you a penny more until you can convince me you have information that’s worth the expense, you shifty little man.”
She tapped her foot. “Come on, out with it. I don’t have all night, you know. How does my brother?”
A gleam stole into the rheumy eyes. “Clapped him in irons, they have. In a cell by hisself so he can’t corrupt the other prisoners. No visitors, not even a solicitor, I’m told.”
Kate’s blood turned to ice. “How can they do that? He has done nothing wrong!”
“C’n do anything they like to rabble-rousers these days, can’t they? No questions asked.”
“My brother is not a rabble-rouser. He is a man of God. Perhaps he might have spoken out against injustice, but he would never countenance rebellion, particularly a violent one.” She blew out a breath. “I must see him.”
Ives hunched his shoulders. “You can’t. They ain’t allowing no visitors.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “How do you know he is in irons if no one can see him?”
Ives tapped the side of his nose. “I have me ways, I have. But I can come and g
o without anyone kicking up a fuss. You would stand out like a sore thumb, my lady, forgiving the impertinence. Best give me any messages you want to send him.”
Kate scrutinized his face with narrowed eyes. Was he telling the truth, or finding another way to line his pockets?
The question was moot. At the moment, Ives was her only link with Stephen. She must take the risk. “I want you to get a message to him. Do you think you can do it?”
Ives thought about it. “P’raps I could at that.” He fingered his chin and eyed her sideways. “It’d cost you, though. A pretty penny in bribes to the guards and such like.”
“How did I know you’d say that?” She sighed. She really had no choice. “How much?”
Ives named a sum that seemed far too high, but how was she to know? Thankfully, her experience in bribing prison officials was limited.
“You can have half now, and half when I have Stephen’s answer. I’ll send someone down with a purse for you.”
She bit her lip. “Ask him to get word to me of anyone who might help him. Tell him I have exhausted my own store of favors. No one in the government is prepared to help a man who has encouraged revolt, not even the son of a peer.”
Ives rubbed his chin. “Not my place to say it, my lady, but I’ll say it all the same. It’s my belief Mr. Stephen don’t want to be freed. Sticking to his principles, he is. Making a protest, like.”
Since this was her greatest fear as well, she cut Ives off. “You are quite correct. It is not your place to say it. I must go now, but don’t forget what I said. Bring me that message from my brother if you want the rest of your money.”
“Yes, my lady. Of course, my lady.” Ives bowed with an unctuous smile.
No, she didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust him at all.
At the top of the stairs, Kate gripped the banister and breathed deeply, momentarily overwhelmed by the difficulties she faced. For a fleeting instant, she wished she could share the burden with someone. Her father was too frail to be drawn into this coil and her elder brother was in Vienna. Her sisters were wrapped up in domestic concerns; they’d be of little use in this crisis.
She could not think of anyone else in the family who would be sympathetic to her cause. Staunch supporters of Liverpool’s government, every one of them, convinced revolution was set to sweep the country.
Kate blew out a frustrated breath and hurried back to her guests. Why did Stephen have to be so confoundedly noble? Instead of taking one of the many livings within their father’s gift, he’d accepted an offer from the old Duke of Lyle, who was reputed to be one of the harshest land-lords in the country.
Instead of an easy, pleasant life, Stephen had set his bantamweight against the might of a duke. He’d been walking on a knife’s edge for two years, careful not to irritate his noble patron sufficiently to be sent away, yet shifting, persuading, cajoling, campaigning subtly for reform.
Then the old duke had died and Stephen had seen the chance for a fresh start. What had happened after that, she was not sure.
She knew a fire at the big house had killed a number of the duke’s relatives who’d gathered there after the old duke’s funeral to hear the will read.
Her brother could have had nothing to do with that, of course. But there he was now, sitting in jail in the most degrading of conditions. The son of an earl, too proud to ask for help.
Was it a coincidence that the new Duke of Lyle had been on the terrace tonight and intercepted Ives? She shivered. No. Of course it was not. Nothing that man did would be anything but utterly calculated, not even the heat of passion she’d glimpsed in those stern gray eyes.
She must remember that.
AFTER supper, Kate mingled with her guests, conversing, making introductions, shepherding reluctant young gentlemen to dance.
The Duke of Lyle had been watching her all evening. She knew it the way she always knew when someone stood behind her, even if they didn’t touch her or make a sound.
Kate tried to remain unaffected, neither staring back at him, nor going out of her way to avoid his regard. But the constant prickling at the nape of her neck told her he still watched, like a wolf stalking his prey. She wondered if this sensation affected small woodland creatures shortly before becoming a predator’s evening meal.
But she was no shy fawn. She was the daughter of an earl, the widow of a member of Parliament. Women couldn’t vote, but many still played a significant role in politics. Without her help and connections, Hector would never have risen so high.
There must be a way she could use her influence to help Stephen. With regret, her friends in the government had all refused their assistance. It infuriated her when she thought of all the advice she had given over the years, the secrets she had kept.
Her gaze focused on Peter Daniel, who had been her greatest hope. She could ruin him with a word, but he would not help Stephen. She would not forget that.
Short of lobbying the prime minister, there was only one avenue left. She must try to persuade the Home Secretary to free her brother.
Lord Sidmouth was the man responsible for the legislation invoked to put Stephen behind bars. She didn’t know Sidmouth well, but perhaps he would help her, if only out of regard for her father’s contribution to the party. Kate worked her way around the ballroom, seeking her quarry. Eventually, she found him.
Speaking with the Duke of Lyle.
Her heart pounded. Could the man read minds? The thought of pleading for clemency for her brother with the duke there was horrifying. She must get Lord Sidmouth alone.
She gave instructions to the orchestra, then slowly skirted the room, pausing every so often to speak with her guests, making her way by degrees to the side of the ballroom where the gentlemen stood watching the dancing.
The duke saw her coming. Despite her subtlety, he’d known she headed his way. He almost seemed omniscient, though that was an absurd fancy. She did not like the heat in his gaze. Those burning eyes seemed to read her mind, penetrate to her soul.
Bracing herself, she approached. “Duke. Lord Sidmouth.” She smiled at them impartially, wondering if they’d already discussed her situation.
Sidmouth would have made a good card player. His expression betrayed nothing. “We were just discussing your triumph, Lady Kate.” He gestured about him at her crowded ballroom. “Something above the ordinary run of entertainments this season. My compliments.”
She couldn’t care less about frivolous things like balls at this moment, but she accepted the compliment graciously. “Thank you, my lord.” Waving her fan in a leisurely way, she turned to the duke. “It is hot in here, don’t you agree?”
“Very,” said Lyle, his gaze insolently raking her body.
Her cheeks flamed. Confound it, how desperately she wished she did not blush! Then she realized he was trying to embarrass her, to throw her off the scent.
Kate narrowed her eyes at him. “My throat is quite parched. Would you fetch me a glass of water, please, sir?” Preferably from the bottom of the Thames.
Ordering a duke to fetch and carry for her was perhaps equal in insolence to his own conduct. As a duke, he might be affronted; as a gentleman, he must accede to her wishes. It was the oldest trick in the book to get rid of a man, but sometimes simple maneuvers proved the most effective.
He took the order without a blink. “It would be my pleasure, Lady Kate.”
Stupidly, Kate was disappointed. He was going to give in as easily as that? She’d thought him a worthier foe.
But the duke did not take a step towards the supper room. A slight lift of his finger and one of her tiresomely efficient footmen materialized at his elbow.
Without taking his gaze from her face, the duke murmured, “Fetch your mistress a glass of water, will you, Arnold?”
She started at his use of the footman’s name. “How—” No. She would not give him the satisfaction of voicing her surprise. A chill skittered down her spine. How did he know so much?
Kate glanced at
Sidmouth, who looked a trifle bemused at their byplay. She would not give up. She must find a way to see him alone before he left the ball. There would be no other opportunity to speak with him privately without causing gossip.
The orchestra struck up a waltz. She’d almost forgotten she’d instructed them to do so. She must not let the duke throw her off balance like this.
Doing her utmost to ignore Lyle’s disturbing presence, she turned the full brilliance of her smile on the Home Secretary. “Oh, how fortunate! I do love to dance the waltz. Dear Lord Sid—”
A hard, masculine arm clamped around her waist and swung her into the dance.
Two
One look that lingers a heartbeat too long. He turns his head. The crowd shifts. He is gone.
He steals my breath. Will he steal my heart as well?
KATE’S heart bounded into her throat. Her stomach pitched. As the duke whirled her down the room, she even felt a little dizzy, as if she’d drunk too much champagne.
His hand imprisoned hers in a tight, unforgiving clasp. There was something almost brutal in the way he held her, though onlookers would see nothing amiss.
Panic fluttered in her chest. He couldn’t keep her against her will in the middle of a crowded dance floor. She knew that, but she had to call on every ounce of self-control to stop herself from fighting to break free.
With every nerve clamoring, urging her to take flight, Kate watched other dancers slide past as if they moved behind a wall of glass. The trail of light from candles, the glittering jewels and silks went by in a blur. The noise of the crowd was muted, distant. All she could feel and see and hear was Lyle.
She tried to block him out—the arms of tempered steel, the breath that stirred her hair, the strong legs that propelled them down the room, the broad chest that seemed to inch closer with every turn. His infernal heat. She felt it, even through the fabric of clothes and gloves.
Inwardly, Kate shook herself. For goodness’ sake, she was acting like some silly debutante waltzing for the first time. She had more courage than this! She would not cower before the Duke of Lyle. He might have won this battle, but she would win the war.
The Dangerous Duke Page 2