The Dangerous Duke

by Christine Wells

  “Hang Whitehall!” Perry flung away, but not before Max saw the glimmer of tears in those startlingly blue eyes. “I only ever wanted to be there because of you.”

  Oh, Hell. Not tears! Bad enough when women wept all over you, but when a man did . . . Max struggled to conceal his disgust. And he remembered that even when Kate had been strangled half to death she hadn’t wept. Not a single tear.

  But the root of all this trouble with Perry was that Max had never liked him, not really. He’d been responsible for taking the boy’s villainous father away, and a mixture of guilt and duty had made him keep an eye on the lad.

  He’d seen the growing attachment, but the hero worship had transformed, somewhere along the way, to an unhealthy obsession. If he’d cared more about the boy he would have thought about the consequences, the damage such devotion might cause. But the truth was, he hadn’t cared enough to act.

  Perry dashed moisture from his eyes and turned to Max with a look of anguish, his mouth turned down in an ugly shape.

  Embarrassed by such raw feeling, Max ignored the emotion and concentrated on the words. “Faulkner thinks you have a future.”

  “Faulkner is a pigheaded fool. Jardine will take over, and what will happen to me then? He hates me.”

  Unfortunately, that was true. Perceptive of Perry to sense which way the wind blew.

  And what will you do about it, Lyle? was the unspoken question. For his own peace of mind, he couldn’t offer Perry a position. “Unlikely as that eventuality is, if you should find yourself without employment, you may rely on me. I do not have any positions to fill now, but perhaps one of my friends will have something for you.”

  He put his hand on Perry’s heaving shoulder. “Really, Perry, there is no need for despair.”

  Sixteen

  Slow, deep touch. Tension rises. Blood simmers beneath the skin.

  KATE had visited Lyle Castle on a handful of occasions. The families were acquainted and her brother was the incumbent of the parish.

  “In fact, I’m more familiar with the place than you are, I daresay,” she told Lyle as they took tea upon their arrival. “I’ve sat in this very chair and mentally refurbished the public rooms, reconfigured the layout of the rooms, ripped out the formal garden beds, and landscaped the park.”

  He looked down at her, amused. “Entertainments here were that dull?”

  Kate grinned back. She loved to make him laugh. How wonderful to see that shadow of trouble fall away, even for a moment. Today, he rode out in search of the rebels who’d set fire to the east wing of this draughty old pile. This morning, she’d made it her mission to take his mind off what promised to be a grim business, indeed.

  She arched her brows. “Dull? Need you ask? Dinner parties here were tedious; house parties excruciating. Odiously stiff and formal. The old duke behaved with as much ceremony as if he were the king himself.”

  Lyle snorted a laugh, his harsh features softening in a way that made her stomach turn over. “No, you wrong the old gentleman. He judged his lineage far more impressive than the king’s.”

  Kate smiled, but she couldn’t mistake the edge of bitterness to Lyle’s tone.

  From what Stephen had let fall, the old duke had been the worst kind of tyrant, the sort of master who’d provoked the uprisings in France. But Lyle would change all that, and Kate would help him. And when they’d seen to the health and welfare of all of their people, when they’d rebuilt the east wing, the seat of the fire, it would be time to transform this cold, gloomy place into a home, to banish painful memories.

  This morning, however, she wished to avoid unpleasantness and place no demands on Lyle at all. Concern shadowed his features. He was restless and edgy, prowling the drawing room like a big cat. The last thing she wished was to add to his worries.

  Kate turned the subject. “It seems that besides your sister, we are quite alone here. I expected at least two of the aunts to be in residence, but Rimshaw tells me they left for Bath the day before yesterday for their health. Poor dears.” She glanced at Lyle. “You say you’d never met the great-aunts before you inherited?”

  He made an impatient gesture. “Perhaps one or two. How should I know? There are about a hundred of ’em and they all look the same. Dark, dumpy little women with beady eyes and beaks for noses.”

  “Hush, someone might hear you,” said Kate, her eyes dancing. “Hundreds, indeed! There are five sisters, and they are dear souls, all of them. But I must confess I am glad we have the place to ourselves for a bit.”

  Lyle paused in his pacing and let his gaze stroke her body. “As am I.”

  Her face heating, Kate rose quickly and crossed to the window. “The gardens are sadly in need of attention,” she murmured in a constricted voice. But she didn’t see the weed-infested flower beds. She saw the night ahead, when she would finally tell Lyle what she wanted, make him understand.

  She imagined them in bed together, between fine linen sheets. The things she would do to him. The things she’d beg him to do to her.

  Kate glanced at Lyle over her shoulder. He watched her with a lazy, smug smile on his face, as if he guessed the nature of her musings. She turned back and stared through the window again.

  He came up behind her and slid his hands down her arms, murmuring wickedly into her ear, “You blush so delightfully, Kate, one wonders what you are thinking,”

  A little breathless, she answered, “I fully intend to tell you what I am thinking, but not now.” She glanced at him sideways under her lashes, a look filled with sensual promise. “Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” He pressed closer. “But why wait until then?”

  She felt his erection nudge the cleft of her bottom through her gown. He wanted her, and the thought was delicious, novel, utterly thrilling.

  His welcoming heat and his strength were so enticing, she almost sank back into him, but quickly, she caught herself. “What if Louisa were to come in?”

  Lyle bent his head, and his breath whispered over her skin. “She would go out again.” He took her earlobe between his teeth and lightly grazed it, then let go. “Louisa is the soul of discretion.”

  “The servants, then,” she choked, as his hands covered her breasts. “Sir, we stand before a window!”

  IGNORING her protests, which grew feebler by the moment, Max let his hands rove her body like marauders, and the more he touched her, the more difficult it was to stop.

  “Madness,” she breathed, but she didn’t pull away.

  He ran his finger along the neckline of her bodice, dipping down into the valley of her bosom, then over the enticing swell of her breast, tracing the course outlined by a flimsy muslin ruffle. Drawing her sleeve down, he bent to kiss the shoulder blade he’d bared. She gasped, angling her head to allow him better access.

  He trailed kisses along her shoulder, towards her vulnerable throat.

  “Someone will hear us,” she whispered.

  “Not if we’re quiet.”

  “A servant will come.”

  “Not if we don’t ring the bell.”

  “Someone will see.”

  “Let them.”

  He kept nuzzling and kissing her, testing how far he could go before she made him stop. When he ran his tongue over the junction between shoulder and neck, she swayed and threw her head back against his shoulder, protests dying on her softening lips.

  He continued to nuzzle her in that sensitive spot, filled with satisfaction at finding a place that made her melt.

  Taking ruthless advantage of her distraction, he cupped one of Kate’s breasts in his hand, feeling the weight, the firmness, the delectable nipple that peaked and hardened at his touch.

  His cock strained at his trousers, and he wished he’d started this in their bedchamber, instead of the principal drawing room in broad daylight with the curtains open. Not that he objected to their surroundings, but Kate certainly would if he advanced this any further.

  Max all but groaned. Her bottom fitted sweetly into his groi
n, tormenting him whenever she moved. He wanted to bend her over and throw her skirts up and take her from behind, driving fast and hard, holding her hips while the globes of her pert bottom bumped against him in a frantic rhythm.

  And if someone watched them through that window, saw the scandalized bliss on her face, the sheer, spellbound ecstasy on his, all the better. He wanted the world to know that she was his to take, in whatever way he chose.

  Max wrenched himself back from the brink of orgasm, panting at the effort of restraint. She shuddered, too, and he realized he’d been rubbing himself against her, imagining these forbidden delights.

  Forbidden, because he’d resolved to treat his wife like a lady, with the respect she deserved, the gentleness she craved.

  And the strain of it was slowly killing him.

  With an iron exercise of will, he stopped, turned her in his arms, and looked down into her face. Her eyes were closed, and her lashes fanned in exotic crescents against her cheekbones. Her lips parted and she swayed into him, tilting her head for a kiss.

  Max accepted the mute invitation, willing his member to calm down. He lightened the kiss, slowly pulling away, though every instinct urged him to ravage her mouth and plunder her body without mercy.

  Finally, he ended it and lifted her hand to his lips.

  “I’m afraid you are right, cautious one. We shouldn’t do this here.”

  Kate opened her eyes, dazed and flushed. “Upstairs, then?”

  He gave a shaky laugh and kissed her forehead. “I’ve stayed too long already. Best if we wait until tonight.”

  He didn’t know whether he could sustain his gentle approach if they adjourned to the bedroom just now. Tonight, he’d follow Romney’s advice and take the edge off himself before he went to her. Then, he could seduce her gently, slowly, the way she liked.

  The baffled, slightly hurt look on Kate’s face made him wince. He’d confused her, which wasn’t surprising. Once again, he’d made a mess of something that used not to be so complicated. Bedding gently bred ladies was the very devil.

  He plunged a hand through his hair. Lord knew, he wanted more than anything to please her. But he was beginning to wish he’d never read that damned diary in the first place.

  MAX was striding down to the stables, his saddle holster slung over his shoulder, when he heard his sister’s call.

  He turned to see her hurrying in a fluster of muslin skirts down the slope towards him.

  Nerves strung taut from anticipating the ordeal ahead, he waited impatiently for her to catch up with him. Besides the pistols, he had a knife in a scabbard strapped to his chest and another in his boot. He was armed to the teeth, in fact, but he hoped there’d be no need to use force. All he intended today was to familiarize himself with the terrain and to locate the rebels’ camp. Holt had told him the outlaws numbered five men, but he never trusted anyone’s word when his own life was at stake. He’d see for himself how many there were. Five, he, Jardine, and George could manage. Fifteen, and he might need to involve the militia.

  “Max.” Louisa caught up with him, a little short of breath.

  “What is it?” He tried not to show his impatience.

  “Before you ride out and leave Kate unprotected, I think you ought to know something.”

  His brows slammed together. She had all his attention now. “What?”

  Her color was deathly and the circles under her eyes showed she hadn’t slept. “I—I think Jardine might be the one. The man who is trying to kill her.”

  “Impossible,” said Max. “What makes you think that?”

  Louisa seemed to have trouble swallowing. She recited the facts in a low, trembling voice. “He . . . while you were away, Jardine was watching Kate. When I saw him, he interrogated me about her, asked me all sorts of questions about where she was held and who guarded her. When he found Perry with Kate one day, he flew into a rage. I thought he would do the boy an injury, he was so rough with him.”

  Max shook his head. “No, Louisa. You are barking up the wrong tree.”

  “How do you know?” she persisted. “Jardine has been skulking around since Kate arrived at Hove. He is a trained killer for the Home Office and someone high up wanted Kate dead. How can you be so sure it wasn’t Jardine?”

  “Several reasons,” said Max. “First of all, if Jardine had wanted to kill Kate, she would have been dead before she left London. And even had she survived to fall into my hands, Jardine would not have made such a clumsy attempt at murdering her at the hunting box. He is too good for that. And third, I asked Jardine to keep an eye on Kate for me while I was gone. He’s a scoundrel in a hundred ways, but in this case, utterly reliable.”

  Louisa put a trembling hand to her chest. He lifted his brows. “Satisfied?”

  Slowly, she shook her head. “No. Not at all.”

  He didn’t have time for this, but she was his baby sister, and the devastation in those blue eyes made him ache for her. Well, he didn’t think he was wrong to have parted his sister from a ruthless bastard like Jardine all those years ago, but she was a mature woman now, capable of making her own decisions. And he hated to see her so unhappy.

  “If you want Jardine, you should have him, Louie,” he said quietly.

  She started. “Oh! I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do know what I’m talking about. You’ve never looked at anyone but him. I might wish you’d settle on a nice, quiet country squire, but it doesn’t look like that will ever happen, does it? If you still want Jardine after all these years, I won’t stand in your way.”

  “It’s too late,” whispered Louisa, her voice low and wretched. “Far, far too late for us now.”

  “STEPHEN!” Kate flew across the sitting room to greet her brother and found herself enveloped in a tight bear hug.

  She freed herself, laughing as she looked up into his plain, snub-nosed face. He looked more like a farm laborer than the son of an earl. “Let me up for air, dear boy! You’ve never known your own strength, have you? Even when we were children—”

  “Never mind that now, love.” Stephen released her and turned away. “So you married him,” he said in a subdued voice. Suddenly, he smacked a meaty fist into his open hand. “Why didn’t you wait? We could have thought of something to save your rep—” He broke off, swinging back to face her. “Don’t say you are with child!”

  Kate stiffened. “I certainly am not!”

  Though she might be, after last night. A strange delight spread through her. She would love to have babies with Lyle. But she’d rather die than discuss the subject with her brother, and besides, she’d a notion such a sentiment might send him into an apoplexy. Clearly, he did not approve of this match.

  She spoke more calmly. “We simply didn’t wish to wait.”

  “I’ll wager,” muttered Stephen.

  Kate set her hands on her hips. “And what’s that supposed to mean? Stephen, I understand you and Lyle have had your differences over those rebels, but if you only knew how happy Lyle has made me, you’d see—”

  “No, Kate!” Stephen held up his hand, clearly laboring under severe emotion. “No more.” His eyes smoldered under their shaggy brows. “My dear sister, use the brain God gave you! Who do you think put me in prison in the first place? Lyle!”

  Instinctively, she shook her head, and kept shaking it as her bright new world crashed around her. It made horrid, perfect sense. All that time, she’d shifted, cajoled, struggled, practically committed treason to get her brother out of prison, when if not for Lyle, Stephen wouldn’t have been jailed in the first place.

  Oblivious of the shock he’d dealt her, Stephen went on. “And now he will send innocent men to their deaths out of stubborn pride. He won’t admit he’s wrong.”

  Her brother continued his tirade, but Kate barely listened.

  She’d suspected Lyle had the power to arrange for Stephen’s release, should he choose to exercise it. He’d explicitly refused to do so. She’d detested him for that, but her rational s
elf had soon come to understand his side of the story, how desperate he was to find the rebels. And the only lead he’d discovered was Stephen.

  But the cold-blooded ruthlessness that allowed a man to throw a country parson into a rat-infested, disease-ridden jail merely to extract information from him appalled her.

  How could he have married her, after what he’d done? He hadn’t lied outright but by omission. In a way, that was worse.

  Stephen clasped her hand with both of his, jerking her back to the present. “Kate, I have someone with me, someone I hope will change Lyle’s mind. Would you have your husband fetched, please?”

  “He’s ridden out,” she said numbly. She collected herself enough to ring the bell, and when the butler answered, instructed him to find her husband and request his urgent return. She turned to Stephen. “Someone might catch him at the stables if he hasn’t left yet. Who is this man you speak of?”

  “The leader of the men who marched on Lyle that day.”

  “A man accused of setting fire to this house?” Kate’s eyes widened. “You brought him here? And left him unattended?”

  “He is innocent,” Stephen said quietly. “I persuaded him that unlike the former duke, your husband is a reasonable man, and that he will lend an impartial ear to their story.”

  Kate doubted that was true. For Lyle, everything rode on closing this case and getting on with the next phase of his life. These local men had been the focus of his investigation from the start. Where would he look for the arsonist if those he accused proved their innocence?

  Suddenly, she asked, “Why did you tell Lyle where the rebels were?”

  Stephen didn’t quite meet her eyes. “It was time to bring them out of hiding. They couldn’t run forever, and I’m confident that if Lyle will but listen to their side of the story, he will acquit them of wrongdoing. Their greatest mistake when the fire broke out was to run.”

  He gripped her hands with his big paws. “Will you talk to him, Kate? Will you try to persuade him to see reason?”

  She nodded, her thoughts in turmoil. “I will try.”