His lips brushed soft yet insistent against her own, but hardness was what she was thinking of, the solid weight of him—of his chest, and his belly, and the security of his thighs against hers.
Mr. Callahan’s thighs.
Three words she never knew she’d say. She’d never even heard of the middle one, Callahan. But in that moment, they were the three most important words she’d ever put together.
Life was full of surprises.
Chapter Two
Janice’s mouth was still scorched twenty minutes later when she arrived at the Duke of Halsey’s Elizabethan manor. Every snowflake that touched her lips practically sizzled off them. Never, ever had she envisioned that a fire could spring up so quickly between a man and a woman—and on a slush-filled rut in a road, no less, with clouds of their breath mingling in the frigid air and the musky smell of wet wool and leather in their nostrils.
It was the sort of surprise that she could dwell on for days, weeks, months.
Which was why she was relieved to see that the house was as indifferent to her presence as any upper-crust English pile of stone could be. She didn’t need any more surprises today. The ducal manor would make a fine place at which to pass time, to look up suddenly and realize that she’d wiled away a month stitching pillows, playing the pianoforte, and providing solace to an ill older woman while the busy outside world passed her by.
“What is it, my lady?” Isobel asked her, a pucker on her forehead. “You look ready to jump out of your skin.”
Janice kept her eyes on the house. “I don’t want a duke,” she muttered grimly.
“Of course you don’t,” Isobel said. “All you want to do is forget the rest of the world for a while. Am I right, my lady?”
“Yes.” Janice sighed. “I’m tired of trying to meet everyone’s expectations.”
“And you think the best way to forget them is to kiss that groom again.”
“Please don’t remind me.” Janice’s insides jangled with a confusing mix of anger and longing. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. Blast Mr. Callahan’s hide. And blast yours, too, Izzy, for being so perceptive. You mustn’t tell anyone. I’ll recover eventually.”
“I won’t. I promise, although”—the maid looked over her shoulder—“I have to tell you, when you slapped his face, it was the most exciting thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. It had been going so well up to that point.”
Janice sighed. “I wish you’d looked the other way.”
“How could I possibly have done that? I felt as if I was at a play and I was watching two perfect lovers meet onstage. Except one was a very handsome, naughty groom and the other was a lady. It wasn’t proper at all. It was the opposite of proper, which made it even more exciting. And then you—”
“I know. I had to slap him. He was … oh, never mind.” He’d been caressing her bottom, and she’d actually moaned aloud. Even now, as she thought about it, her cheeks grew hot. She looked around, feeling completely skittish.
“I understand, my lady,” Isobel reassured her. “With my own ears I heard him laugh and then tell you to slap the duke, too, if he ever dared touch you.”
Janice got huffy just remembering. “How many women did he say had slapped him before? A hundred?”
“No, my lady. He said over a hundred should have, but none actually had. You were the only one. Ever. And he liked it.” Isobel giggled.
“He said that to make me angry. Surely if he’s kissed at least a hundred women another one would have put him in his place by now.”
“Oh?” Isobel’s answer was arch. “Perhaps he’s such a good kisser, everyone else forgot to. In fact, I’d have done far worse than moan, as you did, my lady—I’d have fainted dead away with pleasure.”
“Izzy. I didn’t moan, for goodness’ sake. I-I was struggling to get away. Sort of. As soon as I heard Oscar and the duke’s carriage approaching…”
But the maid threw her a sideways glance and sidled over to the unfamiliar vehicle—borrowed from the duke’s own stables—to watch Oscar overseeing the removal of their bags. It was Isobel’s way of disagreeing with her mistress without outright contradicting her.
All right, heaven help her, Janice had moaned and clung tightly to the man’s muscular neck long enough that her knees gave out and a delicious tingle between her thighs stole her breath away. And she wasn’t proud of it. She’d behaved like the desperate spinster she was fast becoming.
How had she reached such a point?
Her first Season had gone splendidly. She’d turned down several proposals, being in no rush. But her second Season was different. Her callers dropped off. At balls, men looked right through her, as if she didn’t exist.
Perhaps she’d done it to herself. After her humiliating romance with the no-good Finn Lattimore, she’d read more books. Been less willing to speak up. Was more wary. She thought she’d gotten over him—no, she knew she had.
But still. She persisted in being a failure. Somehow this visit to the country was supposed to help restore her luster. She’d wondered how, but now she knew: more kisses from Luke Callahan. She’d been like a tarnished silver teapot that had just been rubbed to a gleaming finish.
She didn’t want to tarnish again.
Meanwhile, Mr. Callahan’s warning about the duke echoed in her brain, but she shrugged it off. I’ll make up my own mind about His Grace, she thought, and prayed the duke knew she was arriving. One more person in this large place wouldn’t be too much a burden, would it? She didn’t believe that he’d be vastly pleased to hear she was coming—he was a duke, after all, and had more important matters to attend to than the comings-and-goings of his grandmother’s friends—but in Janice’s daydreams she wished that he’d be pleased.
Lady Janice is at my door? she imagined him saying. The Lady Janice? The one with tremendous powers of observation and a quick wit? She spilled lemonade on me once, and I’ve never forgotten.
He’d run to his bedchamber and change his cravat before he was to meet her because he’d be slightly nervous. And in this musing of hers he’d show her round his library and tell her it was hers to peruse at any time of day or night. He’d watch to see which books she’d take down.…
Oh, she needed to stop weaving these girlish fantasies, as if she were an ingénue who could afford to indulge in them.
No duke was going to notice her.
The windows at the ground level were heavily curtained in a deep maroon velvet. Within she caught a glimpse of bookcase, a chair, a portrait. The face of a maid, and then her swift withdrawal.
Janice wondered what rooms the dowager had and another sweep of dread rushed through her: Mama didn’t know a thing about the dowager believing she was the Queen and never would have let Janice be chaperoned by her had she been aware of the state of things.
But Janice didn’t want to return to London. She’d do anything to stay.
And hide.
And … and maybe kiss that groom again. If she could ever find him. He’d led the way back to the house but disappeared as soon as the vehicle stopped near the front steps. No doubt he’d returned his own mount to the massive stable block, which housed some of England’s finest horses.
The snow was back to downy flakes, sweetly falling, while perfectly formed curlicues of smoke drifted lazily away from the chimneys. She was counting them when the Duke of Halsey himself appeared in the distance, coming from the stables, surrounded by a pack of dark gray hounds and two other men. A cheroot hung from his lips, and he was outfitted in a heavy coat beneath which she caught a glimpse of impeccably cut country tweeds. His friends dressed in similar impressive fashion.
Janice’s heart picked up its pace as he neared.
Although the duke wasn’t the tallest of the group, he bulged with muscle, exuding a solid masculinity the men trailing him lacked. With his almond-shaped eyes, swarthy complexion, and rolling gait, he reminded Janice of Pan … a hot, seething Pan. She half-expected the snow behind him to melt in h
is trail. A blush heated her cheeks as she recalled the images she’d seen of the half human, half beast, all of which portrayed him with a wildly large portion of the male anatomy she really shouldn’t be thinking of right now.
But she couldn’t help it. Only a few minutes ago, she’d been wrapped in the arms of a man who’d made it abundantly clear that he’d been aroused by her.
Her toes curled and her belly tightened just thinking about Luke Callahan.
Now the duke snapped his fingers at the hounds, and they all took off in a pack and huddled, restless, near the front steps, not wanting to lower their haunches onto the snow. Then he tossed away his cheroot, a nonchalant gesture that spoke volumes. There was no one he needed to impress here, yet he would greet a lady as a lady should be greeted.
Be agreeable, she thought when he bent over her hand murmuring polite words of welcome while his friends hovered nearby, pale moons in his orbit. She was often dismissed easily. And she might be nearly on the shelf. But she could win awards for friendliness.
The august personage before her straightened again yet still held to her gloved hand. They were of the same height, she realized, a fact she hadn’t noticed the one time she’d met him in London and managed to spill that lemonade on his arm at a ball.
Up close, she could see that his lips were dry and chapped, his cheeks ruddy with cold, and his hair a tangled mess of brown, coarse and abundant, like a horse’s mane. He was clearly a man meant to live outdoors, and she wondered if he gave his valet fits.
In London, he’d been packaged to a fault as a duke—he’d had a restrained, immaculate appearance. But here …
He was Pan.
“So, Lady Janice.” His eyes bored into hers with cool disinterest. “You’re of the prolific House of Brady.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she said. “I’m the second of three daughters, the fourth oldest of six siblings.”
And probably the last to get married—if ever. She imagined herself doddering about with a cane and sneaking sweets to all her nephews and nieces while their parents weren’t looking.
“How interesting,” the duke murmured in the smooth, unhurried tone that suggested buckets of money, ancient bloodlines, and an Oxford education.
She could tell he was lying. He was bored by her already. She was ready to leave him, go to her room, and become invisible.
“Are you enjoying the snow?” he asked her.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s lovely.” But she wouldn’t wax on about how gorgeous it was coating the eaves of the house like sugar, making it appear like something from a fairy tale. It was true, but she was cold and ready to go indoors.
He looked over his shoulder at the two gentlemen huddled behind him. “This sort of weather clears the lungs, isn’t that right, men?”
The more Janice heard the duke speak, the more his rich man’s accent became too nasal and contrived for her liking.
“Of course, Your Grace,” said the short older man, wincing as a gust of wind caused him to hold on to his hat.
“Right,” returned the other, who was much younger and strove to sound spirited.
One didn’t contradict a duke, did one?
Janice would have chuckled at the misery evident in their expressions if it hadn’t also been a pity that there didn’t seem to be true affection between the men and their host—the kind that she’d seen her brothers and father share with one another and their friends.
When the duke introduced them—the older one was Lord Rowntree and the younger Lord Yarrow—he was all that was courteous, as were they.
But there was still something different about Halsey. Beneath that layer of polite ducal behavior was something exotic in his demeanor. Janice wondered if he’d traveled far and well, perhaps experienced extraordinary things.
Dark things.
Her scalp prickled with a sinister awareness, but she quickly discounted it. Mr. Callahan’s influence, of course. And maybe there was still some caution of her own—well-earned caution after Finn.
By now her ears were frozen. Her entire face was, and as for her toes … well, they were like ice. She should really discuss with His Grace the matter of her not having a proper chaperone, now that she knew his grandmother wasn’t well enough to serve as one. But she’d bring the matter up inside, before a fire.
If they’d ever get there.
“I understand you’re here to see my grandmother.” He spread his legs and crossed his arms as if he were prepared to stand there indefinitely.
“Yes.” She gave a little involuntary shiver, but he made no move toward the house. “The dowager duchess wrote my parents and asked me to stay a month. But I understand she’s not herself.”
“She is ill. Who told you?”
A stab of alarm shot through her. “A groom, Your Grace.” Surely he wouldn’t be upset with Mr. Callahan and construe his telling her about the dowager as gossip. “He was only looking out for your best interests. When he found us on the property and asked us our business, I told him the dowager had invited me. He said that was unlikely as she was ill.”
“She believes she’s the Queen.” His Grace spoke with a simple frankness that lent his words a measure of poignancy.
“I’m so sorry.” She wrapped her arms around herself in hopes he’d take the hint. “Did you have any idea I was coming to see her? I would hate for my visit to have taken you by surprise.”
His eyes gave nothing away. “Dukes don’t always know the particulars of the daily goings-on at their homes,” he said, “but I assure you, nothing is done at Halsey House unless it’s my express wish.”
How that could possibly be Janice couldn’t fathom. It seemed quite the paradox. But polite answers often were ambiguous, and who was she to question a duke?
“We’re glad to have you here, Lady Janice.” He must have seen the doubt on her face. “You’ll enjoy your stay—although I’m sure you’ll want to return to London as soon as the roads clear.”
Return to London?
“Oh,” was all she managed to say. Her kissing groom had told her the same thing.
“You didn’t come here to be a nurse,” the duke went on, “but that’s exactly the sort of companion my grandmother needs.” He allowed his mouth to curve in a small smile. “You should be at parties in Town, my lady, enjoying yourself.”
Oh, right. Enjoying herself in Town. Janice took her mind off the memory of Luke Callahan long enough to remember everything she was missing in London—
Which wasn’t much. This was most awkward. His Grace had no idea how unpopular she was, obviously. And he was basically telling her to leave. But in such a charming way.
She felt momentarily overwhelmed. “I-I’m so sorry about this, Your Grace. Yes, of course, as soon as the snow clears I should head back to Grosvenor Square.” She bit her lip. What a disappointment this trip was turning out to be. Mama and Daddy would be devastated. “I’m afraid, meanwhile, that I have a further complication. I can tell you about it inside.”
“Oh?” He took another deep, cleansing breath. “Why put it off? We’ll discuss it now.”
He would want to, wouldn’t he?
“Very well.” An eddy of cold air swept up her skirt. “I didn’t bring a companion. My mother believed Her Grace was to chaperone.”
“An understandable mistake. Your maid will serve as a chaperone just as well.”
What he was proposing wasn’t exactly proper. Surely he must know. But he was striving to accommodate her, wasn’t he? She didn’t want to be churlish and overly demanding. She was an uninvited guest, really. Her invitation hadn’t counted, not if the dowager wasn’t in her right mind when she wrote it.
Which was why Janice said, “Yes, my maid will do,” although Isobel most certainly wouldn’t. She and Janice were the same age—down to the same birthday—and Izzy was the opposite of strict and mature, not to mention she had the colorful manners of a girl who’d grown up in a traveling circus and regularly ridden on elephants as a child.
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But Janice would agree to anything at the moment. She looked longingly at the front door.
“Your maid will do until I procure you a genuine chaperone, of course,” the duke clarified. “We can’t have your mother concerned.”
There was that enigmatic half smile again, the one that made her heart beat faster with the slightest twinge of worry. “That’s good of you, Your Grace,” she said. “Thank you.”
“I have just the person,” he said with alacrity. “A widow who recently moved to the estate. A former schoolteacher. Her name is Mrs. Friday. I’ll send someone for her immediately.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” A shaft of icy air angled down from the roof and flung snowflakes beneath Janice’s bonnet. “Are you sure she won’t mind having her routine disrupted?”
“She’ll welcome a change; I’m sure of it.” He raised a hand and snapped his fingers. A footman came running over, and Halsey gave him directions. “Send someone to fetch Mrs. Friday straightaway. Tell her I’ll compromise her well”—there was a cough from one of his friends, and Janice felt her eyes go wide—“compensate her well,” he went on smoothly, “especially as we’re giving her such short notice.”
He turned back to Janice, completely unfazed by his outrageous faux pas. Dukes didn’t need to feel embarrassed about such things.
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Janice tried to smile. “I look forward to meeting your grandmother. I may not be a nurse, but I can…”—She paused, her entire body heating up when she saw Luke Callahan walk with quiet resolve behind Halsey toward the carriage, where he put his hand on the horse’s harness and made direct eye contact with her—“keep her company,” she finished lamely.
Even through the snowfall, the groom’s gaze was bold. Unyielding. The message was clear: Don’t forget what I said about him.
The duke, of course.
But who was he to talk, this Mr. Callahan? Hadn’t he agreed with her that he was no saint himself?
Janice looked away from him as fast as she could. Warring with her annoyance with the man was the ridiculous exhilaration that rushed through her at the sight of him.
Say Yes to the Duke Page 2