Nothing Compares to the Duke

by Christy Carlyle

  Bella’s whole body vibrated. Heat rushed across her cheeks and her heart beat in her ears loud enough to drown out the men’s chuckles.

  She moved past Louisa, pushed the billiard room door open, and marched toward the two men.

  They turned as one, eyes wide, backs stiffened in what she hoped was shame. Maybe they weren’t so craven that they were capable of embarrassment.

  “Lord Teasdale.” He was the one who’d called her passionless. She was proud of herself for getting his name out in something less than a shout.

  Bella strode toward him. He couldn’t look her in the eyes, but he was mumbling. She didn’t stop. Anger drove her, a vibrating outrage that was more instinct than thought.

  “Miss Prescott, I don’t know what you heard—”

  Bella lifted her arm to strike. Teasdale reeled back.

  “Arry, don’t do it.” The voice came from behind her. Deep and warm and achingly familiar.

  Bella froze. Her arm still raised. Goose bumps spread across her skin.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Teasdale lifted his gaze to the man who’d entered the room. The look in his eyes, a mix of consternation and begrudging deference, told her that the voice she’d heard wasn’t some conjuring of her mind.

  Bella lowered her arm, breathed deeply, and glanced over her shoulder at the man she should have slapped five years ago.

  Chapter Four

  Arabella Prescott was not at all as he remembered.

  The girl he’d disappointed at that long-ago garden party had been all softness and sweet innocence. Her hair had hung down in loose ringlets, arranged over the shoulder of a frilly candy-sweet pink gown. The same rosy shade had colored her cheeks and tinted her full lips.

  The woman who stood before him now was all bold colors. She wore a rich blue velvet gown buttoned to her chin, revealing nothing of her freckled skin. A wash of crimson colored her cheeks and her wavy auburn hair was trapped under pins, though a few strands gave off a fiery glint in the candlelight.

  Rhys swallowed hard. Until this moment, he’d had no notion of how much he’d missed the sight of her.

  When she turned to face him, the green-gold gaze that speared him held none of the warmth he’d once found in her eyes.

  “Didn’t know you were invited, Claremont.” Lord Teasdale’s nasal voice was high, defensive.

  Rhys had beaten him at cards often enough for the man to loathe him for that alone, but since inheriting his father’s title, he’d found that men’s loathing now came with a tinge of jealousy.

  “He wasn’t.”

  “I wasn’t.” He and Bella spoke nearly in unison, their gazes never wavering from each other’s. Emotion flickered behind the fierceness in her eyes, but he couldn’t tell whether it was surprise or something else.

  “Miss Prescott,” he asked, “may I speak to you? Alone.”

  She gave no reply, but her shoulders tightened. The soft curve of her jaw drew taut.

  When neither of the gentlemen made any move to depart, Bella’s cousin, Louisa, spoke up from where she stood next to Rhys on the threshold.

  “Gentlemen,” she began in a commanding tone, “my aunt will consider you long absent from the drawing room. I’m returning there now. I suggest you follow.” She cast Bella a look, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

  “Won’t that leave Miss Prescott unchaperoned?” Mr. Nix asked.

  Rhys sensed Louisa watching him and turned to find her giving him a scrutinizing perusal.

  “The Duke of Claremont and my cousin were childhood friends and haven’t seen each other for many years.” She waved the two gentlemen from the room, and they shuffled out with their chins up, chests puffed as if they hadn’t almost been slapped by the angry daughter of their host.

  Rhys was tempted to close the door behind them, but he knew it wasn’t proper. God help him, he thought of those things now.

  He waited, expecting her anger. There was a great deal they’d left unsaid.

  After staring at him a moment, she turned and strode toward the back of the room. He expected her to approach the window, so that she could look out onto anything rather than face him. But instead she went to a case that held billiard cues and took one down. After a long still pause, she turned toward the billiard table and began arranging the balls, as if she’d just come into the room for a game and he was merely an incidental distraction.

  Rhys tapped his boot against the carpet. Tapped his fingers against his thigh. Reading was his bane but he usually knew the right words to say. “Silver-tongued,” one lady he’d wooed had called him. Now the words wouldn’t come. The feelings were all there, heavy on his chest, but they wouldn’t arrange themselves into polished sentences.

  “Arry—”

  “Don’t call me that.” She turned to face him. “No one calls me that.” She tipped her head down, stared at the carpet, and then at him again.

  “Bella—”

  “Do you remember how to play?”

  Images filled his mind instantly. Memories teeming with laughter and wagers that were for stakes no higher than lemon scones and based mostly on childhood bluster.

  “I remember that you always won,” he admitted.

  Her mouth twitched, and Rhys hoped it meant she was tempted to smile.

  “Shall we see if you’ve improved at all?” She gestured to the cue rack and tipped her head in a way he’d seen her do a hundred times. Her voice was cool, emotionless, but her nod was a gesture of challenge. And if she knew him at all, she knew he could never say no to a challenge.

  Rather than answer, he shrugged out of his coat and tossed the garment onto the back of a chair. Then he began rolling up his sleeves as he approached the cues. She watched him steadily but without giving anything away. Then she went back to arranging the balls on the green felt billiard tabletop.

  “What are we playing for?” he asked, approaching the opposite side of the table.

  Her high-necked gown hid much but he noted that she swallowed hard and squared her shoulders before answering.

  “A favor.”

  Rhys wondered for a moment if he’d heard her correctly. A favor was precisely what he needed from her.

  “I’ll agree to that.”

  “Without knowing what I intend to ask?”

  “I have one of my own but I’ll tell you after I win.”

  “If you win.” She frowned at him. “Why are you here?”

  It was a simple question, arguably the first she should have asked but it left his mouth dry. “I . . . wished to see you, Bella. It’s long overdue that I say—”

  “No, why are you in Essex?”

  He didn’t want to talk about the estate. Not yet. He moved to the end of the table, risked a step closer, and was relieved when she didn’t retreat. The candlelight caught the gold in her eyes and they sparkled, less fierce than when he’d entered the room but still not warm. Still not welcoming.

  “Right now, I’m only here to do what I should have done years ago.”

  She inhaled sharply as if she dreaded what he’d say next and then gestured at the table. “Shall we begin?”

  Rhys didn’t expect her to be so unwilling to hear his apology, but to say the words would be tugging at old wounds. If she preferred a game of billiards, it was the least he could do. Having any excuse to remain in her company suited him.

  “Ladies first.”

  “That didn’t used to be your policy.”

  “Perhaps I’ve become more civilized.” Now, that was the farthest thing from the truth he’d said in years. She seemed to know it too. One auburn brow winged high.

  “Not according to London gossip.”

  Rhys chuckled at that. “Have you begun reading tattle rags?”

  “Of course not,” she snapped. “But people talk.”

  Ah yes. There’d been a time when he’d liked being the name on everyone’s tongue. Infamy was far better than others laughing at your foibles. But he’d never thought any of it would find
its way back to Bella. She hated gossip.

  “And when the talk was about me you listened?” he asked her softly, a little too hopefully.

  She smirked. “The Debley twins visit and they’ve always enjoyed their London tattle rags. I listen to be polite.”

  Without waiting for his response, she bent, positioned her cue against her white ball, and took her shot. Her ball bounced against his.

  “First point. Your turn, Your Grace.”

  Your Grace? Good God, were they as chilly as titles now?

  He angled his arm, imagined where a strike would land her ball, and sent his spinning toward hers. The ivory spheres clicked when they collided but he barely dislodged hers an inch.

  “One point each,” she said.

  She moved closer to take her next shot, and Rhys’s pulse built a faster tattoo as she did. He watched her as she calculated. When Bella was thinking, it was almost as if one could see all the brilliant thoughts organizing themselves in her head. She pursed her lips, two little divots formed between her brows, and the notch in her chin became more pronounced.

  She was concentrating so determinedly that she moved close enough for her arm to brush his.

  He could have stepped aside. He should have, but he craved the contact.

  Bella didn’t seem to agree. “Pardon,” she said softly. “I need to stand where you are.”

  He wasn’t a proper gentleman. He’d rarely even tried to be, but he knew that if anyone deserved an attempt, she did.

  Stepping back, he gestured for her to take his place near the edge of the table.

  A little nod was all he got in the way of gratitude before she bent over her cue, took her shot, and sent his ball spinning to the opposite end of the table. The grin she gave him over her shoulder made him want to let her take the next turn too.

  Rhys positioned his cue stick but he couldn’t focus worth a damn. She was a terribly appealing distraction. Not only for all that was unsaid between them, but because the attraction that had sparked the moment he saw her again only built the longer he was close to her.

  Rather than take his shot, he straightened and held her gaze. “Bella, I’m sorry for how I conducted myself that day years ago. I’m sorry I ruined your party.” He was on the cusp of saying more when she began to move.

  To his shock, she made her way around the table and approached him. There was such intensity in her gaze, he readied himself for the slap she’d intended for Teasdale. If she chose to strike, he deserved it but he couldn’t help but notice she was carrying her cue.

  “You’re not planning on using that on me, are you?”

  Her lips trembled and her eyes glittered in the candlelight. Rhys steeled himself for tears.

  But no sobs came. She wasn’t on the cusp of crying. She was bristling with frustration.

  “Do you truly think I cared about my party?” She took one step closer. “I never wanted a grand event in the first place. I’ve never cared about parties the way you did.” She took another step, close enough for him to see the lovely pinpoint spray of color along the cut of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. He’d always adored her freckles despite how much she loathed them.

  Gorgeous. The thought came, unbidden and unexpected, and it surprised him.

  Bella had always been pretty, but now she was something more. She exuded confidence in the way she carried herself, a poise that made the beauty she’d always possessed more pronounced. She’d become a formidable woman and the realization unsettled him. It was a bloody inconvenient time to realize his childhood friend had become a stunning beauty.

  Rhys was used to women looking at him with heat in their gaze, but the sparks in Bella’s eyes weren’t appreciation.

  “Do you know what I cared about?” she asked him. “Why I was so upset?”

  He did know. He’d sensed in the months before her birthday that she’d begun to notice him in a different way. She’d always thought far too highly of him. But by that day on her birthday, he’d already begun earning a reputation among the ladies in the village. It was a side of himself she couldn’t know, and he’d been determined to protect her.

  So he’d ignored her youthful crush, and that day she’d discovered who he really was.

  She lifted her brows, impatient for his answer. Rhys sensed that what he said next could change everything between them. He knew now that she didn’t want his apology so much as for him to understand her feelings.

  “You still don’t know.” There was real wonder in her voice and for a moment she sounded like the curious girl he’d once known.

  But she looked like a fearless woman. Her gaze still fixed on his, she took a final step that brought them toe to toe.

  Rhys licked his lips. Tried and failed not to glance at her mouth. She smelled like cinnamon and the autumn air, and he felt something he’d never felt for her before. Desire. The rush of it was so intense it left him breathless. Aching.

  “You’re a fool, Rhys Forester.”

  Yes, that sounded right. His name on her lips. He’d missed her calling his name and hadn’t realized how much until this moment.

  “I am inarguably a fool.” He sometimes thought of himself as high society’s jester, but fool worked too. “I was thoughtless and I’m asking you to forgive me.”

  In the beats of silence that followed his request, his breath caught in his throat. He watched her eyes, willing the steel he saw there to soften. She didn’t blink. He couldn’t look away. Nothing had mattered to him in a long while the way Bella’s response did.

  He needed to know she didn’t hate him. He needed her forgiveness.

  She blinked. One quick fan of her thick dark lashes. But she still said nothing as she watched him. Then, finally, she parted her lips and drew in a sharp breath.

  “I can’t.” She spoke on a shaky whisper and even in those two quick syllables he heard emotion. Pain that he had caused.

  “Please, Bella.” God, how he wanted to reach for her. She was close enough and he’d once touched her without so much as a thought. But as near as she stood, so close he could feel warmth radiating off her body, he sensed the chasm between them. “I’m not much good at groveling, but I’m willing to try.”

  He’d never gotten on his knees with a woman for any purpose that didn’t include pleasure. But he’d accept a dose of humility for Bella’s sake.

  Bending his knee, he began to lower himself in front of her.

  “Don’t do that.” She slapped him on the shoulder, gripped his lapel, and pulled him back up. “I’m not saying I’ll never forgive you.”

  Once he was on his feet again, she didn’t let go of his lapel. He leaned closer and color bloomed in her cheeks, but still she held him. Breath quickening, he told himself not to give in to the urge to reach for her or the more inappropriate urge.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  Too soon, the spell broke and she released him, taking one step back in retreat.

  “I don’t need you to beg, only to understand. Back then, I’d become convinced that—” She caught herself and pressed her lips together.

  He willed her to go on, even shifted his gaze from hers to let her know he’d simply listen. It was better if she said it than he.

  But silence fell between them. Silence and a tension that made him yearn for the right words to make things better.

  Bella bit down until her jaw ached. She’d come so close, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit how silly she’d been.

  For years she’d imagined this moment.

  His apology had come as easily as she expected. Deep down, she knew he’d never wished to hurt her. They’d always protected each other, defended each other, kept each other’s secrets.

  But when she imagined this moment, she’d seen herself aloof. An impenetrable wall of calm and poise.

  But now he was here. So close she could touch him. So near she could smell his familiar scent. And she wasn’t doing anything she’d vowed she would do. Her heart was betraying her, achi
ng in that old familiar way. Not as sharp as it had once. A duller pain. But enough to make her realize this could never work.

  Playing nice, resuming their friendship, pretending as if all the rest hadn’t passed between them—it was as impossible as walking downstairs and agreeing to marry a stranger.

  His gaze was full of tenderness, yearning. “I was wrong, Bella.”

  “I was foolish too.”

  “You?” His mouth curved. “Even at eighteen, you were the least foolish young woman I’d ever known. I can’t imagine how clever you must be now.” He swallowed hard. “It’s bloody terrifying.”

  “I am cleverer.” Bella straightened her back. “And more clearheaded than the girl you used to know.”

  For a long silent moment neither of them spoke, giving her another opportunity to study him. He was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen. There were lines at the corner of his eyes, a few curving at the edges of his mouth, but they only made him look more dashing. Laugh lines, of course. No one enjoyed frivolity more than Rhys Forester.

  No, he was Claremont now. Perhaps it was time to let the past go. Time to let go of the anger and hurt she’d held on to for so long.

  They could never be friends again. She would always remember how much she wanted more. He still affected her too much. But it felt right to make peace.

  “I forgive you.” Once they were out, the words loosened something in her. As if they weren’t simply words but a key that dissolved the pain and uncertainty she’d harbored.

  They seemed to free him too. He let out a relieved breath and smiled. Not one of his dashing meant-to-charm smiles, but the genuine one. A bit crooked and imperfect, with no pretense.

  He was far too appealing. He always had been.

  Best she ended this unexpected visit and put the Duke of Claremont out of her mind.

  “I fear we must stop our game. We have guests, but I appreciate your visit.” Returning to the drawing room and attempting charm among strangers was not what she wanted, but it was what she’d promised to do.

  They had nothing left to offer each other. The favor she’d thought of asking him was silly, and would only prolong a connection it was wiser to sever.