The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  Doors that separated the drawing room from the smaller sitting room at the back of the house had been opened to increase the space. The furniture had been moved out that morning, and the three windows facing Mount Street were thrown open, which would allow attendees to step out onto the small balconies and take a bit of cool night air. Fresh flowers and sparkling candlelight created an atmosphere of elegance and sophistication.

  The back room contained some of the furniture that had been banished from the drawing room, as well as a buffet table that would later be laden with food. For now, there was ratafia, which would be a welcome refreshment as the temperature warmed. Two sets of doors opened to the terrace that overlooked the garden below would also provide a reprieve from the heat.

  Satterfield entered the drawing room then, followed by the butler, and shortly thereafter, the ball was underway. Lady Satterfield had explained that dancing would begin early in the evening. The activity would become more difficult as attendance increased and the ball became a crush. She’d also indicated that, as per custom, she and Satterfield would lead the first dance.

  Over the course of the next half hour, Nora was introduced to an astonishing number of people, but had yet to receive an invitation to dance. There was still a little bit of time before the first set started. Perhaps her luck would improve.

  “Eleanor!” Lady Abercrombie’s high voice, coming from somewhere to the left, startled her.

  Or mayhap her luck would worsen.

  Nora turned slightly from her position near the back door, where she’d been enjoying the faint evening breeze. “Good evening.”

  Lady Abercrombie, whose blond hair was artfully woven with luminescent pearls, took in Nora’s dress. Her gaze dipped, and her mouth pursed the tiniest amount, but it was enough to reveal her distaste. “I had a gown that color, my goodness when was it, two years ago?”

  The subtle affront wasn’t lost on Nora, but she ignored the jibe. It would take far more than that to unsettle her.

  Lady Abercrombie’s gaze moved past Nora, and she gasped softly. “It’s him.”

  Nora turned as Kendal walked in from the terrace. The Forbidden Duke. He must have come up the exterior stairs to the terrace—but why enter in such a clandestine fashion?

  Garbed in unrelenting black, save his snow-white cravat and shirt, he looked exactly like his nickname—an impenetrable fortress you could never hope to scale, and wouldn’t even bother trying.

  As with yesterday at the tea, his eyes found hers, and now Nora was unsettled.

  But in the best possible way.

  He looked at her with frank interest, his gaze burning over her with precision and then resting on her with…approval. She’d been a trifle warm, hence the reason she was standing near the doors, but now heat suffused her flesh.

  “Do you know the duke?” Lady Abercrombie whispered. She stared at Nora in disbelief.

  “Do you?” Nora uttered the question with a measure of sarcasm and immediately regretted it. Not because Lady Abercrombie didn’t deserve it, but because Nora knew better than to fall prey to the harpy’s goading.

  “I met him years ago, during my first Season. You were out at the same time, but I suppose your circle didn’t extend to him.” She ceased whispering. “I wouldn’t have thought it would’ve extended to Haywood either.”

  Nora stiffened.

  “I wonder if he’ll be here tonight,” Lady Abercrombie mused. “I’m sure he’ll be certain to pay his respects to you.” She didn’t bother with sarcasm but went straight for outright malice.

  Nora knew for a fact that Haywood wasn’t coming, because Lady Satterfield hadn’t invited him. Nora offered a bland smile and straightened, which only accentuated her height advantage over the several-inches-shorter Lady Abercrombie. “Just as I’m certain he will not be in attendance. This is a rather exclusive event, you see. In fact, I find myself wondering how you were invited. I’m confident that mistake won’t be repeated.”

  Lady Abercrombie’s nostrils flared, but before she could mount another attack, the duke swept in and offered his arm to Nora. “Miss Lockhart, I believe I have the honor of the first dance?” His deep baritone rustled over her skin like the silk of her gown when she’d donned it earlier.

  “Indeed,” Nora murmured, thrilled by his opportune attention. She didn’t bother glancing at Lady Abercrombie as they turned toward the dance floor. Nora didn’t need to see the other woman’s shock in order to appreciate it.

  Oh dear. She’d behaved dreadfully. Such lapses in judgment were precisely what had thrust her into trouble in the first place. And right under the Forbidden Duke’s nose. “I shall apologize to Lady Abercrombie later,” she said.

  “Why would you do that?” he asked.

  Nora blinked up at him as they made their way through the throng. It seemed to part as if by magic as they entered the drawing room. “I was rather rude. I intimated that I had a say in who Lady Satterfield invites to her ball. I must also apologize to her for my presumption.”

  “There won’t be a need. My stepmother would applaud your response, and even if you hadn’t informed that shrew that she’d no longer be welcome at Satterfield House, I would’ve ensured she wasn’t.”

  Nora stared up at him. “Lady Satterfield would applaud my behavior?”

  His eyes were intense, his answer equally so. “Enthusiastically. As do I.”

  Nora suppressed a shiver. Not only did she have the complete support of Lady Satterfield, now she had the endorsement of the Forbidden Duke. Vindication rose within her, but she cautioned herself to keep her wits about her. However, she was finding that rather difficult in such close proximity to the attractive duke.

  “We need to take our place,” he said, guiding her to the dance floor, where Lord and Lady Satterfield were already at the top of the line that was forming. Kendal positioned Nora to stand beside Lady Satterfield so that they were second. The musicians, set in the far corner of the makeshift ballroom, began to play, and panic seized Nora’s chest. Would she remember the steps? Would she make a fool of herself or, worse, of him?

  She felt like an imposter in a scenario she’d mistakenly stumbled into. Surely someone would point her out and tell her she needed to leave. She was a pariah, an outcast. She had no place being here, let alone dancing with a duke.

  But it was far too late to run away. The dance had started, and the line traveled the length of the drawing room. This dance would last quite some time, during which Nora would be the center of everyone’s attention and the source of everyone’s gossip. She could hear the exchanges now, imagined them starting up and spreading like a freshly ignited fire.

  “Look at whom he chose. Who is that Nobody?”

  “Don’t you remember? She ruined herself nine years ago.”

  “How dreadful.”

  Lord and Lady Satterfield started, dancing their way between the lines. They were rather spry, given their age.

  Nora looked nervously over at the duke. “Lady Satterfield is an excellent dancer.”

  “Indeed.” The rich tone of his voice soothed her rioting nerves. “She always insists on calling the first, though it’s the only set she’ll dance.”

  Nora nodded. Dancing was typically reserved for the young.

  She tried not to stare at her partner, but it was difficult as he was situated directly across from her and she should look at him. Look, yes, but not gape. And he was gape-worthy. His reputation suited him, for he seemed forbidden, otherworldly almost. Not in an ethereal way, but in a rustic, rough sort of manner, as if Society couldn’t possibly contain him.

  Despite that or perhaps because of it, he wore his costume with ease. However, she suspected he was more comfortable in riding breeches and boots as he galloped his horse across the Lake District—she’d ascertained that was where his seat was located—his powerful thighs hugging the animal’s sides as they moved as one.

  Goodness, where had that astonishing image come from?

  And then it was
their turn to traverse the line. She prayed she would remember the steps and focused on the music as they moved toward each other.

  “You look as if you’re headed to the guillotine,” he said just loud enough for her alone to hear.

  “Do I?” She tried to laugh but was afraid she sounded like a wounded bird. She longed to ask why he’d chosen her and immediately wondered if Lady Satterfield had put him up to it. She decided she didn’t want to know.

  “It’s just a dance.”

  The superbly absurd comment coaxed a genuine smile to her lips and alleviated some of her discomfort. “With the ‘Forbidden Duke’ who only dances once each Season. Yes, you’re quite right to characterize it that way. Thank you for putting me at ease.”

  He chuckled, and like his speaking voice, it sparked a tremor that seemed to start in her bones and move outward, making her flesh tingle and her chest warm. “Don’t be nervous. And certainly don’t be nervous on my account.” He said the last with a tone so dry, she feared it might curl up and blow away in the breeze.

  “That is easy for you, a duke, to say. I am just a simple girl who’s been away from London a long time.”

  “I daresay you aren’t ‘just’ anything, but I shan’t debate you. Arguing in the midst of a dance is the height of boorishness.”

  She laughed easily this time. “Indeed it is.”

  He curled his arm around her waist as they passed the midpoint of the line, and they joined hands above their heads. Like his voice, his touch enthralled her, transported her to another place. A place where she wasn’t a pariah or a spinster, but a woman.

  When he released her hand, she felt a stab of disappointment and knew it would only deepen when he let go of her waist. But when he removed his arm, he wrapped his other one around her front and moved behind her. His gloved hand slid around her as he circled her. He came to a stop at the end of the line and faced her, his hand leaving her waist before taking her by the hand and escorting her back to her position in the line. Then he resumed his place across from her.

  The move had happened quickly, but she relived it in half time—the glide of his hand, the whisper of his breath against her ear, the dark promise in his gaze when he’d faced her and taken her hand.

  Silly, silly featherbrain! There was no promise—dark or otherwise. As he’d said, it was just a dance. A glorious, spectacular, delicious dance that she would recall at least ten thousand times.

  “What do you hope to do in London this Season?” His question surprised her. She didn’t know what she’d expected from someone called the Forbidden Duke, but it wasn’t normal conversation.

  I hope to comport myself admirably, was the first answer that came to mind, but she didn’t wish to expound on that. “I imagine we’ll ride in the park, pay calls, and I’ll likely adorn the wall of a few dozen balls and parties.” She’d meant the last in a bit of jest, but also feared it might be true.

  He arched a thick brow at her. “You won’t be adorning the wall. You danced with me. Everyone will want to dance with you now.”

  She believed him. But she also had the unsettling thought that every other partner would pale compared to him.

  The next couple danced between them and joined their respective ends of the lines.

  Though they were free to speak and could hear each other over the music, it meant talking at a volume that would allow their dancing neighbors to overhear. It had been one thing to converse beside his parents, but now that others could eavesdrop, she found she didn’t want to say anything. Probably because the only things she wanted to discuss involved his forbidden state. How had he earned the nickname, and how did he feel about it? A shame she would never know.

  At last, one of the many questions battering around in her head forced its way out. “Will you leave after our dance?” she asked, and again instantly regretted her boldness. “My apologies, that is none of my business.”

  “That is what I typically do, yes. However, I might linger for a bit.” His gaze did just that—lingered—over her. She loved the green of his eyes, dark and mossy, almost like velvet.

  The dance continued, and they exchanged a few more pleasantries. Nora was lulled into a sense of comfort, something she suspected would evaporate the moment the dance ended, which was imminent since the last couple had started down the line.

  “Our dance is almost at an end,” Kendal said.

  “There’s another in the set, is there not?”

  He shook his head. “Not this time. The first set is just one dance—my stepmother prefers it that way.”

  Nora hadn’t known this and was unaccountably disappointed. The music drew to a close, and everyone bowed or curtsied to their partner. Kendal offered his arm, and Nora clasped her hand around his sleeve. She would savor this moment, certain it would never repeat itself.

  He led her back to the refreshment room, and again the throng divided as if by some sort of spell. But then it seemed Kendal excelled at casting a very specific sort of magic that drove everyone into an obsequious state.

  They happened upon Lady Dunn, who was seated near the wall. Her gaze fell on them with something akin to admiration or maybe approval. Kendal took his leave, and Lady Dunn motioned for Nora to join her.

  “Well done, my dear,” the older woman said. “When next we meet—away from this crush—you must recount the entire dance. I want to hear every single detail, beginning with why he asked you.”

  That was a question Nora didn’t have an answer to and would forever ponder—when she wasn’t too busy just feeling happy that he had.

  Chapter 5

  Having done his duty to his stepmother, Titus went upstairs to Satterfield’s study to escape the inanity of the ball goers. Not all of them were tedious, he told himself. One in particular was quite intriguing.

  He heard a steady stream of women accessing his stepmother’s sitting room next door, which had been converted into a retiring room. He wondered if any of them were Miss Lockhart with her gold-brown eyes and alluring smile.

  His annual dance had always been a duty, but tonight he’d enjoyed performing it more than he ever had. Miss Lockhart was refreshingly open. He’d had to keep from laughing aloud at the way in which she’d put that ridiculous carper in her place. He hadn’t felt so at ease with another person who wasn’t from his inner circle in a very long time. In forever, maybe.

  And just who was his “inner circle”? His stepmother, of course, and Satterfield. His steward at Lakemoor, his secretary here in London, probably his valet, and perhaps his butlers. Maybe the stable master at Lakemoor. Once upon a time, he would’ve included the group of friends he’d run with in his youth, but he’d left them behind when he’d shunned their lifestyle. Some of them had matured a bit, while others were as debauched as ever. He was friendly with a few of them—they discussed politics and the like—but he didn’t socialize with them.

  Hmm, yes, he was alone, but not lonely, as his stepmother surmised, and he liked it that way.

  As if he’d summoned her by thought, the door opened and Lady Satterfield walked inside, saying, “There you are. Harley said you hadn’t left, which I could scarcely believe.”

  Titus had conversed briefly with the Satterfields’ butler before coming upstairs. Just as he’d been surprised by Titus’s arrival at the tea the other day, he’d seemed taken aback to learn that Titus wasn’t leaving as soon as he’d completed the favor for Lady Satterfield.

  Titus shrugged and sipped from the glass of whisky he’d poured from his stepfather’s cabinet. “I just needed some quiet.”

  “Do you mean to return to the ball?” she asked, with perhaps a touch of hope.

  He shrugged again.

  She shook her head but smiled. “You needn’t stay. I appreciate you dancing with Nora.”

  Nora. He tried to think of her as Miss Lockhart, but from the moment he’d heard her name and experienced the sensuality it seemed to spark in his brain, he’d had a rough go of it. Maybe he’d abandon the pretense—
at least in his head.

  “Did it help?” he asked.

  His stepmother exhaled. “I’m not sure yet. She’s just received her second invitation to dance, and Lady Dunn, bless the woman despite her penchant for gossip, has given her stamp of approval.” Her lips curved down. “However, there are other women—who I think knew Nora in the past—who have not been as gracious.”

  Titus felt an urge to return to the ball and glower at the termagant who’d been bothering Nora. “Yes, I overhead one of them speaking to Miss Lockhart. I don’t know her name, but ask Miss Lockhart. You mustn’t ever invite her to Satterfield House again.”

  His stepmother arched a brow at him. “Indeed? You sound as if you leapt to her defense.”

  Titus didn’t want to expose his guilt regarding Nora or the fact that he felt beholden to help her. “I am doing what you asked—elevating her status.”

  “And I appreciate it. Perhaps then you won’t mind lending just a bit more of your support. We’re to attend Lady Fitzgibbon’s picnic at Brexham Hall in a few days. Will you join us?”

  Titus couldn’t think of anything he’d rather do less. The thought of spending an entire afternoon at an insipid Society event made his skin crawl. Once upon a time, he’d enjoyed such nonsense, but now he’d rather meet with his secretary or dig into a treatise or a book.

  However, this event would include Nora. Surely that would lift its potential from certainly dull to possibly entertaining?

  “You needn’t come for the entire time,” his stepmother said. “Hopefully by then she will have garnered a bit of favor, perhaps even a potential suitor or two, and your continued attention will only solidify her status.”

  Of course there would be suitors. She was looking for a husband, was she not? Still, the thought of a gentleman courting her inexplicably provoked his irritation. “I will put in an appearance. Will that suffice?”

  Her brows climbed into a graceful arch of surprise. “More than. I expected you to say no.”

  If it had been anyone other than Nora, he would have. But he felt a specific responsibility to aid her cause. He may not have been the one to compromise her, but he may as well have been standing there encouraging Haywood.