The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  He’d promised her they’d work together on this. Though he couldn’t tell her everything about his work, he could at least share the parts that related to her brother’s murder. Enough truth to fulfill the arrangement they’d agreed to, but not enough to put her in further danger.

  He turned around, leaning against the cart. “In fact, I’ve already found several leads on Sauveterre.”

  Vivian burst up from the settee, coming to stand by him. She carried her teacup with her. “You’ve discovered something?”

  “My contacts went to the tavern where you used to write Sauveterre. They interrogated the innkeeper.” He didn’t specify that he’d sent his own agents. Until he moved her somewhere secure and could tell her his true occupation, it was better to let her think that the Runners were doing all the work.

  “I wrote that innkeeper,” Vivian said. “He claimed he didn’t know Sauveterre.”

  He shrugged. “Let’s just say the Chatham Boar and Deer won’t be receiving any awards for their honest customer dealings any time soon.”

  “What did he say?”

  “A Frenchman was staying at the Boar and Deer, but he left two weeks prior to their visit.”

  Vivian leaned forward, the mug grasped between her two hands. “Do they think it’s Sauveterre?”

  “Nothing was left in the room for them to search, but yes,” James said. “The innkeeper remembers him often receiving mail at that point, and the times coincide with your letters.”

  “Two weeks.” Vivian deposited her cup of tea on the cart and pushed off, going toward the door. “Two weeks. If we’d just been two weeks earlier…”

  He followed her, stopping her mid-step. His hand on her arm fixed her to this one point, though her nostrils still flared, indicating she might flee. So he reached for her hand, the lace of her gloves against his bare skin unnerving him. Whatever wise pronouncement he’d been about to make died on his tongue when she slowly slid her thumb up and down the ridge of his index finger.

  He gulped. A futile attempt to calm his racing pulse, for her thumb kept stroking. Her slight touch aroused him more than it should have. More than he’d ever experienced from the connection of their joined hands.

  “We are not certain it was Sauveterre,” he managed to gasp out. “And if you’d gone there two weeks ago, without my help, who knows what would have happened to you. The man is a murderer, Vivian.”

  Her thumb ceased moving against his. “You don’t have to remind me of that. I’m well aware.”

  “I’m sorry.” He hated the sharp stab of pain that crossed her features. The fact that he’d caused that, when all he wanted to do was bring her happiness. His grip on her hand tightened, and he wished he’d never have to part from her. “The idea of you going up against a murderer, unarmed and unprepared, terrifies me. I meant every word of those vows I said today. I’m going to honor and cherish you, but I can’t do that if you’re dead.”

  She let out an exasperated sigh, but she did not pull away from him. “I suppose you’re right. Going off half-cocked will solve nothing. But I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me this immediately. We’re supposed to be partners. In more than just this, now.”

  “I received the letter today. There was no time to tell you before the ceremony.” He did not move—could not move, for her gaze held his in thrall. “Vivian, we are partners. We’re in this together.”

  “Good. Because that’s the only thing I want.” She scooted closer, her hand still linked to his. She was so close now; the hem of her lilac dress skimmed his buff pantaloons. So close her sweet floral scent filled his nose until everything smelled like roses.

  Any moment now, the carriage would be ready, and they’d be forced to leave this house. How would she react later to his confession? He didn’t know. But right now, with her so near, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

  He leaned down, cupping her chin in his hands. God, how soft her skin felt against his bare hands, softer than he’d ever imagined. He brushed his lips against hers. Gave her a moment to adjust to the feel of his lips on hers, and when she leaned into him, he increased the pressure. She was tentative at first, but she learned his rhythm quickly. She returned his kiss with an equal passion, slanting her lips over his. He couldn’t think of a single reason why he hadn’t spent the last six months doing just this. Kissing Vivian became as natural as breathing—his body moved on its own, a creature of desire and longing.

  He broke apart from her long enough to tug her flush against him. Her supple frame fit perfectly between his spread legs. He’d meant to taste her, nothing more. But then her hands slid upward, grasping at his shoulders as though he was the one thing separating her from a shipwreck, and he was powerless to resist her. He hadn’t felt such all-consuming need in years, if ever, for he’d never been one to give himself fully to passion. The women he’d been with before had been experienced, widows or courtesans, as jaded as he was. They’d gone through the motions, each knowing the worth of their own bodies.

  Before tonight, he’d always claimed that was how it should be: a trade of information for pleasure, set expectations for an encounter.

  He hadn’t been prepared for Vivian. How her sweet innocence could drive him wild. She kissed without artifice or ulterior motive, and it was bloody wonderful. He dipped his tongue out between her parted lips, seeking entry. She opened her lips to him, and he thrust into her wet mouth. Her body shook as he teased her, his tongue toying with her own until she moaned with pleasure. The sound shot through him. He was rock hard, yet he hadn’t even touched her intimately—couldn’t touch her, because if he did he’d lose himself completely. So he kissed her, kissed her until he’d memorized the arc of her lips, until his mouth was numb, until his chest burned with the lack of oxygen.

  When they finally broke apart, he stepped back from her. He dared not touch her while his body warred with his mind. His breathing ragged, he exerted every last bit of his willpower to keep from tossing her skirts up and burying himself inside her then and there.

  If he didn’t get them on the road soon, he’d stay in this parlor, kissing her. Learning the rhythm of her breaths and the meaning behind every one of her sighs. He ran his hands down his pantaloons, willing his body to calm.

  All the bombs he’d disabled, the traitors he’d arrested, and the assassins he’d thwarted in the past would never be as dangerous as Vivian was to him. She was changing him, a little bit at a time, prying away the falseness of his identity and leaving only the real man beneath.

  Chapter 12

  He’d kissed her.

  Vivian’s mind sputtered back to life. She raised a hand to her lips, swollen from his kisses. Her eyes barely focused as he rubbed his hands against his legs, as though he needed to keep his hands busy because if he did not, he’d touch her again. Sweet Mary, how she wanted him to touch her again.

  He had kissed her!

  She ought to say something flirtatious. Maybe express her appreciation of his prowess? She didn’t know. This was another area of etiquette that thoroughly boggled her. What was the proper reaction to being kissed senseless? Vivian could only rest her weight against the back of the settee, her ring finger still poised on her lips.

  She still tasted him. She still felt him. The tight muscles of his arms as he held her to him, that particularly intriguing bulge in his pantaloons as he leaned into her, his body perfectly fitted to hers. She still heard the sound of her own pleasure-soaked moan in her ears. She’d been so wanton, thinking nothing of the other people in the house who might overhear them.

  She sneaked a glance over at him. He appeared as stunned as her, eyes wide, jaw jutting out, lips as red as her own must be. He battled against the passion that had seized him—she noted it in the raggedness of his breathing, as if each gasp was an endeavor in its own right; in the clench of his fists at his sides, making her think of a warrior preparing for battle. So much about him reminded her of a fighter. The rigidness of his sculpted muscles, so hard and well-f
ormed under her questing fingers. That determined flicker in his eyes whenever he made her a promise. The rawness in his voice when he spoke of his sister.

  He was a man who’d never give up.

  He was a man of honor.

  And he was her man. Perhaps more than in name only, if that kiss was any indication. She ought not to feel so blastedly elated, as she hadn’t accomplished her true goal yet. Sauveterre lived. But that weak, romantic part of her wanted to run back into James’s arms and relish being his duchess.

  She must crush that part of herself as ruthlessly as Sauveterre had crushed her brother’s windpipe. This was not about her, or even them. It could not be. Not yet.

  A knock sounded on the closed parlor door, and then the door began to swing open. Miss Spencer entered, her calm green eyes taking in the distance between them, perhaps even noticing the way Vivian’s hair looked mussed, and how James’s coat was no longer so straight. Vivian had the sinking suspicion the quiet Miss Spencer observed far more than she ever let on.

  “The carriage is ready,” Miss Spencer said.

  “Ah.” James nodded, but Vivian didn’t have any idea what this nod meant. So much for reading him well.

  Miss Spencer made no move to depart. “We need to leave in the next five minutes.”

  James gestured for her to go. “Tell the jarvey we’ll be right out.”

  Miss Spencer exchanged an enigmatic glance with her adopted brother before she closed the door to the room again.

  Vivian pounced, seizing the opportunity before he had a chance to deflect her questions. In the chaos of the wedding plans, she’d forgotten about the trip Elinor had discussed during the fitting. “Lady Elinor mentioned a trip. Where are we going, James? And why? If you’ve already taken precautions to fortify this estate, why would we leave? The start of the Season isn’t for another month, so it can’t be for that.”

  She came to stand beside him. As close as she’d felt to him mere minutes before, doubt crept back into her. Why did it always feel like he was hiding something? He’d sworn they were partners—in more than finding her brother’s killer—but she could not shake the thought that she’d married a man she would never truly know.

  “And don’t tell me it’s merely a celebratory wedding trip.”

  James opened and shut his mouth, the briefest flicker of surprise in his eyes before he regained control of his emotions. “The staff believes we are going to Brighton.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “But we are actually going to where?”

  He strode to the door, and she was momentarily distracted by the power and speed behind his gait. Even his walk was authoritative. It would be so easy to throw her fate in his hands. To believe without question in his ability to keep her safe. Yet she’d spent enough time under the thumb of mysterious men.

  She followed him, stopping him before he could open the door. “I’m going to ask you one more time: where are we going? If you want me to get in the carriage with you, I need answers.”

  He turned back to face her, letting out a resigned sigh. “You’re awfully aggressive, did you know that?”

  “It has been pointed out to me before, yes,” she said. “Evan preferred to call me ‘domineering,’ but you may use whatever term you see fit.”

  “How benevolent of you,” he noted dryly.

  She shrugged. “I can be magnanimous when the situation calls for it.”

  “There are certain precautions that need to be taken,” he began, with a pointed look toward the door. “If I tell you where we’re going while we’re still in this house, that will put your safety at risk. I refuse to take that chance. So we can argue about this when we’re in the carriage.”

  “No, we can argue about this now.” She stepped in front of the door, blocking the door with her body. A flawed idea, since he’d had no trouble touching her moments prior, but it was all she had. “Why do we need to leave so hurriedly? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “You’re impossible, woman.” He gave her a beleaguered look that almost made her feel sympathetic. “I didn’t want to worry you, because I’ve taken measures to ensure your safety. There was more to the letter. The innkeeper at the Boar and Deer thought that Sauveterre might be coming to Maidstone.”

  He did not need to say anything more. She knew from the alarm in his eyes that he suspected Sauveterre was on his way to Abermont House. To her.

  “He’s figured out that I can’t get the information he wants, so he’s going to kill me.” She clasped her hands together to keep from shaking, but that did not stop the frantic racing of her mind. She’d been a duchess for exactly one hour and already her death warrant might as well have been signed. “You’re taking me far, far from here? Somewhere he can’t find me.”

  “That’s the general idea, yes.” James reached for her, but she shied away from him, stalking over to the teacart.

  “Why?”

  “I should think that obvious. If he can’t find you, then he can’t kill you.”

  She leaned her hands on the cart, her back to him. “But then we can’t find him.”

  “A secondary goal when compared to keeping you alive.” James advanced on her, spinning her around so that she faced him again. He laid his hands on her shoulders, and she did not want to admit how much his grip steadied her.

  She jutted her chin out, refusing to give in to the fear. This was a chance to accomplish what she’d vowed. Nothing else mattered. “Let him come for me. I will rip out his heart.”

  If only her voice did not waver when she made that declaration. If only she believed she was truly capable of going up against a sick, twisted killer and surviving.

  “No, you will die in the process.” James leaned forward, resting his forehead on hers. The certainty in his voice whispered across her face, a soft touch when it should have been a slap. “We are not ready, my dear. Let us prepare to take him on first. My contacts found him once, and they’ll find him again.”

  “Do you really think so?” It seemed impossible that the Runners could find Sauveterre again. But wasn’t it better to be prepared? Every step she’d made had been based on false assumptions. “How will we become ready?”

  “I’ll teach you how to fight,” he said. “I have not always been duke, you know. As a boy, I was as rough and tumble as you and your brother. I’ll teach you how to shoot and how to defend yourself.”

  “And then we’ll end Sauveterre.” She needed to hear him say it. She longed for a time when this was over, when the guilt of failing Evan did not consume her soul.

  “And then we’ll catch Sauveterre.” He pulled back from her, but only to loop his arm in hers as he guided her to the door so they could both change for the trip. “Justice, Vivian. Justice before revenge.”

  Guildford.

  James had said they were going to Guildford, somewhere in Surrey. She wasn’t familiar with the place. On three fingers she could count the places she’d frequented in the last twenty-four years: Devon, London, and then Maidstone. Yes, she’d traveled through various towns on the way to each destination, but she’d never paid much attention to the scenery going by the mailcoach. Each trip, she’d been too eager to start out on her new life.

  Now, she didn’t know what she felt. Anticipation warred with fear until her stomach roiled, and she had to fight to keep down the stew she’d already consumed at this stop. She didn’t know what scared her more: the idea of going somewhere unknown with her new husband, or the fact that every mile took her further from Sauveterre and her chance at vengeance. Though James was right that they weren’t prepared, that didn’t make leaving the one lead she had any easier.

  She let her spoon drop from her fingers, the metal clinking against the ceramic bowl. The sound barely made an impact in the crowded main room of the Jester and Trader Tavern in Otford. They’d stopped for dinner, but none of the food was appetizing to Vivian’s queasy stomach. She’d managed to eat a third of the beef stew served up to her by an alarmingly buxom serving wench—who Ja
mes never looked at again after he’d delivered his order, granting her a small measure of happiness—because James and Miss Spencer kept watching her expectantly.

  “Something wrong, dear?” Concern laced Miss Spencer’s tone.

  “No,” Vivian answered without hesitation. How much had James told his sister about her situation? She didn’t know, and she certainly wasn’t about to volunteer information that made her appear to be a lying thief. “I fear I’m a bit fatigued with all the traveling.”

  “It’s been a busy day,” James agreed. “You can rest in the carriage.”

  “I shall do that,” Vivian said, though she doubted she’d be able to sleep with him so near to her. “Thank you for your concern, Miss Spencer.”

  “Arden,” she corrected with a grin. “We are sisters now, after all.”

  Sisters.

  She’d been alone in the world since Evan’s death. Suddenly, she had three new sisters and another brother, a brother she’d spent the last six months watching as his governess.

  And most importantly, now she had a husband. She let her gaze drift over to James, hunched over his stew. He’d asked for a booth in the far corner of the tavern, closest to an exit, shadowed by the low hanging eaves. His cravat was tied in a simple fashion, and he wore a black coat that was neither extravagant nor too cheap to draw notice. He’d traded his Hessians for top boots, dusty from their travels. His tanned, handsome face was as inscrutable as ever—but did she detect the smallest furrow of his bushy black brows? Her eyes traveled down, to those firm, chiseled planes of his chest, and her cheeks warmed at the memory of him pressed up against her body, all sinewy muscle and strength, those wicked lips supple against her own.

  He might be duke when at Abermont House, but here outside the estate he was a much more intimidating creature. When a grizzly, haggard man passed by their table, his roving eyes stopping on Vivian with more interest than she would have liked, James turned swiftly in his chair, his glower alone sending the man running. Had that been not enough, she had no problem believing that this version of him, rough and rugged like the road they traversed, would have reached for the knife strapped to his side. Perhaps he had one in his boot as well; Evan had often done that.