The Heart of a Duke

by Samantha Grace

  The only thing that stood in his way was his unruly desire for Lady Eleanore.

  But after hiding it from the world, and the lady herself, for almost half a decade, what was another month? A mere four weeks. He would get through the house party, then go find himself a case of whiskey and a doxie to ride out the rest of the Season. Perhaps if he stayed drunk enough, he'd manage to miss the wedding altogether, and save himself the torture of watching Elle marry his cousin.

  Decision made, Jacob swallowed against the rawness of his throat, and held out his glass for a refill from the brandy decanter in front of Langley.

  "I accept."

  The duke smiled with satisfaction as he poured. "Good man."

  Hardly.

  But if suffering from close proximity to Lady Eleanore put him closer to the accomplishment of his ambitions, he would bear his cross with gladness.

  Well, perhaps not gladness. More like stoic fortitude.

  Jacob dropped into the chair opposite his cousin. "How will you explain my presence, and your lack of one, to the lady?"

  "I'll not explain anything." Langley looked surprised to be asked such a question. Of course he did. After all, he was the Duke of Langley and answered to no one below the Regent. "Lady Eleanore is quite accommodating. She will not mind your presence."

  Accommodating! His cousin truly didn't know his betrothed well.

  Jacob barely refrained from rolling his eyes. He very much doubted she wouldn't be bothered. He had never been her favorite person, something he could only be glad for. After the Hastings' ball, she was bound to think of him even less fondly, which was just what he intended. Lord knew what he would do if she turned those brilliant blue eyes upon him and smiled with any degree of intimacy.

  "Remind me why your man of business cannot handle this?"

  "Eleanore dislikes him, and I have no wish to see her unhappy. Apparently the man made an unfortunate remark in her presence about one of the upper maids, and she has refused to be in the same room as him ever since."

  Was there any wonder Jacob had fallen helplessly in love with her? Under that snappish, slightly vain surface gloss, there was a heart filled with warmth and humor. He could not fathom how Langley did not discern it.

  However, he couldn't betray to his cousin how charmed he was by the man's future wife. No good would come of that.

  "How do you know she won't take a dislike to me this week as well for the way I tie my cravat or because of my fiery hair?"

  His cousin laughed, much more relaxed now that he knew he was free.

  "She seems to tolerate you well enough, considering the way you tease her. I cannot imagine why you find it entertaining to bedevil Eleanore. To be frank, I find her quite frightening when her ire is raised. I consider myself fortunate her ire is usually directed your way, and never mine."

  "Perhaps you are correct, cousin. I do wish to make it through the week alive, after all."

  Langley laughed at his quick reply, but Jacob was serious.

  He vowed to dismiss any lingering scrap of affection for her from his mind. Erase her from his heart. It was time to let go of his irrational desire for another man's woman. This house party would be the last one in which he would have to suffer a dangerously unmarried Lady Eleanore. He could never have the lady, but he could have the law and the courts, and the power to bring about justice for many in an unjust world.

  That would have to be enough.

  Chapter Three

  Langley was nowhere to be found.

  He had greeted Elle and her mother when their carriage arrived at Brookdale that afternoon, then the dratted man had disappeared. It was close to the time she should make her way to the duchess's favorite salon for aperitifs before supper, but she wanted to speak with him without fifty members of the peerage looking on.

  Elle pushed open the door to his study with one hesitant hand. She'd never been invited here before, but her desperation gave her courage.

  Langley looked up, his eyes widening as she stepped into the room and shut the door firmly. A pile of papers sat at his elbow, a pen in his right hand, and ink smudges on his chin. He had never looked so approachable.

  At least, until she caught the irritation that flitted across his face before he stood in a smooth motion, his expression settling into a mask of polite inquiry.

  "Good afternoon, my lady. Did you need something? Perhaps your rooms aren't to your liking?" He moved around the desk, toward the bell pull over the fireplace. "Mrs. Thornton can arrange for a new suite in no time at all—"

  "No!" Elle threw out her hand to stop him, thinking of the foreboding housekeeper's sour looks earlier when she had arrived with Mama. From what Julia had been able to gather, the word below stairs was that there was always twice as much work when the duke's betrothed came to visit. Apparently, the duchess was rather adamant about everything being a notch above perfect during these times. It had not endeared her to her future household in the least.

  "No," she repeated in a softer tone, forcing a smile of reassurance when he looked at her askance. "My rooms are lovely, I couldn't ask for anything more."

  Langley dropped his arm back to his side, and she let out a small breath of relief.

  "Then I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to your visit."

  "Oh, I just dropped in for a chat. We haven't done much of that in recent years, have we?"

  "Ah. No, I suppose we haven't." Langley's brow furrowed as he watched her seat herself with care in front of his desk. He walked back slowly, lowering himself into his own chair with a slight frown still notched between his eyebrows.

  The silence spun out for a long moment, as they stared at each other.

  "I loathe fish." A wave of heat rushed into Elle's face after she blurted the words into the quiet, but really. If he wouldn't start the conversation, she had to say something.

  One corner of Langley's mouth twitched. "To eat, or in general?"

  "To eat. I can't stand the look of them. I've never gotten close enough to take a bite, but if they taste as they smell, I have no regrets."

  The duke leaned back in his chair and studied her.

  "Was this why you sought me out before supper? To amend the menu? You'll have to speak to Mother about that."

  Exasperation spiked. Elle rolled her eyes, as she blew out an unladylike huff of air. "I just wanted to know you better. Is that so wrong? We are to be married, are we not? I think a married couple should know these sorts of things about each other, don't you?"

  "Isn't that what the housekeeper, butler, cook, and legions of servants are for? To keep track of our preferences, so we may be comfortable in our own home?"

  "Humor me. Please."

  There was another moment of silence, and Elle thought he might be contemplating making a dash for the bell pull, when he said, "I am allergic to yellow Indian dye. I discovered this in the most embarrassing way possible, when the Regent gifted me with a silken shirt from one of his foreign investments; some trading faction or another."

  "How horrible!"

  His smile was wry. "It was rather unpleasant."

  Elle smiled back, warmth sliding through her. They were finally getting somewhere. This was the first time in years, perhaps ever, that Langley had opened up to her and shared anything of a personal nature. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

  The door swung open, and Elle twisted in her seat to glare at Jacob as he strode into the room. He ignored her, looking straight at the duke.

  "I got caught up in conversation with Lord Galsworthy. I didn't realize how much time had passed." His tone was vaguely apologetic, but his brows shot up when Langley just waved a relaxed hand.

  "Not a problem. Lady Eleanore and I have had a lovely chat while you were occupied."

  "Have you?" Jacob murmured, looking from one to the other of them, his expression unreadable. "Then I am not needed?"

  "Not at all."

  "Yes!"

  Both Elle and the duke spoke at the same time. As Langley's word re
gistered, she swung back to look at him, but he was halfway around the desk before she could speak and headed for the door.

  "As delightful as our time was, my dear, I must change for dinner. Jacob will escort you to the salon."

  Elle's fingers twisted in the full skirts of her evening gown in frustration as she watched him retreat. Why did he always do that? She had just begun to hope they might actually become something resembling friends, when he shut her out again.

  A hand intruded on her line of sight, blocking the last view of Langley before he rounded the corner. Gloved in fine, pale cotton, the long, elegant fingers beckoned once, then twice. Elle raised her eyes to find Jacob had moved next to her chair, offering his arm to lead her to the salon.

  She did not move.

  "I've been traversing these halls since I was a small child, Mr. Farrish. I hardly imagine I'll lose my way now."

  He withdrew his hand, one side of his mouth tipping up in a wry smile. "Perhaps I'm the one who's afraid of becoming lost, sweetheart."

  The setting sun shone through the windows, lighting his hair into a nimbus of glowing cinnamon and flame. He caught her look, and returned it, hazel eyes narrowing a little. Elle's heart sped up as the air in the room turned thick, thrumming with tension. Heat spread upward from her chest, until she was sure her face was flushed, and she realized the source of the warmth was the gypsy locket on its chain around her neck.

  She looked away, staring blindly across the room, as she fingered the useless locket. It was supposed to guarantee her future as a wife, one that had her husband’s love, but all she had felt since putting it on was doubt. Perhaps the Roma girl had been wrong when she had shouted the locket's legacy at Elle. It had certainly sounded more like a curse than well wishes, in any case.

  Why wasn't she drawn to Langley in this manner?

  He was a solid man, secure in his position in society, and most importantly, he was her betrothed. His cousin was uncertain in his future, a mere mister, and more than a bit of a rakehell.

  The hard muscles in his thighs flexed as he strode to the window and looked out, and Elle bit her lip. She would not be defeated by a pair of fine legs.

  "If you will not allow me to escort you to the salon, and my cousin has charged me with the very same, then I fear we are at an impasse." He turned and folded his arms across his chest, leaning one shoulder against the window frame. "I hope you aren't too hungry, since we might miss dinner. Do you play pinochle, per chance?"

  Elle stood and shook out her skirts, feeling his heavy gaze upon her.

  "You may go. I can find my own way."

  "I'm sure you can, but you won't be wandering the halls without an escort. There are more than a few other guests here, and I only know a few of the gentleman well enough not to be concerned." He straightened, and moved toward her, his usual half smirk fading into an uncompromising expression. "Not everyone has honorable intentions, Lady Eleanore."

  "I know that," she replied stiffly, wanting to move away as he came closer, even as she wondered what it would be like to run her fingers over the hard planes of his face. Feather over the proud line of his nose, trace the wide shape of his mouth.

  "Do you?"

  He was too close now, his body casting a shadow over hers, near enough for her to reach out and do what she had been longing to for weeks. The locket was warm again, and she touched it without thought, her fingertips rubbing the worn surface of the heart-shaped metal. Jacob's gaze dropped to where it hung between her breasts, and he sucked in a swift breath, then raised his eyes to trace the fullness of her mouth. Tingles shot through her as he shifted a bit closer, his sleeve brushing against hers, and she swallowed convulsively.

  Without a thought, she raised her chin, her lips parting. The hush of Langley's office wrapping them in a velvet intimacy.

  Langley's office.

  Langley.

  Her soon to be husband.

  Elle blinked and fell back, putting the chair between them in one neat step. For one moment, she thought Jacob might reach out and pull her back; his gaze was hot with something she would not name. Then he turned away with a soft curse, raking his hand through his hair, throwing the careful waves into disarray.

  "Go then." He would not look at her.

  Elle pressed her lips together, shaken by what had almost occurred between them. Jacob Farrish had almost kissed her, and once again, she was more than ready to allow him. To enjoy it, even. Without a thought to anyone else or the consequences of such behavior.

  They didn't even like each other.

  Did they?

  His hazel eyes flashed with warning as he turned back, his gaze searing across her skin. "Go now, Elle, if you intend to leave at all."

  She nodded once, a jerky movement of acquiescence as her thoughts tumbled and twisted. Groping behind her, Elle found the brass knob that led to safer, more familiar grounds, yanked open the door, and fled.

  Jacob sank into the chair behind his cousin's desk and dragged one hand over his face.

  God help him, but his good intentions were unraveling at the seams, floating away on a warm breeze of vanilla and rose scented skin. He'd almost touched her, taken the kiss she seemed to be offering. Almost betrayed his oldest friend, his own principles, and tarnished her innocence. It had been a close thing; close enough to leave him short of breath. Fingers that still ached to weave themselves through acres of golden curls clenched on the wood surface in front of Jacob, and a bitter laugh escaped him.

  He had finally done the unthinkable and fallen in love with a woman that would never be his.

  She didn't even want to be his, regardless of her availability or lack thereof. It was curiosity that drove her, she had said herself that she wondered about passion and how it could be between a man and a woman. Clearly, Langley wasn't satisfying that curiosity, for which he shouldn't be grateful but was. In her blithe inexperience, Elle could not realize how near she had come to having the situation resolved definitively by the wrong man.

  There was nothing for it. He was going to have to push Langley to court Elle the way she deserved. Yes, of course he would rather juggle hot pokers than watch them making calf's eyes at each other, but it was the right thing to do.

  With a long sigh, Jacob tipped his head back to rest against the leather seat back and studied the plaster ceiling. The tension thrumming through his body from his encounter with Elle had banished any trace of hunger. Slumping in the chair, he brought his boots up to rest on the desk, crossed his legs at the ankle, and laced his fingers together over his stomach.

  He had a feeling he was going to spend much time in the coming week studying the cracks and bumps of his cousin's office ceiling.

  Chapter Four

  Days passed in a blur of festive summer activities, but Elle couldn't seem to muster her usual enthusiasm for lawn games and whist. It should have made her happy that Langley had made time for her, taking her on the occasional walk and asking her the odd question about herself. He even volunteered a few personal tidbits without her having to prompt him. Slowly, it seemed as though they might find their way to a friendship of sorts, even though the duke still treated her with a polite civility that could never be mistaken for passion.

  Wherever the couple went, Jacob watched them with brooding eyes, his expression wiped clean of readable emotion. The weight of his regard made the space between her shoulder blades itch. She didn't even have to look to know he was there, except when he wasn't. He had taken to disappearing mysteriously for hours at a time, his mood even darker when he finally reappeared. Elle strove to ignore him, but could never quite manage it.

  The unacknowledged tension between them strung tight like a string, connecting them even as they moved among the duke's jovial guests wrapped up in their own revelry.

  Confusion and uncertainty swirled within Elle. She'd come to the house party with the idea of enticing Langley to kiss her, hoping it would force him to close the distance he had always kept between them. But nothing was h
appening the way she'd planned, control over the situation was spinning out of her reach.

  Everything was upside down and backward. She wasn't sure how to right it again, and uncertain she even wanted to.

  "Your turn, Lady Eleanore."

  Elle jolted, caught woolgathering. Shooting Langley a wide smile that felt stiff around the edges, she gripped her mallet and lined up the pall mall ball in the soft grass for her next shot. Bringing her arms back in a smooth arc, she swung hard, and the crack of wood on wood was loud enough to draw a laugh from one of the duke's friends.

  "Heh, she's going to trounce you, Langley," called Viscount Pembrook, his expression gleeful. "I'd advise taking the loss gracefully. Forever and ever, amen, is a very long time, my friend."

  The duke tossed a scowl in the viscount's direction, then studied the lawn intensely for a moment before tapping the mallet to his own ball. It tumbled after hers, but fell short by several paces. The duke's lips tightened, and he marched off after it, shoulders stiff.

  Elle trailed behind him, less than eager to continue playing with a poor sport. A flash of copper caught her eye, and she nearly stumbled over an exposed shrubbery root as she caught sight of Jacob conversing with another gentleman at the edge of the playing field.

  Pleasure tugged within her as she studied him covertly. His long, leanly muscled build was in sharp contrast with many of the soft, rounded lords that littered the party. Despite his profession keeping him mostly indoors, his skin had a lovely golden hue in the afternoon sun, and her lips curved as she recalled the adorable freckles that were sprinkled over the bridge of his nose.

  How mortified he would be if he knew she thought him adorable.

  "Again, my lady, we seem to have lost you," said Langley, one hand fisted impatiently on his hip. Elle hurried over and took a hasty whack at the ball, sending it sailing past the duke's aghast face with less than a handbreadth to spare.