The Perfect Duke

by Ireland, Dawn

  Garret finished tinkering with a smooth tube that stood on a tripod, then raised his head, a scorching desire in his eyes making her stomach flutter. “You’ll need to come closer.”

  Cara inched as close as she dared, then reached out to touch the cool metal. “I’ve never seen anything like this. What’s it for?”

  “I use it to magnify objects in the night sky.” He picked up one of the vellum sheets and studied it, then swiveled the metal tube and made some adjustments. “This instrument is called a telescope. It allows you to see the heavens in a different way. For instance, Venus should be visible on the horizon. Would you like to see?” At her nod, he took her elbow and guided her until she stood behind the instrument. “Place one eye behind this piece and close the other.”

  She bent slightly and peered through the glass. “There's a fuzzy light. Is that what I’m supposed to see?”

  “No.” He moved behind her. “Let me.” She leaned to the side and he took over. Her hip pressed against him and his warmth seeped into her, a reminder that he was truly flesh and blood, not “The Marble Duke” others had dubbed him.

  He fiddled with something on the instrument. “Ah, there it is.” When he stepped back to allow her access, she felt bereft. A part of her wanted him to touch her again. It was a dangerous desire, so she gazed through the telescope, attempting to concentrate on the image.

  A globe, Venus, hung in the semi-darkness of the faintly pinkened sky. It was just as she’d imagined a fairy light might be, twinkling with magic and joy. “It’s beautiful.” She whispered the words. How she’d like to reach out and capture it in her hand.

  The duke edged closer to her back, and she sensed that he stood inches from her. “Did you know that the Latin word for Venus is Lucifer? It means ‘light-bringing.’”. His voice became smooth darkness, surrounding her. “Poor Venus starts out as the morning star and falls from grace to become the evening star at this time of year. Have you ever thought about the phrase ‘falls from grace?’ It implies that someone has set standards and imposes those rules to live by on others.” His breath disturbed the curls at the nap of her neck, causing her skin to tingle. “The question is, are they right to gauge another person by their rules?”

  Guilt edged his voice and she turned to peer up into his face, but it was obscured by shadows. “I believe each man should set his own standards about how he lives, based on what’s in his heart. It’s wrong to judge another. No one can know everything about someone else, so how can you make an assessment?”

  He brushed his fingers against her cheek. “You make is sound so simple.”

  She suddenly felt sorry for him. He reminded her of a prince who had locked himself away in a glass tower. Only a shell of the duke walked the halls of Belcraven.

  She’d been taught that it was her responsibility to aid those who couldn’t help themselves. But could she set him free?

  The duke’s hand trailed from her cheek to her neck. He used his thumb to caress the area below her ear, sending shivers of anticipation through her body. The wonder of the moment robbed her of resistance. With his other arm, he drew her against his solid length and rested his hand in the hollow of her back, pressing them closer.

  She shouldn’t be doing this, but then the warmth of his breath bathed her face and his lips claimed hers. He tasted of brandy and honey as he coaxed her mouth open. His exploration left her feeling disconnected from her body, and yet yearning for more.

  She’d never really been kissed. At least, not unless you counted the awkward attempt by the blacksmith’s son when she was ten. The duke’s kiss had the oddest effect on her. She felt . . . right. As if this were the man she’d been waiting for.

  Of course, he couldn’t be.

  Her fingers splayed on his solid chest, and with a merest amount of pressure, she broke the contact. He let her go at once, almost as if he’d been expecting her reaction. His shadowy features told her nothing, but his rapid breathing matched the cadence of her own.

  He was a duke. Not just any duke, but a man who believed his duchess should be above reproach, and should have suitable bloodlines. She could aspire to learning society’s rules, but her birth . . . “I’m sorry, Your Grace.” She stepped past him.

  “Garret.”

  Startled, she turned to him. “Excuse me?”

  “My name is Garret.” He leaned back against the table and crossed his arms. “It would please me if you would use my given name when we are alone.”

  “I don’t think . . .” A flicker of what might have been hurt flashed in his eyes, then disappeared. What did he expect from her? His actions didn’t make sense, but he was reaching out. If she refused him now, she might never be able to make him see how different his life could be. “Fine, Your Grace. Garret.” She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and took a few halting steps backward. “I have much to do before the ball. Excuse me.” It’s not that she ran from the room. That wouldn’t be ladylike. But she had to admit to more speed than decorum allowed.

  As she began the long walk to her room, she questioned her resolve to break down Garret’s barriers. He seemed to cause her best intentions to disappear. But just as she sensed which of her students would aspire to something better, she knew he could be a truly admirable duke.

  She shook her head. The real problem lay with her weak nature. She simply needed to treat him as she would one of her students.

  But a nagging doubt remained. If she rescued him, who would rescue her heart?

  Garret kicked at a stone on the path, sending it skidding into the hedge and dimming the high sheen of his boots. For two days now he’d been unable to concentrate. Damn his impulse to kiss her. He clenched his fists at his sides and headed down the once-familiar path to the mews.

  His dealings with women had always been discreet, a monetary arrangement, nothing more. So, why couldn’t he keep from touching Cara?

  This time he would keep her at a distance, but he intended to find out why the hell she’d gone to the stable. If she’d wanted to ride, she need only have asked, and a groom would have brought her a horse. Once again, her deportment seemed in question.

  The stone and timber building he had once known so well came into view. More ivy climbed the walls, but other than that, it hadn’t changed.

  Cool dampness tinged with the smell of horses and leather surrounded him as he passed under the massive beams that arched over the entrance. With one hand he leaned against a polished support pillar, head down, until his eyes adjusted to the dimness. It had been fourteen years since he’d last come here. This used to be his sanctuary. One more thing he’d lost . . .

  The rustle of horses in their stalls couldn’t still the voice in his head. Six-year-old Cara, or rather, Caroline, had been so happy that dreadful day.

  “Are you my knight?”

  He remembered how her trusting expression had made him feel much older than a boy of sixteen. She’d stood outside the stall, her hands on her hips.

  “Knights don’t exist any longer.” Garret held Storm’s bridle while he ran a hand down the stallion’s glossy neck. The large bay reached over and nuzzled him, trailing moisture on the sleeve of his black velvet coat.

  “They do so.” Caroline crossed her pudgy arms. “Nanny told me all about them. They fight dragons.” She leaned forward and dropped her voice to a whisper. “She says if I’m not good, a dragon will come and eat me.”

  He smiled. “Really, well, we wouldn’t want that.” With a final pat to Storm’s flank, he crossed to the stable’s wainscoted tack room, then lifted a barrel and set it near the door.

  “Come here, Caroline.”

  She skipped to the entrance, sunlight illuminating the dewy softness of her skin and catching the golden highlights in her hair. He grabbed her beneath her arms and hoisted her onto the barrel, her legs dangling under layers of skirts and petticoats.

  He crouched down so he could look into her sherry-colored eyes. “I want you to do something for me.”


  “What?” She appeared so serious he had to keep from smiling.

  “I want you to learn to be a lady. Like the princesses in your fairy stories. Will you do that for me?”

  Caroline nodded, her curls bobbing around her head.

  “Good, because I’m going away for several years, but when I come back, you’re going to be my wife. Do you know what that means?”

  An impish grin lit her face. “We’re going to live here, like Mama and Papa live at Attridge Manor.”

  “Not here.” Garret shuddered. Only the Duke of Kendal lived at Belcraven. His older brother would one day have that dubious honor. Edward appeared to thrive on the strictures society placed on a peer; even Grandfather thought he would one day be the perfect duke.

  Caroline made a face that resembled a worried cherub. “A knight needs a castle.”

  “We’ll live at Eberston.” Garret chuckled. “It’s not a castle, but it is on the ocean. Would you like that?”

  Caroline nodded and started to rock, banging her heels against the barrel. “Can we collect shells? Papa says you can hear the ocean in a shell.”

  “If you wish.”

  Silence descended. Caroline stopped smiling and chewed on her lower lip. “If you’re going away, I should give you this.” She reached up, untied the blue satin ribbon from her hair, then handed it to him as if it were a gift of rare value. With an expression of concentration on her pert little face, she recited something her nurse must have taught her. “This will keep you safe. As my knight, you must keep it always.”

  He solemnly accepted her favor, then ruffled her curls. Perhaps, in a way, he was her knight. “Now, I have things to do.” He lifted her down and made sure to turn as he stuffed the ribbon in his pocket. “Stay over here while I groom Storm. If you get under foot, I’ll tell your nanny where you are and she’ll find one of those dragons you’re so afraid of.”

  Caroline had scurried off to a hay mound, a slight pout to her lips. She’d plopped into its center and her natural smile had reasserted itself as she laughingly made a game out of throwing fistfuls of hay into the air.

  Garret grimaced at the memory. He hadn’t been much of a knight. With his free hand, he groped for the pocket that held its well-worn ribbon. Thinking about that time made him feel as if the last fourteen years had been a nightmare. Her laughter had seemed so real.

  Devil take it, he did hear a girl’s laughter. It had to be Rachel. Why was she in the stable? He straightened and hurried down an aisle between the stalls. “Rachel.” He hadn’t meant for it to come out in a roar, but all his frustration bundled into that one word.

  By the time he’d turned the corner, his niece couldn’t be found and Cara sat demurely on a bundle of straw. Did she think to play games with him? He strode to the set of hooks on the back wall, turned one, and yanked the panel door open. As he suspected, the cobwebs still fluttered and tiny feet had disturbed the dust. It would do no good to call her back now. He’d deal with her later. He shut the tunnel entrance and faced Cara. “Did you think to trick me into thinking my niece had not been here?”

  “Of course not, but I did think it prudent for me to speak with you before you saw her.”

  “And what could you possibly say?” He held up a hand before she could open her mouth. “Let us start with an easy question. Why are you here?”

  “I’ve been holding some of Rachel’s lessons in the stable.”

  “For God’s sake, why?”

  “If you knew your niece at all, you’d know she loves horses. I thought she might be more receptive to lessons in a place where she feels at home.”

  “Belcraven is her home, not the stable.”

  “But she’s at ease out here. She insisted we have lessons in this corner to keep a horse company. It may sound odd, but she thinks he’s lonely.”

  His gaze followed the direction she pointed. “That is ridicu . . .” He swallowed hard and fought back an unfamiliar sadness. An older and grayer Storm watched him with soulful eyes. The horse gave a soft neigh, as if he recognized him, even after all these years.

  He crossed to the stallion and gently tugged on his forelock. Storm burrowed against him. Garret closed his eyes and rested his head against the horse’s neck. Would it have been so hard to ride Storm on occasion? He’d found it easier to cut out every aspect of his old life. His horse had suffered as a result.

  “The horse seems to know you.”

  “He should. There was a time when I practically lived in the stable. Storm was my favorite.”

  “What happened?”

  “I became a duke.”

  “Oh.”

  He straightened and forced his features into a mask of indifference. “So, Rachel loves horses.” He turned to face Cara. “I can appreciate my niece’s fondness, but I can not allow her to frequent the stable.”

  “Why not?”

  “It is not proper for young ladies of her station.”

  “Garret, she’s a child.”

  It was the first time she’d used his name, and somehow, Rachel visiting the horses didn’t seem like such a large request. “I will only allow it if she uses the passageway. At least I can keep the knowledge of her visits to a minimum. If you come with her, you will need to use the tunnel as well.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She blushed and turned her face away. “I’m afraid.” She said it so quietly, he wasn’t sure he heard her.

  “Afraid? Of what?”

  “Dark, enclosed places. Even as a child, I fell asleep with a candle burning.” She faced him and gave a small smile. “Perhaps I’m afraid that a beast will gobble me up in the dark.”

  “There are no beasts at Belcraven, Miss McClure.”

  “Please, call me Cara.”

  “All right, Cara. There is nothing here you should be afraid of. I would not allow anyone to hurt you.”

  “Anyone?”

  “Never.” He started toward her and stopped. Damn, it would be better if he didn’t get close to her. He turned and started out of the stable, but the whisper of her response followed him.

  “Not even you?”

  It happened, however, that the Lord gave orders for a ball to be held so he could choose his future bride. How Cinderella wished she could attend. But how could a cinder girl marry the golden prince?

  Cinderella

  Chapter 6

  Garret turned the key in the study door, poured a brandy, and sat near the fire. The picture of his grandfather drew his attention, as it always did. He raised his glass to the portrait, threw back the contents, and set the glass on his mother’s favorite table. July seventh. He’d made it through another year.

  He stretched out his legs and rested his head back against the leather chair. The warmth of the fire and alcohol helped. With a sigh, he closed his eyes.

  Had Edward really been gone fourteen years? It seemed as if only yesterday his grandfather was standing over him. Was it the old duke’s voice, or his very presence that had brought him out of the oblivion he’d clung to that day?

  “I know you’re awake.” Disdain had edged the Duke of Kendal’s voice.

  Why should that day be any different? Just because Garret’s brother, the heir to the Dukedom, was dead, didn’t mean his grandfather would show emotion. That would make him too human.

  He’d opened his eyes, met his grandfather’s cool, green-eyed stare, and wished for the thousandth time that he didn’t look so much like the man. “Have they found him?” Garret tried to keep his voice from wavering, but it seemed as if his words bubbled up through a sea of grief in his chest.

  “Edward’s body washed ashore, not far from where they discovered you.” The duke came around the edge of the bed and stared down at him. He was the picture of a nobleman, with his impeccable blue silk waistcoat, white powdered wig, and well-manicured hands. “At sixteen, I had hoped you would have garnered more sense. But then you have defied me at every turn.” He tugged at one lace-edged cuff. “Lo
ok at that ridiculous engagement to Caroline Pemberton. Thank God the girl had enough sense to die.”

  Garret lunged upward, but weakness forced him back to the mattress. Bitterness at so many broken dreams weighted him more than his physical ailment. “Father and I had hoped to mend the feud with the Pembertons.”

  The duke actually smirked. “Ah, yes, yet another noble cause. Your father was known for them. I am gratified to say that at least one of his sons did not possess that trait. Edward was a credit to the Kendal name.”

  “You didn’t know him.”

  “Did I not?” The duke bent over until his brandy-tinged breath warmed Garret’s cheek. “Your brother was on his way to becoming an admirable nobleman.” His voice fell to a whisper. “You will make a very poor replacement.”

  “I don’t want the title.”

  The duke straightened, and for the first time there was a flicker of calculation in his expression. Unease crept up Garret’s spine, but he held his grandfather’s stare.

  With an arched brow, his grandsire turned his attention to the Belgian tapestry that hung over Garret’s bed. He studied it as if there were nothing pressing requiring his attention. But when he spoke, mockery oozed from every syllable. “Your desires are of little import. The title will be yours.”

  The duke’s voice carried finality, and Garret bristled at the tone. He would not be a pawn in his grandfather’s game.

  The old man turned toward him, clasped his hands behind his back, and appraised him with the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I had hoped you would be desirous of maintaining Edward’s standards. But perhaps it is too much to ask. Given that you caused his death.”

  Garret stilled, hardly daring to breathe. “Why do you say that?” The pain so recently driven back by anger boiled to the surface, bringing with it the image of Edward’s expressionless face as it sank below the water, surrounded by a halo of blood.