The Unworthy Duke

by Charlotte Anne

  ‘But not nearly enough patience,’ was all she could manage in answer. It took an enormous effort of will not to lean into his embrace. His lips brushed against hers in light, temping kisses, causing the tingling to settle between her legs.

  He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips, inviting Ellen to open her mouth to him. Even as the rational part of her mind begged her to turn away, to reject him, her arms wrapped around his neck, lacing her fingers in his soft hair, giving him full access. She kissed him as he kissed her, tasting his mouth, breathing his breaths.

  ‘Marry me?’ he whispered against her lips.

  Head bowed, he rained kisses along the line of her jaw and down her throat. His fingers unhooked a catch at the back of her dress with a single flick, tugging the sleeve down over one shoulder and exposing her skin.

  ‘I can’t.’ She released the words on a sigh as he pressed kisses to the sensitive area where her neck met her collarbone. The air was chilly on her skin, his lips hot and so soft.

  ‘What if I do this?’ He dropped a hand to her leg, running his fingers along her thigh as he slowly gathered up the hem of her old muslin dress.

  Oh, she was in so much trouble.

  ‘I can’t marry you because…’ Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, her mind turning to thick, sticky honey. Something about independence. Something about…

  Cool air tickled her thigh just above her garter. His hand skimmed higher.

  ‘No drawers.’ A sly smile of approval curled his lips. ‘I’ve never been a fan of these new undergarments that some women insist on wearing.’

  Who was this Calum? The man petting his way up her leg was far from the man who’d threatened to toss her from the front window the first time they’d met.

  She wanted the old Calum back. She knew where she stood with the old Calum.

  I want… I want… To ravish him.

  ‘Ye gods, Ellie. If ye keep saying things like that this isn’t going to last nearly as long as I had planned.’

  She’d spoken aloud? Ellen froze, surprised at her own daring. But then she realised exactly what he’d said, and a thrill of excitement had her grinning. ‘You have a plan?’

  ‘Oh, aye. A most devilish plan that has consumed my thoughts these days and nights.’

  The glint in his eyes had Ellen tugging up her skirts the rest of the way, and then his fingers were miraculously, wondrously gliding through her sex, parting her, exploring her. Her hips bucked towards him in a single violent, uncontrolled movement as she clung to his shoulders.

  ‘An admirable plan,’ she managed to gasp.

  Calum gave her a wolfish smile and then leaned forward to nibble at her earlobe. His fingertip continued moving in tight circles, around and around that sweet spot that was making her arms tremble and her body vibrate. She gripped his shoulders. Otherwise she’d turn into a puddle on the floor at his feet.

  It was never like this when she touched herself. That was always a half-rushed job, in the middle of the night, hidden away in the dark and under her counterpane.

  This was slow and sensual; Calum was taking his damn time about it. It was the middle of the afternoon, and they stood before a window. If anyone came around the side of the house, there’d surely be a scandal.

  ‘Ye feel like satin and cream.’ His voice was a husky purr.

  The last of the starch slipped from her body, followed by all rational thought. It was just Calum and his magic fingers. She half sighed, half moaned against his neck.

  He chuckled under his breath. ‘Music to my ears. Was that a once-off performance or can it be made on demand?’

  The pressure building between her legs was almost unbearably glorious. She never wanted it to end, yet it was like she was dangling at the edge of a cliff, desperate to jump into the deep waters below. And then his thumb rolled over her nub. Her hips started to move again, seeking his touch. She grabbed his hand, dictating the pressure and direction of his fingers. Harder. ‘Please!’

  Calum was all too happy to comply. She raised one knee against the firm mass of his good leg to allow him better access.

  Another sighing moan. Another chuckle.

  Her eyes rolled, and she caught sight of their reflection in the glass panes of the long window. It was oh-so-beautiful. Calum’s bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, his eyes were locked on her face and his back was pressed up against the closed door. Her own head was flung back, a dark stain of colour high on her cheeks. Her chest rising and falling with panting breaths, her breasts straining against the confines of her stays.

  Fleetingly, she wondered if this was how Calum had been before the war, before the fire and the heartbreak. But then all thought escaped her as she fell, cascading down the waterfall on a cry of pleasure.

  Catching her around the waist, he straightened and tucked her against his chest. His breathing was as erratic as hers. Two racing curricles headed down parallel roads.

  ‘Marry me?’

  Her head dropped to his shoulder. She was still trembling with the aftershock. ‘Calum—’ She struggled to contain her breaths. She was languid, sated even.

  His gaze still burned hot.

  She wanted more. She wanted him.

  ‘Nay,’ He growled a warning. ‘Marry me.’

  She hid her face in the lapel of his jacket, breathing in his scent: Clean like soap. A little tangy like orange marmalade. Heath, the undertones of whisky. If she could bottle it, she’d make a fortune. The women of the ton would probably crown her as their leader.

  ‘I can’t think straight with you so close.’ She pressed a hand to his chest, intending to push him away. His heart beat against her palm, hard and fast.

  He pressed his face to the top of her head so that every inch of her was touching some part of him. She could feel the hardness of his own arousal pushing aggressively against her stomach. Yet they still weren’t close enough. Not while there was fabric between them.

  ‘I could protect ye from the world. I could look after ye, give you a home. Ye’d want for nothing.’

  She stumbled back a step, her feet as heavy and cumbersome as bricks. Cal’s grip fell from her waist only as she moved beyond his reach. His arm hung in the air between them, his fingers twitching as though to pull her back against him.

  ‘I know.’ But being cared for wasn’t enough. Being somebody’s burden wasn’t enough. She wanted more out of life. Maybe if he was offering his heart… But that wasn’t what he was doing. He didn’t love her; he thought of her as someone to be saved. As he had been unable to save his brother.

  His arms dropped to his side like a stone. ‘I can hear the silent ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.’

  She chose her next words with care. ‘I want to be in control of my own life and not somebody’s dependant. Surely you can understand that?’

  Dependant: there was that word again. She hated it. Probably every woman in existence hated it.

  ‘I didn’t realise a life with me was so distasteful an idea. Ye’d rather risk the welfare of yerself and yer sister than marriage to me.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’ She didn’t take the bait, clenching her fists to keep herself from reaching out to him.

  It had taken merely a fortnight for Geoffrey to track her down in London. How long would it be before he finally found Gwen, regardless of the efforts of Verity and Maggie? They couldn’t keep moving Gwen from hiding place to hiding place. What kind of life was that for a child?

  Better than being under Geoffrey’s control.

  Which was precisely why she couldn’t marry Calum, despite her growing hunger for him.

  As an independent woman, she could do all that was in her power to keep Gwen safe. As a married woman—married to a duke no less!—she’d be restricted both by Society and the law. No, earning a wage and paving her own way was the best thing she could give Gwen right now. Even if that meant Gwen had to live in hiding for a while longer.

  She was still wet between the thi
ghs. Perhaps she was supposed to feel ashamed, but she didn’t. It felt more like a gift Calum had given her. It was just one she couldn’t reciprocate.

  She closed her eyes and clenched her legs together, seeking any sort of friction, any sort of release from this second wave of need.

  She heard the rustle of his jacket tails as he stepped closer and she opened her eyes. He stood less than a foot away but made no move to pull her back into his arms.

  She could see each of the small twisted scars of his burn. They cascaded down his forehead, narrowly missed his left eye and then moved down his cheek, twisting the left side of his mouth ever-so-slightly out of proportion. Running down his neck, the scars finally disappeared beneath his messily tied cravat.

  She’d seen him without his shirt, seen the scars on his chest and back. He was touched by fire. There was fire in his veins, fire in his voice and fire in the heat of his kisses.

  ‘Why is everything a hundred times harder when ye’re around?’ he demanded.

  ‘I don’t mean for it to be. I never meant for you to get caught up in my mess of a life.’ Her gaze dropped to the hand he’d touched her with. Were his fingers still wet too? Did he smell like her? And now she’d refused his marriage offer, again, did he regret pleasuring her as he had?

  Following her gaze, he shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘If ye’re not going to marry me, then what are we going to do?’

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tension crackled.

  Cal didn’t want to hear for the hundredth time of her idiotic intention to find employment elsewhere. ‘In case ye’ve forgotten,’ he said before she could start, ‘Lady F is just down that hallway, and if ye think she’s going to let you walk out of this house without a fight…’ He shrugged, giving her a surely-you-know-better look. He couldn’t help himself. Ellen might have made it abundantly clear she didn’t want his help, but there was no way she could so easily brush aside his forthright grandmother. For all that she was short, Lady F had the temper of a lion and the voice of an elephant. And when it came to getting what she wanted, she could throw a tantrum better than any two-year-old.

  ‘You’re angry with me.’

  ‘Nay.’ He tried to school his expression into one of haughty disinterest.

  Her frown deepened. ‘Don’t take it personally—’

  How else am I supposed to fucking take it?

  ‘Nay?’ His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  ‘For goodness sake, Calum, don’t try to make me feel ashamed of what just happened here.’ Colour burned her cheeks.

  His fingers were still slick with her need and the air around her smelled of sugar and sex and hunger, drawing him in. Holding his ground, he clenched his hand still hidden in his pocket, holding onto a small essence of the beautiful, intelligent woman who wouldn’t have him. ‘I would never—’ be began, but she wasn’t finished with him.

  ‘Yes, you’re a duke. Yes, you’re wealthy. Yes, you had a terrible war, family tragedies and horrible social injustices. But, Lord Woodhal, the world most certainly doesn’t revolve around you.’ She stalked towards him to poke a finger against his chest. ‘My only concern is keeping Gwen safe from Geoffrey. And as far as I can tell, marrying you would only provide a short-term fix. I need to consider the wider consequences.’

  The world doesn’t revolve around you. He’d had a similar thought about Geoffrey.

  ‘What do ye mean by a short-term fix?’

  ‘Well, it would certainly free Gwen and me of Geoffrey, but then you’d be stuck with us forever.’

  ‘And ye want yer independence.’ Did she really think he’d lock her away like her brother had? Did she really think he’d keep her chained to his bed?

  Nay. He’d give her an allowance and freedom to do as she wished.

  But is an allowance freedom? No matter how much space he gave her, no matter how much money he gifted her, if they were married, she’d always be tied to him. She’d never be free to marry a man of her own choosing. A man without half his face torn up with scars. A man who wasn’t haunted by thoughts of his dead brother.

  He looked down at his chest where she was still touching him. It was just her fingertip but it felt like a tether. Through the touch of that single finger he could feel the rise and fall of her chest with each breath. He could feel the beat of her heart.

  As though reading his mind, she snatched her hand back, stumbling away. Her calves hit the velvet footrest behind her, and she toppled backwards.

  Cal caught her around the waist without hesitation. Mine, barked his inner voice, temporarily expelling all other thoughts from his mind.

  She bristled at this helping hand, even as she struggled to find her footing. Upright, she pushed away from him and brushed her hands down her skirts, attempting to brush away the wrinkles. It was a fight even the enterprising Miss Ellen Burney couldn’t win. They’d inadvertently crushed the faded cotton when they’d hiked her skirts up. Short of starching them, they were beyond saving. Any discerning person of an even slightly quizzical nature would surely guess what the two of them had been up in the library alone together.

  Suddenly his need was as hard as it had ever been; his need to hold her, kiss her, love her was almost unbearable. Hell and damnation. He was so far out to sea, he couldn’t see the shore.

  He ground his teeth to keep from saying something stupid as lust and want and need began to fog his mind. If he tried to lay claim to her, she’d only back further away. Of that he was certain. Everything else was a bit hazy, like his plan to get her to trust him. That clearly wasn’t progressing as smoothly as he’d have liked.

  Marriage was still the most obvious and the easiest path to take. But it was also the path Ellie had upfront rejected. Short of forcing her—which he wouldn’t ever consider doing—he’d just have to think of another way to keep both her and Gwen safe from Geoffrey. And, in doing so, show Ellie that he could be trusted.

  He moved slowly away from the library door, providing her with an escape route, and planted himself firmly by the window. Normally he’d have sat at his desk. Sitting was kinder on his wounded knee than standing, but he didn’t think being behind the desk would work in his favour right now.

  Sunlight warmed the back of his neck, and he turned slightly so the light was on his face. He didn’t have anything to hide, not from Ellie. ‘What do ye think we should do?’ he asked again.

  She continued to bristle, reminding him of a loaded canon—her tinder line was burning down and she was lining up her shot, about to fire.

  ‘I’m sincerely trying to help,’ he hurriedly added, raising his hands before his chest in a gesture of surrender.

  ‘I’m not sure you’ve been sincere about anything in your life, Calum Callaghan,’ she scolded in that prim and proper voice she used when admonishing him. ‘But, since you asked so nicely, maybe Lady Faye will return the character reference Verity wrote for me. The letter will be of some assistance when looking for new employment. After that, I’ll keep a low profile so Geoffrey won’t be able to find me again, and I’ll continue to save my wage for Gwen.’

  ‘And when Lady F tries to lock ye away in one of the upstairs bedrooms for yer own safety?’

  She started pacing circles around the library, running a hand along the dusty bookshelves.

  ‘Or, saying ye do find respectable employment, what will happen when Geoffrey tracks ye down again? Because he will. Ye can’t remain hidden forever. And I didn’t think any other employer will be quite as understanding as Lady F.’

  ‘He won’t…’ She faltered.

  ‘Maybe he doesn’t stay in London. Maybe he returns to the country. Ye said Gwen is near Evendale, so what happens when he eventually finds her? It took him hardly any time to find ye.’

  ‘Fine!’ She smacked down on the bookcase.’What do you suggest I do?’

  ‘I’m not trying to discourage ye from action,’ he said honestly. ‘I’m just not sure ye’ve thought everything through with clarity. I personally think we
were on the right track earlier. I should bring Gwen to London. She’ll be safer under this roof where we can all keep an eye on her. After that…’ He ran a hand through his hair. An absurd idea was beginning to form. But it might actually work. ‘What if we pretended we’re engaged? I could have an announcement printed in newspaper.’

  ‘Whyever for?’ She wrinkled her nose in confusion.

  He tried not to take it personally.

  ‘It’s not going to take Geoffrey long to realise we’re not actually married. But if he sees the engagement notice in the papers, he’ll realise there’s nothing he can do to make ye return to Evendale with him, and he’ll eventually get bored and leave.’ His plan had absolutely nothing at all to do with not wanting to let Ellie out of his sight ever again. Absolutely nothing. This was all for her benefit.

  ‘I see…’

  She didn’t look convinced. Or perhaps she couldn’t even stand the idea of a fake engagement with him of all people. He flexed his hands. ‘Ye needn’t worry about being tainted by my reputation,’ he assured her, trying but failing to keep the peevish edge from his voice. ‘Owen tells me I’ve been quite forgotten these last few years.’ He looked towards his desk. His collection of newspaper clippings on the ship fire had been haphazardly pushed to the far corner and his estate papers, which usually graced the dining room table, had been rearranged over the free space, courtesy of his meddling family.

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting that would be the case.’

  ‘As soon as Geoffrey leaves London, we can break the engagement and ye can spend the rest of the Season gainfully employed as Lady F’s companion, and yer sister will be safe here with us.’

  ‘Are you sure you want another person living under your roof?’

  ‘Aye. I’ve been alone for four long years. I think I can survive a couple of months with house guests.’

  She still didn’t look convinced.

  He wanted to throw his arms in the air and start swearing black and blue. Instead, he held his temper in check. ‘What are ye worried about now, lass?’ Sure, it wasn’t the best plan. Sure, life would be better if she didn’t have a malodorous brother trying to manipulate her every move. But as she’d said herself, he was offering her a temporary solution to all her troubles.