A Most Unlikely Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “Good God!” What a terrible thing for a child to endure. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Neither deserved to have children.” His voice was bitter now. “They shaped my impression of the aristocracy, and although I always knew I might be wrong—that my parents might have been exceptionally awful—my experience at Fielding House has convinced me of the contrary.”

  She couldn’t blame him. He’d been treated abominably by most of those present, including her own parents. Cringing at the recollection, she asked, “Who was it—the person who told you about your parents’ financial troubles?”

  “One of my father’s creditors.”

  Gabriella frowned as she tried to make sense of it. “I don’t understand. When would a creditor have had the opportunity to speak to you about that? You said yourself that you ran away and that—”

  “It was a long time ago.” There was a sense of finality about the way he said it that told her this conversation was over. He no longer wanted to talk about it.

  She understood.

  She didn’t want to talk about her own bad experiences anymore either. So she asked the first question that came to mind. “How are your dance lessons coming along?”

  He closed the distance between them with one step, then bowed his head to whisper in her ear, “I can show you, if you like.” He didn’t wait for her to respond or for the quivers he’d stirred in her belly to cease. Instead, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into a waltz, guiding her across the lawn, her feet occasionally sliding against the slippery dew. But he held her upright, his palm spread against her lower back, the heat of it burning its way through her thin robe and nightgown, while the other hand held hers.

  He danced with surprising elegance for a man who was new to this sort of thing, his movements agile and smooth, just as they’d been when he’d stood in the courtyard hitting a bag of flour. Her mind went still, narrowing to a point where only that image of him existed.

  She felt him shift. “Are you all right?” Just a murmur, but it was enough to make her entire body shudder with pleasure.

  “Yes,” she said, her nightgown twirling about her legs as he led her around, closer to the park fence, further from the house—a place so dark it grew difficult to see.

  “You gasped.”

  “Did I?” She hadn’t realized.

  His movements slowed. “Tell me how you feel.”

  “I can’t.” She could barely speak now, they were standing so still, their bodies gently swaying to a silent tune.

  A slight, almost imperceptible press of his hand against her back—that was all it took to bring her up against him. She tried to breathe normally, but it was almost impossible. All she could do was feel the hard planes of his chest rising and falling against her own, the steady beat of his heart against her breast. He was all solid strength and raw power, the perfect complement to her softer feminine curves.

  “God help me,” he murmured. “I cannot seem to resist you.”

  His honesty broke its way through her, instilling a sense of beauty she’d never experienced before. Her mouth went dry and her limbs went weak and all she could do was cling to him as he moved his hands, holding her more securely about her waist—holding her closer—so close that their thighs touched. Heavens, it felt delicious.

  His breaths began coming deeper, vibrating through her until she burned with a need for more. This wasn’t enough.

  “Shh . . .” he whispered. “Easy now.”

  “I feel . . .” The answer to his question. “Wanted.”

  “And so you are.” Reaching up, he drew his fingers along the edge of her cheek, tenderly caressing. “Gabriella, I’d like to kiss you now. If I may?”

  She nodded once. That was all it took. His lips were on hers before she could blink, gently pressing, moving, exploring, while his hands . . . they roamed lower, his fingers spreading across her bottom to provoke the most wanton sensations she’d ever felt. Lord, the man was wicked in his seduction, and she was savoring every moment of it, reveling in his desire for her—the strange girl who, until recently, had only been able to lure suitors with the help of her dowry.

  “Open your mouth,” he instructed in low sensual tones that whispered across her lips.

  She did, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss, exploring and guiding until she matched his every move with a desperation unlike any she’d ever known before. It was as if he’d taken her out of a quiet pond and tossed her into a stormy ocean. Her senses were drowning—overwhelmed by the experience—but she was learning how to swim. And for the first time in her life, Gabriella knew what it meant to be truly alive. No going back now. It was much too late for that.

  Except he was now drawing back, ending the kiss and stepping out of her arms. “You need to leave.”

  “What?” She felt bewildered—abandoned—and really, really cold now.

  “This wasn’t meant to happen. I’ve overstepped—demanded too much of you too soon. I just . . .” He pushed his fingers through his hair and then said, “You’re a bloody dream come true, Gabriella. I couldn’t stop myself, but if we don’t end this now there’ll be no stopping at all. Do you understand?”

  She shook her head, too confused to absorb what he was saying. Except the part about her being a dream. She rather liked that.

  He muttered an oath. “When a man wants a woman the way I want you, he’ll do whatever he can to have her. Which means . . .” He was gritting his teeth. “If you don’t run from me right now, I’ll have that transparent nightgown of yours up around your waist in a trice while I—”

  “I understand,” she said already backing away. She pulled her robe around her, cheeks heating from what he’d just said. Had he really seen . . . oh God, how mortifying that was.

  “Good night, Gabriella,” he told her hoarsely.

  “Good night.” A swift response before she bolted, running as fast as she could away from the man she wanted. Just not like this—not how he’d described. They both deserved better than that, and it was apparently up to her to save them.

  Chapter 17

  When Gabriella came to call the following day, she was wearing a lavender-colored gown that revealed a delicious amount of skin, not that it mattered much to Raphe. She could have been wearing a high-necked gown with long sleeves and he still would have been able to recall what she’d looked like last night. His stomach tightened. Dressed in no more than a thin nightgown and a robe that had slipped out of place more than once, he’d been offered a stunning view of her body.

  “Good afternoon,” she was now saying, addressing Raphe’s sisters before allowing a brief glance in his direction. A flush of pink rose to her cheeks as their eyes met. “Your Grace.”

  With her hair pinned back in a loose coiffure that allowed stray locks to curl against the sides of her face, she looked more lovely than Raphe had ever seen her—as though she’d just tumbled out of bed, dressed with haste and hurried on over. Eager to see him, perhaps? He could only hope.

  Unable to resist, he crossed the room to bow before her. “Lady Gabriella. Always a pleasure.” He then offered her his arm—a superfluous gesture, considering the short distance she needed to travel—but one that would ensure a touch of intimacy between them.

  A brief hesitation brought her gloved hand to rest upon his arm, the delicate touch causing his muscles to strain beneath the wool of his jacket. He glanced at her, aware of the charged energy between them, but unsure of how to deal with it since they were not alone. And although he’d spent a restless night with vivid imaginings of all the ways in which he’d like to claim her, he had no wish to cause her any embarrassment. So he chose to remain silent for now while discreetly caressing her wrist to remind her of his regard.

  When they arrived at the sofa, he released her, allowing her to take her seat across from Amelia and Juliette. Tea was brought, along with a plate of madeleines, and the sisters took turns pouring, their expressions softening in response to the praise they received from Gabr
iella.

  “Have you received an invitation to the Duke of Coventry’s ball on Saturday?” Gabriella asked.

  “Yes,” Raphe told her while doing his best not to think of the kiss they’d shared. He could still taste her—rosy and sweet. “It arrived yesterday, much to my surprise. I would have thought that word of my unsuitable company would have spread since the dinner at Fielding House.”

  Inclining her head, Gabriella said, “Not inviting you would have been frowned upon, considering your station. And besides, Coventry is different from the rest—more agreeable. I’ve always liked him.”

  Reflecting on how pleasant the duke had seemed when he’d first met him at Fielding House, Raphe nodded his head. “Perhaps you’re right. But he won’t be the only peer there, and I’m just not sure that I want to meet any others. Not until I know that I’m capable of making a good impression.”

  “While I’m inclined to agree with you, my fear is that since you’ve already ventured out into public, people will wonder why you’ve suddenly chosen to retreat from social events, allowing the negative gossip to grow deeper roots until you’ll stop receiving invitations altogether. Considering your aspirations for your sisters, I don’t believe that would be in your best interest,” Gabriella concluded.

  “I quite agree,” Amelia said. “If we are to marry well, we must prove ourselves worthy. And connections must be made so you will know which gentlemen to introduce us to once we make our debuts, Raphe.”

  “She is right,” Juliette said. “Hiding away is unwise.”

  “I feel as though you’re conspiring against me,” Raphe grumbled.

  “What I propose,” Gabriella continued, ignoring Raphe’s remark, “is that we work on your conversational skills and help you polish up on a few more areas so you can make fools of anyone who may have spoken against you.”

  “Including Fielding and your father?” Raphe asked, surprised by her eagerness to go against them. When she nodded, he couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”

  Folding her hands neatly in her lap, Gabriella looked at each of them in turn. “Because I believe my father, and Fielding, and whoever else was present that evening at Fielding House have greatly misjudged you. Having gotten to know the three of you better . . .” She paused then, her composure failing her as she turned a bright shade of crimson. She glanced at the ceiling, then at the floor—anywhere but at Raphe. Eventually, she straightened her back, took a deep breath and somehow managed to collect herself in a way that Raphe found absolutely astonishing. He watched with open admiration as she seriously told them, “I think you can all become respectable members of Society.”

  Gabriella drew a breath. Miraculously, she’d stopped herself from melting under the heat of Raphe’s presence. Good heavens. Had he really kissed her in the garden last night, under a blanket of darkness? It seemed inconceivable. And yet, she knew from the scorching look in his eyes that it had been very real indeed.

  She averted her gaze, determined not to lose focus. “Let’s come up with a plan then. If you agree, that is?”

  As reluctant as he looked, Raphe gave her a firm nod. “Very well.”

  “Good.” She drummed her fingers against her seat cushion, caught herself and stopped. She thought of what would be required of him and asked, “How many dances have you learned so far?”

  The edge of his mouth twitched. “I’m quite familiar with the waltz.” The intensity of his gaze as he said it pierced her to the core until she felt her lungs restrict against the tightening of her chest.

  The man was impossible!

  “Well.” She glanced at his sisters, who appeared to be watching her with great interest. “Some young ladies will not be allowed to dance that particular dance. Not until they’ve been given permission. So, you’ll have to learn the quadrille and the minuet, at the very least.”

  He produced an immediate scowl. “I don’t like those dances. They make me look stupid.”

  “Oh? So you have attempted them?” He didn’t answer, which prompted her to say, “Your sisters will depend on your ability to adhere to protocol. It’s just for one evening, Your Grace, and then you can stand on the sidelines forever after, if that is what you wish to do.”

  He gave her a wary look. “I will think on it,” he finally told her noncommittally. “In the meantime, perhaps there are other more useful things you can teach us?”

  “Of course,” Gabriella said. Forcing a smile, she faced Amelia and Juliette, not daring to look at Huntley for fear that he would see the disappointment she’d felt in response to his adamant refusal to do as she advised. Because although she knew that Fielding would be her obligatory partner for the waltz until she told him their courtship was over, she’d had the silly idea of partnering with Raphe for one of the other dances. She shook her head, unsure of herself once more. He’d made no promises. . . . Realizing everyone was staring at her, she pasted a smile on her face and addressed Raphe’s sisters. “Have you been practicing your walks and your curtsies?”

  “That, as well as sitting and pouring tea,” Amelia told her proudly.

  “Excellent,” Gabriella said. “Let me see.”

  For the next half hour, Amelia and Juliette took turns improving their poise and elegance. For Juliette it seemed to come naturally, while Amelia continued to struggle with her posture and ease of movement. Her steps were often too hasty. “You are certainly doing much better than when you started,” Gabriella remarked before taking a sip of the tea that had recently been requested. “But how will you fare on the arm of a gentleman?” She gave Huntley a shrewd look. His presence continued to unsettle her, leaving her composure in tatters while he sat carelessly by her side. It wouldn’t hurt to add some distance between them, or to make him suffer a little under her tutelage. So, quelling her fluttering nerves, she asked him sweetly, “Will Your Grace please oblige?”

  The narrow-eyed look he gave her reflected the sort of mistrust one might feel when suspecting that a prank was about to be carried out at one’s expense. She paid him no mind as she gestured toward Amelia, who presently stood waiting.

  “Very well,” he muttered as he straightened himself and rose to his feet.

  Pleased with herself for managing to bother him just a little, Gabriella watched as he and Amelia took a turn about the room. “Slow your pace, Huntley. There’s no hurry,” she called.

  He glared at her, but there was a hint of amusement about his eyes, the effect producing a devastating culmination of heat in the pit of Gabriella’s stomach. Lord, the man had a maddening effect on her! Schooling her features in the hope that he wouldn’t see her discomfort, she waited for him to return to the starting point, where Juliette now stood, her posture the perfect image of a well-bred lady.

  Reaching her, Huntley drew his arm away from Amelia’s and turned to face his youngest sister. “You must excuse yourself to Amelia first,” Gabriella chastised. “She is not a rag for you to toss aside.” Huntley’s jaw hardened. His eyes darkened. Gabriella refused to let the effect of it keep her from her purpose. “Thank Amelia first, step back and bow, then turn toward Juliette and ask her politely if she would care to accompany you on a tour of the room.”

  A brief hesitation followed until he eventually did as Gabriella asked, allowing her to tutor his sisters in their responses. Huntley then tucked Juliette’s hand against the crook of his elbow and proceeded to walk with her, speaking to her in low, inaudible tones as they went.

  “He makes a dashing duke, don’t you think?” Amelia asked as she lowered herself to the spot on the sofa that Huntley had recently vacated. “Quite imperious.”

  Watching his progress, Gabriella couldn’t help but agree, even though she didn’t dare voice such thoughts. Instead she said, “You have all improved significantly since your arrival. It has been an honor helping you with that.”

  “And it has been our honor getting to know you,” Amelia said. “Our situation would have been quite hopeless without your help, you know.”

 
Gabriella chuckled. “I’m sure you would have found a way to manage, though it might have taken a bit longer.”

  “Perhaps, but then we would have missed out on a new friendship.”

  The impulsive response warmed Gabriella’s heart. “Thank you,” she said, while wondering if Amelia realized how much her words meant to her.

  A smile passed between them and then Amelia said, “Oh look, they’re back.”

  Returning her attention to Raphe and Juliette, Gabriella regarded the way in which they parted ways, observing how well Huntley applied the advice she’d given him earlier. But there was still one thing . . . “When you wish to extricate yourself from a lady, Huntley, it is important that you take her hand and gently remove it from your arm first, rather than immediately pulling away.”

  “Why?” He looked as though he was trying not to roll his eyes or sigh with belligerence.

  “Because the last thing you want to do is to accidentally drag a lady after you as you turn away. That would cause a scene, which would hardly be to your advantage.”

  Studying her with the intensity of a marksman, he quietly murmured, “No, I don’t suppose it would.” The way he looked, a few stray strands of hair falling against his brow and that infernal cravat of his missing as usual, was almost piratical.

  Her heart made a funny little leap inside her chest, while tingling heat crept across her skin. Good heavens!

  She watched in amazement as his lips rose with mischief, as if he knew precisely what he was doing to her—how unsettled he was making her feel. “Perhaps you ought to demonstrate,” he said. Stepping toward her, he extended his hand. “Please allow me to escort you about the room.”