He was back with a stack of handkerchiefs before Juliette had finished drinking. Unfolding one, he handed it to his sister and helped her sit. “Thank you,” Juliette told them both a short while later. Her smile trembled and her eyes were red.
“Please try to eat something,” Gabriella urged. Picking up the bowl of soup, she perched herself on the edge of the bed and dipped the spoon into the broth. “You need the nourishment.”
Coughing between each spoonful, Juliette managed to eat a third of the soup before eventually slumping back against the pillows. She looked exhausted. “Perhaps you should try and sleep some more,” Gabriella suggested. Without thinking, she reached down to brush Juliette’s hair away from the side of her face, and stilled.
“What is it?” Raphe asked from the opposite side of the bed.
Gabriella stared down at Juliette’s face where blotches of pink were beginning to spread. “I don’t think this is influenza,” she said. Setting the soup aside, she spoke with greater insistence. “Help me. Hold her upright so I can get a better look.”
“I don’t—”
“Stop arguing, would you?” The note of authority with which she spoke seemed to do the trick. Raphe didn’t question her any further. Instead he brought Juliette into a sitting position, holding her steady while Gabriella pulled at her chemise. She brought it up until Juliette’s back had been completely exposed. Raphe gasped.
“What is it?” Juliette asked, her voice weak with sickness.
“This looks like measles to me,” Gabriella said. “Which means I can’t get sick from it. What about you?”
“I had measles when I was a lad,” Raphe replied. “Same time Amelia had it. Before Juliette was born.”
Nodding in understanding, Gabriella lowered Juliette’s chemise back down so Raphe could help her get settled. A moment later, she was fast asleep once more. “This is my fault,” he said. “I should have taken better care of her—protected her more.”
“And deny her any freedom?” Gabriella quietly asked. She felt for him, but she was also fairly certain that his solution would make his sister miserable. “People get sick, Raphe, and then they get better. She will get through this.”
His face twisted with too much misery for Gabriella to bear. Rising from the bed, she went to where he was standing. Uncertain of what to do but knowing she had to do something, she came to a halt before him. Tentatively, she extended her hand toward his, her fingers carefully requesting permission. Their eyes met, and Gabriella’s breath caught, freezing her in place. There was so much agony to be found there, but there was also a desperate plea for comfort that very nearly broke her heart. Nobody should have to feel as alone as he did at that moment.
So rather than take his hand in hers as she’d initially intended, she flung her arms around his neck and pulled him to her in a tight embrace. It was unplanned—completely inappropriate by most standards—but it also felt right. A moment of startled silence followed, and then he hugged her back, his arms tight about her waist while his head pressed against the curve of her neck.
He was just as solid as she remembered—a perfect fit for her softer curves. And the way he smelled . . . there was something so familiar, so heartwarmingly welcoming that she already mourned the moment when she’d have to step back and let him go.
It came sooner than she’d wanted, but this was a sickroom. Juliette needed their attention. She should not be thinking of being held by the Duke of Huntley, or of how wonderful it had felt. Her treacherous mind would not let her forget it, though. Nor would it deny her the thought of what it had been like to feel his lips upon hers. Oh, how she longed to be kissed by him again.
She moved to turn away, to add some distance, but he caught her by the wrist and held her fast. “Thank you,” he murmured. His hand loosened, and his fingers trailed a slow path up and down her arm. Gabriella shivered, but not from cold. Her chest rose and fell with unsteady movements. And then she felt his fingers against her cheek—a tender caress that made heat fan out across her skin, while her heart made a funny little leap and her tummy seemed to fold itself into a fizzing mess of nerves.
He dropped his hand and took a step back, breaking the moment. Gabriella flinched, then hurried over to Juliette to check on the compress. Anything to keep her jumbled mind from turning her into a stuttering fool.
They didn’t speak anymore. Not until much later, when Juliette had woken again, eaten some soup and fallen back to sleep. “I should probably return home,” Gabriella said as she checked the time. It was past supper now, and staying overnight would really be pushing the boundaries of propriety. “And you should get some rest, Raphe. Now that we know what it is, Amelia can help watch her for a while.”
He looked dubious. “I don’t want to leave her. What if—”
“You look exhausted, and you won’t be any good to her if you’re asleep when she wakes.”
Conceding her point, he gave a reluctant nod. “Very well. I’ll ring for someone to fetch Amelia.”
Gabriella stayed until Amelia arrived so she could help explain the situation. She then bid them all a good night and prepared to leave.
“Wait a moment,” Raphe said. He muttered something to Amelia that Gabriella couldn’t hear before joining her at the door. “Have a drink with me first.”
The request caught her completely unawares. Her mouth dropped open. She wanted to but knew she shouldn’t. “I . . . I don’t—”
“Please.”
The honest plea in his eyes achieved what words could not. Gabriella nodded. “Very well, but then I really must be on my way.”
“Agreed.”
He led the way back downstairs where Gabriella found Anna still waiting for her in the hall. “My lady,” she said, rising to greet her. “Is Lady Juliette all right?”
“She will be,” Gabriella said, appreciating her concern. “We can return home shortly, Anna. The duke just wishes to have a quick word with me before I leave.”
“Should I wait for you here then, or—”
Gabriella silently thanked Anna for allowing her to make her own decision. “Yes,” she said, aware of how scandalous it would be for her to be completely alone with Raphe—of what being alone with him would imply. But she’d been alone with him before, and longed to be so again. “I won’t be long.”
And then she turned away, following Raphe through to the parlor, not saying a word as he shut the door firmly behind them.
Chapter 22
A thrill of something forbidden darted its way along her nerves, producing a light tremor at the base of her neck as he strode past her, brushing her gently with the edge of his jacket. “Brandy?” he inquired, reaching for a decanter.
“I’ve never tried it,” she confessed as she lowered herself to the sofa.
He returned with two glasses and handed her one before claiming the vacant spot beside her. She took a sip, winced, then tried it again. Raphe gave her a lopsided grin before taking a sip of his own. “It’s pretty strong stuff, but it’ll do wonders in any number of situations.”
Gabriella set the glass aside. “I like the warming effect, but the taste will take some getting used to.”
A comfortable silence settled between them for a while, during which Gabriella became increasingly aware of how close he was to her. He could have taken one of the chairs, but he hadn’t. Instead, his large frame occupied most of the sofa, allowing for only a symbolic amount of space to fall between them. If he moved an inch, his thigh would come into contact with hers. Unless she moved, scooting further back against the armrest.
But she did not. Would not. Not when she craved the closeness.
“Why did you come here today?” he quietly asked, breaking through the myriad of indecent thoughts she was now having, specifically of the ways in which he might ruin her right here, right now, on this very sofa.
Unbalanced by the question, she picked up her glass and took another sip of brandy, which gave her a couple of extra seconds to ponder her
response. She could take the cowardly route and say that she’d come to discuss Amelia and Juliette’s presentations at court—the work that still remained to be done. Or she could be brave and tell him the truth. “I didn’t want you to think that I agreed to marry Fielding. Especially not after you made your own intentions toward me clear and I promised to help find a way for us to be together.”
“So he forced your hand?”
She nodded. “He did.”
“I thought so.”
“You should know that he came to see me yesterday though. Before the ball.” His eyes hardened and she glanced away.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked, when she failed to continue.
Her eyes flew to his. “Because I don’t want to keep anything from you.”
“Then tell me what happened, Gabriella.”
She drew a deep breath. “He proposed and I declined. But he refused to listen, and then . . .” she swallowed, forcing herself to get the words out. “He kissed me.”
Raphe’s jaw tightened. His shoulders seemed to strain as if holding back some invisible force. Bracing his elbows against his knees, he stared into the glass he held between his hands. “Will you marry him then?”
How could he possible think so? “Not if I can help it. I already told my parents that I intend to call off the engagement. They were hardly thrilled.”
Straightening, he set his glass aside and turned in the seat so he faced her. “And with good reason, I suspect. Whatever his shortcomings may be in my eyes, Fielding is a good match for a lady like you. He’s a respectable match.”
Stunned by his words, she carefully asked, “What are you saying?” She shook her head. “I thought—”
“And you thought correctly, but the fact of the matter is that however attracted I may be to you and—vice versa—you and I are an ill-suited pair.”
His gaze met hers with a smoldering heat that brought her close to melting. “You don’t believe that. Not unless—” She had to focus. She had to discover the truth. “Papa told me this morning that he’s discovered a connection between you and Carlton Guthrie.” Hating herself for not having enough faith to dismiss her father’s words completely, she asked, “Is it true?”
Reaching out, he removed her glass from between her hands and placed it next to his own. He then took her hand in his, encasing her with a warmth that swiftly stole up her arm and fanned out across her chest. Gabriella’s pulse quickened. “Partly,” he said, his unapologetic gaze holding hers. “Guthrie was one of my father’s creditors. He took me and my sisters in when we were left with nothing and had no one else to turn to.”
“So, you’re saying that everyone’s wrong about him? That he’s a kind man?” It seemed unfathomable.
“No.” He shook his head sadly. “He considers himself a businessman of sorts, and he wasn’t willing to forgive Papa’s debt when I was there to repay it on his behalf.”
“But you were just a boy,” Gabriella said. The thought that some horrid man had taken advantage of him after everything else he’d been through was insupportable. She edged closer to him, needing to offer what comfort she could.
Huntley scoffed. “Such men don’t care about age. Guthrie just wanted his blunt, and he saw an opportunity to get it. When I was old enough, I began fighting for him, paying back everything my father had owed along with whatever Guthrie had spent on me and my sisters.”
“Fighting?” She couldn’t help herself from recalling the way he’d looked when she’d spied him in the courtyard, bare chested with rippling muscles and a sheen of masculine sweat upon his brow. A blush crept over her, and she instinctively dropped her gaze, fearful of what he might see in her eyes.
“Boxing,” he amended. His tone was a little rougher than before. “I’m a bare-knuckle boxer, Gabriella. Or at least I was before I became a duke. During the day, I worked at the docks as a common laborer and in the evening, I fought the men Guthrie told me to fight. Not exactly marriage material for a well-bred Society lady such as yourself. Especially not now that you know who I was boxing for.”
“And yet . . .” And yet I can think of no one else I’d rather be with, no one who makes me feel the way you do.
“I would hate to ruin your chances for the sort of life you’ve always dreamed of,” he said, pulling his hand away and letting her go. “You deserve better than anything I can possibly offer.”
“So you think Fielding would be better?” she asked, feeling more alone than she’d ever felt before. And with that feeling, came anger—unbridled and real. “I have lived my entire life knowing that my choices would be limited by my parents’ demands, that I was unlikely to have a passionate marriage or even a tolerable one for that matter. But then I met you and I discovered that I didn’t know anything at all. I didn’t have any idea of who I really was, or of what I really wanted until the moment you walked into my life. And then I knew, without doubt, that the very last thing I wanted to do was to tie myself to a man like Fielding. You’ve reminded me of who I am, Raphe. You’ve made me feel alive again, and the truth of the matter is, that even if Society decides to shun me for it, the only man I want to be with is you. So if you feel the same way about me—and I hope you do, or I’ll never get over the embarrassment of this conversation—then—”
She didn’t manage another word as his mouth crashed over hers, claiming her with more possessiveness than she’d ever thought possible. This was not the gentle exploration they’d shared in the garden days earlier. This was hungry . . . demanding . . . utterly delicious. This was a need to break boundaries, to explore the irresistible yearning they shared for each other . . . to uncover its meaning. So she held nothing back, clutching him to her just as desperately as he clutched her—as if they’d been drifting through time, two souls with one shared destination: here and now.
“Raphe,” she had to speak his name, even if it was just a bare whisper of air.
He rewarded her with a low, guttural growl, his fingers digging against her back as if he hoped to somehow burrow his way inside her. His lips parted over hers, their breaths mingling in a hot burst of desire that filled Gabriella with restless need. She wanted him to touch her. Everywhere. In the most intimate way possible. Did that make her wanton? She didn’t know and she didn’t care, could barely think when he was doing such wonderful, mind-numbing things with his mouth.
But then he drew back, breaths coming just as fast and irregularly as hers. “My God.” He lowered his head again, this time to the curve of her neck, and it was all Gabriella could do to keep herself from whimpering in response to the hot embers he placed there. So she held on tight, her fingers tunneling through his hair and over his shoulders, touching him just as he touched her, with a need for increased closeness . . . to know him as well as she knew herself.
“You cannot imagine how much I want you, Gabriella,” he murmured against the flushed surface of her chest. Another kiss, more tentative than the last, sent a fiery longing spiraling through her. Oh yes. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
“Nor I of you,” she said, her fingers creeping beneath his waistcoat to tug at his shirt.
He caught her wrist, stopping her progress, and inhaled sharply. “We should stop.” He blinked, focused his gaze more intently on hers. “We must stop.”
“But . . .” The memory of his naked chest danced before her eyes, and her fingers itched for permission to touch it.
“There’s something else I must tell you first.”
The seriousness with which he spoke gave her pause. Her hands stilled. “What is it?”
He hesitated for a moment, then rose to his feet and started pacing about the room. “Guthrie came to see me last night.” Halting by the fireplace, he stared into its gaping emptiness. “He reminded me of a deal that he and I made before I became a duke.”
Straightening herself, she watched him with increasing unease. “What sort of a deal?”
Turning, he eyed her carefully for a moment before saying, “
I am to fight for the world championship.”
She sank back against the sofa. “A public boxing match?” He gave a curt nod, to which she said, “I don’t suppose there’s any hope of it being the respectable kind that a gentleman of your rank might engage in without inviting scandal?”
“It will probably be in a field somewhere with enough space to accommodate a large crowd.”
A gasp of air escaped her. “Your reputation will suffer.”
“As will yours. Unless we break off our acquaintance.”
A knot began to form in her throat. “What about your sisters? Their presentations are next week.”
“And you can still assist them with that, provided Juliette is well enough by then. But as far as you and I are concerned, I think you need to consider what it would mean for you if anyone were to find out that you broke off your engagement with Fielding in order to allow the attentions of a man like me.”
“I would be proud to be associated with you. Don’t you know that?”
Stilling, he looked at her as though he longed to encourage her to be reckless, but didn’t have the scruples to allow it. “But it’s not just your reputation at risk, Gabriella. It’s your entire family’s. Are you really willing to drag them all down with you? Now that you know how likely I am to do that?”
Feeling her eyes begin to burn, she got to her feet and faced him. “Then we’ll just have to fight this. You’re a duke, Raphe, a powerful peer with a trustworthy secretary and capable solicitors at your command. Surely, there has to be a way to stop Guthrie from holding you to a deal you made under very different circumstances from which you presently face. You could—”
“No. I will not back away from this.”
“But—”
“If I renege, the people of St. Giles could face a terrible fate. I can’t have that on my conscience. And besides, I have always prided myself on being honorable. Guthrie is right. We have a deal, and I intend to make good on that deal.”
A Most Unlikely Duke Page 21