A Duke’s Distraction: Devilish Lords

by Dallen, Maggie

  She was keenly aware that Claire was watching her as well. At first with amusement because Georgie was under the duchess’s scrutinizing eye, but now with a far more quizzical look. Her sister tilted her head to the side as if considering her anew.

  As if she was honestly taking the duchess and her insinuations seriously.

  “I’m afraid I do not understand your meaning,” she said sweetly and with as much innocence as she could muster.

  Of course she understood. She might be a chatterbox, and Lord knew she loved to laugh, and dance, and tease, and any number of other things that made her inappropriate duchess material. But despite all that, she had some sense and only a simpleton wouldn’t see the point the duchess was trying to make.

  She believed Georgie was jealous.

  Ha! The very idea was laughable. Her jealous of these prim, stuck-up, boring ladies. It was so ludicrous she couldn’t even bring herself to laugh.

  “It’s quite all right, dear,” the duchess said. For the first time the older woman with her elegant silver hair and her sharp, regal features, stopped being so very standoffish and looked almost…maternal.

  Kind, even.

  That was more unnerving and far more shocking than the duchess’s wild accusation.

  “I want my son to be happy.” The duchess took a deep breath as though those words had been difficult to get out. In fact, the duchess did not look entirely at ease with this conversation nor the show of emotions, but she forged on like the regal commander she so clearly was.

  Georgie risked a glance at Claire. Maybe her sister would know the proper way to respond to such a mundane yet shocking statement.

  Claire was staring at the duchess with her mouth agape. Right, no help there.

  “That is a lovely sentiment,” Georgie said uncertainly. “I’m sure any of these women will do their best to ensure his happiness.” She clamped her mouth shut, unwilling and unable to say any more kind words regarding the illustrious ladies of the list. Saying the little she had nearly made her stomach turn.

  But pressing her lips together did nothing to silence that voice in the back of her head, the one that had been growing louder with each passing day. The one that refused to be shushed any longer.

  Would these ladies make him happy? Would they make him smile? Would they make him laugh? Would they interrupt his oh-so-important work as she’d done just the day before for an impromptu walk through the park?

  As if following her train of thought, the duchess spoke once more. “You and Rhys have been spending quite a bit of time together of late.”

  It wasn’t a question so Georgie didn’t deign to answer. Yes, it was true. In the days since that odd yet sweet encounter in Hyde Park, they had spent a portion of each day talking and walking. Sometimes multiple times a day.

  It wasn’t as though they planned it and it wasn’t as though they were doing anything wrong. They hadn’t kissed—not again, at least. And they were always well chaperoned. She thought to point that last bit out to the duchess but she missed her chance.

  “While I might be old-fashioned, I can see the difference in him when you are near.” The duchess cleared her throat. “I suppose what I am trying to say is…you have my permission.”

  “I have your—your—”

  “Permission.” Claire filled in the blank and Georgie could have smacked her sister for all the amusement she wasn’t even trying to hide.

  “Yes, I heard her,” Georgie said to Claire. “But I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She turned back to the duchess and tried to keep her tone even despite her shock. “With all due respect, Your Grace, I believe you are mistaken about the nature—”

  “Do not concern yourself, Miss Cleveland.” The duchess was already walking away, sweeping toward the doorway with a sense of purpose. She paused in the doorway and turned back with uncharacteristic smile. One that could only be described as mischievous.

  “I won’t mention my approval to Rhys as that will only prove to sway him in the opposite direction. I’m sure he’d figure it out eventually, but we don’t want him to take too long now do we?” She didn’t wait for an answer before walking out. Which was fortunate because Georgie was left speechless in her wake.

  Claire, on the other hand, was doubled over with laughter. “You should see the look on your face,” she said through hoots of laughter. “It is too funny.”

  Georgie was not amused. She turned to her sister, pointing toward the doorway where the duchess departed. “Does she truly think…but she can’t possibly—”

  “Can’t she?” Claire asked, wiping tears from her eyes. “I must confess, I think she might be correct.”

  Georgie frowned at her sister, who was normally the sensible one. “You cannot be serious.”

  Claire’s expression softened to one of maternal tenderness. As the eldest sister, Claire always had been more of a mother to Georgie and Anne than their actual mother, who’d done her best to ignore their existence.

  “Think about it, dear. The way you look at him, the way he acts around you…from where I’m standing, it certainly looks like love.”

  Georgie stared at her but her mind had gone blank. “I have thought about it. You are both crazy. There is nothing between Rhys and I and—” Oh bother, that was the first time she’d used his given name so casually in conversation and it sounded intimate.

  It also felt right. They had become close, there was no denying it. But the very idea…it didn’t bear indulging. There was no hope of a future with Rhys so she’d never let herself so much as consider it.

  But now the idea seemed to nudge at her, asking for entry. It made her heart squeeze in her chest to the point that it was difficult to breathe, let alone speak. She shot to her feet. This feeling, whatever it was, seemed to spread throughout her body as the thought begged to be acknowledged. That little voice she’d been so keenly ignoring grew louder and louder.

  Have you really not considered it? Have you not dreamed of it in those last moments before sleep and those blissful moments before wakefulness?

  A future with Rhys. To love him and be loved in return.

  The very thought of it winded her and she made for the door, ignoring Claire who called after her.

  She needed fresh air. She couldn’t breathe and her heart was galloping away from her, too fast for her to keep up.

  She didn’t stop until she reached the gardens and when she did, she stood still and waited for wave after wave of indescribable emotions to stop.

  They didn’t stop. She was caught in a tidal wave, as though the duchess’s insinuations and Claire’s words had broken down a dam she hadn’t known she’d constructed.

  It certainly looks like love.

  But no, it couldn’t be. Could it? Certainly not. Claire was wrong, and so was the duchess. He wasn’t at all the type of man she’d dreamt of. He wasn’t a romantic and he certainly hadn’t swept her off her feet.

  She looked down at said feet, remembering vividly the way his kiss had sent her reeling, the way nothing had been the same ever since—for better or for worse. He’d rarely left her thoughts, for one. He seemed to be on her mind at all hours of the day, even when they weren’t together.

  She’d also discovered a new side of herself that she wasn’t terribly fond of since that kiss. One that begged her to seek out Lady Regina Phelpott and tear her hair out.

  No, that wasn’t like her at all.

  She hadn’t been herself since that fateful night and that kiss. But maybe that was all it was—one magical kiss. After all, it had been her first kiss. Maybe her head was turned because of its singular status. Perhaps if she kissed him again, she would cure herself of its spell.

  She heard footsteps coming toward her and her heart rate picked up in response, as though it knew precisely who it would be.

  Sure enough, Rhys turned a corner and strode toward her. He hadn’t spotted her yet and she had a moment to take in the sight of him. How had she not noticed how handsome he was before?
>
  Even that furrowed brow seemed somehow dear, as though it were meant just for her—a challenge to her ability to make it disappear. And she could. She knew that now. She lived for the moments when she drew forth a smile, or even better, one of his low, rumbling laughs.

  His gaze lifted and he spotted her, his dark eyes lighting up with an emotion so powerful it nearly sent her reeling all over again.

  Her breath caught in her throat as he turned to walk directly toward her.

  Oh mercy, could it be? Had she truly gone and fallen in love? The thought made her want to laugh and cry all at once.

  He stopped in front of her and while she heard his low voice make the proper greetings and heard her own murmured responses, she wasn’t quite aware of what she was saying. She was too focused on his lips and the fact that she wanted to kiss them. Quite desperately, in fact.

  The need was so intense that she found herself rationalizing the idea, dismissing the voice of propriety and reason that screamed bad idea.

  But was it a bad idea? If these feelings really were a response to that first kiss, perhaps a second kiss would dispel them and help her come to her senses?

  It admittedly wasn’t much of a theory, but combined with her body’s overwhelming need to experience his kiss again, along with the knowledge that this might very well be her last chance to have a moment alone with him before he married—it was enough to spur her into action.

  “How are the preparations proceeding?” he asked.

  Her answer was to throw herself against him and kiss him with everything she had.

  Chapter Twelve

  Desire struck Rhys so fast and fierce, he acted without thinking. His arms wrapped around her slender waist and drew her closer so she was pressed against him.

  Where she belonged.

  Her kiss was unskilled but so infinitely sweet, his chest ached in response. Her scent surrounded him as the softness of her body molded to his.

  Unthinking he slanted his mouth over hers, desperate to claim her in every way possible. She was his, this was right. There was nothing else except for him and her and this moment.

  He groaned as her tongue tentatively returned his touch, seeking and exploring as he did. He could stay here forever tasting her. He could live on nothing but this woman and her sweet touches.

  The sound of a door closing cut through the beautiful symphony of whimpers and mingled breaths. They both stilled at the sound of it, the reminder that there was life outside this garden.

  A life that did not include the two of them as a couple. A life in which this embrace was prohibited.

  He pulled back gently, savoring the feel of her breath on his cheek. Hating the words he knew must be said.

  “We mustn’t.” He whispered it, but she jerked back as though he’d shouted in her ear.

  In her eyes he saw the hurt of rejection and he hated himself for it. But there was no other way. He was a man, yes, but more than that he was a duke. He had obligations, responsibilities.

  “I am sorry.” That was no better. Her eyes widened and the pain there was nearly his undoing. “I cannot marry—”

  “I know.” She cut him off abruptly as she took two steps back. He saw her hands shaking as she clasped them together in front of her. She gave him a forced smile and that was somehow even more heartbreaking than the pain in her eyes.

  Her smiles were never forced. She was genuine and pure, through and through. Forced smiles and fake laughter did not suit her and he hated that she tried for his benefit. “What I meant was, I knew that before I—” She swallowed and then wet her lips. “I am the one who ought to apologize. That was a mistake and I—I—” She bit her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  He went to reach for her, all reason forgotten in the face of her pain. And his, if he were being honest. But before he could touch her she turned and fled, leaving him alone with a weight of regret that threatened to crush him.

  * * *

  Give it time, he told himself as he headed down the hall leading toward his study. But then, Rhys had been telling himself that for the last twenty-four hours. He’d been living in a state of utter confusion. One half of him hoping desperately to run into Georgie but the other dreading the sight of her.

  What good could come of seeing her again? What happy ending could they find when he was this very night supposed to be choosing the lady who would be his bride?

  The event was already underway but he’d escaped the cloying, pressure-filled ballroom as soon as propriety allowed. He just needed a moment, that was all.

  Music followed him, growing fainter and fainter. Maybe he could breathe if he could just find a moment alone.

  Yes, because staying in your rooms alone last evening proved so very helpful.

  Blast it, he needed to get his head on straight. He had to find his equilibrium if he were to stand any sort of chance of getting through this night with his sanity intact. Besides, he needed all his wits to make the proper choice of wife.

  He sighed in relief as he reached his study—the private sanctuary where he might once again regain some sort of sense.

  But that thought was quickly squelched as he opened the door to find an intruder.

  “I hope you don’t mind.” Lord Malcolm raised a glass of brandy where he stood beside the liquor cabinet. “I needed an escape from that maddening crowd and figured the good stuff would be in here.”

  Rage filled his veins at the mere sight of this upstart who’d tried to defile his Georgie. And now the rogue had the indecency to help himself to his liquor, and in his private study of all places?

  He kept his tone civil but cold. “In the future, ask permission before entering the private areas of this house.”

  Lord Malcolm’s smile never wavered. “Of course, of course.” He lifted his glass. “I’ll just be heading back, shall I?”

  Rhys had to clench his hands into fists to keep from striking the smug smile off his face as he swaggered past him back toward the ballroom. “Who the bloody hell invited him?”

  “No one, I’d guess.” His brother’s voice behind him made him sigh with displeasure.

  “Is it so much to ask for one moment of solitude?”

  Nicholas walked past him to help himself to the “good stuff” as Lord Malcolm put it. “During a soiree? Yes, no one is allowed a moment of peace, I’m afraid. Certainly not the host.”

  He muttered an oath under his breath. Why had he gone along with this idea in the first place?

  Oh yes. So he could choose his bride. He held out a hand to Nicholas. “Give me some of that.”

  Nicholas handed him the glass he’d just poured for himself. “Bad night?”

  “Mmm.” Something about his brother’s tone set him on edge. He sounded far too innocent. He was up to something.

  “Are the rumors true that you’re choosing your bride tonight?”

  He stiffened. “Who said that?”

  Nicholas’s grin was knowing. “Everyone. It is common knowledge, I’m afraid.”

  He took a sip of his drink in lieu of an answer and to avoid Nicholas’s questioning look.

  Nicholas didn’t stand for it. “So? Is it true?”

  He still didn’t answer. He couldn’t. As his brother waited for a response, the reality of his situation became all too clear. Rhys couldn’t bring himself to pick a bride.

  No amount of time would change the fact that he already knew who he wanted, and she sure as hell wasn’t on a damned list.

  But she was the one woman he could not choose, not if he were to make the right choice, the logical choice, the responsible choice.

  Sounds from the ballroom filtered down the hallway and he felt the urgency of his situation. He had to choose someone, didn’t he? He had a house filled with options, but they were all the same in his eyes. They were all not Georgie.

  He might as well throw a dart at the damned list and let fate decide.

  “You don’t have to do it, you know.” Nicholas’s voice was
uncharacteristically lacking in humor. He sounded serious and concerned and…so very not like his younger brother that it made him stop and stare. “What do you mean?”

  Nicholas rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  Rhys stubbornly stayed mute.

  “You don’t want to marry any of the ladies out there,” Nicholas said.

  He shrugged. “It’s not about what I want.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Rhys glared at his brother. “What is that supposed to mean? You know I have an obligation to—”

  “Yes, yes.” Nicholas waved a hand as though fending off Rhys’s words. “I’ve heard all my life about the great and noble weight of responsibility that you carry.”

  “And yet you still make light of it.”

  Nicholas’s gaze was surprisingly serious. “No, I’m not making light of it, brother. I just feel that someone ought to remind you that you are more than just your title. There is more to life than responsibility and obligation.”

  “For you, perhaps.” He ran a hand over his face, hating the self-pitying tone that had inadvertently slipped into his voice along with the unpleasant connotation. It wasn’t Nicholas’s fault that he was the second son. But for the first time in his life, he was jealous of Nicholas. The envy was so sickeningly real he had to take a moment to digest it and accept it. He supposed it had always been there to some extent, but never so much as now.

  If he were Nicholas, maybe he could do what he wanted. And he knew what he wanted. He knew who he wanted. Without trying he could see the idyllic future in his mind’s eye, but it was torturously out of reach.

  The vision itself was sweet torture.

  A life with Georgie—one filled with laughter and love and children and music and…everything he’d never thought he wanted. But now it seemed like heaven on earth. He’d found the missing piece—the one person who could add life to his existence, who could make it a life worth living rather than a chore to work through. With Georgie he felt whole, balanced—he could laugh at himself and everyone else in his world. He could see joy and happiness and love.