A Duchess to Remember

by Christina Brooke

  Inwardly, she cursed herself for sitting there frozen and wide-eyed like a startled deer, but some greater force seemed to hold her in its grip. Had she wanted this to happen? No, surely she’d thought only of that letter, of Jon.

  A protest clanged in her head like a ship’s bell, but it didn’t strike louder than the drumming of her heart.

  With an amazing effort of will, she drew back a little. “You promised me intelligence about the Promethean Club tonight.”

  “All in good time,” Ashburn said softly, moving closer still.

  His sharp, handsome features swam in her vision. Her brain ordered her to protest, to move away, to run, but her insubordinate body stayed where it was. Her breath suspended in that silent moment of anticipation.

  Ashburn set his mouth to hers. The world rocked beneath her, and everything she’d ever known about herself was upended in an instant.

  The sensation was an extraordinary mélange of heat and excitement and uncertainty. His lips were hot and firm, gentle and provocative, calling forth an answer from her that she’d never suspected she was capable of giving. Her response was untutored, inexperienced, embarrassingly clumsy, but that did not seem to bother him.

  With a soft groan, he smoothed one hand up her back to her nape, pressing her closer to the growing firmness of his kiss.

  Desire surged through her in a dizzying rush, made her revel in his growing urgency, made her seek to match it with equal power and fire.

  She ought to call a halt to this. In some vague, distant corner of her mind, she knew that. But no man had ever kissed her like this before and perhaps no one ever would again. Curiosity as much as the unprecedented feelings he evoked stopped her from stopping him as she ought.

  His arm stole around her waist; his tongue delicately teased her bottom lip. She made an involuntary sound of shock and pleasure and allowed her head to fall back against the arm of the couch.

  She sensed a change in his mood then. His mouth left hers, drifted over her cheek, to her ear; then he kissed the side of her neck. He murmured something as she shivered with helpless delight. His body half covered hers and his hand—oh, Lord!—his hand smoothed up her bodice beneath her domino to caress her breast.

  She couldn’t seem to draw air into her lungs. The warning bell clanged louder, penetrating her dazed senses. She must not let this go any further.

  “No. Stop,” she whispered, struggling to sit up. “You must stop now.”

  Ashburn froze. Then he expelled a harsh sigh and drew back, raking a hand through his cropped hair. Frustration rolled from him in waves.

  Cecily scrambled to her feet, pulling the edges of her domino together as she backed away from him. “I did not come here for this, whatever you might think.”

  She thought he might laugh at that. She’d certainly given a convincing impression of a woman who had precisely such an amorous purpose in mind.

  Ought she to tell him about Norland? But no, she rather thought that would make her appear even looser in her morals than she did already. Besides, she doubted news of a rival would cool Ashburn’s ardor.

  “I know you didn’t come here for this,” he said, surprising her. His tone was anything but apologetic, and the heat had not left his eyes. “You ought not to stay if you don’t want a great deal more. Cecily, you present far too great a temptation for me to withstand.”

  His words left her fluttery and shamefully pleased. But she said, “A true gentleman ought to be in control of his baser desires. I hope you do not seek to blame me for your lack of—”

  “Of course I don’t blame you,” he said impatiently. “But if you remain in this room looking like that, I’m going to do it again.”

  Instead of fleeing like any sensible person, Cecily said, “Looking like what, pray?”

  His eyes glittered. “Like cherries and cream and chocolate,” he said. “Like a sweet, soft banquet waiting for me to feast.”

  That sentiment shocked her but it intrigued her, excited her, too. A subtle shift in the lights in his eyes told her he knew it.

  In a leisurely fashion, he rose and moved toward her. She stood her ground, but she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from that firm-lipped mouth, nor her mind from speculating on what that mouth might do to her if given the chance.

  She ought to find a way to steer the conversation back to the reason she’d come, but she’d completely lost control of this voyage of discovery. Ashburn had staged a neat form of mutiny tonight.

  Had he kissed her solely to frustrate her purpose? She would not like to think him so calculating, but she couldn’t discount the possibility. He was a man entirely capable of such an act.

  If it weren’t for that letter, she hoped she’d have the sense to stay away from the Duke of Ashburn. But she had to retrieve it. And she had to know more. Why had Ashburn taken Jonathon’s papers? What had he done with them? And what role had the Promethean Club played in all this?

  She didn’t trust Ashburn. Not enough to explain the truth of her quest. She couldn’t ask Ashburn outright for that incriminating piece of correspondence. That letter could ruin all her hopes of marrying Norland if it got into the wrong hands.

  The danger in Ashburn’s eyes convinced her she’d not learn any useful information from him tonight.

  He took another step toward her. It was an effort not to flee.

  Hurriedly, she said, “Very well, I shall leave now, but you must send word to me when those papers are found.” She did her best to ignore the unsettling way he stared at her. “Sh-shall I see you at my come-out ball?”

  He smiled down at her, another gleam of white teeth. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  Cecily moved to snatch up her mask from the floor where it had fallen, but he was there before her, scooping up the stiff concoction of beaded satin.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  She had an impulse to argue that she would tie the mask herself, but that seemed petty and craven. She obeyed, but her heart jumped into her throat when he moved to stand close behind her. She felt his heat all down her body as the mask pressed against her face. His fingers were in her hair again, fastening the ties.

  An agony of embarrassment flooded her. Would she ever meet him now without remembering that kiss?

  “Is it tight enough?” His voice sounded a little hoarse.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Cecily fought the stupid urge to sink back against him. Instead, she stepped away.

  “You must promise to behave yourself at my ball,” she warned. “My cousins will watch me, not to mention Montford.”

  “I think my self-control extends to refraining from ravishing you in public, my lady,” said Ashburn, amused. “With or without your fearsome relatives in attendance.”

  “Well, how should I know what you would do?” said Cecily, exasperated. “I am inexperienced in such matters.”

  “Most women count that as a virtue.” He cocked his head, as if making a discovery. “But not you, Lady Cecily.” He regarded her with dawning sympathy. “Ignorance in any form bothers you, doesn’t it? You so hate to concede the advantage.”

  The truth of his statement struck home. How had he, a man who’d met her only once before, understood how greatly she disliked being unenlightened on this or any important subject? Even more irksome, her lack of experience left her at a loss in her dealings with him.

  She might have been prepared to flout most constraints on a lady’s education and occasionally to court danger in her nocturnal adventures. But even she’d never plucked up the courage to rebel against the tenet that a lady must remain pure for her husband.

  Of course, no one had ever offered her the opportunity to be impure before.

  But even setting aside the morality of it, there were too many risks involved in those sorts of liaisons. Despite her sheltered upbringing, she’d heard tales about fallen women. The man always walked away unscathed and blameless, leaving the lady pregnant and disgraced. Well, Cecily might be innocent, but she was not a fool.


  That didn’t mean she wasn’t burningly curious about the sort of intimate relations both her married cousins so obviously enjoyed.

  Ashburn nodded as if she’d spoken her thoughts. “I suppose I need not tell you that the best remedy for ignorance is education.”

  Though the severity of his expression hadn’t changed, his deep voice warmed with amusement. He was laughing at her!

  Cecily looked him straight in the eye and dropped a disdainful curtsy. “My thanks, Your Grace, but in this case I believe ignorance is bliss.”

  He returned her courtesy with an elegant bow, but there was an unholy gleam in those brilliant amber eyes. “Bliss can be a relative term, Lady Cecily.”

  His low laughter followed her as she turned on her heel and fled.

  Chapter Seven

  Rand did not move for many moments after Lady Cecily had gone. His heart had not yet resumed its normal pace after that astonishing kiss. His body remained hot and urgent. It had taken all his will to obey her command to stop.

  He’d given no idle warning when he said it was better for them both if she left.

  Laughable the way his careful plans had flown from his head the moment he’d laid eyes on her. The debacle with Louise and Freddy had shaken him; that was true. But Lady Cecily herself was the cause of far greater disturbance to his equilibrium.

  The romantic waltz he’d planned, the moonlit walk in the garden, all of it had vanished from his mind as soon as he’d seen her. He’d thought her striking when garbed in a page boy’s costume. He hadn’t been prepared for the vision she presented when clothed as a woman, with her feminine curves molded and revealed so enticingly. The deep, shining purple of her domino made her eyes appear like pools of gleaming chocolate in the pale cream of her face. And those lips … God. His body gave a reminiscent shudder.

  Lady Cecily had taught him another salutary lesson tonight. He was not at all in the habit of denying himself when it came to carnal pleasures. But then his interest had never alighted on a gently bred virgin before.

  It was a damnable predicament.

  Or was it? His heart picked up pace again as the idea struck him like the slap of another man’s glove.

  Had he in fact found the perfect wife?

  The most powerful and swift sense of rightness overtook him at that notion. He had an insane impulse to go after her this very moment and make his proposals.

  No, that would not be wise. Despite the overwhelming certainty he felt, she would need convincing.

  A duke generally assumed that if proposed, the lady in question must say yes. But Rand would lay steep odds that if he ran after her now, she would not have him. That only made her more attractive.

  Despite her predilection for breaking into his house, Lady Cecily Westruther was a perfect candidate for his bride. She was the ward of a duke, the daughter of an earl. She had poise and confidence. He’d no doubt of her ability to run a household, to act as hostess to his guests in all their infinite variety.

  Most of all, he needed an heir. His vision darkened as heat swept through his body. It would be no hardship to bed Lady Cecily Westruther as often as possible in furtherance of that aim.

  Would material considerations weigh with such a girl? Certainly, she seemed unimpressed by his rank, his wealth, and his family. She was not indifferent to him, however. He could use that.

  He must persuade her that she had as much to gain by her marriage to him as he did. And yes, he could be very persuasive when he wished.

  True, there were obstacles beyond the lady herself. Montford might prove a problem; the duke might have chosen Cecily’s mate already. Rand’s jaw tightened. He would deal with Montford and any prospective bridegroom.

  But the business with Jonathon must always stand in the way. If Lady Cecily found out the truth, she’d never forgive him. Nor would she forgive him for doing all in his power to prevent her pursuing her mission.

  Clever and quite ruthless of her to search his library rather than seek him out at this masquerade. He admired her the more for that bit of deviousness. But there was nothing to find in this room and he would make sure she did not discover anything he didn’t want her to know.

  Jonathon’s secret was safe.

  * * *

  Cecily’s heart expanded with joy as she looked around the drawing room where her family gathered before dinner.

  All her Westruther cousins were there tonight. Well, all except one. But then Beckenham never came to town. It was useless to expect him.

  Eight-year old Luke wormed his way through the Westruther cousins to Cecily. “Thank you ever so much for inviting me to dine, Cousin Cecily. Aunt Jane says I can’t stay for the ball and I shouldn’t wish to anyway, on account of there’s dancing and girls.” He gave a small, eloquent shudder that made Cecily laugh.

  Constantine, Luke’s guardian and Jane’s husband, glanced down at him and sighed. “How much you have to learn, my boy. Dancing and most particularly girls are quite the best things about balls.”

  After an admonishment from Jane, Luke made his bow. It had a touch of the swagger about it that was so reminiscent of Constantine that Cecily exchanged a laughing glance with Jane over the boy’s head.

  “Ought you to be here?” Cecily asked Jane in a lowered voice. “I cannot thank you enough for coming, but is it wise, this close to your confinement? I worry about you, dearest.”

  Jane, big with child, waved away her concerns. “Why should I miss all the fun?” she said. “I’m as healthy as a horse, though some people might think I’m made of spun glass.” She said the last with a meaningful glance at her darkly handsome husband.

  “You look marvelous, my dear,” said Cecily. Was it pregnancy or marriage to Constantine that made Jane’s fair skin glow with health, her gray eyes sparkle, her hair a richer, deeper auburn? Whatever elixir Jane had found ought to be bottled and sold.

  Embracing her cousin gingerly over her formidable bump, Cecily looked up at Jane’s husband. “I hope you are taking good care of her,” she said severely.

  “And good evening to you, too, brat,” said Constantine, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I’ve yet to hear of any riots or even mere scandals of your making. I confess I’m disappointed. What have you been doing with your time?”

  “I’m lulling you all into a false sense of security,” she said lightly.

  But Constantine had made a pertinent observation. Since the business with Lavinia and Jonathon and Ashburn, Cecily had had little leisure for making idle mischief and little inclination for such antics, either.

  Any risks she took now were for the purpose of avoiding scandal, not creating it. Not because she feared notoriety so much. Westruthers never cared what people said about them, after all. But because that dratted letter would hurt Norland if it came to light, not to mention putting her betrothal to him in jeopardy.

  Rosamund and Griffin claimed her attention then. Though he was an earl, Griffin would never be totally at ease in elegant company. It would be a pity if he lost all his rough edges, however, for this was exactly how Rosamund liked him.

  Cecily watched Griffin critically as he bowed to her. “You’ve been practicing,” she said approvingly as she curtsied in return. “I trust you will break your rule tonight and dance with me. I am the guest of honor, after all.”

  The big man flushed and glanced about, presumably for assistance. When Rosamund simply widened her eyes at him and let him sink or swim on his own, he cleared his throat. “I, uh. Ahem. I don’t—”

  “He’d be honored,” said Rosamund, turning the full power of her smile upon her hapless husband. “Wouldn’t you, Griffin?”

  It was a fascinating phenomenon to observe the effect of Rosamund’s smile upon her lord. The great colossus of a man melted on the spot.

  He did not even glance in Cecily’s direction. “Yes, of course. Honored,” he repeated absently.

  “I’ll hold you to it,” said Cecily, but she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her. Clearly, Griffin expected
to be a very lucky man later this evening.

  “Cecily, where is Tibby tonight?” asked Rosamund.

  “Oh, didn’t you know? Tibby was called away to her sister in Cambridgeshire. I believe the poor thing is ill.”

  “What a shame,” said Rosamund.

  “Yes, rotten luck,” agreed Cecily. “I do feel for her. Particularly when—” She broke off as the male contingent shouted greetings to a newcomer.

  A smile burst over her face as she saw who it was. Beckenham. Her cousin Beckenham, who never, ever came to London, stood in the doorway, looking gravely handsome in his evening clothes.

  “Becks!” She ran to her cousin and flung her arms about him in a tight bear hug, ignoring Jane’s admonition to mind her gown.

  “Oh, Becks! I am so glad to see you.” She squeezed his hands, bouncing on her toes. “Thank you for coming.”

  Beckenham’s stern features relaxed a little as he returned the grip of her hands and held them wide so he could see her finery. “You look very grown up,” he said softly.

  Cecily interpreted that mild statement as approval of no mean order. Tears stung behind her eyes.

  In an effort to collect herself, she curtsied grandly. “Why thank you, my lord.”

  They had locked horns on many occasions over the years, for her wayward behavior provoked the staid Beckenham to no end. Nevertheless, he held a special place in her heart. For Becks to make the sacrifice of returning to Town to attend a ball in her honor was a gesture she’d never forget.

  “Beckenham, you oaf! Cecily is exquisite,” corrected Andrew, Viscount Lydgate. He eyed her white silk gown with approval. “You might not have Rosamund’s beauty, Cec, but I’ll say this for you: I never met another woman who could match you for taste.”

  “What an evening for backhanded compliments,” murmured Xavier, pouring the last glass of sherry. When the drinks were distributed, he said, “To Cecily. Unleashed, at last, on an unsuspecting society. The ton will never be the same.”

  Her cousins took turns roasting Cecily mercilessly. She laughed harder than anyone at the jokes at her expense and the many stories that began with Do you remember the time she …