Desperate for a Duke

by Dayna Quince

  Heather took a sip of her water, afraid her less-than-innocent musings would become apparent in the color of her cheeks.

  “He isn’t scrawny like most gentlemen, though neither are Lord Draven and Lord Rigsby.”

  “These are not appropriate opinions for a girl your age, Violet,” their mother admonished.

  “Why not? I am well aware that I will be judged on my looks first and foremost when I come out. It’s only fair and reasonable that women do the same.”

  Lady Everly only rolled her eyes heavenward and took a sip of her wine.

  “Lord Rigsby is nice and funny,” Prim added, delighted by the scandalous conversation. “And Lord Draven—”

  “Is a scoundrel,” Heather intervened. “Do not set your cap for him or any man like him.”

  “I’m not setting my cap for anyone. They will be much too old for me by the time I am of marriageable age, but he does look dreamy in a villainous sort of way.”

  Heather rolled her eyes. “What sort of man would you wish to marry?”

  “A man just like Mr. Calder—I mean, His Grace. A nice man with exquisite looks and a title.”

  “The measure of a man is not his title, little Primrose. Whether mere mister or a duke, we all recognized what an exceptional person he was, barring the misstep of fibbing about his identity.”

  Heather wanted to snort. Now her mother viewed it as a mere fib? Why not? The last of Heather’s anger about that situation had left her, but what terrified her now was her own dark secret. Yes, compared to that, Fallon’s was a mere fib. Pushing those troubling thoughts away, she forced her mind to think of Fallon. He was always an excellent distraction that lightened her mood, especially when she imagined the next occasion they might be alone.

  There had been few opportunities for kisses in the past evenings. Fallon remained rigidly proper at all functions. Heather appreciated his efforts when the throng of society was waiting for the scent of scandal, but she missed being close to him, and she missed the press of his body against hers. Now she wished he were here and not off with Rigsby and Draven. She was shocked to realize that if he were, she would be planning a way to get him alone.

  Dinner carried on, and Heather remained lost in her thoughts, while her sisters filled the air with remarks and barbs that earned reproving glances from their mother. Heather laughed and enjoyed it, giving in to their baiting occasionally. She’d missed nights like these, time that was just theirs when they could be themselves. Again, she remembered that this too was because of Fallon. If not for him, they would not be this happy. Heather smiled at that thought. She was happy, she realized. They all were. Her heart swelled with the feeling, and she was almost brought to tears. Her mother caught her eye as if they had been sharing the same thoughts. Heather raised her glass to her mother, and her mother did the same.

  Chapter 18

  A few mornings later, Heather was surprised to find she was home alone, as her mother had taken her sisters to their final fittings. Heather’s wardrobe was already finished, with only a couple of dresses due to arrive any day. She was about to return to her room for a lazy hour of reading, when the front door opened and a familiar masculine voice was heard. Her nerves instantly came alive, and she rushed to the railing to look into the foyer. It was Fallon, and Cantour was informing him that the young ladies of the house were presently out, which was not entirely correct but would work perfectly for her purposes. Fallon looked disappointed but then proceeded to tell Cantour he would be in the study.

  Heather wanted to dance in excitement. Fallon moved up the stairs, and Heather moved back, out of sight. She grimaced when she saw Cantour following Fallon and ducked into the library. She could hear the rumble of their voices, and then thankfully, Cantour departed. Heather waited a moment more as Cantour passed through the hall and down the stairs. There were butterflies dancing in her stomach, but this was an opportunity for them to be alone that could not be missed. She tiptoed out of the library and waited in the doorway of the study. Fallon, with his back to the door, was looking through papers on the desk. He had already removed his coat and thrown it over a chair, and Heather admired the way his waistcoat pulled across his broad back. She took a steadying breath and knocked on the frame of the door.

  “I have all that I require presently, thank—” He stopped as he turned his head and caught sight of her. He straightened. “Heather? Did you just return?” He smiled in welcome.

  “I never left.” She strolled into the room. “My mother and sisters are doing final fittings. My presence wasn’t necessary.”

  Something flashed through his eyes, and Heather hoped it meant his mind had wandered in the same direction as hers.

  “We’re alone?”

  “It would seem so, if you don’t count the legion of servants you employ.”

  He walked to her, resting his hands on her hips and looking down at her, then his face blanked. “Contour will return any moment with a lunch tray.”

  Heather’s hopes fell. “Oh.”

  “Would you care to dine with me?”

  “That might be crossing a line. He thinks I’m not here, and even though we are betrothed, we shouldn’t be alone like this.”

  “But”—he trailed his fingers up and down her arm—“I’ve been dying to be alone with you.”

  Heather felt her heart stumble into a quicker rhythm. “I have too.”

  She saw his pupils dilate as he looked down at her.

  “What do you suggest?”

  “I’ll wait in the library until he is gone.” Excitement shivered through her.

  “I’ll tell him I don’t wish to be disturbed for two hours.”

  Heather nodded. She wanted to giggle madly but resisted. She quickly retreated, relishing the slide of his hands down her sides as she pulled away. Once again in the library, she grinned like a fool. What would they do for two whole hours? She was thrilled to find out and didn’t have to wait long. The rattle of a tray could be heard ascending the stairs, and it was only a few minutes more before Cantour departed. Heather peeked from behind the library door until Cantour was out of sight, and then she tiptoed back to the study where Fallon was waiting by the door.

  “I hope you’re hungry. This sandwich is large enough for two of me.”

  “I already ate,” Heather said regretfully as she let him take her hand and lead her to the chairs before the desk. They both sat and awkwardness descended.

  “Please eat,” Heather urged when he made no move toward the plate.

  “It feels rude.”

  “It’s not a bother.”

  He took a tentative bite then began to eat with gusto. “I guess I was more famished than I thought.”

  Heather smiled and stood to look about the room. It was just like the others, except the curtains here were thrown open to emit sunshine. The painting above the mantel was a hunting scene, a reprieve from the endless walls of sour faces throughout the house.

  Heather peeked over her shoulder at him and smiled. He was devouring his meal. She couldn’t have eaten if she wanted to—she was far too nervous. She made a slow circle of the room and returned to her seat at the desk. Fallon wiped his mouth with a napkin then took a sip of what looked to be lemon water.

  “Satisfied?”

  “Not even remotely,” he said gruffly.

  Heather glanced at the empty plate. “Do you want to ring Cantour for more? I can wait in the library.”

  He stood slowly and extended a hand to her. She gave him her hand, and he pulled her to her feet, his arms sliding around her. “I’m starving, Heather. For you.” He dipped his head and took her lips. Heather rose up on her tiptoes, eager to show that this time she would do much more than coldly accept his kiss. She looped her arms around his neck and opened her mouth. She wanted to taste him as she did before, to feel the magic of his kisses again.

  He didn’t deny her as his tongue swooped in and met hers. They teased and caressed each other with their tongues, their hands holding tightly t
o each other. Fallon lifted her off her feet and walked to the large chair by the fireplace. Scooping one arm under her legs, he sat, holding her against him with her bottom nestled into his groin.

  Heather had no complaints. She twisted at the waist to keep kissing him and loved the tingling fire she felt every time she pressed her breasts against his chest. There was always something new to be felt when she was with him. He had one hand curved around her hip and was making slow circles on her derriere. He squeezed firmly, and it was possessive and exciting. She wanted to moan with abandon, but she didn’t yet have the confidence to completely let go. She focused instead on further exploration of his mouth and on the silkiness of his hair sliding between her fingers.

  Fallon prayed Heather wouldn’t be spooked by his ardor. Her curves felt so delectable curled up against him, and he knew she would soon feel the evidence of his desire. He couldn’t get enough of her, the arch of her back, and the curve of her hips. He wanted more, he wanted bare skin under his hands, but he knew he couldn’t go that far. Having her completely naked under him would have to wait until their wedding night, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t further her experience with passion, little by little. Perhaps it would even help prepare her for their wedding night. He’d heard stories of women going in blind to the art of lovemaking, their heads filled with old wives tales and fears. Fallon was no Casanova, but he had enough experience to understand what pleased a woman, and how important her enjoyment was to the overall success of the act. And this was Heather, his Heather. He wanted her to feel no fear, no reservations. He wanted her to want him as much as he wanted her.

  His need startled him at times. He never thought he would feel like this, especially given the unorthodox circumstances that brought them together. But when he was away from her, she was all he thought about. When he was near her, he was never close enough until she was in his arms. It was unsettling.

  She squirmed against him, and he became achingly hard. She had to be aware of her effect on him by now, but instead of pulling away, and instead was kissing him eagerly. To think that only a little time ago, she barely looked at him. It was time to press for more, to widen the scope of her desire.

  With one arm around her to keep her delicious body against him, his other hand slid to her ankle under the hem of her dress. He wrapped his fingers around her ankle, not wanting to startle her. She didn’t flinch or pull away, so he slipped his hand higher, slowly following the line of her leg until he reached her thigh. This time, she did squirm. She pulled her mouth from his and their eyes met.

  “Your skin is as soft as flower petals.”

  Her cheeks pinked.

  “I want to touch you, Heather. May I touch you?”

  She nodded and licked her lips.

  * * *

  He began to gather her skirts in his hands, and she felt his hands gently touch her thighs, the folds of her skirt now squished between them, disguising the proof of his own desire. Slowly but deliberately, he walked his fingers toward her center until his fingers touched springy curls. She couldn’t meet his eyes now, so she looked down and closed her own. He touched his forehead to hers, and even though their eyes did not meet, she felt connected to him.

  His fingers dipped into her folds lightly then more confidently, and Heather released a breathy sigh. It was a bit overwhelming at first but also exhilarating. She boldly parted her legs farther, giving him permission to explore her more.

  He did, his fingers playing in the sudden dampness, her most private and mysterious place. Heather gasped again. She’d had no idea she could feel like this or that this was what it was like to be intimate with a man. He toyed with her, her flesh becoming sensitive and wetter still, as he finally touched her most sacred of places, a place that was a secret even to her. He softly touched the entrance to her body, using her own moisture to ease his touch and fan the flames of her arousal. He slid one finger in all the way to his knuckle, and Heather bucked unexpectedly. She wasn’t prepared for the intrusion. It was both awkward and exciting. He cupped her, using the one finger to slowly penetrate her over and over, while his thumb massaged the sensitive hood of her sex.

  Heather felt odd. She felt feverish from head to toe. Something was building inside her, but she didn’t know what. She began to respond to the thrust of his fingers, her body driving her to move in time, which was both satisfying and frustrating. She squeezed her eyes shut, stars bursting behind her eyelids as a wave of hot sensation consumed her, and a cry thrust itself from her throat. Her strength left her, her legs suddenly as weak as ribbons. He held her tightly and lightly kissed her lips. Her eyes fluttered open.

  “What was that?” she asked breathlessly.

  “A taste of ecstasy, little flower.”

  Heather recovered slowly after their intimacy. Her blush felt permanent now, but he didn’t question her or make her feel uncomfortable after the fact. He held her for a little while longer, but then they both stood to stretch their legs. Heather was glad to have her strength back, but her body still felt as if she’d spent hours in a hot bath and couldn’t be bothered with strenuous movement. Her smile was also making permanent residence on her face.

  “What should we do now?”

  Heather shrugged. A nap sounded divine. She looked up at the hunting scene and had an idea. “I want to show you something,” she began. “I did a little exploring and found some lovely paintings in the attic. Would you like to see?”

  He looked cautious. “All right… Lead the way.”

  They took the back stairs up to the attic. For whatever reason, Heather wasn’t concerned about being seen. The house was quiet as a mouse, and they didn’t cross paths with anyone. She found the storage attic easily from memory and they entered. Adjusting the shutters for more light, she approached the first painting and pulled the cloth away. It was a lovely scene of a meadow with a bubbling brook cutting through it.

  “How lovely!” Heather sighed.

  Fallon squatted to take a closer look at it. “Exceptional work. This would suit the drawing room nicely.”

  “I heartily agree.”

  Fallon moved the large painting aside, and they unearthed the next one. It was a hunting scene, particularly violent in its depiction of the dogs catching hold of a fox. Heather made a face and Fallon shook his head.

  “Not something I’d want to stare at while eating dinner or falling sleep,” he said.

  They looked through a few more paintings before Heather caught sight of a few smaller paintings tucked away in a corner. She went to explore them while Fallon moved the larger paintings they had agreed upon.

  There was silence as Heather blew the dust off a lovely little miniature of a pony and a little girl. She turned to show Fallon and found him kneeling before the chest of his portraits.

  Her heart stopped and the picture in her hands fell to her lap. She set it down carefully and went to his side.

  “What have you found?” she asked. Her hands were shaking, so she tucked them behind her back.

  “Portraits of me,” he said flatly.

  She kneeled beside him, searching his face for any indication of his emotional state. Everything was shuttered behind a rigid mask. Heather looked at the pictures, a guilty blush scalding her cheeks. “It’s you at various ages, it appears.” She set the first portrait aside and retrieved another. She lined up a few in the lid of the trunk for him to see. What was he thinking? She wanted to ask, but she dared not push him.

  “But why are they here? Who did these?” he demanded angrily. He stood, looking at two of the portraits.

  Heather stood next to him anxiously. “Mr. Faegan did.”

  He rounded to face her. “You knew of them?”

  “Only just. I discovered them when I discovered the paintings. I asked Faegan about them. He painted them from your sketches.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?”

  Heather shrugged helplessly. “I didn’t know how.”

  “Is this why you brought me up her
e?” he demanded.

  “No. I only wanted you to see the landscapes. I didn’t… I didn’t know how to tell you about these or if I had a right to do so.”

  Fallon frowned. “Faegan painted these? Why—” His frown twisted into a furious scowl. “My father... He sent them to my father for some sentimental, foolhearted attempt to reconcile that selfish wretch with a lonely boy. Is that it?” He dropped the portraits, and Heather jumped as they clattered across the floor. Fallon fled the attic, his feet thundering down the stairs. Heather was frozen in place during his display of rage but then scrambled after him. She found him in the gallery, standing before the portrait of his father, his expression blacker than she’d ever seen. She could hear the footfalls of others coming.

  “Fallon,” she called out to him. She knew he would not want people to see him like this; she didn’t want him to be seen like this.

  “I don’t need you,” his voice rumbled darkly.

  Heather was struck by his words, but he didn’t look at her. His eyes remained on his father.

  “No boy needs a father like you. I will banish you from every part of me, and you will rot in hell knowing that everything good in my life is my own doing, despite you trying to exile me from my rightful existence. You tried and failed, you bastard!”

  He ripped the picture from the wall, and Heather covered her mouth. He threw the picture to the floor with such strength, the heavy gilt frame splintered into pieces. Fallon then ripped the canvas cloth from the frame and tore it in half. He tossed the pieces away in disgust, his chest heaving.

  Heather could feel the presence of spectators behind her, but she was afraid to move, afraid to say anything that might set him off even more. He was like a wild animal, cornered and injured. He looked up abruptly, looking at all of them with a snarl. He pivoted and vanished behind the large double doors of the master suite.