My Dangerous Duke

by Gaelen Foley

  He moved forward and gently, ever so carefully, scooped her limp body up off the chair, fur throw and all. He shifted her in his arms, and still, she did not stir.

  When her head fell onto his shoulder with an almost child-like innocence, a great wistfulness came over him. He wondered how such a lovely creature could have come to such a life—but then, noting the disturbing direction of his own thoughts, he quickly girded himself against these tender sentiments. Her misfortunes were not his affair.

  He was too good an assassin ever to wear his heart on his sleeve. Carrying her over to his bed, he slowly laid her down on it. She sank into the mattress with a dreamy murmur of a sigh.

  Though the protective impulse he had felt toward her earlier had returned full force, the soft and sensual moan from her lips filled him with a moment’s blinding lust.

  Dear God. A tremor of hunger ran through him. His stare traveled over her lax face and down her white neck to her creamy chest. He swallowed hard, gazing at her breasts.

  Somehow, he became fixated on them again.

  Heart pounding, he moved slowly and with caution sat on the edge of the bed. Desire slammed through his veins, but he only meant to look. She was a harlot, she wouldn’t care, as long as he had money, which he did, lots of it. Yet it amazed him that such beauty could be purchased for the taking. She was exquisite, with the dusky fringe of her lashes fanned above her cheeks in sleep.

  The thick and wavy cloud of her satiny brown hair flowed back from the pale oval of her face and spilled across his pillow.

  He marveled at the creamy shimmer of her complexion by the firelight, her flushed cheeks like delicate pink-tinted porcelain. His gaze traveled over her smooth forehead, the delicate twin arches of her light brown eyebrows, and her small, prettily formed nose.

  He would not have guessed her any common sort of wench. Then his attention strayed to her pink lips in ever-growing desire, a gathering smolder darkening his eyes.

  She had a very charming chin, slightly pronounced, and hinting at a firm stubbornness of character. He wanted to nibble its smooth rounded curve.

  With the drift of his imaginings, Rohan found he had to shut his eyes for a moment. He swallowed hard, took a breath, then exhaled it slowly. He chased away an all-too-vivid fantasy of loving her gently while she slept.

  Trying his best to pull himself back from the hinterlands of lechery, he pulled the coverlet up over her with a dutiful motion and cleared his throat a bit. “Do you need anything, Kate,” he asked loudly, “or will you be all right?”

  But his fingers grazed her shoulder as he tucked her in, and won from her lips another blissful sigh.

  It was more than he could take. Needing one small touch, he let his fingertips alight on her shoulder, merely admiring the delicate bone structure.

  “Kate?” he uttered hoarsely. She slept on, more temptation than he could bear. Cursing himself, he glided his fingertips from her shoulder inward along the elegant line of her collarbone.

  She responded to him with a sigh of intoxicated pleasure, arching her head back, lifting her breasts slightly as her body rose to his touch. His eyes glazed over as he realized then that she was awake enough to know what she wanted.

  He leaned down at once and kissed her shoulder softly, whispering her name. “Wake to me.” She touched his head in answer, draping her arm weakly over his neck.

  He moved onto the bed with her, his heart pounding. He lay beside her, close enough to consume with his lips the small, heady sigh that escaped hers.

  He watched the dreamy smile that curved her lips as he began caressing her with seductive reassurance, letting her get accustomed to his touch.

  “That’s right. You just relax,” he breathed. He skimmed his palm down her arm, but at her elbow, he diverted his explorations to her slender waist. From there, he ran his hand down lower, to her hip.

  She stretched a little like a pampered cat under his patient stroking. He bent his head at length and pressed a kiss to the white line of her tender neck.

  He was rewarded with another enticing undulation of her body, drawing him closer. As his lips worked his way higher, Kate turned her mouth to his invitingly. She met his gaze for a fleeting instant before he kissed her; her glittering, heavy-lidded eyes teemed with feverish desire.

  “Hullo there,” he whispered, then he bent his head and claimed her mouth. Her low moan passed from her lips to his. Rohan answered in kind as he deepened the kiss, capturing her chin between his finger and thumb. She clutched two fistfuls of his shirt for a passing instant.

  Her mouth tasted of red wine. He drank deeper. As she opened her mouth to his hungry kiss, he skimmed his fingertips down her throat to her chest. He slipped his hand into her gown and cupped her breast.

  With tingling hands, he took her nipple between his finger and thumb and held it lightly as he kissed her. Her approving groan asked wordlessly for more. She touched his shoulders, arms, and chest as he moved downward over her body to indulge himself in sampling her breasts.

  She made no move to stop him, no longer cold or shivering as she had been in the great hall, but panting, her skin aglow with newfound heat as he undid the bodice of her skimpy gown and bared her lovely breasts.

  Closing his eyes, he took her nipple into his mouth and sucked until it swelled to glorious fullness against his tongue. The kiss went on and on, for she was even sweeter than he had already fantasized in the great hall. Now that he had her nipple in his mouth, he could not get enough of her.

  But when she began to writhe hungrily beneath him, her moans climbing, he obliged her, taking his hand down slowly over her quivering stomach through her gown. She was wanton, but he stoked her fire by keeping a leisurely pace for now. He put his hand between her legs, giving her a taste of what she craved. She began rubbing restlessly against the snug hold of his hand cupping her mound.

  He was rock hard, and enjoyed pleasuring her for a while further, feeling the dampness of her core permeating the thin cloth of her gown, but he stopped short of bringing her to climax. “Let me get undressed.”

  Somehow he found the strength to pull himself away from the luscious beauty laid before him. Her lips were still parted, her eyes emerald pools of helpless want as she watched him rise from the bed.

  He sent her a dark half smile that bade her to be patient just for a moment or two. He shed his waistcoat, lifted his shirt over his head, then turned away and sat down briefly by the fire to take off his boots and thick wool stockings. He stood again and unfastened his breeches, shedding them, along with his warm cotton drawers. He paused to retrieve a condom from the night table, but when he returned to the bed, he halted in dismay to find that his companion was asleep—or more accurately, unconscious.

  Well, bloody hell, he’d simply have to wake her up again. He scowled a bit and nudged her as he returned to bed. “Wake up, Kate,” he ordered in a chiding whisper. “I’ve got plans for you.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed a passionate, craving kiss to her knuckles, waiting for her to rejoin the land of the living. But her eyes stayed closed.

  When he released her hand, it fell limply to the mattress. He groaned. “Come back, sweet. I need you.” Don’t do this to me. Determined to have his way, he tried one more time in aching hunger. Leaning down, he kissed her creamy chest in between her breasts.

  There was no response.

  So much for his personal charms. Damn it, the girl was elsewhere, sleeping off her drunk after what had no doubt been a very pleasant dream.

  As for him, hang it all, he did not need the Order’s blasted code to remind him that unconscious demoiselles were strictly off-limits. He was hardly the model of virtue, but he was not yet that far gone.

  “Cruel,” he reproached her in a sardonic whisper. They were just going to have to pick up this pleasant exchange again tomorrow where they had left off.

  If she remembered any of it.

  If not, he would be quite happy to show her again all that she had missed.
God, she was tempting, he thought, letting his lusty stare roam freely over her. He felt strangely possessive, perhaps because they had given her to him as a gift: Ergo, she was his.

  Ah, well, naught to be done for it. Let the little drunkard sleep it off. Not trusting himself to spend the night beside her in monkish virtue, Rohan got up from his bed without a sound and pulled the blankets back up over her. He put the condom away with a droll, self-mocking sigh and slipped on his banyan robe.

  Still rather dazed with lust, he took one last, longing look at her over his shoulder, then he shook his head and left to sleep in another room.

  The noisy drumming of freezing rain pounded the chamber’s mullioned windows the next morning and slowly summoned Kate back to awareness.

  At first, not quite awake, she merely lay there, enjoying the comfort of the bed and just beginning to note the unpleasant dryness in her mouth.

  Strange bits of scarlet dreams drifted back to her. Thrilling sensations aroused by the most indecent liberties, and dear me, she thought with a flutter in the pit of her belly, the gorgeous firelit image of a naked man like a demigod coming toward her.

  Unfortunately, pain routed the intriguing vision; she felt the crushing headache that awaited her before she even opened her eyes to the gray, wintry daylight filtering through the panes. When her burning eyes focused, she beheld the rumpled covers of an unfamiliar bed.

  Where am I?

  She shot upright with a bewildered start, only to receive a lightning bolt of pain running up from the back of her skull. She groaned and reached up to touch her throbbing head gingerly. “Ow.”

  Glancing down at herself, she noticed the undone bodice of the scanty dress she was wearing—and her jaw dropped as the night before came flooding back.

  Him!

  No! Oh, my God.

  The Beast. It wasn’t a dream at all! She was in the Beast’s bed.

  Kilburn Castle and its formidable owner, the menacingly handsome warrior-duke she had first encountered in the great hall. She remembered him now—somewhat. The details were sketchy, but the overall theme was clear.

  Oh, no, no, no! The last image she recalled before she had lost consciousness was watching the Duke of Warrington taking off his clothes in order to have his wicked way with her.

  A sickened wave of disbelief washed over her, but, heart pounding, she had to know the outcome. She whipped aside the covers and searched for any telltale signs of maiden blood.

  There was none.

  Her frantic heartbeat gradually slowed as she realized that, by some miracle, he must have left her alone. No amount of laudanum could make a woman forget having been deflowered by such a man.

  How fortunate for her that she had passed out! she thought in shaky relief. Unconscious, perhaps she had not provided him with sufficient sport to hold his interest. Then she realized grimly, He’ll be back.

  At once, the desperate urge to escape sounded the alarm through her entire being. She felt awful, ill with the aftereffects of the drug the smugglers had given her, but she marshaled up all her strength to try to get out before the duke returned. She longed so badly to go home, she could almost taste it.

  Scrambling out of his bed, she paused as a wave of dizziness made the room seesaw weightlessly for a second.

  “Ugh.” She put out a hand and braced herself against the nearest bedpost. She felt horrible, though the morning chill helped a bit. The room was cold; the fire had gone out.

  Drawing upon her large reserves of stubborn determination, Kate tore through more of the cobwebs in her brain and realized she had better investigate the door. If she was locked in, she might have to use some imagination to find another exit.

  Padding across the room, she grasped the latch without much hope, said a small prayer for mercy, then jerked the handle upward—hard—expecting resistance.

  It opened.

  She gasped. He didn’t lock it last night when he left!

  Astounded by her good luck, her heart began to race. It was the first occasion in weeks that she had a real chance at escape. There was no time to lose.

  She spun around, thinking what to do next, her wild hope tinged with panic that this one chance might somehow slip through her fingers.

  Knowing it could be mere moments before he or one of his servants or those blasted guards came back and stopped her, she rushed to the window and looked out to get her bearings. Which way was the village? She did not want to end up there again.

  The sea was straight ahead, out beyond the high cliffs atop which the castle sat. Well, with the Continent across the Channel, that would be the south, and the village lay to the west, on lower ground. She would have to sneak off toward the east.

  Good. Her home at the edge of Dartmoor was northeast of Cornwall, anyway, though how far away it was, she did not know for sure. Closer to hand, it appeared she was going to have to deal with the gatehouse, for this, as far as she knew, was the only way off the castle grounds.

  When she saw the guards on duty, her burst of optimism floundered. Last night, escape had seemed too difficult, and perhaps it would never work, but she had to try.

  She counted three guards huddling under the overhanging shelter of the gatehouse. They looked bored and irked by the morning’s foul weather; their wet black cloaks flapping in the wind, they sipped from steaming mugs of some hot drink.

  Kate shook her head to herself, biting her lower lip. How she was going to get past them, she had no idea. Once she got closer, perhaps she could find some way to divert their attention and slip past them, but how?

  Surely they would spot her immediately when it came time for her to run across the open space of the inner courtyard. She would make an absurdly easy target.

  There had to be a better way.

  Well, she’d have to figure it out as she went, she concluded, for the longer she lingered here, the greater the chances of somebody stopping her before she could even start. In the meantime, the guards were not the only obstacle she would have to contend with. There was also the weather, which was perfectly dreadful this morning.

  If she were at home in Devonshire, this precipitation would have brought a foot of snow, but here on the coast, it was warmer, limited to a nasty freezing rain.

  The sea wind drove the rain in sheets, buffeting the castle just as it no doubt had for hundreds of years.

  She shook her head, uneager to brave it, but not even Cornwall’s version of a winter storm would stop her. One thing was certain, however. She’d need warmer clothes.

  Sweeping a fierce glance over the chamber, her gaze narrowed in on the chest of drawers. She flew over to it, yanked the drawers open, and quickly helped herself to some of the duke’s huge clothing.

  She slipped a shirt on over her head, hastening to push up the overlong sleeves. She took a cravat of his and used it for a scarf to keep her neck warm, then absconded with two pairs of his thick woolen stockings. These would have to do instead of shoes.

  Lastly, she went over and peeked in his giant armoire, snatching a dark blue jacket off a peg. It was an elegant tailored affair of soft merino wool, no doubt straight from some haughty tailor on Bond Street.

  At once, she slipped it on, hurrying back to the door as she fastened the buttons. There was a smell of cologne on the coat that did strange things to her senses.

  Very well, the man was not without appeal, but Satan himself could appear as an angel of light, could he not?

  Never having been one for vanity, she did not pause to consider that she looked ridiculous in his giant clothes. All that mattered was escaping her captivity at last.

  And when she did, she vowed, clenching her jaw, she was going straight to whatever authorities she could find to report what had happened to her. By God, she would expose the criminal goings-on around here!

  So what if they didn’t believe her? At the moment, she needed to believe that one day she might get justice, even if it was probably a pipe dream. It was the only thing that gave her the courage to
move.

  Ignoring her hunger and dizziness, Kate cracked open the bedchamber door and peered out into the corridor.

  No one was in sight.

  She slipped out of the solar without a sound, closed the door behind her, then stole down the corridor, moving stealthily along the wall. Her brief encounter with the garderobe came back to her when she spotted the little closet door at the end of the hallway. Her lip curled at the hazy memory, but she pressed on.

  She approached the top of the staircase, descending in swift silence to the mezzanine, not quite sure where she was going.

  Suddenly, male voices reached her, a casual conversation drifting up through the minstrels’ gallery.

  Needing to see where the men were so that she could avoid crossing paths with them, she crept over to the minstrels’ gallery and ever so carefully peeked down into the great hall.

  She drew in her breath, spotting the Beast himself followed by his butler. What was his name again?

  Eldred. Oh, yes. Eldred was carrying a tray laden with covered dishes of food and a teapot. He was following Warrington, who was talking to him, but Kate noted that there were a couple of guards posted in the room, just like last night. She wouldn’t be going out that way.

  “You’ve got that headache powder?” said the duke.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “No doubt she’s going to need it. Maybe now we’ll find out what she’s really up to.” They marched past, heading for the stairs.

  Kate blanched—no time to puzzle his words. They’re coming this way! Hide! She dove out of sight behind a thick stone column that girded an arched window alcove in the mezzanine.

  A moment later, Warrington’s heavy footfalls marched past, trailed by the lighter, slower ones belonging to Eldred. They turned at the landing, continuing on to the upper hallway.

  Oh, no, Kate thought, stealing a covert peek around the column. Wide-eyed, she realized that Warrington was on his way up to the solar. In moments, he’d discover she was gone.