What the Duke Desires

by Jenna Petersen

  He didn’t see Lillian. He had somehow expected her to be standing just outside the door, leaning on the gating that overlooked the garden where they had spoken earlier. But she wasn’t there. Instead, the area was still and empty. The only sound was the occasional rustle of the leaves as a cool wind stirred them.

  His brow wrinkled as he looked around through the darkness. “Miss Mayhew?”

  There was no reply so he stepped farther into the shadows.

  “Lillian?”

  This time there was a response, but it wasn’t an answer. Instead he heard a quiet sound coming from the side of the house, where a few chairs and a small table had been placed in anticipation of breakfasts and teas on the terrace when summer arrived. There were no lights from the ballroom on that side of the house, so no one would go there unless she wished to hide.

  Which only increased Simon’s concern about Lillian’s well-being.

  He made his way around the house and came to a stop as his eyes adjusted to the dark that was illuminated only by moonlight. Lillian sat on one of the cold metal chairs, her head in her hands.

  To his utter surprise and dismay, her shoulders shook gently as she softly cried. He hesitated. She had obviously come outside to be alone with her distress, yet he couldn’t leave her. Not like this.

  He moved forward and placed a hand of comfort on her shoulder. She jumped at the contact and flew from the chair as she turned around. When she saw it was he who had intruded upon her, her face crumpled even further.

  “Lillian,” he whispered, feeling impotent and stupid in the face of her pain. But his instinct soon took over and he opened his arms to fold her into his embrace.

  To his surprise, she allowed the intimacy of his comfort. Though she made no attempt to put her own arms around him in return, she settled her head against his shoulder and did not fight to pull from his arms. They stood that way for a few moments before her crying subsided and she let out a great shiver.

  Only then did she step from his grasp and turn her face away.

  “My most sincere apologies, Your Grace,” she whispered, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “You must think me very foolish.”

  He shook his head as he dug in his pocket for a clean handkerchief. He held it out to her and she took it with a wordless smile of thanks.

  As she wiped her eyes, he said, “I don’t think you foolish in the least. Obviously something or someone troubled you tonight. You are human, you deserve your feelings.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Still, one does not break down at a ball. It’s just not done. And it only proves everyone right.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “Everyone?”

  She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry, I should go inside.”

  She moved to leave, but he caught her elbow and held her steady. Looking down into her upturned face, he felt a strange and powerful swell of emotions move through him. Desire, yes. A lust more powerful than he had felt in a goodly long time.

  But there was more there. Somewhere deep within him, there was a protectiveness that stirred. A desire to keep this woman safe from harm and free from the whispers that obviously hurt her, even if she was normally able to pretend otherwise.

  “I saw you with my mother tonight,” he said softly.

  She turned her face, and Simon stifled a sigh. Apparently everyone included his mother.

  “I can only imagine what she said to you,” he said softly. “That her words caused you pain angers me more than I can express. Please know that she does not speak for me. In anything.”

  That statement, spoken more bitterly than he had intended, seemed to surprise Lillian, for she glanced back up at him sharply. Their gazes held for what seemed like a lifetime.

  “She only said what a dozen others have repeated before,” she finally answered, extracting her arm from his grip, though she did not step away. “And probably even more whisper the same condemnations behind my back. I should be accustomed to it by now.”

  He shook his head. “You should never grow accustomed to such flagrant disregard for your feelings. You should never accept it as a tolerable way of being treated. It does not matter the circumstances, no one deserves that.”

  She blinked up at him, her face reflecting surprise at both his words and the ardor with which he spoke them. He didn’t blame her. Most men of his stature did not believe such things, but he did. He had fought for legislation to protect the poor and their children. He intended to fight for more. No one deserved to be treated as less than human simply because of the circumstances of his birth or life.

  Especially the fetching creature standing before him, almost in his arms. This strange woman who pulled him in and pushed him away with equal strength. Whose lips were so full that he couldn’t look away, and eyes were such an ever-changing hazel that he wanted to buy her gowns to match every color they reflected.

  He wanted her. He just wanted to touch her. Feel her body against his. Feel it beneath his.

  Somehow his hands moved, almost of their own accord. He clasped her shoulders and drew her forward. She didn’t resist, only made a tiny gasp as her body molded against the hard planes of his. Her bottom lip trembled as he cupped her chin and tilted her face up, angling for the perfect kiss.

  He couldn’t have denied himself that kiss if his life depended on it. He lowered his mouth and brushed his lips to hers with every intention of pulling away after that chaste moment.

  Instead, her arms came around his waist and held there and she lifted up on her tiptoes, as if the space between them was too great. She returned the pressure of his lips, and when she shivered, a sigh parted her lips just a fraction. Feeling the heat of her breath on his mouth was too much for any man to resist.

  He pulled her closer and tasted her flesh with just the tip of his tongue, probing her parted lips until she opened fully to him and allowed him entry.

  Lillian couldn’t have said how this moment, this kiss, happened, but now she was here and Simon was holding her so close that their breath was merging as one. In this space, she couldn’t heed the fading voice inside her, telling her to pull away. She couldn’t listen to the rational parts of her that were reminding her why she was here. She couldn’t even comprehend that tiny bit of her that was saying Simon Crathorne was seducing her just as he had likely seduced a hundred women before.

  No, all those things were blocked out by the powerful pounding of her heart as she surrendered to a desire so sudden and powerful that she felt she would do almost anything to make this moment last a little longer.

  His tongue drove within her mouth with purpose now and rising desire. He tasted every inch of her, coaxing her to tangle her tongue with his. He tasted of mint and a little hint of whiskey. But deeper than that, he tasted of desire and far more wicked pleasures to come.

  Nothing had prepared her for this strange tingling sensation that seemed to originate in all the most unmentionable places and then spiral out to heat her entire body. She’d never wanted to rub herself against a man like some kind of cat in heat. Until now.

  And it was that realization that finally forced her to step away from Simon, yanking herself from his embrace with enough force that she stumbled back against the terrace railing. They stood there in the cool night, staring at each other through the moonlight. Simon was short of breath, his mouth swollen and fists clenched at his sides like he was trying to regain control.

  And Lillian could well imagine she looked much the same. Mouth pink and hot from kisses, eyes glazed and wild with confusion and desire and self-loathing.

  She needed to say something. Or slap him. Or apologize. Something. Anything.

  But in the end, all she did was gather up the hem of her skirt and bolt back inside. All she could do was run.

  Chapter 7

  At three in the morning, even after a successful ball, the house was all but silent. Any servants who were still awake were on their way to bed, leaving the remaining tidying of the ballroom to be done in the morning before
the guests arose and began demanding tea and biscuits and their eggs cooked in a certain fashion.

  The partygoers had all danced themselves into exhaustion and were asleep or meeting for whatever assignations they had arranged during the gathering. No one lurked about to trouble Simon as he sat at the large cherrywood desk that had been in his father’s office for as long as he could remember. Just looking at it brought back memories, most of them fond.He had reported to his father on his marks in school here and received high praise that had warmed him to his very toes. Later, he and his father had debated politics, opening his eyes to a whole new world of responsibility. And finally, he had begun his education on the finer points of being a duke and all that came along with that exalted title.

  He shook off the recollections with an affectionate smile. At present, he was supposed to be beginning the methodical search through his father’s papers and personal effects. Instead, he stared out the window at the dark gardens outside and his mind wandered again. Only this time, he thought of soft lips and quiet sighs.

  “There you are,” Rhys said as he entered the room and shut the door behind him. His friend waited there, arms folded, as he stared across the chamber at Simon.

  Simon sighed. He had guessed Rhys would find him. His friend had kept his questions to himself when Simon returned to the ballroom after his meeting with Lillian, but that had been a temporary respite only. Now it seemed to be time to pay the piper.

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Simon asked. “Either by yourself…or down the hall with Anne?”

  He said the last to raise Rhys’s ire. His friend was so fastidious about propriety, Simon sometimes wondered if the “happy” couple had so much as kissed.

  “You will not sway me, even by insulting my fiancée’s honor,” his friend said, though his jaw twitched as he came forward. “I want to know what happened on the terrace tonight when you pursued Miss Mayhew. You were alone for a while, and when you came back inside you were never quite the same. And the girl disappeared entirely.”

  Simon shrugged as he pushed out of the chair and paced the room. He raked a hand over his face before he responded.

  “What do you want me to say, Waverly? That I find myself wildly attracted to a woman you think is entirely unsuitable for me? A woman my mother apparently abhors, not that I put much stock in her judgment. Do you want me to tell you that I found Lillian on the terrace and kissed her until I almost couldn’t breathe? That I could think of nothing but putting her against the wall, hitching up her skirts, and rutting with her there and then? Would those things make you feel superior to me?”

  Rhys moved closer and there was genuine concern on his friend’s face. The sight of it made Simon regret his harsh, accusatory words. A snob Rhys might be, but he was an intensely loyal one. He had never once taken pleasure in Simon’s pain, and it was unfair to think he ever would.

  “You are truly enamored of this girl, aren’t you? It is more than a way to upset your mother or thwart Society. You genuinely desire her.” Rhys’s tone was filled with shock.

  Simon nodded once. He could deny none of those things.

  Rhys pinched his temples with his fingertips. “So you are determined to ruin yourself?”

  Simon shook his head. “I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say I’m ruining myself. It isn’t as if I’m in love with the girl. I feel a strange and powerful attraction to her. And I admit I am interested in her. By her.”

  Rhys looked at Simon, and there was a hint of relief to his friend’s expression. “Then perhaps there is still hope. You have said that Miss Mayhew continues to be resistant to your attempts to court her.”

  Simon nodded. “She continually brings up her inappropriateness, rather like you and my mother do, actually.”

  His friend’s brow wrinkled as if in surprise. “Perhaps the young lady is more honorable than I gave her credit for. Honestly, Simon, think of what you are doing. Let us say that you did pursue your interest and somehow ended up leg-shackled to this person.”

  Simon flinched. “I had not thought that far ahead, Waverly. I have an interest, but I’m not marrying the girl.”

  “Please.” Rhys shook his head. “Since you have taken on the title, the urgency for you to wed has increased considerably. You know your duty. Therefore, any woman you have an ‘interest’ in must be considered as a potential bride.”

  “Then this is a hypothetical,” Simon mused, though he found he could easily conjure an image of Lillian taking such a permanent role in his life. Strange, since he hadn’t known her long and was merely compelled to determine more about her. And perhaps engage in a few more of those passionate kisses that so moved him.

  Rhys shrugged, and the motion made Simon refocus on his friend. “Yes. I simply wish for you to see where this ‘interest’ could lead if you take it to its end.”

  “And that is marriage…” Simon tilted his head. “Or ‘leg-shackling’ as you so romantically put it.”

  His friend ignored his barb. “What if you did thwart all reason and marry Lillian Mayhew? If you won’t take yourself into consideration, will you at least see what that would do to her?”

  Simon tilted his head. “What do you mean? She would be a duchess, married into an important and respected family. It could only increase her standing.”

  Rhys laughed humorlessly. “As your wife, yes, Lillian would be invited, even ‘accepted’ by Society on the surface, but do you really think people would forget about her family?”

  Simon thought briefly about the judgmental matrons of the ton. They could be sweet on the surface even as they drove a knife into another’s back. He had certainly noticed their shunning of certain ladies and acceptance of others, sometimes on what seemed like a whim.

  Rhys shook his head. “They would not. They would watch her constantly, judge her every mistake with a harshness that would be far worse than now. Perhaps that is the cause for Miss Mayhew’s resistance. She might not wish to be exposed to such a future.”

  Simon paced away as he thought of Lillian’s words to him in the garden earlier in the day. She had said something about not expecting marriage, perhaps ever. That memory lent credence to Rhys’s words. She had been so upset by his mother’s censure, and though she tried to hide it, the barbs of others obviously hurt her more than she showed.

  If that were the case, if Rhys was correct that Lillian did not wish a marriage to a man whose elevated status would expose her to such pain and difficulty, that would explain Lillian’s behavior toward him since her arrival. She was attracted to him, of that Simon was certain, but she pushed him away because she didn’t want the disapproval that would surely come with courting him properly and eventually becoming his wife.

  “And I know you think me an elitist, but you must consider the way a marriage to this woman would reflect on you, as well,” Rhys continued, this time softer.

  Simon spun on him. “You know I don’t care about that.”

  “But you do care about how your father is remembered. I know you do. When they say ‘Duke of Billingham,’ do you not want them to think of his works in the House of Lords, of his goodness, of his honor?”

  With a shake of his head, Simon said, “Nothing could change that!”

  “A marriage to Lillian Mayhew might,” Rhys insisted, like a dog with a bone he refused to release until he had sucked all the marrow from it. “If you marry this woman, when your name is spoken people will think of a duchess with no true connection and a potential suicide. You can shoot me every sour look you possess, but you know that to be true.”

  Simon flinched. There was no denying what Rhys said, even as he fought to find a way.

  “Yes,” he finally admitted softly. “I suppose all that could come to be. But what do you suggest, Waverly? She is the first woman I have been truly taken with in so long that I cannot recall the last. Do you suggest I throw that away just to protect my family’s name? Or to keep her from an uncomfortable future? We are not at the point where I am
asking for her hand, or even seriously considering such a thing. Should I ignore all attraction and interest just in case marriage did become the ultimate end to our affiliation?”

  Rhys shifted, and his expression was suddenly pinched and ill at ease. “Neither of us is a rake, my friend. We do not brag on our conquests, nor have we ever talked coarsely about whatever pleasures we found with women. However, I’ve been thinking that perhaps the reason you are so drawn to this woman is that it has been a long time since you kept a mistress. The pain of your father’s death, the pressure to marry well, the responsibilities you now shoulder…they could be eased by, well, an affair.”

  Simon could not help but stare at his friend in surprise. Rhys was right that they had not spoken so candidly about sex since they were green lads.

  “And what do you suggest?”

  “Miss Mayhew has long been on the shelf,” his friend said with an uncomfortable sigh. “She must know that a good match at this late date and with her history is unlikely, especially if she is resistant to your formal attentions. But perhaps she would be less unwilling if you suggested she become…your mistress.”

  Simon backed away a step in utter shock. “You are saying I should ask a lady, an innocent, to come to my bed as my plaything?”

  “It is not such a bad life, Billingham,” Rhys said, raising his hands in a shrug. “Many a lady in her circumstance has chosen it and been content. You could provide her with a living, a small home in London, nice clothing. If you were discreet, it wouldn’t damage her standing any more than her family connections already have. And when you were finished with her you would settle her well, ensuring her future in a way her father and brother did not.”

  Simon continued to stare, slack jawed, at Rhys. He never would have imagined his straitlaced friend suggesting such a shocking thing. But he could see Waverly did not mean it cruelly or coldly. He was truly trying to find a way that Simon could have what he desired without compromising himself. In some way, it was his friend’s awkward attempt at a…gift.