I Dared the Duke

by Anna Bennett

  The duke shoved off of Lord Darberville, hobbled to the closest chair, and sank into it. “I sparred at Jackson’s today. But no need to worry—I’m not on my deathbed. Yet.” He stretched out his bandaged leg and winced. “Darby, a drink.”

  As Lord Darberville made his way to the sideboard, the duchess propped her hands on her hips. “I thought boxing was supposed to maintain one’s health,” she said. “In truth, it’s naught but an excuse for men to behave like barbarians.”

  “You have the right of it,” Lord Darberville confirmed, handing the duke a glass of brandy. Addressing the duchess and Beth, he said, “Lord Newton neglected to follow the rules of the match.”

  “My grandmother isn’t interested in the sordid details,” the duke snapped.

  Perhaps not, but Beth was.

  The duchess cast a critical glance at the bandages. “Who wrapped your knee?”

  “A doctor happened to be training at the saloon. He insisted on bandaging it.”

  “And what did he say?” the duchess inquired, her frustration mirroring Beth’s own.

  The duke took a long draw of his brandy and shrugged. “I shall live.”

  For several seconds, the older woman said nothing. Then she smiled broadly, the corners of her eyes crinkling behind her spectacles. “Well, if you are going to live, you shall require new furnishings for your study.”

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  The duke’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I was just telling Elizabeth of my plans to redecorate this room. With your permission, of course.” The duchess smiled sweetly.

  “It’s very generous of you to offer,” he said cautiously, “however, I like this room. As it is.”

  “But … but”—the older woman’s face crumpled—“it’s not befitting a man of your status.”

  “I can assure you, my study suits me just fine. There’s no sense in expending effort and money on an unnecessary project.”

  The duchess’s disappointment was palpable. “I wanted to do it,” she said meekly, “for you. But if you are dead set against it, I will respect your wishes.”

  Beth hated to see the duchess so defeated but couldn’t blame the duke for refusing. His study was his fortress, a bastion of masculinity and power. Heaven forfend his grandmother should invade with florals and delicate baubles.

  Unless—

  Perhaps he’d allow the duchess to redecorate his study if it counted as her second wish. Beth might as well suggest it.

  “Your grace,” she said smoothly, “shall I bring you the ottoman so you may prop your injured leg on it?”

  He glanced around his study, wary. “There’s no ottoman in here.”

  “The stool then?” she asked innocently.

  “I haven’t a stool either, Miss Lacey.” He spoke through his teeth, as though he suspected what she was about.

  “No ottoman or stool? What a pity. But the situation could be easily remedied if you granted your grandmother her wish and allowed her to redecorate.”

  Understanding registered in his eyes, and he nodded thoughtfully. “An ottoman would be useful, and I suppose that a few items could use updating. Give me a day or two to think it over.”

  “Oh, thank you, Alexander!” the duchess cried, as if he’d already given her carte blanche. “You won’t be sorry—I promise you.”

  The duke started to protest, then gave his grandmother a weary smile. Beth’s chest squeezed at the sight.

  “You know,” she said, “I believe there’s a small stool in the drawing room. I’ll fetch it and return in just a moment.”

  “That’s not necessary,” the duke replied, but pain was etched in the fine lines around his mouth, and Beth wanted to do something to help.

  “It’s no trouble,” she said.

  “Allow me to retrieve it, Miss Lacey,” Lord Darberville offered gallantly.

  But Beth was already headed for the door. “I’ll return in a trice!” she called over her shoulder.

  Once she’d escaped to the solitude of the corridor, she closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. She needed a few minutes to herself, enough time to allow her heartbeat to return to normal. Last night’s encounter was too fresh in her mind. Even now, she recalled the duke’s unyielding body pressed against hers. She could still taste his kisses and feel the heat of his heavy-lidded gaze.

  Shaking off the memories, she made her way to the drawing room and selected a small footstool topped with a thickly padded cushion.

  Balancing the stool against her hip, she headed slowly back to the study, which she now secretly thought of as The Scene of the Ravishing. She wasn’t quite sure if she’d been the ravisher or the ravished. Maybe she’d been both. One thing was certain—she was no longer the same girl she’d been yesterday.

  God forbid the duke realized the effect he had on her. He already had a lofty opinion of himself. If he discovered that a mere look from him could make her skin tingle … well, he’d be impossible to live with. More than he already was.

  Taking a bracing breath and pasting on a demure smile, Beth angled the footstool through the doorway and breezed into the study. “Here we are,” she announced—but something was amiss.

  Frowning, she looked around the room, which was unoccupied, except for the duke. “Where is everyone?”

  “Darby went home.”

  “And your grandmother?”

  “She claimed she wanted a nap,” the duke said dryly. “But I imagine she’s poring over Lady’s Magazine looking for frippery she can use to trim my study.”

  Oh dear. If Beth had learned one lesson from the previous night, it was that she really should not be alone with the duke. Moving briskly, she placed the stool in front of the duke’s leather chair and dusted off her hands. “Well then, I shall leave you in peace so that you may … ah … convalesce.”

  “Sit,” he commanded.

  Beth crossed her arms. “I don’t take orders from you, your grace.”

  “Why are you behaving like a coward?” he challenged, more thoughtful than irate.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I retrieved a footstool for you, and you respond by calling me a coward. What a unique display of gratitude.”

  “I do appreciate your thoughtfulness.” He used the foot of his good leg to drag the stool closer, then gripped the arms of the chair as he raised his injured leg.

  Oh, for the love of—“Allow me to help you.” Before she knew what she was doing, she had one hand wrapped around his very muscular, very hard thigh, and the other on his calf. The temperature in the study rose ten degrees. Heaven help her.

  Without looking him in the eye, she stood and asked, “How’s that?”

  “Thank you.” He didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Now sit.”

  Tossing her head, she said, “You are extraordinarily rude.”

  He shrugged. “If you’d prefer to stand for the duration of our conversation, suit yourself.”

  Heaving a sigh, Beth looked for a chair, but none faced the duke. “I suppose I shall have to move yet another piece of furniture. Two in one afternoon,” she said pointedly.

  “You are welcome to sit in my lap.” His wicked grin caused her belly to flutter, blast it all.

  “And to think I believed you were wholly incapacitated,” she said curtly. “It is a relief to see that your injury does not interfere with your usual rakish activities.”

  “Not at all. But if you’d like to see for yourself—”

  “What was it that you wished to discuss, your grace?”

  He rested his laced fingers across a taut abdomen. “My study, for one thing. I can’t give my grandmother free rein in here.”

  Beth raised her chin. “Then you should not have raised her hopes.”

  “If she has her way, my study will resemble a ladies’ sitting room.”

  “How horrifying,” she quipped. “Do not tell me that you fear a little lace or a few decorative feathers. I had thought you more secure in
your manliness.”

  “Oh, I’m secure.” He arched a dark brow. “Shall I demonstrate?”

  “I think not,” she answered quickly. “But honestly, what harm can come of your grandmother undertaking your study as a project?”

  He blinked, incredulous. “The harm? She could trade in my desk. Or remove my prized painting.”

  “Would that be so awful? Your grandmother has impeccable taste—she’d no doubt replace it with something that suits you.”

  “You don’t understand,” said the duke. “This is the desk where I played hide-and-seek with my father. He let me carve my initials underneath.”

  Oh. Beth clung to sentimental objects from her parents too. “We can make certain the desk stays.”

  “And the painting”—he waved an arm at a hideous landscape featuring a winding green river and a misshapen horse—“may not be removed under any circumstances.”

  Her heart melted a little more. “Did it belong to your parents as well? Or perhaps you painted it when you were younger?”

  “That abomination?” he croaked. “I’m no artist, but I could paint a better picture while blindfolded.”

  Beth sighed. “Then why do you wish to keep it?”

  “It’s the subject of a running bet. Darby said that if I hung it on my wall for a decade, he’d give me ten pounds. I’m already four years in.”

  She blinked, wondering if she’d heard him correctly. “You’d stare at a painting you detest for ten years in order to gain a mere ten pounds?”

  “No,” he said, as if she were the simplest person on the face of the earth. “I’d stare at a painting I detest for ten years in order to win a bet with Darby.”

  She tilted her head and stared at the landscape to see if it improved upon a second examination. It didn’t. “That’s a very odd-looking horse.”

  “She has a name. It’s Phyllis.”

  “I see. Well, Phyllis may stay too, if you like.”

  He seemed to relax, ever so slightly. “And if I allow my grandmother to make a few changes in here, you will consider her second wish fulfilled?”

  “Yes—as long as you give her wide berth. She was so excited at the prospect of improving this place.”

  The duke dragged a hand down his face. “I have a bad feeling about this. Couldn’t I just take her to the opera instead?”

  “No! She already thinks you’ve agreed. She’ll be crushed if you go back on your word.”

  “Fine. She may undertake her redecorating project—under one condition.”

  Beth rolled her eyes. “I know. Phyllis stays.”

  “We’ve already established that Phyllis is not negotiable. My condition is this: you must personally ensure that my grandmother’s choices will be tolerable for me.”

  An unladylike snort escaped her. “I do not know your tastes in furniture, art, or décor. How am I to ascertain what you find acceptable?”

  “That’s easy,” he said smoothly. “Ask me.”

  Alarms sounded in Beth’s head. A project such as this would involve scores of decisions. And if she was to consult him on each one, they’d be spending a considerable amount of time together—alone. The idea wasn’t abhorrent to her. And therein lay the danger.

  “Why don’t you simply tell your grandmother that you’d like to be involved in selecting the key pieces?” she suggested.

  “Because I don’t,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to be involved in anything. And I certainly don’t want to be in the position of telling my dear grandmother that the wallpaper or paint or knick-knacks or whatever she has her heart set on would be better suited for a bordello than for my study.”

  “You’re being unreasonable. She would never choose something garish.”

  He raised a skeptical brow. “Did you see the bonnet she wore yesterday? At least two exotic birds were sacrificed to create it.”

  “Your concern for feathered creatures is commendable,” Beth said dryly. “But you needn’t worry that your study will suffer from an overabundance of plumes.”

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin, thoughtful. “If my grandmother’s taste is as refined as you claim, then your job should be simple. All you must do is steer her in the right direction.”

  Beth let out a long, slow breath. “And in order to determine the right direction, I am to secretly consult you?”

  “No need for cloak and dagger, but out of respect for my grandmother’s feelings…”

  It was all Beth could do to keep from rolling her eyes. The same man who wanted to send his grandmother away was now concerned about her feelings. But he was correct—it would be better if the duchess were under the impression that her grandson trusted her. Even if he did not.

  “Very well,” she said. “I will do my best to ensure that your study retains the appearance of an insolvent gentleman’s club, untouched by feminine hands.”

  “Excellent,” he said smugly.

  “Now that that’s resolved, I shall take my leave. Unless you’d like me to move another piece of furniture or save you from a scrap of lace?” She stood and batted her eyes sweetly.

  “Don’t run off yet, siren,” he commanded. “We still need to talk about last night.”

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  “What about last night?” Beth’s eyes instantly grew wary, and a blush crept up her neck. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

  “I can think of a few things,” Alex said, but she stood in front of him looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there. Jesus. Talking wasn’t exactly his forte, either. But he had to make her understand that she wasn’t just another conquest for him. “Will you let me pour you a drink at least?”

  She exhaled slowly. “Very well.”

  Alex shoved himself out of his chair and headed to the sideboard, stifling a curse each time he put weight on his knee. By the time he lifted the decanter and poured a glass of wine, he was sweating from the effort to mask his pain. He gripped the edge of the cabinet and took a couple of deep breaths through his nose.

  Beth glided to his side and placed a hand on his arm. “Let me help.”

  “What if I told you I’m beyond help?” He managed a grin so she’d think it was a quip … even though it was the God’s honest truth.

  “I wouldn’t believe you.” Biting her lip in concern, she wrapped an arm around his waist and steered him back toward his chair.

  She took some of his weight as they shuffled across the room, but even better, she provided an effective distraction from the pain. A wayward curl tickled the side of his face, and he had an excellent view of her cleavage.

  “Here we are,” she said, breathless from her exertions. “Can you manage to sit without bumping your leg?”

  “Of course,” he said, with more confidence than he felt. Grasping one arm of his chair, he collapsed onto the seat cushion.

  Only, his sudden drop must have caught Beth off guard, or perhaps her arm was tangled with his. He yanked her down with him, and she landed crosswise on his lap—her soft bottom pressed against his thighs.

  Her eyes as wide as saucers, she froze. “Have I hurt your knee?”

  He thought about it. “No.” Arousal was winning the battle with pain. Handily.

  “I’m going to attempt to remove myself from your lap without jarring your leg,” she said.

  “Perhaps you should remain just as you are,” he said. “I’m quite comfortable.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “When the doctor examined you earlier, did he, by any chance, order you to remain in your bed?”

  The citrusy scent of Beth’s hair and pressure of her bottom and nearness of her lips all made it difficult for him to focus, but he picked up the thread of the conversation. “In my head, all I heard you say just now was the word bed. Listen, I appreciate your concern for me. The truth is my knee’s a little sore, but nothing’s broken. I’ll be fine in a few days.” He rested a hand on the curve of her hip, barely resisting the urge to pull her close and pick up where they’d left off the night before. />
  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said. “But you didn’t answer my question. Should you be in bed right now?”

  Hell, yes. He should be in bed, and she should be there with him. Beneath him, on top of him, he didn’t really care. But definitely naked. “The doctor may have suggested it.”

  “I don’t know why I should feel sympathy for a man who hits other men for sport and blatantly disregards doctor’s orders.”

  “But you do.”

  She sighed and rested her cheek on his shoulder. “Do you really think you’ll be all right in a few days?”

  “I’m feeling better by the moment.” Tentatively, he smoothed a hand down her back and brushed his lips across her forehead.

  Rain pattered on the windows, and a gust shook the branches outside. Last night, kissing her in the dark, had felt like a fantasy, but this—this felt very real. She hadn’t landed on his lap on purpose, but she hadn’t scrambled off him either. Beth was here, embracing him, even in the light of day.

  She turned her face up to his, expectant, and he crushed his mouth to hers. God, she tasted good. When she kissed him back, curling her fingers into the hair at his nape and pulling him closer, he stifled a moan. She probably had no idea what she was doing to him. His heart pounded out of control, and he was as hard as a rock. He wanted her to straddle him. Better yet, he wanted to drag her up to his bedchamber and make love to her a dozen different ways, his knee be damned.

  But from the corner of his mind, reason intruded. She was an innocent and deserved better. Much better. Any hint of a relationship with him would tarnish her reputation forever. Besides, he couldn’t let her get too close to him. He was all wrong for her … and a man could only endure so much loss.

  Reluctantly, he slowed the kiss and ended it.

  Dazed, she looked at him, her pretty blue eyes questioning. “Alex?”

  Hearing her say his name just about killed him. “I would happily kiss you forever,” he admitted, “but I don’t think it’s wise. We risk being seen.”

  “Of course.” She shook her head like she was waking from a dream. “I don’t know what came over me.”