I Dared the Duke

by Anna Bennett

  Unamused, she bent to look at his knee once more. “I don’t like the look of this wound, Alex. It’s red and jagged, almost like a—” Eyes wide as saucers, she glared at him.

  “I’ll make sure I clean it before I go to bed. I barely feel it.”

  “This gash is from a knife.”

  “Gash? No. More like a scratch—it’s not deep. See? It’s not even bleeding anymore.”

  “You don’t have to protect me, you know.” She was still poking around his knee like a nursemaid—of the beautiful, sensual variety. “You think that you’re sparing me, but without all the facts, my imagination conjures the worst scenarios.”

  What was he going to tell her? That he’d grabbed one attacker’s head and bashed his face against his raised knee? Or that the other one had his blade pressed to Alex’s throat before he’d flipped him over his shoulder? That he’d jogged the last two blocks home, in case the thugs had reinforcements lying in wait, ready to come after him?

  “There’s nothing else to tell,” he lied, lacing his fingers through hers.

  “Of course there isn’t,” she said skeptically. She stared at him for the space of several heartbeats, giving him a chance to change his story. When he didn’t, she sighed. “Very well. We’re going up to your room to clean this gash. Right now.”

  He knew better than to object. And at least she’d given up on learning the suspects’ names—for now.

  Besides, if she wished to accompany him to his bedroom for any reason, he wasn’t about to complain.

  Silently, they climbed the stairs, hand in hand, and made their way to his room. He closed the door and lit a lamp, while she poured fresh water into his wash basin and dampened a towel. Placing a hand on her hip, she pointed at a chair. “Sit.”

  “As you wish, siren.” He did and placed his left leg on an ottoman.

  “Your other knee has barely healed,” she said with a tsk, “and now this.”

  She knelt beside his leg and dabbed gently at the cut, brushing away the pebbles and road dust. She rinsed the cloth and repeated the procedure twice before she was satisfied. “There. You should bandage it before you dress tomorrow, but I think it shall be fine for tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tentatively, she sat on the ottoman opposite him and bit her bottom lip, as though she were suddenly nervous.

  “What is it?” He put his leg on the floor and leaned forward. “Please don’t worry about me, Beth. I promise I was never in any real danger.”

  She took a deep breath and continued. “I beg to differ, but it’s not that. It’s about downstairs, earlier. I shouldn’t have assumed that you had been with a woman. I’m afraid I have the tendency to be rather quick to judge. But it wasn’t fair of me … and I’m sorry.”

  He chuckled. “Given my reputation, I can hardly blame you.”

  “No, it wasn’t right, and of all people, I should know better. After all, I’ve spent the last few years trying to shrug off my own reputation as a wallflower. Without much success, mind you, but I do know that we are all much more than the sum of our reputations.”

  “Indeed.” She was much, much more.

  “So you forgive me?” She looked so vulnerable. And beautiful.

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said, taking her hand in his. “If anything, I’m flattered.”

  She balked. “You’re flattered that I assumed you’d been…”

  “Bedding a woman?” he provided smoothly. “No. I’m flattered that you were jealous.”

  “I never said I was jealous,” she said, tossing her head.

  “You didn’t have to. I could tell by the fine lines on your forehead and the way you crossed your arms and your chilly tone of voice.”

  She made a sour face but smiled grudgingly. “I might have been a little jealous.”

  He traced small circles on her palm with his thumb. “Would it help if I told you that there’s only one woman I want to bed? And that it’s you?”

  “How very charming,” she said dryly. But he could see her melting a little. “Most gentlemen try to woo ladies with poetry.”

  “I’m no gentleman.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. “And I can do better than poetry.”

  He heard her sigh as he kissed the soft spot inside her elbow. “I don’t know,” she said breathily, “a romantic sonnet can be quite moving.”

  “I’ve no use for sonnets.” He peeled the tiny puff of her sleeve down her arm and playfully nipped at her smooth shoulder.

  “Song lyrics then?” Her eyes fluttered shut. “Perhaps a stirring ballad?”

  “Why would I need words or music to express how I feel about you,” he growled, “when I can do this?” Spearing his fingers into her thick hair, he kissed the column of her neck.

  “That’s very nice,” she said huskily, even as he trailed kisses along her jaw. “But sometimes a girl likes to hear the words too.”

  Reluctantly, he sat back. “What do you wish for me to say, Beth? That I think about you when I brush my teeth and when I lay down at night? That I look for you every time I walk into a room?”

  She swallowed soberly. “You do?”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he admitted. “I like many, many things about you.”

  Arching a brow, she asked, “Such as?”

  He raked a hand through his hair. How in the hell was he supposed to tell her that she made every day better and brighter just by being there with him?

  He thought for a moment. “Well, you always find a way to make my grandmother smile. And I like how you take it upon yourself to fix everything, even when it doesn’t need fixing.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Tell me more.”

  More? He touched his forehead to hers and searched for the words. “I like how you scoff at dragons, spirits, and monsters when, secretly, you find them fascinating. Maybe you even hope they are real.”

  Sniffing, she said, “I should like to meet a unicorn or a griffin, but I hope I never encounter a werewolf or vampire.”

  “Coward,” he teased, placing his hands on her hips, which reminded him. “I like how perfectly we fit together and how you feel in my arms.”

  “I like that too,” she purred.

  But if he was being honest, his feelings for her transcended the physical. That was why this was so complicated and why he was so damned tongue-tied. That was why he was terrified that she’d discover the type of man he really was.

  “Mostly,” he said earnestly, “I like the way I feel when I’m with you. Even when we’re bickering with each other, I know we’re really on the same side … and that we can depend on each other.” He shrugged. “When I’m with you, I’m more than a scarred, ornery duke. I’m the one who can make you sigh and smile. And I like that job.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?”

  “Always.”

  “I think that you’re a better poet than you know.”

  He snorted but was secretly relieved that he might have managed to say something right.

  Brushing her lips along the edge of his jaw, she whispered, “Do you recall a few moments ago, when you said that I was the only woman you wanted to bed?”

  He barked a laugh. “Beth, I’m likely to forget many things—Latin conjugations, my grandmother’s birthday, your favorite flower—but I can promise you that I would never, will never, forget the way I desire you.”

  “Good. Because I’d like you to take me to your bed … right now.”

  Chapter TWENTY-SIX

  Alex gaped at her, apparently at a loss for words.

  Beth kissed the spot just beneath his ear. “Unless you’ve changed your mind…”

  “No,” he said quickly. “No. I just … are you certain?”

  The decision wasn’t nearly as hard as it should have been. He wanted her, and she wanted this night with him. “I am sure.”

  The words were barely out of her mouth before he
swept her into his arms, carried her across his bedchamber, and laid her on the soft mattress. Moonlight streamed through the French doors that had once led to the balcony. It hadn’t yet been repaired, and the temporary boards behind the door were a stark reminder that life could be snatched away at any moment. She and Alex could have perished that night on his balcony. Or he could have been stabbed as he walked home tonight.

  But even if they managed to escape death for the next few days, their time together was limited. He would send her away the day after the masquerade ball—in less than a week.

  So she knew better than to take his words to heart. Once she moved to the country with his grandmother, as she’d promised he would, Alex would forget her—no matter what he’d said.

  Oh, she believed that he’d truly meant the things he said to her—she could see the sincerity in his eyes and hear the candor in his voice. But men like him were fickle creatures. The string of broken hearts he’d left behind was proof enough of that.

  But for tonight, at least, he was hers.

  His dark eyes shining with desire, he tugged off his boots, laid beside her, and pulled her into his arms. “I don’t deserve you,” he said.

  She smiled at the silly, if sweet, sentiment. “How can you say that? You’re a duke, and I’m a wallfl—”

  “Don’t, Beth. Please.” He looked directly into her eyes and spoke with an intensity that she felt in her bones. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, and anyone who’s ever called you a wallflower is daft-headed. Trust me on this.”

  “You never noticed me until I moved into your house—even though we attended some of the same balls before then. You certainly didn’t think I was beautiful when I was wearing dowdy dresses.”

  He shook his head ruefully. “I must have been blind. Or stupid. Probably both. Definitely both.” Pushing a lock of hair away from her cheek, he said, “Promise me something. The next time someone calls you a wallflower, see yourself the way I’m seeing you right now—a siren with your hair gleaming in the moonlight and your eyes shining like diamonds. Don’t give that word an ounce of power over you. Don’t let it define you.”

  Touched and surprised by his impassioned speech, she said, “I won’t. I promise.” With that, she dragged his head toward hers and kissed him with everything she felt inside. Desire, hope, longing, and … love.

  Alex tugged down her bodice and pushed up her hem, touching her everywhere and claiming her for himself. “You should also know,” he said breathlessly, “that you are much too skilled at kissing to be wallflower material.”

  Chuckling, she pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor. And though he tensed at first, his shoulders slowly relaxed. “I don’t show my scars to anyone,” he admitted.

  “Except me,” she said.

  He blew out a long breath. “Except you.”

  “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “No secrets, no holding back. I want all of you, Alex.”

  “Careful what you wish for.” He traced her collarbone with the tip of his finger. “Some things you shouldn’t have to see.”

  A shiver stole over her skin, and somehow she knew he wasn’t referring to the scars on his neck and back—but rather, something deeper.

  “I meant what I said. I want the good and the bad. Everything. Otherwise, it’s not real.” And she desperately needed this night with him to be real—even if it was only as real as a dragon made of stars.

  “You want real.”

  “Yes. Always.”

  He hesitated for a long moment, causing her to shiver.

  Swallowing, he said, “Then you shall have it.”

  * * *

  Alex sat up and turned his back to Beth. He couldn’t bear to see disappointment and disgust cloud her eyes when she learned the truth about him. But he had to tell her before he made love to her—so that she would have all the facts. So she could change her mind if she wished.

  She knelt behind him, slipped her arms around his waist, and brushed her lips over the scarred skin on his shoulder. Cloaked in warmth and intimacy, he closed his eyes. This must be what it felt like to be loved and accepted. He committed the sensation to memory in case he never felt it again.

  He took a deep breath and prepared to tell the story. The scene had played out in his nightmares for the last twenty years, and he’d never given voice to it—till now.

  “The winter I turned six, we traveled to my uncle’s house for Christmastide. That’s where the fire happened. It started when the entire household was asleep. Maybe a spark from the Yule log landed on a rug; maybe a candle was left burning too close to the curtains. However it started, it blazed through the house like a tornado. Especially in the wing where my parents and I slept.”

  Beth hugged him tighter. “Go on.”

  “I woke up coughing, crying, screaming for my parents. It was so smoky and dark that I couldn’t find the way to my door. But my father rushed into the room, grabbed me off the floor where I’d collapsed and ran through the flames back into his room. He shook my mother as she lay in bed, but … her eyes wouldn’t open.” His voice cracked. “The smoke.”

  “Oh, Alex. I’m sorry,” she murmured into his neck.

  He continued his tale in a hoarse whisper. “She wasn’t dead, just unconscious. My father didn’t want to leave her. He asked me if I could run out of the house. He pleaded with me to try. He needed to carry my mother out. But he couldn’t carry both of us.”

  Alex felt Beth’s warm tears on his shoulder. “You were a little boy. You couldn’t have—”

  “I clung to him,” he said, cutting her off. “I begged him not to put me down. I told him I couldn’t do it. That I couldn’t breathe.”

  “You were frightened,” she said. “As anyone—but especially a child—would have been.”

  “I gave my father no choice. We left her. He pulled a blanket off the bed, wrapped me in it, and carried me out of the house. Flames seared my neck and back. I smelled burnt flesh and hair. The fire roared and popped—so loudly that I couldn’t hear my own screams. When at last we burst through the front door, my uncle, aunt, and most of their staff were outside, some standing barefoot in the snow. They ran over, tackled us, and rolled us over the icy ground until the flames were out … and steam rose off our burnt skin.”

  Beth sniffled. “Dear God.”

  “Well-meaning people restrained my father and told him not to go back in. They warned him that he’d never make it out again. But he twisted free, shouting that he couldn’t leave my mother inside. She needed him. So he ran toward the inferno, through the front door. He yelled over his shoulder for someone to tend to me. And I never saw him again.”

  Beth sighed and held him tight. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He snorted. “I sat in the snow, sobbing and writhing in pain. And I watched that front door for the longest time. To me, it looked like a demon’s mouth. My aunt wanted to put me in the back of a wagon and take me somewhere. Out of the cold, to a doctor. But I wouldn’t go. I just watched the door, praying that my father would walk out with my mother in his arms. I don’t know how long I waited. It seemed an eternity, and even then, my uncle had to drag me away.”

  “And your grandmother took care of you.”

  Alex nodded. “She was heartbroken—utterly devastated by the loss of her only son and daughter-in-law. She said she refused to lose me too and never left my side. Not in the excruciating days and weeks afterward, when I wanted to die. Not when I had a raging fever that made me delirious. She was always there, humming softly and telling me that everything would be all right. Someday.”

  Beth pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’ve always admired your grandmother greatly. Now she is my hero. The love she has for you transcends … everything.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” he said dryly. “It took months for me to heal. And all that time, I barely spoke to her. Every time I looked at her, I saw my father’s face, and worse, her grief. It was too much, so I av
oided her. Shut her out.”

  “I’m sure she understood,” Beth whispered. “Sometimes grandmothers know us better than we know ourselves.”

  “I behaved like a surly, ungrateful brat.” He shot her a sardonic grin. “Sometimes I still do.”

  “You lived through a terrible ordeal,” she said. “Allowances must be made for that.”

  “Not this many years later.” He turned and took her in his arms. “I can’t repay my grandmother for all she’s done and sacrificed. But I can try to make her happy.”

  “You’ve been doing a fine job of late. She’s probably dreaming of side tables and window seats to furnish your study as we speak,” she teased.

  “Well, that’s all thanks to you. Earlier, when I said I don’t deserve you … I was speaking the truth. Now you know what I did and who I am. And I wouldn’t blame you if you walked out my door right now, never looking back.”

  “As it happens, your grace”—she skimmed a hand down his shoulder and over his hard bicep—“I am not going anywhere.” With that, she pulled him down beside her on the bed and entwined her legs with his. “Now I understand, more than ever, why you’re fiercely protective of your grandmother. And I think it’s very sweet.”

  * * *

  Awed by his confession, Beth brushed the hair off Alex’s forehead. He shifted her beneath him, and she savored the solid weight of his body across her hips. “She’s not the only one I’m intent on protecting, Beth. I care about you too. I’m already responsible for the deaths of my parents, and I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you or my grandmother.”

  “First of all, you’re not responsible for your parents’ deaths. It was a horrible, tragic accident.” She willed him to look in her eyes and believe her, but he gazed out the window, down at their entwined hands, anywhere but at her.

  “And secondly,” she continued, “nothing will happen to your grandmother or me. Now that I know about the danger, I can take precautions to ensure our safety. And we shall catch the villain soon.” At the masquerade ball, if all went according to plan. “The important thing is that you’re not alone any more. Neither am I. We have each other.”