Truthfully, she’d never felt such lightheartedness since Alice had died—such buoyancy the result of the delightful Duke of Southart. He’d been an attentive gentleman, and something had shifted between them last night. When she’d adamantly opposed his help and explained that only she and Tait could retrieve the journal, Paul’s protectiveness had mildly surprised her. Could he really feel anything for her? Did his possessiveness mean something else?
“Blast it!” she exclaimed to no one. Such fantasies and desires were best left for others. He was a rake of the first order, and she was … what? An invisible young woman who skated closer and closer to spinsterhood.
She squared her shoulders at such a thought. Even at the age of twenty-five she was still young, and now had an attractive inheritance attached to her name. She could do anything she wanted without having to answer to anyone. Her life was her own and no one, not her mother, not society, not even her brother, could dictate her actions anymore. As her own person, she would not allow her future or the promise of a happy life be circumvented by others or their expectations. Hence, she’d go forward with her plans for the women’s home.
The Duke of Southart had made her realize that about herself last night. His playfulness and concern for her well-being proved that her company could bring joy to others and to herself. Heaven knew, she’d never been as happy as when he kissed her last night. He demonstrated she could feel real desire and, as importantly, desired. She stopped her frantic steps and allowed the heady sensation to take control of her mind and body. She’d never felt such yearning with a real man—only her fantasy characters.
The plush pastel Axminster carpets muffled the sounds of her steps. If only they could quiet her erratic thoughts. Tonight, she needed her wits about her if she wanted to retrieve her journal with as little fanfare as possible. That was what she should be concentrating on instead of the handsome and charming Duke of Southart.
“My lady, His Grace, the Duke of Southart, is here,” Tait announced. He stood aside as Paul entered the room.
Paul’s height made him tower over the under-butler. His broad shoulders appeared almost sculpted in a black wool evening coat and light gray waistcoat with sterling buttons. His expertly tied cravat was set off by a ruby pin. The deep red stone caught the glow of the fire and sparkled all the way across the room. It was almost sinful how the black pantaloons set off his muscular legs.
Southart’s gaze locked with hers, and she couldn’t look away even if she wanted. Somehow all the years of comportment training that had been instilled by her governess, Mrs. Burnside, rushed to the forefront in a mishmash of rules and protocol. Her old persona would have waited for him to approach her as good manners dictated.
But not now—not tonight.
Life was too short to waste on good manners when the Duke of Southart stood so close. She shed every ounce of restraint she possessed and ran to him. He held out his hands, and she unabashedly clasped them in welcome.
Inside, every nerve vibrated in awareness until a riot of heat overtook her. God, she was staring at him like he was the most exquisite tart in Gunther’s Tea Shop.
“Lady Daphne, how lovely you look this evening.” His eyes crinkled with undeniable mirth at her struggle.
She bit her lip to keep from laughing in triumph.
“Cat got your tongue, my dear?” he whispered. With his back to Tait, he took her hand in his and bowed over it. Instead of kissing the air, he turned her hand until her wrist was exposed. His warm lips caressed the tender skin, and she visibly inhaled at his touch. He lifted his head slightly, and his familiar lopsided grin appeared. “Are we still friends?”
“You rogue,” she whispered delightfully. “Yes, we’re still friends.”
She playfully tried to snatch her hand away, but he held it firm. Once more he pressed his soft lips against her wrist. But this time, his hot tongue licked the pounding pulse in her wrist. Inflamed by his touch, her center seemed to melt into a liquid rush of heat, and a small moan escaped, causing her to turn away in embarrassment.
“Don’t.” His whisper was so low that, for a moment, she questioned if she’d heard him correctly. He straightened but didn’t release her hand.
Without looking at the under-butler, she dismissed him. “Thank you, Tait.”
Once the click of Tait’s heels grew fainter, Paul focused on her lips, then his crystal clear blue eyes captured hers. “Don’t turn from me. Tonight, when we walk into the Reynolds, you’ll be disguised as my lover. We’ll be completely enchanted with one another.”
She should be shocked, but the magical cadence of his words was an elixir, one that bewitched her. As part of her reformation, she would take everything he offered and more. She stole a peek at his face, and his earlier grin had disappeared to be replaced by an intense stare that caused her heartbeat to pound.
“Oh.” It was the only response she could muster.
Without releasing her hand, he took a step back and studied her gown. His gaze swept from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head before returning to the décolletage of her dress. “You look beautiful, but may I?” His visage held a questioning look.
“May you what?” she asked. Heavens, it was hard to appear nonchalant. Not when he examined her so closely.
“Adjust your sleeves,” he said.
She nodded in answer.
Slowly, he reached up and pushed the cap sleeves of her gown down her arms a good three inches. Her shoulders were immediately bare. But that fact didn’t faze her. What brought an immediate heat to her cheeks were her breasts, which threatened to burst from her stays in revolt.
She chanced a glance at her chest. The heat across her face turned into an inferno when she saw the darkened outline of the areolae of her breasts peek out from under her stays. Without thinking she placed her palm over her heart, hoping she’d stop her nipples from popping out to parade in the open. Her gaze flew to his. His eyes seemed to smolder as he took in every detail of her chest.
She drew a deep breath to calm her embarrassment.
He stepped closer, but his hand never left her shoulder. He bent his head as if to whisper some great secret in her ear. His warm breath smelled of peppermint, and it teased her sensitive lobe. After what felt like a year, he brushed his lips against her skin. His touch wasn’t a kiss, but more like a taste. He inhaled deeply like a predator that contemplates how nervous its prey is before the kill.
She laughed quietly at her own response. This was Paul—of course, she’d expect such behavior.
He leaned away and fixed his gaze upon hers. “Sweetheart, last night you looked like a virgin completely out of your realm. Remember I had to make up that ridiculous story that you were an actress the Reynolds brothers had hired as a serving wench for holiday entertainment?”
Her chest rose and fell as she fought for breath. The movement drew his attention to where her palm still lay flattened against her chest. In defiance, she tilted her chin and pulled her dress up. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Love, he was foxed and, might I add, would’ve believed anything I told him.” He chuckled and leaned close again to divulge another secret. “We’ll not repeat that performance. It’s too dangerous. Someone might recognize you. If you insist upon going in there, then you’ll go as my unparalleled paramour.”
Her eyes widened. Like a slow embrace, the sensual words spoken in his sinfully deep voice enveloped her.
She stepped closer and smelled him just as he’d done to her. The fragrant sandalwood and his unique masculine scent marked her. She held his scent as long as she could before she released her breath. He lifted his hand and gently traced a path across her shoulder and down her arm. His fingers danced across her skin, pulling the fabric down inch by inch.
“All right?” he asked.
“Yes, do what you want,” she murmured. At that moment, she didn’t care what he did as long as he kept touching her.
“Moonbeam, never tell a man that. You should tell h
im exactly what you want.” The hunger in his eyes belied the soothing tone of his voice. “A beautiful woman like you deserves everything and anything. Someone worthy who’ll appreciate all your intelligence and wonder—all that makes you unique. Only you can say what you want.”
The words floated around her like a warm, gentle stream.
“It’s the man’s job to cater to your every whim and desire. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Speechless, she could only manage a nod. Was he seducing her? This had to be what Eve felt when she was in the garden. However, the man before her was no snake.
“Now tell me.” His finger took a lazy path upward across her bare shoulder to her neck. With the back of his forefinger, he gently caressed her in a rhythm that made her insides jelly. “What do you want?”
Through the tangled web of sensuality he’d woven around her, she replied, “Everything.”
“You’re a wicked, wicked woman, Lady Daphne Hallworth.” He slowly drew away. With a rumbling, rich laugh that permeated every inch of her body, Paul held out his arm for her to take. “I think you and I are going to become the best of friends this evening. On the way to the Reynolds, perhaps you could define ‘everything’ for me.”
At that moment, he could have escorted her to a cow pasture and she’d have been delighted. That was his true allure. Lucky for her, he was her escort this evening. Within no time, she’d have possession of her journal. With his talent and charm, he would have everyone eating out of his hands within fifteen minutes.
For her, it had only taken five.
Chapter Ten
If the lovely woman sitting across from Paul had expected his seductive manner to continue in the carriage, then she was sorely disappointed. Only when they stopped in front of the Reynolds would Paul give Daphne his undivided attention and explicit advice for behavior inside the gambling hell.
He ran his hand over his face. Why had he acted in such a horrible fashion at her home? Instead of instilling an air of confidence and making her comfortable, he’d behaved like a devilish scoundrel ready to pounce on her innocence.
Without turning his head, he stole a glance at her face. The most perfect hue of pink tinted her complexion. Her face glowed in the moonlight. The voluminous material of her black cloak covered the womanly curves hidden beneath the folds, but he knew the depths of her beauty.
Paul shifted slightly to relieve the tightness of his pantaloons. His erection hadn’t ceased since he’d seen a glimpse of her breasts and those extraordinary dusty pink nipples, which, if he was honest, were more perfect than he’d ever dared dream. In fact, his cock was currently throwing a temper tantrum that it had been teased without any promise of a release in the near future. All he could think about was how her luscious breasts would taste and feel in his mouth. He loved their shape, like round, firm apples ready to be bitten, then licked so not a single sweet taste would be missed.
A slight groan involuntarily escaped as Paul adjusted his stance and leaned slightly forward to hide the devastating effect she was having on him.
Of all the moronic acts he could have accomplished at her home, the idea he’d actually considered seducing her topped the list. For God’s sake, she was Pembrooke’s sister, a virgin, and deserved someone who would treat her like the precious gift she was. He stole another peek and found her staring in return. Though her expression didn’t give her away, he could practically hear the questions swirling in her head about his standoffish behavior.
If he wanted to win back Pembrooke’s friendship, seducing his sister was not only bad form but also a sure way to get himself killed. Yet his own mind wouldn’t quit the relentless cry that he close the distance between them and kiss her until neither of them knew what day it was.
“Paul?” She leaned forward. The subtle movement caused her cloak to gap open in the front. The creamy whiteness of her chest taunted him in the near darkness of the carriage. There was no denying it—he now suffered incredible discomfort from a raging erection that refused to behave. He hadn’t felt this way since he was sixteen and still a randy virgin.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to answer, as the carriage slowed to a stop. Though he expected the streets to be void of sound, jovial laughter and the noise of shifting hooves of horses greeted them from outside the coach’s warm cocoon. Inside, with Daphne sitting across from him, he still had her all to himself, even if he couldn’t touch. Once they left the carriage, any interloper who dared threaten to converse, much less look at her, would face his wrath.
Pity the miscreant who wanted her attention.
He closed his eyes and exhaled. He was worse off than he thought. He was contemplating bodily harm to some faceless person who hadn’t even done anything.
“Paul,” she said a little bit more loudly. “Are you all right?”
No, he wasn’t all right. He’d lost his mind several London street blocks ago. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“You seem out of sorts. You have ever since we left Pembrooke House.” The soft words held enough of a lilt that they carried across the coach. It had to be his imagination, but they seemed to kiss his cheek.
He could only reach one conclusion—he was a bloody fool.
“I apologize for my earlier behavior.” He’d said the words hoping they’d relieve his guilt and restore his confidence as a proper duke. Instead, he felt as if he were a sniveling child, one who apologized without any real remorse.
He wasn’t really sorry for teasing and playing with her at Pembrooke House. Her entire face had been alight with sheer delight, then it slowly softened to an exquisite emotion that could only be described as desire when he drew her dress down her arms.
He was surely going to hell for seducing an innocent.
Biting one lip, she tried to hide her smile. It made her even more beautiful. “You seem to apologize frequently around me. Am I a bad influence?”
The silver-pewter of her eyes flashed with laughter and a little something that made the distance between them spark with sexual tension. Whatever this was between them electrified him. Every particle of his body throbbed with an acute need to gather her in his arms and kiss her until she begged for more. He tightened both hands around the edge of the seat to keep from reaching for her. The more he squeezed, the more the leather squealed in protest.
What was it about her that made her so irresistible? He’d been with other beautiful women who were definitely more accomplished as seductresses. But her innate grace and sense of self captivated him. Naturally, a rake such as himself would be drawn to someone as pure as her. Wasn’t that what rakes did? Despoil perfect flowers. He ran his hand over his face again hoping to clear every lascivious thought. He’d not allow his own dirty hands to touch her, not after what he’d done tonight.
This evening he would be her protector. He’d be her friend. They’d find her journal, then she’d help ease the distance between Pembrooke and him. His job would be finished. He’d have no other reason to be in her company alone. After he returned her home this evening, he’d check on her tomorrow, wish her a happy Christmas, and then wait for her brother to return to town that evening. He’d call on Pembrooke the next day and explain what had happened. Pembrooke would thank him and extend an invitation for a drink, where they’d mend their disagreements. Perhaps they’d even drink coffee and read the papers at White’s again. Paul would even invite Alex and Claire to dine with him. He’d invite Somerton and Emma also. Once Somerton saw that Alex had given up his grievances, Somerton would follow suit.
If only it’d be that simple. He’d managed to alienate his friend Nicholas St. Mauer, the Earl of Somerton, when they were young at university. Paul had played deep at hazard one night without the funds, and Somerton had signed for his debt. When Paul had written his father for the money, the duke ignored him.
He’d alienated his friend over a damn gambling debt. Another loss. He gritted his teeth. He hoped Daphne’s adventure in London would be the catalyst to mend the wounds he’d inflicted that de
stroyed their friendships all those years ago. By helping her, he would make the three of them friends again. That’s all he had to remember.
He couldn’t think of the gentle swell of her perfect breasts ever again.
She tilted her head and regarded him. “Paul, what are we doing? We’ve been sitting here for several minutes.” She raised her hand to rap her knuckles against the coach roof signaling she was ready to depart.
“Before we exit, I have something for you.” He cleared his throat in a poor attempt to purge his thoughts. She lowered her hand when he handed her a half mask that would conceal her eyes and nose. One half was painted black and the other white. Clear crystals and silver foil neatly lined the edges and the openings for the eyes. The mask was elaborate, but the ties that would secure it around her head were simple black ribbons. With her dark hair, it would be difficult to see the ribbons, thus giving the illusion she was a Venetian temptress looking for a lover during Carnival.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. Her fingers tenderly skated over every inch of the mask. “What is it?”
He let out an unsteady breath. She caressed the mask like a lover. “It’s a Columbina mask. My mother brought it home from Venice the last time she visited. I want you to wear it tonight. It’ll disguise you. No one will dare approach you with me by your side.”
“Thank you. That’s clever thinking,” she offered. “Will you help me put it on?”
Holding the mask to her face, she turned away from him until she was barely seated on the bench cushion. He reached to tie the ribbon, and their fingers entangled. The urge to pull her against him while he inhaled her sweet scent almost overpowered him. Suddenly, her fingers tightened against his, and he hissed.
The Good, the Bad, and the Duke Page 11