Dare to Love a Duke

by Eva Leigh

  As they continued on to the booth, he turned her words over in his mind. She had risen and fallen and risen again, refusing to surrender to the vicissitudes of life, and he drew strength from her words.

  Tomorrow, the solid foundations of his world would crack apart. He’d tear asunder a long-held alliance—and face the dire consequences. He’d no idea what was to come, and a measure of fear worked its chill way through him to contemplate that unknown future.

  No matter what came, he’d have this day to return to, again and again, giving him a precious moment of happiness. Because he knew that like all things, happiness was fleeting.

  Chapter 19

  Lucia openly studied Tom while he sat across from her, watching the landscape wind by. His brow was lowered in thought, and he lightly tapped his fingers against the squabs in time with the rock of the vehicle.

  He had to be thinking about tomorrow, and its implications. He was a man who felt deeply. It could not be painless, this shift away from the rigid principles of his father, and the expectation that he’d continue on in the same manner. There would be consequences to taking a stand—consequences that affected more than just himself.

  There was darkness in him now, in the quiet after the controlled bedlam of the fair, when he could muse on what lay ahead.

  In the past, she’d barely known her chosen lovers—on purpose. They had shared pleasure and little else. It had been a clean and simple economy.

  Yet she’d seen the depth of Tom’s heart. The kindness he’d shown the young couple at the fair had been extraordinary. He’d nothing to gain from his compassion. It hadn’t been performative. It was done for its own sake, and she’d seen enough of the world to know acts of true humanity were rare, indeed.

  Tom was a light burning in the darkness, drawing her forward, making her long for his warmth. With him, she ached in the way one hurt when thawing frozen fingers and toes. There was pain, but she leaned into it, welcomed it.

  “In Napoli,” she said in the stillness, “my mother and I lived in the Quartieri Spagnoli. Maybe long ago, it had been a fine place, but if it ever had, that time had passed.”

  Tom’s alert gaze slid to her as she spoke, and she undid the ribbons of her bonnet to set it beside her.

  “It was difficult to survive in the Quartieri Spagnoli if you were determined to lead an unsullied life. Allora, I did what I had so Mamma and I could endure. Sometimes it was a choice between theft and eating. Morals did not fill an empty stomach.”

  Tom looked at her, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’m sorry you had to lead that kind of life.”

  “Here,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest, “where it mattered, that’s where I was good. In any case,” she added with a wry smile, “that’s what my mother would tell me. Cerchiamo di fare del nostro meglio, e ogni volta anche di più. ‘We do the best that we can, and we always try harder.’”

  “She sounds like a remarkable woman.”

  His admiration warmed Lucia. “She’d be the first to insist she was a humble woman of unimportant birth. But yes, she was remarkable.”

  “As is her daughter.”

  Lucia looked down at her hands folded in her lap, before turning her gaze back to him. “Tomorrow will come, and you’ll survive it. So will your sister.”

  He grimaced, and he rubbed his hand in the center of his chest. “That’s the part that pierces me like a knife—what all of this will mean for Maeve.”

  “What does she have to say about it?” Lucia asked gently.

  “If I’m a warrior, she’s my shield bearer, ready to fight with me.” A corner of his mouth turned up and Lucia wanted to touch her fingers to it. “She’d adore you.”

  “She sounds like the sort of girl I’d like very much.” But she and Lady Maeve would never meet. They couldn’t.

  He seemed to realize this at the same moment, and they both fell silent.

  She reached across the narrow space of the carriage to take his hand. Their fingers wove together immediately. “All of this is to say that it might be frightening, these steps you’re taking, but you’ll do your best.”

  “And I can do better.”

  She gave him a soft smile. How readily they fell into this rhythm together, its give-and-take. “Certo.”

  He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You give me the strength to move forward.”

  The thought made her pulse skip with both terror and pleasure. “I’m merely a diversion, Your Grace.”

  “You’re far more to me than a diversion.” His gaze was hot, and it coursed through her with drugging intensity.

  She was falling, falling, and couldn’t stop herself.

  He turned her hand over so it lay palm up, and pressed burning kisses upon her sensitive flesh. Each touch of his lips teased her to life, sparking arousal in flares along her body. He kissed her wrist, his tongue flicking out to trace across her skin. She pressed her thighs together to soothe the ache he created.

  When he gently tugged her closer, she went willingly, crossing the interior of the carriage to sit on his lap. They kissed deeply, her fingers threading into his hair to obtain the perfect angle, his hands sliding up her waist. He tasted rich and potent, and she devoured him eagerly as she sank into his touch. His hands cupped her tight, sensitive breasts, making her moan.

  They panted into each other’s mouths, and she strained against his lean, solid body. The position frustrated her—she wanted more. In a moment, she straddled him, and they both groaned when the thick column of his cock nestled between her legs, curving hotly along her quim.

  His hand delved beneath her skirts, and his fingers dipped down into the opening in her drawers. She cried out in pleasure when he stroked against her slick folds. He rumbled when his fingertip lingered on the ribbon attached to the sponge she’d had the good sense to insert earlier.

  “Sweet Christ,” he growled. He pulled back just enough to close the curtains before returning to caress her.

  Rocking with the motion of the carriage, they both worked at the fall of his breeches to free his cock. It rose up in a curve, a gleam of moisture already shining in the slit.

  She lifted slightly, bracing her hands on his shoulders, felt him align the head of his cock with her entrance. Then he sank into her.

  “Yes,” she said on a moan. At the same time, he made a deep, rough sound of pleasure.

  His hands gripped her hips to thrust into her. She moved with him, and she lost herself in the bliss of their bodies, in the intimacy they’d made and the desire that burned so fiercely between them.

  Their growls and moans filled the confines of the carriage, the air heavy with the scents of arousal. She watched the play of hunger and pleasure on his face, his eyes heavy, his jaw tight, and the sight of him lost to sensation stoked her excitement higher. With unerring skill, he angled himself exactly right so that every time she sank down, he hit the spot deep within her. He brought one of his hands down to rub her clit.

  Release beckoned and she chased it, moving like a woman possessed.

  “That’s it, love,” he rasped, driving harder into her.

  “I—” Her words were lost as she keened with the force of her orgasm. On and on it went, cresting and receding and rising up again.

  “Ah,” he rumbled, then stiffened as he climaxed. “Yes.”

  An eternity later, they collapsed against each other, bodies heaving, clothed yet intimately joined.

  Leaning forward, she rested her head on his shoulder, and his arms encircled her to hold her tightly. He murmured softly to her in a language she didn’t know, but she understood him just the same—she was beautiful, perfect. Her eyes closed, she drifted on the feel of him still within her and the movement of the carriage.

  She had played the game of survival very carefully, taking calculated risks, finding and exploiting opportunities. Always, she knew her objectives and how to reach them. But he . . . he was an unknown. A wild need that she chased recklessly, unmindful of
the dangers he presented. Should he want, should he desire, he could devastate her with just a handful of words.

  Pushing him away would be wisest, and insisting that they adhere to safe, circumscribed roles.

  But she could not be wise. Not where he was concerned.

  Chapter 20

  Beneath his clothing, a trickle of sweat ran down Tom’s back. The sensation hurtled him back to the time, well over a year ago, when he’d stood in a field in the middle of the night, preparing to shoot a bottle of wine in order to win a wager. He barely remembered why he’d agreed to such a ridiculous, wasteful endeavor.

  Instead of standing in a foggy field at midnight, he now sat in the House of Lords, preparing to vote on a new bill supported by Brookhurst. This latest bill was in favor of building more prisons.

  Greyland sat beside Tom, and his unshakable presence served to anchor Tom to his seat rather than shoot around the chamber like a screaming rocket.

  From his position on the Woolsack, the Lord Speaker called out, “Members of that opinion will say, ‘Content.’”

  Half the Lords—including the Duke of Brookhurst—said loudly, “Content.”

  When Tom did not join their number, Brookhurst whipped his head around to stare at him in disbelief.

  “To the contrary,” the Lord Speaker continued, “‘Not content.’”

  Tom’s mouth was dry and his palms damp, but he added his voice to the chorus of, “Not content.”

  He deliberately gazed at Brookhurst as he spoke, so there would be no confusion as to Tom’s vote. The duke glared at him with a mixture of shock and outrage.

  Dimly, Tom felt Greyland giving his back one solid thump of approval. The rest of the proceedings sped by in a blur—the bill to build more prisons had been defeated—until everyone was dismissed by the Lord Speaker. Tom filed out with the rest of the lords, his head buzzing and his heart strangely light.

  He’d done it. Stepped away from his father’s well-worn path, and moved into unknown, untrodden territory. God help him and his family.

  In the lobby, Greyland once again slapped his back as other progressive members gathered around, including the Earl of Ashford and Viscount Marwood.

  “Nicely done, Northfield,” Greyland said with an approving nod. “Good to have you amongst our numbers.”

  “Never thought to see the day when the Duke of Northfield took a stand for evolution,” Ashford said.

  “In time, all things are possible.” Marwood grinned, but Tom couldn’t quite make himself return the smile.

  He felt his body poised in readiness, as though anticipating a blow, all the while, his pulse hammered. Yet there was a certainty in his turmoil. What he’d done was right and just, no matter the cost. And he’d face the consequences knowing he had made the right choice.

  Angry footfalls echoed in the lobby as Brookhurst stalked forward. His face was ruddy and his mouth formed a hard, slashing line.

  Here it comes. Tom straightened to his full height, preparing himself.

  “Explain yourself, Northfield,” Brookhurst said hotly.

  Steadying himself, Tom lifted his eyebrow. “You are not entitled to an explanation.”

  “I should say I am.”

  “Sirrah—” Greyland said, his voice tight, but Tom held up his hand.

  “Despite your belief,” Tom said levelly to Brookhurst, “I am not my father. My votes shall henceforth be cast according to my own beliefs. Not his, and certainly not yours. Further, I decline the investment opportunity you presented to me.”

  “There are consequences to your actions.” Brookhurst’s cheeks darkened further, while his tone had risen in pitch. “Either today’s vote was a singularity, and you will back the canal venture, or you and your family will face those consequences.”

  Tom narrowed his eyes, his anger surging. “Threats are unbecoming to a peer.”

  “Threats have the possibility of not being carried out. However, what I speak of will come to pass.”

  “Then end this wearying conversation and be about your business.”

  The lords observing the exchange between Tom and Brookhurst murmured with distress and disbelief, though Greyland watched it all with an unreadable expression.

  Brookhurst pointed a finger at Tom. “The marriage between your sister and my son will never occur. Rely on it.”

  The room spun around Tom, but he kept his footing. Fury gave him balance and steadied him. “Lady Maeve would rather have a brother who conducts himself honorably than a bridegroom who is his father’s puppet.”

  “Outrageous.” The duke took a step back. “Resign yourself to ignominy, Your Grace.”

  Brookhurst swung around, then marched off, a miasma of fury trailing in his wake.

  Tom let out one long exhale. There. It was done.

  “I cannot believe Brookhurst has reduced himself to threatening a fellow duke,” Ashford said in astonishment.

  “The word no is an abomination to him,” Greyland replied. “He makes certain that he never hears it. What do you think he means to do, Northfield?”

  The reverberations of anxiety and anger still hummed through Tom’s body. If someone asked him to hurl a boulder weighing three hundred pounds, he could do it. “I can’t say. Whatever it is, he’ll find me no easy target.”

  The men surrounding him murmured their approval. If only Blakemere had returned from Cornwall. Tom’s friend had been a soldier, and could give him much-needed guidance when it came to readying for battle. Because a battle was coming, and Tom had to be prepared to ensure that those he cared about survived.

  Lucia had been in her room, reviewing the ledger for her personal finances, when Elspeth appeared in the doorway.

  “You’re wanted downstairs.” Her friend wore an inscrutable smile.

  “The sugar delivery’s here already?” Usually, Mr. Kapoor came later in the day, but he was the only vendor she expected on Mondays.

  “Our visitor is sweet, but he’s not Mr. Kapoor.”

  At once, Lucia knew who awaited her. She rose and hurriedly shelved the ledger before smoothing a hand over her hair and tugging on the bodice of her dress. It had only been a day since she’d last seen him, but that time had passed with agonizing slowness.

  “Oh, leave off that,” Elspeth said with a wave. “In his eyes, you’re encircled by rainbows and he hears the strum of fairy harps.”

  “It’s not like that.” Lucia hastened from her room, with her friend following.

  “And what if it is? Would it be so terrible?”

  Lucia feared the answer, much as she craved it. She’d done what she could to shelter and protect herself, but Tom snuck past her defenses. The mere thought of him brought a smile to her lips and a buoyancy to her heart.

  She found him in the foyer, standing beside a large trunk. At her approach down the stairs, he gazed up at her, nearly making her stumble with the sheer joy in his glance.

  “You see?” Elspeth murmured behind her. “Rainbows and fairy harps.”

  Yet as Lucia neared him, she saw the brackets of strain around his mouth, and the tenseness of his shoulders.

  His first oppositional vote had been cast today. But he spoke before she could. “I’ve brought you something.” Like a magician casting a spell, he waved to the trunk at his feet. “In truth, it’s for the girls. But I hope it pleases you.”

  Heart thumping, she sank down beside it and undid the latch. With a shove, she pushed the top open. The scent of paper and leather rose up, and her hands flew to her mouth.

  The trunk was full of books. She picked up one and read the spine. A Child’s Guide to Geography.

  Elspeth took another book and opened to the title page. “The History of Europe and Asia For Young Readers.”

  Lucia’s gaze rose to his—while her heart felt ready to tear from her chest and throw itself at his feet. “These are yours?” she whispered.

  “Some.” He moved into a crouch beside her, and examined one of the books before setting it down. “
The rest I purchased from McKinnon’s. I asked McKinnon himself for his finest books for eager young minds.”

  “Oh, Tom.” Her fingers brushed over the books, as though she could feel the knowledge they contained. Each one was a key opening a door to new worlds. Tears prickled her eyes.

  The cost of books was not inconsequential. It had taken her months to save up for half a dozen texts for her students, and what this trunk contained surely cost over fifty pounds.

  Awed, delighted, she cupped her hand over his jaw. He pressed a kiss into her palm.

  “I believe I hear Kitty calling for me,” Elspeth said, though Kitty was, in fact, out with Liam, visiting a friend.

  A moment later, Lucia and Tom were alone. She gazed at him, knowing full well that her heart was in her eyes, yet she didn’t fear showing him her vulnerability. If there was anyone she could trust, it was him.

  “These can be part of the library for the girls’ home,” he said, almost shy. “I can bring more, but this seemed like a good start.”

  Her pulse throbbed, and she had to swallow hard to find her voice. “This is the finest gift I’ve ever received.”

  He—the consummate rake and libertine—blushed. “Glad you like it,” he said with sudden gruffness.

  “It’s truly wonderful.” Words seemed so paltry, so inadequate. Given time, she might be able to articulate her gratitude. What he’d done for her, for the girls, was bigger than any phrasing of thankfulness. But seeing the tautness of his jaw reminded her that today, he’d made a difficult choice. “How was—”

  Tightly, he said, “Purchasing these books was an antidote to the ugliness I experienced today.” He shook his head. “We’ll talk of that anon. Did I interrupt you in the middle of anything important?”

  She rose, and he unfolded himself to stand. Though she burned to know what had happened in Parliament, she had to respect his request.