A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  “Humph,” he muttered.

  She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, refusing to give in to his baiting. She’d wager the use of her right hand he’d never guess the identity of the gentleman in question. Neither Auric nor Marcus had ever truly seen her as anything more than a sisterly extension of Lionel. Yet, for the bother Marcus now made of himself, it felt so very nice to be teased. For too many years, with servants and polite Society alike, she’d become accustomed to being tiptoed around, whispered about pityingly. Lady Daisy Meadows, the poor, young lady, whose family had crumbled, first with the loss of Lionel and then with Papa.

  The orchestra’s frantic playing drew to a cessation and the crowd erupted into a bevy of applause. The violins plucked the opening strands of the next set.

  Marcus held his elbow out.

  She eyed it. “What are you doing?”

  “Dancing with you.”

  She folded her arms and took a step away from him. “Are you asking or ordering?”

  He leaned close and again waggled an eyebrow. “Have a pity, Daisy-girl. However am I to gather the identity of the gent who’s captured your notice if I don’t do a bit of investigating?”

  A strangled laugh worked its way up her throat. “Well, then in the name of your research, I suppose I should allow you this set.” She placed her fingertips upon his coat sleeve and allowed him to guide her toward the dance floor.

  He maneuvered her expertly through the crowd. “Lord Darbyshire?” he whispered close to her ear.

  She looked around. “Where?”

  “Is it Lord Darbyshire who has caught your fancy?”

  She pinched his arm. “Lord Darbyshire is sixty if he’s a day.”

  “Even older gentlemen require the love of a good, kind lady.”

  “Ideally from a good, kind lady closer in years to his own,” she said, her tone droll.

  They took their places alongside the other couples lining the floor. She curtsied with the row of ladies. Marcus dropped a bow. They walked down the center of the line. “Lord Willoughby, then?”

  They switched partners. She gave her head a little shake and moved through the steps of the quadrille until she and Marcus were brought together. They raised their palms and performed the next motions of the dance. “I daresay a waltz would be more conducive to finding out your secret, Daisy Meadows,” he said under his breath.

  “You should have better strategized before hastily requesting the quadrille.” She laughed, earning disapproving stares from the other dancers. “We’re attracting notice, my lord.”

  He winked. “Which would make it in your best interest to share the name of your suitor.”

  Some of her amusement died. She’d the same chance of calling Auric her suitor as she did in being named the Queen’s favorite. Both about as likely as a rainbow without the rain. “I don’t have a suitor,” she muttered.

  The dance saw them separated yet again.

  When the steps brought them back together, he took her hand and gently twirled her. “You do know you’ll leave me little choice but to enlist Auric’s support.”

  Daisy stumbled.

  Marcus’ teasing grin faded and he righted her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, grateful when the dance saw them separated once more. She glanced around in search of Auric and located him at the opposite end of the ballroom floor where he now stood, a glass of champagne dangling carelessly between his elegant fingers. With an almost detached interest, he surveyed the ballroom. She frowned. No, it wouldn’t do for Marcus to discover she’d gone and done something so foolhardy as to fall in love with the unattainable duke.

  The steps of the dance brought her together with Marcus once more. Gone was the teasing light in his pale blue eyes. Her stomach clenched as she braced against the dawning awareness in his intelligent gaze.

  “You do know I was merely teasing. I’d not dare enlist Crawford’s stuffy support.”

  The tension drained from her and an almost giddy sense of relief filled her. “Oh, is he stuffy?” Marcus didn’t realize the gentleman who she’d gone and fallen hopelessly and helplessly in love with many years ago was, in fact, his best friend.

  Lord Marcus’ response was automatic. “Certainly. Hopelessly stuffy and seems more so in the years since he became duke.”

  They went through the delicate, circle steps of the quadrille.

  Auric’s parents had died a number of years ago in a tragic carriage accident. Not long after Lionel’s death. Pain pricked her heart. Selfishly, she’d been besieged by the agony of her own loss that she’d never really stopped to consider the great heartbreak he had known in such a short span of time. She sought him out in the crowd once more and again stumbled.

  His coolly detached gaze took in her graceless movement, Marcus’ quick rescue, and then he glanced back out across the floor, promptly dismissing her.

  He’d not always been so ducal. Not to her. Never with her. She wanted him the way she remembered him to be, and she was prepared to fight for that man. Whether he wanted her to, or not.

  Chapter 4

  For the better part of the evening, Daisy had been seated at that ignoble place at the back, central portion of the vast ballroom relegated to the fate of wallflower. What hostess set up a neat, little row of chairs in that area for all those to see, gawking and gaping at the poor, partnerless creatures? Of which, there happened to be but one for the better part of the evening. One he cared very much about. He’d spent the night studying her, fuming with the realization that Daisy was, in fact, one of those poor, partnerless creatures. How had he failed to realize as much? Perhaps because he didn’t see her as a young lady in the market of a husband but rather the small girl sprinting through the grounds of her family’s country estate.

  Now, he studied her for altogether different reasons.

  He took in the sight of her graceful, elegant steps as the Viscount Wessex—his sole remaining friend in the world—led her through the movements of the quadrille. At that moment, Wessex touched his hand to the curve of Daisy’s lower back and said something close to her ear. A crimson blush stained her cheeks and she faltered. Auric narrowed his eyes. A dark haze of red descended over his vision. He blinked it back. Wessex wouldn’t dare betray Lionel’s memory by turning his roguish charm upon Daisy. Not that his annoyance with Marcus mattered for any reason other than to honor Lionel’s memory. This seething rage had absolutely nothing to do with the lady herself. Nothing, at all.

  Auric continued to study her and Wessex as they stepped a deliberate circle about one another. Did the other man have to clasp her waist in that manner? She was not one of the viscount’s many lightskirts. His fingers twitched with the sudden urge to plant a facer on the other man, and to keep from doing as much, Auric drummed his fingertips on the edge of his thigh while eyeing her objectively, seeing her as the foolish young swains who’d relegated her to the role of wallflower, saw her. There were her brown curls and the shock of freckles. Then, it was hard to see the lady and not see those very unique features that set her apart from the other ladies. Now, however, he forced himself to peer past the curls and the freckles—and then he widened his eyes, swallowing back a curse.

  Daisy Meadows had grown from troublesome child to voluptuous woman. Vastly different than the lean, delicate, golden creatures he generally preferred, she possessed rich, brown tresses that gleamed in the candlelight. Her heart-shaped face would never be considered characteristically beautiful like that of a delicate, English lady and yet, her large, brown eyes and bow-shaped lips were enough to make a man dream of all manner of wicked thoughts involving those lips. A surge of awareness coursed through him.

  Thunder rumbled outside, shaking the walls of the ballroom. The earth’s way of telling him he would be spending the end of his days in hell for lusting after Daisy Meadows. Not that he was lusting after her per se, because he had sense enough, honor enough, to not ogle Daisy. Any more than he already had, that was. He’d merely
noted her lush form the way any other gentleman might. Such as Wessex. He jerked his attention back to the charming viscount.

  His friend, on the other hand, was less than discreet in his appreciation. Auric glowered as Wessex’s gaze dipped overly long to the generous swell of her bosom. By God, surely the man had sense enough to not long after Lionel’s sister. Auric finished the contents of his champagne and placed the glass down on a passing tray.

  This mind-numbing, black rage that clouded his vision stemmed from a desire to protect Daisy from hurt. That was all. A mere obligatory reaction. Regardless, she would never harbor romantic sentiments for Wessex. Why, the idea was as ludicrous as the lady developing a tendre for Auric’s miserable self. He fixed his gaze on the pair. Just then the other man, who could charm the proper out of matrons and young misses alike, said something Daisy seemed to find of extreme hilarity. Her laughter earned disapproving stares from nearby matrons.

  Auric sucked in a breath, as Daisy was temporarily transformed from someone unremarkable into someone really quite captivating. Her hips were generous, her waist well curved, her breasts… He winked. Twice. The one-two wink that, had she been looking, would have suggested immediate help was needed. And perhaps it was. For he had no place appreciating Daisy Meadows’ lush breasts.

  Egads, she’d become a woman in need of a husband. With the same methodical precision he applied to all aspects of life, Auric turned his attention to the crowded ballroom, taking in the gentlemen assembled. By her admission that morning, the lady sought…he shuddered, romance. He resisted the urge to tug at his suddenly too tight cravat, not at all welcoming the idea of thinking of Daisy as a romantic lady, seeking love.

  Who of the lot here would Lionel have approved of? With the man’s devotion to his younger sister, the obvious answer was, in fact, no one. Daisy’s greatest defender, her most ardent champion, Lionel would have scoffed at the prospect of nearly any one of these gentlemen present courting or wedding his sister.

  Restiveness stirred to life in his breast. He didn’t want this responsibility. The task was too great. The risk of failure not to be contemplated. He registered the orchestra concluding the lively quadrille.

  Except, at the very least, he owed Lionel this much. The details of that night remained cloaked in a black shroud. He could not sort through the memories but for a disjointed collection of experiences that belonged to another. He and Lionel, who’d never argued, had quarreled—but about what? Ultimately, Auric had encouraged the other man to join him at the club, Auric had paid the coin for the woman who’d taken Lionel to another room, and it had been Lionel, who’d ultimately paid—with his life.

  He pressed his eyes closed as a sickening wave of dizziness struck.

  The orchestra plucked the haunting strands of a waltz, the discordant tune eerily suited to the dark memories. He forced his eyes open and there, across the dance floor where even now dancers assembled, his gaze collided with Daisy beside that same Scamozzi column. Only now, she was not alone. She was with Wessex. The other man had also been more of a brother to her than anything else through the years, treating her as a bothersome, younger sister.

  At seeing the wide, unfettered smile that was patently Daisy turned up at the other man, an odd pressure tightened in Auric’s chest. He scoffed. Why should it matter if she was with Wessex? The viscount’s presence relieved him of responsibility. Except, there was nothing at all brotherly in Wessex’s attention now, and annoyance rolled through Auric at the truth of it.

  With a determined step, Auric strode across the ballroom, bypassing marriage-minded misses and their hopeful mamas. He stopped before Daisy and Wessex. “Wessex,” he drawled in the indolent tone he’d perfected as a young boy who’d known he’d ascend to the role of duke. He ignored the narrowing of his friend’s gaze and shifted his attention to the young lady on his arm. “Hello, Daisy.”

  She frowned. “Hullo, Your Grace.”

  Frowned. When she’d been all smiles and boisterous laughs for Wessex, which only mattered because this was Lionel’s sister. He extended his elbow. “I believe this is my set.”

  Daisy hesitated a moment and then placed her fingertips along his coat sleeve.

  Wessex spread his arms and bowed. “I bid thee good evening, lady of the flowers.” That endearment set Auric’s teeth on edge. With a wink, the viscount took himself off.

  Without another glance for the other man, Auric guided Daisy onto the dance floor. Friendship or not, it wouldn’t do for Wessex to go winking at the young lady in public.

  “Oh, Auric, it is merely Marcus,” she said as though gently scolding a small child.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  The lady’s smile was back in place. “You didn’t have to.” She gave him a wink. A single wink.

  You are to wink once if you’re having a splendid time… His heart kicked up a rhythm. On the heel of the damned lightness in his chest was a surge of annoyance with himself.

  “Will you slow down?” Daisy muttered at his side.

  Immediately repentant, he adjusted his stride and guided them to the edge of the ballroom floor. They took their place alongside the other couples. “Wessex, is it?” he asked, placing her hand upon his shoulder and his own along her waist. The orchestra struck the chords of the bold, still frowned upon, dance.

  Another red blush stained her freckled cheeks. “Wessex is what?”

  A muscle ticked at the corner of his mouth. Was the blush because he’d ascertained her interest in Lord Wessex? “Never tell me the romantic hopes you carry for a love match reside with Wessex?”

  A laugh escaped her full, bow-shaped lips. “I don’t imagine that is your business, Auric.”

  He lifted a single eyebrow. “Everything you do is my business, Daisy.” He’d made that pledge over Lionel’s lifeless body.

  A snorting laugh burst from her. “Why, I believe in all your ducal arrogance you actually believe that.” Then, this was Daisy and she’d never been impressed by his title as marquess and the promise of him becoming a future duke. She patted him on the arm. “I’ll assure you, as I assured Lord Wessex, I don’t require additional mothering.” He told himself the rush of relief had more to do with the fact that Wessex had like honorable intentions to see her cared for, and yet, why did that feel like a lie?

  “What if I were to tell you it is because I care, Daisy?”

  What if I were to tell you it is because I care…

  Daisy’s heart sped up with that question, an admission more than anything else. If she were to answer truthfully, her response would be “I’ve been waiting for you to notice me, forever…”

  Except, his words were not born of a man who carried a love for a woman. He didn’t love her. Not in the way she desperately wanted him to. She knew he cared. He’d likely lay down his life to protect her because of the connection shared between their families. But she wanted more of him than that.

  He applied a gentle pressure to her waist and warmth radiated out at the point of his touch. Thrills of awareness coursed through her. His firm caress invoked a familiarity that defied the mere bonds of their familial ties and spoke to her awareness of him as a man.

  Daisy wet her lips and dragged forth a suitable response. “I would say thank you,” she said simply. For even as he didn’t care for her in the way she wished, it mattered that he still remembered her existence when her own mother had forgotten.

  Auric searched her face. “I do care, Daisy. I’ve been deplorably remiss these past four weeks.” Three weeks and six days.

  The earlier warmth faded. She’d never been anything more than a responsibility. With his misplaced sense of obligation to her and her family, he’d insert himself into her life as another brother, failing to realize that his constancy would never replace Lionel. She tipped her chin up. “I appreciate that you visit my mother,” she began, because she did. His presence, though obligatory, brought much joy to the grief-stricken marchioness. “But you have duties that extend beyond my fa
mily.” The muscles of her throat worked. “In your effort to be loyal and devoted to Lionel’s memory, you fail to realize that you have to live your life for you, first.” And that is the only crime he’d been guilty of in the weeks he’d courted Lady Anne and committed himself to finding a duchess.

  Well, that and the crime of breaking her heart.

  The strong muscles of his arm twitched under her fingers, hinting at the tension in his frame. It did not, however, escape her notice that he didn’t issue any false protest to her words.

  She slid her gaze off to the dancers twirling about her. Her eyes collided with the grinning Lady Stanhope and her husband. The tall, blond gentleman whispered something that raised a blush on the lady’s cheeks. Even over the thrum of the orchestra and the buzz of conversation throughout the ballroom, she detected the woman’s husky laugh blended with the earl’s chuckle. Envy tugged at her breast. That is what she craved for herself, and yet studying the other woman in her golden glory, who was so perfectly pleasant and kind and warm, was it any wonder Auric had wanted her for his duchess?

  Auric followed her gaze.

  “She’s lovely,” she murmured.

  He did not pretend to misunderstand. “She’s married.”

  “Are you still hurt by her rejection of your suit?” She immediately wanted to call the words back. “Not that it is my business.” Then she gave him a dry smile. “After all, I’m not a duke and don’t have the right to ask such intimate questions,” she added in an attempt to divert him away from that immediate question that exposed her before him.

  A half-grin turned his lips at the corner and her breath caught. “What you are and are not supposed to do have never stopped you before.” His smiles, once so easily given, were now mere fleeting glimpses of mirth he then buried under his practiced ducal expression and aloofness. This brought her back to the young man who’d willingly schemed with her as a girl.

  She found herself smiling. “No, this is true.” Daisy wanted their waltz to go on forever and steal more time with Auric, and yet the closing strands of the orchestra indicated the end of the set. The dancers drew to a stop, clapping politely about them as they shuffled from the floor.