The Duke Meets His Matchmaker (The Duke Hunters Club, #5)

by Blythe, Bianca

  She stared at him.

  He inhaled. “The only person who makes my heart,” he paused and smiled, “pitter-patter is you.”

  Her mouth dried. None of this made sense.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “So beautiful.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The duke hesitated, then he tilted his head and narrowed the short distance between them.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Daisy’s eyes widened, and her breath halted. He couldn’t mean to kiss her. Surely not. Absolutely not.

  In the next moment, his lips were on hers, and the world shifted.

  She was being kissed.

  She, Daisy Holloway, was one hundred percent being kissed. His lips played with hers, and she opened her mouth to meet them, as if her body knew exactly what to do in this situation.

  Daisy hadn’t prepared for this. She’d prepared for everything, but not this. She’d prepared the candles, she’d prepared the music, and she’d prepared the women outside to be excited about meeting the duke, assuaging any fears he might behave in the beast-like fashion some of the broadsheets indicated.

  Kisses had been something she hadn’t prepared for, but she was certainly being kissed now. He moved her toward the wall, so she was wedged between the wall and his chest as he held her in his arms.

  She closed her eyes and focused on the sensation of his kiss.

  She should pull back, of course. She only had to move her head, and he would stop.

  That was the ladylike thing to do. She should demand he place her back in her chair, then hurry to rejoin the others.

  Perhaps she could pretend nothing had happened.

  No, there was no question she knew what to do and what propriety required.

  Yet, at this moment, she couldn’t care the least bit about rules. Not when the man’s tongue was doing such interesting things. Not when she felt like she was floating, like she was in some heavenly space. Who knew Reggie’s mouth could do such delicious things?

  “What is this?” Papa’s voice shot through the room, and Daisy stiffened.

  The musicians continued to play, incognizant of the sudden tension in the room.

  “Stop immediately,” Papa demanded.

  Reggie halted, and Daisy had a strange urge to cry. Slowly, she glanced toward her father. His face was red, even though his face was never red. His fists tightened, as if he were about to strike the duke. “Put her down.”

  “Sir...” Reggie protested, and in the next moment, Papa had grabbed hold of Daisy’s waist and dragged her to her chair. Her waist hurt as he squeezed her tightly, and her feet lay limp against the floor. Then he pushed her into the chair. The chair rolled back, and she shrieked.

  Papa’s face remained red, and he turned to the duke. “See what you’ve done?”

  “I was holding her,” the duke said, his eyes wide.

  “Well, you shouldn’t have been,” Papa said. “You could have dropped her. What then?”

  “I wasn’t going to drop her,” the duke said.

  “He’s a boxer, Papa,” Daisy said gently. “He’s strong.”

  “I don’t think you’re an expert on that,” Papa growled irritably. “Besides, he’s a boxer who lost his most recent match.”

  The duke’s features turned to stone.

  “And,” Papa said, evidently getting into the spirit of insulting the duke, “I believe you injured yourself too. Your knee, right? I don’t think you should be carrying my daughter.”

  “You mustn’t speak like that to him,” Daisy said. “He’s a duke.”

  “And you’re my daughter,” her father said. “You’re far more important.”

  “I’m sorry,” Reggie said, “I didn’t think—”

  “That’s right,” Papa said, and his nostrils flared. “You didn’t think. Not a common occupation of boxers. Do you even know what happened to her?”

  Reggie shook his head, and two ruddy spots formed on each of his cheeks.

  “She fell,” Papa said. “She was young and active and she fell. And now she won’t get better.”

  “I can’t get better,” Daisy said gently.

  She’d never seen Papa like this.

  “But I’m fine,” Daisy said. “I’m happy. I don’t even remember using my legs.”

  “But I remember,” Papa declared, flailing his hands in the air. “I remember that you used to dance to music, even when you could barely walk. I remember you would run. And then I remember the incident.” His face grimaced.

  “How did it happen?” Reggie asked softly.

  Papa whirled toward him. “She fell off the balcony. It was only one story—but it was enough.”

  “I see,” Reggie said.

  Papa frowned and moved behind Daisy’s chair. He jerked it forward, and Daisy quickly grabbed hold of the chair handles.

  “I only want the best for Daisy,” Reggie said.

  “Then don’t dance with her,” Papa said. “I know you’re going to marry one of the other women out there. The room is filled with them. I don’t want you to confuse her.”

  Embarrassment swept through Daisy, and her face reddened. “Let’s go, Papa.”

  Papa nodded and moved her chair. Daisy glanced toward the duke, but his face appeared stunned.

  “Stop,” Reggie said. “I’ll marry her.” He inhaled. “I mean—I want to marry her.”

  Daisy’s eyes widened, and horror moved through her. The duke couldn’t propose. Perhaps he’d forgotten he required a wealthy bride. She turned to her father. “He doesn’t mean it.”

  “I know, child,” her father said sadly.

  “But I am sincere!” Reggie exclaimed. He leaped toward her and took her hands in his. Heat moved through her at his touch. Reggie may as well have been an ember. Heavens, he may as well have been the very sun.

  She stared at him, and for a moment, she wondered.

  His eyebrows were drawn together so seriously, and a hopeful gaze was in his eyes. She longed to believe he was truly proposing, that he actually couldn’t imagine anything better than spending the rest of his life with her.

  But it was impossible. The adjoining room was filled with suitable brides, and she wasn’t one of them. Anyone could tell him that, and not merely by looking at Papa’s ledgers. Reggie didn’t know what he was saying. He had a castle to maintain. He’d remember at some point, and she wasn’t going to have him look at her with regret.

  Papa grabbed hold of the wheelchair and pushed her from the alcove, into the room filled with beautifully attired women, all carefully selected by Daisy. Her heart tore against her chest, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Some looked at her with concern; after all, everyone was kind and nice and eminently suited to be Reggie’s wife.

  I won’t cry. I won’t cry. I won’t cry.

  Papa pushed Daisy’s chair with even greater force, and she clutched hold of the sides. Her knuckles whitened with the effort. Daisy wanted to tell him to slow down, but she forced herself not to. Telling him how helpless she was would hardly improve matters.

  Finally they came to the stairs. Papa sighed and looked around. Alistair hurried to them.

  “Leaving already?” Alistair asked.

  “Yes,” Papa said.

  “I hope you had a pleasant time.” Alistair flashed his customary smile.

  “No,” Papa replied.

  Alistair blinked. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Help me carry my daughter in this blasted chair down these blasted steps.”

  Alistair’s eyebrows shot up. He gave Daisy a questioning look, as if he half-expected her to refuse, but she nodded slightly. Papa was correct. She shouldn’t be at the ball anymore.

  “Very well.” Alistair marched to Daisy. “I’ll—er—pick up this side.”

  “Good,” Papa said.

  In the next moment, Daisy was hoisted up. Alistair and Papa moved her swiftly down the steps as laughter drifted from the ballroom.

  Daisy hope
d they weren’t laughing at her abrupt departure, and kept her face rigid. She had no desire for Alistair to remark to the duke that her behavior had been strange. She didn’t want him to say she’d been carried out unwillingly.

  After all, perhaps Papa was correct. No respectable matchmaker went about kissing her clients. No good would come of continuing to be so close to the duke. He needed to find a wife, and she’d found some excellent choices. She wasn’t going to become distraught when he married one of them.

  It was just...

  She inhaled.

  She was going to miss him. She was going to miss his sultry dark eyes and she was going to miss speaking with him.

  No one else had ever kissed her before, and perhaps no one else ever would.

  She wrapped her arms around her body. The hack moved too slowly, and her chair rattled as the carriage made its way up the cobblestones.

  “The duke is a man of disrepute,” Papa said.

  Daisy was silent. She needed to change the conversation. “You never told me how I injured myself before.”

  “One minute you were running, stretching your eyes to the sky, and laughing like the utter angel you are. And the next moment, you lay on some rocks in the garden below. We thought you’d died.”

  “I’m still here.”

  Papa glanced at her legs. “Not all of you.”

  Daisy blinked hard, willing them to move, willing them to do something so her father no longer worried.

  “I vowed then that you would walk again, no matter what the doctors said,” Papa said.

  “I know, Papa.” Daisy’s heart ached. “I know.”

  “I also know that man will only hurt you.”

  “He won’t.”

  “You were at a party to find him a wife. And you weren’t even one of the prospects, were you?”

  Daisy blinked. “No.”

  “Stay away from him,” Papa said. “Men are beasts.”

  “He said that,” Daisy said softly.

  “Then there’s your answer.”

  Daisy wanted to protest and say that statement had been made in an entirely different context; instead, she turned toward the window. The thin curtains rustled with the hack’s movements, allowing a shifting vision of the city. Candlelight glowed from some windows. The hour was not overly late, and horses trotted past the hack. The rhythmic sound was no longer comforting, and she fought the urge to cry.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Reggie stumbled from the room and entered the main drawing room. He glanced about, but Daisy and her father had left.

  He gritted his teeth and pretended Daisy’s father hadn’t spent the previous five minutes criticizing him. He hadn’t meant to hurt Daisy. He was certain he hadn’t been hurting Daisy. He’d seen how she tapped her fingers against her chair when she was excited, and he’d suddenly wanted to be swirling about the room with her in his arms.

  His heart ached, imagining a young, active Daisy tumbling from a balcony. She was curious, and it was easy to imagine her rushing about and getting into trouble. Perhaps that’s why her parents tried so hard to heal her. Perhaps if she’d been born without the ability to walk, they might resign themselves to the fact she could never amble or stroll.

  He gazed out the picture window. Daisy’s father and a driver were carrying Daisy into a hack. Reggie could still run down and apologize again. He could still usher them up to the ball.

  Instead, he stayed.

  He’d thought Daisy might care for him, but clearly he’d been wrong. He’d seen the look of horror on her face when he suggested they marry. He knew how women were supposed to receive proposals, and looks of horror were never the aim.

  Perhaps Daisy’s father was correct. Perhaps the best thing he could do for Daisy was simply to choose one of these women she had selected.

  He blinked, then sturdied his features and gazed at the other guests.

  He approached the nearest woman. She had glossy brunette locks that framed her face. She dipped quickly into a curtsy when she saw him.

  “I hope you’ve been enjoying the festivities,” he murmured.

  “Oh, yes, indeed, Your Grace,” she breathed. “It is most pleasant.”

  “I’m glad.” He stared at her, wondering what to talk to her about. He suspected boxing matches might not be of interest to her.

  She shifted her weight, perhaps experiencing a similar boredom. His heart panged, thinking of Daisy. Daisy always was happy to chatter about things.

  “The weather is quite nice, isn’t it, Your Grace?” the woman asked.

  He nodded gratefully. “Er—yes. It’s only rained a few times today.”

  “I suppose it hasn’t been particularly nice,” the woman said, her voice shaking.

  “Very nice for the flowers,” Reggie said courteously.

  The woman’s face brightened. “You have the most magnificent flower arrangements.”

  Reggie smiled, thinking of Daisy. “I do. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I’m Beatrice Thompson.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “How nice. I hope you’re enjoying your stay in Bath.”

  She shrugged. “It is tolerable.”

  “Yes,” Reggie agreed. “It’s tolerable.”

  The heiress beamed at him, as if delighted he’d approved of her insight.

  Alistair strode into the room. He frowned slightly, and Reggie looked away guiltily. No doubt Alistair had seen Daisy’s hasty departure.

  Instead, Alistair picked up a silver platter from the banquet table. “Drink, Your Grace?”

  “Yes,” Reggie said gratefully, imbibing the liquid.

  Unfortunately, neither his brandy’s immaculate quality nor the dependable taste of alcohol could prevent his mind from musing on Daisy. She’d felt so right in his arms, and now his arms ached, as if they missed her. Hell, he missed her.

  The music no longer seemed pleasant. The relentlessly happy tempo jarred against his ears, and his heart hurt, as if the musicians’ ever-moving violin bows were striking it. Long velvet curtains framed the picture windows, as if to will people to ponder the view, but only inky darkness was visible. He stared at the crisscrossing pattern of the windowpanes.

  “You seem contemplative, Your Grace.” A cool alto voice he recognized interrupted his thoughts, and he turned toward the sound.

  “Princess Aria.” Reggie nodded stiffly.

  She gave a tight smile, but her eyes remained solemn.

  He shivered. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

  “Miss Holloway told me you generally do not thrust women into the river.”

  He gave a wry smile. “I must apologize.”

  She shrugged. “You gave my bodyguard some excitement. I’d thought Papa had been foolish in employing him.”

  “Well, Bathampton is hardly Seven Dials.”

  She stared at him, and he remembered she was new to this country.

  “Forgive me. Seven Dials is a neighborhood in London. The sort of place where one can buy a knife.”

  “Ah.” She nodded.

  One could buy much more than a knife there, not that Reggie had ever tried.

  “Another brandy, Your Grace?” Alistair interrupted his morose thoughts.

  Reggie took the drink from Alistair. “Er—thank you.”

  He imbibed the drink hastily and returned it to Alistair. Alistair gazed at him with a worried expression.

  Blast it.

  He’d held Daisy in his arms. He’d danced with her. He’d proposed to her.

  Not in the optimal manner, of course. Daisy’s father had interrupted his proposal. Still, it had seemed vital Daisy and her father know his intentions were honorable. He’d never paid much attention to the niceties of ritual. It had seemed silly to wait a day so he could call upon Daisy’s house in the afternoon, when he’d known then and there that he wanted to marry Daisy.

  A sour taste invaded his throat as he recalled Daisy’s astonished look. He’d misread everything. He’d acted with the sort
of unprofessionalism he despised. He’d heard whispers about men who’d propositioned those in their employment. Though Daisy was hardly a servant, she had spent time with him in the hopes of receiving a monetary exchange, not cow-eyed glances, unwelcome dances that risked injuring her, and romantic propositions.

  His heart twisted and squeezed, like a cork being forced back into a wine bottle. All this time, he’d imagined there might be something more. Daisy knew him better than anyone else in the world. But she hadn’t seemed pleased at his proposal. She hadn’t smiled, even though heavens knew she always smiled. But then, she knew him. She knew his inclination toward grumpiness, and she knew the terseness of his conversation. Reggie wasn’t the type of man to go about regaling others, and perhaps Daisy wanted that. He touched his face, conscious of the long scar that swiveled from his eye to his chin. Daisy was beautiful.

  He turned to the princess. “I’m afraid I haven’t made the best conversation.”

  “I don’t mind some quiet,” the princess said. “English is my second language.”

  He nodded.

  Evidently, he and the princess had something in common. They could both live in silence.

  He swallowed hard, and his heart thumped wildly, as if protesting the idea. A month ago, he wouldn’t have minded the prospect, and would even have thought he favored it.

  Reggie forced himself to ask the princess about the weather patterns of her home. Daisy wanted him to pick a bride, so he should at least talk to his prospective matches. But his mind focused on Daisy. Blast it, what must she be thinking of him? He needed her. He craved her. He’d met her, and now no one else would do. No title, no piles of money would suffice as solace.

  The princess’s bodyguard glowered at them from a corner.

  “He’s quite protective,” Reggie noted.

  “He’s paid handsomely to be protective,” the princess said.

  “That must make you rich.” Reggie realized the words were gauche as soon as he said them.

  The princess merely shrugged. “People will pay a lot for diamonds and rubies.”

  “I’ve always been partial to emeralds.”