by Erica Ridley
His body was so close, she could nearly feel his heat against her skin. His dark curls seemed invitingly touchable, his mouth a decadent promise. A risk she dare not take.
Diana swallowed hard. Five years ago, when she’d first decided to serve her country rather than a husband, a tiny part of her had thrilled at the idea of a future filled with undreamed of freedoms.
At the spinster-adjacent advanced age of five-and-twenty, her marriage prospects were already grim. By dispensing with the notion of saving herself for a husband, the exciting possibility of not saving anything at all had occurred to her. A woman could sow wild oats as well as any man, could she not? Independence did not imply a life devoid of pleasure.
The fantasy, of course, had been short-lived. Inviting rakes and rogues into her boudoir would have put her too much in the eye of the ton. Eschewing high society dandies for working men wouldn’t do either. Not when she needed to present the picture of a professional, unmemorable measures inspectress.
Diana’s liaisons with strapping, virile men would remain as fictional as the stories told in the leather-bound novels upon the library shelves.
All of which put her at a distinct disadvantage. She knew everything there was to know about weights and measures and volumes and scales. The one thing she didn’t know was what to do with Colehaven.
Or the way the mere sight of him set her pulse aflutter.
She smoothed her gown, grateful for the limited firelight. “If you’ve come hoping to haul me back to the ballroom to simper at suitors, I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.”
“I suspected as much,” he admitted. “I came anyway.”
“Why?” she asked, expecting him to perhaps gently explain why her hopes and thoughts and dreams were completely wrong and how she should let him dictate when and who she should marry.
“Sometimes I’d rather be anywhere but a dance floor, too,” he replied.
Diana blinked in surprise. “But you’re a duke!”
“Dukes are known for dancing?” he asked with obvious amusement. “Most of them are twice my age and wouldn’t be able to find the orchestra with a quizzing glass.”
“I meant,” she stammered, “aren’t heirs and spares groomed for ton life? I would imagine parties of any size to be second nature.”
“I’m certain it would have been,” he agreed. “If I had been raised as part of it. My sister and I were the dreaded ‘poor relations.’ Few people even knew I was distantly in line for the title.”
“What happened?” she asked softly.
He paused. “May I?”
She settled on the edge of her chair.
After seating himself, he placed his glass of sherry on the side table rather than bring it to his lips. His expression was pensive.
“Most lords bear many heirs in order to avoid their exalted title falling into the hands of some wretched second or third cousin,” he began.
She nodded, frowning.
“I’m the wretched cousin.” His honesty was stark. “One day, an unfamiliar barrister informed me that there had been a series of tragedies over the past decade—”
“You hadn’t seen your family in a decade?” she blurted out.
“I saw my sister every day. She’s my family. No one else ever came to call, perhaps out of fear we would return the gesture.” His tone hardened. “No one was more shocked than me. I had no idea how to be a lord, and suddenly I was a duke.”
She leaned closer. “What did you do?”
“Learned quickly,” he replied. The edges of his mouth curved, but shadows hid whether his smile reached his eyes. “I was sent off for a proper education.”
“And was it?”
This time, he did laugh. “More than anticipated, I’d wager. I was completely unprepared, but threw myself into my studies. I had to learn everything I’d missed in order to understand what was being taught. I’m not sure I slept those first few months, so determined was I to at least be recognized as an academic equal.”
“The other lordlings believed you unworthy of your title?”
He inclined his head. “Unworthy of Oxford. Inferior to them. So I took it upon myself to excel in every way possible. At first, I thought that meant proving myself better than all the lads who laughed behind my back. They might have been born into their roles, but I was determined to study and practice and memorize until I could out-duke the brightest star among them.”
“Did it work?”
“In mysterious ways.” His mouth twisted. “I gained their respect at the expense of my own. I finally realized I was allowing the wrong people to determine the worth of a man.”
She nodded. “The wrong scale.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I wanted to be respected for who I was, not by the labels I received by others. I was tired of those constraints. So I broke free.”
She arched a brow. “How does one do that?”
“In my case?” He winced. “An exceedingly foolish dare that led me to my first true friend at Oxford.”
Diana placed her hands to her temples and feigned concentration. “The spirit guides tell me… the Duke of Eastleigh?”
He widened his eyes. “You should have a fortune-telling tent at Vauxhall. Tell me, will I meet a beautiful stranger?”
“Yes,” she said at once. “His name is Eastleigh.”
He shook his head as if fondly recalling past exploits. “In no time, we were known as the ‘wicked dukes.’ We lived up to the name, I’m afraid. Whenever we weren’t at our studies—or being wicked—we could be found at a local tavern we’d made our second home.”
“Drinking and carousing from dusk till dawn?”
“Worse.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Drinking and carousing with non-titled persons, even if they did not attend university.”
Diana reeled back in mock horror. “Egad!”
He nodded solemnly. “We made friends with half the town before the first year was through. Those drunken debates and spirited conversations introduced me to some of the best men I’ve ever met.”
“I suppose that’s why so many men love to pass their days at their clubs.”
“No,” Colehaven said slowly. “I don’t think it is. Most gentlemen’s clubs are meant for likeminded individuals of similar tastes and backgrounds. Brooks’s is for Whigs, White’s for Tories. If any member believes an applicant fails to fit the mold, a single black ball will bar the unwanted element from entry.”
“What are the rules for membership in the Wicked Duke?”
“The only rule is that there aren’t any rules.” His grin was infectious. “The world may not be equitable for all men, but at least our tavern can be. Regardless of color, creed, or the size of one’s coin purse.”
Diana’s heart warmed. She admired that he strove to create an open forum where multiple classes were not only welcome, but free to share their views and make friends with people wholly different from themselves. It spoke to his character… and filled her with hope.
If she could prove to him an overhaul of England’s weights and measurements system wasn’t just the logical decision but the right thing to do, Colehaven would be the sort of man to stop at nothing to see it through.
She’d done it once, she reminded herself. Her anonymous letters to the House of Lords eventually spurred the Act of 1815. No one suspected the connection, of course. Men might be equal in Colehaven’s tavern, but women weren’t equal anywhere.
There was no chance of Diana’s perspective being respected on its own merit, no matter how much she might wish her thoughts to be seen as valid. If the restructuring was Colehaven’s idea, it would have a chance. He might not be ready to join her in a political debate, but surely this evening proved they did not have to be enemies.
He made a face at his wineglass. “Believe it or not, I didn’t come here to blather on about the good old days at Oxford.”
“The beginning sounded miserable,” she assured him with a smile. “If I was uninterested, I would not
have asked questions.”
If anything, her fingers had itched to slide her journal from its hiding spot and scratch down every word he said in order to analyze it later.
“Then I hope turnabout is fair play,” he said with a wry smile. “I came here because I wanted to know more about you.”
A sudden rush of fear squeezed the breath from her lungs. The last thing she needed was a powerful duke attempting to uncover personal secrets.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said quickly. “I’m sure if there was anything of interest about me, Thaddeus would already have told you.”
“I haven’t asked,” Colehaven admitted. “I wouldn’t want him to misconstrue my interest.”
Well. That bucket of cold water ought to calm her ardor. They might or might not discuss mathematics someday, but the duke’s interest in her was merely as an object of curiosity. Lest Diana forget, Colehaven’s sole motivation was marrying her off to someone else in order to win a wager.
She set down her glass and rose to her feet. “I should get back before he notices my absence.”
Colehaven rose to his feet at once. “Would you like me to escort you?”
“No,” she said crisply. “I wouldn’t want anyone to misconstrue your interest.”
He winced. “That was thoughtless of me. What I meant—”
“Don’t misconstrue my interest, either.” Her pulse fluttered in her throat at his nearness. “I don’t want to marry you.”
He took a step closer. “What do you want from me?”
She allowed her hungry gaze to rake his form. “I…”
The edge of his boot brushed her slipper and suddenly he was far too close for conscious thought at all.
“Stop me,” he said as he lowered his mouth toward hers. “Before I take what I want.”
In reply, she lifted her lips to meet his.
Electricity raced through her, sending tingles throughout her body. Suddenly her fingers were laced about his neck as his arms cradled her flush to his body.
Until this moment, Diana had believed herself jaded. She’d been kissed before. Nothing could surprise her.
But Colehaven set her flesh ablaze. His touch was nothing like the fumbling stolen kisses of her youth. He was confident, strong, secure. His arms were tight about her, both protective and possessive. Any restraint she’d once believed within her control vanished with the taste of his kiss.
He was heat and passion, freedom and danger. Everything she wanted and could never have, wrapped up in an irresistible package her fingers itched to unwrap. He gave as much as he took, filling her with his taste and scent and touch, leaving her breathless for more.
This was not a kiss. This was a fight for dominance. Temptation to surrender. A reckless promise of untold pleasures, and a warning that to sample them could leave her heart in tatters. Yet she was powerless to resist the pull of desire. Her body swayed at the thought of submitting to his mouth, to his hands, to his—
“Diana?” called a confused voice. “Are you in here?”
She and Colehaven flew out of each other’s arms, eyes wide with panic. Diana’s lips hummed with the taste of his kiss. Her trembling legs barely kept her upright. The pounding of her heart still rushed in her ears. But none of that mattered. Thaddeus was here, and if he caught them together…
“Hide,” she hissed to the duke, placing her palms upon his chest to shove him behind the closest stack of books.
Even that simple touch nearly undid her.
With a final piercing gaze full of words neither of them could say, Colehaven melted into the shadows.
“There you are,” scolded Thaddeus as he strode into view. “Could you not hear me calling?”
She slipped her journal from her reticule and flashed its cover toward her cousin. “You know how I am when I’m writing.”
“You could fill a library of your own with as many journals as you keep,” Thaddeus agreed with a fond smile. He held out his elbow. “Come along, then.”
“Am I missed on the dance floor?” she teased. It was an old joke between them, but even as she said the words, Diana realized the humor was no longer there.
She was not Thad’s little wallflower cousin. She was his albatross. His cross to bear. A burden so disappointing, he had felt forced to enlist the aid of his most powerful acquaintance in a desperate attempt to rid himself of her once and for all.
“I shan’t make you dance,” he said with a little sigh. “I’ve summoned the carriage. We can go home.”
Home. Diana had hoped it would be so for the rest of her life. Knowing her cousin did not feel the same twisted shards of ice in her heart.
When the carriage arrived, he handed her in without a cross word and bounded inside to join her.
Diana loved her cousin. She could no longer keep her silence.
“I’m sorry I am not what society expects me to be,” she mumbled. “What you need me to be.”
She did not regret the path she’d chosen for herself, or all the positive change she had and would create for her fellow citizens. But she hated that doing so fractured her relationship with the sole family member she had left.
Brow lined with concern, Thaddeus took her hands. “I don’t want you to please me. I want you to find someone who pleases you. It’s what you deserve. What everyone deserves. As soon as you’re happily married, I will do the same.”
Diana’s throat was too tight for a response to form. Her cousin’s well-wishes squeezed her heart.
This was so much worse than being a disappointment. She was holding back his life. As her guardian, he felt it his duty to see her safely settled. By refusing to do so, she was preventing him from finding the love he craved.
Even if she could somehow convince him not to wait for her, to keep searching until he found his perfect match, she could not be the anchor weighing down their happy union. Diana had reached the age of majority. She could not presume to remain her cousin’s ward forever.
Sooner rather than later, she would need to be gone.
Chapter 10
Cole awoke with the taste of Miss Middleton’s kiss still haunting his lips. He dressed, broke his fast, attempted to concentrate on the morning paper. But it was no use. His brain could focus on nothing but the delicious memory of last night’s stolen moment.
He should not have kissed her. If he’d possessed the least suspicion that she would welcome, rather than spurn, such reckless behavior, perhaps he would not have… oh, who was he bamming? Cole rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.
If he’d believed she intended to kiss him back, he would only have kissed her all the sooner.
Even in the harsh light of day, he could not bring himself to be sorry he had done so. If her cousin had not spoiled the moment, Cole would happily still be in the library right now, his arms about Miss Middleton’s warm curves and his mouth enjoying hers. The last thing on his mind had been stopping.
It wouldn’t do, of course. The terms of the wager required him to match Miss Middleton with some other gentleman. A love match, he’d boldly assured her guardian. Right after agreeing not to publicly influence the outcome by feigning interest in order to manipulate other gentlemen’s perceptions.
The kiss had not been public.
Nor had it been feigned.
Cole could not allow such a lapse in judgment to repeat. What the devil had he been thinking?
That she was beautiful and maddening and clever. That moments with her were completely unpredictable. That he could not live another moment without knowing the taste of her lips.
“Imbecile,” he muttered.
Something had to be done. He summoned his carriage and directed the coachman toward the Wicked Duke. The tavern would not open for a few more hours, but the familiar drive might help to clear his head.
The sooner he found a worthy match for Miss Middleton, the sooner he could have done with the wager and put all of his attention toward Parliament.
Being chosen to replace
Lord Fortescue as committee leader required far more than luck. He needed to be a viable candidate. Strategic and clever, conservative and steady. The sort of man who would not embroil himself in embarrassing scandal. Such as stealing kisses from a woman he had no intention to wed.
There. That put paid to the matter. Cole would not be on the hunt for a bride until the following year, at the earliest, which meant absolutely no roguery with proper young ladies until he was prepared to marry one.
“Wicked Duke,” called his driver as he pulled the horses to a stop. “Where to now?”
Cole exchanged a crooked grin with the coachman. This was far from the first drive they’d taken without any particular destination in mind.
“Home, please.”
Within seconds, the horses were once again on the move.
Often when Cole needed to think, watching London trundle by did him a world more good than staring at the walls of his study. Particularly if he was ruminating a matter for Parliament. Putting eyes on the very people he was trying to serve kept his focus sharp.
There was never any reason to exit the carriage, because the decisions he needed to reach were located within his mind. More often than not, he was back home within the hour, refreshed and—
“Stop!” he barked, his nose nearly crushing against the carriage window when the coachman immediately obeyed his command.
Perhaps the morning sun slanting across the glass distorted his judgment, but Cole could swear that the plain-clothed woman striding unaccompanied down an alleyway between two buildings was none other than Miss Middleton.
“Stop,” he said again, but did not know whether he was speaking to the baffling Miss Middleton or his own galloping heart.
“Wait here,” he instructed the driver and leaped from the coach.
Carriages, horses, and carts crossed the busy road, blocking Cole’s path—and his view. When at last he could cross the street in pursuit of Miss Middleton, she was no longer visible to the eye.
Swearing beneath his breath, Cole hurried in the direction he’d last glimpsed her.
Perhaps nothing was amiss. Perhaps there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for a proper young lady to be dressed in drab muslin, wandering alone in empty alleyways hours before her genteel counterparts would even open their eyes.