A Duke's Temptation (15 page)

A duke wielded unfair advantage, it was true. And oftentimes Samuel used the advantage to further a good cause. This, however, was a personal affair, a selfish one. He had wanted her. And now she was legally bound to him.

He did not want to let her go, even if his conscience argued that it was the right thing.

She had stated an obvious truth.

He could not control her destiny as if she were one of the characters in his books. Had he really expected her to view his intervention as an adventure? Samuel had found abducting a lady in genuine fact to be an asinine humiliation to both parties involved.

Lily had not fallen rapturously into his arms. He was, as those who knew him said often in despair, a man who conceitedly believed he could take every broken creature into his care.

And something
had
happened to break her spirit. Even now he could tell by the tangled bedcovers that sleep brought her little peace.

He had devoured every tidbit of information about her that his solicitor had sent him since the week that Samuel had left London. He had even tormented himself by seeking news of her wedding. Yes, he had wished it would go wrong. He had wished that
she
would change her mind about marrying her captain. But that she had claimed to have witnessed a murder and then fallen into disgrace was a solution he had never anticipated, and not the romantic opening he sought.

The privacy of those Samuel guarded would not be violated to satisfy anyone’s curiosity. And when the day came that Lily felt safe to entrust him with whatever burdened her, he would view it as an honor.

More than anything he wanted her to be the spontaneous, slightly naughty spirit he had half seduced in an enchanted garden. But something had hurt her.

Would he do the same? Had she lost faith in love? Would he find a way to restore her confidence?

What had he done?

Taken a chance, made a rash decision based on a single evening with a woman who had belonged to someone else. She was an inexperienced flirt who had enticed the wrong man. He should have known better. His solicitor had warned him. It had been arrogance on his part to pursue her. And yet it was more than arrogance now. Their lives were entangled. He had wanted her in his bed. But he did not want her as an unwilling partner, a woman who had no other choice. He would rather persuade her properly, one smile, one kiss, one confidence at a time. If he could sway the House of Lords, could he not win over the only woman he had ever truly wanted?

Even the hair that tumbled over her shoulders looked darker than he remembered. But she was lovely still. He reached down gently to raise the coverlet over the lush body that tempted his senses. His hand brushed against her breast, felt the softness and an urge to cup its weight. He could discern the peak stiffening against her muslin nightdress. Pulsing heat spread through his veins. He could not help himself. He leaned down silently.

She stirred, turning onto her side. He stared at the folds of linen that draped her back, the contours of her body.

Resolutely he stood to escape the temptation of touching her.

Her voice rose, clear and alert, before he crossed the room.

“I will not be your mistress.”

He paused.
That
was more like the lady he remembered. “I don’t believe I asked.”

No.

He had considered asking her to be his wife.

And she, with good cause, considered him to be a conniving scoundrel.

L
ily shivered in the dawning light. She could not imagine a worse morning to travel. She had been awakened by the other guests thumping down the stairs and rain assaulting the roof. She dreaded the thought of another day in that coach. As for its owner, well, her gentle squire was a quintessential rake, and she had not decided how she would deal with him. It seemed naive to accept his apology at face value. She had no reason to trust him.

What
had
she done?

What better choice had been offered her?

Had she fled one man’s deception to fall into another one’s bed?

She had signed an employment contract.

Would he force her to fulfill its terms? Had she even
read
the terms? In satisfying their agreement, would he also try to fulfill his own desires? She would not make it easy on him if he did.

She took a good breakfast and dressed warmly to face whatever she would face after she left her room. The duke’s two footmen introduced themselves to her as Emmett and Ernest. Ernest took charge of loading her luggage. Emmett escorted her through the bustling inn to the coach.

To her extreme relief the duke was not playing coachman today. It appeared that the customary driver had been summoned back for the rest of the journey.

And the duke . . . She should have known. He was sitting inside the coach, sorting through a sheaf of papers, and looking more vitally male in his dark coat and black trousers than her befuddled mind could ignore this early in the morning. Her throat tight, she dropped inelegantly into the opposite seat.

He glanced up. His gaze appraised her before he spoke across the uncomfortable silence. “I hope you do not object to our traveling together. I assume you would prefer it to my driving. Or to a public coach.”

She searched inside her reticule for her book. As disenchanted as she had become with its improbable ideals, she would rather read it than be caught staring at him. She could not deny that he still drew her eye.
La beauté du diable.
There was nothing angelic about his allure. She would not encourage his attention.

He put aside his papers. “Is that
Wickbury
?” he asked, bending toward her.

She lowered the book. The pleasant scent of his light cologne intruded on her senses. It brought back an unwanted rush of feelings, of memory. His firm mouth upon hers. His knowing touch arousing a bittersweet wanting inside her. How dark her way had become.

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “It is the last published
Wickbury
, Book Six in the series, and the most overwrought, sentimental, romanticized pile of rubbish I have ever had the displeasure to reread. I don’t know what I saw in these stories before.”

He drew back, blinking as if she had slapped him. “That is a strong reaction.”

She pursed her lips and lifted the book into the light. The coachman blew his bugle and gave a resounding shout of warning to the guests huddled in the rain-washed courtyard.

Lily settled against the seat to read. “Let me give you an example,” she said. “Ah. Here we go. ‘Beloved, is it possible that I beheld your glowing countenance from my prison cell last evening as I awoke? Was it a dream? Mayhap it does not matter. Illusion or not, the image of you has given me the courage to escape. . . .’”

A faint smile crossed his face. “I thought that you were a devoted follower of these books.”

“I have outgrown fairy tales.”

“Have you? Do you know that I once witnessed two elderly ladies in a library weeping as their companion read aloud the very passage that you mock?”

“Perhaps they were weeping because it was so very bad.”

“My goodness. We are a sourpuss, aren’t we?”

“It’s all twaddle. Heroes and heroines and badly researched history.”

“Do you honestly dislike those books?” he inquired in what, if she hadn’t known better, was a genuinely concerned voice.

“Dislike them? No. I hate them,” she burst out. “I despise every wonderful, horrible word. I hate them because they aren’t true and that world doesn’t . . . doesn’t . . .”

He removed a clean folded handkerchief from his vest pocket. “Go on.”

She stared at the handkerchief in annoyance. “What is that for?”

“To dry your tears.”

“Do you think I would weep over a book, like your old ladies in the library?”

“There is nothing wrong with a woman having a good cry.”

She nodded. “I’m more convinced than ever that a woman wrote these books. Some poor deluded spinster who has no idea of what she is writing about.”

He tucked his handkerchief back in his pocket. “The author is not poor, from what I understand of publishing. Deluded is quite a possibility.”

“It’s indecent,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“I wish,” he said wryly, “that you had expressed these opinions the evening we met.”

“You,” she countered, “only pretended to be passionate about
Wickbury
. Why did I fall for such an obvious lure?”

“I did
not
pretend.”

She subjected him to a dubious scrutiny. “What am I going to do? Where will I go?”

“We will decide that when we reach St. Aldwyn House tonight.”

She turned to the window.

She felt his piercing stare. “Perhaps then,” he added, “we can come to a better understanding.”

They did not speak again for another three hours, until they changed horses at the next inn and the Devon countryside turned lonely in the encroaching shadows of twilight. What a perfect place for the disillusioned, Lily mused.

The horses climbed a track marked only by a stone cross. The coach wheels shook, churning up peat. An unexpected tranquillity stole over Lily. She closed her eyes in reluctant drowsiness, despite or perhaps because of the jostling rhythm. But no sooner had she begun to drift off than she felt the duke at her side, anchoring her in his arms.

“It is a perilous ride from here,” he said, his breath caressing the hollow above her collarbone. “It might even be the most unsafe place on the moor.”

Enveloped in his embrace, Lily could hardly disagree. His body felt like warm iron and infinitely dangerous.

“Listen carefully,” he said, his voice low and lulling as he glanced toward the window. “Do you hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“Only the wind or water rushing over a bed of rocks. I have lived in the country, Your Grace. Nature soothes me.”

He shook his head. “But you aren’t listening with your inner ear.”

“What am I doing here?” she whispered to herself. “How did this happen to me?”

He took her chin in his hand, tilting her face back to the window. The silhouette of a castle stood in stark isolation on a hill. At this distance it appeared to hang in the rising mist above the moor. The dark towers enhanced its atmosphere of abandonment, as did the boulder-strewn approach and its border of thorns.

It struck her as melancholy and Gothic and beautiful at once. It was a ruin for the intrepid to explore and for the timid to avoid. The Lily of old, who’d had influence over her fate, would have insisted that the carriage take a detour, and she would have been obeyed.

She gave a sudden start. “I think I just saw a figure on the walkway. It couldn’t have been, could it?”

“Who knows?” he mused, staring over her shoulder. “The castle is said to be haunted by its former inhabitants.”

Lily slowly turned to regard him. His face hovered indecently close to hers. She slid nearer to the door. He gave her an inscrutable smile.

“I might like to sketch that castle by day,” she said to cover her discomposure. “If I stay.”

“Do you sketch?” he asked, his dark eyes irresistibly warm.

“Not as well as I should after years of study. But I enjoy the art as an amateur.”

“Perhaps you had better choose another subject, one nearer the manor house.” Amusement deepened the seductive timbre of his voice. “
If
you stay. The castle interior is in shambles and unsafe. On misty autumn nights the gypsies take shelter and brew their potions to sell at the fair.”

“That doesn’t sound as off-putting to a country girl as you undoubtedly mean it to,” Lily said. “Are
you
afraid to cross the drawbridge?”

He laughed. “It is not my theory that the castle is haunted and that Satan rules a court of ghosts within. The villagers believe this.”

“Who owns the castle?”

“I do.” He said this as if she should have guessed, and deep inside she had.

“And do you not believe in ghosts?” She recalled the question his agent had asked of her the day of her interview.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I haven’t made up my mind. I would not be scared, though, if I encountered one. Would you?”

“I’m not frightened of ghosts at all,” she said firmly. “And I don’t know what I would do if one appeared to me. I might chase him away. Or I might ask him for advice. But would I be scared? If I am not afraid of you, Your Grace, why should I cower from something I cannot see?”

 

 

 

He was relieved that she had agreed to ride with him inside the coach. It seemed absurd that as Lord Anonymous he could enact a romantic abduction and be lauded for it. When would he learn that what played out well in
Wickbury
had unfortunate consequences in reality?

Of course, as a duke, he had encountered a few women who would have relished the adventure. The problem was that none of them particularly inspired his adventurous spirit. And Lily did. Even now, his conscience stinging, he was drawn to her. It was clear that she did not return the sentiment. Had he ruined the chance to offer himself as her guardian? Could he be strong enough to deny his nature while he proved his worth?

Perhaps not. She tempted him too much. Her soft body was surely made for pleasure and a man’s protection. But to earn her trust? It did not seem possible when he had not revealed his complete identity.

He had dug himself into deeper graves than this. Now the urgent questions nagged at him. Could he plot his way to the daylight? Could he merge all his identities into a man whom Lily could not resist?

A
pproaching the gatehouse from the end of the sweeping gravel drive, the uninitiated visitor would not suspect that St. Aldwyn House hid any secrets. It appeared to be a peaceful estate. The elegant gray facade presented the epitome of late Elizabethan charm, untouched by centuries of architectural trends.