A Duke's Temptation (7 page)

Still, in recent months Samuel had concluded that a writer should be unpredictable. Within a liberal framework of a certain predictability, that was. He did not want to betray his readers.

But who was Lord Anonymous to determine that an unwholesome character like Sir Renwick could not repent of his sins? He could always take another dark turn in the next book.

Lovely young ladies like Lily thought it was possible.

Samuel and Lord Anonymous, who infrequently acted as one, would like to make her happy.

He glanced up, appraising the topiary figures. “We will have to leave the story up to the author. I take it that you are impressed by the garden.”

“It’s wonderful. Except . . . where is the woman they both want?”

“The most desirable lady in England?”

“Yes.”

“She’s here.”

She glanced around in curiosity, wondering how she could have missed the provocative heroine. “Is she in the grotto? I don’t see her.”

“I do.”

The low insinuation in his voice sent a sizzle of impending danger down her spine. He was going to kiss her. And she was not discouraging him. She had not made a single move to dissuade him. He wrapped one arm around her waist. His other hand caressed a path from her wrist to her throat. The garden lights that danced above them grew dim. A dark warmth enveloped her.

This was the moment to resist. Chloe would come to her rescue. Lily had been warned. Which did not explain why she raised her face and drew a breath. Or why she laid her fingers on the duke’s forearm, thrilling at the latent strength that she could feel there. A nightingale sang from a nearby tree. His firmly molded mouth met hers with an intimacy that filled her with terror and wonder.

Slowly she parted her lips, the instinct undeniable. She realized what he would think—that she was inviting him to take more.

Perhaps she was.

He accepted.

There was no chance to change her mind. It happened too quickly. A rush of feelings overcame her, too intense, too tantalizing for her thoughts to follow. His tongue teased the contours of her lips before penetrating her mouth in a skillful play that demonstrated his reputation for persuasion.

She had been kissed before. But not like this.

Her mouth had never been seduced with such delicious intensity. His thumb caressed the cleft of her chin, the curls that fell against her shoulder. Shivers spun across her skin like cobwebs. Then slowly he sucked at her lower lip, his arm holding her immobile. His gaze bespoke wicked promises. She felt his intentions in the anticipation that pierced her awareness.

His slight looks had deceived her. Beneath his lithe elegance he was taut and untamed, his sinewy frame chiseled with agile strength. What else did his disguise conceal? Better that she never know. She wouldn’t see him after tonight, anyway.

He gripped her harder.

She did not resist.

He was relentless. The vanquisher with the virgin.

Perhaps he sensed that his kiss had unsteadied her. Perhaps he knew that she would sink to her knees if he released her now. She wasn’t the first woman he’d conquered in a dark corner.

Knight-errant.

He had meant to possess her the moment that their eyes had caught.

His hand caressed her hip. Silently she insisted that he stop. But the words never came. This gentle stroking stole her will. And still she let him kiss her, excitement flooding her veins, pulsing deep inside.

He was not forcing her. But was this surrender? His kiss awakened a part of her she had always known existed.

Why did her sense of passion demand attention now, with this man?

Could she ignore this yearning, or was it already too late? A door opened before her. Was it light inside or a portal to endless dark?

“Let us take off these masks,” he said softly.

She shook her head. “Not yet.”

She didn’t want to be reminded it was only an illusion, the pleasure they shared. It was a fleeting dalliance he would easily forget. To see him unmasked would only strengthen his imprint on her mind. She would forbid herself to think of him after tonight.

“Whatever you want,” he whispered.

A sigh escaped her. She wanted more.

He ravished her mouth with unbearable sweetness. Then he bent his head to her throat. The yearning intensified. She wondered if he guessed how hard her heart was beating. Had she affected him like that, too? She hoped she had. Her body clung to his, scandalously close, close enough that she felt how strong, how male he was. He brushed a strand of sensual kisses from the rise of one shoulder to the other. She thought she might be melting from the inside out.

He kissed a trail to the soft cleavage that rose from her golden underbodice. She drew a breath. His fingers caught her hip harder, crushing her cloak, her gown, her skin. Belatedly she pulled to free herself. Her body trembled.

He grasped her hand, gathering her back against his heat.

“You promised,” she whispered.

“You are safe.”

“You said you would behave.”

“Take my word on it,” he said. “I am stretched on a rack of self-torture. Never have I denied my deepest nature as I am at this moment.”

“Deny yourself, indeed.”

“I am hanging by a thread,” he said softly.

“I trust it is a strong one.”

“It is not the strength of the thread that worries me,” he explained wryly. “It is the power of the one holding it.”

“You look powerful enough to survive a broken thread,” she murmured, her lips twitching in a smile.

“Perhaps it is the breastplate. It adds inches to my shoulders.”

Lily started to laugh. She had noticed strength in other areas of his body that she wouldn’t dare mention. “There were several ladies at the party following your every gesture. Your disguise had nothing to do with it.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “But I was paying attention only to you. And now I suppose I shall prove I’m a man of my word—unless you give me permission to—”

“Enough,” she said, breathless with temptation, suddenly reluctant to escape the gauntleted arm that trapped her in this delicious tension.

“Enough,” he agreed reluctantly, and exhaled, relaxing his grasp but not quite letting go. “As you say.” He gave a shrug of resignation.

His mouth touched hers, flint to tinder, a farewell to sin unfulfilled. His black silky hair skimmed the bare contour of her shoulder. Even that accidental touch implied intimate pleasure. The tips of her breasts tightened as he released her from his warm embrace. She sighed, bereft of his disconcerting closeness, adrift in aching wonder. So this was how the duke had earned his acclaim.

Lily would like to believe that she meant more to him than just another conquest. She had never spent an evening like this and thought she never would again.

“It has to be his spell,” she said, lifting her gaze accusingly to the dark figure of Sir Renwick Hexworthy poised above them. “ ‘Conquer the night. Embrace what is right.’ Isn’t that the motto?”

The duke did not respond. No doubt he thought that she was rather silly for blaming a boxwood figure for inciting what could be explained as earthly passion between two strangers who had temporarily lost control of their senses.

Still, it did seem to Lily as if the evergreen Renwick’s hand was pointing straight at her heart. Had the wand in his other hand moved? Had the wizard who sinned without conscience come to life to reproach her for kissing a duke who wasn’t even part of the tales? She noticed that Lord Wickbury, the Earl of Everything Perfect, had not lifted a leaf to help her.

A leaf, for heaven’s sake! She had been so swept up in the duke’s kiss and the enchantment of
Wickbury
’s imaginary world that she was reading her future in the foliage. Her future as another man’s wife.

She glanced at the duke in hesitation. He didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in the topiary figures. He was looking at the feather that had drifted into the cleft of Lily’s bodice. At this rate Chloe, wherever she was, would have no trouble tracing her cousin’s location by the path of fallen plumes. The duke’s hand reached out to rescue the stray feather from Lily’s décolletage. A flush burnished her breasts with unbearable warmth.

“You—”

“You can’t go back to the party looking like a . . . plucked goose,” he interrupted, his brow lifting.

She studied him in dismay. “And you’ve got another feather stuck in your breastplate.”

His gaze dropped in amusement. In one casual gesture, he pried loose the feather and slipped it inside his sleeve alongside the others he had collected. “Now I have several bookmarks to remember our kiss by. When I finish the next
Wickbury
—”

He broke off, the wicked guilt in his grin too much for Lily to forgive. “You misled me,” she said, smiling tightly. “You don’t know Lord Anonymous any better than I know the prince regent.”

“That isn’t true,” he protested.

“I don’t believe you.”

“May Sir Renwick strike me down if I’ve misguided you.”

Lily waited, hoping for a branch to fall, a hint of breeze, a timely act of God to stir the wand.

“Don’t you feel foolish,” he asked, folding his arms, “waiting for an evergreen to answer?”

“Not as foolish as I do for believing your intentions. All you wanted to do was lure me alone into this garden.”

“That isn’t completely true,” he retorted. “I thought your cousin would have been here to spoil the moment.”

“So did I,” she confessed.

His roguish grin returned. “Then you admit that it was a moment never to be forgotten.”

“Never to be repeated, you mean,” she said with conviction.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that.”

She shook her head in regret. “I have to hand it to you—your choice of Don Quixote as a disguise was inspired. You’re clearly full of dreams that won’t ever come true, and I doubt you’ve ever read a page of
Wickbury
in your life.” Of course, neither had Jonathan, but at least he was honest about it.

He lowered his voice. “I’ve probably read those damn books more times than any other person in England.”

She snorted. “Oh, really?” If that wasn’t the most outrageous statement she had ever heard in her life. “Then you consider yourself an expert?”

He shrugged cautiously. “Expert? Fine. I suppose I am.”

“Then how will Juliette break free now that Sir Renwick has abducted her?”

Samuel narrowed his eyes. “Wickbury will rescue her, I assume. Isn’t that what a hero is supposed to do? Isn’t that what he does in every book?”

Lily paused. The rattling of the iron gate distracted her. Chloe might be finally on the way, but she was too late for chaperone duty. “What if Juliette doesn’t
want
to be rescued?” she asked quickly. “What if she was waiting for Sir Renwick to take physical possession of her all along?”

He frowned up at the two figures battling in the air. “Why is it that every woman who has read
Wickbury
fancies herself half in love with the villain? A hero has to be chivalrous.”

She eyed him meaningfully. “Not every man dressed as a knight acts like one.”

“Lily!” Chloe called to her from the top of the sunken parterre. “There you are! I went around the wrong way.”

A cynical smile creased Samuel’s cheeks. “So you’re saying that you
liked
the abduction scene? You didn’t think that Sir Renwick should have been hunted down for spiriting Juliette off in his carriage?”

“It was about time,” she whispered. “Now she can redeem him.”

“He’s irredeemable.”

“How do you know?” she challenged.

“Because I know his type. It’s clear to me that he cares for nothing but power and won’t change for anyone.”

Lily edged around him. “It’s clear to me that while you support the arts, you have no artistic sympathy in your soul.”

He looked pleased. “Does it really show?”

“I love Sir Renwick,” she said defiantly. “Next to him, Lord Wickbury looks like a twit.”

The viscountess strode into view before he could respond. Which was a good thing, too. Lily had learned a lesson tonight—she wasn’t as sophisticated as she thought she was. To be fair, though, she had never come up against a man as bone-deep charming as the duke.

If she had lingered in his company long enough, he might have persuaded her to do more than kiss him. He might even have persuaded her to join the league of Lord Wickbury’s followers, instead of the villain she loved.

It was a good thing that she would soon be standing beside Jonathan at the altar. There were years ahead to ponder what she had escaped tonight. Or what she might have missed.

T
he viscountess studied Lily in concern. “Forgive me for taking so long. You
were
all right?”

“I was fine.”

Chloe glanced back at the duke, who ambled up the path behind them, slowing to admire a yew sculpture here and there.

“We never made it to the grotto,” Lily whispered.

“The grotto!” Chloe shot the duke a look of alarm over her shoulder. “Well, then I’m glad I hurried to find you. A grotto is the perfect place for a tryst.”

“You took forever,” Lily teased her.

“I couldn’t get away,” Chloe complained softly. “Besides, I didn’t think there was any harm in letting the duke enchant you for a minute or so. Or are you a siren-in-waiting whose innocent looks mislead?”

“Do you know how boring it is to live in Tissington?”

“Indeed, I do. Boredom has led a lady into more than one affair she should have avoided.”

They came to the gate, which Samuel made a point of locking behind them. Suddenly Lily noticed four footmen stationed above the garden wall. It was almost as if they had been told to stay out of view.