Daisy and the Duke (2 page)

She heard her prissy words and realized that she had unwittingly picked up some of his toney accent. Glancing at her watch to disguise the fact that she was near tears, she took a deep breath. “If it’s not too much of a bother, would you please go in and ask if he will see me?”

The man with the dark amber eyes and the face of a Roman conqueror did not smile as he took a step closer, and with one finger, reached out to wipe a damp stain from the corner of her lashes. “You’re a lovely woman, Ms. Daisy Wexler. I’ll do what I can.” His hand lingered, cupping her cheek. “Where are you staying while you’re here?”

She nodded over her shoulder to the view of a placid Lake Windemere glistening in the distance. The water was a deep, mysterious cerulean beneath the noonday sun. Barely a whitecap or a ripple disturbed the broad expanse. “Ambleside. The youth hostel across the way.”

He nodded, his expression almost grim. “Come back in an hour. If the duke is available, I’ll ask him to speak with you.”

Chapter Five

Disconsolate and bereft, Daisy watched the man stride toward the enormous, unwieldy castle that was more regal than prepossessing. He disappeared around the side where the stables adjoined the house.

She had no idea if he would really plead her case, and she wanted badly to simply walk up the tree-lined path and knock on the door. But something held her in check, perhaps his unflattering assessment of her fellow Americans as pushy.

If this man and the duke expected docility and compliance, she would try to be patient. After all, her mission was important, not only for the ones who had sent her, but for Daisy personally.

The Duke’s ancestral home sat on a rocky hill overlooking the lake. Beyond and to the left, a second outcropping rose against the sky, beckoning the adventurous to follow. She had time to kill and a fascination for exploration, so Daisy set off toward it. The weather was perfect for touring, and briefly she regretted that she wasn’t in England for a simple holiday.

But too much was at stake to goof off now. If her work went well, she would be able to enjoy a few days of legitimate vacation—and settle a few questions of her own—before she returned to the States.

The climb was steeper than it appeared, and Daisy was breathing hard when she reached the crest, her calf muscles protesting the unaccustomed trek. But the view from the top was stunning. Pastoral Britain in all its glory lay spread out at her feet. Gamboling sheep, meandering stone fences, fluffy clouds dotting an azure sky. And green as far as the eye could see…verdant, emerald meadows marked off in neat patchwork squares.

Savoring the warmth of the sun, she kicked off her shoes, feeling like a schoolchild out for the summer. In her tote, she found a thin, old shawl that she kept with her for just such an occasion. Spreading it over the lush grass, she sat down with her arms encircling her knees.

If she half closed her eyes and ignored the few marks of civilization, she could almost imagine that she lived in a different age, a day when warriors strode across the land, stealing women and taking them away to pagan lands.

A shiver worked its way down her spine as she thought of her accomplice. It occurred to her then that she had not even asked his name. But somehow the anonymity of their highly charged encounter added a touch of anticipation to her return to the castle later in the day. Perhaps when she met with the duke, she could probe indirectly for information about the man who must surely have some level of responsibility for the upkeep of the estate.

The longer Daisy sat on the grass, the more her earlier exhaustion overtook her. She smoothed the edges of the shawl to its fullest width and lay back, her hand beneath her cheek. All she needed was to relax and soak up a bit more sun. Then she would be fresh for her meeting with the duke…

Chapter Six

Ian tracked Daisy’s progress up the hill. He knew exactly where she stopped to rest. It was a measure of his intense preoccupation with his lovely uninvited guest that he felt not a single shred of guilt for observing her with a pair of expensive, high-powered binoculars. He watched as she stretched out on the ground and closed her eyes. The sight hit him hard in the chest, stealing his breath and making him yearn. He wanted to be there beside her, over her, in her. But the chances of that happening were as remote as finding a leprechaun’s pot of gold.

Magnified in the lenses, Daisy slept, her hand curled beneath her cheek in innocent relaxation. But the female he was spying upon without compunction was surely no babe in the woods. She had curves in all the right places, and her smooth, creamy skin and full pink lips lured a man into contemplating not only indiscretion, but out-and-out recklessness.

Before his noble lineage had become a millstone around his neck, he would have been free to follow such an attraction wherever it led. Now, life wasn’t so simple.

He had told her to come back in an hour. But his patience to be with her again lasted only half that long. Walking around the other side of the hill and to its top was no strain at all. He’d clambered over these acres many times as a boy.

Though he was not particularly silent in his approach, Daisy never moved. As he neared her, he saw that her lips were parted, and a wispy curl had fallen across her cheek. She had wound the silky strands of her hair into a loose knot at the back of her head, but the windy day had wreaked havoc with her attempt to appear businesslike.

He knelt beside her and brushed the errant locks off her face, before trailing his fingers down the soft skin of her neck to her arm. “Daisy?
Are you awake?”

She stirred fretfully, her nose scrunched up in a frown. “I am now.” She sat up, yawning. “What did he say?”

“Who?”

She lifted an incredulous eyebrow as if questioning his mental competence. “The duke, of course.”

His machinations weighed heavily upon his soul, but he wanted, selfishly, to be himself for a bit longer. “He’s away from the house right now. But he’ll be home soon.”

“Shouldn’t you be working?”

Her question caught him off guard. “I’ve been up since six o’clock,” he said truthfully. “And I’ll put in a few more hours this afternoon.” Not tending animals, of course, but instead, combing through piles of paper wondering if he would ever find a palatable answer to the impossible Gordian knot that was his duty-filled life.

Daisy sighed, looking at him with artless supplication. “Do you think you can convince him to see me?”

Ian sprawled out beside her on the grass, reclining on an elbow. Tugging at her wrist, he coaxed her onto her back so that he was half leaning over her. Daisy’s clear blue eyes were filled with a mix of anticipation and apprehension. He traced a finger over her bottom lip, aware that he was treading a fine line between personal indulgence and a gentleman’s honor. But he knew from experience that behaving according to his station was often no fun at all.

He lowered his head slowly, giving her a chance to protest. “I’ll do my best,” he promised, his voice husky. “But in the meantime, I’m going to kiss you.”

Chapter Seven

Daisy’s breathing slowed, her heart beating loudly in her ears as the English stranger bent to kiss her. She loved that he didn’t ask permission. Modern men were too amenable. This arrogant, boldly masculine man seemed like a throwback to an earlier generation, and it only made her anticipate his kiss more.

She rubbed her fingertips over his sculpted chin, feeling a slight trace of stubble. “I don’t even know your name.”

“Is that an observation or a complaint?” His crooked grin reminded her of a pirate.

He was so close she could smell the warm fragrance of his skin. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

Now his lips hovered over hers, his breath mingling with her almost-silent whimper of need. “I could, but…do you want reality, or fantasy?
Your choice, Daisy.”

It would not have surprised her at all to feel the earth tremble beneath them. Her world was shifting on its axis, revealing facets of her personality that shocked and excited her. She was Daisy Wexler. A librarian from Virginia. She did not play tonsil hockey in broad daylight with smug, audacious strangers.

But perhaps she didn’t know herself at all. “Fantasy,” she breathed. “Kiss me before I change my mind.”

His mouth was warm and firm, the press of his lips an immaculate blend of hunger and tenderness. “Daisy,” he muttered. “Daisy.”

The way he groaned the syllables made her melt. Her arms encircled his neck, her hands unashamedly measuring the width of his shoulders, the tensile strength of sleek muscles beneath warm skin. He was everything she was not. Hard and virile. Supremely confident in his sexuality.

“I like the way you smell,” she whispered. “It’s very English.”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating against her breast. “You smell like sin, Ms. Daisy Wexler. I think you’re a seductress disguised as an innocent American tourist. You’ve come across the pond to lure unsuspecting Englishmen to their doom.”

“Doom?” She gasped as his hand closed over her breast. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“But accurate.” He buried his face in her neck as he stroked her through thin layers of cloth, his big body trembling violently. “What are you doing to me?”

She felt the press of his erection against her thigh. It had never been her intent to offer more than a kiss. But their embrace had segued from delightful to desperate need at warp speed.

Between her legs, the practical cotton undies she’d purchased six to a pack were damp. She
wanted
him. In ways she had never wanted anyone before. The ferocity of the craving stunned and terrified her. Was this the kind of sexual madness that made fools of women? That left them brokenhearted in its wake?

To have this man in her arms, wild with passion—for
her—
was the ultimate temptation. This beautiful, well-spoken, engaging man needed her as much as she needed him. But one last functioning brain cell told her to get up, to walk away. To remember why she was here.

“Stop,” she said. “Let me up. I came here to see the duke.”

Chapter Eight

Bugger the duke
. Ian froze, wondering if he had said that last bit out loud. Lifting his body away from Daisy’s slowly, he tried to regulate his breathing and regain the control that was expected of him.

When he could manage it, he got to his feet. There was nothing he could do about the state of his sex. It was too big to hide, and too painfully swollen to simply pretend nothing had happened. He could barely breathe.

Daisy seemed shocked by what she saw. Which made him rather angry, truth be told. Did she seriously not realize how close they had come to carnal relations? A few seconds more, and she would have found her skirt pushed up to her waist and her knickers dragged down to her—

Damnation
. He turned his back and bent forward, putting his hands on his knees. After taking several labored gulps of air, he finally managed to regain a modicum of equilibrium.

But still he couldn’t face her. He inhaled sharply and spoke with his back still to her. “The duke should be home any moment,” he said curtly. “I’ll go now and determine whether or not he can meet with you this afternoon.”

From behind his shoulder, Daisy spoke, her voice subdued. “That’s very kind of you. I’m sorry that I…”

He whirled, cursing his own weakness. He should have sent her on her way immediately. “That you what?”

She stood up as well, and with her arms wrapped around her waist, she was the picture of discomfort. “That I let you think I was willing to…um…fool around.”

“Is that what you Americans call it?” He scowled. “How many euphemisms can you invent for having sex?”

Daisy frowned. “I was trying to be polite.”

“I don’t feel particularly polite at the moment,” he growled. Merely looking at her, all disheveled and alluring, was getting him revved up again. “I feel more like finishing what we started.”

When she opened her mouth to speak, he put a hand over her lips. “Don’t worry,” he said roughly. “I’m clear now on your priorities. You want to see the duke.”

Daisy grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away, her pretty eyes beseeching him to understand. “You’re a lovely man,” she whispered. “But I was sent here for a very important reason. I can’t allow myself to get sidetracked.”

“They must be paying you a lot of money to purchase such devotion.”

She flushed, visibly wounded by his sarcasm. “Money isn’t the issue.”

He stepped away, unaccountably depressed. “Money is
always
the issue,” he said bluntly.

“Is that how you judge people? By the money they have? I would think a man in your position might have a more democratic outlook on life.”

“A man in my position?”

She shrugged awkwardly. “Someone who works with his hands.”

Damn, everything she said made him think of sex. He, the only remaining male scion of the house of Wolffhampton, had come perilously close to shagging a perfect stranger in broad daylight. Good Lord. Clearly, it was time to end this. “Goodbye, Ms. Daisy Wexler. I hope you find everything you’re looking for.”

Chapter Nine

Though the day was still sunny and clear, a cloud settled over Daisy’s emotions. Watching the handsome stranger descend the hill with long, loping strides made her want to weep for some unaccountable reason.

She’d likely never see him again…unless she happened to run across him as she was leaving the duke’s estate. Though, given his current mood, he’d probably hide out until she was gone.

In theory, Daisy was not opposed to a holiday romance, particularly with a man who sounded like one of her favorite British actors but was far more blatantly virile and sexually intense. A vacation fling was not, in essence, a mistake.

But Daisy was not
on
vacation; she was
employed
.
And that employment was going to enable a project of her own, one that could change her life.

Glancing down at her watch, she surmised that enough time had elapsed to warrant approaching the enormous, fortresslike house. She tromped down the incline, across the meadow, up the tree-lined path and onto a stone apron that fanned out from the gigantic oak doors. The ornate iron knockers looked ancient.