She Tempts the Duke (13 page)

H
e did not belong here, Sebastian reflected. He would never belong here. In the glittering ballrooms where ladies and gents flirted, waltzed, laughed without care. Their easy banter sliced deep for nothing in his life had been easy. He was only twenty-six and yet he felt to be a man twice his age.

After the debacle on the dance floor, he found Lady Alicia and explained that regretfully he would have to forego their dance. She merely blushed, stammered her understanding, and hurried away. She’d no doubt witnessed the ungainliness he’d exhibited with her cousin and was relieved to be spared a similar fate. Then he conversed with a few lords about trivial matters: weather, agriculture, bills before Parliament. He made his way to the card room and discovered that Rafe was nowhere to be seen. He’d obviously taken his leave. He was no more comfortable in these surroundings than Sebastian. He did wish his brother had sought him out to see if he might be of a mind to depart with him.

Not that he would have. It would have been cowardly to leave so soon after arriving. But taking a turn about the garden—that spoke only of a man who required a bit of fresh air. Based on the scent assailing his nostrils the garden was awash in roses. Based on the quiet murmurings that reached him, the garden was dotted with secretive trysts. He wondered if one of them involved Tristan. He’d lost sight of his brother in the ballroom. He did hope he wasn’t doing something reckless that would find him with a wife in hand before Season’s end.

It irritated the devil out of him that he didn’t know his brothers well, wasn’t certain of the kind of men they were. They were loyal to him, but that had been ingrained in them from birth by their father. Sebastian was the heir and they owed their fealty to him. But other than that, he knew them hardly at all. He despised his uncle for stealing that knowledge from him as well. He and his brothers were joined by blood, but beyond that, they shared few of the same experiences. None of them seemed wont to speak of the years they were apart, which lent a well of loneliness to their being together.

But he had Pembrook to sustain him. Based on tonight’s fiasco, he had decided he would return there. To hell with London. Tristan seemed more at home here. He could see after the London residence and keep an eye on matters. Watch for any nefarious plans their uncle might be plotting. As for the wife—he wasn’t in the mood to hunt for one. He would hire a matchmaker perhaps or—

“Sebastian?”

He paused at the soft voice. He was far into the garden now, should no doubt continue on. But he turned ever so slightly and watched as Mary strolled gracefully toward him. She was limned by the glow from the gaslights that lined the pebbled path. Even shadows could not disguise her beauty.

“You’re not enjoying the ball,” she said quietly, and he heard her disappointment, which only served to make him feel like an ogre who had let her down.

“Do gentlemen usually?”

“I’m sure some of them don’t, but they’re generally better skilled at hiding it. Alicia informed me that you recanted on your invitation to dance with her.”

“I thought it best under the circumstances to spare her the embarrassment of having a torn gown.”

“Mine was fixed easily enough.”

“Still, it should not have happened at all.”

Silence eased in around them and brought with it a comfortableness that had often accompanied the pair in their youth.

“Do you enjoy the balls?” He didn’t know why he asked. Perhaps because he knew as little of her as he knew of his brothers, and it seemed a shame after all they’d shared as children.

“More than I should, I suppose. I love the glitz and glamor of them. I enjoy seeing the ladies in their ball gowns, draped in jewels, and exuding excitement as they anticipate the night. The gentlemen are always so dashingly handsome in their swallow-tailed jackets. The music fills me.” She laughed. “I could go on.”

In the distance, he could hear the faint strains of the music that filled her. Her father had denied her this because of him. “By all means do.”

He meant it. She could discuss the manner in which grass grew and he thought he would be fascinated. He’d not been with a woman—truly been with a woman—since shortly before the battle in which he’d nearly died. He preferred women who gave of their bodies willingly, not for gain. Mary would be such a woman, and her willingness would be gilded with enthusiasm that came from deep within her. She’d never been one for half measures. While he’d amassed years of not knowing the details of her life, he was fairly confident he still knew the particulars of her character. She was strong, bold, and had a penchant for caring deeply for those who needed it. She would fight to save a wounded sparrow with the same determination she’d fought to save three abandoned lads.

“I would only bore you,” she told him. “Besides, that was not my purpose in seeking you out.”

He wasn’t certain why his gut clenched or why he was so sure he was not going to like what followed, but still he heard himself ask, “And what would that be?”

“I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier on the dance floor.”

“You’re clearly not to blame. You nearly lost a toe in the process.” He caught a flash of her smile in the flickering gas lamps. He wished he had the ability to keep her smiling. But it was neither his responsibility nor his place. “Fitzwilliam, blast him, was correct. I wasn’t watching where I was going. I knew I had to be ever vigilant.”
But I’d become lost in you, and for a moment had felt close to being whole.

Not that he could tell her that. Not that he should even admit it to himself. Yet he had. Her sweet fragrance, the green of her eyes, the delicate touch of her hand folding over his.

“I would ask you to forgive my boldness, that it is a friendship forged as children that prompts me now, but I was hoping we might finish our dance. Here in the garden. Where we’re less likely to bump into anything other than roses.”

“Thorns can hurt, Mary.”

“I’m willing to risk it.”

Terribly bad idea, sweetheart. To hold you in my arms again, to have your clothes occasionally brushing against mine, to have your scent so much nearer.

His thoughts traveled along paths they shouldn’t traverse. She was betrothed. She belonged to another.

“No.” He bit out the word.

“That’s your pride answering, Your Grace.”

“Leave it be, Mary.”

She moved a step nearer, and it took everything within him not to take a step back. She brought with her the sweet fragrance of orchids. And a glimmer of tears. And a stubbornness in the set of her jaw that he’d never been able to defeat. She’d always possessed the power to conquer him, to make him ignore his better judgment.

Reaching out she touched his shoulder. He could feel the gentleness, the slight trembling of her fingers. “Please, dance with me.”

“I don’t want a damned dance.” The harshness in his voice would have sent any other young miss scurrying back to the safety of the ballroom. But not Mary. He’d never been able to intimidate or frighten her. She was the most courageous creature he knew.

“What do you want?” she asked with equal parts tenderness and challenge.

How often had he done things only to prove something to her? Let her see now the sort of man he was. What the years had transformed him into.

“To forget.” He thrust a hand into her hair, cradled his palm against her cheek, moved her farther into the shadows.

“Mary,” he whispered like a soft benediction and hoped to God that she didn’t connect the two sentences and think it was she he wished to forget. Never her. She was the only thing worth remembering. No, he wanted to forget his disfiguring scars, his sightless left side, the stares he garnered, and the doubts and guilt that plagued him. But never her.

He tilted up her face and covered her mouth with his. He wasn’t gentle. He wanted to replace horrendous memories with something worth remembering. He was not only starving, but greedy. He would hate himself in the morning. Hell, he’d hate himself as soon as his mouth left hers because the blackguard he’d become was taking advantage of her charitable nature.

She didn’t protest, but her tongue was hesitant against his. He suspected she’d never had her mouth ravished to such a degree. The thought had him gentling the plunder, had him relishing the taste and feel of her. She’d sipped champagne and the rich flavor of it teased him now just as her orchid scent filled his nostrils.

She skimmed her hands up his arms, entangled her fingers in his hair, pressed herself closer, and became as bold as he. He almost smiled. She’d always matched his adventurous spirit with one that rivaled his. He wondered now if it was the competitor in her nature that had her stepping forward instead of back. Or was there more?

Had she wondered, as he had, what it might be like between them?

God, but she was delicious. He locked his other arm around her, assisted her in her quest to get nearer, pressing her close. His palm cradled her chin, the side of her throat, and he could feel the hard, rapid pounding of her heart. He became lost in the wonder of her. He’d wanted this when he sat on the bench with her that long-ago afternoon, when he’d given her the necklace. He’d wanted to know her flavor. Now he knew he would never forget it, even though he would never taste it again.

This was a forbidden moment between them. She was betrothed. She deserved better than he could provide. He could give her all the comforts of life, but he lacked the ability to comfort her heart and soul. He recognized this shortcoming in himself. He wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he didn’t delude himself into thinking that he would ever be able to give a woman more than a contented marriage. And Mary deserved far better than that.

She deserved love and adoration. She deserved a whole man who could not only take her to unheralded heights of pleasure but could lift her up from depths of despair. Life was not always pleasant. She needed a true partner who would give his all to her.

His all belonged to Pembrook.

Her soft moan echoed between them, and it fired his blood. A tempest raged through him. He could take her deeper into the shadows, lay her on the grass, ease up the hem of her gown—

He growled with the desperation that gnawed at him to do just that. This was Mary. Mary who had saved them. He owed her everything.

Breaking off the kiss, breathing heavily, he gazed down on her upturned face. From somewhere, light chased away the shadow and he could see her heavy-lidded gaze, her slightly parted lips. Her confusion.

“Forgive me, Mary. I . . .” What words could he give her? What possible explanation for his actions would suffice?

“You won’t dance with me in the garden, yet you’ll kiss me?”

“I’ve obviously become a barbarian. I have no excuse. And if we’re seen, you’ll have no reputation.”

Before she could respond, he spun on his heel and stormed back toward the garden path, but rather than turn toward the manor, he picked up his pace and headed even farther into the darker confines provided by roses and trellises. He had to leave now. He would exit through a back gate, leave his carriage for Tristan. He could walk back to his residence. It would do him good, cool his ardor.

He heard a sound. Dried leaves crushed beneath the weight of a foot.

He knew better than to turn to his left, to lose his advantage by a momentary blindness when meeting a foe, but he’d thought it was Mary chasing after him as she had when they were children. Only as he felt the knife slicing into his side did he recognize the true cost of his folly. Before he could even see the enemy he launched a powerful swing with his right arm. He took satisfaction in the sound of cracking bone, the grunt, the seething curse. He expected his attacker to attack again, but instead his pounding feet echoed and faded away.

Sebastian’s knees hit the ground with a jarring thud that caused everything to shake. The world spun crazily around him and then turned black.

Chapter 13

W
ho would have ever thought that Tristan would find women who flung themselves at him so utterly boring? He’d had a life of challenges, had longed for the life of ease that came from being born the son of a duke, but now that he held it, he wondered why he’d ever wanted it.

He intrigued the ladies. They all desired introductions and a dance. But they didn’t fascinate him in the least. They were all the same. Smiling, batting their lashes, peering from behind their ivory fans. He knew what their questions would be before they were asked. He knew what they would say before they spoke. Everything was practiced, rehearsed. Even the woman who had swooned in his arms had been performing. A grand performance to be sure, but a bit of acting nonetheless.

It was a mistake to have come here. He intended to find Sebastian and inform him that he was taking his leave. He’d seen his brother escape through the double doors that led into the garden, but had yet to see him return. Perhaps he’d arranged a tryst. If so, regrettably it would be interrupted.

He scoffed. Why should he care if he spoiled his brother’s pleasures? He should simply leave, but something nagged at him. He needed to find Sebastian before he departed this affair. It was a sense he had. With Sebastian, he’d always known when something wasn’t quite right. Perhaps because they had shared the womb. It bothered him that he’d never felt the same connection with Rafe. With Rafe, there was no mooring, nothing that anchored them. Tristan had known when Sebastian had been gravely wounded. Although he’d been at sea, he’d still known. A coldness as frigid as death had settled into him. He’d never prayed for himself, but he’d prayed for his brother that day.

Even knowing what he would inherit if his brother died, he’d never wished for his death. Which made it more difficult for him to reconcile his uncle’s motives. Brothers should place blood above possessions, above titles, above land.

He walked onto the terrace and was heading for the steps that led into the garden when he saw Mary hastily dashing up them.

“Lady Mary.”

She stumbled to a stop, jerked her gaze to the garden, the ballroom, and finally settled it back on him. “My lord.”

“Is something amiss?”

“Everything is fine. Thank you.”

A woman who had not mastered the art of lying. What a welcome diversion. Taking her arm, he led her toward a more secluded, shadowy area. “Are you certain?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen Sebastian?”

Nodding, she glanced down. “Our paths crossed in the garden.”

He slipped his finger beneath her chin, tilted up her head, and stroked his thumb over her lower lip. “Based on your swollen lips, I would say he kissed you.”

She began rubbing her hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear God, you can tell?”

He hitched up a corner of his mouth. “No. It was a guess. Your lips aren’t swollen.”

She slapped at him. “You cad!”

If not for the seriousness of the matter, he’d have dropped his head back and roared out his laughter. “But he did kiss you.”

Nodding, she averted her gaze. “Please keep this between us.”

“Did you kiss him back?” he prodded.

“I did not dissuade him.” She returned her gaze to his, such earnestness in her expression. “I should tell Fitzwilliam.”

“Good God, don’t even entertain such a foolish notion. If it was no more than a kiss���”

“It wasn’t. One moment we were talking and the next . . . we weren’t.”

He wanted to shout Hallelujah! His brother wasn’t perfect. Instead, he said, “Do you know where he went? Afterward?”

“Further into the garden. I started to follow, but I thought it would be best if I didn’t. He seemed angry.”

Frustrated, more like, if a kiss was all he claimed.
“I’m sure he did. But not with you, sweet lady. I don’t imagine he liked losing control.”

“He changed, Tristan.”

“We all did, love.”

She smiled. “You didn’t.”

If only that were true. He was simply better at masking it. Reaching out he tucked some stray strands of hair back behind her pearl combs. “Go on inside before you’re missed. I’ll find Sebastian, and then we shall probably take our leave, quietly and without fanfare.”

“Is it truly not obvious that I was kissed?” she asked, and he could see the worry in her eyes. Those in Society focused on such trivial matters. He’d have been the same had his life not taken such a drastic turn. Would he have liked that man any better than he liked the one he was now?

“No one will know,” he assured her.

“I never thought of you as the kind twin.”

“Because I’m not. Now off with you. You don’t want to be seen with me in the shadows.” Then because she seemed reluctant to leave, he leapt over the railing with the ease of a man who had climbed sail rigging during the height of a tempest at sea and lived to tell the tale of it. Glancing back, he saw that she’d moved on. He breathed a bit easier. He didn’t want to be the one responsible for ruining her good name. They owed her, should ensure that she was happy. He wondered if she would be so with Fitzwilliam. He seemed rather like a stick-in-the-mud. But then Tristan was discovering that most of the men he’d met tonight were boring beyond measure. They lived sheltered lives lacking in adventure.

The same certainly couldn’t be said of him and his brothers. He knew Rafe had gone on his merry way. Sebastian may have as well.

He passed one couple and another strolling back toward the house—a guilty air about them. In the shadows off the path, he heard a giggle and a soft reprimand for quiet. Ah, the dangers. He imagined hearts were racing at the thought of being caught. He couldn’t imagine that had not fate intervened the most exciting part of his life might have been enticing a lady into an illicit kiss.

The dangers he had faced made all this subterfuge in the garden seem trivial, and certainly held no appeal.

He slowed his step when he noticed a gentleman on the path hesitate before continuing toward him. “Fitzwilliam.”

“My lord.”

He wondered what he was doing out here alone, wondered if he’d happened across Sebastian and Mary earlier. Surely not, for if he had he’d have confronted them.

“I don’t suppose you’ve seen my brother out here,” Tristan asked laconically.

“Which one? The one who cheats at cards or the one who airs his dirty laundry in public?”

“Take care with your accusations, my lord,” Tristan said with a voice that mimicked the calm before a storm.

“Are you threatening me?”

“For a moment there I feared you weren’t a perceptive fellow. So relieved you proved me wrong.”

“You and your brothers do not belong here. You are barbarians.”

“On the contrary, my lord. I asked a simple question. You are the one who responded by disparaging the character of my brothers.”

“I haven’t seen them. Now if you’ll excuse me?”

He walked past without waiting for an answer. Tristan patted himself on the back for not tripping him. Arrogant cad.

Tristan strode into the darker confines of the garden. He despised the notion that other lords were not giving Sebastian the respect with which he was due. He fought in a bloody war, for God’s sake. Was still fighting to reclaim his birthright. As far as Tristan was concerned it wasn’t enough to cut off their uncle’s financial resources. They needed proof of his intended actions where they were concerned. Even Mary’s words wouldn’t be strong enough to dispel his claims that they’d merely run away, as young lads were wont to do. And if he had killed their father as they suspected—

Someone rammed into him, causing him to stagger back. Tristan had his own knife in hand before he fell beneath the weight.

“Tristan?” his brother croaked.

Tristan was too familiar with the warm stickiness soaking his clothes not to know what it was. “What the devil, Sebastian?”

“Mary. Have to make sure she’s all right.”

Sebastian was clutching at Tristan’s arm, striving to right himself.

“She’s unharmed. I just saw her on the terrace only a few moments ago,” he reassured his brother.

Sebastian sank back down. “Then just get me the hell out of here.”