The Duke's Guide to Correct Behavior (23 page)

W
ell, that could have lasted two hours and he still wouldn't have been satisfied. He tried to calm his breathing, tried not to reach for her again.

She turned to him and he did up her buttons with shaky hands. Had this all really just happened?

The erection tenting his trousers informed him that yes, indeed it had.

And his cock was importuning him to continue.

But he could not. It would not only not be respectable, it would be reprehensible. He knew full well she was an innocent—his governess, for goodness' sake—and he was not one of those men who would abuse his power for this kind of gain, even though he might abuse it to get strawberries in winter.

She was more luscious than a strawberry. And he knew he would want her in any season.

She turned back to him, her mouth swollen from his kisses—their kisses—her chest still
moving up and down with her rapid breathing. Her body still just there, within reach.

“I should go,” she said in a husky voice. One that sounded as though there were things she wished to say. Of course there were. He just hoped they weren't things like,
I quit, you scoundrel,
or
We will never do this again
.

Or
I don't feel anything for you beyond lust
.

“Thank you for your help with the party.” It wasn't what he truly wished to say, of course, but he couldn't even figure out himself what he wished to say. Not even what he needed to say.

He was completely at sea about what to do next. Never, in his brief (in many ways) history of fornicating, had he had a woman in his arms who had appealed to him so. Who had stormed his gruff fortress, challenged him, made him want to take time—all the time in the world—with her.

It left him off-balance. Unsure about anything, even what he wanted to say.

She smiled, a mixture of shy and knowing, and that curve of her mouth was so alluring he just wanted to kiss her again.

Which he would want to do even if she were frowning, unless she had just told him she didn't enjoy his kisses. Then he might forbear the action.

But what was remarkable was that he knew, off-balance though he was, that she did like it. That she had felt as in the moment as he did. That if things weren't as they were, they would be further along in their exploration of each other.

“I will just go check on Rose, then,” she said, getting up and pulling the sleeves of her gown
up, straightening the bodice and smoothing the skirts.

Removing any physical indication of what they'd just done, even though it was irrevocably marked on his heart. Not to mention his very frustrated cock.

“Good night, then.” He swallowed against the lump in his throat.

She was going to check on Rose. Rose, who needed his good name not to be scorned and shunned for all her life. Rose, for whom he had hired this woman, an honorable, respectable woman, to teach her what he could not.

“Good night,” she returned, walking slowly to the door. The door opened and she stepped through, taking a piece of him as she left.

As it shut behind her, he leaned back against the sofa and rubbed his face with his hands.

T
he house was still when he finally emerged. He hadn't come to any sort of conclusion, not one that didn't involve things that couldn't possibly happen (her knocking on his bedroom door later, for example, was highly unlikely). But at least he wasn't in a torment of frustration, sexual or otherwise; no matter what happened, it was his uppermost duty to ensure that Rose's safety and future were protected. That was what mattered more than anything.

He'd never placed anyone above himself before. And no one had ever placed him anywhere in particular. Was this an essential part of
humanity he'd missed out on? He suddenly resented his parents for their casual parenting even more. To think they'd had the chance to be a part of a child's upbringing, to guide him through life, to love him, and instead had chosen indifference, lavishing whatever small attention they'd had on his brother . . . well, now that he knew what they had missed, he felt sorry for them.

He walked slowly upstairs to the second floor, feeling as though his world had opened up and tilted upside down all at the same time. The hallway was quiet, a few candles left burning, since the staff knew of the master's late night habits, and crept, catlike, to his door.

Her door was several feet beyond, on the other side. To the right of where his daughter slept. The two most precious people in his life.

He couldn't knock on Lily's door, not without a good reason (and it was not a good reason that he just wanted to kiss her again). He had to summon his will not to do what he wanted to do most in the world, something he'd never had to do before.

He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it, opening the door to his silent, empty bedroom. A part of him was disappointed she hadn't made her way here, but of course the other part knew that she couldn't have possibly done that, not without making a choice that was irrevocable.

Miller had laid his nightshirt out on the bed, since Marcus had told him not to bother waiting up. He was relieved not to have to interact with anyone, he didn't know if he could speak
properly. Not without blurting something out that would, again, be irrevocable.

He'd put his shirt back on again sometime back then—he didn't remember doing it, but she'd taken it off—and now slid it off his shoulders, dropping it onto the floor. Wishing it were her hands removing it. His trousers were next—she hadn't gotten to those, more's the pity—and they slid down his legs so that he was clad only in his smallclothes. Those, too, he shucked, then drew the nightshirt on, the cotton fabric touching the places she'd touched. His shoulders, his arms, his chest.

It would be of no use touching himself tonight. Now that he knew how her fingers felt, how her breasts looked and felt, anything he did for himself would be a mere echo of what he'd actually experienced. Ultimately unsatisfying, no matter how much immediate satisfaction he was able to have.

Was this what the rest of his life would be like?

He snuffed the candle by the side of his bed and got lost in the darkness.

R
ose had waited impatiently for him to come in for breakfast. Lily had also been waiting, but not driven by the same motives as Rose. How would he act toward her? Was he horrified at her behavior? Would he wish to dismiss her?

Did he want to do it again?

She hadn't slept much the night before, since there was so much to think about. And not think about.

Such as the look on his face when she drew back, that wanting, helpless, desiring look. Such as the way his chest was firm under her fingers, yet he flinched when she touched him. Such as how it felt when his tongue was plunged into her mouth, and when she was biting his lip.

All those things she spent much of the night not thinking about.

So she was relieved not to have seen him at breakfast, truly she was, only Rose would not stop popping up to see if he was walking down the hall, and Lily couldn't eat, and then she spilled tea all over the table because she was so distracted.

It was only when they were walking back up to the schoolroom that they saw him coming downstairs. Lily was relieved to see him properly garbed, even with a cravat on.

One more thing not to think about—how his throat had looked in the candlelight the night before, how his throat muscles worked as he'd swallowed.

“Duke!” Rose said, reaching out, putting her hand on his sleeve.

He shook his head, met Lily's eyes, then dropped his gaze to Rose. “What is it, sweet?” he asked, putting his hand on her head.

“The day looks fine, we should go for a walk,” Rose said in her most commanding, dukelike voice.

He drew a deep breath before replying, and Lily felt her own breath catch. Would he say no, so as not to be with her? Would he say yes, so as to be with her?

Did she actually matter in his decision-making?

None of her questions could possibly have a satisfactory answer.

So she just waited.

“Of course.” He pulled his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and frowned at it. “I am out this evening, and have some things to do before then, but we could all go now, if that suits.” He glanced at Lily. “If that does not discommode your teaching schedule, that is?”

His tone was all it should be. Professional, cordial, direct. Nothing that indicated his state of mind. Not that he should speak in a way that did indicate it, not in front of Rose; but it was frustrating not knowing. Maybe nearly as frustrating as not getting to do all she wished to the evening before.

“It will be fine,” she said. “We will adjust, will we not, Miss Rose?” It was cowardly, perhaps, to defer to her charge, but on the other hand her charge was more important than her own feelings. She was an employee here, she could not forget that.

“Yes! I will go get my coat.” Rose scampered up the rest of the stairs, leaving Lily and Marcus alone.

“You slept well, I hope?” he asked.

She met his gaze and smiled ruefully. “Not very well, I must admit. I had a lot on my mind.” And in my heart.

He looked relieved, as though he had been worried what she might say. How did someone so commanding and authoritative and handsome
not realize the effect he had on people? Or person, actually, namely her?

“I didn't, either. We have some things to discuss.”

Oddly enough, that didn't make her anxious, not in the same way his polite tone had. She could tell, just by the expression on his face, that he was feeling some of what she was.

Rose returned before she could reply, holding her coat and Maggie in her arms. “I'm ready!” she announced, stepping between the two of them on the stairs.

“Let us go,” the duke said, shooting another quick glance at Lily.

T
he park was crowded, which was not surprising, given that it was actually sunny.

“I wish it had been this nice yesterday for the party,” Lily said as they walked along the path.

“The only thing you couldn't control was the weather, and the rest of it was perfect,” the duke said.

“Except for that one girl,” Rose added, almost as an aside.

“What girl?” Lily and the duke spoke in unison.

“The one who called me a bastard.” She shrugged, which she'd probably picked up from her father. If only her study of flowers were going so well.

“Did she say anything else?” the duke asked through clenched teeth.

Rose shrugged again. “No, just that. I told her to shut up.”

Lily's throat grew thick. It was starting already—talk about Rose's parentage, and why the duke had taken her in, probably what he was planning to do with her, and that any young lady who was interested in him would have to take Rose into account—or not, if she could be sent away.

“You are right, Rose, but that is not all there is to it.”

He put his hand on the girl's shoulder and squatted down so he could look directly in her face. Lily went to move away, but his hand shot out and grabbed her cloak, making her stay where she was.

“I was not married to your mother, but that does not mean you are not part of my life now. I love you. You are mine, and I—I am yours.”

It was too intense a statement to be comprehended by a four-year-old, but it made twenty-four-year-old Lily tear up.

“Do you understand? I don't want you to ever think you are not welcome or loved in my home because of who you are.”

“All right,” Rose said, her eyes wandering past the duke's shoulder to where a group of children were playing. “Look, a few of the girls from the party are over there. May I join them?”

The duke nodded and stood. “Of course. Miss Lily can escort you.”

Lily wiped her eyes quickly, then took Rose's
hand and led her to where the children were gathered.

“S
he didn't want me to stay right there. She wants to be able to see us, but not be right there.” Rose had told her as much just as autocratically as her father would, and it had taken all of Lily's willpower not to laugh.

“Shall we sit, then?” the duke said, gesturing to a bench within eyeshot of the playing children.

“Certainly. Unless . . . unless you wish to return home and I can stay here, with Rose?”

He made a hmphing noise. As though she should know that was not what he would wish. “I'll stay here, unless you wish me to go?”

“No, of course not.” Lily sat on the bench, shifting position as the cold crept through her cloak. She wrapped it tighter around her and watched as he sat beside her.

“About last—”

“We should discuss—”

They'd both spoken at the same time. “You go first,” the duke said with a wave of his elegant fingers.

“Well. I just wanted to say that this changes nothing between us.” She cleared her throat. “That I expect nothing of you, given what we—that is, what we did last night.” She felt her face flush as hot as it ever had.

“Nothing has changed?” He did not sound pleased at her words.

She turned to regard him. “Your Grace, it is not
as though it can happen again. You know that. I know that. We, in fact, both know that.” She turned to face forward. The trees were far less dangerous to look at.

“I wish—” he began, but she held her hand up.

“We cannot wish for what we cannot have. I have learned that a long time ago.”

Silence for a few long moments. When he spoke again, his voice was ragged. “I thought I had, too. I grew up wishing for what I could not have: parents who cared, a brother with whom I had things in common, a purpose in life.” She felt rather than saw him turn toward her. Was he finally telling her all the things she'd presumed from his comments? “I didn't think I could have anything I wished for until Rose—and you—walked into my life.”