A Duke of Her Own (13 page)

“A husband can provide those things.”

“Not always, Your Grace. I would have thought your mother would have taught you that.”

“And what do you know of my mother?” he asked, a frisson of anger working its way through his voice.

“Only what I have heard. Your father died when I was but a babe, but I know he was considerably older than your mother. Was it a love match?”

“No, I suspect not.”

His voice contained a profound sadness.

She stopped walking and touched his arm. “My sincerest apologies. That was not only rude but insensitive.”

“Did your father love your mother?” he asked.

“Yes, I believe he did. Too much perhaps. He indulged her every whim. It is part of the reason that we are in poverty now.”

“Can a man love too much?” he asked.

“I suppose not. But he can love rather foolishly.”

“With that sentiment, I will not argue.”

A couple passed by them, and Louisa decided it was best to stay on the move. She began walking again, and he fell into step beside her. “You
wished to speak with me about something?” she prodded.

“Yes. It is no secret I’m in dire financial straits.”

“No, Your Grace, it is no secret.”

“I need your assistance—”

“I cannot give it, as I have already explained.”

“Answer me this: How will Miss Rose deduce that any man is one of passion if you never grant her a moment alone with him?”

“You are not suggesting that I grant you a moment alone with her?”

“I’m merely curious.” He took her arm, led her off the path, into the shadows of the trees. “If her criterion is passion, how can you judge that a man may provide what she desires?”

“I’m certain there are ways.”

“Don’t be naïve, Louisa. Passion must be experienced in order to be proven, and if you will not allow her a moment alone with me, then you must serve as messenger.”

With one bare hand—when in God’s name had he removed his glove?—he cradled her cheek and tilted her head back slightly, just before he bent down and lowered his mouth to hers. The first brush of his lips was as gentle and warm as summer rain, a tantalizing touch, a mere whisper…

She should have pulled back then, stepped back, retreated. Instead she held her ground as though she were on the cusp of battle. She was aware of his other hand circling her waist, aware of him pulling her nearer until her breasts were flattened against his chest, her heels rising of
their own accord to bring her nearer, a blossom turning toward the sunlight, and then his growl rumbling along his chest, vibrating against hers, as he returned his mouth to hers, hungrily, greedily. His eagerness took her by surprise, and when she parted her lips, his tongue swept inside, to claim, to conquer, to seduce.

To elicit passion.

Passion. Which had always been only a word. Spoken. Understood. But never experienced.

Until this moment.

Heat poured into her, sluiced through her. She felt as though every nerve ending had been ignited. She was vaguely aware of her arms wrapping around his shoulders, hands rubbing his neck, her fingers toying with the ends of his hair.

Passion. Dangerous, dangerous passion.

If he were to lift her into his arms and carry her to a hidden corner of the garden, she would not object.

She’d been chaperoned all her life, and until this moment, she’d never truly understood the reasoning for it.

Now she understood all too clearly.

His kiss alone caused her body to thrum with yearning, his intoxicating scent heated her with desire, weakened her knees. All her senses were heightened, even as they all seemed to blur into one.

He drew back, breathing heavily, and even in the shadows of the garden, she could see the
fervor burning brightly in his dark eyes. “Do inform Miss Rose,” he rasped, his voice hoarse, “that I am fully capable of delivering the passion she so fervently desires.”

With that, he spun on his heel and stormed away, leaving her bereft and weak. She backed up until her knees rammed into a stone bench. She dropped onto the cold slab, fighting to draw in each labored breath, her body trembling with needs unfulfilled, with desires unleashed.

She pressed her gloved fingers to her swollen, wet lips. She could still taste him—brandy, from drink or sweet, she did not care—an addictive flavor that longed to be tasted again.

Passion? Oh, my word yes, the duke certainly was capable of delivering passion…and a good deal more.

W
hat in God’s name had possessed him to take Louisa into his arms? To press his mouth to hers, to devour greedily what she so innocently offered? She was not the one he should desire, not the one who should haunt his every waking moment, his every lurid dream.

After leaving her in the garden, he’d immediately left the ball, located his carriage, instructed the driver to go home without him, that he would walk to his residence, and now he was prowling the streets like some ravenous beast, his hunger unchecked. He could still taste her upon his tongue, thought he might forever taste her, even when he kissed another.

He had not originally taken her into the garden for the purpose of seduction. He had intended to
plead his case, to be honest and forthright, to strip himself bare if need be in order to gain her as an ally…

Instead, he had been mesmerized watching the light from the gas lamps play over her features. And when she had cut him off, refusing even to consider a request from him…he had reacted with poor judgment. Diabolically poor judgment.

If he’d ever held any hope that she would help him, he’d certainly dashed it all to hell with his actions. He had behaved exactly like the blackguard she’d accused him of being. He wondered if she took great satisfaction in being proven correct.

On the other hand, it had been impossible to gauge what thoughts might have been running rampant through her mind. She had looked at him like a woman fully aroused, and that had made his walking away doubly difficult.

He told himself it was because she was forbidden—as she was the sister of a friend, his overwhelming desire for her was entirely unacceptable—that he felt this overpowering need to possess her. If he could have her but once…conquer and move on—like Victoria’s armies—as was his usual habit he could more readily concentrate on the task at hand: gaining a wife who could provide him with the funds he needed to protect his sister, protect his family.

He staggered to a stop, the neighborhood familiar. Not where he’d planned to end up, but it would do for the moment. He opened the gate,
walked through, and closed it behind him. Then he strode up the cobbled walkway. He was in need of a friend and, more, an accomplice.

He arrived at the door of a home in which he was as welcome as his own. Or at least he’d always felt that way. He wondered if Ravensley’s parents had looked on him as unfavorably as his sister did.

He did not hesitate to open the door and stride through the foyer as though he owned the residence. This time of night he had a good idea where he’d find Ravensley. The lights were dimmed in the hallway leading to the library. In truth, he was surprised Ravensley hadn’t returned to burning candles rather than gas. He was well aware that it was difficult to revert to less-than-modern conveniences.

When he reached the library and opened the door, he was taken aback by the darkness. The only light came from a low fire burning on the hearth. He had to fairly squint to see Ravensley sitting in a chair by the fireplace.

“Ah, the duke, my well-titled friend has come to call,” Ravensley called out, his words slightly slurred.

“Into your cups, are you?” Hawk asked as he walked to a nearby table and helped himself to a generous portion of bourbon before sitting in the chair opposite his friend. “You weren’t at the party this evening.”

“No need. I’m not welcome in the Rose household, don’t you know? My title is not worthy of a
Rose daughter, and should I marry one, I will find her cut off with no settlement arrangements. Unfortunately, I do not have the luxury of marrying a woman who cannot provide me with sovereigns.”

“But you attended their tea party.”

He shrugged, sighed as though it sapped his strength to move at all. “This evening I had no desire to be tormented by gazing at what I could never possess. What brings you about this time of night? Must be long past midnight.”

“It is.” Hawk sipped the bourbon, welcomed its tart taste. “Jenny is forbidden to you, but not to me, yet I’m having difficulty obtaining her affections. Your sister refuses to assist me in my pursuit.”

Ravensley laughed bitterly. “You knew that already. So what has changed?”

“I’m not accustomed to not gaining what I have set my sights on.”

“And you want Jenny?”

“At all costs. The sooner, the better. I cannot be distracted from my purpose.”

“What distracts you?”

Not what but who. Your damned sister, he almost yelled. He effectively had to make himself unavailable in order not to be lured by her innocent charms. He would never see her again once he took Jenny to wife, as she would no longer need a chaperone. Their marriage would solve all his problems, problems he’d not even realized he had.

“It is of no consequence. But I have given a good deal of thought to my strategy, and I believe, with your assistance, that I could be wed before the Season is done. I realize I’m asking a good deal of you, because you favor her; but again, you have no hope of obtaining her, so I’m asking you to put our friendship above your wants—which again will never be realized.”

“And how exactly do you plan to accomplish this?”

Hawk gazed into the fire, watched the flames, dancing and writhing. For Caroline, he vowed, and tossed back the bourbon.

“As you eluded to some weeks back: by killing two birds with one stone. Miss Rose wishes to experience the passion of my kiss. I intend to be caught delivering it.”

“Are you certain you’re all right?” Jeremy asked.

Sitting in the carriage, listening as the wheels clattered over the street, Louisa forced herself to smile. He’d seen her come in from the garden and had been solicitous ever since: fetching her champagne, insisting she dance with him again, making her laugh by sharing funny stories from all his adventures traveling. He’d been jolly good fun and almost managed to make her forget about her encounter with Hawkhurst in the garden.

“Yes, I’m fine thank you.”

“I’ve never seen a woman return from a walk
about the garden quite so pale. Usually the outdoors puts color back into her cheeks.”

“It was simply a bit too warm out there.”

“I thought I saw the duke accompany you through the doors,” Jenny said.

“He was with me only for a moment,” Louisa said hastily. “He had to leave.”

“Your brother wasn’t there this evening,” Jenny said.

“No, I suppose he had other things to do as well.”

“A pity. I rather liked dancing with him.” She gazed out the window.

Louisa could not help but wonder what she would say if she knew that her mother had promised Alex that he would not see a penny if he pursued her daughters. Dear Lord, Louisa wasn’t certain if she’d ever met a woman as nasty as Mrs. Rose. Was it all money, titles, and prestige?

“A penny for your thoughts,” Jeremy said.

Louisa laughed lightly, wondering if pennies were all this family thought about. “None, really. I’m simply tired.”

“You’re a lousy liar,” he said, “but I won’t press matters.”

They rode in silence until they arrived at the Rose residence. Once inside, Jenny said, “Jeremy’s right. You are rather pale.” She took Louisa’s arm. “Come on. Father’s brandy will put the color right back into your cheeks.”

“I’m not pale,” Louisa protested. “I’m naturally very light of complexion.”

Jenny smiled brightly and leaned near. “It’s an excuse, Lady Louisa. I want to hear the details of the walk in the garden, and a bit of brandy always makes the telling so much easier.”

“It was merely a walk—”

“Shh. Say no more until we are settled in the library,” Jenny said.

“Am I invited?” Jeremy asked.

“Of course. You shall do the honors of pouring the spirits,” Jenny said.

“This is highly improper,” Louisa said.

“Nonsense,” Jenny said. “It is late. No need to be my chaperone. Be my friend. I could use a friend.”

Something in her voice made Louisa realize she was serious. “Are you lonely here?”

“Of course I am. I know so few people, and Kate has withdrawn—” She shook her head. “I love the balls, but it is amazing how lonely one can be in a room filled with people.” She wound her arm around Louisa’s. “Now come, let’s relax with a bit of brandy—”

“I’ve never had brandy,” Louisa said, allowing Jenny to lead the way. Although she had tasted it in the form of sweets that Hawkhurst had shared with her. She wished she could stop thinking about him, and she feared brandy would only serve to remind her of him. She considered asking for something else to drink, but she didn’t want to appear rude.

“It’s wonderful for helping one to relax,” Jenny said.

They went into the library. She and Jenny took seats by the fireplace on the far side of the room, while Jeremy walked to a table of decanters. He handed them each a glass before returning to the table to pour himself one. Then he sat on the couch that was set between the two chairs, lounging with his legs stretched out before him, his jacket and waistcoat scandalously unbuttoned, seemingly quite comfortable and at ease, a position Louisa had never seen a man take. Not even Alex. He lifted his glass. “To uncovering the truth behind the trip into the garden.”

“I’m not going to drink to that,” Louisa said, smiling at him. She thought he was quite charming. She was halfway tempted to try to find him a wife.

“So something wicked must have happened there,” Jenny said.

“No, not at all,” Louisa said quickly. She took a sip of the brandy, quite pleased with the taste, and looked at the empty hearth.

“Come, Lady Louisa, you are among friends,” Jeremy said. “Did the blackguard take advantage?”

She jerked her head around. “Of course not. And why do you call him a blackguard?”

“Is he not?”

She took another sip of the brandy. It was one thing for her to have a low opinion of Hawkhurst; she didn’t much like that these Americans might, even if the low opinion was well earned. “He was simply curious as to how a gentleman might
persuade Jenny that he was of a passionate nature if he never had a moment alone with her.”

“Excellent point,” Jeremy said. “Too much chaperoning goes on over here as far as I’m concerned. In America, I’ve found it’s quite sufficient for mothers to keep an eye out, fathers to threaten…no need to hire.”

“Lady Louisa is serving as my
social
chaperone. While she keeps a more watchful eye than I would like, her main purpose is to guide me away from fortune-hunters and wastrels and guide me toward men of quality. That said, I must state that there are many ways for a man to prove his passion,” Jenny said, returning the discussion to the preferred topic. “A man who is truly passionate would know that. Passion must occur outside the bedroom before it can occur inside the bedroom.”

Louisa’s cheeks grew warm as she stared at Jenny, then shifted her gaze to Jeremy, who appeared amused. She thought of the passion she’d experienced in the garden. That had certainly taken place outside of a bedroom, but, she realized, only because a bedroom wasn’t near.

“Tell me, dear sister, what do you know of passion outside a bedroom?” Jeremy asked laconically.

“I believe the purpose of this late-night gathering was to find out what happened in the garden with the duke.” Jenny finished off her brandy and held out her glass to her brother. “More, please.”

He quirked a brow, grinned, and shook his head. “Who are you of a sudden? Oliver Twist?”

“Don’t be difficult. I could make this a ladies’ only meeting.”

Seemingly without taking offense, he got to his feet and went to the corner to do her bidding.

Jenny leaned toward Louisa. “Passion is evident in the way that a man holds my gaze as we waltz, the way he holds me in his arms. If you look closely, you can see in his eyes…a burning that causes your flesh to heat long before he touches you. I will go to my wedding bed a virgin, but I fully expect the man I marry to entice me with the promise of passion long before.”

She moved back as her brother returned with her glass.

“Whispering secrets?” he asked.

“Merely explaining what I want from a man. Something I’m certain the Duke of Hawkhurst would have no trouble delivering.”

Louisa felt decidedly uncomfortable as memories assailed her: his touch, his scent, his groans, his taste, the look of him ensconced in shadows…

“Interesting. It seems the color has returned to your cheeks with a vengeance, Lady Louisa,” Jeremy said.

She cleared her throat, shook her head. “It’s the brandy.”

She took a sip as though to emphasize her point. Hawkhurst wanted Jenny. If he could deliver passion such as he had with his kiss in the garden to a woman he didn’t desire, she feared
Jenny might ignite into flames if he got hold of her. “Do you favor him, then?” Louisa asked.

Jenny raised a brow in an arch that very much imitated the one for which her mother was famous. “Hawkhurst?”

Louisa nodded.

Jenny shrugged. “He is extremely handsome. A fine physique. A marvelous dancer. And he has a bit of the devil in him. I enjoy his company. But I need a bit more wooing before I can claim to favor him.”

“Wooing,” her brother grumbled. “You do not make it easy for a gentleman.”

“Nor should we.” Jenny held up her glass. “More.”

He groaned as he got to his feet. “What of you, Lady Louisa?”

Louisa downed the brandy in a very unladylike manner and held out her glass. “Yes, please.”

Perhaps more brandy would wash away the images of Hawkhurst, would ease the pain that had settled into her heart because the kiss he’d delivered had not been for her but had been for Jenny. Louisa was merely the messenger, and she supposed she should take that role to heart.

Louisa forced herself to lean forward, and say, “Hawkhurst kisses with a great deal of passion.”

Jenny’s eyes widened. “And how do you know this?”

“In the garden. He was upset because he could not get you alone, and as a chaperone, I have no
one watching me, and so he asked me to deliver the message.”

Jenny grinned impishly. “So he
told
you that his kisses are passionate? Any man can make such a claim.”