The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (28 page)

And love? What about love?

Her throat tightened as she skittered away from that thought. Love was too much to
ask for. If she pined for that from him, if she let herself fall in love with him,
there really was a good chance he would break her heart.

Unfortunately, her heart didn’t seem inclined to listen to her cautions. It was already
half in love with him.

It was prompting her to hold her hand out to him. “I’m weary of talking,” she whispered,
wanting to forget, if only briefly, the complications of their present situation.
“Come back to bed. Vidocq won’t return until evening, so we have a few hours together.
We should make the best of it.”

She wanted to lose herself in him once more.

Heat flared in his face, and his eyes trailed a path of fire down her body. Then he
steadied his shoulders and snapped his gaze back to hers. “Until you agree to marry
me, we aren’t doing this again.”

Shock rapidly gave way to irritation. “Are you trying
to blackmail me into doing as you wish, Your Grace?” she said tightly. “Because I
assure you that while I enjoyed what we did together, I’m not so desperate for male
attention that I will agree to any demand of yours in order to get it.”

“It’s not blackmail.” He crossed his arms over his chest. His still bare, still magnificent
chest. “But every time we make love, we risk conceiving a child, and I won’t let you
bring a bastard into this world to be mocked and ridiculed.”

She gaped at him, her heart dropping into her stomach. “Of all the insulting . . .”
Her anger flaring high, she leaped from the bed, dragging the coverlet with her. “How
could you think I’d ever let my child suffer the cruelties of being a bastard?”

He gazed steadily at her. “You refuse to marry me. What else am I to think?”

She strode up to poke her finger in his chest. “If I do find myself with child, I
assure you that I will marry you. I’m not so foolish as that!”

When a sudden satisfaction glinted in his eyes, awareness dawned. Devil take her temper!
She’d just told him exactly what he wanted to know—that he had a way to
make
her marry him.

“In that case,” he drawled, catching her hand and trying to pull her to him, “let’s
go back to bed.”

She snatched her hand free. “Oh, no you don’t. You are not going to swive me silly
in an attempt to get me with child.” Turning on her heel, she marched over to the
closet and found a wrapper she’d left behind for
whenever she visited. “I believe you’re right, Max. We
shouldn’t
do this again.” At least not until he realized that the only marriage worth having
was a real one.

Changing the coverlet out for the wrapper, she shot him an airy look. “Now I think
I’ll go call for a bath. Might as well put to good use the time we must spend waiting
for Vidocq.”

She started for the door, but hesitated as she thought of something. Returning to
the bed, she jerked off the bloodstained sheet and tossed it into the fireplace. Max
watched in silence as she started a fire on top of it.

But as she fanned the flames, he said, “Getting rid of the evidence, are you?”

Sparing a glare for him, she gathered up her clothes. “The servants believe we’re
married, remember?”

That infuriating eyebrow of his quirked up. “That’s not what worries you. You’re worried
they might tell Vidocq what happened, and he might tell your brothers about it, which
would send them straight to me.” His voice turned cocky. “And you know damned well
that if they confront me, I won’t hesitate to tell them I’m not the one balking at
marriage.”

Ooh, he was so sure of himself! And so abominably right.

Refusing even to dignify his remarks with a hot retort, she hurried toward the door.
She had to get away from him before she did something reckless, like . . . like shove
the arrogant, annoying arse off a balcony!

Or accept his offer of marriage, infernal conditions and all.

Tears stung her eyes. Curse him—Max was the only man she knew who could turn what
should have been the most romantic moment in the world into a calculated business
proposition.

But as she started to leave, he added in a low voice behind her, “I warn you, dearling.
I don’t play fair either when it comes to getting what I want.”

A thrill shot through her. All right, so perhaps his proposition hadn’t been
entirely
cold-blooded. But that didn’t make it any better. Or any more acceptable.

Fighting for calm, she faced him. Despite his rumpled hair and unshaven chin and lack
of decent attire, he still looked every inch a duke. He still wore the air of supreme
self-confidence that both tantalized and maddened her.

And his eyes gleamed with resolve. “I’m not giving up easily, Lisette.”

She stared him down. “Neither am I.”

Then she fled.

W
ITH HIS HEART
in his throat, Maximilian watched Lisette leave. Holy God, he’d handled that badly.
What the hell was wrong with him? Even a duke couldn’t
command
a woman to marry him. Women didn’t appreciate that sort of disregard for their feelings.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Unfortunately, something about the dark and sultry
Lisette shattered his self-control every time and made him behave like an oblivious
fool.

She’d probably expected sweet words and promises of love and a long life of connubial
bliss. Not logic and reason and a blunt statement like
You know that we have to marry.

But damn it, logic and reason were all he could offer her. A long life of connubial
bliss was highly unlikely. Though love, perhaps . . .

Gritting his teeth, he began to dress. He was not in love with Lisette, damn it! He
couldn’t be that foolish. Being in love made men do things like give up control
entirely to the women they loved. He wasn’t going to do that, no matter how much he’d
enjoyed having Lisette in his bed.

He paused with his shirt in his hand. He really
had
enjoyed it. And not just the part where they’d made love, either—the way she’d tempted
and provoked him into bedding her, then given herself to him with such unbearable
sweetness.

That had been memorable, but it was the part afterward that he would never forget.
Lying there so companionably with her, having her gaze up at him with a melting tenderness
in her face . . . even having her refuse his offer of marriage.

Despite everything she’d said about marriage being a prison for women, he’d half expected
her to play on his sense of honor and demand that he wed her. Any other virginal female
would have done so, especially when the person who’d taken her innocence was as eligible
a bachelor as he.

But not Lisette, oh no.

You know perfectly well I don’t care if you’re the duke.

And she’d laughed! She wanted him for himself, not for his title or wealth. She wanted
him in spite of the truth about his family’s curse.

A lump caught in his throat. Only Lisette would look past the gossip to the man. Not
the Duke of Lyons, but Maximilian Cale. Or Max, as she so jocularly called him.

That, too, was something he wasn’t used to. She dared to tease him. No woman had ever
done that, not
even his friends’ sisters and wives. They were all too intimidated by the cold and
aloof duke.

But Lisette treated him like an equal. It was bloody intoxicating. It made him want
her as his duchess so badly, he would slay dragons to have her.

He groaned. That in itself should serve as a warning that he must proceed with caution.
He had to marry her, of course—he wasn’t about to let her suffer the consequences
of her ruination—but he would have to make sure that she did so under his terms. She
would have to understand and accept the peculiarities of his situation.

The problem was she felt too deeply, wanted too much. She had to learn not to do that
if they were to have an acceptable marriage.

And yet.

Mon coeur.
She’d called him “my heart.”

His pulse quickened. Just the memory of the words, spoken with such affection, stirred
the feelings he’d struggled for so many years to imprison within his heart’s fortress.
Like the wild rose she was, she was growing over the walls, into the cracks, breaking
the stone—

No, damn it! He was
not
letting her destroy his walls. That way lay pain and suffering. Hadn’t he had enough
of that in his life?

He would make her his wife. He would do his duty by her, and he would enjoy it, but
that was all he would allow himself. Love . . . No, love was not part of it. Couldn’t
be part of it, not if he wanted to protect her in the end.

Glancing around at the room that was so visibly hers, he swore and headed out the
door. For now he had to put the enchanting Lisette from his mind long enough to shore
up his defenses. Perhaps some time spent searching Bonnaud’s study would do that.

Unfortunately, after an hour, he realized there was nothing in the damned place that
told him anything of use. There were boxes filled with papers . . . but none of them
had anything to do with his family.

And Bonnaud’s notes were written in some cryptic code that showed the man to be even
more paranoid than Father at his most insane. Though that was probably to be expected
of an agent of the French secret police.

He’d just closed the last box when the sound of a cleared throat arrested him. He
turned to find Vidocq’s butler standing in the doorway.

“Yes?” Maximilian said in French. “What is it?”

“Madame says that you may wish to have a bath.”

With a little clutch in his heart at Lisette’s thoughtfulness, Maximilian said, “I
would indeed. Thank you.”

The servant let out a typical Frenchman’s huff of annoyance. Maximilian was used to
the impudence of French servants, but this went beyond the pale. “Is that a problem?”
he snapped.

“I merely thought you should know that you may have to wait a while for it. Madame
insists that you have fresh water, and it will take time to heat it. If fresh water
is what you prefer.”

Now Maximilian was bewildered. “Of course I prefer fresh water. What else is there?”

The butler rolled his eyes, as if frustrated at dealing with someone so oblivious
as Maximilian. “Wives and husbands often share bathwater in France, Mr. Kale. I forgot
that you English can be . . . fastidious.”

Several things hit Maximilian at once. One, he’d forgotten he was supposed to be married.
Two, he’d forgotten that the servants didn’t know he was a duke. And three, people
actually
shared
bathwater?

Before he could even comprehend such an outrageous thing, Lisette showed up. She informed
the butler that he had better draw her husband a fresh hot bath and quickly, or Vidocq
would have his head. The butler responded with a few choice words about the English
and their nonsense, and she countered with a few of her own.

Meanwhile, Maximilian had stopped paying attention to the conversation the minute
he realized how well Lisette’s wrapper skimmed her appealing curves. Her hair was
wrapped up in a towel, but a few tendrils fringed her neck, making her look even more
delectable than usual. And God, she smelled like flowers.

She always smelled like flowers. It made him want her all over again.

As she apparently won the argument and the butler slunk away to do her bidding, she
glanced at Maximilian. “Did you find anything in Tristan’s papers?”

“No.” That was all he could choke out past his image of a naked Lisette.

Fortunately, she didn’t seem to be aware of how much he was enjoying the sight of
her scantily clad body. “I
was afraid of that. Let’s hope that Vidocq finds out something at the Sûreté.”

“Yes, let’s hope.”

“Well, then, I’m going to take a nap. Enjoy your bath.”

“Lisette!” he called to her as she walked away.

She halted to face him. “What?”

“Do married couples really share bathwater in France?”

A smug smile crossed her face. “In France, in England, and probably in half the countries
in Europe, Your Grace. It saves the trouble of heating and hauling buckets of water.
And it’s not just married couples, either. Sometimes whole families bathe in the same
water.”

“Holy God,” he muttered. “That’s . . . that’s . . .”

“Disgusting? Yes, it is. Be glad that Vidocq’s servants will make allowances for your
being one of those ‘fastidious English.’ ” She laughed merrily. “When it comes to
baths, I’m one of those ‘fastidious English’ myself.”

“A pity,” he said quickly before she could leave again. When she cast him a quizzical
glance, he raked her body with a heated look. “I might enjoy sharing a bath with
you
.”

She blinked. Then color rose in her cheeks. “What a shame, then, that you’re unlikely
to ever get that chance.” She marched off, her back rigid, but he’d accomplished his
aim.

If he couldn’t win her by using logic and reason, he’d win her by seduction. She was
a sensual female who
desired him. Surely that would be enough to get her to marry him in the end.