When the Duke Found Love (17 page)

He made a rumbling noise of exasperation. “Very well, then, stand. But sitting or standing, you
will
listen to me.”

He swept his hat from his head, tapping it lightly against his thigh for emphasis. He couldn’t possibly have become out of breath from chasing her a dozen paces, not a man as large and strong as he was, but she could think of no other explanation for the three deep breaths he took before her spoke.

“I believe no one should be forced to marry another,” he began, “simply because their properties need joining or their fortunes combining, or because they have the same bloodlines, like horses. I do believe men and women should marry for love alone, which is why I won’t marry Enid, and why I’ll do my best to see her and Pullings wed instead.”

She stared up at him from beneath her hat’s brim, not sure whether to believe this tirade from him or not. Why couldn’t he accept that people of their rank didn’t marry for love? It was the same for them all, and she couldn’t understand whether he was truly being rebellious or only saying such a thing to capture her attention. He had managed that much; she couldn’t recall ever having heard a gentleman make such a speech to her. But then, it was difficult to remain objective when he looked like this, his hair tousled and tossed by the breeze, his profile sharp against the late afternoon sky.

“You believe in love?” she asked warily. “You? With your married French mistresses galore?”

He winced. “You know of that?”

“Who in London does not?” She felt vastly worldly, speaking of such things to a man like him. It was also dangerous, exactly the sort of conversation that the future Lady Crump had no business conducting. “Everyone speaks of it.”

“Everyone,” he repeated more softly. “But you’re not everyone, Diana.”

There was something in his voice that made her shiver, an implied intimacy that should not be there between them. She knew she should leave him now and go find the others. She knew she must not be alone with him any longer.

And yet she did not move.

“What I did with her wasn’t love.” His voice was rough with urgency, as if it was important that she understand every word he spoke. “She might have been any doxie on the street instead of a marquise for what existed between us. It was a simple divertissement, a careless passion, a carnal desire—”

“No more,” she said, swiftly turning away. “I—I can’t listen to any more.”

“Diana, please,” he said, catching her once again, and she let herself be caught. “Diana.”

And then, as she’d known from the beginning he would, he drew her close and kissed her.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

Sheffield hadn’t intended to kiss Diana. In fact, he’d vowed to himself that morning that he wouldn’t, that he’d treat her more honorably than he generally treated women. If true love wasn’t won without challenge or sacrifice, then it likely required noble restraint, too.

Those thoughts, however, had taken place while he and Brecon were sitting in the jeweler’s shop, and it had been easy to make resolutions about noble restraint with his mother’s ring in his hand. Being alone with Diana, however, was an entirely different matter. It wasn’t as if she was trying to be enticing, not today. She’d been solemn and stern because she hadn’t agreed with what he’d done on behalf of Lady Enid and Pullings, and she’d even been judgemental about it, too.

But to his bewilderment, Diana being solemn and stern was a hundred times more enticing than any other lady being purposely seductive. She simply
was
enticing, even with Fantôme jumping around at her feet, trying desperately to steal her muff. She was perfectly confident, perfectly assured, her skirts ruffling around her legs, that foolish flowered cape fluttering lightly around her shoulders, and the ribbons on her hat rippling like pennants. She’d tipped her head with equally perfect skepticism and disdain, her single dimple adding punctuation as she looked up at him from beneath the curving brim of her hat with her lips pursed and her bright blue eyes slightly narrowed.

It was the pond at Marchbourne House all over again. Nothing was going as it was supposed to be between them. The more she acted as if she’d no gainful use for him, the more captivated he became.

All he’d intended to do was explain how cleverly he’d arranged matters between Enid and Pullings. He’d expected her to be impressed. She wasn’t, and when she wasn’t, he went babbling on about love. Damnation, about
love
, the single most perilous word a man could ever utter. He hadn’t intended that at all. He didn’t love her, not to go bandying the word about like that. He was only considering loving her, a very different thing, at least in his head.

Then she’d folded her arms to demonstrate her determination and inadvertently offered him an engrossing display of her breasts, raised beneath her forearms and framed by the sides of her cloak. That was enough—more than enough—to make him stop thinking with his head and let his cock take over instead. He’d been left so confused that before he’d realized it, he was explaining carnal desire and the Marquise du Vaulchier. Clearly words could no longer be trusted, not where Diana was concerned, and in desperation he’d automatically done what he knew never failed: he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

She made an odd mumbled sound of protest that might have been his name, or might have been something much less flattering. He didn’t care, and after a moment, she didn’t, either. Her hands—and that infernal muff—fluttered briefly against his chest, not from anger, but more from amazement, and then they stilled, trusting him more than she should. He kissed her purposefully, brazenly, ignoring that they were standing in the middle of St. James’s Park. This was one thing he knew how to do supremely well, and there couldn’t be any misguided mentioning of love this way, either.

But the longer he kissed her, the more he felt that confident control fraying and unraveling. This time, she required no gentle coaxing for her lips to part, but instead her mouth opened freely, welcoming him. She was somehow both innocent and eager, inexperienced but not shy, and the combination of curiosity and passion was like a torch to his own desire. This time, too, she didn’t rest her hands on his shoulders, but boldly reached inside his coat, allowing her palms to roam across his back, pressing her body closer to his.

He slanted his mouth to deepen the kiss further, and she made a small, maddening purr of excitement. At least it made
him
mad, mad with unabashed lust, mad enough for his hand to slide away from her waist, lower, past the hard edge of her stays to the wonderful softness of silk skirts over the full, rounded curves of her buttocks. His fingers spread, caressing her and pulling her hips closer to his. Despite the layers of clothes between them, she couldn’t ignore the hard length of his desire now, nor did he wish her to. He’d hoped to make her forget that unseasonable mention of love, and he’d certainly done that. There wasn’t any flowery, romantic love in what they were doing: only lust, white hot and ready and—

“Oooh!”
she gasped abruptly, pitching against him so hard that she nearly toppled them both.

“What in blazes?” he exclaimed, grabbing her by the waist to steady her.

“It was Fantôme,” she said breathlessly. The heady spell of desire had been broken, and she swiftly stepped apart from him. “He jumped and struck me. I suppose he still wanted the muff.”

“Hell!” There stood Fantôme, shifting from one front foot to the other as he grinned up with endless devotion, completely unaware of the almost unbearable frustration he’d just created. “Thunder and hell!”

“I’m sorry.” Her face was flushed, her lips were red and swollen from kissing, and her hair was coming unpinned—the very picture of a desirable woman half tumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, though he’d the distinct impression they weren’t sorry for the same things. His voice was gruff as he struggled to tame the beast raging in his breeches. Her general dishevelment wasn’t helping, either. “Damnably sorry.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath to compose herself. “Yes. No. Oh, whatever am I trying to say?”

“No more apologizing,” he said. He picked up a stick and threw it as hard as he could, more for himself than for Fantôme. “That would be a start.”

“Yes,” she said again. “I suppose we are even now. I have kissed you, and you have kissed me.”

He stared at her, stunned by such confused logic and still incapable of thinking with his head. “We’re
even
?”

“Yes,” she said, reaching up to try to shove her hair back to rights. “We’ve both erred, haven’t we? Two wrongs do not make a right, but they do balance things out. Goodness. My hat’s all askew, isn’t it?”

“The devil take your hat,” he said. “The devil take your argument, too.”

“Perhaps I should consign you to the devil as well, and be done with it.” She sighed and sank onto the bench, staring down at her hands instead of him. “You realize that this must never, ever happen again. Not if you wish to see this preposterous scheme for Lady Enid to a respectable ending.”

“It’s not in the least preposterous,” he said, grateful for a topic other than why they should never kiss again. “There is a small parish attached to my property in Hampshire. The living is mine to grant, and the present vicar is withdrawing at the next quarter day. I’ve told Pullings it’s his, to put him beyond Lattimore’s vengeance. All Pullings must do is marry Lady Enid, who seems eager enough to become the Greek-reading wife of a country parson.”

She looked up at him from beneath her still-crooked hat’s brim. “You would do that for them?”

“I told you I would.” He joined her on the bench, taking care to keep a safe distance between them. “No one should have to marry against their wish. I told you that, too.”

Again she looked away. “I didn’t believe you.”

“You should.” He wanted her to believe him. He didn’t know why it suddenly seemed so desperately crucial that she did, but it was. He wanted her to believe him in this, and in everything else as well.

But all she did was shrug and shake her head. “It’s not just a question of Lady Enid’s happiness. Pray recall that I am promised to Lord Crump.”

“I do recall it,” he said, more adamantly than he’d intended. “Every minute of the day.”

“As do I,” she said softly, sadly. “It’s good that I do, too, before I make another ruinous misstep like that last one.”

He frowned, for this was not what he wished to hear. “You consider kissing me a ruinous misstep?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “
Most
ruinous, if it were to become known.”

He had no answer for that, because she was most likely right. Kissing him would be ruinous to any betrothed lady. Even a month ago, such distinction would have made him proud, or at least laugh, but not now.

Damnation, how could she have turned him so completely wrong side out?

“It’s not just Lord Crump himself,” she continued, interpreting his silence as a request for more explanation. “It’s my mother and sisters and aunt, too. They wish only the best in life for me, and have persuaded me to see the reason in marrying an admirable gentleman like Lord Crump. Their own marriages were arranged with success, you know, excellent examples for me to follow. And then there’s also March and Brecon.”

“March and Brecon?” he repeated. “What do they have to do with this?”

“Because I cannot disappoint them, either,” she said, sounding determined yet defensive. “Because they are acquaintances of Lord Crump and applaud our match as a most admirable one for us both. Brecon in particular was most helpful to Mama with the legal arrangements.”

Belatedly Sheffield recalled his first night back in London, and how Brecon had been with Lady Hervey, discussing the betrothal of her difficult daughter. Sheffield had been amused and intrigued at the time. Now, knowing both the daughter and the future groom, he was instead horrified that Brecon’s habitual helpfulness had led to this match.

“But this is exactly what I mean,” he insisted. “We are all too bound by conventions of our class, and too accepting of marriages that are arranged not from love but from power and economics. Why should you accept Lord Crump if you do not love him?”

“Because I must,” she said. “Because ladies like me cannot afford to rebel like that, or we will never marry. Because I’ve already done too many things I shouldn’t have, and now only a gentleman as impeccable as Lord Crump can redeem me.”

He hated hearing the resignation in her words, her acceptance of a fate that seemed unspeakably dire to him. Crump might purify her reputation, but he’d also crush her spirit and rob her of any happiness in life. All that fire and passion he’d tasted in her kiss, along with her wry humor and impulsiveness and beauty, would be completely wasted on a husband like that.

“Consider Lady Enid,” he urged. “She’s not afraid to break free of her match.”

“Our situations are entirely different,” she said firmly, but now there was a bitterness in her voice, too. “I love my family and therefore respect their choice. I do not have a gentleman like Dr. Pullings waiting for me, nor would his lordship be nearly so obliging and generous as you are to Lady Enid. No, I will marry him, because I must. I must.”

He wanted to save her. How could he not? He wanted to be her hero, to tell her he’d find some way to help her free herself of her betrothal, to miraculously do the same for her that he’d done for Lady Enid. But she was right. Her situation was different. Her personality and their intertwined families made matters infinitely more complicated, and he thought again of how the only possible way to rescue her would be to marry her himself.

Even if he were to pursue such an irrevocable step, she seemed so thoroughly resigned to her fate and so determined to obey her family’s wishes that he wasn’t sure she’d accept. She believed she needed redemption by way of a saintly husband, and he couldn’t offer that, not by half. And there he would be, the dashing Duke of Sheffield rejected in favor of the sour-faced Marquis of Crump.