Why Do Dukes Fall in Love?: A Dukes Behaving Badly Novel (8 page)

Just as she had no illusions about the duke; he was entirely imperfect, his blunt, abrupt way of speaking, his no-nonsense
attitude, his determination to keep moving forward.

And yet she couldn’t help but find him intriguing. That was all of it, she assured herself. Nothing more than natural curiosity
about an attractive, forceful, intelligent man she was in constant contact with.

Oh, Edwina
, she told herself,
you are in so much trouble
.

“I will be certain to, should that ever happen, Mrs. Cheltam.” From Miss Clark’s tone, it sounded as though she thought it
would never happen.

Edwina smiled in response. “Thank you, Miss Clark.”

She left the schoolroom and walked the two flights down to the main floor, about to return to the study, where she’d left
her notes, when she heard the door open, and Gertrude’s voice chiding Chester—hopefully Chester, that is; hopefully she wasn’t
chiding the duke—about something or another.

“We’re home, Mama,” Gertrude said when she saw her. She clutched the dog’s leash in one hand, and had her other—surprisingly—tucked
in the duke’s hand.

Edwina felt her eyes widen, then saw the duke’s expression and wanted to laugh.

He looked almost embarrassed, as though he didn’t want anyone to see him in such a situation. Holding a child’s hand, of all
things.

“Did you have a good walk?” Her look encompassed all of them, even Chester, but it was the duke who replied.

“Yes, it was fine.” His words were spoken in a nearly wondering tone of voice, and she wanted to roll her eyes at him—seriously,
did he think walking with a young girl and a dog was going to be the worst thing that had ever happened to him? From his tone,
that was what it sounded like. And yet he had survived. She wished she could congratulate him on his miraculous return, but
that would be far too rude. He would do it, if he thought of it, but not her. She had her limits, it seemed, after all.

“The duke likes books, too.” Gertrude looked up at him, her hand still in his, a look of approval on her face. “And we both
like Chester.” She looked back at her mother. “We have many things in common, Mama.”

Edwina’s throat tightened. Her daughter had spent all of her life prior to now likely believing that adult men had nothing
to speak with her about—Gertrude’s father hadn’t been interested in doing more than pinching her cheek and mentioning how
she would one day look as beautiful as her mother.

“That is wonderful, Gertrude.” She glanced up at the duke, who was looking at her with that intense gaze that still made her
start when she saw it. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured. He nodded in reply, almost brusquely.

Of course. He was embarrassed to have done something that wasn’t entirely practical. She wished she could tell him it was,
in fact, entirely practical, since the alternative—telling Gertrude no—would have resulted in an uproar in the household.

“Miss Gertrude, you should return to your governess.”

“Miss Clark,” Gertrude corrected.

Edwina held her breath, hoping he wouldn’t shut Gertrude down as effectively as he shut most people down.

“Miss Clark, of course.” His eyes flickered to hers, the corners lifting up as though he nearly smiled. And she let out a
breath, smiling in return.

“I will see you at dinner,” he continued, releasing Gertrude’s hand. “Both of you,” he added, once again looking at Edwina.
It felt as though he were able to say so much in just a look, and the worrisome thought crossed her mind that he could read
her as well, which meant he might suspect just how . . . intriguing she found him.

Handsome. Engaging. Intelligent. Commanding.

But even if he did, she thought with a mental shrug, it wasn’t as though he would care. No doubt plenty of ladies had found
him the same way for years, and yet here he was, not entangled with anyone, at least as far as she knew. She would have to
ask—discreetly, of course—about whether the duke had plans to marry anytime soon. She hoped not. For the future of her position,
she reminded herself, nothing more.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” She saw him open his mouth to correct her, but glance around at all the attending servants. He must
have surmised—correctly—that there would be more talk than she could withstand if it was known she addressed him so informally
in private. Thank goodness he didn’t just insist, and damn the consequences. She could see him doing that, as well.

Damn the consequences. She wished she could do that, too. Although she didn’t. Because if she could, she knew just what she
wanted to do, and that would lead to far more trouble than just imagining what his shoulders felt like.

Damn it, he’d done it again. Thought of something, and then
whoosh!
it had emerged from his mouth before he’d had a chance to think about it completely.

Why had he invited them to dine with him? It wasn’t as though he didn’t have a stack of invitations for dinner, which his
secretary had reminded him just the previous day. He’d even told her to sort out which ones seemed the most promising, knowing
that any hostess would welcome a duke to her table, even if he hadn’t told her he was coming.

He still could. He could just change for dinner and leave, letting them know he wouldn’t be having them to dine with him after
all. It wasn’t as though it was at all expected. It was entirely unexpected, in fact. He knew that, not just because he knew
about the world—even if he didn’t do what the world expected of him—but of how she looked when he’d said it, entirely surprised
and, he thought, also pleased.

That was what made him want to do it, wasn’t it? Knowing she would be happy, that the child would be happy, that he wouldn’t
have to endure conversation with anybody who didn’t interest him.

Both of the Cheltam ladies interested him, although for very different reasons.

He shook his head at his own foolishness as he returned to his study. Already grumpy because dinner wouldn’t be for an hour,
which meant he had to wait. He didn’t like to wait.

As it turned out, perhaps he should have waited longer. Or canceled it entirely.

“I want Chester to eat with us, too.” Gertrude’s bottom lip was pushed so far out of her mouth it looked odd. She stamped
her feet, crossed her arms over her chest, and looked at him, glowering.

Cheltam glanced at him as well, obviously embarrassed by her daughter’s behavior. He thought he probably shouldn’t laugh.

“Chester cannot be in the dining room while we eat.” He spoke in the tone that brooked no argument. “He is quite happy to
spend the hour or so in my study.”

Gertrude didn’t seem to have understood his brook-no-argument tone. Because she did, in fact, argue. “But he doesn’t like
to be on his own, he said so,” she replied, her voice sharp and plaintive.

“That’s enough, Gertrude.” He’d never heard Cheltam speak so sternly. “We will take our dinner in our rooms, Your Grace.”

Well, that was punishing him as well as her, wasn’t it?

He raised an eyebrow. “Miss Gertrude may take her dinner in her room with Miss Clark”—he’d remembered her name—“but you will
dine with me.” Because he’d be damned if he’d forgone going out this evening because he wanted to eat with her, only to eat
by himself.

“But,” she began, then shut her mouth as she seemed to realize he had used his brook-no-argument tone again. Thank goodness
one of the Cheltam ladies understood it. “That will be acceptable, Your Grace.” She lifted her chin as she spoke, then turned
to regard her daughter. “You will have your dinner, and then you will write a letter of apology to the duke.”

Gertrude glared at him, and he was surprised to find himself piqued. He’d thought she liked him, and here she was clearly
annoyed at him. Which wasn’t at all his fault.

All the times previous that people had been annoyed at him it had been his fault. This was an entirely new experience.

“I don’t want to,” Gertrude said belligerently.

“I don’t care what you want,” her mother replied. “You cannot be so rude to people, it is not how people wish to be treated,
and you wish to be treated politely yourself, so you have to understand what you are doing when you are behaving rudely.”

Hm. He hadn’t thought of it precisely that way before. He had behaved in the most expedient manner, to get what he wanted,
but he’d never thought about how someone else would wish to be treated. That was an interesting idea, and one he’d have to
think about later on.

When he wasn’t so hungry. Or, more precisely, when he wasn’t so interested in spending time alone with this woman when they
weren’t working.

“Ask Miss Clark to come down here and collect her charge.” He spoke over his shoulder to one of the footmen; it didn’t matter
which one. He heard the rustle of movement, a “Yes, Your Grace,” and then silence.

“Do I have to?” Gertrude spoke in a much softer voice now, as though she’d figured out just what she was losing by her actions.

He didn’t wait for her mother to reply. “You do. Your mother has reminded you that people do not like to be treated rudely,
and if you wish to dine with us again, you will apologize properly and we will consider inviting you another time.”

She lifted her chin in nearly a mirror to the way her mother did, and he did have to smother a smile. Only, it seemed, she
didn’t do so to argue with him. “Fine. I will. I am sorry.” And she did sound it, and he glanced to Cheltam, to ask if she
would change her mind, and her daughter could stay, but his secretary just looked at him and gave a quick shake of her head,
so he didn’t say anything.

“Miss Gertrude, I am here to take you back upstairs.” Miss Clark looked flustered. As it seemed she normally did. Or perhaps
that was only in his presence. He wouldn’t doubt that. “Mrs. Cheltam, I am sorry for this.” She took Gertrude’s hand. “We’ll
go upstairs and you can eat your dinner, then work on your letter of apology.” The footman must have filled her in on what
had happened. “Say good night to your mother and His Grace.”

Gertrude now seemed thoroughly abashed, and he felt something—was it sympathy?—for her as she blinked away tears and her lower
lip trembled. “Good night, Your Grace. Good night, Mother.”

They both watched as the girl walked out with her governess, Michael feeling a pang as she left. Only to be replaced, naturally,
with a delight that now he could be with Cheltam, and her alone.

What was it about her? He had plenty of opportunity while they were working to look at her, to admire her beauty, so it wasn’t
just that. That was pleasant, of course; it was far more enjoyable to look at a beautiful thing than an ugly one. That just
made sense.

Only she wasn’t a thing, she was a person. A person of definite opinions, and ideas, and who was as close to him in intelligence
as anyone he’d ever met before. He wouldn’t go so far as to say she was as intelligent as he was—nobody could be, in his own,
admittedly biased opinion—but she was sharp enough to follow when he spoke, to ask the right questions, to understand the
salient point of what he was saying.

To make him feel not quite as alone.

“I am so sorry for Gertrude’s behavior.” She sounded apologetic as well, and he could tell by her expression she was nearly
mortified.

“Isn’t that what children do? Decide they want something and then act on it?” He shrugged. “It is nothing, do not concern
yourself with it. She is a good child, but she is a child.”

She gave him a wry smile. “And here you said you had no experience with children. It sounds very much as though you understand
them entirely.”

He held his arm out for her, not that she needed guidance to reach the dining table, but he found he wanted her to touch him.
To be assisted by him, even though she would say she needed no assistance.

“I do not understand them entirely, but it is only logical that their minds would be less tied to propriety than older people.”

“It sounds as though you are describing yourself, Hadlow,” she said in a low tone of voice as he settled her in her chair.

He paused, feeling a spark of anger at her words. She was calling him a child—again. Only, on reflection, she wasn’t wrong,
was she? He saw things he wanted, he asked for them, or he figured out how to get them.

Well, that concept led to some very interesting thoughts, didn’t it? He wondered what she would say if he asked her:
Cheltam
, I would like to engage in sexual relations with you. Just because I am curious, and I want you, and I think it would be
more pleasant than not doing it.

He chuckled at the thought, and she looked up at him. “What is it?”

He shook his head as he took his own seat and beckoned to the footmen to begin serving. “Nothing, just a passing fancy.”

Although the thought occurred to him that this fancy was not passing. Which meant he absolutely should not say anything to
her about any kind of relations that weren’t of the professional, working sort. He wasn’t bound to propriety, certainly, but
there was bound to be awkwardness, no matter what happened, and he didn’t think the benefit of sexual relations with her—if
she even said yes—would outweigh the negative aspects of it all.

He didn’t think so. Did he?

Dear God, he did. He did think it would be worth it.

He was in so much trouble.

Hadlow—and when had she started thinking of him as Hadlow, anyway?—was remarkably quiet during dinner. Edwina glanced at him
worriedly a few times, thinking he was upset about Gertrude’s behavior, until she realized that if he were upset, he would
say so. And she didn’t think he was upset in the first place.

So what was bothering him?

They’d finished the meal, with her scarcely knowing what she ate, only that it was food, and now she was full, and they had
barely spoken to each other. He could have just eaten by himself if he didn’t feel like company. She felt—well, piqued that
he hadn’t seen fit to engage her in conversation.

“Shall we go to the drawing room?”

She opened her mouth to respond, only to realize the footmen were all still there. She knew he wouldn’t balk at saying something
that would cause talk, but he was a male, and a duke, and whatever he said would be fine, because of who he was.

She couldn’t very well do the same thing, not being male or a duke. And he was her employer, although she knew he wouldn’t
consider that, either, unless she did something stupid in his employ. Then, she knew, he would have no compunction about letting
her go as soon as he discovered the error.

So she nodded, and rose, waiting until he came to her side, putting her hand on his arm, allowing him to walk her to the drawing
room, aware that the footmen and Hawkins all stood in attendance in the hallway between the two rooms.

He opened the door and let her precede him, then closed the door behind them.

It was just them now.

She should say something, only what was there to say?
You haven’t spoken to me at all, and I am irritated by that, only I shouldn’t be, it is just that I have come to think we
are friends as well as employer and employee, and that you liked talking with me.
That was part of what she was feeling, but not all.
You haven’t spoken to me, and I am fascinated by you, and if I can’t find out what your shoulders feel like, I should at least
get to converse with you.
That was closer.

“You didn’t talk to me at all during dinner.” Well, that wasn’t precisely how she meant to put it, but there it was. She’d
said it.

He walked toward her, still not speaking, and her breath caught. There was something determinedly predatory about his movements.
Something that made her heart start to beat a little faster, and she felt a warm flush creeping up her face. She had to be
imagining it, though, hadn’t she? He had never given her any kind of indication he had even noticed she was female. For goodness’
sake, he never even stood when she entered the room unless it was to take her somewhere he wanted her to be, like seated in
her chair at dinner.

Nonetheless. She felt something in the air between them, and she waited, lifting her chin as he approached.

“I didn’t speak to you,” he said in a low growl, “because if I did, it would be to ask you something entirely inappropriate.”

Oh. Suddenly her whole body felt warm, and her breasts pressed against her corset as she took a deep breath.

“Wh-what is that?” Her voice was strained.

He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could see the faint lines bracketing his mouth, so close that if he wanted
to he could—he could—

“I want to kiss you. Will you allow me to kiss you?” His eyes, his intensely dark green eyes, stared at her, his whole body
immobile as he waited.

If he wanted to he could kiss her.

And this was up to her, wasn’t it? He wasn’t the type, she knew that, to leverage his title and strength and sheer Hadlow-ness
of him to get what he wanted. But all of that was alluring, surprising that she would find it so, having loathed when her
late husband had attempted to dominate her in any way.

But with him? She would welcome it. She wished he hadn’t asked, wished he had just taken her, claimed her mouth with his.

But that wouldn’t be honest, or fair, and he might be the most abrupt and rude man she had ever met, but he was also the most
honest.

And he was still waiting for an answer, his eyes not leaving her face, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists at his
sides.

That was what decided her. That clear, expressed need, that want epitomized by the movement of his hands.

“I will let you kiss me,” she said in a soft voice. “Only if you let me kiss you as well.”

He smiled then, slowly, the smile of someone who is very, very pleased.

He’d decided to just say it, to let his want be known between them. The worst that happened would be that she’d slap his face
and say no, and leave his employ.

And then he’d have thrown away a damn good secretary, which would sting nearly as much as her telling him no in the first
place.

But somehow he didn’t think she would. She kept looking at him during dinner, worrying her bottom lip—the lip he wanted in
his own teeth—and he knew that it wasn’t just because the conversation was minimal. He’d caught her glancing at his hands
as he ate, an expression of something, something very intriguing, on her face.

So he decided to just say it. If he didn’t, he’d always wonder what would have happened if he did, and he was nothing if not
decisive.

And she’d said yes, and in the most Cheltam way possible—
Only if you let me kiss you as well
. And he would let her, but only after he’d gotten to plunder her mouth as he wished to. As his whole body was telling him
to.