If the Duke Demands Page 18

  He pulled back and looked down at her. Except for her kiss-reddened mouth, her face appeared just as serene as before he’d begun to kiss her. He saw no signs at all of whether she’d enjoyed it, whether she wanted him to keep kissing her or to do more and dare to touch her the way he had Miranda, who’d made no attempt to hide what she felt. Even alone with him in the darkness, Jane was refined enough to not give over to unrestrained passions.

  But she was what he needed, wasn’t she? A respected and proper woman to be his duchess. One his father would have approved of, no matter that his heart wanted fire and passion.

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave him that same damnable smile as before. The only difference was that this time, she ran her gloved fingers through the hair at his nape.

  “That was nice,” she whispered.

  Nice? He bit back a laugh. Nice was the last thing he wanted.

  She said softly, “I think we should return to the box now before anyone notices we’re missing.” As if sensing the emotions warring inside him, she rested her hand possessively on his arm. “Please understand. I have to guard my virtue, especially with you, Trent.”

  “Especially with me?” What the hell did she mean by that?

  “You and your brothers have a certain reputation, you know.”

  Her eyes shined, as if she liked the idea of capturing one of the Carlisles, as if believing that silly bit of nonsense that reformed rakes made for the best husbands. They didn’t. They simply made for reformed rakes.

  The best husbands were men like his father. Those common, unassuming men with solid characters and generous souls, who provided well for their families and kept them safe, who were kind to those around them and demanding of themselves, who simply loved—

  Sebastian drew a deep, pain-filled breath…Who simply loved their wives.

  Her hand trailed over his chest to play flirtatiously with the buttons on his waistcoat, but his body didn’t react, not even a quickening of his heartbeat. Being alone with her tonight hadn’t aroused him one bit. It had only frustrated the hell out of him. “I’ll go on ahead, while you wait fifteen minutes before trailing after. We’ll say we were separated in the crowd.”

  “Of course.” Apparently, she had planned out quite a good deal in anticipation of being alone with him. He gave her a final parting kiss, hoping he’d missed something from the earlier embrace, but his reaction to her was just as lackluster as before.

  Then she was gone, slipping out from beneath the bower and heading back toward the alley, where her companion would be waiting for her behind the gallery with some ready excuse for how they’d all gotten separated.

  Biting out a frustrated curse, he paced the tiny space beneath the bower. He’d never considered passion to be a priority when deciding upon a wife. Of course, he’d always assumed that the woman he selected would be just as amenable to bed sport as he was. But now, with his cold reaction to Jane, he began to doubt if the woman he married would share even that. He’d have to teach her how to take pleasure in intimacy, he supposed, how to enjoy herself, so he could enjoy himself with her.

  Lord knew he certainly didn’t have to teach that to Miranda.

  He scowled. What on earth was wrong with him? Good God, why was he thinking of Miranda, of all women? When all she did was make him feel like a damn fool, a woman he should never want doing just that and leaving him frustrated and angry—

  A commotion sounded from nearby in the dark gardens. Sebastian ducked out from beneath the cover of the ivy-laden bower and watched down the narrow path at the heavy shadows where the lanterns had been extinguished. A man’s and woman’s voices, heated in argument, grew nearer. He smiled with grim satisfaction. Well, it was good to know that some other gentleman was having just as rotten a time as he was this evening. Most likely, the two fought because one of them had caught the other in the bushes with someone else. A nightly occurrence at Vauxhall.

  They drew nearer, nothing more than dark, bodiless arguing in the shadows. Then the woman’s voice came through clearly—

  “Just go away!”

  Miranda.

  She stormed out of the black shadows, her pace so fast that she was nearly running. And beside her, easily matching her strides, walked Burton Williams, Viscount Houghton’s youngest son.

  “Please,” she pleaded, “leave me be. I don’t need an escort to…” The rest of the sentence was lost as the two reached the start of the stone wall that cut through the bushes and added a layer of privacy to those wishing to hide among the shadows.

  Sebastian started forward, anger rising inside him.

  Williams said something to her, but she shook her head forcefully and kept walking. Without warning, the man grabbed her arm and yanked her against him. She pushed against him to break free as his mouth came down on hers.

  Her hand cracked across his cheek.

  Williams pulled back only far enough to snarl at her, “Like it rough, do you?” Then he shoved her back against the wall.

  Sebastian grabbed him by the shoulder and pivoted him around as his clenched fist plowed into the man’s jaw. The force of the surprise blow dropped Williams to the ground.

  “Apologize,” Sebastian demanded through gritted teeth as he towered over Williams at his feet, forcing out each word in a barely contained growl as red fury flashed through him.

  Williams shot out, “The hell I will!”

  “It’s all right,” Miranda assured him as she placed her hand on Sebastian’s right arm to keep him from punching the bastard a second time. “It was only a misunderstanding.”

  He didn’t believe that for a moment. And tonight, he was feeling just keyed up enough to engage in a full-out brawl to burn off the frustration and swirling energy inside him that he couldn’t put to rest. The same frustration that had burned inside him since the masquerade.

  “Apologize,” he repeated.

  Williams touched the trickle of blood seeping from his cut lip and bit out, “My apologies.”

  “Accepted,” Miranda quickly answered and tugged on Sebastian’s hand to lead him away. But he wasn’t about to move before he was ready.

  “Don’t ever touch her again,” he threatened as Williams climbed unsteadily to his feet. “And not one ill word about her to anyone unless you want a duel.”

  Williams laughed at that and sent a scathing look of contempt at her. “That poplolly isn’t worth the waste of a bullet.”

  With Miranda still clinging to his right arm, Sebastian swung with his left. He caught Williams hard in the other jaw. This time when the man crumpled to the ground, he knew enough to remain down.

  Anger coursed wildly through him, pulsing with each pounding beat of his heart as he grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her behind him down the path. He refused to let her go even as she called for him to stop, not looking back and forcing her to practically run to keep up with his long strides. No one in the crowd around them paid the slightest bit of attention. A woman being hauled physically from the gardens by an angry man was also a nightly occurrence.

  “We’re leaving!” he shouted at Quinn as he passed their box, his brother sitting on the front railing, surrounded by his friends. Thankfully, Lady Jane and his mother were nowhere in sight. “I’m taking Miranda home.”

  “Why?” Quinn yelled back through the noise as the first fireworks streamed into the air and burst overhead in a shower of brilliant reds and blues. Around them the crowd cheered.

  “Headache,” Sebastian snarled.

  Quinn frowned with concern. “Miranda has a headache?”

  “No,” he muttered beneath his breath, “I do.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Audley House!” Sebastian ordered the coachman as he yanked open the carriage door and set her inside on the bench. As he swung inside and slammed the door closed, he pounded his fist against the roof, and the carriage set off with a lurch.

  Miranda’s heart pounded furiously. He was angry, far angrier than she had ever seen him. He leaned fo
rward, elbows on knees as he glared at her through the shadows of the dark compartment.

  “What in the hell happened between you two?” His voice seethed with such white-hot anger that it shook.

  She lifted her chin, preparing for battle. She refused—simply refused!—to show any weakness in front of him by looking away. Instead, she boldly glared back, silently daring him to keep pushing…because after the night she’d had, she’d gladly push back.

  “I did nothing wrong,” she defended herself. “I left Robert and Miss Morgan by the folly, and I was walking back to the box when Burton Williams met me on the path and remembered me from the St James ball. He insisted that he escort me back, to protect me.” She nearly laughed at the irony of that. “I declined. But apparently, he isn’t used to being refused by women.”

  His jaw clenched so hard that even in the dark shadows she could see the muscles in his neck working as he ground his teeth. “Did he hurt you?”

  “Just my arm.” She winced as she rubbed her forearm where Williams had grabbed her. Surely there would be a bruise in the morning.

  “Before I arrived,” he clarified slowly. He clenched and unclenched his fists in a cold, restrained fury that made her shiver. His eyes were black. “Did that bastard force himself on you?”

  Understanding fell through her like ice water, dousing her own anger. Sebastian wasn’t upset at her; he was furious at Burton Williams. So furious that if she uttered the wrong word she knew he would turn the carriage around, charge back to Vauxhall, and murder the man for daring to touch her.

  “No,” she breathed, her eyes never leaving his. “He did not.”

  Heaving out a harsh breath, he leaned back against the squabs and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I have to serve with Williams’s father in the Lords. Houghton and I fill the same committees.” He bit out a curse beneath his breath as he shook his head. “What would my father say about this?”

  She whispered, “That he would be proud of you for coming to a woman’s defense.”

  “The same woman I nearly ruined myself at the opera?” he challenged quietly.

  Her chest tightened in sympathy for him, that he should doubt himself so severely in his father’s eyes. “You and Williams are nothing alike. You’re a gentleman who would never force his attentions on a woman.” She couldn’t read the emotions on his face through the dark shadows, but his shoulders remained stiff, his dark silhouette rigid in the swaying carriage. He didn’t believe her. “If you’re not a gentleman, then why did you give me that paper rose tonight?”

  “Because I was anything but a gentleman to you.” His voice matched the same low rumble of the carriage wheels over the streets. “I had no right to speak to you the way I did.”

  A smile pulled at her lips. All his silly warnings…“See? Williams would never have—”

  “And absolutely no right to do what I did at the opera. I forgot myself.” He held her gaze across the dark compartment. “It was a mistake.”

  Her heart skipped painfully. Hoping she’d heard him incorrectly, or that she’d simply misunderstood what he meant, she repeated in a stunned whisper, “A mistake?”

  He answered soberly, “Yes.”

  The single word tore through her, ripping into her chest and squeezing so hard at her heart she thought it might pop. She blinked back the stinging that burned in her eyes.

  “Which?” she somehow forced out despite the way her heart lodged into her throat. “Kissing me, touching me…or implying that you wanted me?”

  “All of it.” Shadows covered his face, making it impossible for her to read the emotions in him, but an underlying frustration scratched his voice. “I should never have kissed you like that or said those things to you. I didn’t mean them.”

  “Then why did you?” She forced a steadiness into her voice she certainly didn’t feel.

  “I lost my head that evening. I was swept up by the music. That was all.” He paused, then added quietly, “And I’m grateful that you came to your senses and put a stop to it.”

  She stared at him through the darkness, even as hot tears welled in her eyes and blurred his darkened face. It shouldn’t matter what she meant to him, what he thought of her, or even if he thought of her at all—Sebastian Carlisle, Duke of Trent, was never meant for her. He was meant for women like Lady Jane. But somehow, his opinion of her had come to matter. Somewhere between all the fighting and all the plotting to find each other the people they thought they wanted, she’d come to care about him. More than she ever dreamt possible. And now, for him to say that what they’d shared was a mistake—

  “Liar.”

  Her cutting accusation was little louder than a breath, but it tore through the compartment with the force of cannon fire. He flinched at its intensity.

  “I know why you’re saying this, why you’re—” Her voice choked as a knot of emotion tightened in her throat. She forced out through her frustration, “Because you don’t want to admit that you want me. Not the orphaned niece of your tenant. Not you, not a duke…someone who’s supposed to want only fine ladies and society daughters.” When she saw his eyes flare in the shadows, she knew she was right and charged on, remembering Diana’s words at the ruins. “But you do.”

  He clenched his hands into fists. “I need someone who can be my duchess,” he ground out, dodging her accusation.

  “A perfect duchess who will never do anything improper, never stir up gossip nor cause any trouble? Yes, the duke in you does want that.” Her heart raced with anger and something else just as dark, just as powerful. Something that had her wanting to stir the heated anger inside him until it boiled over. “But the man wants me,” she dared to whisper.

  “I don’t,” he bit out.

  She shook her head, recognizing that for the lie it was. “I’m the girl from next door who will never fit the ideals of proper and well-bred, who’s common and ordinary, with her freckled nose and garish hair. But who also makes you laugh and enjoy yourself. The woman who is completely wrong for the duke, but completely right for the man.”

  His eyes flickered in the shadows of the lamplight as he growled, “I do not want you.”

  “Yes, you do.” Then she pushed him right over the cliff— “And you can’t stand yourself for it.”

  With an angry, frustrated snarl, he grabbed her and yanked her across the compartment to him. She gave a soft cry of surprise as she landed sprawled across his lap.

  He forced out through clenched teeth, his mouth only a hairsbreadth from hers, “I can’t want you, goddammit!”

  “But you do,” she breathed, so softly that the sound was nearly lost in the shadows. All of her trembled. “And it isn’t a mistake.”

  His gaze dropped to her lips, then his mouth came down hard and demanding against hers. Her mind swirled from the onslaught of anger and arousal burning through them both in equal measure. She opened her mouth beneath the hungry desire of his kiss and heard the low moan of need tear from her own throat.

  When he plunged his tongue between her lips, she welcomed his rough assault, her tongue entwining around his and sucking him deeper into her mouth. Instead of being alarmed at his loss of control, she thrilled to it. She snaked her hand up to his nape and ran her fingers encouragingly through his silky hair as he continued to ravish her mouth in a kiss that was more hungry, more demanding and possessive than she could ever have imagined. One she wanted just as much as he did.

  When she could no longer sustain the breathless kiss, she tore her mouth away to gasp for air. Her fingers tugged at his cravat and collar to bare his throat to her greedy mouth, and excitement surged through her to feel the tattoo of his pulse racing against her lips. He tasted delicious, of man and port and tobacco, and she couldn’t get enough of him to satisfy her appetite. Couldn’t torture him enough with her own kisses that fanned the angry burn inside him.

  “I stir your blood,” she mumbled against his throat, thrilling to know that it was true. “You told me so.”

  S
he licked her tongue over his Adam’s apple and drank in each panting breath he took beneath her seeking lips. Her kisses tormented him, and she gleefully relished in it. She wanted to hear him confess that she was right, that kissing her and touching her wasn’t a mistake, that he wanted her—

  “I was wrong.” He growled and once more seized her mouth beneath his. This time when his mouth covered hers, instead of kissing her, he traced the outline of her lips with the tip of his tongue in an inverted kiss that sizzled through her and left her aching for more.

  Oh, a lie! But Sebastian was lying to himself as much as to her. Even now, heat sparked everywhere their bodies touched. She wasn’t like Lady Jane or those other society ladies. Not proper, not demure, certainly not passive. But he wanted her just the same, and her heart leapt with joy over it.

  She rose up to meet his mouth full-on and greedily devoured his kiss, letting her inexplicable ache for him sweep her away. As he kissed her breathless once more, she clung to him and met kiss for kiss, lick for lick, each bite for tantalizing bite. He couldn’t hide the effect she had on him, and he was beginning to shake with the loss of his precious restraint. But she sensed a change in him, a reluctant capitulation rising up from deep inside him. One she knew cost him a great deal of his pride.

  “I can’t have you, Miranda.” Belying his own words, he reached behind her back, and his clever fingers expertly unfastened the row of tiny hooks on her dress. “You’d be ruined, and I’d still be forced to marry someone else.”

  Her breath hitched as he pulled her bodice down to her waist and revealed the short stays beneath. A shiver of nervous excitement pulsed through her as his hand traced down the front laces. The heat of his touch seeped into her flesh through the stiff material, as if it wasn’t there at all.

  He brought his lips to her ear and confessed in a hot whisper, his fingers pulling the laces free from their eyelets, “But I still want you.”