The Forbidden Duke Read online

  As she watched him retreat from the ballroom, a part of her protested. Perhaps his interest had started that way, but she didn’t think she’d misunderstood his ardor when they’d kissed or the humor they’d shared in conversation or the promise he’d just made her at dinner. No, he didn’t seem indifferent. But neither did that mean he wanted anything more than to help her on her way to success.

  She danced with several more gentlemen, but with each one, she imagined green eyes and a seductive smile. By the time she climbed into the coach with Lady Satterfield, she was exhausted.

  “How do people survive an entire Season of such entertainment?” Nora asked. She’d surely have to sleep the day away tomorrow, but likely wouldn’t. She rose early in the country, and had not yet broken that habit.

  The countess laughed. “You become used to it, but of course I don’t go out like this every night. I wouldn’t be able to manage. It was different when I was younger.” She studied Nora. “You don’t like it?”

  Nora didn’t want to hurt Lady Satterfield’s feelings. She was, after all, providing Nora with an exceptional opportunity, and Nora didn’t want to seem ungrateful. “It’s not that… It’s just different.”

  “You’ll get used to it. Once you’re wed, you can dictate your social calendar. Look at Kendal. He doesn’t bother with any of it.” She shook her head. “I’m astounded he came tonight. It will be the primary topic of conversation tomorrow. If it isn’t already.”

  “You didn’t know he was coming?” Nora asked.

  “No, and I didn’t ask him to. I told him we would be here, of course.”

  She hadn’t asked him to come. Which meant he’d attended—sought her out—of his own accord. The unease she’d felt earlier dispelled, leaving a warm feeling of contentment in its wake.

  Lady Satterfield tipped her head to the side. “You must think him very odd. I know some people do, but then others recall what he was like before—in his youth.”

  Nora leaned slightly forward, eager to know more. “And how was that?”

  “He was careless, an utter rake, truth be told. Then his father died, and he became the duke. Kendal—that is, Titus—felt his responsibility quite heavily and worked hard to be the sort of man his father would have wanted him to be.”

  Nora was entranced. She longed to unravel the mysteries of the Forbidden Duke. “What sort of man was that?”

  “Kendal—my husband, that is—was the smartest man I knew. He ran his estates impeccably and was always championing a cause or five in Parliament. He was a reformer.” She smiled, her gaze looking into the distance as if she were overcome with memories. “He had very little time for nonsense, or what he considered nonsense anyway.”

  “What did he consider nonsense?”

  Lady Satterfield’s lips curved up. “Balls like this one, though he would’ve made an appearance for supper as Satterfield did.”

  Nora noted that Satterfield stayed longer than that before taking his leave. “Did he spend much time at his club?”

  “In the same way that Titus does—keeping to his private room for the most part.”

  Titus. A strong name that recalled the Greek Titans, it fit him. Nora imagined him in solitude and was surprised to find the image enticing. But then any image with him made her stomach curl with anticipation. She tried to think of the younger Titus, the rake, and found it nearly impossible. “I can’t imagine Kendal as a reckless youth.”

  “Yes, well, he was.” Lady Satterfield shook her head gently. “He drove his father mad with his antics.”

  “What manner of antics?”

  “He ran with a fast crowd—racing phaetons, gambling, everything you might expect. He cut quite a figure. I’m surprised you don’t remember him from when you were out. That would have been about the same time.”

  Nora tried to recall him but couldn’t. “I didn’t move in the same circles.” Indeed, her only foray into the upper echelon had been when Haywood had paid her attention, and look at how that had turned out.

  “He wasn’t Kendal of course then,” Lady Satterfield said. “He was the Marquess of Ravenglass.”

  That name sparked a hint of memory, but Nora still couldn’t place him.

  Lady Satterfield yawned as the coach stopped in front of their town house. “Goodness, but I am tired. We shall take a respite tomorrow. I need to summon my energy since I’m hosting a tea the following day.”

  Nora was delighted to have a day of relaxation. Even so, she felt restless just now. The name Ravenglass nagged at the back of her mind, but she simply didn’t remember Kendal from her earlier Seasons. When she fell asleep that night, she thought of a rake named Ravenglass and couldn’t imagine how he’d become the Forbidden Duke.

  Chapter Ten

  Titus went from the ball to his mistress’s house. Isabelle was out—at the theatre, according to her footman—so he waited for her. But after pouring a glass of whisky, instead of making himself comfortable, he paced.

  She made a grand entrance into the small sitting room adjoining her bedchamber. Dressed in a gown of sparkling ruby satin decorated with gold ribbon, she looked like a gleaming jewel meant to be appreciated. Preened over.

  He couldn’t help but contrast her to Nora. She’d worn a simple but elegant ball gown made of a rich amber that made her auburn hair seem redder and her tawny eyes more luminescent. Where Isabelle commanded attention, Nora quietly lured you into her orbit, and once there, you were sorely tempted to never leave.

  But he had left. He’d possessed no other choice unless he wanted to give the ton even more fodder.

  “Kendal,” Isabelle purred. “What a divine surprise.” She set her fur-lined shawl on the settee. “Give me a few minutes to prepare before you come in.” She started toward her bedchamber.

  “Wait. I should like to…talk.” He took the armchair near the fireplace, beside which sat his whisky on a side table. He took a drink and gestured for her to sit too.

  She perched on the settee, her expression bemused. “All right.” She tugged her gloves off and set them beside her. Then she reached up and unpinned the feather from her impressively dressed hair. “What are we to discuss?”

  He shrugged. “The weather. Whatever you saw at the theatre. I care not.”

  “I see. You came here to talk but haven’t a subject in mind.” She placed the feather atop her gloves. “I hope you’ll forgive my boldness—you’ve a terrible reputation for not suffering foolishness of any kind—but why ever did you employ me?”

  He suppressed a scowl and took another drink of whisky. “No, I do not suffer fools.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You specifically told me that you chose me because I am blessedly bereft of the guile my sisters typically wield. Would you also prefer I hold my tongue? If memory serves, you quite liked that appendage.”

  She was referring to the night he’d taken her into his employ. They’d come back here to her small town house, the one he was now paying for, and she’d given evidence to the skills she’d claimed to possess. She was, without debate, an excellent lover. And he hadn’t touched her since.

  “I’ve been busy.” She hadn’t asked why he hadn’t partaken of her services, but for some reason, he felt the need to explain. Now who was being foolish?

  Isabelle smoothed her beautifully manicured hand over her skirt. “Well, I’m delighted you’re here now. I’ve been most anxious to deepen our acquaintance.” The look she gave him was seductively direct and left absolutely no room for misunderstanding. She meant to take him into her bedchamber and do whatever he wanted.

  Only he didn’t want that. Not with her. He realized he’d met Nora the day after he’d taken Isabelle.

  Isabelle watched him for a moment, her expression turning from one of enticement to confusion. She abruptly stood and went to the sideboard, where she poured herself a glass of whisky. “Do you need a refill?” she asked.

  Titus looked at his nearly empty glass on the table. “Yes, thank you.”

&nbs
p; She sauntered toward him with the decanter and filled the glass. When she was back at the sideboard, she turned toward him, cradling her glass. She seemed to study him intently before taking a sip. “Something’s wrong. You don’t want me, I think. And yet you did. What happened? Did you meet someone else?”

  He didn’t hesitate before answering. “Yes.”

  She pursed her lips. “I see. As it happens, I had other interested gentlemen. I am certain I could find another protector. Tell me, who is the hussy so I can spill my Madeira on her when next we meet?”

  He nearly laughed at the venom in her tone. Courtesans could be vicious in their pursuit of a protector. “No, it isn’t like that. She’s not…like you.”

  Her eyes widened briefly, and she walked back to the settee, where she sat down again. “When you hired me, you demanded absolute secrecy about our relationship, including anything we discussed. I took the vow that I gave you very seriously. Do you wish to talk about her?”

  He supposed he did. He’d come here in the hope that he might frig Isabelle senseless, but he didn’t want to. No, when he thought of the woman he wanted to make love to tonight, it wasn’t his mistress.

  He cleared his throat. “Her name is Nora. She has, ah, captured my attention.”

  “How lovely for her. She must be over the moon to have snagged a duke.”

  He frowned. “It isn’t like that. She is my stepmother’s ward.”

  Isabelle’s mouth formed an O. “She’s quite young, then?”

  “No, she’s actually not.” He wasn’t sure of her precise age, but thought she was probably twenty-seven or twenty-eight. “In fact, she’s older than you.”

  Isabelle’s elegant blond brows climbed. “Indeed? How on earth did she come to be your mother’s ward?”

  He took a long pull on his whisky. “The details do not signify. Suffice it to say there are…reasons I cannot pursue her.”

  “Bah. You’re a duke. The Forbidden Duke. Perhaps the most untouchable peer in the realm. You can pursue anyone you damn well please.”

  Her use of the word untouchable made him think of Nora. With that one word, she’d perfectly captured the not-so-subtle hierarchy within the ton. It was a hierarchy he despised, for it allowed him and his ilk to do what Isabelle had just said—anything they damn well pleased. While at the same time, it prevented people such as Nora from doing what they wanted. And it wasn’t just social position dictating their roles—it was, of course, their sex. In his youth, Titus had exploited all of it—his position, his masculinity, his power.

  To Nora’s detriment.

  “I can’t pursue her.”

  Isabelle sipped her whisky. “Can’t or won’t? I still maintain you can do whatever you please. Any woman would be thrilled to have your attention.” Her gaze dipped to his groin. “Whether you had a title or not.”

  Her delicate innuendo wasn’t lost on him, but it didn’t apply in this case. He finished off his whisky with a long swallow and stood. “It was a mistake for me to come here.”

  She also stood, depositing her glass on the low table between them as she did so. “Where are you going?”

  He hadn’t thought that far. Part of him wanted to hunt down all the men who’d clogged Nora’s dance card tonight and thrash them. Of course he wouldn’t. Besides, he’d already drawn enough notice by going to that damned ball in the first place. Why had he done that? Because he’d wanted to see Nora. Needed to. After their kiss, he’d been utterly consumed with thoughts of her.

  Isabelle came around the table and stood before him. She touched his chest, gingerly at first, then pressing her palm against his coat. “You could stay.”

  He put his hand over hers and gently guided it away from him. “Thank you, but no. I think you should take a new protector. I’ll take care of you until you find one.”

  She pouted, but in a thoroughly attractive fashion, as if she’d perfected the expression through years of practice. “I would rather keep you.”

  “I’m afraid that is not an option. I am sorry.” He moved away from her and walked to the doorway to the hall.

  “I’m sorry too. She’s a lucky woman.”

  He almost laughed. She’d been anything but. Until now. Now, she was cresting a wave that would see her settled in the life she’d always wanted. A life he wouldn’t be a part of.

  Nora couldn’t sleep. She ought to be in the arms of Morpheus, but her brain simply wouldn’t turn off. She kept replaying her time at the ball with Titus. And their kiss.

  She crept downstairs to the library to find a book. Maybe that would help her relax.

  The opposite happened as she opened the door and froze. Titus was standing in front of the bookshelves, a glass of whisky dangling from his fingertips.

  He looked at her standing on the threshold, and his eyes dipped over her. The perusal was slow, deliberate, intoxicating. “Good evening again, Miss Lockhart.”

  “What are you doing here?” she blurted and immediately damned her loose tongue for the thousandth time. “I’m sure it’s none of my concern. I’ll leave you to it.” She turned, but felt the air shift. Then his hand was on her arm.

  “Stay.” He often spoke in single words, yet managed to color them with such inflection that they carried far more meaning. Or so her fanciful mind believed. He said, “Stay,” but she heard warmth and something more—something beyond a simple invitation. Something akin to what she felt: need.

  She tilted her head and looked down at where his fingers caressed the sleeve of her night robe. She realized she was barely garbed. This was beyond scandalous.

  She turned toward him. “I should not.”

  He shrugged. “No one will know.” He glanced down at the glass in his other hand. “Would you care for a drink?”

  She looked up into his eyes. “That is hardly appropriate.”

  “Nothing about this is, so why should we care?” He gently tugged her farther into the room and then left her briefly to close the door. No, there was absolutely nothing appropriate about any of this. She ought to leave, but she simply couldn’t. She wanted this moment for herself. Certainly she’d earned it.

  “Whisky?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He went to the sideboard. “Is that all right, or would you prefer sherry?”

  Sherry was the more feminine choice, but she’d sampled whisky with her father a time or two. “I should say sherry, but I believe I’ll take whisky.”

  He chuckled. She loved that sound. Not just because it was a delicious blend of dark and intoxicating but because she was fairly certain he didn’t do it in front of most people. She’d somehow breached his outer wall. It was a singular thrill.

  He handed her the glass, and their fingers briefly touched. Their eyes connected, but that was also far too brief. He went back to the bookshelf. “To answer your question, I came to get a book.”

  She sipped from the glass and stifled a sputter as the fiery liquid burned over her tongue and awakened her senses. “You don’t have books?”

  He turned to look at her. “Of course I do. I’ve simply read them all.”

  “All of them?”

  He gestured toward the bookshelf. “And unfortunately nearly all of these.”

  “What of your library at Lakemoor? Have you read all of those too?”

  “Not quite. It’s rather extensive. You should see it sometime.”

  How she’d love that, and it had nothing to do with her passion for books. She wanted to see his home. “I would like that. Perhaps I will find a reason to come.”

  “I just gave you one.”

  Her lips curved up as she stared at him in bemusement. “You seem to think people can do whatever they want, whenever they want. Life is, unfortunately, not that simple or straightforward for most people.”

  His eyes narrowed briefly. “No, I suppose it is not. My apologies. You are welcome to visit at any time.” He turned back to the bookshelf and set his glass on the edge in front of a particularly thick tome.

 
She hadn’t meant to upset him. “I should like that—doing anything I choose. I could almost do that in St. Ives. No one much cared what I did, and that was rather liberating.”

  He kept his back to her. “I would imagine so after being in London. Young women such as yourself are scrutinized in a horrid fashion.”

  She joined him at the bookshelf. “So are forbidden dukes. It makes one conclude that London, or rather Society, is the problem.”

  He glanced down at her. “Just so. You would enjoy independence? But of course you would. What fool wouldn’t?”

  It was her turn to laugh. “I actually think several of the women I met in my earlier Seasons would not. I’m not sure they would know what to do with themselves.”

  Now he pivoted. He leaned his shoulder against the bookshelf. His gaze caressed her, and she had to fight the urge to sway toward him. “But you would. Tell me.”

  Nora took another sip of whisky. Happily, this swallow went down much more smoothly. “If I could do anything I chose?” At his nod, she continued. “I’d live in the country. I do enjoy some of London’s attractions—the museum, for one—but I shouldn’t like to be here all of the time. A village would be nice. I adore market days.”

  “Would you live alone?” He seemed to be genuinely interested.

  “I’m not above wanting at least one retainer. Perhaps a married couple—a woman to help with the house and kitchen, and her husband to help with the land and maintenance.”

  “You’ve thought this through,” he said.

  She smiled, enjoying this conversation. Enjoying him. “Just now, actually.”

  “Besides your retainers, would there be anyone else? A husband, perhaps? I thought that was what you wanted.”

  She’d thought so too, but now that it seemed within her grasp, she wasn’t sure. She kept thinking of her sister. “My sister married the local vicar. She’s happy enough, but I don’t think she’s content.” Nora shook her head. “I daresay that makes no sense.”