How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days (3 page)

Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers. Gently, he coaxed her mouth open and slid his tongue inside. She opened herself up to him, allowed him to take control as he slowly, deliberately, deepened the kiss.

Time halted, slipped away as he lost himself in the hot, honey-sweet taste of her mouth. The warmth of her body pressed to his, the feel of her hands skimming up his back, groping for purchase, ignited something within him. Want. Desire. Passion.

Everything centered on her, on them, on
this
moment.

Placing a hand on his chest, she pulled back. Lucas let her, his hands still encircling her waist, reluctant to let her go. In the end, he did, dropping his hands at his sides.

What in God’s name was
that
? Innocent, prudish Miss Welby kissed like a goddamn
siren
! His hands trembled as he raked them down his face. Christ, he’d never been so shaken by anything in his life—and certainly not over something as trivial as a kiss.

But that wasn’t just a kiss. It was something else entirely. Something remarkably powerful.

“Well,” Miss Welby said, astonishingly composed. She patted her hair, then began buttoning up her pelisse. “That was certainly interesting. But it in no way alters my decision.”

Lucas raked a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends. Panic was settling in. What he assumed was panic, in any event. He had little experience with the emotion. “Tell me you felt that.”

“Quite,” she said. “It was lovely.”

Lovely?
His entire world had shifted off kilter, and she thought it was
lovely.
Good God, what was happening to him? Somehow, he’d stepped back in time, to his awkward, flailing youth when just a look from a female could set his desire ablaze. 

The notion was unsettling, to say the least. 

Once her pelisse was buttoned up, she sidled up next to him and placed one delicate hand on his chest. She looked alluring, freshly kissed, ready for passion. “Tell me, do
I
tempt
you,
Your Grace?”

There was no use denying it. The evidence of his arousal strained against his falls for all, including and especially Miss Welby, to see. 

“Thoroughly.”

A slow smile spread across her lips. She kissed the tip of her finger and pressed it to his mouth. “I win.” She turned, opened the door, and addressed the maids who were waiting just outside his study. “Come, girls. We’re done here.”

And with that, she and her flock were gone.

The visit to Arlington’s hadn’t gone
quite
as expected. Indeed, it had gone rather awry toward the end. She’d kissed him—
deliberately
—which had not been part of the plan. For that matter, enjoying it hadn’t been part of the plan either. 

She shook her head. It was never happening again. She’d done it to set him off balance, which she most certainly had. She’d emerged victorious! Now that that feat had been accomplished, there was no reason whatsoever to tread that ground again—even if there was a small, wicked part of her that might want to…

Arlington’s elegant town house was only two short blocks from her father’s and therefore there’d been no need to take a carriage. The brisk walk home was just what she needed to cool her frayed nerves.

Arlington unsettled her. His presence was powerful, domineering, and he was far more handsome than he had any right to be. Indeed, it must be a hanging offense to be that wealthy, powerful,
and
shockingly handsome. 

More shocking, perhaps, was his determination to marry
her
.

Except Arlington had never actually proposed. He’d
commanded,
but in actuality the question, “Will you marry me?” had never crossed his lips.

You’re mine.

The words were said as a declaration, a claim of ownership.

A shiver of something—disgust, surely—rolled through her at the memory of those roughly spoken words. The man certainly knew what he wanted, and it appeared she’d somehow captured his interest. But
why
? That was the question.

It didn’t matter. She’d won their little game and he would call off the ball. She needn’t encounter Arlington ever again.

When Pippa finally arrived home, she thanked the maids and dismissed them to their duties. Inside the parlor, she was surprised to see Charles Hurst lounging on the settee like a drunken sailor. He
wasn’t
drunk, and in fact he never drank to excess, but one would never know it by his waggish character.  

She’d always loved his droll humor. They’d been best friends since childhood, when their fathers had gone into the mining business together. Indeed, he was like a brother to her. Over the years, they’d weathered society’s cruelty together—and she rarely went out into society unless Charles was in attendance. The very idea of facing the sneers and whispers without him was terrifying.

Charles lowered the newssheet he’d been reading and flashed her a brilliant, pearl-white smile. “There you are, my pet. Where in heaven’s name have you been?”

She plopped down onto the chair opposite him, leaned back, and sighed heavily. She’d hoped to confront Arlington and make this all disappear without anyone ever being the wiser. “Just taking a walk.”

He raised one elegant eyebrow. “Half of London saw you arrive on the Duke of Arlington’s doorstep this morning.”

“How?” she asked, sitting up straighter. “I was
excessively
cautious.”

He flashed her a bored expression. “You walked there, as I am told, with a dozen maids, like Joan of Arc leading her army—and at the fashionable hour, no less. You weren’t likely to go unnoticed, were you?”

Pippa blew out a breath. She should have thought of that, of course, but this morning in her anger, all she could focus on was confronting Arlington and telling him exactly what she thought of his preposterous engagement ball.

“What I’d like to know,” he continued, “is why you visited a man you detest?”

Pippa sighed. He ought to know the truth.

“Arlington offered for my hand.”

Charles nodded. He didn’t seem surprised, which was curious, but perhaps she was wrong.  He lowered his foot to the ground and straightened, all seriousness now. “Do you want to marry him, Pip?”

Her heart skipped a beat at his question. “Heavens, Charles! What an idea! You know how much I detest the aristocracy.”

Charles sat back again and sighed. “You’ll have to marry one day, Pip. Why not to a duke? No one would dare sneer at a duchess—not to her face, in any event.”

“
If
I marry at all, I intend to do it for love,” she said sternly, knowing his response would be to snicker. Charles was decidedly
un
romantic. “A nice, quiet tradesman would suit me very well.”

Charles held up the newssheet. “Then perhaps you can explain why an invitation to your engagement ball has been published in the papers.” He glanced at it, then back at her. “It’s very elegant. I love the lettering.”

Pippa jumped to her feet and snatched the newssheet from Charles’s hand. “That scoundrel! No wonder he agreed not to send out the invitations! He’d already invited all of London!”

Her heart sank. She’d thought she’d been
so
clever to have outwitted him! Turned out, he’d outwitted
her
.

“But you refused him.” Charles frowned. “Or didn’t you? I’m quite confused.”

Pippa threw the newssheet down on the table in disgust. “Of course I did, but that hardly deterred him. In fact, he didn’t offer for my hand at all; he commanded I marry him. I’m astonished he even felt it prudent to inform me!”

“He can’t marry you against your will.”

“The duke is a powerful man. I’m afraid he may retaliate if I don’t go through with it. He’s known to be quite ruthless.” She let out a breath. “The man is insufferable.”

“Women seem to find him quite handsome.”

“He’s distracting, to say the very least,” she said.

And if she thought of him naked, every last inch of him exposed to her very hungry gaze, then that was perfectly normal, surely. She was a red-blooded woman with natural curiosities, after all. There was nothing odd or disgraceful about it.

What worried her was how invasive those thoughts had become. For six months, since first glimpsing him at the Tisdale ball, she’d imagined all the different ways she might slap him across the face, then claw every finely tailored garment off his powerful body.  

It was a problem, indeed. Especially since she had no intention whatsoever of encouraging their ridiculous engagement—if one could even call it that.

“Curious that he’d make a match he must find degrading.” 

She shot Charles a sharp glare. “Thank you kindly.”

“It’s no slight against you, darling. You know how the elite view our kind.” He tapped his chin. “Did he give you a reason?”

“Aside from my irresistible charm? No. The only explanation he gave was ‘because I wish it.’” She sighed heavily, then glanced back up at Charles, a plan forming. “Perhaps you and I should become engaged. Only until Arlington loses interest. He can’t marry me if I’m already betrothed to you.”

And considering the direction of her thoughts, the sooner this whole mess was dispatched, the better.

Charles shook his head. “You know I’d do anything for you, Pip, if you were truly in a bind. But honestly, I’m perfectly capable of creating trouble for myself. I don’t need to entangle myself in your schemes as well.”  

“What am I to do, then? Arlington won’t relent. He is quite determined to wed me for some mysterious reason. I wouldn’t put kidnapping past him.”

Charles stood and paced the room, pausing occasionally before resuming again. Finally, he turned to her, finger on his chin. “What if you were to chase him away?”

Pippa knit her brows together. “How, exactly, would that be accomplished?”

Charles strode to the desk on the far side of the room and snatched up a blank piece of parchment and a quill and ink. He brought them back and sat in front of her, using the low table between them as a desk.

“What are the qualities a duke would loathe in a wife?”

“How am I to know?”

“Come now, think. A duke would want a wife who is intelligent, beautiful, graceful…” Charles smiled. “If you are the opposite, then he will have no choice but to turn his attentions elsewhere.”

Pippa clapped her hands together. “Brilliant! A man like Arlington would never tolerate a wife who is anything less than perfection.”

“Precisely,” Charles said. “And if there’s anyone who can turn a man’s stomach, it’s you, my dear. I have complete faith in your abilities.”

Oh! Leaning forward, she swatted at him. He dodged her effectively by leaning to the side and away, out of her reach. “
You
are insufferable!” 

He laughed, holding his hands up in surrender. “I meant it in the most complimentary way possible, I swear it!”

“Yes, I’m sure you did,” she sighed. “Well, I suppose that settles it…I must lose the duke, and I only have ten days in which to do it.”

The next morning, Pippa woke to the sound of the back door opening and shutting for what seemed like the hundredth time. The night had been balmy and she’d awakened to crack open her window, which was situated just two floors above the back entrance to the house. Every time someone knocked, her sensitive ears picked up the sharp rapping sound, which promptly wrenched her from sleep.

She lay there for a moment, blinking up at the fresco that swept across her ceiling. Two cherubs sat atop a bed of clouds, aiming their arrows straight at the heart of an unsuspecting maiden below. Like Pippa, she had red hair and she wore a long, white, gossamer gown and a garland of spring flowers in her hair. Father had always said
she
was the maiden, and that love would one day strike her like a bolt of lightning. 

As a girl, the prospect of being stricken by love had sounded terrifying. Now, the idea of being stricken by something as profound as love sounded…exhilarating, downright thrilling.  

She would only marry for love. It was childish notion, perhaps, but she had the freedom to do so, provided her prince didn’t take
too
long to find her.

And Arlington was a temptation she didn’t need.

From the moment she’d glimpsed him at the Tisdale ball all those months ago, she’d been entranced by his harsh male beauty. He’d glanced at her several times that evening, and each time she’d felt a strong, elemental pull.

Years ago, Charles had informed her about lovemaking—mostly for his own amusement. He took great delight in shocking her, and had shown her pictures that had made her gasp, wide-eyed in astonishment.

Still, as shocking as the pictures were, they’d also intrigued her. Men hunched over the women, their shafts buried deep inside them. What would it feel like, she wondered, to have a man like Arlington buried deep inside
her
? Would it hurt? The women in the illustrations looked pleased, rapturous even. 

Another knock sounded on the back door, jerking her out of her thoughts.

Good heavens, were they leading a procession through the kitchen?

Tossing the covers aside, she glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Seven o’clock in the morning.

Still groggy, she padded over to the wardrobe and selected a pink wrap, slipped it over her shoulders, and tied the sash. She flung the door open and flew down the steps, intent on seeking out the housekeeper, Mrs. Couch, to find out who,
precisely,
felt it necessary to knock on the door every five minutes.

The second her unslippered feet met the marble floor of the entryway, she froze.

Hundreds—
thousands
—of flowers filled the entryway—every table, every chair, on the floor—they were everywhere. Their fresh, earthy scent filled the entire house.

“What in heaven’s name—?” 

She moved into the parlor where there was a similar display. Every available space was laden with flowers—all the same—bright, white peonies.