The Duke's Bride (2 page)

Three hours later, Jane sat in the drawing room of Hemmingly
Hall, barely paying attention to her needlepoint as she worried over Lady Emily,
who had been trampled by the mob during the fire. Her friend was resting, but
the entire house had been in an uproar since the lady had been carried into the
house, limp and soot-covered.

“I believe she will be fine, Agatha. It was not your fault
at all.”

Jane’s gaze traveled toward the hall where Emily’s mother was
whispering to Agatha. The dowager duchess was quite young looking, even with
the touch of gray dotting her dark hair. Yet there lurked a sadness in the
older lady’s eyes that made Jane wonder if it had to do with her husband, the
late Duke of Elbourne.

Jane swallowed hard as she turned back to her needlepoint. A
convenient marriage seemed nothing but heartache. She would marry for love. Her
husband would have one woman, one lover, one mother of his children and that
would be his wife whom he would love with all his heart.

A few seconds later, Agatha departed. Her retreating footsteps
mingled with the approach of hard heels clapping against the marbled floor.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane watched as the dowager duchess
lifted her head. “Ah, Roderick, did you have a tray sent to your chambers? You
must eat, you know.”

Jane caught her breath when the duke appeared beside his
mother. In the candlelight, the man’s blue-black hair gleamed above a straight
nose and firm lips. Broad muscular shoulders stretched across a neat blue
jacket, giving the impression of a very powerful man in more ways than one. His
tall form hovered over his mother in a protective stance, as if he were ready
to catch her if she fell. But from what Jane had seen, the lady had turned into
a tigress the minute Emily had been brought into the house.

 Roderick laughed at his mother’s comment, making
Jane’s heart skip a beat. “Mama, I do not believe you should be worrying about
me having something to eat. It is you I worry about. And Emily.”

Jane could not look away when his mother took his large hand
in her smaller one. “Oh, Roderick,” the lady replied, her voice cracking. “I am
so glad you are here.”

The tall man kissed his mother’s forehead and gathered her
against his chest. “Depend upon it, Mama. I will be here whenever you need me.
Now, have you had
your
supper?”

The lady looked up and bit her lip. “Well…”

Roderick turned her gently toward the dining room. “There is
a sideboard of cheese and meats waiting for you. Have a glass of wine to soothe
your nerves, as well. You’ve had a long and tiring day. Emily would want you to
keep up your strength.”

His mother smiled, took his advice, and disappeared down the
hall.

Jane frowned.
Hmmm, the man was not an ogre at all. He
was hiding behind his dukedom like a child would hide behind a tree.
She suddenly
smiled when she thought about him as a little boy, all mischief and mayhem.

At that exact moment, the duke turned, his gray eyes
clashing with hers. “Ah, the lady who seems to think I am a monster.”

Embarrassed to be caught looking his way, Jane dropped her
needle, feeling her cheeks warm.

The duke walked into the drawing room, eyeing the needle on
the floor. He raised his right brow and regarded her with an amused gaze.

Irritation spurted through her veins. Good gracious! She did
not wish him to think she was interested in him. “You took me unaware, Your
Grace. And I did not call you a monster. I called you an odious barbarian.”

“Ah, yes, forgive me for my lapse in memory.” He chuckled
and walked toward her, bending to pick up her needle and thread. Handing it to
her, his gray eyes twinkled with mischief. “Your obedient servant, Miss
Greenwell. However, I must correct you. I distinctly heard you call me both.”

She reddened even more. The nearness of the man overwhelmed
her. He wore some musky cologne mixed with sandalwood soap from his recent bath.
The very fragrance sent her blood surging through her veins.

She swallowed nervously and dropped her gaze to her task at
hand. “Th-thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Miss Greenwell.”

The man said nothing more as he took a seat beside her on
the sofa. The air stirred with tension, making her feel quite silly. This was
her home for the past five years, and now this duke was acting as if it were
his!

She inched toward the corner of the sofa, thinking herself quite
small compared to him. Goodness, Emily’s oldest brother was a controlling
nuisance! Why had he not taken the wing chair or some other place far away from
her? This was insufferable!

She could feel him frowning as she started back on her needlepoint
and pulled the thread through the muslin. She had no idea what she was doing.
Her hands were shaking like a schoolgirl at a country dance.

She swallowed hard, hoping he would not detect her
nervousness. But his manly scent was like a wicked spell invading her very soul.
Oh, very well. She admitted it. She could not deny her attraction to this man.
But that did not mean she should like it!

After a few minutes, she looked up to see him still gazing
at her. He regarded her as if he were contemplating some weighty matter like
the beginning of time or something just as grave.

“What?” she asked perturbed. “Why are you glaring at me so?”

He pursed his lips, stood, and walked across the room. She
frowned, feeling a bit guilty. She had been a bit hard on him, but at least he
was leaving. She did not need him here. He disturbed her to the point of—

She stiffened at the sound of the door clicking closed
followed by a quick snap of the lock. The duke turned around and his interested
gaze flickered over her as he stuffed the key into his waistcoat pocket.

Her mind reeled at the very gall of the man locking her
inside the room with him, and she found herself momentarily speechless. Her
heart raced wildly when that devilishly handsome face smiled back at her.

Finally, she found her tongue. “This is most improper. I
demand you open that door immediately.”

He lifted a black brow in amusement. “Is that a command,
Miss Greenwell?”

Her jaw dropped in shock at the velvety huskiness in his
voice.

The next moment, she curled her hands into two fists and
glared at him. Oh, this man was dangerous indeed. He was a man who liked to
control everything about him, including her. Yet, he loved his mother and was
not afraid to show that love. He was no monster, just an arrogant, softhearted
duke who thought all should bow to his commands.

She had heard stories about him and the rest of the
Clearbrook brothers. They raced horses. They romanced women. They drank
heavily, and they played cards to their hearts’ content. They lived a life of
freedom with no attachments, especially to women. Yet here the duke stood ready
to marry his sister off to whomever he chose. Poor Emily, Jane thought, feeling
the anger build inside her. No woman should have to marry a man she did not love.
Her mother was proof of that.

Oh, she was attracted to the man. What woman wouldn’t be? But
she would not let him lead her around by her nose. This mighty duke was not
going to tell her what to do. It was obvious he enjoyed control and power. Was
he not trying to run Emily’s life? And now, he thought to make her swoon by his
commanding presence? Well, he had the wrong woman for that!

Her mouth drew into a thin line of disapproval. “I repeat, I
demand you open that door.”

Chuckling, he strode toward her. Her eyes widened in surprise,
and her heartbeat drummed in her ears, but she refused to panic.

Yet that hint of laughter irked her to no end.

She flashed him a mutinous glare as he towered over her.  

Gray eyes twinkled back at her. “You, Miss Greenwell, seem
quite sweet, but you cannot hide your temper, can you?”

She blinked. That was the last thing she thought he would
say. “And you are abominable.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

She swallowed tightly, watching his Adam’s apple bob. His
laugh was rich and deep, a combination that sent her senses spinning. “I do not
find this funny in the least, Your Grace.”

“Ah, now I am
Your Grace
. For some reason, I think
you do not care a whit about what kind of title I hold, do you?”

“Why should I care about a title?”

His lips fell into an easy smile. “You truly don’t care, do
you?”

“All I care about is you opening that door.”

She continued to glare at him, feeling an unfamiliar
dizziness assault her. He was doing funny things to her stomach too. Good
grief, he was coming closer!

He sank beside her, his leg brushing against her skirt. The
air around them sizzled. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I think you
like me, Miss Greenwell.”

The silkiness of his declaration sent a shiver down her
spine. She pressed herself against the corner of the sofa, but had no more room
to move. “
Y-You
are a barbarian. I demand you take another seat!”

Laughing, he took her needlework from her lap and set it on
the mahogany tea table in front of them. “I certainly have no wish to have a
needle in my stomach when I kiss you, Miss Greenwell.”

Her head jerked. “Kiss me?”

She shot up, but without warning, he caught her by her
wrists, yanking her against him. His warm breath fanned her face.

“Yes,” he said, softly, looking into her eyes. “I
am
going to kiss you.”

For a second she froze, staring at those enticing lips.
No.
No. No. He was too tempting. Too dangerous. And too autocratic for the likes of
her. And to say he was bold was an understatement. This was just not done!
Where was Agatha when she needed her?

“I do not believe that would be a good idea,” she said,
trying to calm her swirling emotions as she pushed against his broad chest.

“Oh? I think it would be a very good idea,” he said, all amusement
gone.

Before she could protest again, he pressed his warm lips
against hers. His kiss was like a whisper of silk, gentle and soft. Nothing in
her brain registered except the touch of her mouth against his. Her thoughts
swirled as if she were flying through a cloud of bliss. Then suddenly, as soon
as it started, it stopped, shaking the very core of her being.

In one swift move, he rose, settling her back onto the sofa.
He stared at her and mumbled something as he pushed a stiff hand through his
black hair.

“Well,” he drawled. “I believe that sizes up the matter,
don’t you think?”

She felt her cheeks dot with color. What on earth had just
happened?

“What matter is that?” she finally asked, grabbing her needlework
off the table, feeling her brain starting to function again.

Goodness! She could barely keep her hands from shaking. She
would stick him with her needle if he dare tried that again! She may have liked
it, but it did not mean she would let him take liberties. She was no opera
dancer whom he could kiss back stage. No indeed! He may be powerful and strong
and handsome, but she did not need him. She did not need any man. She was safe
with Agatha and that was that.

“The matter of our marriage,” he replied, pulling her from
her thoughts.

Furious, she looked up. “If this is your idea of a joke, I
do not find it amusing in the least.”

He stared down at her, his gray eyes softening. “Jane, you
must call me Roderick if we are to be man and wife.”

He had barely uttered the words before he turned around and started
for the door.

“WHAT?” she screeched.

His shoulders seemed to shake with laughter when he spoke. “You
heard me.”

She gripped her needle and stuck herself. “Look at me, you…you…!
I am talking to you! I do not care if you are the duke or the king! You will
look at me when you address me with such a comment!”

He glanced over his shoulder. “My, my, you do have a temper.
No one knows that, do they? Well, it will be our little secret, now, won’t it?”

Jane curled her hands against her skirt. Who did he think he
was? He treated her as if that they were engaged already. “I will not be your
bride! I am no puppet! Do you think I care if you are a duke?”

His black brows slammed together, as if he had not expected
such an outburst. “I am a duke. Make no doubt about that.” He looked her over,
his eyes blazing with fire. “But by Jove, I am also a man.”

The suggestive look in his eyes shot straight to her toes.

Her heart almost stopped beating. Before she could reply, he
had already departed from the room.

Roderick tried to keep his composure as he walked into the
hall. Devil take it! Miss Jane Greenwell had no inkling the effect she had on
him. She was the first female he had met who did not care if he was a duke or
not. He smirked. In fact, had she not called him an odious barbarian? A
monster?

He let out a snort of laughter. He had enjoyed her spunk in
the village and now at Hemmingly Hall.

Her blond hair and blue eyes only added to her charm. She
held a quiet beauty that intrigued him. And her stubbornness was a quality that
might prove well in a duchess.

They would have some feisty arguments, but he would win her
over. He frowned, staring blankly at the wall before him. Thunder and Zeus! The
lady could have him groveling at her feet if he were not careful. But he was a
duke. He would never grovel for anyone. Ever.

Oh, he would love his wife. But as a duke, it had been
schooled into him that command of the situation is what mattered most.
Discipline, power, and control were the tools to do just that.

He had allowed love to override his authority once before,
and he had paid the price for his softening stance. He had begged Cecile to
listen to him, but it had been to no avail. It was war, she had said. They were
in reconnaissance. She was going to make her decision as she saw fit. Later
that day, she had been killed.