The Duke's Men [1] What the Duke Desires (16 page)

If you ever grab my breasts like that again, I swear I will box your ears.

The words, so much like something she would say, brought him up short. He
had
dreamed it, hadn’t he?
He must have. Lisette would never have knelt at his feet. Or been so scantily clad
in front of him. And surely even drunk he wouldn’t have been so foolish as to “grab”
her breasts.

Would he?

The fact that she’d fallen oddly quiet gave him pause. “Lisette . . . did I . . .
um . . . do anything last night that I should apologize for?”

“You mean, like grabbing my bosom?” she said as she pulled her cloak more tightly
about her to protect against the spray.

A groan escaped him. “Oh, God, I didn’t dream it.”

“Afraid not.” She sounded oddly matter-of-fact for a woman he’d practically assaulted.

He slanted a wary glance at her. “I’m sorry, I have no memory of it. Well, not much
of one. I thought I’d dreamed the few bits I do remember. Please accept my apologies
for . . . whatever I might have done.”

She looked at him from beneath lashes that hid her eyes . . . and her thoughts. “Apology
accepted.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hit me over the head for it.” He cast her a wry smile. “Or
perhaps you did, and that’s why I have this god-awful headache.”

“I did not,” she said firmly, “though I considered it. Unfortunately, you passed out
before I got the chance.”

“Ah.” He began to wonder if
any
of his “dream” was a dream. “I wasn’t conscious very long, then.”

She avoided his gaze. “Not very.”

“And the image I have of you kneeling at my feet—”

“I thought you didn’t remember,” she said peevishly.

“Some of it is coming back to me now,” he drawled. “Nice to know that I didn’t dream
that particular bit.”

“I was taking off your boots,” she said, suddenly defensive. “I do the same for my
brothers when they’re in their cups.”

“Wearing only your nightdress?” he murmured, keeping his gaze fixed on her face. He
was enjoying her mortification. He didn’t like being the only one who’d behaved foolishly
last night.

The wind tossed her fringe of loose curls about her blushing cheeks as she glanced
at the few people emerging from the dining cabin to walk the deck. “I simply wasn’t
expecting . . . I didn’t realize at first that you were . . .” She glared at him.
“It’s not very gentlemanly of you to point that out.”

He gave a low laugh. “No, but then I seem to turn into a rogue around you.”

“I’ve noticed,” she said with a sniff. “Sometimes a rogue, and sometimes an insensitive,
arrogant, presumptuous—”

“Enough,” he bit out. His wild French rose was showing her thorns again, which could
mean only one thing. “I take it I behaved even worse last night than you’ve said.
What else did I do? If you don’t give me a thorough recitation of my sins, I can’t
make amends.”

“There’s no need for you to make amends,” she said pertly. “You did nothing of any
consequence.”

When he would have questioned that assertion further, she drew her cloak more tightly
about her and added, “Now that the crowd has thinned out, I believe
I shall go see if there’s any food left for purchase in the dining cabin, since I
didn’t have any breakfast at the inn—thanks to a certain gentleman’s neglecting to
awaken when the knock came.”

With her head held high, she walked off so primly that he had to laugh. His faux wife
was quite a piece of work—all the pride of a duchess without an ounce of blunt to
support it.

Blunt—confound it all! She was off to
purchase
food. That had gone right past him in the midst of her barbs and his cropsick state.

He strode after her. He wasn’t going to let her pay for anything when he was perfectly
capable of buying what she needed. Let her hold on to her pride and her surprisingly
ladylike manners if she must, but she wasn’t going to make him look like some negligent
husband who didn’t take care of his own wife.

Besides, he had to counter the impression he’d made last night, that he was some sort
of ill-mannered—

I like you, too, you ill-mannered oaf.

A grin tugged at his lips. So for all her grousing and tart remarks, Lisette didn’t
find him nearly as “insensitive, arrogant, and presumptuous” as she claimed.

Then something else occurred to him. She’d said, “I like you,
too.
”

Too? Holy God, what exactly had he said to her while he was in his cups?

He’d better find out and put a quick end to it. The last thing he needed was for a
feeling female like Miss Bonnaud to start assuming there was some hope of a
respectable connection between them. There wasn’t. There never could be.

He had watched his mother’s heart slowly break as she witnessed Father’s encroaching
madness. By the end, she’d barely been capable of caring for herself, much less her
son or her husband. Mother had been wholly devoted to Father—and for her trouble,
she’d gained naught but pain and heartache.

No wife of his would ever endure that. When he married—
if
he married—it would be a calculated bargain with a woman who thoroughly understood
what was coming. Who agreed to let others care for him in his later years. She’d have
to be the sort who didn’t mind giving up a love match in exchange for being a duchess.
Because he had no intention of watching the light slowly die in the eyes of some woman
who actually loved him.

Some woman he actually loved.

He could never put a woman he loved through that, so there could be no love match
for him. And with Lisette, he knew he would want nothing less.

S
COWLING,
L
ISETTE HURRIED
through the crowded dining cabin. She’d been surprised this morning when Max had
made no apologies for his behavior last night, but she’d attributed it to their hurry
to leave and his enormous arrogance. When he’d said he’d forgotten, she’d wanted to
kick herself for mentioning his grabbing her bosom—she would have preferred that he
not
remember it.

But of course he did. All it had taken was a few moments’ conversation to have him
casting that lazy smile over her body as if recalling every inch of her in her night
rail.

Recalling and
enjoying.
She didn’t want him enjoying that. She
didn’t
. She didn’t want his eyes scanning her body and his husky voice reminding her that
last night she’d let down her defenses. That she’d liked how unreserved he’d been.

Apparently he’d figured out for himself that she’d liked it, the insolent devil. And
how dare he make it
sound as if she’d been doing something untoward by trying to remove his boots?
He’d
been the one to manhandle
her
! She should have left him stumbling about the room instead of trying to help him.

She reached the counter, still in a bad mood. The woman selling refreshments asked,
“And what will you be having, dearie?”

Forcing a smile to her face, she asked, “Is there any breakfast left?”

“Aye. Full breakfast—boiled eggs, cold ham, toast, and tea or coffee—is two shillings.
Just toast and tea is half a shilling.”

She opened her reticule, observed her meager funds, and sighed. “I’ll take the toast
and tea, then.”

“I can buy you the full breakfast if you like,” said a male voice beside her.

It wasn’t Max’s. She kept her gaze on her reticule, well used to such unwanted attentions
after all these years out in the world. “Thank you, but I’d rather the toast and tea.”

The man didn’t take the hint. “Now then, miss, I can see you want more.” He took advantage
of the crowded room to edge up next to her and lower his voice. “And a pretty girl
like you shouldn’t have to do without, eh?”

“And she doesn’t have to, either,” snapped another voice behind the man. “She has
a husband who is happy to purchase whatever she wants.”

The duke pushed in between them, staring down his nose at the other fellow. For once,
she was rather glad of Max’s lofty manner.

But the other man was surprisingly stubborn. “See here, now, guv’nor, she didn’t say
she was married. And she ain’t wearing no ring.”

“That’s because we just eloped.” Max placed a proprietary arm about her waist. “I’m
planning on buying the ring when we reach France. You know what they say—the gold
is of better quality there. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

It was all she could do not to smile at the absurd idea that French gold was any different
than British. “Absolutely.” She smiled at the gentleman. “My husband is very clever
about these things.”

The other man paled as he realized that he really had mistaken the situation. “Begging
your pardon, sir. Didn’t know she was yours,” he muttered, edging away from them.

“Well, she is,” Max said with a rather convincing tone of possessiveness. “And don’t
beg
my
pardon. Beg
hers
.”

“Max, it doesn’t matter,” she murmured.

“It does to me.”

“Aye, sir, and you’re right, too.” The man had clearly taken Max’s measure and realized
he wouldn’t win any fights with the taller, heftier man. He tugged his hat brim. “Begging
your pardon, ma’am,” he mumbled. Then he fled.

“Good riddance,” Max growled as he followed the man’s retreat with a murderous stare.
“Bloody insolent scoundrel.”

She laughed, oddly gratified by Max’s determination
to protect her. “You’re being ridiculous, you know. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

Max’s gaze shifted to her, only slightly less angry. “Oh yes he did.”

“All right, I suppose he did,” she conceded. “But he was merely acting the way every
man does when he sees what he assumes is an unattached female available for the taking.”

His eyes narrowed on her. “You speak as if you encounter such idiots every day.”

“I do,” she said simply. “But I generally have no trouble rebuffing them. I can take
care of myself, you know.”

“The point is, you don’t have to anymore.”

She refrained from reminding him that his tenure as her protector was temporary. The
woman serving the food was listening to their conversation with avid interest, and
there were other people about. “And I’m glad of that, my dear.”

She turned back to the woman. “Now, about that toast and tea—”

“She’ll have the full breakfast,” Max said.

As the woman nodded and set a plate with the requested items onto a tray, Lisette
shot Max a long glance. “Thank you. But what about you?”

“I couldn’t eat anything right now if my life depended on it.”

He did look a bit green about the gills. She would have thought he was seasick if
she didn’t know how he’d spent the previous evening. She didn’t want to feel sorry
for him, but it was hard not to when he looked
so utterly miserable. And yet still handsome, too, in his greatcoat and fustian breeches
and boots, with his hair ruffled by the wind and his eyes looking like a storm-tossed
sea.

“A little toast won’t hurt you,” she said gently, “and at the very least, you need
to drink something.” She turned to the woman. “Toast and tea for His Grace, if you
please.”

“His Grace?” the woman squeaked.

Good Lord, what had possessed her to say—

“It’s a sort of joke between us,” Max put in. “My wife finds me a bit . . . imperious.”

When the woman looked confused, Lisette said, “High and mighty. He means that I find
him as high and mighty as a duke.”

The woman’s expression cleared. “Right. Men is often that way when they first get
married.” She poured the tea and added the cups and a plate of toast to the tray.
“Takes ’em a while to realize that we women are sturdier than they think. No woman
worth her weight is a fainting flower, if you know what I mean.”

“I do indeed,” he said ruefully. “My wife is about as far from being a fainting flower
as a woman can get.” He smiled down at Lisette. “Thank God.”

The unexpected compliment made her blush.

He picked up the tray, then nodded Lisette over to a table near a window, away from
the rest of the crowd. After they sat down, he sipped his tea, then pushed the cup
away. “Damn, that’s vile.”

She sipped her own and made a face. “That’s all you
can expect on a packet boat. They’re not going to provide you with the highest quality
tea for half a shilling.” She pushed his cup of tea back toward him. “But it’s better
than nothing. Bad as the flavor is, it will still settle your stomach and help your
headache, I promise. So drink it.”

“Who’s the imperious one now?” he grumbled, but took another sip.

She bit back a smile. It was strange, but she rather liked looking after him. She
was probably a sad substitute for his hundreds of servants, but for the moment she
was enjoying playing the role of wife. And she didn’t want to examine why too closely.

He was staring at her rather oddly now. She cocked her head. “What?”

“You may have been eager to act this role, but you’re not always very good at it,
are you?”