The Heart of a Duke (2 page)

He had a point, and the old Julia would have heeded it, considering the warmth of his gaze sent her pulse skipping into a treacherous rhythm. However, his look and the grip of his hands on her waist made the new Julia feel young, beautiful, and desired, something Edmund had not made her feel in years. “Really, Edmund, it is one kiss. How dangerous could it be?” She raised a brow, knowing Edmund never could refuse a challenge.

He sucked in a sharp breath and stared at her. After a beat, he exhaled and swore softly. “Hell, I have been living dangerously my whole life.” His eyes dipped to her parted lips. “Why stop now?” He yanked her to him, his arms vising around her waist and crushing her tight.

She gasped at the explosive heat of his body against hers. Her eyes widened when his head lowered and, inches away, the warmth of his breath whispered onto her parted lips. “Forgive me.”

His mouth closed over hers and he kissed her as she had never before been kissed. Kissed her as if he had waited as long as she had and was desperate to catch up.

His lips were warm and velvet soft. She clung to him, her arms circling his neck, and was dimly aware of his grip tightening when her legs turned to liquid jelly and were unable to support her. And still he kissed her. Deeply, erotically, and expertly.

Better yet, she kissed him back.

She savored the taste of him as her mouth surrendered to his. He was a mixture of ale and cider. The sensual assault of taste, touch, and scent overwhelmed her. She loved the feel of his body, hard, warm, and muscular crushed against her, and when he broke away to draw breath, she inhaled the rich masculine scent of him. A wave of molten heat cascaded through her limbs.

When his tongue ran along her lips, she gasped and drew back. She needed to breathe, to pause and gather her thoughts, which had scattered like leaves to the winds. “We should stop. We cannot—”

“You are so right.” She shuddered at the smoldering look he gave her. “But Julia, I did warn you about this being dangerous. Now, it is too late.”

His mouth swooped down and plundered, devouring and demanding more and still more. Ripples of pleasure coursed through her body. He aroused yearnings in her that she hadn’t known she possessed. Had recently begun to wonder if Edmund could evoke such feeling in her.

He drew back and Julia blinked up at him, struggling to clear the sensual haze engulfing her. When clarity returned, she realized she was still pressed intimately against his body. His arms around her waist fully supported her, and through her riding habit, she could feel his heart pounding against hers.

Flushing, she tugged free of his embrace and straightened, grateful her legs managed to support her weight when she stepped away.

“Well, then.” Her voice was breathless and sounded strange to her ears. Lifting an unsteady hand, she tucked an errant curl under her bonnet.

“Well, then indeed.” He smiled. “I had doubts about returning, but no more.”

Her breath caught at the sultry look he swept over her. She wished she could say she was glad, too. The new Julia would have done so, but she was feeling more and more her old responsible self and a bit appalled at her brazen behavior. She tugged down her riding jacket, but refused the urge to run her fingers over her swollen lips. “So we are agreed. It is long past time we set a date and stop the run of wagers at White’s.”

She frowned when the smile curving his lips froze and then disappeared.

He rubbed his hand along his neck in that strange, new adopted mannerism of his. “Ah, about that date. There is one minor complication in regard to that.”

“Oh?” Her hand stilled. “And what is that?”

“As much as I wish it otherwise, I cannot set any future dates with you.”

“What are you talking about?” she demanded, a cold chill suffusing her, dousing the simmering embers of their shared passion. “You are not backing out of the betrothal agreement. You cannot. My father would ruin you.”

“Particularly after that kiss,” he agreed quite amicably, leaning close to her as his eyes flashed with a spark of defiance. “But it was worth it.”

She stepped back and fisted her hands at her sides, a hard ball of suspicion curdling deep in her gut. She should have listened to his earlier stammers—or warnings. Hoped it was not too late to do so.

“Your father’s desire to murder me would be for different reasons than you think. I cannot set a date because I am not in a position to do so, which is what I tried to explain earlier.”

She simply stared at him, waiting him out. She was done talking. Done with being young and foolish and reckless. Feared she was about to pay the price for allowing herself to be so for one lovely moment.

“You see, I am not Edmund.”

J
ULIA
blinked, not fully comprehending his words.

He lifted his hands and spread them in a mute apology, a rueful smile curving his lips. “I have never regretted it—until now.”

What was he talking about?

She rubbed her temple, tamping down her rising hysteria. “What game are you playing now? How can that be . . . ?” Her words trailed off and her eyes narrowed.

No, it couldn’t be
.

He had disappeared a decade ago. Long lost and forgotten. Edmund had refused to allow even his name to be uttered.

“Daniel,” she breathed, unconsciously echoing his tone when he had first voiced her name. Edmund’s twin.

Lord Bryant, but she had known him as a boy, and he was Daniel to her then.

“At your service.” He dipped into a mock bow and, lifting his head, beamed that potent smile at her.

While they had been identical twins, dark haired and fine featured, their size had always differentiated them. Edmund was tall and dashing and, well, beautiful. Daniel had been a head shorter and of a slighter build. It was as if Edmund had sucked up all the nutrients in the womb and left nothing for Daniel.
The runt.
That was what Edmund had called him. Incredulity filled her.

As if reading her thoughts, he broke the tense silence with an explanation of sorts. “It is not unusual for a boy to grow. Edmund simply had a head start on me, always did.” His eyes darkened, and his gaze lifted to stare out over the ruins behind her, the whistling rustle of the wind filling the silence. “But I have had ten years to catch up.” His jaw clenched. His gaze snapped to hers. She stumbled back from the hard gleam of them. “And you can be sure that I will not be following in Edmund’s footsteps ever again.”

Too late she saw the differences. Should have seen them earlier. Would have if her single-minded purpose had not distracted her.

Their features were identical, so it was easy to mistake them for each other, but if one took a second look, Daniel was leaner, his features more chiseled. Harder. Edmund lived the rich, coddled life of a duke. The carousing lifestyle of the Season’s social obligations was catching up with him. Edmund was thicker about the neck, his build not heavy, but softer. And while his smile could equally disarm, Edmund carried his ducal authority like a second skin and rarely lowered his guard to tease. He believed . . . Her thoughts trailed off and her back went poker straight.
Good lord.

She had kissed her fiancé’s brother.

She had asked Daniel how dangerous one kiss could be. Well, she had her answer.

This was far worse than when he had left her locked in the root cellar, abandoning a thirteen-year-old girl to shiver and shake in the cold, damp darkness for hours. She had been frightened then, but now . . . now she was terrified.
Of him. Of her. Of them.

“I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. You—”

“Too late.” She held up her hand to stop him. “You are too damn late.” She stripped off her leather glove as she closed the distance separating them, and the air cracked with the slap of her hand striking his face. She spun away and stormed over to Constance. Collecting the mare’s reins, she hurried over to the dilapidated remnants of the stone wall, climbed onto it, and mounted Constance without assistance.

“Julia! Julia, wait!”

She ignored his cry and dug her heel into Constance’s flank, leaning low and letting the mare run. She blinked back the tears blurring her vision. She would not cry.

Not over Daniel. Not over Edmund.

Neither man deserved her tears.

“T
HAT WENT WELL,”
Daniel muttered as Julia disappeared over the hillside.

He blew out a frustrated breath and tamped down the impulse to rub his burning cheek. As a girl, Lady Julia Chandler had been a fierce whirlwind of energy. It was little surprise she had grown into a passionate woman with a strong arm and a face that should be immortalized on canvas.

She did not possess the classic looks of the delicate, porcelain-skinned, golden-haired English rose—thank God. Hers was a more vibrant beauty that struck a man right between the eyes.

Her hair was a rich, lustrous brown that burst from her bonnet, her eyes a deep blue that stared you down rather than demurely lowered or fluttered. No girlish simpering for Julia, her stare direct and bordered on challenging. She had full, sensual lips that when not pressed in a contemplative line, could kiss a man senseless. Add to that a figure carved with curves in all the right places.

Like a regal warrior, she had dared him, and he cursed himself for not being able to resist her.

He remembered her body cradled in his arms, her full breasts crushed against his chest. He never should have touched her, let alone kissed her, but no warm-blooded man could resist Julia. Unless he was a eunuch, and the throbbing in his loins squelched any doubts about that. He could not deny her plea. Or himself. But her parting words resonated.

You are too late.
Too damn late.

The cursed words appeared to be the theme of his life and would no doubt be the epitaph for his gravestone.
Too little, too late
had been one of Edmund’s favorite taunts. Daniel had arrived five minutes after his twin, thus Edmund had inherited the dukedom.

Sickly and tipping the scale at barely over a quarter stone, he had been destined to die like a full dozen of his siblings before him—except for Edmund. For those first few weeks when he had lingered between life and death, he went nameless. They had called him
the runt
. Edmund had adopted the nickname after he had heard the story and understood the word’s meaning. More so, its use as a weapon to inflict pain. Edmund had liked to collect weapons, both those he could wield verbally and those that drew blood.

He shook off the dark thoughts. He was a runt no longer, and over the years, he had polished his own methods of defense.

He lifted his gaze to the path Julia had taken. He had never coveted anything belonging to Edmund . . . until now.

He never should have returned. He cursed the enigmatic missive that had lured him back after ten years away.

It is time. Come home and claim your destiny
.

Addressed to his Boston residence, the letter had been from his late father’s solicitor and included a plea to see him as soon as he arrived in England. Away on business, Daniel had received the letter months after its delivery. Scoffing at the note’s melodrama, he had tossed it aside. There was nothing left for him in England.

His gaze roamed over the charred remains of Lakeview Manor. A stab of pain pierced his heart. The beloved estate and sanctuary was now a bleak symbol of his lost inheritance and a stark reminder that he had no home here, let alone any destiny to claim.

Months after the mysterious letter had arrived, he had stumbled across it again while riffling through papers on his desk. He had set it aside a second time, but like a splinter wedged under his skin, the words stuck. They reminded him of questions that ten years later still begged to be answered.

It is time
.

It was time. After all, a man deserved to know if someone had tried to murder him.

He clenched his jaw, the pain in his cheek reminding him of another pressing matter. He needed to determine how to save Lady Julia Chandler from marriage to his brother.

Her parting words forced him to rephrase his thought.

Would the lady
let him
save her?

It did not matter. He had made up his mind the minute his lips had touched hers.

She deserved better than Edmund. He just needed to convince her of it.

T
HE BLACK STALLION
was a stunning example of equine beauty, all undulating muscle and whipcord strength as he circled the paddock, avoiding the large man with the coiled rope held loosely at his side. Daniel leaned over the paddock fence, resting his arms on the top rail. He grinned when the stallion rose on his hind legs and pawed the air, nostrils flaring, eyes wild.

“I think you have met your match in this one, Tanner. Why don’t you let a real horseman have a go at him?”

The man whirled, his impatient scowl transforming into surprise. His prominent Adam’s apple bobbed like a buoy as he swallowed. “Your Grace, I didn’t know you were here. I—”

Daniel snorted. “Please. As if my brother would risk being tossed on his precious aristocratic arse. If he survived the fall, the indignity of it would scar him for life.”

Robbie Tanner’s brown eyes homed in on Daniel’s features. Soon a broad smile split his face, and he planted his hands on his hips. “I’ll be. The prodigal son returns, and here I am fresh out of fatted calves.”

“You never did leave any extras,” he rejoined, eyeing a frame that carried well over eighteen stone and peaked above six feet.

Robbie grunted. “Good thing you no longer need any. America must agree with you. You’ve added a few stone, but could carry a bit more.” He cut the distance separating them and tossed his rope over the fence. With an agility that belied his size, he vaulted over it. “It’s been too damn long.” He beamed a smile.

Daniel ignored the beefy hand thrust at him and pulled his friend into a hug. As Robbie pounded his back, he feared a bruising if he did not extricate himself soon. Disentangling himself, he smiled at his friend. Not all his childhood memories were bad. Some were good, and Robbie Tanner often played a role in the happier ones.

The Tanner family was the local landed gentry. They owned well over a hundred acres, and for generations, they had prospered in the breeding and trade of prime bloodstock. If one sought quality horseflesh at a fair price, they found their way to the Tanner Stables. Having an affinity for horses and coveting an escape from the echoing silence in Bedford Hall, Daniel had often gravitated to the Tanners’ household.

Robbie nodded toward High Street. “Did you come through the village proper?”

“No, I rode the back way. I was forewarned that the fall festival was in full swing.”

Taunton Village was known for it its abundance of wildlife and the bountiful fish populating its rivers, but come September, those assets fell secondary to the fall festival. Striped booths sprung up to host vendors peddling their wares, magicians weaving their magic, and fortune-tellers spinning prophesies. Aromas of fresh-baked goods and mouthwatering pastries competed with the succulent smells of roasted pig, duck, and beef.

Games and contests were organized, as well as exhibitions demonstrating daring feats of horsemanship, fine marksmanship, or athletic prowess. It was a plethora of activities to entice the patrons into emptying their pockets of coveted coins. He recalled losing a few quid on various ventures.

Today he had given the village a wide berth, not wanting word of his return to reach Edmund until he was ready. His brother had a canny ability of knocking one’s plans awry. Daniel had no intention of tipping his hand until he was prepared to deflect his brother’s interference.

“Good. It’s a madhouse out there, and your arrival would have been like tossing a stick into a beehive. Best stay clear of it until you are ready to weather the response. Now then, absent a fatted calf, we will have to settle for breaking out my good whiskey. Shall we retire to my office?”