The Perfect Duke (26 page)

She rested her cheek against his chest and encircled his waist with her arms. With a groan, he captured her in his embrace and held her tight, breathing in the soft floral scent he loved. When her lips found his, he drowned in her softness. Her body melding to him, until he throbbed from wanting her.

Before he lost his tenuous control, he broke away. God help him, living without her was a hell he could no longer face. “Marry me. I may not be the easiest person to live with, but I’ll love you as no one else ever will.”

A sniffling noise behind them forced him to turn. “I’d ‘bout given up hope.” Mrs. Shaw filled the doorway, flanked by Timmons and Mallory. The cook dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron. “After all you two ‘ave put us through”—she gave Cara a stern look—“you’d better say ‘yes.’”

He turned back to Cara and her eyes shone with mischief. “But a governess can’t marry a duke.”

“I’m a man first, or have you forgotten the theatre?” The picture of her lying naked on the bed came to mind causing his manhood to harden and press against his breeches. His thoughts must have shown on his face because she blushed.

Her voice fell to a whisper and she leaned toward him. “Garret, you wouldn’t mention that night . . .?”

He took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. “You never answered my question. I asked you once before as a duke, but now I’m asking as a man. Marry me.”

“I’ll marry
you
, Garret, not your title.” She grinned at him. “I’ll just have to put up with your being a duke.”

A sense of joy and rightness filled him. She would be his.

“Well, now that’s done.” Mrs. Shaw swung around and flapped her hands until Mallory and Timmons retreated into the hall. “Give ‘em a little peace. Lord knows
I
could use it.” Her broad face wore a satisfied expression as she exited and closed the door.

Garret shook his head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to the servants or my sister interfering in my personal affairs.” He drew Cara back into his arms. “But for your sake, I’ll try. Now, where were we? Ah, yes, I was about to prove to you that I’m an ordinary man.”

Her warm breath caressed his face and he just heard her whispered reply before he claimed her lips.

“My love, you could never be ‘ordinary.’”

The marble centaur pawed the air above Cara’s head. She loved this statue. She could almost imagine the creature’s defiance toward any who dared doubt his existence. The chiseled lines of his proud face displayed strength and control. Very like her new husband.

A thrill passed through her as Garret placed his hand at the small of her back and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Come, my love. I have something to show you.”

“We can’t leave now. What about our guests?”

His green eyes seemed almost crystalline and the expression in their depths made her swallow. How could he make her feel tingly with just a look?

He cupped her cheek. “Timmons will see to them.”

Visions of Garret in the theatre rose in her memory, heating her face. It was impossible to think with him so close. She stepped away, the filmy material and drape of the princess style gown Tess had fashioned as a wedding gift suddenly made her feel almost naked in the cool evening air.

She glanced at Timmons. Garret was right about the servant’s ability. The valet was in his element. Thanks in part to Michael, who appeared striking in his Kendal Livery. The older man was barking orders with a frown, and Michael was imitating his mentor as he followed him around the grounds.

Actually, Timmons wasn’t nearly as
noticeable
as usual; his wig was not as high and he’d chosen a pale shade of pink powder. Cara suspected Mrs. Shaw—Mrs. Timmons, now—had used her influence. Life was certainly much calmer since they’d decided they’d didn’t hate each other.

Garret took her hand. “Come.”

She followed, winding around mythical statues and down little-used paths to elude their guests. It had been the perfect day, though everyone had misgivings when she’d announced she wanted to be married in the garden. Perhaps it was childish, but these creatures reminded her of the stories and dreams of her youth and she’d wanted to be surrounded by their magic.

They turned a corner in the path and came upon a bench. Elizabeth and her new guardian were seated there. Or rather, the aunt was seated and Elizabeth was sprawled out, her head in the older woman’s lap, fast asleep.

As they approached, the aunt held a finger to her lips. They moved quietly, trying not to disturb the child who slept with one arm around her doll and the other clutching a basket that rested on its side. The contents, faded rose petals in shades of pink and red, had spilled from the opening and littered the ground beneath her.

Cara smiled. Her littlest pupil had been so endearing as she preceded them down the beribboned bridal path, scattering as many flower petals as her tiny hands could grasp. She’d been so intent on her task that she’d only shown fear when she’d walked straight into the Bishop and managed to get tangled in his robes.

Garret pressed Cara’s fingers and drew her with him as he hurried to Belcraven’s ivy-draped side door, then he led her upward through the manor to a hallway she recognized. At last he stopped in front of the conservatory entrance. She couldn’t make out his expression in the dim light, but he had an air of expectancy about him.

He kissed her forehead, then leaned back. “This has been the only place I’ve felt was mine.” He nudged open the door and stood back.

Evening light cast a pink glow over the greenery and flowers. As always, the perfume in the air soothed her spirit but as she stepped into the room, surprise and wonder enveloped her. “Oh, Garret.”

An elaborate four-poster bed, draped in white transparent material, had been set up in the middle of the room, surrounded by glowing candles and flowers of pink and red. Perfumed and opulent, it was a setting suitable for a sheik, a noble prince, or a duke. Her duke.

“Do you like it?” He sounded like a little boy, unsure, but with an excited lilt to his voice.

“It’s beautiful.” She turned to him and rested her hand on his chest, tears of happiness threatening to spill down her face. “Better than anything I could ever imagine.”

He grinned, bringing out the vertical lines in his cheeks. “That’s quite an accomplishment. I’m well acquainted with your imagination. In fact, I’m hoping we’ll put it to good use this evening.”

“Your Grace.” She bit her lip, unsure of what else to say as he stared at her with a wolfish grin. She turned and crossed to the window that overlooked the gardens. Some guests milled about below, but most were still seated at the tables that had been set up on one of the terraces.

He came up behind, wrapped her in his arms, and rested his chin on the top of her head. “Not ‘Your Grace’ . . . just Garret. That’s all I’ve ever really wanted to be.” He tightened his embrace. “I see your papa and mother are getting along.”

Love warmed her as she watched them, heads bent in earnest conversation. Her mother had been wonderful about taking Papa under her wing. “I’m glad they’ve become friends. If I’m lucky, maybe someday my brother will relent.” She felt Garret’s chuckle as it rumbled in his chest.

“I wouldn’t count on that happening anytime soon.”

“At least he didn’t try to stop the wedding.”

Hardness edged Garret’s voice. “I would not have allowed him to interfere.”

Movement below caught her attention. Bradford sat in a secluded part of the garden, beneath Apollo’s statue, surveying the gathering with as much arrogance as the god above him.

He was so unlike Morgan, who seemed to love the attention the ladies showered on him. Even Mallory appeared to be in the thick of things, surrounded by suitors. Although, she was probably keeping Rachel with her as an excuse not to favor any of the persistent young men with a dance.

Still, Bradford seemed so
alone.

“Does Lord Bradford have a lady he favors?”

Garret turned her to face him, his eyebrow raised. “Isn’t one conquest enough for you?”

“It’s just that he seems to need—”

Garret’s kiss stole any coherent thought. The feel of him became her world. His lips sent tremors through every part of her as he kissed the corner of her mouth, then down her neck, to nuzzle under the ribbon she’d given him all those years ago. The worn blue satin had been the perfect complement to the carved mother-of-pearl cameo he’d presented her as a wedding gift, but right now she wished nothing stood in the way of his exploration.

He drew her to the bed, all the while undoing the laces at the back of her gown. Tess’s creation pooled at her feet and Garret’s clothes soon followed. She ran her hands through the rich-hued strands of his unbound golden hair, along the breadth of his shoulders, then downward to his muscled chest, curling her fingertips just below his nipples.

With an effortless motion, he lifted her off her feet and followed her down to the petal-strewn coverlet. He was no longer the cold and distant duke—but her Garret, warm and welcoming.

She felt pampered and loved within the beautiful oasis he’d fashioned. “How did you manage to create all this?”

“Mallory, and the servants.” A wry smile touched his lips. “Timmons wanted to powder the sheets, but I had to draw the line somewhere.”

Cara couldn’t hold back her laughter, but her real joy came from knowing Garret had allowed others into his sanctuary. At last he’d become the man she’d known he could be.

Passion heated Garret’s gaze. He cupped her face, rubbing the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone, then kissed her until he’d filled the emptiness in her soul. This is how it was meant to be. He was the man in her dream and he’d proved what she’d always known—as long as you believe, fairy tales really can come true.

***And they lived “Happily Ever After”***

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by
Dawn Ireland
:

Love’s Guardian

Now available from Soul Mate Publishing.

County Kent

Alexandra Kendrick reached for the doorknob, her hand hovering above the luminous orb. If the library’s occupant raised an alarm, her cousin Eleanor was sure to try and stop her. Alex took a deep breath, turned the brass knob, and prayed the creaky hinges on the door had been oiled recently.

She slipped into the book-lined room, then nudged the door closed with her heel as she watched for any sign of activity. A fire popped and danced in the hearth, but it was the dark hair just visible over the top of her grandfather’s favorite wingback chair that caught her attention. Lord Worthington had already made himself at home.

The worn edge of her rapier handle pressed into her palm, as her mouth turned up in a humorless smile. Eleanor had dubbed Alex’s special
talent
unacceptable in polite society, but her abilities might succeed where worry and arguing had failed. This stranger had no right to her estates. She’d rather die now, than see everything she loved destroyed.

With her right hand, she reached behind her back, then grasped the key that stood in the lock on the door. Keeping her attention on Lord Worthington, she turned the cool metal until she felt the click of the mechanism. In the quiet room, the noise sounded like a cannon. Alex’s body tensed.

With one lithe motion, her guardian rose to his feet and turned, dagger in hand.

Alex admired his speed. Even she couldn’t get to her blade so quickly. But admiration turned to horror when she realized who stood before her. “Get out!”

Declan slowly replaced the weapon in his boot, crossed to her grandfather’s desk, then turned toward her. He gave a slight shrug, his broad shoulders straining the material. “I’m afraid I can’t, even if I wanted to.”

Where was her guardian? And what was Declan doing here? His timing couldn’t be worse. The man hadn’t visited in eight years–and then only long enough to leave her on her grandfather’s front step and declare she was Lord Lochsdale’s problem.

Her nemesis studied her for a moment, a slight smirk on his face. “Your attire still seems to lean toward the masculine. Though I must admit, you fill out breeches better at twenty than you did at twelve.”

Heat flooded her face. She should be insulted, but a part of her couldn’t help being pleased at his comment. She’d changed in the last eight years, but so had he.

His broad shoulders were encased in a dark blue velvet coat with a touch of lace at the wrists and throat. Black breeches, spattered with mud, accentuated his heavily muscled legs. He dressed like a man of wealth, but his clothing didn’t change the common sailor she’d known as a child.

His chest did appear wider than she remembered, and the coal black hair she’d always admired now curled at his shoulders in defiance of the current fashion. But his Caribbean blue eyes were the same, and they narrowed as they studied her. No, he hadn’t lost any of his allure, damn him.

He had to leave before her new guardian appeared. She had no doubt that Declan wouldn’t help the situation. Hell, he’d probably side with the bastard.

“I trust I meet with your approval.” He gave her a knowing smile.

She flushed, the warmth creeping up her neck. She had been staring, but he didn’t have to bring it to her attention.

He lowered his gaze to her hand. “Still have a penchant for sharp objects, or do you always carry a weapon when I’m in the room?”

Alex had forgotten all about the rapier that hung in her left hand. She transferred it to her right, then clenched the handle.

Declan caught her gaze once more, a smug expression on his face. “You may want to consider retiring your weapons. After all, we’ll be spending a great deal of time together.”

The man was entirely too arrogant. She raised her brow and gave him a mock salute with her rapier. “Why should I spend
any
time in your company? To be honest, I’d prefer not to be in a room that had you in it.”

A flicker of surprise flashed in his eyes. “I do believe wards often spend a substantial amount of time with their guardians. In deference to your grandfather, I intend to see to your care myself.”

She almost dropped the rapier. “No.” Her response was barely audible. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No, that can’t be! You’re a sailor, nothing more.”

The words rang false in her ears. What a fool she’d been.

Declan had always seemed different from the other men on her father’s ship,
The Merry Elizabeth
. His mere presence and air of authority could dominate a room. Now she knew why.

Anger, hurt, and surprise vied for supremacy, causing her stomach to twist into a knot. Declan was the Earl of Worthington—and her guardian? Damnation. Of all men, why did her grandfather have to choose
him
?

She couldn’t recall ever being told Declan’s surname, but that wasn’t unusual on
The Merry Elizabeth
. Many men had a past to hide. She’d always assumed he was the younger son of a noble family who’d run up against the law. She met his patronizing gaze and raised her chin.

“Actually, my Christian name is Declan Deveraux, but in most circles, I’m known as the Earl of Worthington.” He rested one hip on her grandfather’s desk, watching her every move, like a sailor watched for the first sign of land after a long voyage. “I hired on to
The Merry Elizabeth
at your grandfather’s request. He wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

So, he’d been spying on her. Bloody hell. She’d followed him around the ship, thinking he could do no wrong, and all the time he’d been deceiving her. “I should have guessed you knew my grandfather. He wasn’t surprised when you showed up with me after my parents died.”

“Your grandfather wanted me to keep him informed, nothing more.” Declan’s voice softened. “He was worried about you.”

“Yes, well, Grandfather should have worried when he made you my guardian. If he’d asked me, I would have told him you are totally unsuitable.” Declan wasn’t going to ruin her life again. This time she was going to fight for the home she loved.

He crossed his arms and gave her a condescending smile. “I shall probably regret asking this, but why am I unsuitable?”

What kind of an insult would raise his ire? Declan had always been angry with her when she’d been a child. What had she done then?

She searched her memory. The taunts that had annoyed him the most had disparaged his abilities. “You are unsuitable as my guardian because you’re inept.” Alex hoped she sounded convincing.

Declan’s eyes narrowed. The smile faltered.

“I remember your performance onboard my ship,” Alex goaded. “You couldn’t even best a child at climbing the rigging. Do you fare better on land?”

In truth, she’d never known a better sailor. He’d only been trying to rescue her that day, and in all fairness he’d had no way of knowing she’d been climbing before she could walk.

She could almost see the storm brew in his eyes. Alex trusted it was a tempest she could control. His well-drawn features became harsher, and his face could have been made of stone, except for the spasm of his jaw muscle.

Alex swallowed. An angry man didn’t think things through, did he? She hoped not. Her plan depended on it.

“Regardless what you think of me, you are my charge. You will do as I say.” His gaze raked over her body in an insolent manner. “Starting with wearing some decent clothing.”

“On the contrary. This clothing is very appropriate for our duel.”

Declan laughed. He couldn’t help it. Alex, was challenging him to a
duel
? “What will it be? Pistols at dawn?”

“No, my lord. Rapiers. Now.”

He stopped laughing. She was serious. His gaze dropped to the weapon at her side. That’s why she’d brought her rapier with her. There were no other women of his acquaintance who preferred a rapier to feminine wiles. “Lady Lochsdale, most
men
wouldn’t consider challenging me. What could you possibly hope to gain?”

“My freedom. If I win, I want to live my life, without interference. I can run my estates. I don’t need supervision. You’ll return to London, and leave us alone.” Her small chin tilted up, reminding him of the stubborn child he’d known. “So what will it be, my lord?”

“And what do I get if I win?”

“I suppose...I mean...well, I’ll follow your orders, provided the request is reasonable.”

He had to admire her confidence. She truly hadn’t considered he might win, or she would have been prepared with a response that gave him less control.

“Done. And the rules of this contest?”

“The first one to disarm his opponent wins.” Alex gave him a smug smile. “I wouldn’t want to run the risk of killing you. The crown would only find someone else to take your place.”

Declan glanced toward the wall. All manner of fencing equipment was on display. If he had to do this, she’d wear protective gear. He’d never forgive himself if she got hurt. “I have a request.”

“Name it.”

“I want you to wear protective padding.”

“Are you that concerned about your skills? You do know how to fence, don’t you?”

She hadn’t lost her ability to anger him. He had so hoped she’d outgrown that. He folded his arms and waited.

“Oh, all right. But if I have to wear it, so do you.”

He suspected he’d be sorry for agreeing to this. He really didn’t have to take her challenge. The law required Alex to obey him, but he wouldn’t point that out, not if winning this little contest would make her more tractable.

They moved the furniture to the perimeter of the room and rolled up the oriental carpet. He shrugged off his riding coat and cravat, then crossed to the display of weapons on the wall next to the fireplace.

He’d left his rapier upstairs with his belongings, but Alex seemed hell-bent to do this now, so he selected a blade and padding from the collection on the library wall. He waited for her to do the same.

The rapier he’d chosen felt well balanced, though its ornate hilt appeared worn. Lord Lochsdale had been an expert with weapons. Declan smiled at the memory of the hours of practice he’d shared with Alex’s grandfather. He doubted his old instructor would have approved of this duel.

Declan rolled up his sleeves, made a few test thrusts, then turned toward his ward. She was watching him with a determined expression in her deep green eyes. If crossing blades with her would make her easier to handle, he’d do it. His old friend would just have to forgive him.

After all, she didn’t stand a chance.

The blades clanged, then slid along each other in an age-old dance of parry and thrust. Declan began to suspect he was wrong, very wrong, to think this would be an easy contest. When had she developed such finesse?

Alex tried to slip under his guard, her speed incredible. Declan was hard pressed to keep up. What Alex lacked in strength, she more than made up for in agility. Perspiration filmed her brow and dampened her curls as she turned each of his thrusts, trying to force him off balance.

Someone rapped on the door. Declan could hear people shouting, but their voices seemed distant, compared to the labored breathing in the room and the pounding of his heart.

The cacophony of frantic cries and banging outside the library continued to escalate, until it distracted him for an instant. Alex took the opportunity to cross over his blade, catching his upper arm. He heard the fabric tear and felt a slight sting. He’d been grazed by a blade more times than he could count. No matter, the injury was a nuisance, nothing more.

They worked their way in front of the banks of curtained windows. His sweat slicked the hilt of his weapon, making his grasp tenuous. He was glad they’d moved the furniture. With Alex’s aggressiveness, he couldn’t afford a misstep.

Her skill showed in every parry, but her movements had slowed. Declan noticed her eyes seemed drawn to his arm. He felt the blood dampening his shirt and saw her stance relax slightly as she focused on his injury.

With a lightning thrust, he slipped his blade under hers, then caught her weapon near its hilt. Surprise crossed her features as he forced her rapier upward. Alex’s hold faltered. Her weapon clattered to the floor, sliding across the polished wood.

Declan placed the tip of his blade at the base of her throat. For what seemed like an eternity, he gazed into emerald eyes, black flecks swirling in their depths, the tension rife between them.

Alex lowered her gaze first. Only then did he remove the point from her neck. “Now do we understand one another?”

“Yes.” Her hands fisted at her sides, the knuckles white with strain. “Is there anything else, my lord?”

“Not at the moment.” Declan tried not to let his satisfaction show. Being her guardian might be easier than he thought.

Alex made a quick turn and stumbled over the rolled carpet. She almost fell, but he grabbed her arm and drew her to him so that her cheek rested below his shoulder.

He’d only meant to steady her, but surprised himself when his arms came around her in an embrace. She felt soft and warm from their recent exertion. The air surrounding her was musky with a hint of vanilla. Declan breathed deeply. He liked the smell and the way her body fit to his.

For a moment, Alex relaxed against him, and he had the strangest urge to comfort her. When he attempted to bring her closer, she stiffened and backed away.

“Don’t.” Her posture ramrod straight, she turned and crossed to the corner of the room.

He tried not to notice her backside as she bent to collect her rapier. Male attire suited her, clinging in all the right places. Perhaps that was the reason for his uncharacteristic behavior. He’d have to find some way to get her in a dress.

Alex turned toward him. She checked her weapon for damage, then lovingly ran her hand over the intricate design on the hilt. When she raised her gaze to his, Declan saw dignity and pride in her eyes. “I’ll obey you because I have to. You’ve won my cooperation. Nothing more.”

She unlocked the door and opened it. With her chin held high, Alex faced the staff. Silence descended as they cleared a path for her. With graceful movements, she passed through them and ascended the stairs.

Declan unrolled the sleeves of his shirt, while trying to decide what to say to the onlookers. He couldn’t tell them the truth. Even if he were believed, there was her reputation to consider. He shrugged into his coat, favoring his injured arm, and headed to the door. The astonished gathering watched him expectantly.