“God, I hope not. It’s enough trouble being responsible for myself. Anyway, my dear brother seemed very taken with your sister last night,” Nathaniel mused. “He even called her his ‘one true love,’ although I know he goes through several each year. IfPatrick says he intends to marry her, then he will. Even though I have to admit he can be very impulsive.”
“As can Mary,” Cecily groaned. “Please, Your Grace. Please help me. If we can be sure that they reach Scotland and are married, I will never trouble you again. But I cannot just go home and hope for the best while Mary is out there, perhaps being ruined…”
“I wouldn’t consider itruinedto be deflowered by a man she marries a week later,” the Duke reflected, still not seeming to understand the depths of her fears. “Why should they not be happy together a few days ahead of schedule?”
How can he be so flippant? He really thinks this is all some kind of joke!
“Why must you be so obtuse?” Cecily yelled at him, hands on her hips. “Mary is in real danger, whatever your brother’s present intentions. Why can’t you see what would be obvious to everyone else in the world?”
“Why are you shouting at a man whose help you want so badly?” he parried, that soft fire sparking in his dark blue eyes as it had last night. “Not that I object so very strongly. That shade of pink in your cheeks suits you well, and you may continue shouting at me if you also continue blushing so becomingly.”
“Oh, you—You!” Cecily was at a loss for words at the strange compliment, touched by it in a way that no previous flattery from neat, well-shaven dancing partners or dinner companionshad touched her. “I am overwrought, Your Grace. I do not know what to do!”
Taking a deep breath, she sat down again and tried to compose herself. This conversation was proving even more challenging than she had expected.
“Please help me, Your Grace,” she begged. “You’re the only one who can find them. I would do anything to help my sister, and I hoped you would feel the same about your brother, although I can see that you do not share my concerns.”
“Would you truly do anything?” the Duke asked rather thoughtfully. “That’s quite a statement for a young woman to make. What did you have in mind? What could you do for me, for example?”
Little flares of excitement and wariness rose and fell in Cecily’s chest.
“I… I could spread rumors around London that you are the kindest, most generous, and bravest man of the ton,” she suggested, but the Duke only laughed.
“No one would believe that, and I wouldn’t care either way. Shall I tell you what I have in mind?”
Cecily’s heart thumped hard as she waited for him to tell her, afraid even to nod her head.
“If I help you find your sister and make sure she is married, I would want something equivalent in return. I would gladly takeyouin exchange.”
“What? What did you say?”
Cecily was not entirely sure she had heard him correctly. Could the Duke of Greyhaven be as foul and predatory as Lord Ashworth, even though he was younger and far, far better looking, especially in his present state of disarray?
The pull of her gut told her this was not a bad man, just an unusual one. Yet despite her attraction to him, she was frightened, and his words did nothing to ease her fears. Could he really not understand how desperate the situation was? How could he bargain now, and for such a stake as he seemed to be asking? Surely, she must have misunderstood.
Standing now, the Duke helped her to her feet and brought her hand to his lips. As if hypnotized, she did not resist, even as her breath grew heavier. How warm his fingers felt and how gentle his touch…
“Your skin is so soft, and your body is so responsive,” he breathed. “You would make a wonderful plaything for me…”
Cecily snatched her hand away before his lips could make contact. This was truly unacceptable.
“How dare you, Your Grace? How can you be so shameless? Have you no respect for your wife?”
CHAPTER 8
“My wife?” the Duke repeated with an expression of genuine bemusement. “Victoria has been dead for seven years. It is only natural that a man would wish to marry again.”
“Dead? Oh… I…”
Cecily wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole. This man was a widower, and she had blundered horribly. This understanding put a whole new complexion on his advances to her, confirmed in his next words.
“I am asking you to be my Duchess,” he clarified bluntly. “As my Duchess, I am inviting you to play bedroom games I suspect you have never dreamed of but am equally sure you would thoroughly enjoy.”
“Are you mad?” she hissed. “You do not even know me.”
“Quite likely I am mad. A wife would be very useful to me, and I don’t care who you are beyond what you have told me, although I will need a full name for the marriage license,” he told her.
If his words were lightly spoken and shockingly flippant, his actions were startling in an entirely different way. He took her hands in his and caressed them with persuasive intimacy. His touch coaxed a low moan past her lips.
