Page 28 of Distracting the Duke

He, on the other hand, could think of a few dozen ways…

“You should have thought of that before you came to ask for it,” he told her, his voice gravelly from coughing. Because, surely, it couldn’t be from desire…

Her tongue peeped out to moisten her lips while she considered her response.

No, she really shouldn’t do that. It was just too…enticing.

She needed to leave, and quickly, before he made a miraculous recovery and started saying—or worse, doing—things he couldn’t take back.

“I can still remember the feel of your breast beneath my hand,” he said, unsure whether it was the fever in his brain or in his loins that prompted the words.

Either way, it did the trick. She grabbed up her things and scuttled from the room like a frightened rabbit.

The temptation to call her back was very strong, but it would only have sunk him deeper into the vast mire of inappropriateness that was growing between them. He lay back and stared at the canopy of the bed, giving way to a depressingly hollow feeling.

He had agreed to duel with the brother, and promised the sister not to. How on earth could he satisfy both parties?

And how the devil had he managed to completely compromise himself with Clara, when Miss Soper was the woman he intended to marry?

Chapter Sixteen

Fortunately, Marcus’s illness was not of long duration. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get Clara Tinniswood out of his mind.

Her image drifted before him—Clara in the doorway, Clara on his bed, Clara standing up to him, refusing to leave. The sweet scent of her filled his senses though it could not possibly be lingering in his room, and the soft feel of her breast was still sensually imprinted upon his palm.

What kind of madness had made him disrobe in front of her? It was small relief to know that she’d once been married and could cope with the sight of a naked man.

He leaped from his chair and stalked across to the bellpull. As soon as a footman arrived, he requested yet another decoction of feverfew and willow bark. Not exactly the kind of thing his physician would have recommended, no doubt, but his grandmother had used it with very satisfactory results back in those awful days when they couldn’t afford a doctor. And Clara had recommended something similar.

He headed across to the window and gazed out at the perfectly cut box hedges and immaculate lawns, bad memories crowding his head. What a struggle it had been for himself and Papa to revive the family’s fortunes! Penny-pinching, laying off staff, increasing the rents—Marcus had decreased these as soon as he was able—and hunting around for sound investments.

It had been a dismal time, with both his parents angry and worried, his father brutal, his mother tearful, and everyone on the estates kept in the dark about the financial situation for fear of the family losing face…and credit. He could still recall the sting of the birch from when he was a boy, as his father and tutors thrashed their tenets into him. Money was not to be squandered, pleasure was not to be bought, and true aristocrats never revealed their emotions.

Would Papa have approved of Marcus’s recent behavior toward Clara?

Certainly not.

Nor would he have approved of the gift of the Pajou to a family of no real consequence, or the sale of precious Albemarle heirlooms for charitable purposes. However, by dint of Marcus’s hard work, the estate was now close to being on solid ground. He considered the gift of the Pajou and the charity sale as good investments, as he hoped they would win him the favor of heiress Eleanora Soper.

“Why on earth you want to drink this mess escapes me entirely.”

Marcus turned with a start, then grinned broadly as Lord Frederick Snettisham entered carrying the herbal drink Marcus had ordered. How had the man managed to sneak in unannounced? The fellow could talk his way around anyone.

“Snetty, what a pleasant surprise. Why didn’t you tell me you were in Devonshire?”

“That would have spoiled the surprise, wouldn’t it? I needed to catch you unawares to find out what’s keeping you in the country while I’ve been desperate for your company in Town. Although I’m certain I know the reason. Does it have a pert bosom, a halo of golden hair, and eyes as blue as the sky?”

Marcus clapped his friend heartily on the back. Sometimes he wished he could have had a brother like Snetty so the full weight of familial responsibility didn’t fall on his shoulders alone.

“Of course, Snetty, you know it does. Give me that potion. I’ve been suffering horribly with feverishness.”

“I’ll have something a bit less murky myself,” stated his friend. “I’ll call for some wine to be opened and maybe a few crackers to accompany it.”

“Good God man, you’re not embarking on the Lord Byron weight-reducing diet, are you? Oh no, that was soda water and crackers…or something similar.”

“Heavens, no.” Snetty looked momentarily appalled. He said, “You sound a little hoarse, Your Grace. Have you been subject to a summer rheum?”

“I got soaked in a storm and caught a chill, hence the medicine.” Marcus took a sip and winced.