Page 39 of Distracting the Duke

“Can we count ourselves friends now?” she asked quietly.

“Of course.”

When she’d first met him, the main certainty in her life had been that she thoroughly disliked and disapproved of Ulvercombe. Gradually, she’d realized he wasn’t as awful as she thought and might actually make a good husband for Ellie. But now they had both betrayed Ellie, and she no longer had her dislike to cling to.

All she had was confusion, unfettered feelings, and patent desires crashing through her mind and body, knocking her completely off-balance.

“However,” he added.

There was a however? Her heart sank in trepidation.

“I have to tell you, my sweet, that I’ve never met a woman who kissed me back with such unpretentious honesty as you just did. And aside from some youthful obsessions, which, thankfully, I grew out of, I’ve never wanted or desired a woman more than I desire you now.”

Heat singed her cheeks. Not at all what she had expected to hear.

And the tragedy of it was, she was hearing these precious words from the lips of the one man on earth she couldn’t have. Become his mistress while he was courting Ellie? Impossible. Become his mistress after he was married to Ellie? Never.

If he were to wed Ellie, he mustn’t be distracted by the lure of another woman’s bed. Ellie would be cut to the quick by a husband who did that to her, and it would make Clara no better than the many trollops she was certain Simon had spent both time and money on, once he’d decided she was useless in the bedchamber.

Useless in the bedchamber.

The thought sobered her instantly.

Ulvercombe might desire her now, but as soon as he’d tasted her, tested her, he would find her wanting and tire of her. A few days ago she wouldn’t have given a fig for his opinion of her but now…now, a rejection from him would cause more pain than he could possibly imagine. Both for Clara, and for Ellie when she learned of their betrayal.

She straightened her shoulders. “We’ve been foolish, caught up in a forbidden temptation, forgetting ourselves, our places, and our duty. Let us speak no more of this. It’s stopped raining so we’d better get back before my brother comes looking for you with a hunting rifle.”

She’d expected him to chuckle at that, but there was no amusement on his handsome face. Had she offended him? She’d thought she was agreeing with him, that they needed to see reason.

There was no going back. No apologies, no hopes, no more stolen moments.

He stepped back from the rock cleft to allow her some daylight as she refastened her bonnet. With any luck, the disarray of the duke’s hair, and her own, would be put down to having been caught in the rain.

When he offered his arm for the walk back to the house, she decided it was too dangerous to touch him again, and shook her head. She hurried along behind him as he strode back through the damp comfrey leaves and the drooping stems of brambles.

The long stems were dutifully held aside for her, but the arm was not offered again, nor did he meet her eyes, so she couldn’t guess at his thoughts.

The only words exchanged as they made their way back to Lawton Court were pleasantries, comments on the instability of the weather, the prospect of the next local goose fair, or an interesting bird or butterfly that fluttered across their path. By silent mutual consent, they both paused on the threshold of the house, protected by the semicircular roof of the porch from the leaky gutters above.

One of his hands fastened over hers when she reached for the knocker, while the other tilted her face up to his.

For one terrifying, glorious moment, she thought he was going to kiss her again. Instead, he transfixed her with his gaze and said, “It’s a great pity that things couldn’t progress between us when we were by the river. I’ve been wondering recently what it would be like to feel the cooling rain upon one’s naked body, to lie down unclothed on the green leaves beneath the trees. I would have liked to find out how it felt to make love out-of-doors to the music of the gentle rain.”

Having delivered this observation, he calmly removed her hand, knocked on the door, and stood back, allowing her to precede him.

“Why, Clara, you’re all hot and bothered!” said Sarah as she opened the door to them. “Come in! Here’s a fan. Would you like some cooling lemonade? Did you have to run to avoid the rain? Oh, but I see it has stopped.”

“We managed to find shelter during the worst of it, Mrs. Weston,” said the duke. “Thank you. I would welcome some tea.”

Clara marveled that he could sound so polite, so collected, after what he’d just said to her. My word, but the man could dissemble. He should have been an actor.

If only she had such skills. All she managed to do was nod her appreciation at her sister-in-law, then stand there fanning herself while Sarah removed her bonnet and pelisse. She was led upstairs to have her hair re-pinned, for it was in a sad and sorry state after the battle with the rain and the bushes.

And Ulvercombe’s hands.

The fan worked harder as she tried to dispel the lingering feel of his fingers on her face, tangled in her hair…

The bell tinkled to announce the arrival of tea, and she stood for a moment, regarding her murky reflection in the glass. She would have to get through at least an hour of pretending nothing earth-shattering had just happened.