An Unlikely Duchess Read online

  Instead he smiled weakly and was left to contemplate exactly how stupid or insane a man had to be to offer to watch over the very lady he wanted more than anything in this world while she set about picking someone else to spend her life with.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rebecca could not sleep. No matter how hard she tried, she tossed and turned but she did not sleep. Despite her best efforts, she could not get her mind to stop whirring, throwing up thoughts about London, the marriage mart and, mostly, Edward.

  She whispered his name. It sounded right on her lips. And he’d told her to use it, though she would not dare to outside the sanctuary of her room.

  Her heart stung a little at his offer to escort her to functions. He knew that she was intending to find a husband and was obviously so unaffected by it that he was going to help her find a decent one!

  Well, what did she expect? There was nothing between them save a stolen kiss and his low opinion of her. To be fair, he’d seen her at her worst. Twice. His opinion had been formed.

  And what did Rebecca care for his opinion anyway? He meant nothing to her.

  Sighing in frustration she stepped out of bed and slipped on a robe to cover her flimsy nightrail. Perhaps a book from the library would help to soothe her mind.

  She slipped quietly from the room, instinctively avoiding the floorboards that creaked loudest and hurried down the stairs.

  Tiptoeing into the library, Rebecca noticed with some surprise that a lantern was already burning low in the room. Usually the servants were more diligent. Still, she was grateful for the extra light. She turned it up to better illuminate the room, then took her candle to scour the shelves.

  Her mind however, wasn’t on her task and she skimmed the titles without really seeing them.

  “Looking for something in particular?”

  Rebecca whipped round at the sound of the low voice behind her and let out a terrified scream.

  Without thought to her actions she flung the candle she was holding at the person who’d spoken and scared the wits out of her.

  The flame thankfully flickered out mid-flight and there was a rather sickening thump as the candleholder met its mark.

  The ensuing string of expletives, some of which sounded as though they were in a different language, confirmed what Rebecca fearfully suspected. She had, once again, attacked and injured the Duke of Hartridge.

  “Bloody hell woman. Are you insane?” His voice was no more than a loud whisper but she could hear the anger embedded in it and it made her temper flare in response.

  “Am I insane? What are you doing creeping up behind people in the middle of the night?” Rebecca bit back equally quietly but ferociously nonetheless.

  The whispering, however, seemed futile. Since she’d screamed blue murder not two minutes ago and nobody had come to her aid!

  “I am not creeping up behind you, my lady,” he sniffed haughtily. “Besides, I was here first,” he finished rather childishly, rubbing his shoulder — presumably where her weapon had hit.

  “Why are you still up?” she demanded.

  “Why are you still up?” he countered.

  She sighed and relented. After all, they were not getting very far standing here bickering, yet again, like children.

  “I could not sleep,” she answered stiffly. She could be civil but did not have to be happy about it.

  “Excited about the prospect of your new husband are you?” he sneered.

  And just like that her temper peaked yet again.

  “Your grace,” she bit, managing to make the address sound like an insult, “you have made your opinion of me painfully clear. You have strived to humiliate me in front of both my family and yours and you have insulted me in every way imaginable. You do not like me. I understand. You have made it abundantly clear. So why do you persist in speaking to me? Why do you care about whether or not I wish to have a husband? What does it matter to you?”

  Her chest heaved by the end of her speech, so caught up in her anger was she. She was glorious in her anger.

  Edward stood stock still, shock and something she could not define stamped on his arrogant face.

  “You think I do not like you?” he eventually choked out. He laughed but there was no humour in it.

  “Trust me, my lady,” his voice was low and slid over her jangled nerves causing her to shiver, “not liking you is not the problem.”

  “Then what is?” she could not help but ask.

  He stared at her for so long Rebecca thought he would not answer. He took a step closer so that there were mere inches between them.

  Suddenly, it seemed as though the temperature in the room shot up and Rebecca felt the now familiar stirrings he had awakened in her.

  Slowly, so slowly, he lifted a hand and grazed his knuckles softly down her cheek. His eyes, a darker grey now, like the sky before a storm breaks, bored into hers and held her captive. She could not have moved away had her life depended on it.

  “The problem is,” he eventually spoke, “that I like you too damn much.”

  And as his lips plundered her own Rebecca thought desperately that they appeared to be suffering from the same problem.

  Edward kissed her as though his very life depended on it. At that moment, he felt like it did.

  He pulled her closer and felt, with some satisfaction, her arms reach up and wind around his neck. He felt like he could kiss her forever. His tongue slipped out to taste her lips and he took full advantage of her gasp by slipping inside to taste her properly.

  He could not help the groan of pure lust that escaped him as he plundered her mouth. Dear God, had anyone ever been so consumed by just one kiss?

  He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He’d intended to keep his distance. Had tried to. Had sat in this very room for hours trying to numb his emotions, emotions he wasn’t ready to examine.

  But he hadn’t been able to stop his mind from wandering. And always to Rebecca. To her smile, her eyes, her body. Her wit, her laugh. The woman was haunting him.

  And when he wasn’t thinking all of these pleasant things about her, he was driving himself insane with thoughts of her in London flirting and dancing with other men. Other men holding her like this, kissing her like this.

  And then, worst of all, her marrying someone. Someone whom he was sure would not be good enough to be her husband. Someone whose hands held her supple body, moulded her shape to his own, just as Edward was doing now.

  The jealousy that coursed through his veins caused him to pull her closer yet, to lift her into his body, to let her feel what she did to him. His hands roamed the contours of her body, made so much more accessible by the flimsy cotton that covered her shape now.

  He remembered how she’d looked with her dress plastered to her like a second skin. And now he felt it and it seared his soul. He would never have enough of her. Never.

  But he must. The lady wasn’t his.

  The thought was like being doused in cold water and pulled him abruptly back from the point of no return. His control was hanging by the merest thread and he was closer to the breaking point than he had ever been.

  He broke the embrace and held himself away from her, gripping her shoulders when it looked like she might stumble.

  The sight of her standing in front of him, wide eyed and looking thoroughly kissed nearly brought him to his knees. Her robe had come undone during their embrace and the flimsy nightrail she wore did little to disguise her curves. And her hair, that glorious hair he’d had fantasies about since he’d arrived, flowed down her back like a river of mahogany satin, framing her face and making him wish he could see it spread out on the crisp white sheets on his bed. He could have wept. The temptation to pull her back to him was all encompassing.

  With herculean effort, he spun away from her and paced to the other side of the room. Distance was needed. Distance and brandy.

  He walked to the end table where he’d been drowning his sorrows and poured himself another healthy measure. He tu
rned and silently offered her the same by holding up the bottle. To his surprise she nodded her assent. Neither had yet spoken a word.

  Making his way back across the room to her, he handed her the glass of amber liquid before downing his own, doing all he could to stop his eyes from raking her body and his hands from touching her.

  The silence stretched on. Rebecca, unsure of what to say and still feeling shaken to her core by the power of his kiss, gulped back the contents of the glass. The amber liquid burned a trail down her throat and caused her to cough and splutter in a most alarming manner.

  “My God.” Edward was by her side in an instant, clapping her back in what he assumed was a helpful manner but what was really rather unhelpful. And sore.

  He led her to the chaise he’d been sprawled on when she’d entered the library and sat her down.

  Eventually, Rebecca got the coughing under control, though tears continued to stream down her face, which was now flushed though from the brandy or the near choking, he could not tell.

  “Are you alright?” he asked gently, grasping her hands and hunkering in front of her.

  “Yes, quite thank you,” she rasped, her voice made hoarse from the exertion.

  “When was the last time you drank brandy, Rebecca?”

  “Never.”

  “Never?” he repeated amazed. “And for your first taste you decide to gulp it like a drunkard?”

  She smiled ruefully and shrugged her delicate shoulders. “I rather thought I needed it.”

  He returned her smile with a rueful one of his own and let go of her hands to sit beside her. Rebecca tried not to feel disappointed at the loss of contact.

  Edward heaved a sigh before turning to face her.

  “I am sorry for my behaviour,” he muttered, trying his damndest not to be distracted by the glimpse of skin at the neckline of her attire or the way the light from the lantern shot her hair through with a blazing red.

  “Which part?” she quipped.

  He smiled wryly. “I deserve that. I’ve been a cad. For all of it, really. I haven’t exactly been a gentleman.”

  “And why is that, your grace? You who is the epitome of a gentleman if everything I’ve heard of you is to be believed.”

  “The epitome of a gentleman?”

  “Indeed. Or so I was told before your arrival here.”

  He frowned. For some reason, that description did not sit well with him. It made him sound — well — boring. But then, hadn’t that been exactly what he was since his father’s demise? Never putting a foot wrong. Never doing anything without thinking it through methodically, logically. Never stepping outside the role of duke for one second… until her.

  “What can I say? I’ve never felt the need to act like anything less than a gentleman. Until I met you.”

  Her eyes widened before she lowered them to her lap demurely.

  Rebecca’s breath hitched. He really should not say those things. It was most improper. As was the thrill that shot through her when he did.

  She risked a quick glance at him and found him staring at her again with that expression on his face, one she could not quite decipher but which made her feel hot and tingly and scared, all at once.

  “I should return to my bed,” Rebecca said softly and was annoyed to hear the tremble in her voice.

  “As should I. I have an early start.”

  At the mention of his leaving, Rebecca’s stomach lurched. She did not want to want him to stay. She wanted to be as furious with him as she had been earlier today. But he’d apologised. More than that, he’d kissed her. And now she could not help wanting things that were, frankly, dangerous and impossible.

  She needed to remove herself from this room and from him. An apology, though very nice, did not really change anything.

  “Ah yes. Your urgent business in Town. I do hope it is nothing too serious. After all, you have kindly volunteered to take Caroline and me under your wing, remember?”

  He muttered a couple more choice words before answering.

  “That was an accident.”

  “An accident, your grace?”

  “Your grace?”

  She blushed slightly and he had to grip the seat to stop himself from reaching for her.

  “Hartridge,” she amended.

  He waited, one eyebrow raised haughtily.

  “Fine. Edward,” she huffed.

  He smiled in triumph. “As much as being around you gives me more pleasure than it should, I cannot say I am looking forward to the task.”

  “Why ever not?” she asked curiously, “It was your idea, was it not?”

  “Yes it was. Curse my mouth.”

  Her eyebrows rose slightly and, though he knew he should keep things distant and aloof, he felt that he owed her an explanation. Especially in light of his terrible behaviour.

  “You are young and innocent Rebecca. You do not yet realise the impact you have on any normal, red-blooded male. I will have my work cut out for me fighting them off in London. With you and your sister.”

  “Oh.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Well, we do not wish to give you more work.”

  He chuckled softly.

  And then, because he could not help it, he touched her face, placing a finger under her chin and raising it until she looked at him.

  “It is not the work I am worried about, sweetheart. It is stopping myself tearing from limb to limb any man who even looks at you.”

  Rebecca did not know what to say. Nor did she move, trapped by him, by his words, his scent, his presence, everything.

  He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. Not like the passionate embraces they’d had thus far, but a soft brush of his lips against hers.

  “Goodnight, my lady” he whispered against her lips. And then he was gone.

  Rebecca made her way slowly up the stairs and to her room. She’d forgotten to take a book but it was of no matter now. Nothing now would be able to take her mind off Edward.

  She walked as if in a trance. Her mind and heart focused on one thing and one alone— he’d called her sweetheart.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of planning, packing and, much to the earl’s despair— shopping.

  A trip to London for a Season was not a matter to be taken lightly. Particularly when you had not one, but two daughters hoping to make an impact.

  The dowager and countess were in fits of happiness choosing gowns and events with military precision. Caroline grew more excited as the days went on. And Rebecca did too, though she had not been able to shake the strange ennui that had come on since Edward’s departure.

  Try as she might she could not put from her mind that last night in her father’s library. It felt like something had shifted between them. Like they’d crossed an invisible line and had made things all the more complicated.

  Rebecca found herself wishing she’d never asked to go to London. She could not imagine Edward escorting her to balls and soirees knowing that she was there to search for a husband. The things he’d said, the way he kissed her; it made her feel like perhaps she was coming to mean something to him. And yet, what could it mean, really?

  He did not profess to love her and she certainly did not love him. Of course not. Besides which, all the old problems still existed. Rebecca Carrington was far from fit to be a duchess!

  Nothing had changed. Not really.

  She resolved to put Edward from her mind once and for all and concentrate on what was needed for the great move to London.

  The day after Edward had left, the ladies had made a trip to Dublin and sought out their favourite mantua maker and now, just days before they were due to set off, their purchases had arrived. Rebecca knew the poor woman must have worked day and night to have readied so many gowns in so little time. But the Carringtons were one of the leading families in the country and when the countess wanted something, she got it!

  There was much excitement at the breakfast table that morning.<
br />
  The earl had listened ruefully to the excited chatter before turning to Mr. Crawdon.

  “A day for a hunt I think, Mr. Crawdon?”

  “An excellent idea, my lord,” answered Tom with considerable enthusiasm.

  The gentlemen bid them good day and made a swift escape and the ladies retired to their rooms to re-examine the gowns they’d purchased and make last minute arrangements.

  The morning was a flurry of excitement — gowns, ribbons, bonnets, gloves and on and on until Rebecca’s head spun with it.

  The excitement was infectious and even the servants were caught up in it. Rebecca barely thought of Edward or the prospect of a husband. She looked forward to the sights they would see, the parties they would attend and, admittedly, the fabulous gowns they would wear.

  The ladies shared a light nuncheon before returning to their packing and Rebecca and Maura had settled down to some last minute sewing when a commotion sounded in the entrance hall.

  Rebecca glanced at Maura in confusion before they both ran to see what was going on.

  There was pandemonium down below. Footmen scarpered here and there and Mr. Crawdon stood in the centre barking directions. What on earth was going on?

  Rebecca rushed to the top of the stairs at the same time as Caroline and her maid, Betsy, arrived.

  Her mother and the dowager shortly appeared from the morning room on the left.

  “Mr. Crawdon, what are you about?” Rebecca shouted down.

  Her cry drew his attention. She could see that he was deathly pale.

  “My ladies,” he answered turning his attention to Caroline and then to the dowager and countess, “I am afraid I have some bad news. Lord Ranford, he has taken sick.”

  “What?”

  “We were hunting and he complained of a malady with his chest.” The ladies stared in horror as he continued with his tale. “We started to ride back at once but—”

  He was interrupted by the arrival of several footmen carrying what appeared to be a heavy sack. Rebecca felt the room spin alarmingly when she realised the sack was her father. And he wasn’t moving.