How to Lose a Duke in Ten Days (2 page)

He lowered his head until his lips hovered dangerously close to hers. Just an inch or two more, and they would be touching. A thrill of anticipation skipped up her spine and spread through her limbs. Her heart thudded frantically against her ribs.

His eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he stepped back. “I accept your challenge.” His smile was slow, wicked. “Good day, Miss Welby.”

With that, he was gone. 

For one wild, impossible moment, she thought she might have dreamed the whole dreadful conversation. Had she really just refused a duke of the realm? Now, in the cold aftermath, it hardly seemed possible.

Moments later, her father rushed back into the room, his features drawn tight. He held a folded piece of sealed parchment in his hand, and Pippa wondered idly what it was. An order of execution? Death by hanging might be preferable to her father’s anger once he discovered she’d thrown the duke’s proposal back in his face.

Her father handed her the parchment. With numb fingers, she unsealed it and read the contents. “It’s an invitation to an engagement ball,” she said.

“Whose engagement?”

“Mine.” She swallowed. “And it’s in ten days.”

Uncertainty was an abhorrent thing and he didn’t like it, not a damn bit. Lucas prided himself on cold, rational thinking. He was calculated, confident and never asked a question he didn’t already have the answer to. And if no answer was forthcoming, then he created one.

Miss Welby was his answer.

Until this morning when she’d refused him. 

Like any rational gentleman with his wealth and position, he’d naturally assumed she would accept his proposal. With her unfortunate connection to trade, she wouldn’t make a better match. Still, she’d refused him, and that rankled more than he was willing to admit.

Lucas glanced down at the legal documents strewn across the surface of his desk when voices echoed in the corridor, just outside his study. Seconds later, the door burst open to reveal a very angry Miss Welby as she stormed into the room with several females in tow. Judging by their simple attire and the slightly frightened look in their eyes, he deduced they were servants of some variety. 

He counted them quickly.
Eight
women. Good God, was she planning a full-scale attack? 

Benson rushed in behind the legion of women. “Apologies, Your Grace, I—”

“Tried to stop them,” Lucas finished for the butler. “Yes, I can see that. Excellent work. You may leave us.”

As Benson slinked from the room, Lucas rose to his feet and moved around to the front of the desk, leaning against it casually.

His gaze swept over the female servants as they huddled behind their mistress. “
Eight
chaperones is a bit excessive, wouldn’t you say?”

She lifted her chin.  “One can never be too cautious.”

There was caution and then there was pure lunacy. Women in general had a tendency to go mad from time to time. The madness was cyclical and yet still somehow dangerously unpredictable.

From the first moment he’d glimpsed Miss Welby at Tisdale’s ball, he’d been intrigued by her subtle, enticing beauty. Even now, he remembered the pale pink gown she wore that night. It clung to her every curve perfectly, accentuating her lush, ripe breasts. Instantly, he’d been entranced. 

Tisdale had introduced them, or had attempted to, in any event. When she’d curtsied, then lifted her vibrant green eyes to meet his, Lucas had been rendered utterly speechless.

There, in the middle of the ballroom, his mind groped blindly for words.
Any
words. “My uncle is an ape,” would have sufficed, if only to fill the long, uncomfortable silence that had stretched between them. In the end, rather than look the fool, he’d turned and walked away. 

It was that night he’d decided he wanted her.

Months later, he’d discovered she stood to inherit her father’s coal mine, and all the pieces had begun falling into place.

She stepped forward and held out a piece of parchment. “What is
this
?”

He didn’t need to look at it; he knew precisely what it was. “I should think it would be obvious,” he said. “It’s an invitation.”

She let her hand drop. “Yes, clearly. What I would like to know is why it has
my
name on it?” 

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You are my intended. Whose name should be on it?”

“Oh, I don’t know; someone who
wants
to marry you, perhaps?”

He laughed, amused by her annoyance. “Oh, you want to marry me, love, you just don’t know it yet.”

“No,” she cried. “I don’t! And I certainly do not approve of you inviting guests to a ball that will not, under any pretense, take place.” 

Lucas swept his gaze over the gaggle of maids once more. “Let’s discuss this in a more private setting.” In his bed, their naked bodies tangled in the sheets, perhaps.

“This setting is perfectly agreeable.” 

“Perhaps I should make myself clear—I
will not
discuss my private affairs in front of an audience. Your flock of hens must leave.”

She narrowed her eyes. “They stay.”

Good God, the woman was impossible, and he found himself wondering why on earth he’d deliberately set upon this aggravating path toward matrimony. For twenty-seven years, he’d managed to avoid entanglements altogether, and it looked as though that bit of fortune was finally catching up to him.  It was unavoidable, he supposed. One must settle down eventually.

And marrying Miss Welby had strategic advantages–control of the largest coal mines in England, for one.

“I will allow
one
maid to remain with you. Just one.”

She let out an exasperated breath and turned to one of the younger maids. “Rose, you may stay. The rest of you, please wait just outside the door. I’ll be along in a moment. This won’t take long.” 

Oh, it would take plenty long if he had anything to say about it. And if she thought a young, simpering maid would preserve her cherished virtue, then she had no idea what she was up against.

Once the door clicked shut, Miss Welby whirled around to face him. “Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes, call off the engagement ball or I will be forced to strangle the life from your”—she dragged her gaze up the length of him and swallowed—“pathetic body.”

His bride-to-be wasn’t much for subtlety, he was learning.

The room was large and there was a fair amount of distance between them. He rectified that by taking several steps toward her, stopping just inches away. She eyed him suspiciously but made no move to retreat. He liked that about her—she was passionate, determined to hold her ground.

She’d make a magnificent duchess.

Their children would be willful like their mother, no doubt, but that could be managed with the proper guidance—and an army of nurses, governesses, and servants.

Reaching out, he skimmed a finger down her pearl-white cheek. She flinched and took a step backward, almost tripping in her haste to escape him. He caught her easily, one hand curled around her upper arm. A tiny gasp escaped her moist, petal-pink lips.

“Release me.” She eyed him boldly. “Right this instant.”

Lucas chuckled and released her arm just as she snatched it away dramatically. “We are engaged. Surely that affords me s
ome
liberties, however few.”

A bleak, regrettable few.

Fury sparked in those sharp green eyes. “We are
not
engaged.”

Lucas shrugged. “You’re mine, Miss Welby, and the sooner you realize that, the faster we can end this tedious game of cat and mouse.” 

Too much depended on her marrying him. Everything Lucas had worked so hard for his entire life rested on this. 

If he were being cruel, he could say she’d brought it upon herself. The moment her eyes caught his at the Tisdale ball had led her to this very moment. She had no one to blame but herself.

“Why?”

“Because I wish it.”

“Why marry me when you could have any woman you please?”

“That’s precisely it, Miss Welby. I can marry whomever I please. I am not bound, as some men are, to marry for wealth or position.”

“I was born into trade. You were born into nobility. There were never two creatures more dissimilar.” She swallowed. “Think of your future children. Their mother would be the daughter of a tradesman.”

“Yes.” She still wore her bonnet. He reached out, took the thick, blue ribbon beneath her chin, and tugged. The delicate bow unraveled easily, and as the ribbons fell away, she drew in a sharp breath. “But their father would come from a long line of noble blood. It all evens out, you see.” 

Indeed, there was an additional benefit to matrimony, after all. He needed an heir, and Miss Welby could provide him with one. Quite handily, he imagined.

She glared. “Then it must be the money. It’s the only thing that makes sense. You’ve gambled your fortune away, and you need a wealthy wife to fund your extravagances.”

He toyed with the end of her ribbon. “Wrong again. I don’t need your fortune, and I told your father as much yesterday. He can keep the money. All I require is
you
.”

Genuine astonishment swept across her face, but to her credit, she didn’t pull away, didn’t move. She was as still as marble, the pulse at the base of her throat the only trace of movement. His own heart kicked up a notch as he swept the ribbons aside and exposed the gentle curve of her jaw.

With his forefinger, he gently traced the curve, keenly aware of her breath coming in quick, uneven bursts. Her skin was soft, smooth like silk beneath his fingertips, and he imagined all the different ways he would taste her…

She wanted to flee—he could see it in the way she looked at him, shocked and slightly confused. But she didn’t. Was it curiosity holding her in place, or a deep, elemental need to feel his touch?

He wondered idly how far he could push her until she either surrendered or pulled away. Brushing his finger up the line of her jaw to the lobe of her ear, he caressed it gently. Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch, then snapped open instantly, as though realizing she’d succumbed, even for just a moment.

Trailing his hand up, he caught her bonnet and tugged it off her head. Her eyes widened and she lunged for the bonnet, which he held up, out of her reach. “That’s mine. Give it back,
if you please
.” The last was said through gritted teeth, as though it cost her everything to remain civil.

He tossed it onto the white settee behind him, and then turned back to her. Her eyes sparked with defiance. “I know what you are about, Your Grace, and I will not be intimidated. I’m far too smart to be seduced by the likes of
you
.”

Ah, so that was the way of it. Determined
not
to be seduced, was she?

Innocent, untried debutantes were not his usual fare, but he found her continued protests intriguing. He wanted to know what impelled her, what inspired her, what
tempted
her?

He smiled. Perhaps he should find out.

She wore a pale blue pelisse that buttoned down the front, white flowers embroidered along the hem. He reached out and unfastened the first button at the base of her neck.  Her eyes fluttered up to meet his.

What he saw reflected in those deep green pools made his breath catch. She wanted him. It was unmistakable. Just the thought sent hot, violent need rushing through his veins.

A faint gasp came from the other side of the room, where Miss Welby’s maid stood, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. “Miss?”

Miss Welby spoke without taking her eyes off Lucas. “It’s all right, Rose. He does not affect me in the least.”

He chuckled. A good, honorable man would leave it at that. His father had been a good man, so generous and altruistic he’d slowly depleted the family estate until he’d rendered the family destitute. It had taken years for Lucas to rebuild the family fortune—to restore his family’s legacy. And in that time, he’d learned one important lesson: good men were trampled, used, and discarded. Good men were left vulnerable and powerless.

Lucas was not a good man.

“Is that so, Miss Welby?” He arched a brow. “Very well. Prove it.”

“Happily,” she said with confidence. “And when I do, what will be my prize?”

“You won’t win.”

“How about…” She tapped a finger on her chin, thinking up ways to torment him, no doubt. “I win, and you promise not to send the invitations.”

She wouldn’t win, of course. The legend of his seductive skill was…well, legendary.  There wasn’t a woman this side of London who’d ever refused his advances—unless one counted Miss Welby, which he certainly did not. She was clearly an anomaly.

He smirked. “Done.”

Without turning, she said, “Rose, wait outside for a moment, will you?”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and slipped out the door, closing it firmly behind her. At last, they were alone, and he wasted no time.

Reaching out, he unhooked the second, third, then fourth button, revealing the thin, transparent material that concealed the tops of her breasts. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as he continued with the fifth, sixth, seventh buttons. He imagined all the garments he would strip away on their wedding night, until every lush, feminine curve was bared to his hungry gaze. Until she was naked beneath him, her fiery red curls fanned out around her.

Just the thought heated his blood.

When the last button was undone, the pelisse gaped open, revealing Miss Welby’s ripe, curvaceous form. There was the pesky matter of her morning gown, stays, and chemise, of course, but all of that could be remedied easily enough.  An easy compliment, a flick of the wrist, and they’d be pooled at her feet before she could draw a breath.

Smoothing his hands around her waist, he tugged her flush with his body. She was warm, supple, and fit against him perfectly. White-hot desire licked at him from the inside as he pressed himself more firmly against her.

She drew in a long, uneven breath and her eyes darted up to meet his.