The Heart of a Duke (6 page)

Was there any wonder Jacob had fallen
helplessly in love with her? Under that snappish, slightly vain
surface gloss, there was a heart filled with warmth and humor. He
could not fathom how Langley did not discern it.

However, he couldn't betray to his cousin how
charmed he was by the man's future wife. No good would come of
that.

"How do you know she won't take a dislike to
me this week as well for the way I tie my cravat or because of my
fiery hair?"

His cousin laughed, much more relaxed now that
he knew he was free.

"She seems to tolerate you well enough,
considering the way you tease her. I cannot imagine why you find it
entertaining to bedevil Eleanore. To be frank, I find her quite
frightening when her ire is raised. I consider myself fortunate her
ire is usually directed your way, and never mine."

"Perhaps you are correct, cousin. I do wish to
make it through the week alive, after all."

Langley laughed at his quick reply, but Jacob
was serious.

He vowed to dismiss any lingering scrap of
affection for her from his mind. Erase her from his heart. It was
time to let go of his irrational desire for another man's woman.
This house party would be the last one in which he would have to
suffer a dangerously unmarried Lady Eleanore. He could never have
the lady, but he could have the law and the courts, and the power
to bring about justice for many in an unjust world.

That would have to be enough.

Chapter Three

Langley was nowhere to be found.

He had greeted Elle and her mother when their
carriage arrived at Brookdale that afternoon, then the dratted man
had disappeared. It was close to the time she should make her way
to the duchess's favorite salon for aperitifs before supper, but
she wanted to speak with him without fifty members of the peerage
looking on.

Elle pushed open the door to his study with
one hesitant hand. She'd never been invited here before, but her
desperation gave her courage.

Langley looked up, his eyes widening as she
stepped into the room and shut the door firmly. A pile of papers
sat at his elbow, a pen in his right hand, and ink smudges on his
chin. He had never looked so approachable.

At least, until she caught the irritation that
flitted across his face before he stood in a smooth motion, his
expression settling into a mask of polite inquiry.

"Good afternoon, my lady. Did you need
something? Perhaps your rooms aren't to your liking?" He moved
around the desk, toward the bell pull over the fireplace. "Mrs.
Thornton can arrange for a new suite in no time at all—"

"No!" Elle threw out her hand to stop him,
thinking of the foreboding housekeeper's sour looks earlier when
she had arrived with Mama. From what Julia had been able to gather,
the word below stairs was that there was always twice as much work
when the duke's betrothed came to visit. Apparently, the duchess
was rather adamant about everything being a notch above perfect
during these times. It had not endeared her to her future household
in the least.

"No," she repeated in a softer tone, forcing a
smile of reassurance when he looked at her askance. "My rooms are
lovely, I couldn't ask for anything more."

Langley dropped his arm back to his side, and
she let out a small breath of relief.

"Then I'm afraid I'm at a loss as to your
visit."

"Oh, I just dropped in for a chat. We haven't
done much of that in recent years, have we?"

"Ah. No, I suppose we haven't." Langley's brow
furrowed as he watched her seat herself with care in front of his
desk. He walked back slowly, lowering himself into his own chair
with a slight frown still notched between his eyebrows.

The silence spun out for a long moment, as
they stared at each other.

"I loathe fish." A wave of heat
rushed into Elle's face after she blurted the words into the quiet,
but really. If he wouldn't start the conversation, she had to
say
something
.

One corner of Langley's mouth twitched. "To
eat, or in general?"

"To eat. I can't stand the look of them. I've
never gotten close enough to take a bite, but if they taste as they
smell, I have no regrets."

The duke leaned back in his chair and studied
her.

"Was this why you sought me out before supper?
To amend the menu? You'll have to speak to Mother about
that."

Exasperation spiked. Elle rolled her eyes, as
she blew out an unladylike huff of air. "I just wanted to know you
better. Is that so wrong? We are to be married, are we not? I think
a married couple should know these sorts of things about each
other, don't you?"

"Isn't that what the housekeeper, butler,
cook, and legions of servants are for? To keep track of our
preferences, so we may be comfortable in our own home?"

"Humor me.
Please
."

There was another moment of silence, and Elle
thought he might be contemplating making a dash for the bell pull,
when he said, "I am allergic to yellow Indian dye. I discovered
this in the most embarrassing way possible, when the Regent gifted
me with a silken shirt from one of his foreign investments; some
trading faction or another."

"How horrible!"

His smile was wry. "It
was
rather
unpleasant."

Elle smiled back, warmth sliding through her.
They were finally getting somewhere. This was the first time in
years, perhaps ever, that Langley had opened up to her and shared
anything of a personal nature. It wasn't much, but it was a
start.

The door swung open, and Elle twisted in her
seat to glare at Jacob as he strode into the room. He ignored her,
looking straight at the duke.

"I got caught up in conversation with Lord
Galsworthy. I didn't realize how much time had passed." His tone
was vaguely apologetic, but his brows shot up when Langley just
waved a relaxed hand.

"Not a problem. Lady Eleanore and I have had a
lovely chat while you were occupied."

"Have you?" Jacob murmured, looking from one
to the other of them, his expression unreadable. "Then I am not
needed?"

"Not at all."

"Yes!"

Both Elle and the duke spoke at the same time.
As Langley's word registered, she swung back to look at him, but he
was halfway around the desk before she could speak and headed for
the door.

"As delightful as our time was, my dear, I
must change for dinner. Jacob will escort you to the
salon."

Elle's fingers twisted in the full
skirts of her evening gown in frustration as she watched him
retreat. Why did he
always
do that? She had just begun to hope they might
actually become something resembling friends, when he shut her out
again.

A hand intruded on her line of sight, blocking
the last view of Langley before he rounded the corner. Gloved in
fine, pale cotton, the long, elegant fingers beckoned once, then
twice. Elle raised her eyes to find Jacob had moved next to her
chair, offering his arm to lead her to the salon.

She did not move.

"I've been traversing these halls since I was
a small child, Mr. Farrish. I hardly imagine I'll lose my way
now."

He withdrew his hand, one side of his mouth
tipping up in a wry smile. "Perhaps I'm the one who's afraid of
becoming lost, sweetheart."

The setting sun shone through the windows,
lighting his hair into a nimbus of glowing cinnamon and flame. He
caught her look, and returned it, hazel eyes narrowing a little.
Elle's heart sped up as the air in the room turned thick, thrumming
with tension. Heat spread upward from her chest, until she was sure
her face was flushed, and she realized the source of the warmth was
the gypsy locket on its chain around her neck.

She looked away, staring blindly across the
room, as she fingered the useless locket. It was supposed to
guarantee her future as a wife, one that had her husband’s love,
but all she had felt since putting it on was doubt. Perhaps the
Roma girl had been wrong when she had shouted the locket's legacy
at Elle. It had certainly sounded more like a curse than well
wishes, in any case.

Why wasn't she drawn to Langley in this
manner?

He was a solid man, secure in his
position in society, and most importantly,
he
was her betrothed. His cousin was
uncertain in his future, a mere mister, and more than a bit of a
rakehell.

The hard muscles in his thighs flexed as he
strode to the window and looked out, and Elle bit her lip. She
would not be defeated by a pair of fine legs.

"If you will not allow me to escort you to the
salon, and my cousin has charged me with the very same, then I fear
we are at an impasse." He turned and folded his arms across his
chest, leaning one shoulder against the window frame. "I hope you
aren't too hungry, since we might miss dinner. Do you play
pinochle, per chance?"

Elle stood and shook out her skirts, feeling
his heavy gaze upon her.

"You may go. I can find my own
way."

"I'm sure you can, but you won't be wandering
the halls without an escort. There are more than a few other guests
here, and I only know a few of the gentleman well enough not to be
concerned." He straightened, and moved toward her, his usual half
smirk fading into an uncompromising expression. "Not everyone has
honorable intentions, Lady Eleanore."

"I know that," she replied stiffly, wanting to
move away as he came closer, even as she wondered what it would be
like to run her fingers over the hard planes of his face. Feather
over the proud line of his nose, trace the wide shape of his
mouth.

"Do you?"

He was too close now, his body casting a
shadow over hers, near enough for her to reach out and do what she
had been longing to for weeks. The locket was warm again, and she
touched it without thought, her fingertips rubbing the worn surface
of the heart-shaped metal. Jacob's gaze dropped to where it hung
between her breasts, and he sucked in a swift breath, then raised
his eyes to trace the fullness of her mouth. Tingles shot through
her as he shifted a bit closer, his sleeve brushing against hers,
and she swallowed convulsively.

Without a thought, she raised her chin, her
lips parting. The hush of Langley's office wrapping them in a
velvet intimacy.

Langley's office.

Langley.

Her soon to be husband.

Elle blinked and fell back, putting the chair
between them in one neat step. For one moment, she thought Jacob
might reach out and pull her back; his gaze was hot with something
she would not name. Then he turned away with a soft curse, raking
his hand through his hair, throwing the careful waves into
disarray.

"Go then." He would not look at
her.

Elle pressed her lips together, shaken by what
had almost occurred between them. Jacob Farrish had almost kissed
her, and once again, she was more than ready to allow him. To enjoy
it, even. Without a thought to anyone else or the consequences of
such behavior.

They didn't even like each other.

Did they?

His hazel eyes flashed with warning as he
turned back, his gaze searing across her skin. "Go now, Elle, if
you intend to leave at all."

She nodded once, a jerky movement of
acquiescence as her thoughts tumbled and twisted. Groping behind
her, Elle found the brass knob that led to safer, more familiar
grounds, yanked open the door, and fled.

Jacob sank into the chair behind his cousin's
desk and dragged one hand over his face.

God help him, but his good intentions were
unraveling at the seams, floating away on a warm breeze of vanilla
and rose scented skin. He'd almost touched her, taken the kiss she
seemed to be offering. Almost betrayed his oldest friend, his own
principles, and tarnished her innocence. It had been a close thing;
close enough to leave him short of breath. Fingers that still ached
to weave themselves through acres of golden curls clenched on the
wood surface in front of Jacob, and a bitter laugh escaped
him.