The Trouble With Being a Duke (13 page)

Smiling to himself, he drank deeply from his glass just as his mother muttered faintly, “Heaven forbid.”

Chapter 14

A
nthony set out for the Chilcott home the following afternoon. He was tired, having suffered yet another restless night with thoughts of Miss Chilcott, and he still wasn’t sure of what he would say to Mr. Chilcott—how best to make his case so that he wouldn’t be turned away yet again. Pondering this, he trotted along at a leisurely pace, his horse’s hooves stamping the road that led toward Moxley when suddenly, in the distance, he saw someone walking toward him. As he got closer to the individual, his heart rate picked up in realization of who that person was.

It was Miss Chilcott—there could be no mistaking it, even though her face was downcast as they approached each other, leading Anthony to suspect that she’d determined his identity as well and was probably hoping he wouldn’t notice her. As if such a thing had been possible.

As he came closer to her, he pulled his horse to a complete stop and tipped his hat in salutation. “Good afternoon, Miss Chilcott.”

She looked up at him, her hand shading her eyes against the afternoon sun. “Oh, Your Grace—what a surprise!”

Did the color in her cheeks just deepen, or was he imagining things?

“What brings you all the way out here? You must be at least a mile from town.”

“I . . . er . . .” As if unaware of where she actually was, Miss Chilcott looked both left and right before returning her gaze to Anthony, who was trying his damndest to keep his expression straight. “I was on my way to visit my aunt with a pie.” She held a small basket up for him to see.

“Does she live far from here?” Anthony asked, a little concerned that a woman of Miss Chilcott’s beauty was roaming the countryside on her own. Had she no inkling of the sort of danger she was placing herself in?

“Another mile perhaps—there’s a turn up ahead that will take me straight there.”

Looking down at her, Anthony considered his next move. She looked dazzling with the sunlight casting a golden glow upon her hair. Her gown was simple and white, yet so much more enticing than the more elaborate ones he’d seen ladies in London wear. And then of course there was her bosom, of which he was afforded a very clear view from his vantage point.

His stomach was not the only part of him to tighten as he thought of what it might be like to bare it. Bloody hell, Casper was right—he might have stopped behaving like a rake, but his mind was not so easily controlled.

Taking a tight hold on the reins with his left hand, Anthony swung himself down onto the ground, landing right in front of Miss Chilcott. He turned to face her, noting the look of surprise and . . . was that dread in her eyes? “Allow me to accompany you.”

“I cannot possibly,” she gasped. “It’s . . . it’s not proper.”

Intrigued by her level of discomfort, Anthony leaned toward her. “How so?”

“We have no chaperone.” She looked around again, like a naughty child who feared being caught. “If anyone saw us together, it would make things quite difficult for me. You see, I am to marry Mr. Roberts, in case you were not aware. Whatever will he think if he hears I’ve been out walking
alone
with you?”

“I imagine he’d thank me for seeing to your safety,” Anthony said. As reluctant as she was for his company, he was enjoying their discussion. Determined to win, he added, “Besides, if anything were to happen to you—a sprained ankle perhaps, or, God forbid, something worse—I’d quite simply never forgive myself.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Miss Chilcott nodded. “Very well then,” she acquiesced. She started walking again while Anthony kept pace, leading his horse by the reins.

“Do you often go for walks like this? On your own?” he asked.

Turning her head, she met his gaze, her deep frown alluding to her displeasure at the question. “I suppose you’re about to tell me that you don’t approve.”

Sensing she would not respond well to overprotectiveness but feeling an elemental need to keep her safe, Anthony shrugged and said, “The world can be a dangerous place, Miss Chilcott. I merely mean to caution you.”

Looking at her, he could tell she was struggling with what to say. Her voice was low when she eventually spoke—so much so that he had to strain to hear her. “Thank you, Your Grace. I shall take your concern under advisement.”

Well, she’d certainly taken the high road, which of course only served to increase his admiration of her. “So, what sort of pie are you taking to your aunt?” he asked after a moment’s silence.

Miss Chilcott didn’t turn to look at him as she said, “Apple,” her eyes fixed firmly upon the horizon.

“Something tells me you’re not so fond of apple pie yourself,” Anthony prodded.

She gave him a wary look, held silent for a moment and then said, “To be honest, I’ve grown tired of the flavor. I enjoy variety in my food, you see, but this past year Mama has been particularly fond of serving apple pie for Sunday tea.”

“I’m more partial to blueberry myself,” Anthony confided. “Or something entirely different, like chocolate—I must admit I’m very fond of chocolate.”

Miss Chilcott finally relaxed and chuckled. “It appears I’ve just discovered one of your indulgences. Am I right?”

“I suppose so,” he said.

“What else do you enjoy, Your Grace, besides eating chocolates?”

Talking to you . . . better yet, kissing you.

“Many things, especially horseback riding, the company of friends, the opera—”

“The opera?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been myself, but it’s always been my understanding that gentlemen went only for the sake of accompanying the ladies—not because they actually
wanted
to.”

Anthony smiled. “I think it’s an acquired taste—you either like it or you don’t. Believe me, Miss Chilcott, I’ve seen many sleepy-eyed ladies at the opera as well. One mustn’t generalize.”

“No, of course not,” she agreed.

Eyeing her, he took in the soft slope of her nose, her high cheekbones flushed a delightful shade of pink, and her deep, rosy lips. A lock of hair had torn itself free from its fastening and was presently blowing across her cheek, tempting Anthony to pull it away and tuck it behind her ear. He resisted the urge and asked instead, “What are your enjoyments, Miss Chilcott?”

She tilted her head to look at him. “As you already know, I love to read.” Her eyebrows rose a little as she added, “But if you want me to be more specific, then
Romeo and Juliet
is my favorite—I know it by heart.”

“So you’re a romantic by nature,” Anthony said and was rewarded with a smile.

“Undoubtedly, though it’s not always the most beneficial trait to have. I often wish I were more practically inclined.”

“You think life would be easier then?”

She brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. “I have no doubt that it would. Romantics have a bad habit of dreaming of things they cannot have and later of what might have been had things been different.”

“And what are your dreams, Miss Chilcott?” He knew he was being bold, but he couldn’t help himself—it was too tempting.

She breathed deeply, her features tightening around the edges, and he knew that she was aiming for indifference. Shaking her head, she said, “
That,
Your Grace, is irrelevant.” And then, as if to deter him from pressing the matter further, she smiled brightly and added, “Did I mention that I can split an apple in half by twisting it?”

“Really?”

He must have sounded very dubious, for her smile turned to one of mischief. “You don’t believe me,” she stated matter-of-factly.

“I’ve just never seen anyone do something like that before, and frankly, it does sound a bit unlikely.”

Her laughter went straight to his heart, urging it to beat faster. “It has nothing to do with strength, you know, but rather with skill.”

“The skill of picking an apple soft enough, no doubt,” Anthony muttered.

She stopped walking, eyes narrowing. “Are you suggesting I’m a charlatan?”

“Not at all, Miss Chilcott—I wouldn’t dare.” But the memory of her deception at the ball hung in the air around them, and he knew that she had to be just as aware of it as he.

They continued on in silence for a few more minutes when she suddenly stopped, turned toward him and said, most seriously, “I know you came to my house hoping to find Miss Smith. I’m very sorry that you didn’t.”

Anthony steeled himself for a moment. Did she really wish to go on pretending that he didn’t know that
she
was Miss Smith? It was absurd to his way of thinking, and yet he found himself submitting to her game. “I couldn’t agree more, for I felt a true connection with her . . . as if we were meant to be together no matter what, but she obviously didn’t agree, or she wouldn’t have run off the way she did.”

“Perhaps she was scared?” Miss Chilcott suggested, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Scared?

“I cannot imagine what she might be scared of,” he said, hoping she’d say something more.

“You have done an admirable job of turning your life around, Your Grace, but be that as it may, your rakish reputation is not so easily forgotten. It would be difficult for any young lady to associate with you without tarnishing her own good name and that of her family in the process. No, I can understand Miss Smith’s way of thinking—she probably means to marry a reputable gentleman who can offer her respectability and comfort.”

Anthony gritted his teeth. He’d been the perfect gentleman toward her at the ball—well . . .
almost
perfect. He hadn’t planned on kissing her. Surely that had to count for something. Besides, it could have been worse. He could have submitted to his urges and had her right there in the library.

Recalling how lost she’d been in their kiss, he felt certain she wouldn’t have stopped him. The thought of it sent a wave of heat surging straight to his groin. He winced as he felt himself harden. “I have behaved most honorably since becoming a duke and without the least bit of wrongdoing.” It was the truth. What surprised him was how much he enjoyed this new way of life he’d chosen. For the first time since he could remember he felt a calm togetherness, as if his life was finally on the right track, though he was certain that it would be much improved with Miss Chilcott at his side. She was also the only person who threatened to bring out the rake in him, not for the sake of ruining her but to win her, and he heard himself say, “But after meeting Miss Smith . . . I find my resolve wavering.” He paused, watched as she sucked in a breath, and then took a step closer. “She encourages me to abandon all thoughts of propriety, to stop acting like the decent gentleman who never thinks of what it might be like to hold her . . . touch her . . . kiss her in the most wicked way I know how. If anything, Miss Chilcott, it is
I
who should fear Miss Smith, for I do believe it is
she
who poses a threat to my reputation, and not the other way around.”

“How can you say such things?” she gasped. “It’s entirely inappropriate.”

Keeping his eyes trained on hers, he began removing his gloves with slow deliberation. Reaching up, he then touched his hand against her cheek, allowing his fingers to trail along the soft skin until they reached her lips. Her eyes widened, her breathing turned shallow, and a deep flush rose to her cheeks.

But she did not turn away, or even move as he ran his fingers over the plump, strawberry-colored flesh. And when he pressed her lower lip down, suggesting she grant him entry, her eyes closed and her lips parted, letting him in. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced, watching her take his finger in her mouth . . . feeling the wetness of her tongue as it brushed against him. Heaven above, he couldn’t believe he’d been so forward—could not believe that she had accepted such an advance. What on earth were they thinking? This was an act she would surely regret.

They weren’t exactly kissing, and yet there was something far more intimate about it . . . something very suggestive that led to thoughts of tossing her on the ground and burying himself inside her until this unbearable yearning went away.

He knew better though. The sort of need he felt for her was not the kind that would ever go away even if he was fortunate enough to act out his every fantasy with her. No, it was only going to grow stronger—become more and more demanding. Pulling his finger away from her mouth, he tugged her against him, his arms encircling her in a tight embrace. She opened her eyes but said nothing—just gazed back at him with eyes that begged,
Kiss me.

So he did. His mouth closed over hers, and he was delighted to discover that she was ready to meet him, her lips parted to allow him immediate entry. And as their tongues swept over and under each other, Anthony heard her sigh, whimper and groan. He heard himself groan too, the pleasure she offered so rich and full that it was impossible for him not to.

There was a soft thud against the ground and Anthony realized she must have dropped her basket, for in the next moment, her arms came around his neck, pulling him closer—urging and enticing him. He ran his hands slowly down her back, pausing at her waist before allowing them to roam lower still, across her bottom. She responded with another groan as he gently squeezed and forced her up against him.