“Yes. Me.” The duke’s gray eyes, the rich color of slate, roved lingeringly over her as she lay there on the bed. Yancey had all she could do not to squirm under such scrutiny. “Do you remember what happened, Miss Calhoun?”
Her first response was to nod and murmur, “Yes. I think so.” Certainly, consciousness had come back to her in a rush. So had memory. And she believed she had the morning’s events pieced together. They weren’t flattering to either one of them, so Yancey shied away from bringing them up. However, she did call herself relieved to realize that though they were alone in her bedroom, they were both fully dressed. That left only one thing to nag her now. “How did I get here?”
“I carried you, of course.”
A shock of awareness, tempered with embarrassment, had Yancey blurting, “Oh, I hope I wasn’t too heavy.”
He chuckled at her expense. “Spoken like a true female. Allow me to reassure you that your weight is trifling, Miss Calhoun. I wasn’t even winded when I laid you down here.”
Upset with herself for being so typically female, something she liked to think she wasn’t, Yancey lowered her gaze. “Well, still, I’m glad to hear that.”
Only belatedly did she realize that in order not to look into his eyes, she’d settled on the man’s powerful biceps and his broad chest. All she could think was he’d held her close and tight against his body for the entire distance from the tower to this room. Try as she might, she had no memory of the experience, but of course, she concluded, she wouldn’t. She’d been unconscious. Her next intruding thought told her that this was twice in as many days that she’d been held in his arms without her consent and without being conscious of it.
Before she could decide how she felt about that, the duke shifted his weight off the bed and caught her attention, pulling her back to the moment.
He stood and leaned over her, fisting his hands atop the bedding and to either side of her. Startled at this bit of familiarity on his part, and though still a bit fuzzy-thinking and so very thirsty, Yancey instinctively tensed. She felt small, an insignificant presence, a person of no defenses, and she didn’t like it. Her heart pounded. What could he mean to do?
As if answering her unasked question, the duke said, “I would ask you to forgive me, but I find I’m not the least bit sorry for what I’m about to do.” With that, he lowered his head to hers and kissed her possessively on her lips.
The shock of initial contact rocked through her, intense and riveting, awakening her senses. His lips against hers were warm, full, firm … and questing. His clean scent, so very male and musky, his body still retaining the elemental scents of the outdoors, heated her blood with desire. Yet, shocked by the suddenness of his ardor and his actions, Yancey felt pressed into the bed and gripped fistfuls of the bedding under her. Almost immediately, though, and before the kiss could deepen, the duke pulled away from her.
Yancey opened her eyes, distressed to realize that she had at some point closed them. Didn’t that lend at least the appearance of her acquiescence to what he’d just done? Well, he mustn’t think such a thing, and she must tell him so. But she didn’t know what to say. Her next—and rebellious—thought was, Why should I have to say anything? She wasn’t the one at fault. She hadn’t taken liberties. He had. And she should look to him for an explanation of his actions.
But as he’d so plainly stated but a moment ago, he wasn’t about to ask for forgiveness. And she knew he wasn’t in the habit of explaining himself. As it was, he stood there beside the bed, watching her. With her mouth slightly open and her lips still wet from his kiss, Yancey wanted to be angry with him. But the unsettling truth was she wasn’t. Instead, staring up at him, she could only pronounce herself glad to be already in a prone position. Surely, if she’d been on her feet, her knees would have given way and she would have fallen to the carpet, so powerful was the effect of his lips against hers.
Gone, certainly, were any lingering dregs of her faint. But adding to the confusing mishmash of emotions and responses he seemed to engender in her was the realization that she had liked his kiss. She welcomed his advances. How distressing, given her circumstances in being here. If only he would say something, Yancey silently begged him, anything to end this agony of staring and knowing.
Instantly, he complied. “As you appear to be unharmed by your swoon, I will leave you now.”
Stung, humiliated, and dismissed, apparently, Yancey pushed up against the bedding and supported her weight with her elbows. “What? You’ll leave me now? That’s it? That’s all you have to say for what just happened?”
He cocked his head at a considering angle. Then his expression cleared. “Oh, of course. I owe you an apology, don’t I?”
Feeling vindicated and thinking that this was more like it, Yancey nodded. “Yes. You do.”
“Very well.” He crossed his arms over his muscled chest, an expanse only barely covered by his open-throated white shirt. “I apologize again for my behavior out in the garden.”
Yancey shook her head as if to clear it of cobwebs. She stared wondering at him, thinking, Arrogant male. “The garden? Hang the garden, man. What about what just happened here?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “But I told you I wasn’t sorry for what I meant to do. Tell me … are you?”
Yes was on the tip of her tongue, but the blasted word would not be spoken. Then it was too late to answer. Her silence had given her away, she knew. And so did he.
“Well, then, if that’s all…?” He trailed his words off and proved himself a man of his word by turning on his heel and stalking toward the open door of her bedroom.
Though in a state of disbelief, Yancey watched his retreating figure, instinctively noting the broadness of his shoulders, the narrowness of his hips, and the swagger in his walk. The combined effect of the man’s parts momentarily stunted her breathing. And because it did, she finally became angry with him. His swagger told her he felt triumphant. She couldn’t allow him that sense of victory over her, especially not after her appalling display of female weakness both up in the tower and then right here with his kiss. She must regain the upper hand. At this point, pride was all she had.
Yancey struggled up to a sitting position. She’d expected to feel residual dizziness or weakness, but there was none. Glad for that, she refused, however, to credit his kiss—as if he were the prince and she the sleeping beauty—with fully awakening her. Instead, she insisted, it was her iron constitution and years of training that accounted for her alert, wide-eyed status. Swinging her hair out of her face, she braced her palms behind her and atop the bedding.
“Hey, Duke,” she called out, being purposely insolent.
He stopped as if he’d hit a solid yet invisible impediment. Grinning, feeling the pendulum had finally swung back in her favor, Yancey nevertheless blanked her smirk of triumph as … ever so slowly … the insulted peer pivoted to face her. His expression as much as said she should be put to death at the next sunrise. A knee bent, his hands planted at his waist, he drawled, “Yes, Miss Calhoun?”
“What do you think you’re doing, kissing me like that? You have no right.”
He merely raised an eyebrow at that. “You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone in this household to support that statement, Miss Calhoun. And, amusingly, you have none to blame but yourself. After all, you are the one who introduced yourself as the duchess. Deny it all you want, but we both know that’s exactly what you did.”
Guilt brought an instant heat to Yancey’s cheeks. “I admit nothing. Still, you and I know differently. I am not your wife, and you will take no further liberties with me, sir.”
Irritatingly, he chuckled, making the sound at once erotic and threatening. “I still claim that I have every right. I am the Duke of Somerset. And Stonebridge is my ancestral seat. I told you that when you first arrived. And I also told you, Miss Calhoun, that everything here, everything on this land and in this house … is mine.”
Yancey’s breath caught in her throat. The way he had said mine in such a slow, growling purr had made her feel the word as a vibration down low in her belly. Though sensually unhinged by his voice as much as by his commanding stance, she narrowed her eyes. “I’m afraid I must correct you, Your Grace. I also told you yesterday that there was one exception. And I am it. That remains true, sir. I belong to no man.”
A challenging light claimed his eyes and lifted his eyebrows. Looking perfectly dangerous, he sketched a formal bow for her and then straightened, meeting her gaze. “Perhaps not now, Miss Calhoun. But only for now, I assure you.”
With those words hanging in the air between them, he pivoted on his heel. Though shocked … and titillated … Yancey again helplessly raked her gaze over his body. Her mind registered his power and his virility, but she refused to give in to his charisma. And so, unchallenged, he exited the room and disappeared from her view as he entered the sitting room.
Still atop the bed, Yancey sat as one in a trance and stared at the empty doorway where only a moment ago the duke had stood. Though she seemed to feel every bone and muscle and cell in her body, she couldn’t move her limbs. His spell, despite her best intentions otherwise, still held her in its thrall.
“I think I’m in trouble,” she murmured.
* * *
Sam stood in his study on the first floor, his back to the room, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out the window at the meadows where his prize stock of horses grazed contentedly in the English sunlight. The scene, though tranquil and inviting, made barely an impression on his consciousness. Instead, his thoughts were turned inward on the woman upstairs. He wondered exactly how long it would take Miss Calhoun to seek him out in order to continue their spat. A check of the mantel clock told him he’d left her over an hour ago. Much the same as it had been yesterday when she’d kept him waiting. But given what he now knew of her impetuosity and her spirit, she was overdue.
With a start he realized that he was eagerly anticipating their next confrontation, much as if this were some sort of merry game between them. It was nothing of the sort. So why was he behaving as if he couldn’t wait to see her again? Certainly, she was an entertaining distraction and she excited him physically. A man would have to be dead not to respond to her. But he was over the top with his reaction to her. Here he was as excited as a schoolboy at the prospect of a holiday.
A frown of concern ate at Sam’s expression. He couldn’t allow himself to be taken in by her. He tried to tell himself he was merely biding his time with her, playing cat and mouse. He’d thought that if he didn’t respond to her, she would eventually expose her game. But the truth was she excited him in ways he hadn’t ever been excited before. Not to this extent. And he remained intrigued by her, no matter the many possible explanations that lay behind her presence here. Whatever they were, none of them would be favorable, he suspected.
Certainly, he had in mind all the right questions and suspicions regarding her. His eyes were open on that score. She was up to no good. He knew that. But he didn’t give a damn right now. He was too intrigued by her. Too, she didn’t appear to be any real physical threat to him or to those under his protection. So … let the game continue.
Sam chuckled. How very jaded of him. He meant to string her along in her own game. He hadn’t known he was capable of such a thing. All it took, apparently, was the right woman. It was enough for him now that she relieved for him the boredom of isolation at Stonebridge. And he hadn’t lied when he’d told her that he allowed her to be known as his duchess simply because it pleased him. It did. Very much. He’d asked himself what life would be like to have a woman like her as his duchess. And he’d liked the answer: it would be infinitely exciting.
But Sam had a more logical reason for allowing her charade to continue. Simply put, by not calling her on her lie, he’d locked her into the role she’d thrust upon herself. Now if she didn’t wish to continue as his duchess, she’d have to tell him and his household the truth. Then she would be exposed, and by her own hand. Sam nodded. He liked it. Besides, by not challenging her, by not simply tossing her out as he’d threatened yesterday, he had gained the upper hand. She was now completely isolated here with him and her own story. Completely at his mercy and where he could watch every move of hers.
What he had better do too was watch his own moves more carefully. In his mind’s eye he could see her shocked expression when he’d kissed her. The contact had been exquisite and his body had damned near exploded with desire for her. He’d had all he could do not to leap atop that bed and take her. Sam closed his eyes and rubbed hard at the pounding space between his eyebrows. The woman excited him to passion and to violence, to tenderness and to sarcasm. She was very dangerous and very desirable.
Even standing there alone, he thought he could feel her lips, soft and yielding. The scent of her skin, delicate and feminine. And the sultry fire he’d felt against his mouth, the fire that had threatened to consume him—the same fire that had him pulling away from her before he fell into her feminine trap.
Yet here he was wishing to tumble right back into it. This simply would not do. Sam stepped back from the window and paced angrily around the room, skirting such things as the sharp corners of his desk and avoiding the protruding bookcases. Why this woman? It was the most incredible thing, the way she of all women affected him. Certainly he’d known more beautiful women—more tractable women, to be sure. But for some reason, his body ached for her and his thoughts always returned to her.
Could it be possible that they’d only met yesterday afternoon? No. Surely he’d known her forever. Why, he could already feel her in his very marrow. And he wasn’t the least bit happy about that. How had she done it? How had she so quickly tangled his emotions up with hers? Was she better at this game than he’d given her credit for being? Was he already lost and he just didn’t know it?
That was entirely possible. Probable, even. Then, hang it all, from this moment on, and until he knew better, he would treat her as the enemy. But with a change in tactics. Where pomposity and confrontation hadn’t drawn Miss Calhoun out, cordiality and courtliness might. Sam liked it. This could work. It was a good plan. Feeling better now for having one, he set off in a long-legged stride across his study. In his mind’s eye he saw himself charging up the stairs and drawing Miss Calhoun out of her room and hauling her downstairs and—
He stopped again, his hand on the doorknob as he faced the blank façade of the solid door, not six inches from his nose. And doing what? He had no idea, but he would think of something. With that, he opened the door, only to have his chest beat upon by a feminine fist.
“Oh, I’m so sorry—”
“Miss Calhoun!” Excitement, as much as surprise, had Sam’s heart pounding. The mere sight of her slender body with her feminine curves and the overall effect of her widened green eyes and long red hair on his sensibilities was staggering—and unsettling for being so. Manners, man. Remember your manners with her. Be courtly, yet distant. Preserve yourself.
“Oh, I do apologize, Your Grace. I meant only to knock upon the door and not your person.”
“No need to apologize. I was just on my way to get you.”
“You were? Really? Why?” Smiling, she leaned in toward him. Bright, expectant lights danced in her eyes.
Sam’s first impulse was to grab her and ravish her right there. Though a certain other part of him stiffened, as well, he tensed his body against the base urge and took a deep breath. Thus steeled, he managed to reply in a calm manner. “Please. You first, Miss Calhoun. What did you want with me?”
Tugging her hair behind her ears, she suddenly looked everywhere but at him. “Actually, permission to have a saddled horse or a carriage placed at my disposal so I might go into the village.”
“The village?” An outing. A place away from here. It was perfect. She was playing right into his hands. A sudden calm and calculation came over Sam. This was a game he could handily win. Get her alone with him in the carriage and question her. But obliquely, of course. “How intriguing, Miss Calhoun. You wish to go into the village. Hoping to find its idiot, are you?”
It was a fabulous opening he’d given her, one he could see she struggled not to respond to. She was actually grimacing and sputtering. Oh, those words wanted out in the worst way. Feigning a sincere smile, Sam raised his eyebrows and waited, knowing she wanted to blurt out that she’d already found the village idiot, and he was it.
“No, hardly, Your Grace,” she finally gritted out. “Instead, I simply find myself in need of a … of a—”
“Of a what?” he prodded, watching her struggle. Suddenly he didn’t think his plan of courtliness and good manners was what was called for, after all. Perhaps a military campaign or a fencing duel with well-placed parries and thrusts that forced her to respond in kind or be skewered.
“Of a dressmaker,” she finally blurted.
“A dressmaker?” Sam barely bit back a guffaw. “That’s the best you can do?”
She sobered, apparently insulted. “I don’t take your meaning, Your Grace.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
“And I’m telling you I don’t, Your Grace.”
“Truthfully?” He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Have it your way, then. I apologize if I’ve offended you. But tell me, have you received an invitation I’m not aware of, one that necessitates new gowns?”
“I’ve only just arrived, Your Grace. Who would issue such an invitation to me?”
“I have no idea, as I know not the first thing about you. For all I know, you are boon companions with everyone hereabouts.”
“And if I were, you too would already know me, am I correct?”
She had him there, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “Proceed then, Miss Calhoun.”
“Thank you. Robin—my lady’s maid, you may recall—has informed me that I must dress for dinner. She’s very concerned that my, uh, trunks with my … gowns haven’t arrived yet and that I will therefore make a poor showing. So I thought perhaps the local dressmaker might have some ready-mades I could purchase for the occasion.”
“How very sympathetic of you. One wouldn’t want one’s maid’s sensibilities to be offended, would one? However, I find it curious that you have more trunks coming. I mean no offense, Miss Calhoun, but for just how long did my mother invite you to stay?”
Her face colored. With embarrassment or guilt? “She didn’t actually put an end date on it, Your Grace. But you are free to do so. As you’ve pointed out to me, everything hereabouts is yours, so I assume even time spent here is under your control?”
“Yes, it is.” Sam’s body thrummed with excitement. Such a quick and refreshing intellect she possessed. She certainly kept a man on his toes … and more. Exhaling for calm, reminding himself yet again that she was no innocent, Sam managed a schooled response. “However, I will defer to my mother’s invitation to you and to whatever her wishes may be for how long your visit should last.”
“Very sporting of you, Your Grace. And as it should be.”
They were like circling dogs, looking for an opening. Sam felt she’d handed him one, and he didn’t intend to leave it unchallenged. “Would you like me to accompany you into town, Miss Calhoun?”
Her eyes rounded with surprise. “Oh no, Your Grace, I’m sure you’re much too busy to attend to something so silly. I would never dream of presuming on your time.”
So she didn’t want him to go. Well, then, go he would. “Nothing silly about it, Miss Calhoun. I find the fitting and making of women’s dresses to be an endlessly fascinating spectacle.”
She eyed him as if he were a dirty, pawing old man. “I don’t doubt that you would.” Then she smiled. “Well, then, Your Grace, if you insist on going, far be it from me to deny you your bit of entertainment.”
She then caught him completely off guard by executing a full and formal curtsy—the first one he’d wrung out of her. And hadn’t it come at an interesting moment? Sam nodded his head in regal acknowledgment of this show of respect and courtesy on her part, though he expected she meant it in a disparaging sense.
Indeed, her expression as she looked up at him from under her eyelashes could only be termed daring. “I would be honored if you would accompany me.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. We’ll go after luncheon, which should be ready just about now. And as luck would have it here in the country, we don’t dress formally for the noonday meal.” Sam pulled away from the doorjamb and held his crooked arm out to her. “May I escort you into the dining room, Miss Calhoun?”
She smiled brightly, accepting his offered arm. “By all means, Your Grace.”