The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

K it forced himself away from her bedroom, his feet uneven and his mind more so. There was one advantage to this house, and that was the size of it. It was entirely possible to lose himself down one of the numerous passageways and corridors. If only it was so easy to forget or preferably bury the memory of kissing her.

Elsie. Miss Keating. He should repeat the latter until he stopped slipping into informality…

You imbecile , he cursed himself, the use of her name is not the problem. Returning her kiss with the enthusiasm you just demonstrated is the far bigger issue. He should never have even entered her chamber and followed the sounds he’d heard because…

Casting his mind back to what he’d seen, he was clouded in uncertainty despite it being just a few minutes ago. Surely it was just his own desire that he’d witnessed her touching herself. The likelihood that a gentry woman, the daughter of a clergyman…

But she started the kiss… whilst he most definitely ended it. Why would she do that? That was a question that cascaded through him, battling away more erotic thoughts.

Kit forced his feet to stop moving. He stood in the middle of a long portrait gallery, one which was dusty and thankfully unoccupied save for himself. God, he finally acknowledged how much he wanted her. How he’d wanted her for weeks and been avoiding her in an attempt to deny this. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her skin, to run his hands over her slim frame, recapturing the willingness of her mouth. Better yet to lead her away from the middle of the room and over to her bed. He was certain he could fuck her for hours until her mouth was swollen with his kisses, their naked bodies spent. How he wanted the daintiness of her beauty, the quickness of her wit, the generosity of her spirit…

He had thought or perhaps hoped that avoiding her would cure him of his interest. That was what he knew was too mild a word.

Elsie Keating was a charming torment, and surely any man who met her would want to bed her, but unless he planned to wed her, a kiss was as far as it could ever go. After all, he couldn’t inflict an association with his family on any woman. Sucking in a breath,he tried to make himself think of something, anything else.

Cynically, Kit told himself that there was the distinct possibility that women, ladies… persons like Elsie would consider him a catch. Which perhaps might be the case, were they moving through polite society. But they weren’t. They were isolated, and Elsie might see how undesirable it was to be trapped here.

Yet she had returned his kiss.

With an abrupt movement Kit forced himself to stand upright. He had to resume his earlier firm grip on himself and avoid Elsie as much as possible.

A dark thought shifted forward and within the next ten days, Miss Keating, Lady Flora, and himself were due to host a formal dinner party. And then journey up to Town together.

Well. Kit dragged his fingers through his hair. Once that was done, surely Elsie Keating would return to her own world, and Kit would come back here to this sad, wet manor. It was not a cheery thought. Still, it was his obligation.

With an enthusiasm that surprised those around him, Kit threw himself into preparing the manor for the upcoming party in Flora's honour. Invites were sent, the proper overtures made to surrounding families who Kit was certain would be happy to attend—if still likely to gossip behind closed doors, but that could not be helped. More staff were hired, and Kit set about helping Flora prepare for the world outside Tintagel Manor. Yes, he knew deep down inside he could leave, but a larger part of him could not imagine doing so. It seemed like the actions of another man.

The weather and the devastation had cleared, so any excuse that poor travel or roads would cause a delay was now gone. Occasionally, he was foolish enough to run into Elsie Keating, he could catch her watching him with a furrowed brow. But with all haste Kit ignored her and strode off, it could not be helped. And he reassured himself that, in the long run, Elsie would be grateful to be free of this place.

The evening of Flora’s party arrived. Despite everyone in the household’s best efforts from the newly hired servants, to the especially chosen decorations which included dozens of glittering candles, freshly bought curtains and linens, as well as spring flowers stuffed into every corner. The glass had been polished and the rooms aired, so that the appointed ballroom, salon, and adjoining card room were ready. Yet each in turn managed to retain a rather gloomy air, as if the fact they were was so unused and for so long, they could never quite be shaken off.

Tintagel, rather like its reluctant owner, was not truly meant to socialise or even to be seen. It was odd before he’d become the heir, or rather before he’d watched his mother and father die, Kit had enjoyed parties and spent his university days ensconced in gaming dens, card rooms, and even balls in the local area. Far more time than he’d spent on his studies. This was his punishment. Most men would long for a dukedom but not when it came with such a heavy and inevitable death sentence. That was what the curse entailed, that was what had happened to his grandfather and to his uncles one after another before finally taking his father. Kit had never been prone to foreboding, but after what he’d seen and what his father had said, there could be no doubt. The only answer was to get Flora out and ensure that he had no heirs himself.Inflicting the family curse on the next generation was a thought he could not stand.

A soft, happy tune cut into his morose thoughts, and Kit was grateful for the hired musicians whose chosen pieces were at least less morbid than the general air he felt sure would permeate everything.

The household was ready, and despite his fears of what might go wrong, there was a not unpleasant twist to his stomach, that Kit realised was close to excitement.

Perhaps he was simply sensing the nervousness Flora was expressing as she rocked back and forth on her toes close to him. He was so proud of his sister—in the intervening few weeks she had made such progress. It was not entirely possible to say all of Flora’s fear was gone per se, her wide eyes still looked like a startled young creature when anything took her by surprise. But she had improved her social graces, how to smile, greet guests—speak as other young ladies did.

Of course, she had learnt a few marriageable skills along with some watercolours or embroidery, but the family had struggled to keep a tutor at Manor. Kit did not know the workings of the ton well—he doubted his sister would be a smashing success, but he didn’t need Flora to be a diamond of the first order, he just needed her to be free of this place. It would be a comfort for her to escape and never return. At least he could give her that future .

“You look lovely, Flo,” Kit said, using Flora’s old childhood name.

It brought a slight smile to his sister’s face. “It is all a great tribute to dear Elsie.”

He could not allow her to use such informality, but he did not have the heart to scold Flora. Not when she was clearly so joyful, and he thought. or rather planned. That when Miss Keating and Flora left the manor, he hoped the former would look after his sister if he was unable to. Surely, he reasoned, Miss Keating might be willing to look after his sister… That was another thing he would need to mention at some point to Miss Keating—offering her the permanent position of companion to his sister. “You will do well in London I am certain.”

“Away from here?” Her voice trembled. She tugged slightly on his sleeve, turning Kit to see Elsie enter the room. All his carefully laid-out plans for what he wished to say and discuss with Miss Keating disappeared in smoke—she was far too striking for him to keep such trivial matters forefront in his head.

He thought he’d been prepared for this evening’s events, but as she stared at him, Kit realised his mistake. Nothing in life had prepared him for Elsie Keating, she was extraordinary and rendered him speechless as he watched her draw nearer. Of course, he’d known Miss Keating was pretty. He’d known that. Now thanks to his mistake in kissing her, he also knew what her mouth tasted like, how she smelt of femininity and hope, and what she felt crushed against him…

Elsie was walking across the ballroom, with a slight smile on her shapely rosebud lips, moving with the grace and ease of a true lady. It had been agreed she would be styled as Flora’s companion for tonight only, although suddenly Kit doubted anyone would believe that for long—no-one would believe a woman who looked like that had to settle for being a companion. This realisation slammed into him, but he was too far gone to remember that he wished to ask Miss Keating to be his sister’s companion going forward.

His eyes swept over Miss Keating’s dress, seeking a way of distracting himself or rather pulling some semblance of himself, but it did little good. First, he noticed the graceful sweep of her dark curls piled on top of her head, with a few loose strands hanging down, captured by an elegant white band which had little white blooms woven through it, creating a neat coronet. Next, he looked at her face and her fierce brown eyes, marvelling in their shimmering depths. Then his gaze dropped to the small dimple in the left of her cheek, the edge of a smile forming on her lovely face. There was a confidence to her that held him utterly in her sway.

Miss Keating’s gown was a romantic dreamy purple, as charming as her, showing all her delicate curves, but Kit remembered how she’d spoken, how she’d challenged him, not to mention the way she kissed him back, and he knew there was steel character beneath the softer exterior. God, he would give anything for them to be alone in this grand ballroom, for it to be empty of the musicians, and his sister, and the servants with their trays, for it only to be them. For them to be as isolated as they had been in the cave, with her pressed against him as he envisioned her every night when he closed his eyes and tried to let sleep claim him. But then again if he was playing at make believe, he’d rather they were back in her bedroom, and he’d pick to be less of a gentleman this time. All this latent lust he’d bottled up for too long. Yet what other choice did he have? There was the bloody family curse to consider, and he had no desire to cease being a gentleman—and only a complete cad would attempt to seduce a young lady under his roof.

When her eyes met his, a realisation dawned on him. There was a flame in her velvety-brown depths, as if she were considering the merits of his evening wear. This desire for her deepened as he watched her—his assumption had been she was as innocent as Flora, but now he watched Elsie with his own desperate hunger, he thought, he suspected she might feel the same way as he did…

“Your Grace.” She dipped her head, her dark curls bobbing in a respectful curtsey. When she lifted her head, Elsie fixed him with an upfront look, and Kit could not resist offering his hand to hers, clasping her fingers in his grip before lowering his head to her gloved fingers and kissing the back of her hand. He felt the slight shudder at the contact, and it was a small consolation to himself, the idea that she felt as he did—that the attraction was mutual—the question then, were either of them prepared to do a thing about it? And even if she was, could he as a gentleman seduce a clergyman’s daughter?

“Miss Keating.” His reply was gruff, said with a stiffness that he hoped conveyed his own formality when, in truth, it was a cover for hiding his desire to say more. To lift her up in his arms and carry her from this place. It was merely lust he thought as he studied the elegance of her profile—it was what represented a chance of something entirely different from the hideousness of this wretched place. “I hope you will honour me with the second dance?”

“Are we to be so formal?” she asked.

It must be she thought him overly proper, but with his sister present surely that was better than the alternative or her finding out the depth of his desire?

“You are promised to Lady Flora for the first dance,” Miss Keating continued, nodding at his sister before Flora moved away, far more interested in the music that was being practised. “That is of course how it should be, at least that is how society went about order in Edinburgh, and that would mean you should take out the next lady of importance. As the pretend companion of your sister?—”

“I wished to make that an offer of employment to you,” he cut into her speech, pleased to notice how surprised Miss Keating looked.

“I am not certain that…”

“You will be accompanying her to London.”

“We are all planning to venture up to Town?”

Kit looked away, following his sister to the end of the ballroom. When would be the best time to confess to her that he had no intention of leaving Tintagel—that he had his doubts he would be able to? Would anything he said convince Miss Keating who seemed so bright, so resourceful that his family was doomed to remain here? Perhaps she looked so pensive because she was clever and thought this offer was a ruse, a way of him being constantly in her presence, almost a trick to make her his mistress by sleight of hand—well at least he could clear up that understanding.

“If there was any misunderstanding on your part, or a lack of clarity on my part,” Kit said. He knew minutes were ticking rapidly by, and all too soon, the local gentry would be upon them, surrounding them, asking for their attention. Suddenly it mattered that despite his wishes, perhaps hers too—he was going to be honourable even if it killed him. “Let me insist there are no underhanded motives here.” This got Miss Keating’s attention. She turned on her heel and looked up at him, her expression opaque. “If that afternoon weeks ago gave you the wrong impression—I am not about to use your position as my sister’s companion, or mine as your employer as a way of… taking advantage of you.”

“As a means of seduction?” Her question was asked in the mildest of ways as if it were the merest trifle and nothing more, rather than a prospect that had tormented him for weeks, doing battle with his other worries, concerns, and fears until he was quite sure it was overwhelming him.

From outside, there came the sound of carriage wheels and raised voices—their guests were upon them. It was just as well, he reasoned, to make it clear to the girl that even if he thought he could see desire in her, it would burn both of them to proceed with such an undertaking.

“Quite,” Kit said. “I had no wish to give you the wrong—idea.”

“I see.” Her head tilted a little to the side, and she looked a little perplexed before giving him a tiny smile. “I have been trying to give you precisely that idea for weeks. What a shame you have no desire to pursue it.”

Miss Keating moved away from him, crossing after his sister, leaving Kit with more wild thoughts that he would ever have imagined and the greatest desire to cancel tonight’s ball immediately and drag her off to bed.