The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

E lsie kept her back straight as she walked away from the duke, staring forward, and resisting the temptation of looking back at him. Thankfully the ballroom was the most beautiful Elsie had ever seen it—cleaned and with dozens of candles illuminating the room. The ballroom had been opened up and aired last week in preparation for the party for Flora.

The lights flittered elegantly, and Elsie focused on these as she neared Lady Flora.

She still could not quite say why she had spoken to Kit in such a forward manner. It was shockingly unladylike behaviour on her part, but she was tired of waiting and hoping that he’d act. Besides, in a day or two they’d have a long carriage ride together, with Lady Flora beside them and, inevitably, all the problems that were awaiting him in London. He would be preoccupied with Margot, his dukedom, and Elsie realised there would be dozens of ladies all too eager to throw themselves at the new handsome duke. There was no way that Elsie could compete with that—she had no dowry to speak of and as her grandmother so delicately put it…

Elsie hastily shut down the memory of that particular lecture from her Grandmother Keating. “Lady Flora,” she said, coming up to stand next to her charge.

The younger woman gave Elsie a nervous smile, clearly anticipating the arrival of her guests. Hastily, she took hold of Flora’s hand, linking it through the crook of her arm with the physical confidence she wished she had with Flora’s brother. “Your quietness is a blessing. If you get too worried just look at me and…”

“We are so unlucky,” she whispered. “Good things like this”—she glanced around the ballroom, her skin pale in an almost sickly manner—“they don’t happen for us, not for my family… not without punishment.” Her white-gloved hands twisted together, and Elsie saw that the corner of one of her fingers was badly rubbed. Lady Flora had been worrying a new pair of gloves away, close to creating a hole in the material.

“Who’s going to punish you? Why would anyone wish bad things on you? Have you ever done anything to hurt anyone?” There could not be a more innocent soul in existence than Lady Flora, of that Elsie was quite certain.

For a moment, Flora looked nonplussed with no clue precisely why she would be cursed. But then she continued in her scared, low tone, “The devil or the almighty, it doesn’t matter which because the result is the same. People die, my family dies.”

“Then whichever it is that’s doing the cursing, it will have to deal with me.” Elsie drew Flora to her, and together, they followed after Kit. The duke had made towards the front door in preparation to greet the arriving guests. “I am experienced in arguing and sometimes I even enjoy it,” Elsie said in a conspiratorial tone, hoping to make Lady Flora laugh but all the girl did was exchange a tiny nod. She did not seem entirely convinced by Elsie’s argument.

The rush of guests into the hallway, filled the manor’s gloomy corridors with noise. There had already been light added and the bump of decorations, so to all extents and purposes the manor now resembled a normal aristocratic home, which hopefully any member of the gentry would feel honoured to have been invited to.

Elsie nodded and bowed as one after another member of the local gentry filed past her and into the ballroom. She stood slightly back from Ashmore and Lady Flora, as befitted her station. This vantage point should have allowed her to properly see and judge whoever walked past, but if Elsie was being honest with herself, her eyes kept drifting back to Ashmore. Dwelling on what she’d said, on the daring gauntlet she’d flung his way. It had been a rash mistake… his eyes turned her way and were lit by a strange new awareness as he looked at her, and for the life of her, Elsie could not regret her boldness.

Once a good twenty guests were inside with more expected soon, Ashmore offered both Lady Flora and her, his arm to escort them back into the ballroom. After all, no one wanted to miss out on the champagne.

Despite her gloves and his fine dark suit coat between them, Elsie still felt the heat of his skin through the fabric. There was a stiffness to his jawline as she laid her hand down on his arm, and he hastily turned to one side to ask Lady Flora a whispered question.

As they moved the noise of the ballroom rose to greet them, and even with the duke’s body between them, Elsie could sense Flora’s hesitation. Perhaps they had pushed the fragile young girl too far. The wave of voices rose as they slipped into the ballroom, and the musicians started up a jolly tune. With so many eyes on her, Elsie forced a cheerful grin onto her face.

“What a pleasing number of neighbours you have,” she said as she looked right, then left as Ashmore guided them through the room towards the head of the chamber.

All around them the lights of the candles sparkled, making Elsie feel as if she had already consumed several glasses of wine, the smoke from them making the room airless.

“Despite living far from Town, when a duke issues an invitation, we still can attract a number of guests,” Ashmore replied smoothly, nodding as they passed the vicar and his wife, who Elsie remembered from the introductions just minutes ago. “Or perhaps they have come to gawp at us. We must present quite a faded sight, and it should keep them entertained I suppose.”

“So cynical,” Elsie said. As she spoke a strange set of things occurred in rapid succession. Time, for a moment, seemed as if it no longer obeyed the common rules of the game.

A beautiful piece of music picked up, and Elsie was amazed to see Ashmore bow to her and offer her out his hand. He wished to dance with her.

“My lady?” His tone was gentle, seductive, and for a moment, Elsie was moved and excited, touched and pleased to be able to dance with him.

The partygoers started to clap as others joined them on the dance floor, the tune picking up the pace as the piece properly started. Elsie knew the minuet, and when their hands touched, despite the material of their gloves, it warmed Elsie’s heart.

“It is going well,” she whispered as they came together and was pleased to see Kit smile.

As the music slowed, both of them looked towards Flora, who was watching the party with great interest.

It was working, Elsie thought excitedly, pleasure pounding through her.

Ashmore started to escort her off the dance floor when the murmurs of the surrounding inhabitants of the ballroom started to cry out.

Elsie’s head whipped around desperate to see what the matter was—was there some minor problem that had been forgotten? Had she not brought the right shade of pink gown? This was the sort of problem that society often deemed worthy of worrying over. But then she saw Lady Flora break away towards her brother and let out an unnatural cry. All sound ceased, even the musicians reacting by pulling back their chairs, their hands raised. And far too slowly, Elsie looked up to the ceiling.

The chandelier had been lowered this afternoon to be fitted with candles, lit, and hoisted high again. She had ensured this would be managed by the servants. But now it hung by a thread high above them—wax dripping, candles quivering, and with a silent scream, Lady Flora pointed up as the entire thing wobbled.

Then it snapped free and fell, hurtling towards the ground.

Heading straight down to land where the three of them were standing.

Elsie closed her eyes. It was so large even throwing herself out of the way wouldn’t do much, not in her long evening dress. It was going to land on her, and it seemed as if all of her defying the curse that the siblings had warned her about was finally going to come home to roost.

A warm heavy body crashed into her, at speed, surrounding her with its heat and strength. Shielding her as the sounds of the chandelier landed around them and the ballroom’s bated breath broke, and the screams rented the air. Opening her eyes, she looked up into Kit’s face.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. His voice was quick and harsh as his gaze raked her face.

“No,” Elsie said. She tried to move, to search nearby, everything save for him seemed to be in movement. “What about Flora?”

“She ran but you just froze.” He let out an uneven breath. “Do you have a foolhardy desire to die?”

Elsie shook her head, trying her best to clear it. She could not entirely explain why she’d stopped dead in her tracks. Perhaps it had been fear. Or the thought surely, surely this could not be happening? It was too unlikely, too unfortunate. It beggared belief. Especially as she’d checked through the ballroom again to prepare it for the most perfect evening—nothing was out of place and yet disaster had struck once again .

Her eyes moved back to Ashmore, their faces inches apart. He was trying to shield her as best he could. His large frame on top of hers. She’d hoped and even attempted some humour that they’d end in this position. But not with a broken evening in pieces around them, nor at the risk of fire, which surely the candles on the chandelier might lead to. A horrid idea occurred to her. The smoking candles had caught, and Elsie could see there was a spreading fire up the nearest set of curtains.

“Did anything hit you?” she asked, and she clasped his shoulders trying to hold him to her.

All around them there were thundering feet, the shouts of their guests as they tore through the ruined ballroom which was filled with smoke.

As Elsie huddled between Kit’s broad back and the ballroom floor, she wondered she had been the fool for not believing the two siblings about their family’s inherited curse. She feared she believed it now, and it was going to be her mission to get both Ashmore and Lady Flora out of this damned place before anything worse happened to the pair of them.

“Come.” He dragged her upright and towards the partly opened doorway some of the guests must have departed through. “You need to leave.”

Shaking despite herself and disliking her nerves, Elsie linked her fingers through his. “You too.”

“I need to make sure the fire doesn’t spread,” Ashmore said as he untangled her fingers from his and then hastily yanked off his jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. “If you see Flora…”

Nodding Elsie held on to the folds of the jacket as she stepped outside into the cooled night air. All around them there came shouts either inside or out of the house, she wasn’t sure, all her focus was on Kit who was about to go back into the ballroom. Beneath her feet the stone steps seemed absurdly sturdy, whereas everything else felt as if it might vanish into the night.

“Be careful,” she said as he took a step back .

“I have something to come back for.” He gave her a smile that in normal circumstances might have threatened her equilibrium but, in that moment, sent butterflies fluttering through her body. Then he was gone, and Elsie was left alone outside the manor house, staring up at the tall, stretching monstrosity, fearful it might swallow Kit whole.

She must have dozed off, Elsie sat up with a start, the duke’s jacket draped around her shoulders as she woke from the stone bench close to the ballroom. The noises of terror and shouts from the manor house had faded and been replaced with the sounds of nighttime, the hoot of an owl and the distant swish of the sea in the caves. Pulling herself into a more upright position, Elsie hurried back towards the doorway, Kit had pushed her through, hours ago—although in truth she had no idea how long ago it had been since she hurried outside.

Why had no one emerged to look for her? The question frightened her, for it meant they were probably in too much danger to find her? She doubted that Ashmore would leave her out there, unless…

Stepping back into the ballroom Elsie looked cautiously around the chamber. Or rather what remained of it. Gone was all the elegance she’d admired and arranged. How such devastation could be wrecked by such a relatively small chandelier was beyond her, but the dent in the floor would take a skilled workman to fix. Smoke hung in the air, but at least there was no fire beneath it. There were large burn marks dotting the walls and ceiling, and an unpleasant musk hung in the air as if hair had been burnt.

Yet it wasn’t merely the defeated atmosphere in the room that Elsie felt, it was also the knowledge that the catastrophe would destroy the fragile faith Flora had built up, rendering the possibility of leaving the manor as a trio unlikely .

Elsie walked farther into the ballroom, all the way across to where the musicians had been stationed, her hands touching the discarded sheets of music. Destined to go unplayed now. There was something so melancholy about that realisation.

The doorway opened, and Elsie looked up across the destroyed ballroom, her eyes seeking out the returning party, alighting on Ashmore as he entered the room. On Kit. A tremendous smile reached her mouth at the sight of him. Dishevelled. His dark hair mushed with a ringlet hanging down to reach his left eyebrow. There were smudges on his face, and his previously pristine white shirt was now grey.

“I looked for you outside.” His voice was sore with meaning as he stared back at her.

An almost hungry, animalistic expression consumed him as he strode forward towards her. Elsie braced herself. She knew what was coming before he reached her, and yet when his hands snatched for her, dragging her close, Elsie realised nothing would have been preparation enough for the onslaught. She wanted him, and now he was pressing his hands over the shape of her gown, feeling her bones, shape and that she was alive.

“But I couldn’t find you,” he said. “I needed you. And looked but…” Words seemed to fail him, so instead he locked his hands on either side of her face forcing her to look up into his face. The feel of Ashmore’s fingers sank into her skin, both reassuring and arousing. Ashmore had such a ferocious expression it almost daunted her—and Elsie had to remind herself she wanted him, wanting this passion finally unleashed.

When his mouth descended on hers, Elsie let out a moan. This was what she had dreamt of. This man. This dark, unknown who would only show her some small aspect of himself, yet it was enough for her to want him.

Kit’s kiss was all-consuming. He claimed her. Burning away any memories of any other man she kissed. When his tongue pushed past her teeth, she tasted him—warm and sensual—and as intense as his claiming kiss was, it left her in no doubt this would only end in one outcome. He meant to have her. Which was just as well as she wanted him. She lifted her hands and sank her fingers into his thick curling hair pulling him closer. The moment jogged them, and as a struggling pair, they fumbled their way back—any elegance or grace was gone, swept away by a sheer need for one another, and when the momentum was done Elsie landed up against the rear of the ballroom, Ashmore pressed against her. His hands swept over her body, clutching briefly with strong, possessive hands until Elsie was lightheaded with desire.

Kit pulled his mouth free, his pale eyes assessing her face. “Yes, are you certain?”

“What would you say if I told you to stop?”

“I’d walk away.”

“That easily?” Elsie asked as if her voice was not quite her own, warmed by want and alight with a teasing flirtatious note she barely recognised. This was her as a wanton—the very creature her grandmother had accused her of being, but now Elsie liked who she was, revelling in the feeling of lust and being wanted.

“I didn’t say it would be easy.” He pushed a curl off her face and dropped a quick sweet kiss down onto her lips. “For either of us.”

Laughing up at him, Elsie kissed him back and her hands sought out the buttons of his shirt eager to see him. To feel the strength of his shoulders, his muscles tensed as she touched him. Better yet to lean in close and lick him. Consume him. He was right. It wouldn’t be easy to walk away, which was why she was relieved they wouldn’t be. This tension, this knot of awareness would be quenched this evening. It would take more than a ruined party, a burning crashing chandelier, hell even a curse to come between them.

His mouth had dropped to her collarbone, leaving a string of kissing there, as he to tangled with some of her laces, loosening her gown so that he could touch and stroke more of her exposed skin. With every inch of her exposed Elsie felt more alive. Kit was doing this to her, and yet she was made into so much more by it.

“I need…” his words were desperate as his hands skimmed between her skirts, seeking out the heat between her legs.

Earnestly Elsie nodded, urging him on until his fingers grazed her drawers, parting the material to stroke her curls, which elicited an eager cry from her. She clung to him as Kit angled her more precisely against the wall. A delicious thought came to her—they would consummate their connection, right here up against the wall. He touched her again, his hand claiming her, whilst the other loosened the folds of his trousers.

In the dim moonlight, Kit’s eyes studied her face. “Yes, Elsie?”

She thought, suddenly wondering if this was that the first time he’d called her by her Christian name, and it warmed her heart. “Yes,” she said. A hundred times yes, she repeated to herself as she threw herself into their kiss.