An American Duchess (8 page)

“Freezing cold. I should know, Miss Gifford. I used to swim unclothed in here all the time when I was a boy.”

“I don’t believe you. I think you acted like a duke from the moment you were born.” She was teasing him—and it was fun. She was laughing now, laughing instead of crying.

“That is not true. No infant in nappies can act ducal.”

She giggled. “Come in for a swim. I dare you.”

He would probably stalk away.

He didn’t—he tipped up the champagne bottle to his lips. It looked decidedly unducal. She squirmed a bit in the water, watching his lips part. Langford had a very beautiful mouth. He drained the bottle and set it down. His jacket followed. He opened his white shirt, undid the cuffs, let it fall. Moonlight spilled over broad shoulders, his muscled back and arms. She gaped—she’d never seen a man built like this. All hard, strong muscle.

Bending his head to focus downward, he undid the fastening of his trousers. At that point, Zoe realized what was happening. The Duke of Langford really was taking off his clothes. He had called her bluff. A lady would turn away. Or surrender and tell him to stop.

But she wanted to see him without a stitch of clothing. She couldn’t resist. Besides, she never turned down a dare.

Slowly, his trousers came down. He kicked them off. He wore white underclothes. She let out a long breath at his lengthy, well-shaped legs that bulged with muscle. Even in cold water, she whimpered, hit with a surge of wild, hot desire.

Langford dived in off the end of the dock, slicing into the cold water. He surfaced several yards from her. Kicking to stay above the surface, he slicked back his wet hair.

She licked her tongue over her lips. How she loved watching his long body move. Even though he bore scars, he was...sexy. She heard the word a lot. Everyone used it when they wanted to be provocative. But when she looked at Langford, soaking wet, grinning, she
felt
it.

She took two strokes over to him.

“Stay over there, Miss Gifford. It would not be proper for us to be close.”

“We’re swimming naked. We’ve left proper behind, Langford.” She stayed where she was. She was engaged—falsely—to Sebastian, but she yearned to swim to the duke. What would it be like to press against him, wrap her arms and legs around him?

She shouldn’t have dared him. She was going to burst.

“I overheard you tell Lady Julia she looks pretty, on the receiving line,” she said.

He was treading water. “She does. She looks happy and lovely. That is thanks to you.”

The softness of his voice as he said that...made her quiver. “It was very honorable of you. You are a deeply caring man, aren’t you? I never would have guessed it from your cold behavior with me. Though I also never dreamed you would come swimming. You’re quite surprising, Langford.”

“The problem, Miss Gifford, is that I do not want to be cold to you. Even when I’m up to my neck in freezing water.”

There was a long pause.

Then Zoe swam a little closer to him. “What exactly are you saying?”

His wet hair gleamed blue-black in the moonlight. “I am saying that you need to get out of the lake now. Put your dress on and use my jacket and go back to the house. I will not watch as you get out.”

“But I’m not—”

“Go now,” he barked, all laughter forgotten. “You have been drinking. I will not have your drowning on my conscience.”

He sounded icier than the water. But she didn’t believe it. And she didn’t believe he was worried about her drowning. “Admit it. It was fun, though, wasn’t it?”

“Good night, Miss Gifford.”

She was tempted to wait until he gave up and got out of the water first. But cold was seeping into her bones. She swam to the dock and climbed out. She turned around, but Langford was swimming with his back to her.

His words tumbled around inside her head. He had all but admitted he wanted her.

It was impossible. Crazy. They didn’t even like each other. But as she pulled her dress over her wet body, then slipped his dress dinner coat on, she wished he had turned around and taken a good long look at her.

Then invited her back in the water for a kiss.

* * *

“I want to go to university and learn how to perform surgery like Dr. Campbell and become a woman physician,” Isobel declared at dinner the following night.

The dowager gasped, “Good heavens, why would you want to do something like that?”

Zoe paused in cutting her slice of stuffed veal roast. She said, “That is wonderful, Isobel.”

“Miss Gifford said I could go to university if I wanted, Grandmama. I want to do it to help people. Women do become surgeons and doctors. I met Dr. Campbell with Julia, and he told us the most fascinating stories. He has held a human heart in his hands. He has seen the human brain. In slices, even, so it can be studied. He showed me—”

“Isobel!” the dowager cried. “Julia, you allowed this doctor to show these shocking things to Isobel? She is not yet fifteen.” The dowager’s gaze also narrowed on Zoe.

Langford cleared his throat. He set down his cutlery. Zoe rolled her eyes. He would tell Isobel off, be stiff and cold and annoying. She prepared to defend Isobel as Langford’s deep baritone flowed over the table.

“Grandmama,” he said, “it appears young women don’t find these things shocking anymore.”

Zoe’s fork fell to her plate. The clatter could barely be heard over the dowager’s sputtering shock. Langford was defending his sister’s interest in medicine?

“I see no reason why Isobel shouldn’t go to university,” he went on.

“Isobel should marry. It is what ladies of our class do,” the dowager countered.

“I believed that once myself,” Nigel said.

The dowager arched her brows. “It is your duty to barricade the door to these ridiculous notions. And answer me this—if Isobel is up to her elbows in blood, cutting open cadavers, what gentleman will marry her?”

Sebastian groaned. “This conversation is making it hard for me to enjoy my dinner.”

“I agree,” Maria declared, sounding unusually forceful. “I do not want you dabbling and discussing these things, Isobel. Many of the ideas held by these physicians are not godly and they are not proper.”

Isobel gazed around at her family.

Langford said quietly, “Do not worry about fighting battles for the cause of women tonight, Isobel. There will be plenty of time.”

“But you agree with them, don’t you?”

“In my heart and soul, I probably do. But in my head, I know I cannot keep Brideswell—or you—living in the past. I do not want you to please me and be unhappy. Now let us eat dinner.” Nigel turned to Julia. “What of the summer fete? What plans do you have for this year, Julia?”

“Same as every year,” Julia answered smoothly. “Coconut shies. Rides. And a tug-of-war between Brideswell’s men and the villagers.”

Zoe gazed toward the duke. She couldn’t quite believe what he’d just said.

He lifted his head. Held her eyes.

Later, in the drawing room, when the men joined them after brandies, Zoe walked up to him. Quietly, she said, “Let me take you flying tomorrow. I dare you.” Then she turned and walked away.

* * *

Having seen so many planes crash, he did not want to go up in one. They looked to be made of fabric and balsa wood. Fragile and filled with fuel to ensure they burst into a fireball on impact.

However, Nigel refused to lose face in front of Miss Gifford.

As he approached her aeroplane, parked in the lower meadow near the house, she climbed out of the cockpit and stood on the wing, holding one of the struts. Her bottom was round and shapely in her trousers. Her scarf whipped around her neck.

He’d had a hellish time for the past few days. One of his closest friends, Rupert Willington, was close to dying. And he’d received several letters from the sister of a young man who had been in his regiment. The girl’s name was Lily Bell, and her brother was dead.

Lily Bell’s words—her pain and anger—had grabbed him by the throat and wouldn’t let go.

Perhaps part of the reason he’d agreed to Miss Gifford’s dare was to see if “grasping life” really could save you from pain.

Miss Gifford let her body lean back in a long, slender line as she gripped the strut. “Are you ready to put your life in my hands, Langford?”

He knew she was goading him, teasing him. “Unless you are willing to let me fly your plane, Miss Gifford. And since I do not know how to fly, I doubt that would be wise.”

Seeing her plane made him think of fields in France, where the planes were lined up, ready to fly into battle. He clenched his fists. There would be no Baron von Richthofen trying to shoot them down today. But even though the War was over, good men were still dying—

He had to stay in control. “It’s a warplane.”

She nodded. “Repaired and rebuilt.” She crouched and ran her hand up and down a strut, then leaned her cheek against the gleaming metal piece.

Damn, the woman exuded sexuality with her every movement. She tossed a leather flying helmet and a pair of goggles to him. “I want to show you how to have fun.”

“Why?”

That caught her by surprise. She cocked her head as she placed her goggles over her eyes. “You’re unhappy and I want to prove that you have to grasp life with both hands and live it.”

That was why he was here, but he said, “In the air, you are risking your life.”

“Which makes you feel more alive. Climb aboard, Langford, and buckle yourself in.”

He climbed into the front seat, fastened himself in as she instructed. The aeroplane roared to life, vibrating around him. The plane began to move and Miss Gifford guided it toward the lawns. Once on the smooth grass, the plane moved faster and faster. Suddenly the earth seemed to drop away. His stomach lurched. They rose higher and the trees grew smaller.

What held this damned thing in the air? He looked back. Her red-painted lips curved in a confident smile. “Hang on for the ride of your life,” she shouted over the roar of the engine, the sound of the wind. They were racing toward the clouds and the sun.

Nigel looked around him, able to see forever. Never had he experienced anything like this. He could see the sea at the edge of the country and the glow of sunlight on the dark water. The earth below him looked like a patchwork quilt.

Then Miss Gifford sent the aeroplane hurtling higher, climbing faster and straighter. The sudden ascent left his stomach behind. He swallowed hard, fighting the fear.

She leveled off, then banked in a wide turn. She suddenly pointed the plane downward and he gripped the sides. The engine screamed as the plane tore toward the earth. Then, when he thought they were doomed to crash, they made an arc and climbed upward. She was making a loop in the sky. They were upside down, and Nigel gritted his teeth, expecting his harness to give out and to find himself plummeting to the ground.

She rolled the plane as if it were a barrel. He hung on to his rising nausea. Excitement and fear and horror coursed through him. All the sensations of battle—without the shooting. He felt a rush of emotion, a roar of excitement. This
was
damned thrilling.

Miss Gifford banked the plane again and brought it toward Brideswell.

He didn’t want the ride to end. He turned and watched the concentration, confidence and intelligence on her face as she guided the plane down.

The plane jolted as the front wheels touched down, and then the tail wheel made contact. She slowed the plane, which shuddered violently as it rolled over the lawn.

“So, did I thrill you?” she demanded as the plane came to a stop.

“Yes, I loved every minute up there. I got a chance to touch the heavens. I have to admit it, Miss Gifford. I have never felt more alive and thrilled.” God, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to haul her against his body hard and kiss her until she melted in his arms.

She cocked her head. “I thought you would look less stiff when you’re thrilled. I thought a flight might thaw you out. Even when you go swimming nude, you manage to act like an icy duke.”

Thaw him out. He felt as if his body were on fire. “I assure you I do not feel icy right now. Thank you for this chance to fly.” Then, because he knew he owed it to her, “You were right. When I was up there, I could not feel anything but excitement and joy.”

“It was my pleasure,” she said softly.

 7 

FAST DRIVING

Sebastian came to Zoe after dinner in the drawing room. In a low voice, he said, “You took Langy flying. And you were with him down at the lake on the night of our engagement party. He sneaked back into the house through his study, but he did so soaking wet and without his coat. Zoe, people are going to start talking.” Sebastian’s green eyes were filled with hurt. “You aren’t falling for my brother, are you? I want you to fall in love with me. I know it’s going to take time, and I’m willing to wait.”

“Sebastian, I’ve told you, I can’t fall in love with you.”

“I won’t lose you to Langy,” he said darkly. “I’ve come second to him my whole life. I’ve always been the disappointment. I won’t disappoint you, angel.” Then his grandmother walked closer, so he left her and walked over to his friend Captain Ransome.

Zoe needed to go for a drive—because, while she knew she couldn’t fall in love with Sebastian, she couldn’t stop thinking about his brother. After everyone else retired to bed, she pulled on her raccoon coat and went outside, to the garage.

One of the large double doors stood slightly open at the end of the row, letting gold light spill out. The chauffeur must be there. She supposed she would have an argument about taking her car. Squaring her shoulders, she walked inside.

The hood of the Daimler was up. A candle burned, a sight she’d become accustomed to at Brideswell, since it had no electricity. A man straightened as she walked into the garage, her heels clicking on the flagstones.

Dark hair. High cheekbones. Brilliant blue eyes.

“Langford? What are you doing?”

His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing bare, muscular forearms. Grease coated his long fingers. He picked up a cloth and cleaned his hands. Zoe swallowed hard. She’d never felt a spurt of lust like this, watching a man do manual labor, watching a man wipe his hands on a rag.

She had been too close to it in her impoverished past. But as Langford walked toward her, she quivered with awareness.

His vivid blue gaze held her. “You told me you like to tinker on engines. I wondered what the appeal is.”

The wildest ideas went through her head. They were alone in the garage. The Daimler had wide, soft leather seats—

She twirled her beads. “You got your hands all greasy because of me?”

She couldn’t lie to herself, tell herself she didn’t like him because he was icy and austere. She knew too much about him now—about his compassion and concern. She had seen the man inside who could blush, smile, grow embarrassed at compliments.

Langford tossed the rag to a tidy worktable. “I spent four years in trenches. I’ve been a lot dirtier than this, Miss Gifford.” He smiled, surprising her. “Engines are indeed fascinating.”

“Controlled explosions,” she said. “I wonder who first thought of the idea for the combustion engine. Sparking gasoline vapors.”

She walked over to the side of the car. Letting her fingers trail over the body, she moved to take a look at the engine. Her actions were flirtatious. Would he notice?

She didn’t love Sebastian, her engagement was a sham, and suddenly it all felt so empty.

All she’d wanted was love. She’d been given everything else, except the one thing she wanted. This close to Langford, she was aware of him, revved like an engine.

But he seemed unaware. He was looking at the Daimler’s motor. “I think it’s the men who can design these—and who can make them work—who hold the keys to the future. I wanted to come back to Brideswell and keep it the way it was. But I cannot do that, can I?”

Softly she said, “I don’t think anyone can stop change.”

“I saw what was left of France—a wasteland, ravaged. I came back to Brideswell after seeing that devastation, and I vowed I would let nothing touch this beautiful world. I have a duty to protect the people of Brideswell—”

She saw he meant more than just the house; he meant also the farmers, the villagers, the smith, the vicar, his family, everyone.

“But it’s a promise I don’t know if I can keep. The world’s been redrawn and carved up into new countries, but it’s more unstable now than when the War began. Grandmama thinks money is all Brideswell needs. It might help us weather the storm, but it won’t divert it. In the War, it was all about these.” He pointed at the engine. “Newer machines, newer weapons. The old tactics didn’t work, so they decided that whoever could build the best weapon first would win. Aeroplanes, chlorine gas, tanks. But when one side upped the ante, the other met his bet. No one got ahead. Does building engines end now that the War’s ended? No, because this is where the world is going.... And I do not even know how to fix one of these damned things.”

“That’s why you have a chauffeur.”

Langford leveled a serious look at her. “According to my grandmother, war did one thing that was irrevocable. It made people see that many men of our class are just not very bright. Someday my chauffeur will wonder why he’s in the position he’s in when he possesses knowledge that I don’t.”

Langford was truly no longer the man she’d met on that first day. But she couldn’t resist asking him, “Isn’t he supposed to know it’s because he was born to one class and you to another?”

“We all bleed the same,” he said softly. Then he straightened. “I am sorry. Did you come to the garage for your car?”

“I suppose I did. I can’t really remember now.”

If he read the blatant invitation to kiss her in those words, he wasn’t taking it. He unhooked the rod that held up the hood and closed it.

Langford took the ignition keys from a hook over the worktable behind them. “I want to know how an automobile works. How to take it apart and put it back together. I know my horses. I should know my automobiles, not to mention electric lights, telegraphs and telephones. You have embraced all of these things.”

“And you could, too.”

“I accept that I have to. And perhaps you’ve made me see that I want to.”

“Do you drive?” she asked.

“Yes, but not often.”

She took the Daimler keys from his hand, put them back and grabbed the keys to her car.

“Come for a drive with me,” she said. “I need air and speed. And if you’re a good boy, I might let you take the wheel.”

He lifted his brow, looking so ducal, she had to giggle. But he opened the garage door, then got into the car.

Within minutes, they were on the main highway, where Zoe could press her foot harder on the gas pedal and feel the exhilaration of speed. Her headlamps cut two beams through the inky blackness of the English countryside. She had the top down, and her scarf whipped and snapped in the wind as the speedometer surged higher. But she didn’t drive fast for the feel of her hair streaming back or the slap of the breeze against her cheeks. She did it because at this moment, like in her airplane, she was utterly in control.

She knew when to give it the gas, when to shift gears, how to turn the wheel so the car hugged the turns of the road.

The faster she went, the more Langford shifted uneasily in the seat beside her. He didn’t like fast driving—or at least her fast driving.

She couldn’t forget his words. It was the first time he had opened up to her and said anything about the War. She wanted to hear more. She wanted to understand him.

“The world has changed for me mostly in exciting ways,” she said, over the engine’s rumble. “I can vote, drive, fly, have a career, make and keep my own fortune, dance, even make love. The world has changed for you, too—but mainly for the worse. Your world has gone.”

“True,” he said drily. “Everyone wants to run blindly into change. Look at Russia. Germany is collapsing—their money is becoming worthless as fast as it is printed. Almost thirty ruling monarchies have been deposed or abdicated so they could escape before they were killed. The world is still reeling from the wounds left by the War.”

So was Langford. And Brideswell. “What are you going to do about it?” she asked. “Other than marry a rich girl.”

“I could sell off land, but that is a last resort. It would destroy Brideswell. So I need to make stellar investments—which means being clever or lucky in an unstable world. Maybe I can succeed, but I need capital with which to start. I am hoping the investments I have can generate it.”

“So you do have a plan.”

“Not much of one. No matter what, it means I have to upheave Brideswell. I have to rip people’s lives apart. If I sell land, the people on it have nowhere to go, no means to feed and support themselves—”

He broke off as she rounded a tight turn, only to discover there was a farm’s stone wall right in front of her. Her heart pounded as she quickly turned the wheel. Her bumper just cleared.

“You should slow down, Miss Gifford. You do not know the road.”

“Compared to flying an airplane, Langford, this is moving slow. I’m in control every moment.”

“You might believe you are in control, but anything could happen,” he said sharply. “And you could end up in the ditch, in an overturned car, with a broken neck.”

“Thank you,” she gibed.

“Perhaps I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

She didn’t answer. But she did slow down.

“Pull over,” he said abruptly. “There is something you need to know. But if I reveal it to you, I demand your silence.”

“Then don’t tell me. I despise secrets.”

“It might change your plans, Miss Gifford.”

She slowed down, then turned off the main road onto a smaller track that led to one of the farms. She cut the engine. They were surrounded by darkness. Dots of light identified the farmhouse, but it was several hundred yards away.

“All right, Your Grace,” she asked, “what is it?”

* * *

Suddenly, Nigel realized he could not tell Miss Gifford the whole truth. It was his brother’s secret and he could not reveal it. It might drive her away, but he couldn’t betray Sebastian’s trust—even though his brother didn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.

“Sebastian is in love with someone he cannot have,” he said carefully. “But he wants a marriage with you for financial reasons, and he intends to make you believe you’ve captured his heart. He wants to court you and coax you into forgoing the divorce. But regardless of what he claims, he will never love you.”

She sat in silence, hands gripping the steering wheel. Then she said coolly, “Sebastian will play this my way or not at all.” She reached for the key in the ignition. “So, do you want a driving lesson, Your Grace?”

This was the Zoe Gifford he expected. But now he saw the pain behind her cynical words. He had watched her almost give in to tears over Mrs. Billings’s loss. Saw her delight when Julia looked happy, when Isobel had proclaimed proudly that she wanted to be a doctor.

Suddenly, he saw Miss Gifford was a lot like him. She kept a careful control on her emotions. The blunt, shocking things she said hid what she really felt.

“Not yet.” He put his fingers on her forearm. She let go of the key.

“I didn’t say those things to hurt you,” he said.

“Sure you didn’t.”

“I am trying to help you. Trying to keep you from being scandalized or badly hurt.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said.

“Are you really doing this to get your money?”

She slapped her hands against the steering wheel. “Yes, because I need that money to rescue my mother. She’s got herself in a heap of trouble, and that money is the only thing that can get her out. She had gambling debts and she did something desperate to pay them. And if I don’t help her, she could end up arrested. I know she made a mistake, but she was devastated by Billy’s death.”

“William. Like my brother.” He was watching her crack before his eyes, all her sangfroid slipping away.

“We got a letter, just like Mrs. Billings. That’s why I don’t know how she survived
that
much pain. I don’t expect you to care, but I want you to know the truth. I’m not doing this for a lark. I’m not wantonly trying to hurt anyone. I have to protect my mother—”

She stopped talking. Moonlight shimmered on tears in her eyes.

Nigel’s heart broke. He knew how she felt. Loyal to her family, responsible to them, willing to sacrifice herself for them.

He shifted in his seat and pulled her into his arms. He intended to just cradle her. Soothe her, because he knew how lonely it was to feel the responsibility to family, to a way of life.

In her soft raccoon coat, she was a warm bundle. She cuddled against his chest, taking hiccuping breaths. Her tears came easily now.

“Damn tears. I hate crying.” She looked up, her eyes huge and luminous. His mouth hovered close to hers, his lips tingling with the awareness of her lush, tempting, scarlet mouth.

His lips touched hers, and he caressed her mouth with his.

He kissed her the way he’d always dreamed of kissing a woman. He cupped her face to hold her while he ravished her mouth. His hand slid into her short, bouncy hair, holding her still to make her his.

Her hand closed on his free hand and she led it under her raccoon coat. She pressed his hand to her dress, his palm cupping her warm, curvaceous breast. His heart pounded. He’d lost his innocence a long time ago, long before the War—his father had insisted upon it, presenting him to an experienced courtesan. That had been nothing compared to this moment.

He kissed her soft, hot mouth and felt the weight of her breast in his hand and the thump of her heart beneath. This moment was breathtaking.

She drew back long enough to whisper, “I want more,” before kissing him hard.

* * *

Zoe gasped. Langford kissed her passionately. Steam must be rising from her skin.

She let her raccoon coat slide down her shoulders. The deeper he kissed her, the more she wanted. She crackled and sizzled like live wires. She would scream if he didn’t touch her.

His hand stroked her, lightly squeezed her through the thin cup of her brassiere. She wriggled on the seat. His mouth moved from hers and nuzzled her ear, her jaw, her throat.

Her moans drifted into the night. She
ached
for him.

She turned in the seat and slid over to him. Then she got on him, straddling his lap. She cupped his face, her palms on his strong jaw, and kissed him deeply.