Not Quite A Duke (Dukes' Club Book 6) (8 page)

She tugged again.

Once again, to no avail.

Patience bit back a curse. Well, devil take it. What was she to do?

Charles suddenly snapped the book shut, raised his arm along the back of the bench and stretched out a leg.

Oh no. Was he going to take a nap? It seemed an odd place. But if he did, she’d have to wait until he woke and went inside to shout for help.

Or dare she call to him?

How had she arrived at this predicament? Oh, yes. Her unflappable curiosity.

Being in disguise, she couldn’t be quite so bold with someone she knew as her characters on the page might have been. Not if she didn’t wish utter ruin.

Just as she was about to accept her fate and sit on the, no doubt, damp ground, and wait it out until Lord Charles had departed, he turned his head ever so slightly then drawled, “Come out Lady Patience.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“Lady Patience?” he queried.

If she remained silent would he think he was mistaken?

How did he know? How
could
he know?

Lady Patience was not the sort of person to attend such gatherings and then. . . Her gown! Her mask! Her hair! All for naught with him?

Surely, he wasn’t that clever?

Then again. . . When she thought of his wicked dark eyes and the cut of his jaw? Yes, he was that clever, indeed.

“Come out or I shall fetch you,” he said, his voice low and rough.

So low and deliciously rough she shivered.

If this had been one of her own novels, he'd have walked to her, taken her deeper into the bushes then had his way with her.

That, of course, would be quite villainous.

Virtuous heroines never wished to give in. But Patience wasn’t entirely virtuous. Her heart pounded. What would it be like to give in to such a man?

“I can’t come out,” she finally admitted, absolutely galled that she was forced to do so.

“I won’t bite,” he promised as amusement deepened his tone.

“I’m glad to hear it but that isn’t why.”

“You needn’t be afraid,” he assured.

“That’s not it either.”

He let out a soft laugh. “I didn’t think so. I can’t truly imagine you afraid, gorgon that you are, though you look far more like a siren in your frock.”

So, he had seen her in her disguise! How the devil had he discerned her identity?

He turned more fully towards her on the bench and placed his book down. “Why linger in the bushes?”

She was certain he couldn’t make her out in the darkness. He must have been slightly blinded by the lantern.

She cleared her throat. “I’m caught.”

“Caught?”

“On a shrub.”

He paused then a laugh thundered from his throat.

It was dark and enthralling, that laugh.

She’d never heard such wicked amusement in her life.

“Well, now that you know,” she huffed, “I’d appreciate it if you’d assist me.”

“Of course,” he replied jovially. “Ever the gentleman.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Well, ever a rake with good manners then,” he admitted.

“That I believe.”

He stood, all six foot some odd inches of him.

Good lord, he was stunning.

Her silly heart began to pound again and, this time, she was certain it was not from fear of discovery.

Lord Charles was the perfect image of a man.

Dark hair, darker eyes, chiseled cheek bones with shadows beneath them in the night, she was fairly certain his jaw was as sharp as a blade, it was so perfectly squared.

And his shoulders? They stretched his bottle green coat to perfection.

His black cravat was slightly askew, as if he’d tugged at it like an irritated boy forced to put on his best clothes, revealing more of his neck.

But Lord Charles was no boy.

He strode towards her.

She tensed. For once, she felt herself powerless. It was hard, after all, not to feel entirely at his mercy attached to the greenery as she was.

He slid into the darkness and eased his way through the shrubbery with shocking grace. Like the darkness loved him.

When he neared her, she caught his scent of leather and sandalwood and something else absolutely intoxicating.

She caught herself just before she leaned in to better take it in.

As he towered over her, he inclined his head slightly. Black hair brushed his temples. His sensual lips parted in a bemused smile.

“What game were you playing at?” he asked, as he lowered himself before her.

“Game?” She winced. Was that her voice? That girlish, breathy sound?

Yes. Yes it was.

He nodded. “Mmmm. I’ve no idea what you were about, but it was most amusing listening to you dart about back there.”

“You heard me?” she exclaimed.

“Dear lady, Greenwich heard you.”

“I wasn’t
that
loud,” she protested.

In answer, he merely arched a brow in the moonlight.

She frowned. She’d thought she’d moved quite stealthily. How annoying that she had not.

“I say,” she piped, “how did you know it was me?”

He stroked his hand down the folds of her sheer skirts.

She gulped and held very still. For all that she’d been around scandalous behavior, she’d always been an observer. She’d never engaged in anything.

Of course, right now, this wasn’t truly inappropriate. He hadn’t even touched her. But just his nearness! It seemed to inspire something in her that no man had ever done before.

The warmth of his hand stole through her gown and as he slipped the fabric free, his chest brushed against her torso.

Patience bit down on the inside of her cheek.

As he stood, he said softly, “There you are. Free.”

Free? If only she was. But a woman was anything but. Even a woman like herself with independent means.

“You knew who I was,” she said again, lest she be distracted by his sensual voice.

“I did, indeed,” he confessed. “It is a good disguise, I grant you. Very few would ever know that Lady Patience was one and the same as your Lady Mystery. Though I must say, I have trouble reconciling that the woman I met and the one standing before me now are one and the same.”

“Then I have mostly succeeded.”

“Mostly,” he agreed.

“You still haven’t told me how you deduced it was me.”

“Oh, grand skill of the most excellent kind. My powers of perception are almost godlike.”

She snorted.

He laughed softly in return. “Fine then. I followed you.”

She gasped. . . And then wished she could kick herself for such a silly reaction.

Rallying her better self, she replied, “I beg your pardon?”

“I wished to speak with you this evening. So, I went to your townhome. You were leaving. Swathed in a cloak and looking rather sneaky yourself as you rushed into your coach. I instructed my hansom to follow. . . And well, here we are.”

His nearness was intoxicating but it didn’t stop the irritation she felt at the ease of her discovery. “Bother.”

“Rather boring, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but it was so easy for you. That’s what I resent.”

He gazed down at her. “I never would have unmasked your activities if I hadn’t followed you all the way here. . . And in truth, it almost felt like you were following me once we arrived here.” 

She shifted uncomfortably from slippered foot to slippered foot. “I don’t follow.”

“Don’t you?” Very slowly, he lifted his hand and slipped his fingers into the silk ribbon which tied her mask to her face. “We just met yesterday and this is a place that I frequent. Not even your good friend, Lady Barton, comes here often anymore.”

Oh dear. Was it that obvious? “In my defense, I truly believed you still to be at Barring House.”

“So, you weren’t seeking me out?”

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd.”

He inched the ribbon free, letting her mask slide from her face. And as she was bared to him, he whispered. “Pity.”

Never in her life had she felt more naked than at that moment, her mask gone. “Why?”

“I rather like the idea of you seeking me out.”

She huffed out an indignant breath. “You know, I’m not one of your silly doxies.”

“Lady Patience,” he said, dropping her mask to the ground, “not even the stupidest of men would accuse you of silliness. You are a rare creature. A beautiful creature. A creature with the most wonderful depths.”

As he paid her each compliment, he angled closer to her, leaning down, tilting his head.

Captivated entirely by the promise of what he was about to do, she did nothing to protest.

In fact, much to her own dismay, she found herself tilting her head back, allowing her body to mirror his. Allowing her breath to soften and her lips to part.

“Is that why you were following me?” she asked. “Because of my wonderful depths?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

He hesitated then smiled a slow devil’s smile as he slipped the book he was reading from his coat pocket. “Because I wanted your autograph Mr. Auden.”

Chapter 8

Charles held his breath, waiting for Lady Patience’s reaction.

For a long moment, she moved not at all. She merely stood, shocked, her face unreadable even without the mask he had just divested her of. Her stunning body was still languid from the moment before when they’d been about to kiss.

It had nearly killed him to break the moment. But he didn’t wish to seduce her without her knowing that he knew.

Good God, he wanted to seduce her. Her mind was brilliant and her body? Her body was divine. He’d suspected it before, but now? Now, he’d seen her in the full regalia of the most fashionable women. He was tempted to get down on his knees again and worship again.

With her lithe figure in the high-waisted, low cut, flowing-skirted gown, she was heaven. It skimmed her body with the ease of a lover’s touch. And if he used his imagination, he might have sworn he could see every nook and shadow through the thin, yet expensive, gold embroidered, jewel encrusted fabric.

“Lady Patience?” he prompted, tempted to simply take her in his arms and seize her mouth with his own.

She licked her ruby painted lips then grabbed the book from his hand. Her suddenly frantic gaze darted over the leather binding and gold leaf title. “You? No. I— You are mistaken, sir.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” she countered loudly.

Her voice grew stronger, more determined.

“My dear woman, do not dissemble,” he contested gently. “You’re P. Auden.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“W-what evidence have you?” she sputtered.

This would be tricky but he knew that in this he had to be truthful. “A manuscript written in your hand that is currently in print.”

Her lips pressed together and her fluid frame tensed before she let out a rage-filled sound of amazement, “You went through my things?”

“A sneak remember?” he replied, hoping to diffuse her temper.

“But only in ladies’ bedrooms!” she protested.

He gave her an apologetic smile. “Apparently not.”

“What made you do it?” she demanded, her face as pale as the moon above them.

“I wished to help you,” he replied honestly.

That seemed to give her pause but then she retorted, “I didn’t want it. I
told
you I didn’t want it.”

“It was arrogant of me, I do realize that now.”

She groaned.

“What an arse, I must have sounded,” he said. “Offering to show your work to my publishing friends.”

She gasped, horror stricken. “That’s what you did. You showed it to someone?”

“I confess it.”

She frowned and suddenly poked his chest with her forefinger. “Did you tell them who wrote it?”

“No.”

“You swear?” she demanded, poking again.

“Indeed.”

“I ought to murder you,” she said, retracting her finger.

He rubbed his chest where she had prodded so vehemently. “Kiss me, instead,” he said softly.

She threw up a hand, her other still clutching her book. “Are you mad, Lord Charles?”

“Very likely. But you wish to.”

“What?” she prevaricated. It was clear she was in no confusion about what he’d said.

“Kiss me,” he explained in any case. And then he added, “As I do you.”

He could see it, her struggle to not deny his words.

“This is impossible,” she finally said.

“My discovery of who you are or your desire to kiss me?”

She scowled. “Both.”

“Why don’t we make the best of it?” In truth, he still wanted to help her. He was fascinated by her. She was a woman unlike any he had ever met. “Now, I know who you truly are. . . And that your exceptional books come from accurate research. Allow me to assist you.”

Again, she snorted.

“I can assist you with things that Mrs. Barton can’t,” he pointed out.

“Oh?” She folded her arms across her bosom, book still in hand. “I doubt it. She’s very skilled.”

“There are certain skills she doesn’t possess.”

She turned up her head and challenged him. “Such as?”

He paused. For a moment he was tempted to act the gentleman and escort her home, but it was that very temptation which suddenly had him yanking her into his arms.

Her book dropped to the grass.

She let out a small sound of surprise as he pulled her tightly to him. As he held her with one arm, he wove the fingers of his opposite hand into her elaborately coifed hair, tilted her head back then devoured her mouth.

Oh God. The pleasure. The perfect pleasure of her lips beneath his drained away his years of jaded ennui. He loved kissing. He’d always loved kissing but he’d done enough of it that it had no longer transported him the way it had done when he’d been a youth.

Lady Patience’s kiss stole away his reason and launched him into a sort of pleasure drunk ecstasy.

He fed her soft kiss after soft kiss and though at first she was reserved, her limbs relaxed against him in slow degrees until, at last, she was grabbing fistfuls of his coat, pulling him towards her as if she wished they could intertwine like the oak and the ivy.

This was bliss. Bloody hell. This was perfection.

Unheeded by reason, which had fled him, he kissed her with such abandon that the next thing he knew, he was tracing his mouth along the ivory column of her throat, working to the swells of her barely-covered breasts.