What a Duke Wants (31 page)
Authors: Lavinia Kent
“Do you presume to tell me what to do?” Hargrove’s fists clenched.
Mark looked down at them. “So dawn it will be. Do you prefer swords to pistols?”
Silence reigned again as everyone turned to hear their exchange.
“Are you threatening me, boy?”
“I am not a boy—or a pup. I am the Duke of Strattington and you would be wise not to forget it.”
“You are not a duke. Your uncle was a duke. Your cousin would have been a duke. You are nothing more than a placeholder.” Hargrove puffed up his chest, stepping toward Mark.
This time Mark did laugh, long and deep. His eyes swept the gathering. All could be won or lost by a tone of voice. “A placeholder. I never thought of it like that—I will not even dispute the term, if it pleases you. But do not forget, I am a placeholder with power. Power I am not afraid to use.”
“Hah.” Hargrove refused to back down.
“Do you really want to push me and find out? I assure you I can piss as far as the next big dog—and with considerable accuracy.”
Isabella’s mouth dropped open at his crudity. He did not even look at the crowd.
Hargrove stepped toward him.
Mark matched the step.
“I do not see what you can do to stop me in taking any action I wish,” Hargrove said.
Mark stood up straight. He felt power flow into him. For the first time he understood what it was to be a duke. “You are right,” he said. “I probably cannot stop you, but I can promise you would live, or not live, to regret your actions.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I thought that we’d already established that. I knew you were older, but had not realized that senility might be setting in.”
Hargrove sputtered. The crowd gave a low laugh.
Mark smiled, victory in his grin. “And do not think my threats are idle,” he said. “I do not know when two dukes last met at dawn, but I’ve never been afraid of risking death. Those years in the infantry do have some advantage. You have not yet told me your preference, swords or pistols?”
Isabella stepped forward, moving between them. “Stop it,” she said.
Sweat beaded on Hargrove’s brow. It was clear he had never believed Mark would stand up to him. He tried one last time. “I am not going to fight you over a woman of her kind. It’s not like you actually mean to marry her. We’ve all heard the rumors about her.”
Mark pulled in a breath. He could feel the crowd consider, think about all the past rumors. Could he have come so far only to lose now? He could see in her face that Bella would not marry him if she thought it would bring him ruin.
She was going to run. Her gaze darted to the stairs and back, her fingers nervously playing with the chain about her neck.
Then her gaze came back to him. He saw renewed strength and something else—something he could not identify.
Her fingers swept lower into the very bodice of her dress. What was she doing?
And then he saw it. The ruby shone bright.
His ring.
His father’s ring.
He heard the slight gasp from the crowd.
Even Hargrove had recognized it when they first met.
She pulled the chain from her neck, unmindful of how it caught against her curls. She held the ring out, letting the ruby catch the light, letting it glow with fire. “Would you like to put it on my finger now? I think I’ve waited long enough for my dreams to come true.”
I
sabella didn’t know how much longer she could go on breathing. She waited as he took the ring, waited for Mark’s words, for his commitment.
“Yes. Yes, you have, and yes, I would.” He took the ring from her, sliding it off the chain and slipping it onto her finger. It was large, but she did not care.
“Damn you. Damn you both.” Hargrove cursed as he turned and left the floor, stomping from the room.
No eyes but hers followed him. Everyone was too intent on what would happen next.
Mark leaned toward her. “You did mention your family is scandalous?”
“Yes.”
“Then they won’t mind this.” He bent forward and kissed her, claimed her—and it was far from a polite society kiss.
I
sabella opened her eyes slowly and stared across the pillow at the blue glare across from her. Duchess was not pleased to have been left behind. She lifted a leg disdainfully and began to lick her foot, her gaze never leaving Isabella.
“How did you get here?” Isabella asked, looking about her room in Masters’s house. “Is Mark below? Did he bring you?”
Duchess turned her head, clearly unwilling to forgive Isabella for her abandonment.
Isabella scratched her between the ears anyway and laid a kiss upon her head.
Then Isabella bounded out of bed, dressing as quickly as she could.
Mark was here. Had last night been a dream? Could he really have meant all those things he’d said? Could all her troubles really be finished? Could society actually have accepted that they would wed?
She glanced at Duchess. No, not a dream.
Almost running in her eagerness, she sped down the stairs, heading straight for the breakfast room. He might be a duke, but he still had to eat.
There he was, seated beside her brother, a full plate of kippers and eggs before him.
She looked nervously from one man to the other. There did not seem to be any suggestion of bloodshed. Could they have reached agreement? Masters had been plenty mad at being kept in the dark about their engagement.
Masters stood as she entered the room. “You must forgive me, Isabella. I have an early appointment.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone—with Mark.
“I had two early appointments this morning myself,” he said, rising from his chair.
“You did?”
“Yes. First I called on Hargrove. I wanted to be sure that the matter was finished. I must admit to some temptation to make sure he was silent—forever.”
“I hope you did nothing. I would not want the responsibility of another death. And I think he has suffered enough. Love can make us all act differently than we otherwise would.”
Mark nodded. “So I found out. He has had the night to think the matter through. I believe to some extent he now regrets his actions.”
Isabella did not want to think about Hargrove. “You mentioned two appointments?”
“Yes, I went to see Mrs. Wattington.”
“Mrs. Wattington?”
“I decided to take no chances. She is the only one still left who could tell stories, so I paid a morning visit. She was not amused at the hour at which I called.”
“I would imagine not.”
“Although her husband was more welcoming.”
Isabella could not decide whether to sit. Her stomach was undecided as to whether food was a good idea. “Get to the point.”
“Even she came around once I made clear the purpose for my visit.”
“Stop delaying.”
“I made it known that I would be pleased to become Master Joseph’s godfather.”
“You did what?”
“It is rather impossible to say bad things about the people who are securing your son’s place in the world.”
Isabella could see the wisdom of that.
“And,” he continued, “it does mean that a certain future duchess will be free to call on them whenever she wishes. It is only natural that you should take an interest in my godson. You may visit Joey whenever you like. Mrs. Wattington has said she would be delighted to meet you—for the first time. She finds it a shame you have never met before.”
Tears formed in her eyes. She stepped toward him, unsure what to say. And then she said the only words possible. “I love you, Mark. I didn’t get a chance to say it last night, but I do.”
He took a half step toward her. His eyes met hers and she could see the words within them. And then he said them. “And I love you, my Bella. I don’t know why it took me so long to say it.”
She reached out and took his hand in hers, grasping the fingers tightly. “I can never begin to thank you. You bought me Duchess, and then you brought her back to me. And now you have enabled me to see Joey again. The problem with running has always been that I’ve left so much behind.”
“No longer, my love, my Bella. You are done with running.” He pulled her toward him until she was in his arms.
For a moment they just stared at each other, eyes saying even more than words.
Then he bent, bringing his mouth to hers. The kiss started soft and then his lips grew more demanding. They moved over hers with such command. Isabella had felt his kiss a hundred times before, but this was different. Could a kiss be softer and more domineering at the same time? This was a kiss of ownership—and offering. This was love.
Most days L
AVINIA
K
ENT
loves her life and knows that she has found her own happily-ever-after with her husband and three children. But on those other days (you know which ones!), she is very glad for the wonderful romances, sensuous gowns, and tall, sexy men that fill her mind and then her computer.
Lavinia lives in Washington, D.C., with her family and an ever-changing menagerie of pets. She attended Wellesley College as an undergraduate and holds an MBA from Georgetown University.
What a Duke Wants
is Lavinia’s fourth book from Avon Romance. She also has a fun and sexy serial of e-novellas,
The Real Duchesses of London
, available from Avon Impulse.
She can be contacted at her website,
www.laviniakent.com
, or through Facebook and Twitter.
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