The Spring Duke (A Duke for All Seasons) Page 5

  At least, that was the plan...until he looked at the pond and saw her crouched beside his daughter, their heads nearly touching, their hands linked, their faces bright with matching smiles. Athena murmured something and Victoria laughed, the sort of sparkling, infectious laugh he hadn’t heard in far too long, and he was jolted by a hard thump inside of his chest.

  Ambrose didn’t know it yet, but the ice around his heart had just started to crack.

  Chapter Six

  For the next three days Athena saw neither hide nor hair of Ambrose. She didn’t know if he was occupied doing dukely things or he was simply avoiding her; either way she was far too busy chasing after Victoria to give him a moment’s thought.

  Which was why she only thought of him every other moment.

  She thought of his eyes. The color of them, and the coldness.

  She thought of his mouth. The hardness of it, and what it would look like if he ever smiled.

  She thought of his jaw. The way the muscles clenched and tightened whenever he looked at her.

  And late at night when everyone else had gone to sleep and she was awake staring up at the canopy above her bed wondering if she’d made the right decision to come to England, she thought of his body. His lean, muscular, mouth-wateringly divine body.

  They were all very wicked thoughts, to be sure. Then again, Athena had always had a little wickedness inside of her. She didn’t know where she’d gotten it from. Certainly it had not come from her stern and staid parents, neither of which had ever had a wicked idea in their entire lives. She liked to believe it was another trait she’d inherited from her great-grandmother. Falling in love with a duke from a warring country would have been quite wicked. Marrying him would have been...well, she supposed they’d never know, since that wasn’t what had happened.

  Moonlight spilled across the bed as she rolled onto her side and reached into the beaded reticule she kept on the dresser. She wanted to read the letter again, if only to reassure herself that coming here hadn’t been sheer insanity (no matter what Ambrose said). But when her hand slipped inside the satin lining the only things she discovered were a pencil, two coins, a thimble, and a small oval mirror.

  The letter, which she had guarded as preciously as any jewel since it had come to be in her possession, was gone.

  Athena sat bolt upright, her heart pounding in panic as she sprang from the bed and began to search the cloak she’d worn that afternoon. When she found nothing but crumbs – she may or may not have stolen an extra cucumber sandwich from the kitchen to bring with her on a walk with Victoria through Mayfair – she began to search the room in earnest.

  “I couldn’t have lost it,” she muttered to herself as she dropped to her knees and peered under the bed. “I couldn’t have.”

  That old, tattered piece of parchment was the most important thing in her possession. It was the only proof she had that love – true love, not the strained, fabricated affection that existed between her mother and father – was possible.

  That letter was the reason she’d come here. It was her only tangible connection to the duke. And when her confidence failed her and she began to doubt herself, it was a reminder of just how powerful love could be.

  Love was strong enough to start wars. Strong enough to end them. Strong enough to span generations and touch the lives of two individuals who might have never otherwise met.

  It was all right there in the letter.

  And she’d lost it.

  “Damnit.” Pounding her fists against the floor, Athena sat back on her heels and blew a loose curl out of her eyes. Maybe it had fallen out of her reticule while she and Victoria had been touring the gardens. Or maybe she’d left it in the library or accidentally dropped it into one of the hat boxes. Perhaps she’d left it in the kitchen. The house was so vast, it was impossible to know for certain. Her only solution was going to be to search every single nook and cranny. She could leave no door unopened. No cushion unturned. She had to find that letter.

  Knotting her hair on top of her head and pulling a wrapper on over her nightgown, she padded barefoot to the door, intending to begin her search at once despite the late hour. But before she could turn the brass knob the door unexpectedly swung open to reveal the Duke of Blackburn in a loose-fitting tunic and trousers, his dark hair disheveled from sleep and his blue eyes narrowed with concern.

  “Miss Dogwood. Are you all right?” Clenching a heavy candle holder in his fist as though it were a weapon, he pushed past her into the room. “I thought I heard something.”

  “And you came charging to my rescue?” Quietly closing the door, Athena stood before it with her head tilted to the side and a faint smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “How chivalrous of you.”

  Ambrose completed a full circle of the bedchamber before he turned to face her. Soft candlelight flickered across the hard lines of his scowl. “Chivalry has nothing to do with it. There have been several robberies over the past month. One of them was only three houses down from here.”

  “If a thief were to come in this room I’m afraid he would leave very disappointed,” she said. “There’s nothing here to steal.”

  The duke’s grip on the candle holder tightened. “Oh, I can think of at least one thing.”

  His raspy growl sent a delicious shiver down Athena’s spine. She held her breath as his potent gaze slowly traveled down her slender frame, lingering on the swell of her breasts and the curve of her hips before shooting back up to her face. A muscle in his jaw worked furiously, ticking in unconscious rhythm with the rapid flutter of her pulse as it became clear precisely what he considered worthy of stealing. For the first time since she’d arrived on his doorstep, she became aware of just how untenable a position she truly held.

  If Ambrose wanted to replace her, he could.

  If he wanted to sack her, he could.

  And if he wanted to kiss her senseless...

  She cleared her throat. “As you can clearly see, I am not in any danger.”

  “Are you sure about that?” he asked silkily.

  No, she wasn’t.

  In that moment, she wasn’t sure about anything.

  Well, almost anything.

  “Do you want to kiss me?” She thought herself bold, until Ambrose’s reply left her weak in the knees.

  “I have wondered what you would taste like since the first day we met.” Corded muscle rippled along his shoulders as he took one step towards her, then another, until the only thing that separated them was a few inches of space and their rapidly dwindling inhibitions. Reaching out, he lifted a silver curl off her shoulder and rubbed it between his fingers. “First I thought of peaches,” he mused aloud. “But you’re not that sweet, are you, Miss Dogwood?”

  Athena’s mouth opened. Closed. For the first time in her life, she had been struck completely and utterly speechless. “I...”

  “Which is why I think you’re going to taste like an apple. Sweet at first, with a note of tartness that lingers on the tongue.” Desire dilated his pupils, turning his eyes from blue to black. “I don’t want to kiss you, Miss Dogwood. Give me a reason not to. Tell me to leave your room. Tell me to stop thinking about you every bloody waking moment. Tell me,” he growled, frustration and need flashing across his rigid countenance in equal measure.

  She should have.

  If she was in her right mind, she would have.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Then we’re both damned,” he said hoarsely. And fisting his hands in her hair, he claimed her mouth with his own.

  A mistake. Ambrose knew it the moment he sampled the sweet nectar of Athena’s lips, but by then it was too late. She’d lured him in with her beauty and her intelligence and her fierce wit, and he’d be damned if he let her go now.

  Kissing her was like sliding into a cool pond on a hot summer day. She melted against him, her small hands latching onto the front of his shirt as he angled his head and deepened the kiss,
taking them both under the water. Down, down, down they dove, sinking further and further into the deep until they were lost in its murky depths where passion was everything and reason was nothing more than an afterthought.

  He traced the delicate seam of her lips with his tongue. On a soft murmuring sigh her mouth opened and he slid inside.

  She tasted exactly as he thought she would. Warm, liquid honey with a hint of wickedness. Greedy for more he took her bottom lip between his teeth and suckled. She sank her nails into him like a cat, pressing and kneading until they were both purring with pleasure.

  Wanting to taste more of her – needing to taste more of her – he traced a burning path along her jaw and down her neck, following the lovely curve of her collarbone all the way to her shoulder. On a mewling whimper her head fell back, causing the bodice of her nightdress to drop and expose her ivory breasts to his ravenous gaze.

  They were perfectly sized, each one just large enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and graced with dusky pink nipples. He yearned to touch them. To gently squeeze the plump flesh and lift those beautiful nipples to his mouth. To lick and nibble and tease until she cried out his name. Instead he contented himself with another kiss, knowing it was the only thing standing between him and complete, utter oblivion.

  If he took that next step...if he took that next step he wouldn’t stop until he’d ravished her senseless, and then they’d both be in more trouble than they already were.

  Her hands streaked up his hard torso and hooked around his neck, her fingers curling into the thick curls at his nape. She pressed those perfect breasts against him and he used her lips to muffle his groan as lust shot through him like a bolt of lightning.

  Realizing just how dangerously close he was to losing control, Ambrose abruptly untangled himself from her long, slender limbs and stepped back, his chest rising and falling with the force of his breaths as he dragged air into his burning lungs.

  Bloody hell. It felt like he really had been under water. Swimming in the deep and the dark where the sun was only a suggestive shimmer and sailors were lured to their deaths by the suggestive call of a siren.

  No, not a siren, he corrected silently as his stormy gaze narrowed on Athena. A seductive violet-eyed fairy with sin in her blood and nectar on her lips.

  He had never lost himself in a kiss before. Not with a lover. Not with a mistress. Not even with his wife. And guilt swept over him like a dark, heavy cloak when he realized his desire for Athena ran deeper than it ever had for Sophia.

  His marriage had been a good one. He and Sophia had never shouted at one another. Never spoken an unkind word. Never gone to bed angry. They’d been partners in every sense of the word. More than that, they’d been friends. But as much as he’d like to, he couldn’t deny that a piece of him had always suspected something was missing between them.

  A spark. A flame. A torch. It didn’t matter what it was called, all that mattered was they hadn’t had it.

  But he and Athena did.

  His violet-eyed fairy stood before him in silence, her luxurious curls spilling in a wave of pale silk across her shoulders and down her back. Lifting her hand to her mouth she gently brushed her swollen bottom lip with the pad of her thumb and Ambrose swallowed a curse when her eyes grew heavy and her nipples hardened beneath the light fabric of her nightdress.

  “Oh my,” she said, blinking slowly at him. “That was very nice.”

  ‘Very nice’ was a description of the weather.

  ‘Very nice’ was a ride through the park on a sunny day.

  ‘Very nice’ was a compliment given to hostesses after a boring soiree.

  Their kiss hadn’t been ‘very nice’.

  It had been the bloody opposite of ‘very nice’.

  It had also been a mistake.

  “I apologize,” he said stiffly, clasping the back of his neck where tension formed a hard, snarled knot beneath the skin. “I acted completely out of turn.”

  “Yes.” She waited a beat. “Would you like to act out of turn again?”

  Ambrose scowled. “That can never happen again.”

  “Why not?”

  “There are a plethora of reasons.”

  “Name one,” she challenged, lifting her chin.

  Vexing wench. Why couldn’t she simply obey him like everyone else did? It was as if she’d forgotten he was a duke. Or she simply didn’t care, the latter of which he thought to be far more likely as Athena did not strike him as a woman who ever forgot anything. She was much too smart, no doubt a contributing factor to her damned impertinence.

  “Well?” she asked, arching a brow.

  “You’re my governess.” As far as reasons went, it wasn’t a strong one. Men kissed their governesses all the time. Some did more than kiss. But he didn’t. Or at least, he never had before tonight.

  “That’s true,” she said.

  Ambrose breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, she was willing to be reasonable.

  “But I am also your fiancée.”

  “The devil you are!” he choked. “We are not engaged, Miss Dogwood.”

  But he couldn’t deny the idea wasn’t completely without merit. If they were married, he could nibble that delectable mouth of hers whenever he wanted. Hell, he could nibble her entire body whenever he wanted. Every inch of soft, creamy flesh would be his for the tasting. Every long line. Every sweet curve. Every secret–

  Stop it, he told himself fiercely. Bloody well stop it before you go any further. She’s not right for you, and even if she were you’ve sworn to never remarry, remember?

  Yes, he did remember.

  Although Athena was the first woman in eleven years who made him want to forget.

  “Despite whatever fantasy that letter put in your head,” he said through clenched teeth, “you are my temporary governess, Miss Dogwood. Our...embrace doesn’t change that. As soon as I find a replacement–”

  “The letter!” She snapped her fingers together. “I knew I was doing something before you distracted me.”

  “I distracted you?” he said incredulously.

  Athena had been a maddening distraction the moment she’d come charging through his front door and terrorized his poor butler. It didn’t matter that he’d spent the past three days doing everything in his power to avoid her. The sound of her laughter or a tiny whiff of her perfume and she was all he could think about. There was no escaping her. Especially now that he knew precisely what she tasted like.

  “Yes.” Crouching down, she picked up the hairpins his hands had scattered and dropped them into a small porcelain bowl on her dresser. “I must have misplaced the letter somewhere, and I was looking for it.”

  “Is that what all the stomping was about?” Spying a pin she’d missed, he knelt and retrieved it for her. Their fingers brushed when he held out his hand, sending an aftershock of desire rippling through his loins. Ambrose set his jaw, steeling himself against the temptation to pull Athena into his arms and kiss her until they weren’t just swimming in pleasure, they were bloody well drowning in it.

  “I wasn’t stomping,” she said.

  “You sounded like an elephant.”

  “I certainly did not.”

  He nodded sagely. “Truth be told, I didn’t know whether I should call for a Bow Street Runner or a keeper from the Royal Menagerie.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re not being serious.”

  “No, Miss Dogwood, I am not being serious.” His grin felt tight and unnatural, like a pair of breeches that had gone unworn after a wash.

  When was the last time he’d smiled at anyone other than his daughter? Rather startled to realize he didn’t know the answer, Ambrose set his jaw and glared at a spot on the wall just above Athena’s left ear. “Return to bed, Miss Dogwood. You can search for your precious letter in the morning.”

  “But I–”

  “Bed,” he said sternly, employing the same tone he used for Victoria when she was trying to delay the inevitable. “You’re not fam
iliar with the house. You could easily get lost.”

  “Oh for heaven’s sake,” she snapped. “I am not a child.”

  “No. You’re not.” His gaze flicked to her mouth, studying the petulant thrust of her bottom lip before slowly rising to meet her eyes. “Go to sleep, Athena,” he said huskily. “It’s not safe for you to be wandering around in the dark.” And before he did something he would soundly regret come morning, he left the room.

  Chapter Seven

  “There goes another one.” From her vantage point inside the gazebo, Victoria watched as a woman hurried out of the house and turned down the lane. “How many does that make?”

  “Five,” Athena replied without looking up from her drawing. She’d never been a very good artist – you’re too quick, her tutor had exclaimed on more than one occasion – but she did enjoy doing a simple sketch from time to time. This morning she was attempting to capture the bird’s nest two ambitious finches were building in a blackthorn tree outside the library window. Unfortunately, despite her best efforts, the nest was looking more and more like a potato.

  “Are you sure?” Grasping one of the gazebo posts, Victoria swung in a half circle. Following Athena’s example she’d taken off her bonnet almost as soon as they’d gotten outside and one of her long blonde braids caught her across the cheek. She tucked it impatiently behind her ear. “I thought there were six.”

  “Is there one I’m forgetting?” Athena tapped the end of her pencil against her chin. For the past hour and a half potential governesses had been entering – and leaving – the duke’s residence in quick order. He was conducting interviews in his study, but from the expressions on the governess’s faces as they left it wasn’t going very well. “There was the older woman with the gray curls and the young girl with red hair.

  “I’m glad he didn’t pick her,” Victoria said, her nose wrinkling. “She looked snobby.”