The Dark Duke

As for the kiss, she had never known anything more unexpected and exciting in her entire existence. She had never been kissed by a young man, and the sensation had been every bit as wonderful as she had ever imagined. Nor had she ever felt so flattered. To think that the Dark Duke, known for his taste in women, had bestowed that mark of favor upon her, even if she had been returned to prosaic reality by his admission that he had kissed her because of “a moment of weakness.”

Propriety demanded that she leave, but her own lonely heart told her to stay, and for once, Hester decided she would follow her heart. Surely they would be safe from discovery, for the duchess was a sound sleeper, and she had only just nodded off in the drawing room. They were in the usually empty library, and nobody even knew they were there.

She sat in a chair near the one upon which he had been sitting. “So, Lady Hester,” he said in a low tone that set her heart beating rapidly, “what are you doing at Barroughby Hall?”

“Your stepmother corresponds with my mother, and when she heard the duchess was looking for a companion, she thought I would do,” Hester replied matter-of-factly, trying to regard him with composure, reminding herself that he was a flirtatious man by nature, and his attention had nothing to do with her personally.

“What did you think?” He strolled behind her chair, and she wished she could see his face.

He sounded as if he truly cared, which created a sense of intimacy far more dangerous than his kiss had been. Nevertheless, she would remember who and what he was, and who or what she was. “Since I had no better prospects, I agreed.”

“No better prospects?”

She didn’t answer. He knew very well what she meant.

“But you cannot like it here,” he said, as if she could not possibly disagree.

“This is a lovely estate. I enjoy the garden very much, and—” she smiled and gestured at the walls “—the library.”

“My stepmother is not an easy woman.”

“Perhaps she has mellowed during your absence.”

The duke’s response was a sniff of disdain.

“The duchess provided a change of scene,” she replied honestly.

“I daresay,” he said, continuing his stroll around the room. “I have seen your sisters in London, but not you, I don’t believe.”

“No doubt you didn’t notice me.”

“Are you often overlooked?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You don’t sound very bitter,” he remarked with a wry smile.

She shrugged her shoulders. “My sisters are beautiful. I am not. There is nothing I can do about that.”

“I see.”

She didn’t think he did. No man as handsome as he would ever understand what it was like to be the ugly duckling in the family.

He moved back to the fireplace and continued to regard her with a scrutiny that grew increasingly unnerving. “I wonder what you really want, Lady Hester” he murmured.

“I told you. Your Grace. A book.”

He smiled, a more genuine smile, she thought, than she had yet seen him bestow upon anyone, including Damaris Sackville-Cooper. “I meant from life.”

“I hardly think, Your Grace—” she began to protest.

“Oh, I suspect you do a great deal of thinking,” he interrupted. “Let me guess at the deepest desires of Lady Hester Pimblett”.

She started to stand. “My lord, I—”

“First, attention.”

She straightened her shoulders and frowned deeply. “Your Grace, I really must protest—”

“Second, excitement.”

“If by that you mean the type of excitement you seem to crave, Your Grace, I assure you I can well do without!” Hester said sternly. “Since you are apparently only interested in making sport of me, I will take my leave of you, whether you excuse me or not!”

“I promise I shall stick to only the most mundane of subjects,” he pleaded unexpectedly, and with a most beguiling smile. “The weather. My injury. The fungus on my horse’s hooves. Whatever you wish, as long as you will stay a little longer.”

Hester suddenly realized there was nothing about this man that was not seductive, whether it was his looks or his voice or the way he could make every word an invitation, every gesture intimate. “I believe I have stayed far too long as it is. Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

She hurried to the door, then turned on the threshold and faced him with a mocking little smile of her own. “I shall tell your stepmother you are feeling better, as you most obviously are, and that you will surely join us for dinner.”

When she was gone, Adrian stared at the fire and tried to tell himself that Hester Pimblett was nothing so very special. They were both unappreciated children—they had that one little thing in common.

Well, that and a kiss. And he would not come down to dinner, even if he was finding the thought of speaking with Lady Hester again very tempting indeed.

Chapter Five (#ulink_249b4e9e-878a-5cf5-b6f8-dca7229bafbd)

“Hester, where on earth have you been?” the duchess demanded when Hester returned to the drawing room.

Hester, having never felt so frazzled before, dearly hoped her absence would not be remarked upon further. Her wish was granted as the older woman rose from the sofa with more alacrity than Hester had ever seen her demonstrate before and waved a letter as if it was a call to battle.

“I have just received the most exciting news!” the duchess declared unnecessarily.

Hester thought she had had quite enough excitement for one day; nevertheless, she put a happy smile on her face as she tried to calm down.

“Elliot is coming home tomorrow!” the older woman cried triumphantly. “My darling boy, here, tomorrow!” She paused in her exclamations, and a small frown creased her alabaster brow. “If Adrian will send the barouche to Barroughby. Oh, but he must. Just think of it, my own dear boy home at last!” The duchess paused in her raptures. “You seem very dull this afternoon.”

Hester was still considering the part of the duchess’s declaration that had seemed rather odd. Why should the duke have to approve the order of a carriage? Was the duchess not in command of the estate? Had it not been left to her upon the fifth duke’s death? She always acted as if it had, and spent money frequently and lavishly.

The present duke had referred to Barroughby Hall as “my house,” but she had assumed he meant his family’s house.

If this were not so, and he was in sole possession of the estate, why did he endure the company of a woman he so obviously disliked, and whom he could send away whenever he chose? That would be the response one would expect of a scoundrel.

“I am so happy for you,” Hester said, attempting to sound delighted, and reflecting that if she wasn’t careful, she would become as hypocritical as Canon Smeech. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help mentally contrasting the reception of the news of this son’s return with the way the duchess had received word that the duke was coming home. Still, one was a step son, the other her own child. The duchess would not be alone in preferring the child of her body over that of a son by marriage.

“He writes from Dover to say he can hardly wait to get here!” the duchess exclaimed. She walked to the windows and gazed out at the drive, as if she expected to see Lord Elliot’s carriage at that very moment. “He was ill, and only now recovered. I shall have to be a little cross with him for not telling his mama.”

“What is all the excitement?” the duke asked nonchalantly as he strolled into the drawing room. “Have we been robbed?”

Hester eyed the door with a view to escaping, but knew she was trapped as surely as any fly in amber. She would just have to forget about his kiss and try to maintain her composure.