Page 67 of Dare to Love a Duke
For a moment, they were silent. Then she murmured, “In the deepest part of yourself, what do you want? Not for anyone else. Just you.”
“I want...” He searched within himself, finding those dusty unused corners of his heart that ached for something beyond his own gratification.Oh, nothing significant. Only the minor conundrum of the meaning of life and existence.When had he given that any thought? When had he lived beyond one moment, and the next, and the next?
“I want to be a good man,” he said at last. The simplicity of his words and the need they expressed startled him. And yet it felt right that beneath all the complications and alliances and navigations, underneath all that, was the core desire to do good. To be the best man he could, hurting as few as he could, helping as many as he could.
His time here at the Orchid Club had shown him what it meant to join with others for the greater good. He’d toiled and sweat and laughed and cared, wearing down the veneer of polish that a lifetime of privilege had slathered on him. Everyone had a story, everyone lived their lives and—for the most part—did their best given the limitations of their circumstances.
He’d been bloody lucky to be born a duke’s heir. The least he could do was use his accidental power to raise others up.
A thought seared him hotly and permanently as if he’d been branded. He could almost smell his own burned flesh.
He had to stand against Brookhurst and everything the man stood for. He’d reject the offer to invest in the Midlands Canal Company. Vote according to his conscience, not the demands of others—especially not the duke. Their fraternity must end and, with it, the generations of collaboration.
And what of Maeve? What of her and Lord Stacey?
God help him—he had to tell her that his days as the Duke of Brookhurst’s eager collaborator were over. Either she would understand and forgive him... or she wouldn’t. Life without his beloved little bird stretched before him, barren and bleak. Her wit and laughter and kindness would be gone from his life forever. How would he endure it?
Because, if he was half the man Maeve believed him to be, he had to make this decision.
Surges of energy filled him, at the same time a yawning fear opened in his belly. He was both invigorated and terrified, and it was only then that he realized one could feel these two emotions at the same time.
He realized that he’d fallen silent for a long while, and finally spoke. “I can feel myself changing—the way I used to lie in bed and ache because my body was growing. And it hurts now as it did then. I... want to do the right thing, but it’s not so simple. Nothing is simple.”
She was silent for some time, and then his pulse raced as she leaned close, her spiced floral scent surrounding him. Her face hovered inches from his, and her eyes were profound and searching.
He held himself very still. Waiting. Hoping.
She kissed him. It was soft, verging on tentative, as if she did not quite trust herself or this thing between them that could not be suppressed or stopped, no matter what they wished.
When he did not move, she pulled back. “You don’t want me anymore.”
“Love,” he said on a growl, “I want you so much I’m drowning in it. But, I’m your employer. The power here is all mine, and that’s not right.”
“What about whatIwant?” she demanded hotly. “What ifIwantyou.”
He groaned. “How you tempt me.”
“Whatever happens between us,” she said, “it has nothing to do with the club—it’s about me as a woman and you as a man.” She cupped a hand around his jaw and he instinctively stroked his skin against hers. Her breathing hitched, but she did not look away. “Understand this. I don’t want or need saving. My life is not perfect, but it’smine,and I’ll find my way. On my own.”
“I understand.” He threaded his hands into her hair, and at the slightest urging, she brought her mouth to his.
The kiss was long and fevered and shot liquid fire through his body. Only now he realized that each moment without her had been a torment. But he wouldn’t waste this chance with her. He stroked his tongue into her mouth and rumbled when her own tongue lapped against his.
“Christ above,” he said on a rasp, “but I want you. Need you. Can I come to you tonight, when the house is asleep? Can I show you just how much I hunger for you?”
“Let me come to you,” she whispered. “I don’t want to keep Kitty and Elspeth awake, and I’ve a feeling we’re going to be quite noisy.”
With that, she slipped away. The door to the roof opened and closed. She was gone so suddenly, he half believed the whole encounter had been a dream. Yet the taste of her on his lips proved that it had been real, as real as the desire between them.
He was alone again, splayed atop the roof as though he’d fallen there from a passing cloud. He was stunned, too, as if he’d dropped from the sky.
But through force of will, he collected himself and brought his senses back into full awareness. Because, for as long as he could, he was determined to devour each moment with her.
Supper was a delightful torment.
Tom sat in the kitchen with Lucia, Elspeth, Kitty—and her baby—dining on pigeon pie and trading stories about the most outrageous things they’d ever seen within London’s city limits—not including acts performed within the club’s walls.
“Once,” Elspeth said, “I saw a cat sitting atop a dog, who rode on a horse’s back.”
