Page 9 of The Duke's Twin
“Very well then—have at you!”
In moments the game dissolved into a chaotic war where the only goal was to dodge the shuttlecock or send it whizzing to strike the other person. Rebecca was laughing so hard that tears blurred her eyes, while Wiltshire could barely get a breath in between his own rumbling laughter. By the end of the game, they’d destroyed several of the delicate feathered balls.
“Truce, dear lady, truce!” he begged, staking the racket’s handle on the ground and leaning on the head.
“I believe the score is tied, Your Grace—four bruises apiece,” said Becca.
They were but half a dozen feet away from each other now. It felt strangely scandalous to be out of breath so close to the duke like this. Becca still held the last feathered ball, and she cast him one more devilish look before she smacked it hard into his stomach.
“Oomph!”
“Five to four.”
The duke mimed an injury, then dove at her, his hands curling around her waist.
They stumbled and fell backward. Wiltshire landed first, taking her down with him so that she was sprawled on top. For a long moment neither of them moved. His hard, hot body lay beneath her own, her skirts tangled with his legs. The only sound to be heard was their shared breaths. He cupped her face, his body tensing beneath her. Her legs slid apart so that she almost straddled him. When he brushed his thumb over her bottom lip and parted her mouth, a shiver danced through her body. The sudden urge to wet her lips took over, and she licked, her tongue flicking against his thumb. He sucked in a harsh breath.
“Christ, your eyes. Such a brilliant blue,” he murmured huskily and started to lift his head. Instinct took over, and she lowered her mouth toward his. So close…
A distant shout called her back to her senses. Rebecca glanced around in a daze, realizing that her parents, sister, and Mr. Beresford were already down by the lake. It was her mother shouting for her to join them. She could not have seen the compromising position Rebecca and Wiltshire were in, given that the lake was down a sloping hill and the lawn where she and the duke lay was shielded by hedgerows.
“Bloody hell.” The duke groaned and gently rolled her off him. “I apologize, Miss Livingston. I forgot myself.”
He hastily stood and helped her to her feet. A strange emotion clouded his eyes, as if he was confused. What he had to be confused about Rebecca wasn’t sure. She only knew the sting of disappointment she felt when they hadn’t kissed. It would have been wonderful, she knew, yet now she would never have the chance again. He’d no doubt come to his senses.
“Please, allow me to escort you down to the lake.” Wiltshire offered his arm to her, that rakish smile back in place. She was beginning to see that sometimes that smile he wore was a mask. While they’d played badminton, she’d glimpsed another smile, one that was real, sweeter and more seductive than this practiced rakish grin ever could be. He’d let his guard down with her, if only for a little while.
She brushed the grass off her dress and slipped her arm through his as he led her down the sloping lawn toward the lake. Two easels were set up, and Lydia was already painting. Mr. Beresford stood beside her, attentive as ever, even holding her palette of paint for her while they talked eagerly about something. Rebecca couldn’t hear because she and the duke were still too far away.
Rebecca noticed with chagrin that her own easel was quite far away from her sister’s. No doubt it had arranged like that on purpose.
Lovely. Rebecca sighed and took her seat at the second easel. She started to take up her palette, but the duke reached for it first.
“Allow me.”
“Oh! You don’t have to” she began
“Becca, dear, don’t bother His Grace,” her mother called out. “Lord Wiltshire, surely you would like to come watch Lydia paint. She’s so very gifted.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Livingston, but I’m quite content to assist Miss Livingston. My brother has seen to Miss Lydia.” The duke turned back to Rebecca, chuckling at her started expression.
“What?” he asked.
“You.”
“What about me?”
“You don’t want to go watch my sister?”
“No, not particularly.” The duke tilted his head to one side as he studied her. “Just between us, I believe you are far more interesting.”
“Interesting?” Rebecca didn’t think she’d ever heard that word applied to herself before. “I highly doubt that, Your Grace.”
“Of course you are. I saw you in the library the other night, rearranging books. You’ve read quite a bit, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I have.”
“I thought so. Now, tell me what you like to read about while I watch you paint a masterpiece.”
