Page 4 of When the Duke Comes to Play…
And this night was quickly turning into the strangest since he’d been tracked down at his firm in Boston and been informed that, due to a comedy of errors and an accident of birth, he was the new Duke of Ryton following the death of an elderly third cousin whom he’d never met.
While most of London had been abuzz since his reluctant arrival to claim his birthright, and he’d been dragged this way and that by everyone clamoring to gain an introduction to or host him at one event or another, this woman had most assuredly not been at any of those events.
For one, he liked to think she would have recognized him. For another, he definitely would have rememberedher.
She described herself as undesirable, but she was far from it in his eyes. Her tall, buxom figure was more than enticing; her curves begged to be gripped and molded to his body. She was a woman who could take everything he had.
She was not in her first bloom of youth, but that only drew him in further. He knew instantly that other men were intimidated by her; it was the only explanation he could come up with for why she hadn’t been snapped up yet.
What a shame.
For them.
And an unexpected gift forhim.
For that is what she was; a gift. And it appeared she intended to throw away what was viewed as the most precious asset a woman possessed because the strutting peacocks, fops, and dandies of London had no idea what stood before them. And Charles absolutely couldn’t allow that to happen.
The dark pools of her eyes remained unwavering on his face. She held herself motionless. And he realized he needed to respond quickly, lest she come to the wrong conclusion.
His mind whirled in a way it never had before. Somehow, this situation was more confusing, more important than any other he’d made in his life. He felt as if more than just a woman’s virtue rested upon his shoulders.
Perhaps her future. Both their futures.
He was scheduled to spend very little additional time in London beyond that night. He’d only arrived the month prior at the solicitors’ insistence to handle matters in person, apply his signature to necessary documents, and view a few properties he was determined to unload for sale at the earliest opportunity; it was clear from even the basic reports he’d received that they were of no benefit. The old duke had left things in fair enough shape. With the death tax paid and his identity confirmed, theduchy was firmly in his hold and Charles planned to leave for America within the fortnight with no near plansto return to this narrow little island. He had a life in Boston, and that life would continue whether or not he had the title of “Duke of Ryton” attached to his name. He would leave England in his wake and forget the grey and drizzly land and its stuffy people.
And then, his current predicament became immaculately clear to him like a bolt of lightning across an inky sky.
It took an embarrassingly short amount of time to convince himself that it was better that he do this horrible, reprehensible thing to save this woman—Ariel—from a fate far worse at the hands of some pox-ridden man who would be just as likely to leave her with a venereal disease as a thoughtless pregnancy. She had indicated that her brother wouldn’t be home anytime soon—so much for polite Brits who kept appointments—and he could do her this service of divesting her of her maidenhead and take his leave before her brother returned. It felt twisted to view himself as being the benevolent one when, in reality, this would be no hardship whatsoever.
And then he would quit the country.
He truly didn’t need to purchase the horse from Ariel’s brother; quality horseflesh could certainly be found elsewhere. And he’d been planning to leave shortly anyway. He could give her this one night
and they’d never lay eyes upon one another again. She’d never be the wiser for it either.
Charles closed the gap between them and took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips. She wore no gloves and the skin of her knuckles was soft against his lips and smelled faintly of night-blooming jasmine.
“My lady,” he began, lowering his voice to a purr; “it would be my honor.”
∞∞∞
Ariel was quite certain she stopped breathing when the man spoke. And quite terrified she would never remember how to do so, so long as he continued to touch her. That would make the rest of this evening quite difficult, wouldn’t it?
Oh my…
This was the man who would see her unclothed. He would touch her bare flesh. This beautiful man.
She was barely able to swallow past the lump in her throat. And she would get to see all of him in return.
Her cheeks began to burn from within as if someone had lit a kiln beneath her skin.
Ohmy…
“Lead the way, if you will, my lady.” His murmur was low as he tilted his square chin to the door.
Right. She had to show him the way to her bedchamber. Ariel opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. She attempted to mask it by lowering her face and turning away. To her surprise, the man never let go of her. He intertwined their fingers as he trailed behind her. Never releasing her as she awkwardly led the way up the sweeping main staircase, past the judgmental painted expressions of ancestors whose eyes she knew she’d never again be able to meet after that night’s debauchery, and down the dim hallway where the family bedchambers were located.
She had known the man less than a quarter of an hour, yet there was something bolstering about the surety of his grip, the large palm and long fingers. It was absurd, but Ariel was almost comforted by it.
