“I am not wedding the governess,” he snapped with more force than necessary. Unbidden, the foolish bent of his thoughts whilst he had been deep inside her sweet cunny returned to him. His cheeks heated.
Duncan tossed back the content of his glass and let out a slow exhale, observing him all the while in that uncanny way of his. “God’s blood, I never thought I would see the day the Duke of Depravity was brought low by any woman, let alone a spinster governess.”
He winced at the reminder of the mocking title he had been christened with in the scandal sheets. “I am not depraved, and neither is Miss Turnbow a spinster. She is lovely, with fiery-red hair and warm sherry eyes that crinkle in the corners when she is amused. Her nose has the most distracting smattering of freckles, and her mouth is made for…” Suddenly aware of his friend’s grimly amused countenance, he stopped himself from further waxing poetic about Miss Turnbow’s endless attributes and cleared his throat. “That is to say, I am sure she could have her choice of any gentleman.”
Not for the first time, it occurred to him that she had likely been forced to become a governess because she’d been ruined by some cad who had taken her maidenhead and then run off to war only to get himself killed. The notion of some young buck so misusing her did not sit well with him. She had been reduced to a life of purgatorial servitude, left to be preyed upon by unscrupulous masters who…
Damnation, left to be preyed upon byhim.
It was a sobering realization.Devil take it, how was he any better than the bastard who had bedded her and left her? He, too, had taken what he wanted without offering her anything of substance in return, for the lady had made it abundantly clear she would not be his mistress.
Duncan had poured himself another drink while Crispin prattled on. He took a sip, pinning Crispin with a considering stare. “I do believe you have fallen in love with the lady.”
His friend’s quiet pronouncement rocked him even more than his inner musings had. “Do not be daft.”
For how could he be in love with anyone when he did not believe in such rot? Never mind he had only known her for a short span of time. Never mind she did not share the same station as he. That she had refused him at every opportunity.
But she had also come to him when he had been in the throes of one of his violent nightmares. She had touched him with a tenderness that undid him even now as he stood in The Duke’s Bastard with Duncan looking on, a witness to his inner chaos. He could still hear her sweet voice, the utter conviction underlying her words.
If I could take on the pain for you, I would.
And she had not left him. She had given him one night.
He wantedallher nights.
Every single damned one.
“I do not think I am daft, Cris.” Duncan’s contemplative voice plucked him once more from the thoughts that threatened to drown him. “You care about this woman.”
“Yes,” he rasped, the admission torn from him but nonetheless true. “Bloody, sodding hell. Much good it does me.”
“Woo her,” his friend suggested, shocking him, for it was the least likely sentence to emerge from the mouth of Duncan Kirkwood, devil-may-care, black-hearted gaming hell owner.
“How?” he asked before he could stay his wayward tongue. “One does not escort a governess to a ball or take her for a drive. Good God, I am not the sort of man who can stomach such nonsense even if I wished it.”
“I am hosting a masque here tomorrow,” his friend pointed out.
“A Cyprian ball,” he argued. “I can hardly escort her to such an event, and even if I could, Miss Turnbow would never agree to such a thing. Propriety is the woman’s middle name.” Except for when she was in his arms. The unwanted thought made heat flare inside him.
“Tsk, Cris. It is amasqueradeball.”
Bloody Duncan and his love of wordplay.
Crispin could not suppress his wicked grin. “No doubt attended byladiesandgentlemen.”
“You are learning, Duke,” Duncan mocked. “Slowly but surely. You need have no fear she will be seen. Guests are to remain discreetly masked at all times.”
He knew he ought to be appalled by his friend’s suggestion. There was no means by which he could persuade Jacinda to attend such an inappropriate gathering. But since it was a masque, no one would know her identity. And the thought of escorting her to one of Duncan’s wild balls gave him a flutter of pleasure. How he would love to see her cheeks flush. To watch her watch the other couples engaged in amorous play. To take her to a private room and strip her bare.
He swallowed. “Perhaps if I can convince her, it would suffice.”
Duncan raised his glass in mock salute. “You will think of a way. Of that, I have no doubt.”
Chapter Fourteen
Holding a bouquetof hothouse flowers in one hand, Jacinda rapped on the duke’s study door with the other. It had been twelve hours since she had last seen him. Since she had lasttouchedhim.
Twelve wretched hours.
