Rudyard’s face went puce, and not only because Eamon held him fast. He sputtered a few insensible words, clawing at Eamon’s arm, to no avail.
Eamon dragged Rudyard out of the small room into the large front hall. He half-pushed, half-hauled the unwelcome guest into the foyer, where Singleton, who’d appeared from nowhere, calmly opened the front door.
Rudyard struggled, but his soft living had made him no match for Eamon. Singleton held the door open, his stance haughty.
The doorstep was a few feet from the street, where passers-by trudged and carts rumbled. Eamon lifted Rudyard high on his toes, shoved his well-shod feet out from under him, and pushed him from the house.
Rudyard flailed wildly, managing to catch himself by flinging one arm around a stone pillar that held up the portico.
Plenty of people witnessed his undignified exit—servants on errands for their Mayfair lords and ladies, fops in phaetons on their way from Hyde Park, and matrons in landaus who gaped as Rudyard struggled to gain his feet.
Eamon made a show of dusting off his hands. Singleton, as cool as ever, waited until Eamon had retreated into the house before he closed the door, utterly ignoring Rudyard’s shouted invective.
Eamon laughed for the joy of it. He’d have slapped Singleton on the back if Singleton would bear the indignity, but Eamon did offer his hand to shake. Singleton clasped it politely without a word, then turned and glided away as though nothing very dramatic had happened.
Caro emerged from the reception room, her anguish crying out to Eamon.
“He will do it,” she said in a rush. “Rudyard has many friends and connections, and he is right that I am powerless.”
Eamon caught her hands, finding them too cold. “You are the Duchess of Aylesmore. An important woman.”
Caro shook her head, ringlets trembling. “I am only the mother of the duke. I ceased to be important in the eyes of the world when his father passed on. And by the quaint laws of England, a mother is not related to her own child. Rudyard is related to him. He can take Leo away from me.” Her words ended in a half sob.
Eamon tightened his grip. “Caro, trust me—I will never let that happen.”
Caro’s eyes flicked to him in shock, and Eamon realized he’d addressed her by her given name.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, releasing her. “Duchess.”
Caro continued to stare at him, her lips parted. Before Eamon could offer another word of apology, she launched herself at him.
Caro’s arms went around his shoulders, her warm body crushed against his, and she kissed him frantically on the mouth.
Chapter 9
The hot jolt of Caro’s kiss wiped away the dark hall, Eamon’s anger at the boorish Rudyard, and any worry that Singleton or young Leo might reappear.
Eamon only knew Caro’s supple body under his hands, and the thin broadcloth of her gown that allowed him to feel her lithe curves.
More of Caro’s hair slid from its pins to brush Eamon’s fingers with silk. He wanted to bury his face in her thick tresses, pull it free lock by lock, until it swathed her bare body.
Eamon tugged her closer in the shaking kiss, hand on her back, her skirt not much of a barrier between his thighs and hers.
He felt Caro gasp, her sharp intake of breath on his lips.
In the next instant, she jerked from him, scrambling back until she crashed into the newel post at the base of the stairs. She turned and clutched it as though it kept her from falling, and stared at him through wisps of hair.
“I am so sorry,” she babbled. “Mr. Stone, I do beg your pardon. I have no idea what came over me.” Her face was scarlet, her eyes moist. “Please say you will accept my apologies, before I faint from shame.”
Eamon regarded her with astonishment. What had she to be ashamed of?
“My dear Duchess, you have no need to apologize to me.” Eamon’s heart banged thickly, making it difficult to breathe. “I used your name without permission, and I certainly did not push you away.” He moved to her, but slowly, as though she were a bird he did not wish to startle. “As kisses are, that was one of the finest of my experience.”
Caro’s agitation eased slightly, but her blush remained. “I should never have contemplated doing such a thing. I have employed you—you are trusting me …”
Eamon reached her, relieved she did not flee. “You are a woman, Caro Aylesmore, duchess or no, and I am a man. All of our families, names, titles, and circumstances of birth will not change that. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you struggling with that window, and I thank you for making my dream a reality.”
“You mistook me for a maid.” Indignation flashed in her eyes, erasing some of her embarrassment.
