“We were friends.” Helping himself to an armchair–Cranbrook was one of the rare few that was able to sit wherever and whenever he pleased–the duke lifted his hand and glanced at a gold signet band that Everett had never noticed before on his right ring finger. “He was among the first to join the Wayward Dukes. But after your mother died, he turned away from us. He turned away from everyone, including his own flesh and blood. I wish I’d done more to intervene, but, well, a man’s family is his business and I had children of my own to raise.”
The back of Everett’s neck prickled; an uncomfortable flush of heat that had him crossing the room and prying open a window. “That’s all in the past. What’s done is done.”
“Respectfully, what’s done is not done until Isayit’s done.” Cranbrook smiled pleasantly. “Are you aware of what a Wayward Duke is, Aikens? I’ll tell you. It’s a duke–or the direct heir to a dukedom–that is…hard to control. An individual that struggles to follow the rules, and as such would benefit from a collaboration of like-minded men. When it first began, one of the alliance’s intended purposes was to assist its members in avoiding marriage.”
There it was again.
TheMword.
“But,” Cranbrook continued, still staring at his ring, “as it’s continued on through the years, I’ve come to realize that the Wayward Dukes was really meant to help avoid marriage to thewrongwoman. Because a man is never stronger than when he has the right duchess by his side. Wouldn’t you concur, Daniel?”
Hollibrook nodded. “I would.”
“Excellent. Then we’re in agreement.”
“Wait a damned minute–”
“I’ve already instructed my metalsmith to forge you a ring just like this one.” Sliding the band off his finger, Cranbrook held it aloft. It was gold, and inscribed with the initials WD inside of a floral wreath. “Youarea Wayward Duke, Aikens, whether you’d like to be or not. You’re also a good man. A better man than your father. Whether you’d like to be or not. And it’s been brought to my attention that Miss Daisy White is, while considered eccentric by some, an excellent fit for you by others.” He looked at his son while the flash of heat on Everett’s neck turned to ice. “I hope you take my words to heart, Aikens. And know that while you’ve been alone, you have a place with us now. No matter what happens, Wayward Dukes don’t abandon their own. Come along, Daniel. If I’m not mistaken, our wives are waiting for us, and it’ll be our hides if we’re more than a few minutes late.”
They quit the room…leaving Everett in the troubled silence of his thoughts.
Chapter Seven
Sir Vincent
Two nights later, Everett was visited in his bedchamber by yet another unexpected guest. Except this time it was dark, and his guest was a female. A female with red hair and cornflower blue eyes a bloody strong arm.
“Everett,” she hissed, shaking him by the shoulders. “Everett, wake up!”
“Whaaa,” he said groggily, slurring his words. “What hour is it?”
“Almost dawn. And I need you.”
Daisy.
Was it a dream sprung to life, or a figment of his imagination? Either way, Everett wasn’t about to take this opportunity for granted. Moving with jolting quickness, he grasped Daisy by the waist and rolled her on top of him in the bed. With a muffled shriek, she splayed across his frame, her knees falling on either side of his thighs while her small hands braced on his naked chest and her face–her beautiful face–came within inches of his.
What else was he to dobutkiss her?
Fast, and hard, and hungry, he devoured her mouth with his own, wanting to lick, and nibble, and taste every bit of her delectable little body before this dream dissolved into smoke just like all the others before it.
For an instant, she stiffened, resisting his hold on her. And then, with a murmur of surrender, she kissed him back, her nails biting into his skin as her belly sank into the hard plane of his stomach and her curls tumbled from their loose braid to frame the edges of his vision in a waterfall of titian silk.
“Daisy,” he breathed, wanting–needing–to say her name. To claim her as his own. To do everything in his power to make this dream a reality. “Daisy, you taste so damned sweet.”
Reaching between them, Everett traced the natural curves of her body until he found her breasts and lightly strummed his thumbs across her nipples where the dusky points were already aroused. The fire came immediately, an entire wall of it that threatened to consume them both as he flipped her onto her back and, with a low, feral snarl of possession, began to kiss a path across her jawline to her neck whilst her fingers caught in the wild threads of his hair and pulled.
Time vanished.
The night disappeared.
The walls faded away.
All that remained was Daisy, Everett, and their all-consuming passion. The kind that had conquered kingdoms and brought emperors to their knees. The kind that poets wrote of and princesses dreamed of.
She gasped when he touched between her thighs.
Her dress was thin, the fabric easily bunched and pushed out of the way.
