Taming a Defiant Duke: Taming the Duke’s Heart Read online

  She let out a little huff of breath. His gaze skimmed down the creamy column of her neck, over the chaste neckline of her gown, to the rise of her bosom. She wasn’t a large woman, rather narrow in the waist, but her breasts appeared to be the perfect size to fit into a man’s…. He forced his thoughts to stop wandering down this carnal path. What was wrong with him? He should be well and truly over any fantasy he might have harbored concerning her.

  Bar did not do this. Not with anyone else and certainly not with her. He had duties, thousands of people depending on him. His father had demanded Bar take those duties seriously and somewhere along the way, he’d come to believe his father had been right to expect so much of him.

  “I’m selling the cottage at auction. I’ve acquired letters of recommendation and I will seek positions as soon as the cottage is sold.” She cocked her hand on her hip. “Thank you again my lord, but as you can see, I am not in need of your aid.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I rode through the night because your letter sounded urgent. You said you required assistance.”

  She matched his eyebrow, raising her own. “I did. Three months ago. But I’ve had time to sort through most of my father’s affairs and create a plan.”

  “A plan? To seek a position?” He looked down his nose at her, attempting to give her his best ducal glare. Men cowered under that look but her chin notched up.

  “That is correct. When my father passed, I wrote to your father in the hopes that he might have some guidance for me or perhaps write a letter of reference. But because I received no reply, I’ve taken care of it all myself. I suppose I can thank you for my newfound independence.”

  Was the little chit judging him for belatedly offering assistance? “My apologies for not coming to your aid sooner.” He’d meant that to sound snide. Sarcastic at least. And why was he still standing here? He’d wasted a day coming to Dover for naught. She’d once again proven herself the worst sort of nuisance in a pretty little package.

  She had the decency to look at the ground as color stained her cheeks. “It was kind of you to come.” She drew in a long breath. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d greatly appreciate another letter of recommendation. I understand we don’t know each other, but you do know the quality of my education and the virtue of my family. At least before my mother’s death.”

  That made him wince. At least inside. Had that been what had happened to the man? He’d lost his wife and gone to hell in a handbasket? “I’m sorry for both losses.”

  She gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

  He gestured in through the door. “May I?”

  Her lips pursed together as she smoothed her skirts. “I don’t think it’s proper.”

  “Miss Mayweather. There is nothing untoward about us spending time together.” Pushing off the doorjamb, he straightened his jacket with a slight tug. “If you’d allow me inside, I’m sure I can explain.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and then let it out slowly, stepping back to allow him entrance.

  The moment he was inside, he realized the conversation would be no more comfortable in here. The walls were bare and not a stick of furniture remained. “The house is empty.”

  “Very astute.” She looked up at the ceiling, her hands folding across her stomach.

  He gave her a long look. She’d been annoying like this as a young woman as well. Asking probing questions. Digging under his skin. Working not only into his mind with her astute observations, but into his body with her blushing glances. His teeth clenched as he drew himself up. “It’s normal then, to have a cottage without furniture? Where are you sleeping?”

  She turned away, showing her profile as the hands on her stomach clenched into fists. “I’ve made do without. I was able to earn more,” she said with a huff, “by selling the furniture separately.”

  “Was that so hard?” he asked, stepping closer. How had this simple exchange gotten so heated? “Telling me the truth?”

  She snapped her gaze toward his once again. “The reason the answer was difficult would be obvious to everyone who isn’t a duke.”

  “Then it should have been obvious to me because I am a marquess.” There. Two could play her game of banter.

  “You’re the acting duke. You said it yourself. Your father is away.” Her mouth drew down into a thin line as she narrowed her glare, her gaze an accusation.

  “If we’re putting a fine point on it, then I am a marquess.” He crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest. She was doing it again, riling him to the point of maddening absurdities.

  It was her turn to step closer. She dropped her fists to her sides as her eyes flashed a stormy blue. He had the briefest second to marvel at the lovely shade before she began talking again.

  “You always have been so full of yourself. I suppose it’s natural considering your station, but it makes you no less tiresome.”

  He bent his head forward so that their noses were mere inches apart. His body was clenched in…irritation? Her warm breath blew across his cheek, sweet and almost minty. He gave his head the slightest shake to rid himself of the thought. “And you have always been an impish little brat.”

  Her mouth dropped open as she let out an indignant squeak. “You may be able to talk to others like that but not me and not today. This is still my home, at least until tomorrow, and I will kindly tell you to leave it.”

  He let out a deep sound, not unlike the growls his father was famous for emitting. “You actually expect to be employed by a family of worth?” he asked. “You’re too impertinent by half. You’ll never retain employment.”

  He watched the shock and the hurt flit across her features, her eyes crinkling, her mouth pulling taut before her chin dropped to her chest. He remembered the look because it reminded him of the day he’d yelled at her to leave him be. His chest tightened with regret.

  “Thank you for your words of encouragement, my lord or Your Grace or however it is I should address you,” she said so softly he wouldn’t have heard save for the echo in the room.

  “Emily,” her given name rolled of his tongue. “I—” Words got stuck in his throat.

  She took a step back and waved her hand. “It matters not. Thank you kindly for coming to personally see to my care. It was most gracious and greatly appreciated.” Then she turned and walked toward the door, opening the heavy oak panel and stepping to the side. “If you will excuse me, I have a great deal of preparation to complete for tomorrow.”

  Bar circled around her. As he did, he caught a slight hitch in her breath. Squinting his eyes, he could have sworn he saw the shimmer of tears sparkling in them. His heart squeezed in his chest. Damn it all to hell. He hated it when women cried. “I found this on your front stoop.” He unclenched his hand and held out the now-crinkled letter toward her.

  Slowly, tentatively, she reached out and, with the gentlest brush, took the letter from his hand. Heat and tingling licked at his skin, sending his already tight muscles into a complete lock. He withdrew his hand and headed out the door. The woman was trouble, a gorgeous package of tumult and ruin. If he were smart, he’d never see Emily Mayweather again.

  * * *

  Emily watched Bar leave and then carefully closed the door. Slumping against it, she held back a tear that threatened to slip down her cheek. She wasn’t crying over the annoying cad. Of all the things to be upset about, he was the least of them. If she needed to lament, she should focus on leaving her home, finding employment, or settling her father’s debts.

  She would not be upset over him. Lord Barrett Maddox, the Marquess of Devon, future Duke of Manchfield. She stuck out her tongue and blew hard. That’s what she thought of him. Then she shook her head. She was acting like a child rather than a woman of two and twenty. He always had brought out the worst in her.

  Except for when they’d touched. That had been far from the worst. The sensation had been exciting, exhilarating even. Which he’d also always brought out in her.

  Sighing, she pushed o
ff the door. What did it matter? She supposed she had ruined any chance of receiving a letter of recommendation from him. That stung. Perhaps he was right. Was her temper too heated to remain in a family’s employ? As long as the family wasn’t the Marquess of Devon’s she’d likely be fine. As she’d said, he brought out the worst in her.

  A sudden image of Bar married flitted through her mind. She pictured his muscular arm about some faceless woman as he possessively held her close. For some reason, the thought started a strange ache in her chest.

  Looking down at the letter in her hand, she slid open the seal. What she needed was a distraction. To think of anything other than Bar Maddox. She slid the parchment out of the envelope and then unfolded the note held within.

  She quickly scanned the contents, but her breath caught as she read. She reached down to brace herself on the hutch that usually sat in the entry before she remembered that she’d sold that very piece not a week ago. Stumbling to the side, she crashed into the wall and gave a cry of surprise.

  A pounding at the door made her scream again.

  “Emily,” a growling voice barked out. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

  She blinked. Bar? She realized that she’d yet to hear the carriage leave. Drat. “I’m fine,” she called back in a shaky voice. But her eyes returned to the letter. Written evidence she was anything but.

  Her third cousin on her mother’s side, Mr. Reginald Crotchet, had written to inform her that he had, in fact, purchased several of her father’s debts on her behalf. She either needed to pay him the sum of one thousand pounds or, if this was not possible, she could consider the amount a dowry and consent to be his wife instead.

  Her stomach rolled. He was a dreadful man, with breath that smelled of rotting fish and beady eyes that devoured her whenever she was near.

  “Emily,” Bar called again, knocking on the door harder, the banging echoing through the small cottage. “Open the door at once.”

  Distantly she was aware that she should object to his command, but she couldn’t muster the gumption as she opened the door again. He stood for a moment, assessing her, his eyes flitting from her face to the letter in her hand.

  She assessed him back. Well, it was more like she longingly devoured him with her eyes. Tall and broad, he filled the doorway. His dark features set in a scowl of concern, no one had ever looked sweeter. She had the urge to toss herself against that granite chest. “What is wrong?”

  “I…” She swallowed the lump lodged in her throat. “I lost my footing and slipped to the side. That is all.” It was on the tip of her tongue to blurt out the contents of the letter but she’d just informed Bar that she could take care of herself and then tossed him from her home. Metaphorically, of course. He was far too large for her to actually toss. But still, after what she’d said, she couldn’t then pour out her problems. She’d be the little fool he claimed her to be.

  His eyes narrowed as he looked down at the letter again. “As your nearest male relative, I insist that you return to Cliffhouse with me tonight.”

  That made her pause and her heart did the strangest little flip in her chest. “We are not related.”

  “Untrue,” he quirked a brow. “Technically speaking your father is third cousin to mine. As no closer relations are forthcoming, it’s my duty to see to your care until such time as a closer relation could be found.”

  She crushed the letter in her hand. She knew exactly who the closet relation was and they weren’t finding him. Ever. She’d run as far as she could from Reginald Crotchet. “Absolutely not.”

  He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling his thick wavy strands into a disheveled mop. It was charming and the least ducal thing she’d ever seen him do. She had the distinct urge to follow the same path with her own hand and feel his hair slip through her fingers.

  He interrupted her musings. “Emily, please.” He took a half step through the door. “I am trying to help you.”

  He was. How could he know that his offer was the last one she would ever want to take? He was a duke—or he would be soon enough. Proper, entrenched in the rules of society and his duty to them. She remembered who he was from the hours upon hours they’d spent talking that summer five years ago. He would likely insist that she go to Cousin Reginald. That as a woman, it was her duty to be under the care of such a man. She’d rather die.

  “I’m fine, truly.” She stuffed the letter into the pocket of her pelisse. “I was just nostalgic for a moment and—”

  He softly gripped her elbow. It was not the demanding touch she’d expected, but light. It spoke of kindness and compassion rather than the ducal insistence that she obey. “All the more reason, you should stay at Cliffhouse tonight. It’s not healthy for you to be here.” Gently, he began leading her out the door. “Do you have a packed bag that I can fetch?”

  She had almost no clothing, but she nodded toward the empty bedroom. He retrieved the bag and was back in a moment, his hand at her elbow again.

  “Are you planning to seek a position here or in London?” His voice was low and soothing as they made their way down her path.

  Discussing a position made her relax. As long as they weren’t discussing the care of male relatives, she’d be fine. “Wherever I can find one.”

  He gave a nod as he stepped up to his carriage and then handed her in. “I think you’d have more luck in London.”

  She gave a tight nod. Making her way to London would cost money she scarcely had. “Do you know of any families in particular looking for a tutor for their children?”

  Bar’s face was in the shadows as she sat in the seat across from her. She couldn’t see his expression, but he flexed his gloved hand several times. “I’m sure Madeline would. She seems to know everything that’s happening in that city. I’ll travel back in a few days’ time. You could make the journey with me.”

  “I would appreciate that, greatly,” she murmured. Wait. She’d just informed him that she could do all of this without his help. That letter had addled her brain. “On second thought—”

  He held up his hand. “Let’s discuss the second and third thoughts tomorrow.” He ran his hand through his hair again, scrubbing his scalp. The perfect duke had a nervous tic. How intriguing. “I’m bone-tired from driving through the night and day to reach Dover from London.” He rubbed his hands down his face.

  He’d ridden through the night and day to come check on her? “What other business do you have in Dover?” she asked, nibbling on her lip as she waited for his answer. She didn’t want to admit that she could scarcely breathe as she leaned forward to hear what he’d say.

  His hands stopped mid-rub, though they still covered his face. Silence filled the carriage as the wheels bumped down the dirt path. “Just you, Emily.”

  Chapter Three

  Bloody hell, why had he just said that? Tension filled the carriage like smoke, palpable in the air.

  “Oh,” she squeaked. She covered her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared across the carriage at him. “You only came here to help me?”

  He cursed again. There was no retracting that statement. But it begged the question she would surely ask next. Why? A duke generally did not go about riding night and day to save every tenant or vicar’s daughter from her own fate. He couldn’t blame her for asking, but sincerely, he had no answer. Why indeed? “I’ve never apologized for nearly drowning you. I hoped this might make up for my behavior.”

  She dropped her hands to reveal her mouth, which had also dropped wide open. “You came all this way because you yelled at me one time years ago?”

  Well, that did sound bloody stupid, didn’t it? “I did fish you out of a pond. It was quite the scene. And the way everyone talked about you. As though you were sent from heaven itself. I couldn’t be responsible for your death.”

  Her mouth snapped closed, but her eyebrows went up. “Everyone talked about me as though I was sent from heaven? You must be joking. You’ve listened to me, have you not? No one considers my ton
gue heavenly.”

  Truer words had never been spoken. A laugh bubbled up in his chest, bursting out of his mouth with a rusty grating sound. When was the last time he’d laughed? It sounded and felt like years had passed since he’d engaged in the behavior. “You’ve got me there,” he said between heaves. “But you must have looked in a looking glass recently. Your beauty is unparalleled.”

  He was still laughing a little as she leaned forward. The laugh died on his lips. In the last light of day, her eyes sparkled as her barely contained hair tumbled over one shoulder. He had an image of her giving him that same look as she leaned over him in his bed or in the grass or right here in the carriage—he forced his thoughts from this dirty path. It was an awful idea to let his mind wander so. Hadn’t he learned that lesson already?

  “My beauty is unparalleled?” She cocked her head to one side and assessed him from across the dim space between them. “I had no idea you found me so fetching.”

  “You know that you are stunning.” He turned his head toward the window. He was blathering on like the village idiot. What had gotten into him? But he knew. Lust.

  “Did you just compliment me?”

  Her voice was like a caress sliding along his skin. His fist curled against his thigh. He had to stop the dangerous path they’d started down. Yes, she was beautiful. And of course, he had a reaction to her. Always had. It didn’t matter. Bar had already chosen the perfect duchess. Well-bred, well-connected, liked by all of society, Lady Elizabeth was the perfect choice for Duchess of Manchfield and the only thing he was certain he’d gotten right since he’d taken over for his father. He should have married her already.

  “It was more of an observation.” Then he turned back to her, eyes narrowing. “In fact, now that I think on it, your plan to get a position is a terrible one. You’re far too attractive to be left unattended in a lord’s home. No wife would hire you if she had a lick of sense.”