The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection Read online

  He watched her go and fetched the whisky glasses from the shelf. He frowned and wondered if anyone would make note of the fact that there were two of them and try to puzzle who’d they’d belonged to. No one knew he was here, save the night footman who’d been dozing under the stairs when he’d arrived.

  He tossed back the contents of both glasses and deposited them on the sideboard, then made his way from the house.

  Outside, the predawn was dark, the city as quiet as it could ever be. He roused his coachman and directed him to drive home.

  As he reclined in the interior, casting his head back against the squab, he marveled at how blissfully sated he felt. At the same time, a splinter of discomfort wedged into his brain. He hadn’t taken advantage of her, and yet he’d ruined her just the same. She could still marry, and probably would, but he’d taken that which she should’ve given to her husband.

  A tiny voice in his head asked why that couldn’t be him.

  Marry her. Make her his duchess. His forbidden duchess. He smiled at that thought.

  His smile faded. Would she want that? Tonight’s events had affected her greatly. Even before they’d made love, she’d talked about an independent life with the fervor of one who desperately wanted something they didn’t think they could have.

  He’d heard enough about her background from his stepmother to know that she was financially destitute and basically homeless. Her father seemed a feckless sort, and Titus wanted to know why he hadn’t planned better for his daughter.

  As the coach neared his town house, he was no closer to determining what he should do next. Maybe because the next move was hers. He’d wanted to give her power tonight—choice—and he didn’t want to take it from her.

  Marry her, his mind said.

  Perhaps he could offer her another one.

  Nora was thrilled to have a day of respite. She was exhausted. Though she’d felt tired after her encounter with Titus, she hadn’t been able to sleep. Her mind and body had been too overcome with thought and sensation. She wished they could have lain together in bed, side by side, and talked until the dawn.

  In the afternoon, she and Lady Satterfield sat together in the upstairs sitting room enjoying tea. Lady Satterfield was reading, and Nora was writing a letter to her sister. She couldn’t quite find the words to tell Jo what had happened with Titus and longed to see her in person.

  Harley entered the sitting room. “Lord Markham is here to call on Miss Lockhart.”

  Lady Satterfield set her book down. “Indeed?” She glanced excitedly at Nora before looking back to Harley. “Do show him into the drawing room. We’ll be there in a moment.”

  Nora set down her pen and checked her hands for ink stains. She looked down at her day dress. It was appropriate for callers, but she hadn’t really prepared herself for visitors since this had been a planned day of rest.

  Lady Satterfield seemed to read Nora’s thoughts. “You look splendid, dear.”

  Nora considered asking the countess to tell Lord Markham that they weren’t receiving callers today, but it was too late for that. Besides, Nora loved seeing Lady Satterfield’s excitement.

  Nora patted the back of her hair, which was swept up into a simple chignon. “Is my hair all right?”

  “As I said, you look splendid. Come, let’s not keep the earl waiting.” Lady Satterfield stood and went to the door, which Harley had left ajar.

  Nora followed her into the drawing room.

  Lord Markham was dressed in riding clothes, his buff breeches hugging him with a perfect fit. Nora couldn’t help but notice he didn’t fill out his costume quite as well as Titus, but then she doubted anyone could. And now that she’d seen and felt Titus without any adornment, she felt thoroughly qualified to make such judgments. Even if they were scandalously inappropriate.

  Markham offered a smart bow to both Nora and the countess. He rose with a smile. “Good afternoon, Lady Satterfield, Miss Lockhart. It’s lovely to see you today.” Though the comment was likely for both of them, his intent stare made it seem as if he were speaking only to Nora.

  She responded with a curtsey. “And you, Your Grace. I am delighted that you’ve come.” She wished she could feel even the slightest thrill at his obvious interest in her. Oh, it was flattering and charming, but it didn’t ignite her soul the way one look from Titus could do.

  “I wanted to thank you for the dance last night,” he said.

  Had that just been last night? Because of what had happened after, Nora was positive it had to be the more distant past. But of course it wasn’t.

  “Will you be in the park later? Perhaps we can promenade.” He looked quite hopeful, and for a fleeting moment, Nora considered changing her mind about staying home the rest of the day.

  She offered a warm smile. “Actually, we’re going to have a quiet afternoon and evening, but I do thank you for the invitation. Another day?”

  He nodded. “Indeed. I do hope you’ll attend Lady Burney’s soiree night after next. Lady Burney is my sister.”

  Nora flicked a glance at Lady Satterfield. She couldn’t recall what their calendar held for the remainder of the week. It seemed last night’s events had turned her into a featherwit.

  Lady Satterfield returned a subtle nod, causing Nora to answer, “Yes. We’re looking forward to it.”

  He smiled brightly. “Excellent. I shall hope for the first dance. I shall take my leave. I wish you a restorative day, Miss Lockhart.” He offered another bow and again when he rose, his eyes seemed to bore into hers.

  As he bowed to Lady Satterfield next, Harley entered. The butler looked to the countess and said, “Mr. Dawson is here, my lady.”

  Lord Markham straightened, and a flicker of some emotion—a shadow of disappointment perhaps—passed over his expression. He quickly covered the momentary lapse before offering them both a final smile and departing the room.

  “Show him in, Harley.” Lady Satterfield turned to Nora. “My goodness. Two suitors in one day. And they’ll see each other in passing.” Her eyes twinkled with glee. “Oh, this could become quite fun!”

  A decade ago, maybe even five years ago, Nora would have agreed. Now, however, the notion made her feel slightly queasy. She liked Markham and Dawson, but when she compared them to Titus… She had to stop doing that!

  Except she couldn’t. What had been a fantasy—an infatuation—in her mind, had become reality last night, if only for a short time. She’d caught a glimpse of what it was like to be held in Titus’s arms, and she feared anyone else would fall far too short.

  Mr. Dawson stalked forward, his smile broad and engaging. He bowed first to Lady Satterfield. “Good afternoon, my lady, thank you for your kind hospitality.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Dawson, the pleasure is ours.” She inclined her head and angled her body toward Nora.

  Dawson moved to Nora and bowed a trifle more elegantly. When he straightened, his gaze was captivatingly straightforward. Nora liked this man’s simplicity and artlessness.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Lockhart.” His tone carried a softer edge than when he’d spoken to Lady Satterfield. “I am so pleased to find you at home. I wonder if we might take a stroll around the garden?” He looked toward the countess. “If Lady Satterfield permits.”

  “Of course.” She nodded. “Just go through there and take the stairs down from the terrace. I’ll follow you and sit in the library where I can see you.”

  So Nora was allowed to take an unchaperoned walk with Titus, but not with Mr. Dawson? Perhaps that was because Lady Satterfield had no reason to believe that Titus was interested in Nora in any other capacity beyond helping her successfully navigate the Season.

  Mr. Dawson offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  Nora placed her hand on his sleeve, and they walked through the rear sitting room onto the terrace. She instantly noted that Dawson’s arm lacked the strength and substance of Titus’s. He also lacked Titus’s ruggedly masculine scent and the simple aura of potent virility that
seemed to follow Titus. Oh, heavens, she was a ninny! She sounded like a lovestruck girl.

  She nearly tripped on the stairs as they descended to the garden.

  That’s because she was a lovestruck girl.

  She was in love with Titus. What has started as an impossible fancy, an unattainable dream had become her most fervent desire. He made her feel comfortable, strong, and special. She’d never felt those things before.

  “It’s a particularly fine day, though I do worry about the clouds I saw on the horizon. It may not be quite so pleasant by five o’clock.”

  Nora forced herself to pay attention to what Dawson was saying. “Yes,” was all she could manage for an answer while her mind—and heart—struggled to make sense of what she’d just realized.

  “I do miss the country,” he said. “As do you.”

  They’d discussed that very topic last night during their dance. He had a modest house in Sussex where he enjoyed fishing and walking with his two boys, aged five and seven. Nora had warmed to the obvious love he felt for them. She didn’t doubt she could be happy there. As happy as she’d been in St. Ives at least and probably more so.

  “Yes. I admit this rigorous schedule is a bit overwhelming. In fact, Lady Satterfield and I are enjoying a restful pause today.”

  He turned his head and looked at her in dismay. “And here I’ve spoiled it. I should have called another day.”

  She didn’t want him to feel bad. “It’s quite all right.”

  He continued along the path, which circuited the small garden. “I suppose so, since you also accepted Markham’s call.”

  Was there a note of annoyance or perhaps jealousy in his voice? She decided to ignore it if there was.

  He cleared his throat. “Might I ask… That is… Do I need to worry about my competition?”

  Well, that was about as declarative as he’d been regarding his intentions. “There’s no competition, Mr. Dawson.”

  “You undervalue yourself, Miss Lockhart. You’ve become quite popular. I fear my chances for your hand are dwindling.” He drew her to a halt behind a shrubbery so that they were partially obscured from Lady Satterfield’s view from the library window. He turned and looked at her earnestly. “Let me be clear that I am in pursuit of your hand.”

  Nora winced inwardly. He was so kind, so dear. Yet, she couldn’t stop herself from longing for a different man, one who was not interested in marriage. She ought to be clear with Mr. Dawson, except he might be her only chance for the future she wanted.

  She wasn’t certain how to respond. She didn’t want to give him false hope, not when her mind was churning. “I am so honored by your attention, Mr. Dawson. Truly. However, I am not yet ready to made a decision about my future.”

  “I understand. I’m quite patient.” He glanced toward the house and when he looked back, the edge of his mouth twisted briefly, as if he were chewing the inside of his lip. Something about his demeanor belied what he’d said about patience.

  Nora started walking again, eager to put an end to this interview so that she could be alone with her thoughts. There had never been a better day for her and Lady Satterfield to withdraw. “I appreciate your understanding. You’ve given me much to ponder.”

  “I hope you’ll agree that we are exceptionally well suited. I shan’t find a finer woman to raise my sons.”

  His words speared sharply into her heart. It wasn’t an outright proposal, but she was certain one would be forthcoming. She quickened her pace until they reached the library. Lady Satterfield went to the bookshelf, partially turning her back, presumably giving them a moment of half-privacy before Mr. Dawson took his leave.

  He took her hand and pressed a kiss to the back. “I do hope you’ll think on what I said. I look forward to seeing you soon.” He bowed, then turned to Lady Satterfield. “Good afternoon, my lady.”

  “Good afternoon,” she murmured. Then he strode from the room.

  Lady Satterfield waited until he was gone before going to Nora. Her eyes were bright with anticipation. “What did he say?”

  Nora didn’t wish to provide all the details. Not right now while her thoughts were a jumble. Dawson would make a good husband. Why couldn’t she want him as much as she wanted Titus? “Only that he wishes to call on me again.”

  “Do you think a proposal is at hand?”

  Most certainly, but again, Nora didn’t wish to discuss the particulars. Not until she wrapped her mind around falling in love with Titus and accepting that a future with him would never come to pass.

  But why not?

  Because he hadn’t once discussed a future or any intent to marry—either her or anyone else. And even if he had, could she really be his duchess? Over the past several days, she’d come to realize this life wasn’t really for her. She preferred the quiet of the country, the independence of living on her own terms, even if it meant she was lonely. But with someone like Dawson, she didn’t have to be lonely. No, with someone like Dawson, she could perhaps have everything she desired. Everything except love, or at least passion. And while she might not want to live without that, there were far worse things.

  Lady Satterfield clasped her hands together. “Well, there is no denying it now, my dear, you are the toast! With both Markham and Dawson paying calls, I daresay your future is secure.”

  Nora realized she’d never answered her question, but supposed it didn’t matter. Lady Satterfield was pleased and happy for Nora, and that made Nora happy.

  Yes, her future was secure. The only question was whether it was the future she truly wanted.

  Chapter 12

  The following day, Titus went to his club for luncheon before the House of Lords session. His stepmother was hosting a tea that afternoon, but he didn’t have time to attend. Nora had been at the forefront of his thoughts, and he planned to see her soon. Perhaps he’d stop in tonight after the session finished.

  As he walked through the dining room, he saw Mr. Jonathan Gasper, a horse breeder with excellent stock, sitting by himself. Seeing him here, Titus was struck with the rather spontaneous urge to speak with him about a horse for Nora. Before he could make his way to Gasper’s table, a footman approached him.

  “Your Grace, I’ll have your usual luncheon sent up directly.”

  Titus appreciated the footman’s care. “I’m going to speak with someone first. Do wait a bit.”

  The footman hesitated the briefest moment before saying, “As you say, Your Grace.” He began to turn, but Titus stopped him.

  “And I think I’d prefer mutton today.”

  The footman’s nostrils flared. It was a slight thing, but Titus caught the reaction. “Indeed, Your Grace.”

  Titus had known this particular footman for quite a while. He knew Titus’s habits and preferences, and Titus had just surprised him. Twice.

  Absurdly, Titus was amused. He felt good. Yes, for the first time in a very long time, he felt good.

  He made his way to Gasper. “Afternoon, Gasper, I wonder if I might have a word.”

  The gentleman looked up from his soup and blinked. “Kendal. Yes, yes, of course.” He gestured for Titus to sit. “Are you having luncheon?”

  Why not eat it here instead of his private dining room? “Yes, do you mind if I join you?”

  Gasper studied him for a moment. “Not at all.” It seemed he might say something more, but he took another spoonful of soup instead.

  “I wanted to speak with you about acquiring a new mount—a gentle mare, something appropriate for a novice rider.” Titus signaled for the footman to come to the table.

  “How may I be of service, Your Grace?”

  “I’ll take my luncheon here, thank you.” He turned back to Gasper, effectively dismissing the footman, but not before registering that he’d surprised the man a third time.

  Titus glanced at the footman’s departing back before returning his attention to Gasper. “I’m upsetting the order of things today.”

  Gasper swallowed another spoonful of sou
p and set his utensil down. “Because you’re eating here?”

  “It’s not expected, is it?”

  Gasper blinked. “No.”

  He seemed as hesitant and cautious as the footman had been. Was Titus so fearsome? No, but he’d created a wall around himself and preferred that no one breach it save his inner circle. Today, however, he felt like lowering that wall. Just a bit.

  He turned the conversation back to horses, and after a while, the footman delivered his meal along with Gasper’s next course. They enjoyed a pleasant luncheon, and before Titus realized it, he needed to be on his way.

  He was about to excuse himself when two gentlemen strolled by. “I can’t believe she chose Dawson,” one of them said. “My money was on Markham.”

  The other man shook his head. “Why’d she choose Dawson over an earl? Makes no sense to me, but then women never do.”

  Titus stood. “What are you discussing?”

  The pair stopped in their tracks and slowly turned. They regarded Titus as if he had a second head. The first man swallowed. “Your Grace?”

  Titus’s gut clenched. “What are you talking about? Who?” He feared he knew the answer and, like these men, he could make absolutely no sense of it.

  “A wager was placed last night at White’s. About Miss Lockhart—your stepmother’s ward, I believe.” The man sounded a bit nervous, tentative. “There seems to be a competition for her hand between Lord Markham and Mr. Dawson.”

  A bloody competition? A wager? The room seemed to darken, and Titus’s breath squeezed from his chest. “You said she chose Dawson?”

  The two men exchanged puzzled looks. “Evidently,” the second one answered. “We just heard it down at Key’s Coffee House.”

  The good mood Titus had just enjoyed, the only contentment he’d found in nine long years, evaporated like smoke.

  Without a word, he turned and strode from the club, his feet devouring the ground as he made his way to his coach. He barely spared a glance for the coachman, who held the door for him. “Satterfield House.”