Page 110 of Dukes for Dessert

“I can’t do that. I need to return home before I go to Presley. A trip to London wouldn’t allow that.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be going to Presley.”

Juno sat up, holding the coverlet to her chest. “I should come to London with you, trailing after you like a mistress?” She’d never allowed others’ expectations to dictate her choices—her marriage to Bernard and the subsequent loss of her family being the prime example. That Dare would ask such a thing of her cut to the quick. “I am an independent woman, Dare. I don’t trail after anyone. I make my own choices. For me. Perhaps you should go.” Emotion made her quiver. She squeezed the coverlet tightly to try to make it stop.

He slid from the bed. “I will.” He snatched up his banyan and tugged it on. Scowling, he grabbed his shirt and pantaloons from the end of the bed and thrust his feet into his slippers—at least it seemed that was what he was doing since she couldn’t see over the edge of the bed.

Half turning, he sent her a frown. “You can’t expect me to change my plans. Or who I am. I thought you knew me.”

“I do,” she said quietly, exhaling. She thought she did anyway, but what did it matter? It seemed he didn’t really know her. But what had she expected? This had been a lovely interlude. One they’d known would end.

Still, his expectation that she change her plans and conform to his reminded her too much of her parents and their painful abandonment. She’d forgotten the depth of his rigidity, and it was good that he’d reminded her. He’d saved her future disappointment.

Dare left without another word. She stared at the emptiness and felt it deep in her bones.

Yes, it was time for this to end. She needed to get back to her life.

13

Dare had barely slept the night before last and had still felt positively wonderful the following day. He’d actually gotten a little more sleep last night and yet today felt like he’d been dragged behind a coach. Sleep, it seemed, had nothing to do with anything. Happiness—or a lack thereof—did.

There was no happiness today, just misery. He’d taken a brutally long ride that morning and had spent the last hour, or perhaps two, walking. Anything to avoid the house.

No, to avoid Juno.

Except he wasn’t really avoiding her. Not completely, anyway. He’d spent time at their folly—it would forevermore be their folly—and was now lingering outside the orangery.

Why was he being so…rigid? Because he didn’t know how not to be. He was expected in London. He needed to go to London. He certainly couldn’t upend his life to continue a liaison with a young lady’s companion.

Why not?

He growled, his lip curling. Because spending a few days with her in Bath before she left him to go to her next job was unacceptable. It was too short a time. That she’d expected it of him made him think she hadn’t really come to know him at all.

Sorrow ate at his insides. He thought she had come to understand him, in spite of his quirks and general disagreeability. For the first time in his life, he’d made a connection with someone that seemed mutually beneficial. She absolutely made him a better man—he was certain of that. And he’d rather thought he’d had a positive influence on her, and it had nothing to do with his status.

Perhaps he was wrong about that. She’d had no hesitation in simply going on with her life, pursuing her work without sparing a thought for him. It seemed she hadn’t been as affected by him as he was by her. The notion was a knife twisting in his chest. He’d thought he’d found someone who finally saw past his outer shell, who made him feel comfortable—and accepted—at last.

This pain pricking through him was the reason he’d left last night. He hadn’t been able to see past what felt like her abandonment of him and what they’d found together.

Except she invited you to Bath. Clearly, she wasn’t abandoning you, not completely. Furthermore, going with her would have given you more time with her, and isn’t that what you want?

It was. He didn’t want the happiness he’d unexpectedly and miraculously found with her to end. And yet he’d behaved like an ass, insisting he couldn’t alter his precious plans, proving to her that he was inflexible and demanding—rigid. He suddenly thought of her family and their inflexibility—and rigidity—when she’d married and they hadn’t approved. His behavior wasn’t much better. But that was who he was, wasn’t it?

No. He wanted to change everything for her.

She deserved the best he could give her. She’d certainly evoked that in him. She’d given him joy, anticipation, love.

Love?

The word hit him like a stone. Could he love her? He’d felt strong passion, but never love. It was a messy, unnecessary emotion. Except right now, it felt as critical to him as breathing.

He loved her. Desperately. The thought of only sharing a few days with her made him feel ill. But the thought of never spending time with her again made him feel much, much worse.

The urge to go to the house and tell her was overwhelming, but he hesitated. What if she didn’t feel the same? She was a strong, independent woman, eager to get on with her plans—which didn’t include him. She didn’t need him.

But was there a chance she wanted him? Would she be willing to give up the life she’d created for herself to become his duchess? That was quite a shift—for both of them. It was absolutely what he wanted. He knew that with a soul-deep certainty.

Dare paced behind the orangery, his stride changing speed as new thoughts arrested his brain. None of this had been in his plans. It was no wonder he was in a dither. He stopped, forcing himself to take a deep breath.