Page 181 of Dukes for Dessert

Panic climbed up her throat and threatened to choke her. She hardly knew him, but for a handful of meetings. But she knew if he left now and wed his Lady Minerva or any other young lady that a sliver of her soul would die as effectively as if he’d used the Theodosia sword itself and slashed it through her heart.

Thick, dark lashes hooded his eyes. “Do you know what I believe, Theodosia?”

And because she was incapable of words, she gave her head a helpless shake. “I believe you came to me this day for reasons more than these hair combs.” He touched them. “Beautiful though they may be. You don’t want me to leave.”

Yes, God, he was correct. She drew in a breath, forgetting years of feuding over matters that now didn’t truly matter. “I don’t want you to leave.” She met his eyes. “I need you to stay.”

* * *

Many people needed something of Damian; his family, the tenants who relied on his estate’s thriving, the servants whose livelihood depended on him. After years of being needed for reasons that had nothing truly to do with him—Theodosia needed him.

I love her.

Damian braced for a swell of panic that should come in having learned that he not only possessed a heart, but that it belonged to the Rayne daughter—but the panic did not come. He, the practical, immobile, Devil Duke had at last discovered a weakness—Theodosia.

Only it didn’t feel like a weakness. The absolute rightness in her, nay, in them, filled him.

“Will you not say anything?” she demanded in the same tone she’d adopted when she’d ordered him to pick the shattered remnants of crystal decanters from his office floor.

In response, he lowered his lips to hers and claimed her mouth, communicating to her with his mouth and the hands he put to the sweet curves of her flesh, that he needed her in ways he’d never needed another.

Their mouths met in a fiery explosion and he caught her to him as she layered herself against his body. Through the thin fabric of her cloak and his coat, she seared him with her heat. He groaned and deepened the kiss, roving his hands over her body. “I have wanted you since the moment you stormed my home, Joan of Arc, in your armor.” He rasped against her cheek and trailing his lips lower, lower, and then he parted her cloak to expose her gown. Desire coursed through him as he took in the swell of her generous décolletage and then he put his lips to her soft skin.

Her head fell back on a moan. “I am fat,” she whispered.

“You are perfect.” That raspy utterance ripped from his throat as he worshiped the cream of her skin. In all the thought he’d put into who would be his duchess, there had always been a faceless woman who fit with all the standard molds of a proper, English wife. She’d be blonde and obedient and the perfect hostess. How had he failed to see he wanted a spirited, passionate woman who’d brave scandal and ruin to restore what she perceived as an injustice committed to rights?

He dipped his tongue between the mounds of her breast and a shuddery cry escaped her lips. Damian caught her to him and lowered her to the ground. “I want you,” he rasped. “I want you in spite of your damned name and that damned sword.”

“Yes,” she moaned. Her fingers brushed his scar and he stiffened. After years of being scorned for that very mark, he pulled back reflexively, but she shot her hands around his neck and pulled him toward her. “You are beautiful, Damian.”

The visage that reflected back at him each morning proved it a lie but he groaned and captured her lips once more, but when she uttered it with that breathy, honest whisper, he could believe her anything.

His fingers found the hem of her gown and tugged it higher. He needed to explore all of her, learn the feel of her, the—

“By God, I will see you dead.”

Christ.

Damian rolled off Theodosia and shielded her with his body, just as her brother crashed into the clearing. An unholy rage lit the other man’s eyes as he took in Theodosia’s inelegantly sprawled frame, her skirts stained in grass and wrinkled. He shoved himself to his feet. “I am certain we can settle this matter with—”

Aidan Rayne shot a hand out, catching Damian in the chin with an impressive right cuff. He grunted and went down. Theodosia cried out and shoved to her feet. Her brother came at him again. Damian rolled out of the way and Rayne’s jab landed ineffectually in the air, and threw him off balance. The gentleman tumbled to the ground. His cheeks blazed red, heightening the rage in his stare. He jabbed a finger in his sister’s direction. “Get to the carriage.”

Theodosia took a step toward Damian and Rayne gnashed his teeth like a fabled dragon of their legends and lore. Damian gave his head a slight shake. He’d not have her witness this exchange with her brother. She hesitated and then hurried from the gardens, shooting one lingering glance over her shoulder.

Damian stared after her.

Which proved the height of folly. He grunted as Rayne charged forward, head bent and barreled into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. “You bastard,” he hissed. The gentleman landed an ineffectual blow. Rage made him lax. “I would challenge you to a duel and laugh over your dead body if the damned world wouldn’t discover what you’ve done here.”

Years of training alongside Gentleman Jackson himself had prepared Damian for far stronger, more worthy opponents than this barely twenty-something year old man. He cuffed him in the chin once and Rayne toppled to the ground with a grunt. Damian schooled his features and took a step away from Theodosia’s brother. He didn’t begrudge the other man his deserved rage. If he’d had a sister and that sister had been on the ground with her skirts drawn up and her shapely legs exposed to the spring air, he’d have taken that fiend apart with his bare hands.

Damian came to his feet and stood over him and spoke in the cool, ducal tones he’d practiced as a youth. “You are deserved of your outrage. However, I intend to wed her.” If she’d have him.

I don’t want you to leave. I need you to stay… She would say yes. Her kiss, her caress, her words all said as much.

Silence met his pronouncement. Then a sharp bark of laughter escaped the other man. He laughed so hard tears trailed down his cheeks. “Oh, this is rich. You’ve gone and fallen in love with her.”

A mottled flush climbed his neck and he fisted his hands at his side at an overwhelming urge to knock the mocking Rayne upon his arse once more.