Page 19 of Courting Scandal With The Duke

W hen someone mentioned that the Duke had been seen arriving at the party, a little spurt of excitement had left Barbara feeling breathless.

There was no doubt about the attraction between them. Their kiss beneath the tree in the park had been ample proof. But he was so controlled, so aloof, she wasn’t sure he wanted to acknowledge it.

There was only one way to find out.

So she had followed the path down to the water.

And now he was offering to take her for a boat ride.

The river reflected the moon as a silver stripe across the sluggish flow. Why not?

She rose from the bench. ‘Indeed, let us look at the stars.’ Each of the boats had been furnished with cushions and he selected one. He held her hand as she stepped aboard. She arranged herself in the bow, resting her back against the pillows. It was surprisingly comfortable.

He unhooked the rope from its fastening and lithely stepped over the gunnel. He made it look easy. He picked up the pole and set them in motion moving into the middle of the river.

‘You have done this before,’ she said, trailing a hand over the side. The water was chilly. One would not wish to fall in.

‘I used to row when I was at university.’

‘Oxford or Cambridge?’

‘Oxford.’ For some reason he sounded surprised that she did not know. No doubt all the ladies of his acquaintance studied Debrett’s and knew everything about him. ‘All the Melville men attend Oxford.’

‘What about the women? Where do they go?’

The boat wobbled a fraction. ‘I have no idea. I presume they have a governess.’

Typical male. No interest in the education of the females of his family. ‘I see.’

‘There have only been sons for the past two generations.’ The defensive note in his voice was surprising.

She lay back on her cushion and gazed upwards. ‘I can see the plough perfectly, and Ursa Major.’

‘You know your stars. Are you some sort of bluestocking?’

She chuckled, an intentionally low and throaty noise. ‘Do I seem like a bluestocking?’

‘Pettigrew says bluestockings are women who wear unattractive clothes and spectacles and quote Mary Wollstonecraft every five minutes. He advised me to avoid them like the plague. So no. You do not seem like a bluestocking.’

‘If you think so little of women who have brains, it is no wonder—’ Insulting him was not what she wanted to do.

‘No wonder what?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Come, sit beside me.’ She slid over a few inches. ‘The evening is clear and the stars particularly fine.’

He hesitated. He must have guessed she had been about to say something derogatory. Blast.

She heard him sigh. Then he set down his pole, eased in beside her and lay back.

‘That wasn’t very kind of me, was it?’ he said. ‘To repeat such nonsense about bluestockings.’

Surprised, she pushed up on one elbow and looked down on him. ‘No. Not very kind. And also patently false. While I do not count myself as a bluestocking, I do count myself as reasonably intelligent and well-educated. I cannot see why men only want empty-headed widgeons for wives.’

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen forward behind her ear. ‘You are certainly not that, Countess.’

‘But that is what the male half of society wants me to be, so they can decide my future.’ Her father did.

Both of her husbands had. How many times had she been told not to worry her pretty little head about something that had concerned her?

Something important. Something for which she had a solution.

But would they listen to her ideas? Certainly not.

‘What sort of future is it that you would like?’ he asked. No one had ever asked her such a question before.

Surprised and pleased, she sank back down into the cushions. ‘Freedom to choose.’

‘To choose what?’

He sounded so puzzled. He simply had no idea.

‘Everything.’

‘No one has freedom in everything.’

‘Men have the freedom. They just do not use it.’

‘No. You are wrong. If people went about willy nilly doing whatever they pleased there would be chaos.’

‘Why?’

‘Because—’

‘You do not believe people would choose to do the right thing?’

‘I know they wouldn’t.’ He rolled over on his side and gazed down into her face, blotting out her view of the stars.

His face was shadowed and she could not see his expression. She could feel the warmth of his body along her side and the heat of his breath on her face, her lips, her… She reached up and pulled his head down. Their lips touched lightly, then fiercely.

His kiss was heavenly.

His arm went around her back, his knee pressed between her thighs.

She groaned and kissed him back with ferocity.

On a gasp, he pulled away. ‘Do you see?’ he said hoarsely. ‘People left to their own devices do not do the right thing. ’

‘This is not the right thing?’

‘What? Of course not. A gentleman is not supposed to take advantage of a lady, no matter the circumstances.’

‘Pish posh. Are you telling me you are not enjoying this?’

‘Enjoyment does not make it right,’ he said stiffly, pulling away.

‘It doesn’t necessarily make it wrong. Do you never do anything for the pleasure of it?’

He sat up with a jerk. The boat rocked wildly.

‘Madam, were I to do what I badly want to do for the pleasure of it right now, I would be bedding you in the bottom of a very unstable craft.’

‘Then why don’t you?’

She couldn’t put it any clearer than that, could she?

‘If you think to trap me into a marriage—’

She laughed out loud. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth. I have no wish to marry anyone. But that does not mean I do not want to have the pleasure of a man in my bed from time to time.’

‘I think your family might have to say something about that.’ He sounded utterly shocked.

‘My family might try. But no one can force me or you to marry if we do not wish it. Can they?’

‘By law they cannot. But Society—’

‘Society always blames the woman in such matters. So why would you care?’

‘I am not a blackguard, madam.’

‘I think you do protest too much.’

‘I think you are far too bold to be considered a lady and certainly not proper wife material for a man in my position.’

Startled by his brusque honesty, she stared at him speechless and wide-eyed.

He grimaced. ‘Yet I find myself deeply attracted to you. I desire you more than I have ever desired any other woman. I—’ He took a deep breath. ‘I beg your pardon. That was wholly uncalled for.’

Hardly. Not after the way she had goaded him.

And his admission pleased her far more than she had expected.

‘At least you are being honest for a change. I desire you too. Unfortunately, this little boat is far too small for us to see our desires to fruition. Perhaps I should pop round to your townhouse tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Are you really so shameless?’

This was uphill work. Given his ardour a moment ago, if he was not tempted now, he never would be. He was as passionless as a potato, or a lump of coal, or a dead stick.

Perhaps she needed to look elsewhere to make a scandalous liaison.

He leaned over, nothing more than a large shadow, blotting out the moon and the stars. Then his mouth found hers and he kissed her.

Hard.

Passionately.

Feverishly.

She flung her arms around his neck and pulled him close, wanting to feel the weight of him on her body. Delving into the recesses of his mouth with her tongue.

Inviting him to do the same to her. He tasted her lips, stroked her tongue with his. Delicious.

She arched into him.

He groaned and eased his body over hers, pressing one knee between her thighs. Her skirts hampered his intent and he reached down and—

The boat bumped something and rocked madly.

He cursed and sat up.

‘What is it?’ she asked.

He chuckled ruefully. ‘We hit the bank.’

She could see now they were back beneath the trees.

She let go a sigh. Such an amazing kiss. She had never experienced anything like it.

She reached up for him.

He caught her hand in his. ‘Someone might see us.’

‘I don’t care.’ She was missing the feel of him against her body too much to give a damn. Her blood was racing hot through her veins.

‘I do,’ he murmured softly, leaning down and touching his lips briefly to hers.

‘Ugh, always caring about what others think.’ She sat up.

‘Hush. I have an idea.’

He rose and picked up the pole and pushed them off.

At first, she assumed he was heading back to the dock, but as the lamplights receded she realised they were heading downstream.

‘Where are we going?’ she whispered.

‘You will see.’

Xavier pushed hard on the pole. The little boat surged along on the current. He could not believe he was actually doing this.

How could she be so relaxed? His blood ran hot and his body hardened once more at the sight of the sensual woman sprawled on the cushions in front of him.

‘I hope you know where you are going, Your Grace,’ she said with a mischievous laugh that tugged at something inside him. Like a call to some wildness.

Recklessness struggling to be free.

‘Xavier, please, Countess,’ he said.

‘Then you may call me Barbara,’ she said softly.

‘I know exactly where I am going, Barbara.’ At least he was pretty sure he would recognise the little landing stage at the bottom of the garden of the cottage he had visited earlier.

There could not be too many places along the bank with a willow tree hanging over the water and with a to let sign nailed to it.

If he recalled correctly, there were about eight houses along the river between the cottage and the Andersons’ house.

The moon picked up a willow trailing fronds into the water. He pushed the boat towards it and was pleased to see the sign he had nailed up barely an hour or so previously .

‘Here we are.’ He tied up to the little platform.

‘Where is “here”?’ she asked, taking his hand and coming easily to her feet despite the rocking of the boat.

He helped her up onto the rather decrepit landing stage. He wished now he had organised its repair, but his previous tenant had not been interested in boating.

‘A cottage I own.’

‘Oh? Who lives here?’