Page 3 of Duke at First Sight (Love at First Sight #1)

Part III

“ I f I had a flower for every time I thought of you, I could walk through my garden forever.” ~Lord Alfred Tennyson

Her first kiss.

Her first kiss.

Her first kiss .

If Annalise were alone, she would have thrown out her arms in giddy excitement and spun in a circle until her skirts billowed around her in a curtain of violet. As it was, she made do with a quick, giddy skip and shared a conspiratorial smile with Marcus who affectionately pecked her shoe before veering off the path in search of clover.

Oh, what a dream come true! And what a kiss . Soft, passionate, gentle, consuming. It had lifted the downy hairs at her nape and made her toes curl. Her toes ! She hadn’t known they would do that. Or that her lips would still be tingling minutes after. Or that whenever she stole a glance at Derrick she couldn’t help but blush, even though he had called Constantine a name, and that wasn’t nice, but the kiss… the kiss had been better than nice. It had been everything she’d ever hoped it would be and more.

If only he liked poetry.

Still, she surmised as they wound their way along the trail in pursuit of prospective suitors, if the duke could help her find a man who kissed half as well as he did and checked off most of the wants on her list, she would consider the day a success. And if she could prove to Derrick that true love did exist, well, that would just be the icing on her favorite lemon cake.

He was far too handsome to be so cynical. Or perhaps he was cynical because he was so handsome. Regardless, she was determined to show him that the length of time you knew someone had little to do with how much they meant to you… or how much they could mean, given the right circumstances.

There did have to be a bit of luck involved, she acknowledged. If the person you were meant to love lived in another city, or - heaven forbid - another country, that could certainly put a knot in things. But there were carriages, and trains, and ships. Why, even if they lived next door, there was no guarantee that paths would cross. All things considered, it was a small miracle in and of itself that she’d met Derrick this morning. Under normal circumstances, this might have been their eleventh, twelfth, or even thirteenth meeting. How many balls had she missed? She’d given up count long ago. Because nothing about her upbringing had been normal. Wasn’t the very fact that they were walking beside each other, that he’d kissed her, proof that the type of fate poets devoted entire sonnets to really did exist?

If only he liked dancing.

“What do you think?” Crouching behind a thicket of forsythia, Derrick gestured for her to join him. “The one on the gray does not appear diseased.”

Gathering her dress to avoid trotting on the hem, Annalise joined the duke in peering through the hedgerow of tiny yellow flowers at four men on horseback. “I don’t think any of them look diseased. What do you think, Marcus?”

The smallest of the three geese honked in agreement.

“You can never be too careful,” Derrick said ominously. “Look at the one in the middle. Has smallpox all over his face.”

She squinted. “I believe those are freckles.”

“And the one on the bay mare? Gout.”

“How can you possibly-”

“Now that I’ve taken a closer look, the fellow on the gray is clearly suffering from an advanced case of syphilis.”

Annalise sighed in exasperation. “And the gentleman on the chestnut?”

“Consumption,” he said gravely. “Highly contagious. We should move on before the wind shifts.”

Before she could argue, he took her by the hand and pulled her along to a different trail. This one was narrower than the last, with thick roots snaking under the dirt from the oaks that towered above. When she stumbled, he caught her by the waist and she leaned back against his firm chest, her heart thumping wildly.

“T-thank you,” she managed.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, his voice cradling her ear in a husky whisper.

“I… I have my footing now. You can release me.”

But he kept holding her in the sun kissed shade of a grand old tree, longer than he should have and not as long as she wanted him to. How odd it was, that when she’d woken up this morning in her familiar room, filled with her familiar things, that she’d had no idea she was about to meet a very un familiar man. A stranger, by every definition of the word. But if he was so strange and unfamiliar, why did she feel so comfortable with him? Why did their sentences click together with nary an awkward lull? Why did her pulse leap when he touched her, and why did she want to stay in his arms forever, even though he abhorred poetry, dancing, and horses?

He was helping her to find a husband!

Not offering himself up in the role.

A tiny fact she needed to remind herself of even as a part of her wanted to sink deeper into his embrace.

“We should keep going,” she said, reluctantly stepping out of his arms and turning to regard him with a smile that wobbled, just a little, at the edges. “My chaperone will be upon us at any moment, and she won’t be pleased with me for wandering off.”

Derrick raised a dark brow. “Not much of a chaperone if she’s let you escape into the company of a disreputable duke.”

“Are you?” she asked with some surprise. “Disreputable, that is.”

“I kissed you, didn’t I?”

“You also kept me from falling.”

“I’d like to roast Constantine for supper.”

“You fed him corn.”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to insult me?”

“Are you trying to insult yourself?” she countered. “I know we’ve only just met, but you seem like a very kind man to me.”

“Take that back. I’m debaucherous.”

“Delightful.”

“Devilish.”

“Debonair.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Would a delightful, debonair duke do this ?”

Their second kiss wasn’t at all like the first. That had been slow and soothing, a ripple moving through a pond on a hot summer’s day. This was an ocean wave crashing upon the shore. Turbulent, shocking, and utterly enthralling.

His fingers diving into her hair, Derrick dragged her under the frothy surf while his tongue plundered between her lips. Stunned by the sheer heat, she threw her arms around his neck, desperately seeking balance even as her entire world tipped precariously on its axis.

With a low growl, he ravished her as all reprehensible knights ravished the innocent maiden trapped in the tower; wildly, wantonly, wickedly . Establishing once and for all that he was no Prince Charming, but rather the fiendish villain that the good prince slayed before he claimed the maiden for himself.

When the kiss stopped as abruptly as it had begun, Annalise pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and stared at Derrick wide-eyed, her thoughts a wild jumble and her body a muddled pool of mysterious want. The feelings he invoked inside of her… feelings of lust, passion, and longing… she’d never felt yearnings like those before. She’d never even read about them. For no poetry, no play, no written word could ever capture what it was like to be desired by Derrick Blake, Duke of Tennyson.

“I take it back,” she murmured, slowly lowering her arm. “You are devilish.”

“Told you,” he said, but for some reason he didn’t appear pleased to have proven her wrong. “If your chaperone were here, she would tell you to stay far away from the likes of me.”

She swallowed. “And if I didn’t want to listen to her?”

His dark brows drew sharply together. “Then I would tell you to stay far away.”

“ You offered to help me ,” she reminded him as the red in her cheeks gradually faded to a rosy pink. “But you’ve found something wrong with every man we’ve come across.”

“Because none of them are good enough for you,” he said flatly. “And neither am I. This is where we part ways, Lady Annalise. I wish you the best in your search. I would say it has been a pleasure, but your goose bit me, so I will say that it has been… a memorable experience.”

Astonished by the sudden ending of what had been starting to feel like an improbable beginning, she could only watch in disappointed silence as he walked away.

***

It was official, Derrick vowed to himself grimly as he resisted the very palpable urge to turn around and march right back to Annalise. He was never - ever - getting out of bed before noon again.

Had he remained under the blankets where he belonged, he wouldn’t have gone to Hyde Park. Had he not gone to Hyde Park, he wouldn’t have been attacked by geese. Had he not been attacked by geese, he wouldn’t have followed them to an enchantingly beautiful blue-eyed fairy. Had he not followed them to an enchantingly beautiful blue-eyed fairy, he never would have kissed that fairy. And had he never kissed that fairy, he wouldn’t have fallen-

No.

No .

He wasn’t going to say the words. He wasn’t even going to think them. Because he was the Debaucherous Duke. And if anyone knew anything about debaucherous dukes, it was that they did not fall in love at first sight, or last sight, or any sight. Because love was hogwash. Utter nonsense. Complete claptrap.

So he was going back to bed, putting a pillow over his head to drown out the damned sunlight, and sleeping until Annalise and her trio of murderous feathered fiends were nothing but a distant dream.

“Back so soon, Your Grace?” Grieves had the bloody nerve to ask him the moment he entered the front foyer. “How was your walk? Do you find your spirits restored?”

“No, I do not find them restored,” he snapped as he yanked off his waistcoat and threw it at Grieves who caught the garment without blinking. “Truth be told, I think my spirits are worse than when I woke up. Tell me, Grieves. Have you ever been bitten by a goose?”

“I cannot say that I have, Your Grace.”

“Well I have,” he said, bristling. “And I do not recommend it.”

“I don’t imagine anyone would, Your Grace.”

“Do you know what else I don’t recommend?” Stomping over to the stairs, he sat on the third step and scowled at his valet. “Helping young, naive ladies find a husband.”

Grieves’s stoic expression wavered ever-so-slightly. “Is that what you did today, Your Grace?”

“You should have heard her list of requirements,” he went on, both ignoring the valet’s question and answering it all at the same time. “Her husband must be able to recite poetry. Poetry, Grieves!”

“A noble pastime, Your Grace.”

“Bah.” He waved his hand in the air. “She also wants a man that enjoys dancing. Ridiculous. Show me a man that likes to parade around like a trussed up flamingo and I’ll show you one that can walk on water. As if that’s not bad enough, the poor chap has to like horses!”

“You like horses, Your Grace.”

“Betting on them, maybe. But you know what that pony did to me,” he said darkly. “You know .”

“It was quite a pugnacious animal,” Grieves agreed. “I take it you did not find what this young lady was looking for?”

Derrick stood and began to pace. “Of course we didn’t. Because such a perfect, virtuous man does not exist . And if he does, he’s probably already married. And if he’s already married, then he’s probably miserable because he spends his spare time reading poetry on the back of a horse after staying up late the night before dancing!”

“If I may be so bold, Your Grace, this young lady seems to have made quite the impression on you.”

Without warning, Derrick’s ears filled with the sound of Annalise’s musical laughter and his mouth flooded with the taste of peaches. You can call me Annalise, if you’d like… I am looking forward to proving you wrong.

Devil take it, he needed her out of his head.

How was he supposed to enjoy a proper evening filled with degenerate and lascivious activities if every time he turned around, he smelled her perfume? Or he pictured the sunlight glinting her hair? Or he saw the fetching twinkle in her eyes?

This wouldn’t do.

This wouldn’t do at all.

Scowling at Grieves, he abruptly yanked his tailcoat back and shoved his arms into the sleeves. “I have return to the park. I forgot something.”

“Would you like for me to fetch it for you, Your Grace?” asked the valet politely.

“What I need you cannot get me, Grieves. Unless you’re able to claim a last word on my behalf.”

“I would never presume to be able to do that, Your Grace.”

“Poetry,” Derrick muttered under his breath as he stalked to the front door and threw it open. “I’ll show her poetry.”

Except when he returned to where he’d left her, she wasn’t there. Nor was she by the bridge. Or the pond. Or a little wooden bench that was just the right size to draw her onto his lap and-

Dear God.

What was wrong with him?

Dragging his hands across his face, he began to calculate the distance to the nearest gentleman’s club. Then, out of the pristine blue sky, he heard it. The distant, but unmistakable, sound of a honk.

“Constantine, you bastard.” He spun in a circle, narrowed eyes searching the manicured bridle paths and walking trails for signs of his arch-nemesis. He saw young children being shepherded by weary looking governesses. Two dowagers yielding canes out for a very slow stroll. A buggy carrying a man and a woman that couldn’t look away from each other. But to his utmost annoyance, there was no sign of a goose. “Where the hell are you?”