Page 12 of Duke of Eccess (Seven Dukes of Sin #4)

Temperance burst into the duke’s study, her chest heaving. She’d searched what felt like every room in his sprawling townhouse and had lost sight of both his grace and James several minutes ago. Here, finally, she found one of them…but not the one she’d hoped.

Her whole body was tingling as though cut in multiple places with small blades from the several shocks she’d experienced in the drawing room.

The first shock came from realizing she had already met Archibald, the Duke of Enveigh.

They’d been introduced at Almack’s and later shared a country dance at the Duchess of Ashton’s ball.

He’d been one of the few gentlemen who’d shown genuine interest in her discussions of natural philosophy rather than dismissing them as unseemly.

Fortunately he hadn’t mentioned either the dancing or her interest in the sciences, so she would just have to hope he neither remembered nor recognized her.

The second shock was James aiming a charged pistol at herself and then at Sophie.

Ice had flooded her veins as every muscle in her body went rigid, her breath catching somewhere between her throat and lungs.

The sensations she’d known all too well from the feel of Bartholomew’s fingers painfully digging into her wrist.

The third shock came from the Duke of Eccess’s angry explosion.

For the past week she’d watched him struggle to find his equilibrium, the humor he’d been full of on the night they’d met.

Her first impression of him had been witty, brooding, and composed; her understanding of him as the children’s governess was bitter, distant, and aloof.

But this was something far beyond his recent melancholy.

Perhaps she’d been right…he’d been running away from ghosts… Had they finally caught up with him?

And yet Temperance could not deny that James had been her responsibility. The duke had given her the test to see if the children could behave in polite company today and James clearly couldn’t. She’d been running after them both in a desperate attempt to repair what she’d broken.

And what she saw in the study made her heart sink further.

The Duke of Eccess was rummaging in one of the drawers of his desk and then removed a bottle of what looked like cognac and found a cork opener.

Rather than face whatever tormented him, he was choosing the familiar escape of drink—and after she’d spent a week with the children, she knew how they worshiped him and emulated him, James especially.

“Your Grace, I thought you had stopped drinking,” she said, and his head shot to her, his face flushing with the guilt of discovery.

As she marched across the room towards him, the man before her began to retreat like a chastened child. He stepped backwards until the wall blocked his escape, and still she advanced, her arm stretching out for the bottle.

“Give it to me,” she said.

The duke glared. “Miss Fields, you’re forgetting yourself. I am your employer and you work for me.”

And there he was, one step away from her. As Temperance grabbed for the bottle, her hand closed around empty air. He rushed in the opposite direction and she ran after him.

They circled the study like children. Her long, heavy skirts tangled around her ankles, hampering her steps. Despite his height and size, he was fast, with a kind of animalistic grace just like when she’d seen him ride his chestnut horse.

But as Temperance rounded the desk, his leg caught and he stumbled—and that was all she needed. She grasped the cold glass neck of the bottle, shocked at her own success against someone as strong and fast as him, wrenching it from his hands.

“Give it back, Miss Fields,” her employer growled.

Clutching the bottle to her chest, she spun on her heel and fled, her skirts swishing as she darted between furniture, dodging chairs and side tables.

His heavy steps behind her, she could almost feel the heat of his body. Her heart was ramming against her rib cage, and a hand grasped her by the elbow and whirled her around.

Temperance hastily hid the bottle behind her back.

The Duke of Eccess was like a mountain over her, as breathtaking and as intimidating.

He walked her backwards until she felt a bookshelf press against her back.

He loomed over her, at least one head taller, like a predator finally upon his prey.

His eyes were wild, shimmering from brown to almost black, intense, glimmering with the hunger and need she had already observed within him.

Despite having her cornered, Octavius kept his hands at his sides, making no move towards the bottle Temperance clutched behind her back, though his long arms could have easily snatched it from her grasp with a single motion.

Instead, there he was, completely disarming her with that sense of safety and security she had felt in his arms the dark night when they’d first met.

Temperance tried not to think, but that meant feeling, and she most certainly shouldn’t be doing that.

He leaned closer and she inhaled the wonderful masculine musky smell of him: leather and sandalwood and vanilla.

Closer and closer his lips approached, and she remembered the decadent, luxurious feel of them pressed against hers.

Air disappeared from her lungs, her whole being concentrated on her lips.

But she couldn’t give in to those desires, not again. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t allow him to cross that line.

As his mouth was drawing closer, behind Temperance’s back both of her hands were working the cork out of the bottle. Just before his lips touched hers, she uncorked the bottle, turned it over, and poured it straight on the floor.

The room filled with the splashing of the liquid against the carpet and the sharp scent of expensive cognac.

The Duke of Eccess growled as he tried to get the bottle from her, to save the last drops of cognac, but it was all gone.

Only then did he step back, his face transforming into the mask of desperate rage.

“Do you know how precious that was?” he raged. “I had to smuggle that from France through several completely unreliable parties, risking my reputation, and you pour it on the floor like slop?”

“Your ward just pointed a loaded weapon at Sophie,” snarled Temperance in return, her hands shaking, “because he’s learned from you that when things get difficult, we act without thinking of who might get hurt.

You race through streets with fireworks, he waves pistols around children—he’s becoming you, Your Grace! ”

She expected him to argue but he fell silent, then hung his head and nodded. “I know.”

His sudden submission, the complete lack of fight was somehow more disarming than any confrontation.

The Duke of Eccess shook his head, and as he raised his eyes, they seemed haunted. “It’s just—it’s this damned season, Christmas—it’s—I can’t…”

She frowned. He despised Christmas ? Why? What had happened to him? “You can’t what?”

The Duke of Eccess took a long, slow breath.

“You’re right, Miss Fields. I have to stay sober.

It’s my fault James is misbehaving. He’s lost his parents, and instead of giving him the steady guardian he needs, I…

I’ve been disappearing into drink whenever things get difficult.

Damn it, he’s desperate for someone reliable. ”

Temperance couldn’t say a word for a moment. She’d expected him to deny everything, to keep hiding and avoiding reality. But he demonstrated a remarkable awareness of his shortcomings, which had respect for him warming her chest.

“You’ve transformed the children already,” he continued. “You just wrenched a bottle of cognac from my very hands. Even my best friends wouldn’t dare… Help me, Miss Fields. Keep me away from alcohol. I thought I was strong enough to resist, but I underestimated Christmas.”

He was still towering over her, handsome and intimidating, and it was completely surreal to know that this powerful man was asking for her help, admitting his weakness, his vulnerability. Temperance knew she was holding a precious treasure in her hands.

Could she do it? Could she make that promise?

What did she know about healing broken men?

She was the Mad Heiress, running from an asylum, lying about everything including her very identity, grieving her father and the life she had thought she would have.

How could someone so damaged possibly help repair someone else?

But the Duke of Eccess’s pain called to something deep inside her that she couldn’t ignore.

“I’ll help you,” Temperance whispered.

Relief, gratitude, and a glint of a raw need all mixed in his gaze.

“Miss Fields,” the Duke of Eccess breathed, his voice rough with barely restrained hunger. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Before Temperance could respond, before she could even think, his hands had seized her face and his mouth crashed down on hers. This wasn’t the daring kiss from that first night. This was pure, unleashed desire.

The force of it drove Temperance against the shelf, books tumbling to the floor as his body pressed against hers.

His kiss was demanding, consuming. She gasped against his mouth, parting her lips to him, unable to resist the hot urgency shooting through her.

She intended to push him away but instead found herself fisting his lapels, pulling him closer as she opened to him completely.

He tasted like raw need and it made her head spin.

“Heaven,” he groaned against her lips, “I shouldn’t?—”

But the Duke of Eccess didn’t stop. His hands slid down to span her waist, fingers digging into the fabric of her gown as he lifted her slightly, pressing her more firmly against the bookshelf.

The solid weight of his body trapped her there, and she could feel every hard plane of his chest, the fast and strong drum of his heartbeat.

And she liked it.

When his mouth moved to her throat, Temperance arched helplessly, a sound escaping her lips she’d never made before. He was devouring her, his lips and teeth working at the sensitive skin below her ear while his hands roamed her back with barely leashed restraint.

“Delicious,” he whispered roughly against her neck, his breath hot and uneven. “Every day, watching you… I’m ravenous…”

Her trembling hands moved to his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing through his velvet waistcoat. She wanted to touch him, needed to feel more of him, but she was drowning in sensation, overwhelmed by the fierce urgency of his desire.

The duke’s mouth found hers again, the kiss broader, deeper, hungrier than before. One hand tangled in her hair, disturbing her tight chignon, while the other pressed against the small of her back, molding her against him.

“You must stop me,” he growled against her lips.

But Temperance couldn’t find the words, couldn’t think past the fire her blood had become. When she didn’t push him away, when instead surrender felt so good, so right?—

A knock sounded at the door.

They sprang apart as though burned, both breathing hard. Temperance’s hands flew to her hair, trying to repair her mussed coiffure, while Octavius stepped protectively in front of her, his shoulders rigid with tension.

The door opened and the Duke of Enveigh craned his neck to the side to see around the Duke of Eccess. His gaze darted back and forth between them, his brow furrowing as the corners of his mouth tightened with evident concern…and something darker. Something that looked almost like…jealousy?

“We found James,” he said. “Your ward is safe.”

Eccess’s shoulders slumped forward, as if a weight had lifted from him. Temperance’s own breathing was slowly returning to normal, though her lips still tingled and her body hummed.

Her employer gave her a look so intense it made her knees weak, a promise of unfinished business that sent heat flooding through her all over again. She averted her gaze, her mouth dry.

Regret already prickled at her stomach. She had been reckless. She should have stopped him.

No matter. She had only three more weeks to keep on hiding. She’d been safe here so far… Even the Duke of Enveigh did not recognize her. All she needed to do was remain careful and not give in to the pure temptation that the duke represented.

Though after what had just passed between them, Temperance wasn’t certain vigilance would be enough.