Page 24 of Never Beguile a Duke (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #30)
“One of those is seeing to my guests’ needs.” He tilted his head. “And you are a guest.”
“What need have I?” she asked.
Blood filled his mouth when he bit his tongue to keep the inappropriate comment from slipping out.
After a long pause, he said, “You have a need for information.”
“Which you’ve refused to reveal to me,” she snapped.
Before she twisted away, he grabbed her elbow. “I cannot rid our kiss from my mind. It plagues me at every moment.”
Her mouth popped open. “It was not my intention to cause you suffering.”
“Do you not suffer as well?” The words hung between them, frozen, like his heart, which stopped mid-beat waiting for her response.
“I do.”
He exhaled the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Would you be amenable to a second kiss?”
Her lower lip trapped between her teeth, she glanced to her left and right, verifying their solitude, then nodded.
Silas leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. The moment their lips touched, a delightful shiver rolled through his body, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pinning her between the table and his growing manhood.
A soft sigh escaped as her lips parted, and she curled into his embrace. Her hands glided up his back, coaxing flames into his skin through the greatcoat’s thick material.
His tongue dipped into her mouth, sliding along hers, and she moaned. Deepening the kiss, he drew the delicious sound from her again. His mind filled with erotic images of Miss Fernsby-Webb moving in rhythm beneath him, her eyes half-closed and her body shuddering as she screamed his name.
Feminine voices drifted up the staircase, and Silas jerked back, his eyes rounding. He grabbed Miss Fernsby-Webb’s arm and yanked her across the corridor and into his chamber, slamming the door shut as the Sutton sisters and Miss Wilmington reached the second-floor landing.
Pressing his ear against the door, he waited, confirming that none of the ladies had witnessed his reckless indiscretion, then spun around, finding Miss Fernsby-Webb hovering directly behind him.
“Are you ashamed to be seen with me, Your Grace?” she asked, clasping her hands together in front of her waist.
“I was protecting you!” He yanked off his greatcoat and flung the outerwear over the back of a chair. “Did you wish to be discovered in such a position by the Misses Sutton? The whole of Wiltshire would know by the morning.”
Miss Fernsby-Webb’s lips twitched. “Your Grace, I am no stranger to scandal, having been the subject of it for quite some time.”
“I’ve heard nothing attached to your name,” he replied as she rotated in a small circle, her gaze sliding over the elegant furniture adorning his bedchamber and stopping on the blazing fireplace.
“That is a lie, Your Grace.” She glanced over, her mouth crooking into a half-smile. “I appreciate your attempt at civility. However, I caution you to heed my warning. People whisper unkind things about me.”
“They talk about me, too,” he said, taking a step forward.
“Not in the same respect.” Moving out of reach, she headed toward the fireplace. “You are a duke and therefore given more flexibility in your behavior.”
“That is where you’re incorrect, Miss Fernsby-Webb.” He gestured toward a guitar, hidden in the corner of the room. “Do you know why I’m such a skilled musician?”
Her eyes slid to the guitar. “You enjoy playing?”
“Well, yes. However, that isn’t the true cause.” He strode across the floor and knelt, running his thumb across the strings. “What negative comment can be made about a man with an instrument?”
She glided closer. “You used music to avoid scandal?”
He nodded and sank onto the floor, setting the guitar on his lap. “And it worked… up ‘til now.”
“Ah. You’re thinking of Miss Juliette.” Miss Fernsby-Webb inspected the floor, then shrugged, pulled up her skirt an inch, and sat beside him.
“There’s no possible method to prevent Juliette from suffering from the scandal attached to her.” He strummed a chord, winced at the discordant sound, and tightened a string. “How have you dealt with the whispers?”
“Quite poorly, if I’m being honest,” Miss Fernsby-Webb replied, shifting her position and stretching out her legs. “Do you truly not know the disgrace I’ve brought to my family?”
“You were arrested for a crime you didn’t commit.” He played the chord again. “That shouldn’t be held against you.”
“Shouldn’t,” she repeated, her voice catching, “but is. I’ve been excluded from several events since my release.”
The irrational desire to strike someone zipped through his body, and his hand clenched around the neck of the guitar. “What was your sister’s reaction to these slights?”
“She and the Duke of Roxburghe shun the affair.” A tiny grin broke out on Miss Fernsby-Webb’s face. “And the society paper reported the snub the next day.”
“I’ve seen a few of those,” he replied, his fingers coaxing a melancholy tune from the guitar. “I didn’t realize their actions were motivated by revenge. I assumed Roxburghe’s preference for avoiding social functions had infected Miss Webb.”
“There is another scandal of which you should be informed.” She paused and, winding her fingers together and staring down at her lap, she blurted out, “I did have relations with Mr. Hollingsworth.”
He stopped playing. “Your fiancé?”
“My previous fiancé.”
“Then, there is something I must tell you as well.” He waited until she lifted her head. “I had relations with Juliette’s mother.”
She burst out laughing. “I assumed you had.”
“And I assumed you had as well.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks exploded into bright red.
“It doesn’t concern me that you’ve had experience with…”
“One man.”
“One man.” He strummed another chord. “You didn’t kiss anyone else aside from Mr. Hollingsworth?”
“Only you, Your Grace.”
And somehow, I’m going to ensure she never kisses another man again. Even if it costs me ten thousand pounds.
“Remind me to strike Roxburghe when I see him again,” Silas said, returning the guitar to its stand.
“Why would you punch Nora’s fiancé?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“Because he knew my mind before I did, and I find that infuriating.” Silas climbed to his feet and held out his hand to Miss Fernsby-Webb. “Have you more scandals to share?”
“Are those two not enough to deter your interest?”
“Apparently not.” He grinned, lifted her hand, and touched his mouth to her fingers.
Her skin warming beneath his lips, a visible shudder rippled through Miss Fernsby-Webb. “You realize that if Nora catches us together, she’ll insist upon a proposal.”
“I’m quite certain Roxburghe will demand the same.” Silas lowered Miss Fernsby-Webb’s arm but did not release his hold on her. “As will your mother.”
“And with all those obstacles, you’re still willing to risk your freedom on a few stolen moments in my company.” She withdrew her hand. “Surely, you have other options to amuse yourself.”
“None that I wish to pursue.”
The deep red blush that he’d longed to see again exploded across her face. “I’ve done nothing to earn your attention, Your Grace.”
“Maddening, isn’t it?” He reached for her, winding his arms around her waist and drawing her close.
Bending his head, he leaned down, craving the sweet taste of her lips, and paused, his mouth hovering millimeters above hers. “There’s something else I must share with you before I become distracted.”
She frowned and attempted to pull backward, but he held her in place.
“You were correct in your assumption that I hadn’t shared the full truth about our investigation at your mother’s residence.
” He tightened his grip on her as though the action itself would protect Miss Fernsby-Webb from the unknown threat facing her family.
“The evidence shows that the attack upon your mother was worse than she described.”
He paused, struggling to find words that wouldn’t alarm her and failing.
“The reason I requested more information about Mr. Curtis is that Roxburghe and I think he will strike again. A man desperate enough to assault an older woman won’t hesitate to harm her daughters as well.”
Miss Fernsby-Webb paled. “Do you think he will come here?”
“We don’t know,” he replied, wishing he could provide some type of comfort. “The only description we have of him is black hair and black eyes.”
“Black eyes…” Miss Fernsby-Webb murmured, her gaze shifting to the shared wall between his chamber and Juliette’s, then she gasped. “I know who Mr. Curtis is!”
Silas’ chest constricted. “You’ve met him?”
“Worse,” she replied with a grimace. “Your daughter has.”