Page 13 of Tantalizing the Duke
“Or keep you for himself,” Verity suggested, not missing the telling look that passed between Dainsfield and Milly as he orchestrated her pairing with Parham for the card game.
With Parham as her partner, Milly found herself once again the focus of his growing interest. He was attentive to the point of excess, touching her hand when there was no need, leaning close to whisper a clever observation or well-timed compliment. Milly responded with practiced flirtation, her laughter bright and inviting, though her thoughts betrayed her. She could not shake the awareness of Dainsfield’s presence, the way he watched her with a mixture of longing and frustration, the air around him charged with tension.
The games went on, and Parham’s attentiveness became increasingly bold. He played the part of the enamored suitor with admirable conviction, but there was something too artful in his manner, too knowing in his smiles. Milly matched his play, careful not to show her hand, but the knowledge of what Dainsfield wanted—needed—cut through her performance with a keen edge.
Finally, the evening drew to a close, and Milly’s bewilderment only grew as Parham took her hand with practiced grace, asking permission to call on her the next day. She heard herself agree, the words a distant echo in her racing thoughts. As Parham spoke, she caught Dainsfield watching, his expression taut with unspoken emotion, a shadow of longing darkening his features.
The guests began to depart. Dainsfield saw them out, the model of reserved courtesy, though Milly saw the way he avoided her gaze, how he seemed a man wrestling with desires at odds with his duty.
Milly left the town house with more questions than answers, uncertain of everything but the undeniable tension between them.
In the dim stillness of her bedchamber later, Milly’s maid helped her out of the pale blue gown that had transformed her into a creature of scandal and allure, leaving her breathless in its absence. She dismissed the maid with a nod and sat at her vanity, the brush gliding through her hair with a rhythm that matched the racing thoughts in her mind. Dainsfield’s presence loomed larger than the room she’d just left, eclipsing Parham’s attentions with the shadow of unfulfilled promises and an insatiable desire that refused to be ignored. Was it love he lacked, or the courage to admit it?
Milly felt the full weight of the night settle over her like the train of the elegant gown she no longer wore. Her body hummed with the residue of unspent desire, a pulse beneath her skin that matched the persistent beat of Dainsfield’s image in her mind.
Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, eyes bright with emotion she could scarcely name. How could a man who watched her with such intensity, who followed her every move with the relentless attention of a hunter to its prey, then distance himself with the formality of a stranger? Milly’s thoughts were tangled as she drew the brush through her hair, each stroke smoothing the chaos but not the confusion inside her.
Dainsfield’s glances across the dinner table had spoken of possession and longing, a simmering desire barely contained beneath the veneer of ducal propriety. Yet he seemed equally intent on presenting her to Lord Parham, as if determined to thrust her into another’s arms even while yearning to keep her in his own. The contradiction left her reeling, torn between the thrill of being wanted and the ache of not being enough.
Was it only her body that he craved, as society would cruelly suggest, or was there something deeper that he could not—or would not—admit? She thought of Parham, with his gentle smiles and careful attentions, a man who could offer her stability and acceptance in the eyes of the world. But it was Dainsfield’s passion she remembered, Dainsfield’s touch that haunted her waking dreams and drove her to the brink of distraction.
She recalled their night together with startling clarity. The way he’d kissed her, his mouth exploring hers with an urgency that left her breathless. His hands had been everywhere, caressing, commanding, awakening sensations she’d never known she was capable of. And the way he’d whispered her name—like a prayer and a promise as he entered her, as if she were the answer to a longing he couldn’t articulate.
Even in this private, stolen moment, he possessed her completely. Her heart clenched with the realization, a bittersweet twist of emotion that was both exhilarating and devastating. Was it love, or was she as deluded as society believed her to be? Could a man of his standing ever offer her more than a passing fancy, or was she a fool to hope for anything beyond desire?
She lay awake long into the night, the darkness a mirror to the uncertainty that enveloped her. Dainsfield may have allowed her to share his bed, but the evening’s events left her with the painful certainty that he did not, perhaps could not, share his heart.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As he did most evenings, Dainsfield scanned the list of members who reserved a private room for the evening. He trusted his staff to ensure the rules were followed in who was allowed a room, but he never wanted to be surprised if a problem arose. Midway down the short list, he saw a name that surprised him. Parham.
There was no reason the man shouldn’t be at the club on any given night. Dainsfield hadn’t heard of any arrangement being made between Milly and the earl regarding a marriage. Nor had Milly said anything about the couple deciding they didn’t suit.
For that matter, Milly might not object to Parham continuing to spend time in these rooms after they married.
Milly might even join him there.
Dainsfield rose with unusual haste, finding his steady hand faltering as he reached for his door latch. This uneasiness followed him through the dimly lit corridors of the servant areas and staircases. As he neared Parham’s assigned room, he took a moment to collect himself, then looked through the small spy window, half dreading, half hoping. He observed Parham with a naked woman spread across his lap, her blonde cunny on open display.
Dainsfield’s relief was instantaneous, flooding him with an unbidden warmth that dissipated his distress as the woman’s nether hair proclaimed her distinctly to not be Milly. His muscles, so taut with anxiety, relaxed with a strange and unfamiliar warmth. The woman in the room, though unabashed in her exposure, was not the one Dainsfield feared seeing, and this realization left him unsteady.
Parham might be as free with his appetites as Dainsfield suspected, but he had not yet involved Milly in such promiscuity. Dainsfield’s relief made him stagger back from the door with the awkwardness of a man unused to feeling it. He gathered himself, resettling the folds of his waistcoat and the perfect alignment of his cravat. He’d been absurd, he decided, to allow this unease to dictate his actions. It would not happen again.
And yet, as he walked away from the room, a small voice within him refused to be silenced. Had he assumed Milly’s attendance as an excuse to see her? Was he so weak, so inattentive to his own inclinations, that he could no longer trust himself?
Dainsfield needed to see her. He had no valid reason for doing so, but he could list a dozen or more foolish ones. He didn’t care. Her name wasn’t on the list like Parham’s was, but he didn’t think she’d ever reserved a room before. She usually found a willing playmate downstairs and shared his room. Of course, she didn’t spend every evening here at Sutcliffe’s, so she might not be here tonight.
That logic didn’t stop him from going downstairs.
He found her within fifteen minutes of entering the large gaming room. The roulette table seemed less the center of Milly’s attention than she was the center of its players’. Dainsfield felt a perverse awe at how effortlessly she gathered the eyes, the affections, the unguarded selves of the men around her. The swell of her breasts and the wayward charm of her laughter proclaimed her refusal to play by rules even more elemental than those of propriety.
Her low-cut gown left Dainsfield in little doubt of the territory she wished to explore. She placed a careless bet and then, rather than watching her number, leaned toward the nearest man as if he were her prize. The duke’s chest tightened, exasperation battling with an unexpected pride at the force of her nature.
Dainsfield watched how Milly let her hand drift toward the arm of another handsome gentleman, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She laughed again, and the gentleman’s attention fastened to her with the eagerness of a moth circling a flame. It was a boldness that only she could provoke, and the heat of Dainsfield’s frustration burned hotter than any spurned lover’s.
He noted how the man leaned toward her, captivated, and felt a perverse compulsion to measure how far she would go in this audacious experiment. That the man was Parham’s height, with hair as thick and brown as the earl’s own, did nothing to settle the turbulent mixture of emotions surging through Dainsfield. Didn’t she know how precarious her situation was? Each sweep of her long lashes seemed a provocation, each brush of her fingers an invitation that could so easily spiral into scandal. How was he to find her a husband when she behaved this way?
He began to make his way toward her, the weight of his determination guiding his steps. Patrons glanced his way, aware of his presence, but he barely registered their acknowledgement.