Page 13 of The Duke I Wished For (A Maypole in Mayfair #5)

B lake stalked toward Daffodil and the fool who held her arm, determined to tear him from limb to limb. Slowly.

How dare that man touch her? Daffodil cowered, her shoulders hunched in fear as Mr. Benson loomed over her. There was no mistaking the situation. He’d watched as Daffodil had attempted to escape, her face pinched with fear as Mr. Benson drew her ever closer.

Blake recognized him from that first night he had met Daffodil. He’d never asked if there was a formal arrangement between Mr. Benson and the woman he wished to make his wife. Another oversight on his part, one he intended to correct, immediately.

Surely, if given a choice, Daffodil would choose him over this cad? For the briefest moment, he wondered if he was mistaken. If she didn’t feel the way he did, then perhaps he wasn’t a good option for her either.

But that was for her to decide. Either way, he’d make certain that Mr. Benson learned some manners.

The man finally let Daffodil’s elbow go, turning to face Blake. “You are interrupting a conversation between a man and his fiancée.”

Blake could give the man credit on one account. His shoulders were square and his chin high, as though he believed himself to be in the right. Was he? Blake’s feet slowed the slightest bit as his gaze narrowed. “Fiancée?”

“It’s not true, Your Grace,” Daffodil cried from next to Mr. Benson. “We are not engaged.”

Pride swelled in his chest. She’d spoken up for herself, despite the sharp look Mr. Benson cut in her direction. The other man reached for her arm once again, and Daffodil’s cry was sharp with pain even as Blake closed the distance between himself and the odious Mr. Benson.

He shot out a hand as well but it was not to Mr. Benson’s arm. Instead, his fingers closed about the other man’s neck, his fingers efficiently cutting off the man’s air supply as he leaned in very close. “Take your hand from the lady.”

Mr. Benson did not do as Blake commanded and, instead, wrapped the hand not holding Daffodil around Blake’s wrist. They looked like a ridiculous chain in some lawn game he barely remembered. But he wasn’t letting go until Mr. Benson ceased touching Daffodil.

“I don’t care what your position in society is, Your Grace,” the man pushed out between little puffs of air. “Daffodil was already promised to me.”

Blake tightened his grip and then, leaning in close, he spit his next words through gritted teeth. “Let go of her this instant.”

Mr. Benson did as he bid, and Daffodil stumbled to the side, catching herself as her wide, frightened eyes met his over Mr. Benson’s shoulder.

Blake eased his grip on the man’s throat. “Now, we’re going to have a discussion on how a man should properly treat a genteel lady.”

The other man’s lip curled. “I do not need an education on manners from the man attempting to steal my fiancée.”

“Again, Mr. Benson. There is no formal arrangement between us,” Daffodil said, her voice filling with resolve even as her eyes hardened. His own chest puffed with pride. He liked that Daffodil was so kind and giving, but he also enjoyed watching her stand up for herself.

“But your mother?—”

“Spoke out of turn,” Daffodil cut him off. “You ought to know that any final decisions about who acquires my hand lies with my father.”

Blake winced as he loosened his fingers further, letting Mr. Blake go. He wasn’t exactly using proper methods either, but in his defense, he wished to express his feelings toward Daffodil directly to her first.

Someone needed to give her a choice in the matter. And if it wasn’t her parents, it would be him.

Mr. Benson raised his hands, pushing at Blake’s chest.

Which was almost laughable. Blake must have outweighed the man by two stone, most of that weight muscle.

Mr. Benson attempted to push him again, and Blake stood taller, his chest expanding as he glared at the man. “Push me again, and you’re going to regret it.”

“You’re going to regret attempting to take my?—”

Blake gave the man a good hard shove, watching as he careened backward, landing on the floor with a satisfying thump.

Daffodil let out a cry and he closed the distance between them, blocking Mr. Benson from her view. “I’m sorry, Daffodil, if I’ve upset you with that display.”

“No. It’s fine…” She touched his shoulder. “I…thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, not certain what she was thanking him for. “But before I do any more, I must ask, is Mr. Benson’s attention wanted? By you, that is?” Much as he knew she’d not been pleased by Mr. Benson’s advances, it was important that she say her wishes, express her feelings.

“No.” Her voice rang with a certainty that filled him with pride and resolve. Giving Mr. Benson a smile that surely looked more like a predator baring its teeth, he took two steps toward the man and hauled him up by his collar and cravat.

Giving him a good hard shake, he heard Mr. Benson’s teeth snap together before he stopped shaking him and pulled him close.

“I am going to speak to Lady Daffodil’s father momentarily, and I will tell him about your inappropriate advances toward his daughter.

You will get no audience with the earl after I’m done.

What’s more, Mr. Benson, if I ever see you touch the lady again, you’ll meet the end of my pistol at dawn.

And I am a marksman of the first order. Do I make myself clear, sir? ”

He watched the color drain from the man’s face.

Blake still held Mr. Benson’s cravat, and he used the cloth to drag the man several feet down the dark, empty hall before giving him another hard push back toward the ball.

“Good evening and good riddance,” he barked before turning back to Daffodil, her eyes once again wide as she stared back at him.

“Blake?” Her voice wobbled as her hand fluttered up toward her face. He slowed his pace and relaxed his shoulders. Was he frightening her? That wasn’t his intent. If anything, he wished to make her feel safe knowing that he’d never allow a man like that to hurt her.

“It’s all right,” he said, forcing his voice into a smoother, more even tenor. “You’re safe.”

That garnered him the most beautiful smile. It was warm and sparkly, brightening her eyes even in the dim light. “Oh, I know I’m safe.”

Something deeply masculine filled his chest. What man didn’t wish for the right woman to see him as her protector?

She leaned against the wall still, her back pressed to the mahogany paneling, and he found himself reaching up a hand to rest on the wood just by her head, blocking her from the view of the hall, creating a cocoon about her. “I’d never let anyone hurt you.”

Her breath fanned out, tickling his cheeks as she tilted her chin up toward him, so open and inviting, he found himself leaning closer, his arm bending and his head dropping so that their faces were only inches apart. “You’re very strong.”

Those words only seemed to wrap about him, creating even more of a web of intimacy and fierce male need to keep her safe.

Without thought, he reached his other hand up, and cupping her jaw, he let the velvet skin of her cheek slide under his fingers.

“That’s the least I would do to provide for you, Daff. ”

Her eyes grew wide again. “Really?”

“Protecting you, just like I protect…” He’d been going to say Clarissa, but he didn’t want her to think that he saw her like a child.

He didn’t. In fact, his feelings for her were the furthest thing from that.

“I would go to a great many lengths to see you safe and happy, Daffodil. I wouldn’t have asked you to be my wife if I wasn’t prepared for such tasks. ”

Her sigh caught him unawares. It sounded…dreamy.

The contented noise of a woman who was very happy. It skidded down his spine, causing a riot of sensation.

Desire, satisfaction, a need to be closer to her. “I appreciate your help with Mr. Benson. And I must confess, I hadn’t considered that a husband’s duties might be so…physical.”

The words hit him square in the chest. Did she know the effect she was having on him? He tilted her chin up a bit higher. “As I said. It’s the least of what I would do to keep you safe and happy.”

“What…what would you do to keep me happy?” she asked, her eyes crinkling in curiosity.

Words rose up on his tongue but he paused, knowing that he’d come here with an agenda.

Was this the conversation he was supposed to be having with her?

He blinked, trying to remember what he’d hoped to say, but he was too caught up in the moment to attend the details.

“I would provide for you financially, of course.”

“Of course,” she said, but a furrow appeared between her brows on her otherwise flawless skin.

“I would see you comfortable in our home, with good company and food and…” Had he just mentioned food? He wished she would tell him how strong he was again… He was losing the thread of this conversation.

“That’s lovely,” she murmured, her mouth turning down the slightest bit.

But it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. He gave his head the smallest shake. He’d almost prefer if Mr. Benson appeared again. At least threatening the man had given him a clear path forward.

Protection. That he could do. But sharing his feelings… Blast, but he was bad at this.

His eyes closed for the span of a moment as he tried to think of all he’d wanted to say. Clarissa’s promptings filled his thoughts and he blurted out, “You’re very pretty.”

But then he nearly groaned out loud. Had he really just said that apropos of nothing? Her tinkling laugh had his eyes opening again. Her crystal-blue gaze stared back at him, and he thought he might lose himself in their depth.

She reached up a hand and brushed her fingers over his jaw. “Thank you. You’re very handsome.”

They were so close and her scent had wrapped about him. He leaned just a bit closer until his forehead rested against hers, the tips of their noses just touching. “You think so?”

He didn’t even know why he asked other than he wished to know that she liked him enough…

“Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Very.”

With that last word, he tilted his chin so that his lips could just press to hers. For a moment, she held completely still. She didn’t shift away, but neither did she kiss him back. And then slowly, sweetly, her lips pressed closer to his.

That small touch, the slow, gentle press of her mouth filled him with such tenderness, that he found himself holding her other cheek so that her face was cupped in his large hands, her mouth coming to his over and over.

“Daffodil,” he murmured between touches. He wasn’t sure if the name was a claiming or a plea. But as he finally pulled back, the warm tenderness in her eyes had his heart thudding loudly in his chest.

He opened his mouth to say her name again.

“Daffodil?” But it wasn’t him. The name had come from down the hall in a high feminine voice. “Daffodil, are you down here?”

“My mother,” Daffodil gasped, instantly tensing and pushing off the wall so that she bumped into his chest.

“Is it?” he hardly cared at this moment. He’d tell Daffodil’s mother to leave them be and be done with her. But he couldn’t. This was, hopefully, his future mother-in-law, so he’d greet her civilly no matter how much her behavior grated him.

“We have to go,” Daffodil said, pushing at his chest. He gave way to her wish, moving back.

But he didn’t understand. After that kiss, their engagement was all but sealed. Wasn’t it? “That’s hardly necessary. I’ll speak with your father first thing?—”

“We have to go now,” Daffodil hissed. “My mother, she isn’t the sort to be deterred. If we don’t go, we’ll be engaged by the end of the evening.”

Something hard and unpleasant settled in the pit of his stomach. They weren’t engaged already?