Page 16 of The Duke’s Goddess (Duke Dare #2)

“In God’s name let us go on bravely.”

—Joan of Arc

YOU ARE WORTH MY tears. He couldn’t stop the words from repeating over and over again in his head. People didn’t cry over him. Sure, some women were disappointed when he didn’t bed them for a second time or when he stopped seeing them altogether. But no one cried for him like this, as if she knew him and cared about him. As if she wanted to ease some pain in his life. A pain he was loath to acknowledge. Surely he was old enough now to have overcome the drama that was his childhood.

“Are you in pain?” she asked, her hands moving over his ankle.

That light touch sent a small spasm up his leg, and he wasn’t sure if it was pain or pleasure.

“I’m fine.” He needed to say something—anything—to get her hands off of him. To get her attention off of him.

“You don’t look fine. You look pale.” While she spoke, she moved her hands up his leg toward his knee. “Is your knee all right?”

“Yes,” he grunted.

“What about—”

“I wouldn’t go any further than that Joan, unless you’re looking for an extension to what happened last night.”

With a deep blush, gradually she pulled her hands down from his thigh where she was only a few inches away from his swelling cock.

“Something isn’t quite right. You seem strained.”

Damn this woman. He was strained. Straining at the seams where his arousal was testing the fabric of his falls. But she was still mumbling to herself, “Must be your other leg then.” And then her hands were on his ankle. Intent upon finding his source of pain. Let her look.

It felt nice to have such a gentle caress with no sexual motivation. And while she sought, he thought.

Joan hardly knew him. Her aggregated knowledge consisted of the fact that he was a rake, he was a loyal friend, and he could give her pleasure.

Yet…even as he thought about her, he knew there was something deeper. Something beyond the facts. From their initial attempt at communication, there had been something there enabling them to understand each other. He understood her. What motivated her. How her mind worked. And absurdly, she seemed to have the same abilities where he was concerned.

“We should get back,” he said gruffly, not commenting on her tears from earlier. If she wanted to cry, he would let her. But he wasn’t going to go any further down that road of emotions with her.

He watched as she ducked her head and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She nodded, with her chin still tucked against her chest. James almost felt a stab of guilt in his chest as he watched her stand up.

Letting her take a few steps, he breathed in relief needing some space from her. Her and all her caring. Yes, he could do with less of that.

With a grumble, he rose to his feet. Pain jolted up his ankle more intensely than he would have predicted, and he knew he wouldn’t make it all the way back unassisted.

“Joan.” At her name, she turned around with a glimmer of hope, and it was torture for him to say the words, “I need you—”

She rushed toward him.

“—to help me.” He pointed down at his foot. “I might have turned my ankle.”

“All right. What can I do?”

“I just need to lean on you so that I don’t put all my weight on my ankle.” He put his arm around her slim but sturdy shoulder. Immediately, warmth flowed into him. Almost like comfort.

They took a few steps together. Knowing he was heavy, he asked her, “Is this all right for you?”

“It’s fine,” she didn’t bother to look up at him at first. But when she did, she looked intently into his eyes and added, “I’m strong enough to carry the weight.”

And for the rest of the walk back to the manor, James replayed Joan’s words in his head.

***

WITH A DEEP INHALE, Joan stood out on the terrace, needing the chilly air to clear her thoughts. Behind her, the house party was throwing another dance. The music was in full swing. She could still hear soft tones of the instruments and the din of voices. Wanting to block out all the sounds, she took a few steps further from the opening. She hadn’t spoken to James since this afternoon. When she saw him enter the ballroom, she feigned ignorance to his arrival and made small talk with her sisters. If they noticed (which in all likelihood they did), at least they didn’t say anything.

After a short while, she had seen him take off into the gardens. Probably for a tryst. She had seen the way Lady Whitney was eating him up with her smoldering looks. Joan rolled her eyes as a sharp twinge reverberated through her chest. He was his own man. She had no claim on him. He was permitted to do whatever it was he wanted to do. And being a rake, she was sure she knew what he wanted to do. She just wasn’t quite so sure why it vexed her so much.

So she stood staring off into the darkness, where the gardens lay, not looking for James.

Too much had happened in the last day, and she needed to settle the anxiety causing an uproar inside of her.

The kiss with James…that was one event that required her attention.

The conversation after the rescue from the trap…that demanded her consideration.

James was complex. Handsome. Carefree. Loyal. But he buried his pain. Pretended it didn’t bother him. She could see through that now, and she was growing attached to him. But he was a rake. How could she be so foolish to allow herself to grow attached to the most unattachable man?

If she could just catch her breath, maybe she could talk herself out of her feelings. After all, what were a few fleeting feelings when her heart was on the line? Her heart. Her future. Her happiness. She could maintain self control around him. She could conquer her feelings. It wasn’t as if they had already taken deep roots within her.

“Nice night, isn’t it Lady Joan?”

She dragged her gaze from the stars to greet the male voice behind her.

“Lord Tamely.” Inwardly she groaned at the sight of him. She wanted to be alone. And if not alone, at least not with him. He was a walking fight waiting to happen. He was confrontational and lived without remorse. Yet somehow, because of his powerful family, he was still invited everywhere.

He moved closer to her, blocking her way back inside.

“Have you been out here long?”

Did the man not have anything interesting to say? If he was going to waylay her, shouldn’t he have come up with something better than that?

“I just stepped out for some fresh air.”

“Might I escort you for a walk in the gardens? He asked with a smarmy smile.

“I think I shall head back inside now. Thank you.”

Lord Tamely put his hand on her arm, and a pulse of anger tore through her. It was not enough to consider drawing her dagger on the man, but if he did anything more, she wouldn’t hesitate to reach beyond her pocket and grab the dagger secured on her body. “I didn’t mean to intrude on your space. You look as though you have something on your mind.” His hand squeezed her arm. It was meant to be a reassuring gesture but it only made bile rise in the back of her throat. “I’m a good listener.”

“I’m sure you are. Thank you for the offer.”

“Would you like to talk?”

“No, thank you.”

He stepped closer to her. So close that she could smell his pungent floral cologne.

Leaning in, he dropped his voice, “Do you need some comfort, Joan?” Hearing her name on his lips made her shudder.

“I said, no.” She wanted to get away from him, but his grip had tightened.

From down the few steps into the garden, a new voice announced her name, “Joan.”

James. She sighed.

He was making his way up the steps slowly, and when he reached the landing where she was, he extended his hand to her.

“Joan.” It was equal parts question and statement. An invitation. But more than that. Almost a claiming.

There was no hesitation on her part. As she moved toward him, she focused on the darkness of his eyes. Nearly black in color, all the blue had been pushed to the perimeters.

She needed to be within his grasp. In his arms. It was a safe place to be. But when he took her hand, he gently guided her behind him while he faced Lord Tamely.

“Did he touch you?” James whispered over his shoulder.

“No,” she said, shaking her head even though he couldn’t see her.

“Was he bothering you?”

She grasped the back fabric of his coat, unsure of how to answer that question. Lord Tamely had obviously been bothering her, but the unrivaled energy emitted from James indicated he might react too strongly to that answer. His body was surging with heat and even though he was standing completely still, she couldn’t help noticing that he was shaking.

“I’m fine,” she said to his back.

Lord Tamely couldn’t hear the back and forth, but sensing something amiss he decided to try and ease the tension with a chortle.

It was the wrong move.

“Do you find something amusing?” James stiffened as he demanded an answer.

And unfortunately for Lord Tamely, he didn’t see the need to cower from James. “Just this whole situation.”

“What is so amusing about it?”

“You coming up here as if you need to rescue her from me,” he guffawed.

“Just stay away from her,” James said.

And then that addlebrain chortled again. “She’s not yours to protect.”

Joan lost her grip on James's coat as he tore away from her, barreling toward Lord Tamely. “Like hell she isn’t.”

And she hardly had time to see James's fist fly through the air, smacking into Lord Tamely’s face.

BAM!

***

JAMES COULD NOT REMEMBER the last time in his life that he had been that enraged. Perhaps his eighteenth birthday with the gift . But even that hadn’t been a pure, blinding fury like this. That moment of the past had been anger wrapped in disappointment. Hurt. Dejection. Up until then, he had always held out hope that maybe if he tried harder, became more, grew up just a little bit, his parents might show even a miniscule amount of affection. But on that day, he abandoned any disillusionment. His parents weren’t going to change.

If he wanted anything to change, he needed to change himself. So he closed himself off. Love was no longer an ideal. There was no hope.

And to the outside that might sound tragic. To him, it gave him an unshakable ground on which to place his feet. No one could take that ground from beneath him. If James didn’t believe in love and no one gave him love, then no one would be disappointed. It was simple. He wished he had decided upon it earlier. Perhaps then the gift wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

But he didn’t allow himself to live in that anger. Until now.

When James had walked up to see Lord Tamely’s hand on Joan, possessiveness stormed his body like an army marching in, securing new territory. And then his actions had mirrored that when he strode up and claimed Joan as his.

Joan. There was something undeniably captivating about her. If he had to put words to it, he would call it her loyalty. She was observant, caring, and passionate. Everything his parents had never been. Everything that had been missing in his life, she was it. And he wanted her desperately.

And it was terrifying.

That unshakable ground he had been standing on, riding on, mocking even…it was shaking now. Joan was showing him that love just might exist. And after living so many years ignoring it, James wasn’t sure how to accept its presence.

Was it enough that it was a real person displaying it? A real person who looked him in the eyes? Someone he could touch and someone whose touch he could feel to his soul. Was it enough that she spoke to him as a friend? Their conversations easy and engaging. Was it enough that she responded to him? His body, his touch. She allowed him to influence her. He knew she was cautious, yet ever since he had known her, she had been willing to add a dose of recklessness to her days. And look where that had got her? Nearly ruination.

And he could be to blame, save the fact that no one saw them together. But that fact didn’t signify. He didn’t care that no one had seen them together. He knew what they had done. He knew he…what? How did he feel about her?

Seeing her in such close proximity to Lord Tamely lit a fire inside of him that he knew could only be doused if he knocked the man out. There was no other course of action. Even still, he had tried to maintain his composure. But when the man had challenged James's claim on Joan, that was the last straw. He didn’t take too kindly to the man’s skepticism.

If anyone could protect Joan, it was James. He was a duke. His name and status alone would be enough to protect.

But that thought felt hollow. James wanted to offer Joan so much more than just his name.