Page 3 of Two Nights with the Duke (Cherish and the Duke #3)

“W hat makes ye think I want anything from ye?” Camborne replied with a low growl.

Jocelyn shivered as his gorgeous green eyes bored into her, for her question had made him angry. But he was a Silver Duke, and she was not so na?ve as to believe he was helping her merely out of the goodness of his heart.

She was glad he did not want her money. That was a convenient circumstance, since she did not have a ha’penny to give him anyway.

But was it not odd that he seemed to want nothing in return?

Growing up the daughter of an earl, she had learned early on that everybody wanted something from those who were rich and titled. Just because Camborne happened to be rich and titled himself did not mean he wasn’t out to claim something from her for himself.

He appeared to approve of her body, if his languid gaze was any indication. He made her tingle every time he looked at her, but he was mostly discreet. Still, she had noticed the flash of heat in his eyes a time or two, especially when she slid her tongue along her fork in order to savor the delicious fare.

Did he believe she was subtly seducing him?

Her fault, of course. Had she not brazenly admitted she might desire a night of passion in his arms? Lord, how could she be so foolish as to confide such a thing to a Silver Duke? Did he now think she was sending him signals?

To her dismay, she hoped so.

After all, her life was in ruins now that she had jilted Ballantry. Why not enjoy a memorable night in Camborne’s arms? Despite the rugged look of him, she sensed he would be gentle with her.

She stuffed a chunk of sausage into her mouth while she contemplated what to say next.

Fortunately, he was not awaiting a response from her. “Lass, I will no’ claim to have a sterling reputation, but I am no depraved hound,” he insisted, continuing to sound offended by her insinuation that he had to want something from her. “I am not expecting anything in return for my assistance. Are we clear?”

She nodded as she stuffed more sausage into her mouth, because she truly did not know how to respond to his kindness, nor did she understand why she felt such an aching need for a night of splendor in his arms.

“I’ll never be asking ye to do something against yer will,” he went on, still indignant. “However, if ye ever wish me to seduce ye, I will gladly do it. But the choice is completely yer own. Completely up to ye, Jocelyn. It will not change how I treat ye or what I do for ye in order to protect ye.”

She swallowed her last bite, knowing she now had to respond. “I owe you an apology, Camborne. You have been kinder to me than I deserve. I am very grateful.”

“Apology and gratitude accepted,” he said with a grunt. “And there’s nothing more to be discussed about it, lass. Again, ye owe me nothing .”

She shook her head. “I think I owe you my honesty and my friendship, if you will accept it. Please do. I never meant to insult you. It’s just that—and you will certainly understand my feelings, since you experience the same—people always want something from us, don’t they? In my heart, I know you are different. But I’ve protected myself by being wary all of my life. And then I slipped up and made that horribly stupid mistake in accepting to marry Ballantry. I’m just so scared to make another. But I know you are nothing like that awful man. So, please accept my offer of friendship.”

The glint of anger in his eyes melted away and he smiled. “Gladly, lass. I’ve never been friends with a woman before.”

The admission surprised her, for he had behaved so kindly toward her, and not with any lascivious intent. She sincerely believed him and trusted that he would never force her into his bed unless she were willing.

Dear heaven.

She was more than willing, but so ashamed to admit it.

How was she to accomplish it when she also wanted to gain his respect? She had lain in his bed last night, and he’d slept beside her. But he hadn’t attempted anything. Was this not the mark of a man who could respect a woman? The proof of a man who could honor a wife and consider her a friend and confidante?

Not that he would ever marry her. He was a Silver Duke and had sworn off marriage, hadn’t he?

“Are you serious, Camborne? You haven’t ever been friends with any woman before?”

“No, lass. Ye’d be the first.” He nodded toward her plate, silently urging her to continue her meal. “I’m generally an arse around the fairer sex. I keep away from good girls, as I mentioned to ye last night. I make certain to escort the cold, calculating ladies of the demimonde so there is no question my heart will ever be at risk.”

She had just taken a sip of her tea, but swallowed hastily in order to respond. “That sounds awful!”

He shrugged.

“Why would you subject yourself to those awful ladies?” She set down her teacup, more interested in hearing him out than finishing her breakfast. “Well, the better question is, why are you so afraid to put your heart at risk? Please tell me. And do not insist on my taking another bite while you talk. My stomach will explode if I so much as nibble on another sausage.”

His smile was devastating in its warmth. “All right, lass. The truth is, I came north to do a bit of fishing and contemplate the changes I need to make in my life. And it is in desperate need of changing.”

This surprised her, for he appeared so confident and comfortable in the life he had chosen for himself. He also seemed to be a man who had everything—wealth, title, and good looks. Not to mention ladies eager to leap into his bed at a mere nod. Even she was shockingly eager to do this very thing. “What is it that you do not like about your life as it is now?”

“Everything.” He arched an eyebrow in response to her look of confusion. “For one, I dinna like myself much.”

She inhaled lightly, for this admission was quite a surprise. “Camborne, if you treat others as kindly as you have treated me, then you are a fine man.”

“No, lass. I am not so fine as ye think. Ye are unmarried and innocent, so I canno’ speak to ye about what men do.”

“Yes, you can. Camborne, I am not a na?ve goose. I know men keep mistresses and frequent houses of ill repute. You are a bachelor, so who are you hurting by seeing to your urges in this fashion? Or do you hurt these women? Indulge in depravities?”

His eyes widened. “Never! I’ve never raised a hand to a woman. Nor have I engaged in anything unspeakably foul. Blessed saints, what do ye think I am?”

“I did not say I thought this is what you were. I am merely trying to figure you out.” She could tell by the way he treated her that he was no brute. Irreverent and brash, perhaps. Not averse to a night of naughty indulgence. But never cruel. “Tell me more about yourself. What have your engagements with ladies been like up to now?”

“It is better described as purposeful lack of serious engagement.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I’ve kept mistresses on occasion, rare occasion. But never more. In truth, it was always a terrible arrangement. I chose the mercenary ones because I knew I would never grow attached to them. As for falling in love with them? Utterly impossible.”

“But you knew that you were capable of loving. Is this not a good thing?”

“No, Jocelyn. Just because I might fall in love with someone does not mean I would know how to treat her properly as my wife. I do not know what a good marriage is or what having a proper family life involves.”

“And your own family?” she asked gently.

He shrugged and gave a light snort. “Hardly knew them. I was the youngest and only six years old when I lost my parents and all three older siblings to illness.”

“I am so sorry.” She took his hand in both of hers. “Who took care of you afterward? And…goodness, does this mean you became a duke at the age of six?”

He nodded. “Well, I had to wait until I came of age to obtain full control and come into all the rights granted unto my title. In the meantime, I was raised by my two uncles. They were more of a board of directors than loving mentors. Neither of them ever married, so there were no women in our lives.” He glanced at his hand that she was still holding. “Are ye going to release me, lass?”

In truth, she liked cradling his hand in both of hers. “Do you want me to?”

He chuckled. “Surprisingly, no.”

She smiled, for this meant he did not mind her touch.

Well, it could not mean very much, since women often had their hands all over his impossibly fine body. But this was more than mere physical touching. She hoped it was an acceptance of her friendship.

“My family life is not the best at the moment, but I did grow up in a fairly happy family setting,” she said. “I could teach you about the benefits of a home life with women in the household. Would you consider allowing me to guide you about this?”

Having to rely on him to pay for everything had left her feeling ill at ease. Not that he made her feel this way, but she was used to taking care of herself, especially during these past five years that her family had grown desperate to marry her off. She had not expected her father to become so angry with her or remain so insistent on her heading to the altar. Yet when she had finally taken the leap and agreed to marry Ballantry, she sensed he was suddenly trying to undermine her every step.

She shook her head, for her father’s erratic behavior these past few years still confused her. First, he considered her willful and combative because she would not marry, then he accused her of the same when she finally took the leap and accepted Ballantry’s offer. He’d called her stubborn and unreasonable.

Of course, she wasn’t going to change. She was the same person she had always been.

Rumors began to circulate that she was mean-spirited, unreasonable, unmanageable, and obviously a harpy. She expected her odious cousins were to blame, for she could not imagine her father ever speaking ill of her to others.

No matter how strongly they disagreed, there had always been love between them. Same for her mother, who was a wonderful woman and had a lot of common sense.

Could she not teach Camborne about growing up in a happy home? Should she not contribute something in exchange for his kindness?

Despite having gained an awful reputation, she was actually a good and kind person. She had plenty of compassion for those who deserved it, often taking the lead in charitable works to help those in need in the Granby area. Surely Camborne could use her assistance.

“You’ve spent a lifetime dealing with people who wished to manipulate and control you,” she said, understanding the toll his childhood losses had taken on him.

“Aye, lass. That is a fact.”

“No wonder you have avoided the parson’s mousetrap all these years. If you ever took the leap and chose badly, your life would be a misery from then on.”

“Ye’re right again, lass. This is my dilemma. For all my supposed prowess with women, I dinna know them or understand them.”

“I can help you sort it out. Won’t you please let me help you? I’m a good listener, and I like to think I am fairly intelligent. Ask all the questions you wish about the fairer sex and how we think, what we worry about, what our hopes and goals are, and I will answer them as best as I can.”

Both of his eyebrows shot up. “The idea has merit.”

“Yes,” she said, giving his hand a light squeeze. “I may not be the woman of your dreams, but I will give you honest answers, and you can trust me to keep our discussions confidential.” She cast him a wry smile. “Besides, who am I going to talk to now that my entire family is so furious with me that not one of them will ever speak to me again?”

“Lass, let’s get ye some proper clothes and then we can talk into the night, if ye wish. I’ll ask the innkeeper for the recommendation of a local modiste.”

She nodded. “Do you think they have stylish ladies’ shops here?”

“Canno’ hurt to ask. We aren’t all that far from Aberdeen, and even closer to Dundee. They are both popular cities with an established Society. Nothing as fancy as London, of course. But still sufficiently elegant, and close enough to here that the innkeeper ought to know what a modiste is.”

“Care to wager on it?” Jocelyn asked, casting him an impish grin.

He laughed. “No. Ye are far too confident. I only accept the bets I know I can win.”

“Drat, too bad,” she muttered, casting him a smile. “I was sure you’d be an easy mark. Oh, here comes Mr. Farrell. Care to test this out?”

Camborne arched an eyebrow. “All right.”

“What’s a modiste?” the innkeeper responded when Camborne asked him.

Jocelyn stifled a grin. Hadn’t she just warned him there would be no such fancy establishments here? As beautiful as the town of Arbroth was, life was hard for most, and there was no time for frivolity. No one could afford to toss their coins about freely, paying twice as much as necessary because the shop had an elegant name.

“A modiste is a good seamstress with a sense for fashion and design,” she explained to the innkeeper.

“Och, why dinna ye say so? My niece is the best seamstress in town. Even owns her own shop, and all the ladies flock to it. Ye’ll find fabrics and notions, everything a fine lady will need. Her shop is just down the high street.”

“Thank you, Mr. Farrell,” Jocelyn said.

He smiled at her. “Just tell her I sent ye, and she’ll treat ye right.”

There was an unexpected bite to the wind as she and Camborne walked along the high street a short while later. Well, unexpected for her, since she had lived most of her life in England and rarely came north to these Highlands. It was beautiful here, but quite rugged and cold.

Much like Camborne, she mused.

Except he was not cold at all, not to her. But she sensed he could be ruthless if pushed to it.

Still, was he not as beautiful, and perhaps as wildly dangerous, as this glorious nature? He fit these surroundings and embodied them.

They were close to the North Sea and the strong winds that constantly blew off it. They were also close to mountains and valleys that would become impassable in winter but were stunningly beautiful in summer, with their array of wildflowers, and just as stunning in autumn in their blankets of purple heather.

There was no water bluer or fresher than the waters of the North Sea, and nothing more breathtaking than the deer and goshawks that dotted the landscape just outside of town.

They had not walked two steps down the street before Camborne removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Canno’ have ye shivering, lass.”

“What about you? Won’t you be cold?”

He laughed. “This is hot for me.”

She smiled, for did this not just prove her point? He was an embodied spirit of the Highlands. She thought he would look quite magnificent in a kilt. “If you say so.”

The scent of him lingered on his jacket, a delightful mix of musk and maleness that she enjoyed breathing in as they walked toward the shop. It was not long before they reached the seamstress’s obviously thriving establishment. A pleasant woman who looked to be about ten years older than Jocelyn approached them with a smile. “How may I help ye?”

“Miss Farrell?” Jocelyn asked.

“Aye, that’s me.”

“Yer uncle at the inn sent us over to ye,” Camborne said. “I’m Malcolm MacRae, and this is my wife. We’re hoping ye can help her out. Her luggage has not caught up to us yet, and we fear it might be forever lost. She is in dire need of everything.”

Warmth curled in Jocelyn’s belly when he referred to her as his wife. In truth, it felt so very nice and natural, as the words easily tripped off his tongue. This was not at all the curdling feeling she got whenever Ballantry, that toad of a cheating earl, drew near. But she had only herself to blame for allowing things to progress to their actual wedding day before she came to her senses and ran off.

She also realized Camborne must have wanted to maintain his anonymity, since he did not reveal his title. The inn’s proprietor knew who he was but must have been paid handsomely to keep his secret. There was the fact that this man beside her was the handsomest, most commanding, splendid male she had ever encountered. He walked like a duke and spoke with the authority of a duke.

Still, she would respect his wishes and not give him away to any of these shop patrons or its owner.

“Let me have a look at ye, Mrs. MacRae,” said Miss Farrell, nodding in approval when Jocelyn handed Camborne back his jacket and then slowly twirled around for inspection. “Och, ye are a pretty thing. No wonder yer husband appears besotted with ye.”

She and Camborne grinned at each other.

Miss Farrell then scurried behind a curtain into the back room and returned with an armload of fabric bolts that she spread out on a long table in the center of the shop. The ladies who had come in to purchase ribbons and buttons looked on in curiosity as Jocelyn and Camborne approved all the fabrics Miss Farrell had brought out, including two sturdy muslins—a sapphire blue and an emerald green—and two soft wools in a midnight blue, and another in a dove gray with the palest hint of blue that Camborne claimed captured the crystal splendor of her eyes.

“Can ye have them ready by today?” he asked.

The seamstress immediately advised that it was impossible, and Jocelyn readily agreed. “ Husband ,” she said, “you obviously do not realize what goes into sewing a gown.”

“Aye, I am quite aware. How much will these cost, Miss Farrell?” He then placed triple the quoted price on the table. “It’s all yours if ye deliver the gowns to the inn by suppertime tonight. I’ll double it if ye have them ready by teatime.”

The seamstress hustled her patrons out of the shop. “We are closed until tomorrow!”

After shutting everyone out but her and Camborne, she scurried once again into the back room and shouted to the ladies who had been sewing in her workroom, “Drop everything! We are going to work on Mrs. MacRae’s gowns.”

Wasting not a moment, the seamstress steered Jocelyn back there while Camborne was left to wait in the front of the shop. In a trice, she was undressed to her shift, thoroughly measured, fabrics were cut, and then those fabrics were pinned to her shape.

Miss Farrell then began to ask questions about use of lace, silk trims, and preferences for style designs. “Oh, I think just plain will do,” Jocelyn answered, only to be immediately overruled by Camborne, who had overheard the questions.

“Dinna listen to my wife,” he called from the doorway of the workroom, then simply marched in, muttering something about marrying a skinflint. “She’s to have lace, silk, beads… Whatever is needed to fashion a lovely gown.”

Having said that, he politely turned his back, stilling Jocelyn’s protests. Not that she could have protested, since they were supposed to be husband and wife. He’d seen her wearing nothing but his shirt, anyway.

And how dare he refer to her as a skinflint! She wasn’t a miser. Did he not care that she was being considerate of his expenses?

No one thought twice about his invasion of their workroom, since Camborne was wickedly handsome and had been ridiculously generous in offering triple the fee. If he wanted to strip down to his own undergarments and have them measure him , they would have done so without qualm or hesitation. Indeed, they would probably enjoy putting their hands all over him, since he had a very fine body. Men his age should not look this good.

Of course, he kept his clothes on and made no such inane suggestion.

But Jocelyn was now wearing only her shift, and it was all she could do not to blush. Camborne, to his credit, did not turn around to ogle her. He kept his gaze to the wall or turned only to speak to the seamstress. “Tell me what ye propose by way of design for these gowns.”

Jocelyn had to admit that the innkeeper’s niece had a good eye for style. So did Camborne, it turned out. Between the two of them, they came up with some beautiful designs. Once the initial fittings were completed, Camborne asked about undergarments, shawls, gloves, stockings, and hats. They were referred to the haberdasher’s next door for all but the undergarments and stockings, which Miss Farrell also carried in her shop.

“Do ye have undergarments of silk and lace?” Camborne asked.

Jocelyn blushed furiously. “Absolutely not! Durable linen will do.”

“Not on yer life,” Camborne shot back, his eyes gleaming and his grin rakish.

The seamstresses could not hold back their titters. Camborne was enjoying this far too much, as he winked at the ladies, which only encouraged more titters. They compromised and Camborne purchased two of each.

“Honestly,” she muttered, shaking her head.

He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Does no’ matter—I’ll have them off ye, whichever ones ye’re wearing.”

Her face burned, for the ladies had heard and were thoroughly charmed by this gorgeous man who appeared to be a devoted husband.

While the seamstress and her helpers worked on her gowns, Jocelyn and Camborne walked next door, where they selected two shawls, a pair of gloves, and two hats. “ Dearest ,” Jocelyn intoned when Camborne saw another shawl he liked and wanted to buy it for her, “I do not think I need more.”

The haberdasher was not about to lose this handsome sale, however. “Mrs. MacRae, this one is silk and meant for evening wear. I’m sure ye and yer husband travel in the finest circles and will be invited by the best families. Ye canno’ arrive wearing one of these sensible, but quite plain, woolen shawls. It will shame yer husband, since everyone will think he canno’ afford anything better. Ye dinna want that, do ye?”

She turned to Camborne, who was taking far too much pleasure in shopping for her. “Are you certain, husband ?”

“Aye, Mr. MacGregor is right. In fact, I think ye need two silk shawls.”

The haberdasher promptly agreed.

Camborne shot her a conquering grin as he paid for the purchases. “Deliver these items to the Arbroth Inn. But we’ll take one of the woolen shawls with us now.”

“As ye wish, Mr. MacRae.”

They returned to the seamstress’s shop, where Jocelyn was once more measured and fitted. Camborne then arranged for the seamstress and her workers to come to the inn at three o’clock for her final fittings. Any alterations would be completed on the spot and the finished gowns left with Jocelyn to enjoy.

“A productive morning’s work,” he said, obviously pleased with the results.

“I am keeping track of these expenditures, Camborne. You are far too generous. And I am not wearing those silk and lace undergarments, so you may as well save them for your next mistress.”

He frowned at the remark.

Jocelyn realized she had insulted him, which was unfair in light of his generosity. “Sorry, that was inconsiderate of me. You have been beyond kind, and I did not mean to sound ungrateful. I should not have said what I did just now. I’ve never worn silk under my gowns before.”

He shrugged. “Do what ye wish with those unmentionables, but ye’ll not be repaying me for any expenditures. That discussion is closed.”

She and Camborne now had several hours on their own to wander through the quaint town that he seemed to know fairly well. He led her to a beautiful abbey that lay in ruins atop a rise that had a magnificent view of the sea. He showed her where historical documents had been drawn up and signed. Finally, he led her to a local tea shop as the church bells rang to signal the one o’clock hour. “Let’s grab a quiet spot and we can talk,” he said.

Yes, she was eager to talk to him and get to know him better.

Not that it would ever go beyond these next few days of friendship, because they would part ways once they reached Aberdeen and she got her funds. He would go off fishing, and she… Well, she wasn’t certain where she would go, but the world was open to her. Ballantry might chase her as far as London, but hardly beyond.

In truth, once the desperate hunt for her died down, she could settle in Devon or Cornwall and create a new identity, that of a genteel widow who wished to live out her life in quiet comfort. Not that she wished for this outcome, but it might be necessary if her family refused to forgive her and did not accept her back into the fold.

This would sadden her terribly, because she loved her parents. But why not start afresh in a lovely cottage by the sea?

However, none of it would be possible until she got hold of her bank accounts.

There was only one other table occupied as they entered the charming tea shop just off the high street. Two elderly ladies who appeared hard of hearing were talking to each other while sipping tea and nibbling scones, neither one understanding a word of what the other said, since they were merrily chatting away at the same time and talking over each other.

Perfect. Jocelyn and Camborne would not be overheard as they conversed.

Once they had comfortably settled at a corner table, she said, “I think you enjoyed yourself far too much this morning.”

“Aye, lass.” He chuckled. “Didn’t ye have fun, too?”

She nodded. “I felt quite pampered. You really did not have to purchase four gowns and all those accessories for me.”

“It was my pleasure,” he said with unexpected affection. “I have no one to spend my coin on other than myself, and I have no need of anything.”

“You know, if you treat a wife as nicely as you treated me today, you will have no problems in your marriage.”

He shook his head. “Och, lass. I hate to disappoint ye, but I must disagree. This is what I do best.”

“What do you mean?”

“I buy my way into everyone’s good graces. I’m very good at it.”

“Oh,” she said, dismayed that he thought so little of himself. “But that is not so. People would like you for yourself. You’ve shown so many fine qualities in the short time I’ve known you. You never needed to bribe me to win my favor. I would have been just as pleased with one sturdy woolen gown and paying you back for it.”

“I know, lass.” His expression turned serious. “This is why I was more generous with ye than I would have been otherwise. Ye aren’t looking to grab something from me.”

“How can you say such a thing? I took your room, and obtained a meal and a bath on your account,” she said with a gentle laugh. “Don’t tell me you have already forgotten?”

He chuckled. “No, lass. Finding ye in my bed is not something I will soon forget. But ye offered to pay me back. In fact, ye’re still insisting on it and are obviously put out by my refusing reimbursement. No one else would be. They’d be scheming how to squeeze more out of me.”

“I would never do that. However, the amount of money you so casually tossed around made me wonder about your financial acumen,” she teased. “Although you surely pleased Miss Farrell and Mr. MacGregor. It was fun to watch their eyes pop wide. It was also nice knowing they were going to make a healthy profit off you and perhaps be able to do something generous with it for themselves and their families.” She took his hand into hers.

He grinned. “Ye’re holding on to me again. Do ye do this with all yer husbands?”

She laughed lightly once more. “Need I remind you that I am a harpy and no one else will have me? So, no other husbands. But I do like holding your hand. It is big and warm and roughened, the hand of someone not afraid to work. Let’s put in our orders and then we can talk further.”

“All right, as ye wish. What would ye like to have?”

Jocelyn ordered tea and an apricot tart. Camborne ordered tea and a slice of lemon cake.

After they were served, Jocelyn regarded him for a long moment.

“What are ye thinking now, lass?”

That he looked quite handsome with the hint of a smile on his nicely formed lips and a warm shimmer in his eyes. “I’m trying to take the measure of you.”

“Och, I am not all that deep. What ye see is what ye get.”

She nodded, although she did not agree that he was someone easy to know. There were hidden depths to him, and he took pains to keep his intimate thoughts and feelings behind a carefully constructed wall.

There was a reason beyond simply being raised by an inept, but well-intentioned, pair of uncles that had him determined never to marry.

Had he ever been in love?

Had someone hurt him deeply?

“All right,” she said. “Let’s get to it. What would you like to know about these elusive and enigmatic creatures known as women?”