Least Likely to Marry a Duke Read online

  ‘They will launch a search eventually, I suppose, and they will look in the grounds, so they will come down to the lake and might see a fire. We could hang something up as a signal, but we do not have a sheet. Let me think... Bother these fashions, my petticoats would hardly make a small flag.’ She turned again, her feet sending stones spraying out with the vehemence of the movement. ‘But even a sheet will not help because the island cannot be seen from the lawns.’ She stopped and addressed him directly. ‘Will they search those woods?’ She waved a hand towards the dense oak and beech trees crowding down to the shore.

  ‘Not until they have exhausted the house and the gardens and the nearest areas of the park,’ Will admitted. ‘How likely is your father to become dangerously anxious, to leap to the conclusion that something serious will have befallen us?’

  ‘He is a very calm person. He will assume we are together and he knows us both to be sensible adults who could cope with a misadventure. We are on your property. And Mr Hoskins will reassure him, do his best to ensure he is not agitated. He will not suffer a relapse, if that is what concerns you, his mind is too resolute. He will be concerned but, as I said, he will know you are with me—’

  She broke off, spun round so abruptly that she staggered and he had to take two long strides forward to catch her by the elbows. ‘Together. Oh, no. No.’ Her hands closed over his forearms so they stood locked in place, staring at each other. ‘Those little... But why? Why would they want to compromise me? I have never done anything to hurt them, surely? I hardly know them.’

  ‘They do not want to hurt you, Verity,’ Will said. ‘They have taken a liking to you. They are worried that I am going to marry some exceedingly proper young lady who will be even stricter than their governess and tutor are.’

  She gasped. ‘They want you to marry me? Simply because they think I would not be strict with them?’

  He had called her by her first name, they were standing improperly close, hands clasping arms, so close that he could feel her body heat, see the rise and fall of her breasts, the still-agitated breaths from the scrambling run, the shock of finding herself stranded. She smelled deliciously of warm woman and crushed greenery and wisteria blossom and he wanted to haul her in closer, press his lips to that indignant mouth and take the fullness gently between his teeth, taste her. Madness.

  ‘You think that would be a bad idea?’ he asked instead.

  I have lost my mind. Marry this woman? The least suitable bride I can imagine? This rebellious, unconventional bluestocking?

  ‘To trap a man into marriage? Any man, let alone one of the most eligible in the country? Of course I think it a bad idea. Do you think I have no pride? That I am desperate for a husband before I find myself on the shelf? Do you think I would be delighted that a pack of ill-disciplined children have decided to entrap me into wedlock with a man I do not even like?’

  The realisation of what she had just said was clear in the appalled expression in those expressive brown eyes. ‘I am so sorry. I did not mean that...’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Will said calmly. It was no more than he should have expected of her after all. She was a hoyden, unbecomingly independent, outspoken and uninhibited and he had already been appallingly rude to her that day. And what was she doing to him? He should not be speaking to a lady like that. He should not be standing on a deserted island holding her like this. He should certainly not be aching to pull her down on to that patch of short turf over there—so conveniently close—and see whether he could make those intelligent eyes go blind with passion.

  I am the Duke of Aylsham. I should be a perfect gentleman, a perfect nobleman, at all times. I owe it to my name, to myself. This is an unfortunate situation and not Verity’s fault. So, deal with it.

  Will stared at the far shore, estimated distance. ‘I will swim across. It will take some time to get help to you, but I will light a fire before I go and you have shelter and food. You would not be afraid to be here alone for a few hours?’

  Verity’s lips compressed into a thin line and she took her hands from his forearms as though he had suddenly become slimy. ‘Oh, of course, I would be terrified. Why, there might be dangerous frogs. Or possibly man-eating gulls. Or perhaps the place is haunted. Do not be ridiculous, Will. I would not be afraid, but that is quite beside the point. You are not going to make that swim. Have you ever swum that far before?’

  ‘Not quite so far,’ he admitted, eyeing the far shore. But he was fit, a good swimmer. He would do it because he had to do it. A gentleman did not compromise a lady, even such an unladylike one. There was no other option.

  ‘You are not Lord Byron, swimming the Hellespont!’ she flung at him. ‘You are an intelligent man—or I assume you are when you are not fogging your mind with these ridiculous ideas of honour and duty. Think, for goodness’ sake. This water is cold, you admit it is a long way, you have no idea about the currents, or dangerous patches of weed. And if I see you drowning I will not be able to do anything about it and I will be scarred for life by the experience, which would be very selfish of you.’

  ‘You are laughing at me.’ It was ridiculous how angry that made him. This impertinent chit of a female who disparaged honourable behaviour, who flatly contradicted his decisions and questioned his judgement—

  ‘I am not laughing, believe me. I admit I was trying to find some humour in a ghastly situation to make you see how foolish you are being.’

  ‘Miss Wingate. Will you kindly go into the hut while I remove my clothing? There is no other solution to this and I will not drown.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘I will not let you swim.’ Verity planted herself firmly in front of him, facing him down, although the top of her head only came up as far as the tip of his nose. Will had not thought that big brown eyes could seem hard and determined, but these were now. ‘Never mind my feelings. I did not think it would be necessary to point this out to a loving brother, but do you want Basil to inherit the title knowing that it was his idiotic scheme that caused your death? Do you want him saddled with that guilt? Or with the ghastly burden of a dukedom, come to that.’

  He had not thought of that. He was almost certain he could make it, but not absolutely. And if he failed, then not only Basil, but all of them, would spend the rest of their lives with his death on their consciences. And it would weigh heavy, he knew. They might seem heedless, undisciplined, wild even, but they were sensitive, intelligent children. Then the rest of what Verity had said struck him.

  ‘You consider a dukedom to be a ghastly burden?’

  ‘Surely it must be?’ It was incredible how those eyes of hers changed with her mood. Now they were thoughtful, a little puzzled. She was thinking and he felt as though that fierce stare had turned inwards as she puzzled over his answer.

  ‘Certainly not. It is what I was born to. It is a privilege.’

  The brown gaze became sceptical and her mouth twisted into a rueful smile. ‘Is it not exhausting, having to be perfect all the time in order to earn that privilege? Are the expectations of your family, your dependents, your tenants, never wearisome? Do you never wish you could simply be William Calthorpe, Esquire, an ordinary gentleman of moderate means who might live where he pleases, do as he wishes?’

  ‘The thought has never occurred to me,’ Will said firmly and truthfully. ‘Very well, I will not attempt to swim. Now, let us get off this beach. You should shelter in the hut and I will see if there is some spot on the headland nearest the grounds where I can make some kind of signal.’

  Verity turned obediently enough. Having got her way, presumably she was prepared to be more biddable. But that small concession to obedience did not appear to include minding her tongue. ‘What exactly am I sheltering from?’ she enquired sweetly. ‘The weather is fine and warm, and the incidence of dangerous wildlife or marauding pirates appears to be low.’

  ‘You have misplaced your hat,’ Will poin
ted out, refusing to deal with her flights of fancy which were expressly designed to irritate him, he was sure. She shrugged and made a dismissive gesture towards the tangled undergrowth where it had presumably been ripped from her head in their mad scramble to reach the shore. ‘Do you not wish to preserve your complexion?’ he asked.

  ‘Not at the cost of being stuck in a stuffy little hovel for hours. I will come with you.’

  ‘Miss Wingate—’ No gentleman would lay a finger on a lady, let alone raise his voice to one. He was a gentleman, so why did he have the most appalling urge to shout at Verity Wingate, say far worse things than he had already that day? Why did he want to shake her until she ceased to provoke him? And why did the thought of having his hands on those slim shoulders, pulling her close to him, produce a reaction that made him turn from her abruptly and stalk away towards the little cottage? At least with his back turned she would not notice the physical effect she was having on him.

  Her feet crunched on the shingle, then the snap of a twig told him that she was following close behind.

  Obedience and no argument for once—how refreshing.

  ‘Call me Verity,’ she said crisply. ‘And I will call you Will. We are going to be stuck on this rock for hours—and not exactly in harmony either—and I am not going to be Your Gracing you the entire time.’

  ‘Miss W—’

  ‘We are not within hearing of the Court Chamberlain or a single Patroness of Almack’s, let alone any member of the College of Arms. I believe we may use first names without provoking a scandal.’ She paused and Will almost turned around to ask why she hesitated. ‘Or, at least, not more of one than we already find ourselves with.’

  He saw her sun hat, a frivolous disc of straw with floating yellow ribbons, hanging forlornly from a thorn bush and reached out for it. ‘Here. The crown appears to have a hole in it, unfortunately.’

  Verity took it, sighed audibly at the state of the thing, and jammed it back on her head. A tuft of glossy brown hair poked through the damaged part.

  ‘There will not be a scandal,’ Will said, resisting the urge to tie the ribbons in a large bow under her chin and tickle her neck while he was at it. ‘No one but my family and yours are present. I will manage this so that your good name is not compromised.’

  Not that the absence of scandal was going to save him unless they were rescued very quickly indeed. She had fallen silent again, so presumably she had not realised that, scandal or no, they were not going to escape the consequences of this. A single gentleman, stranded with a young lady in a remote spot where the only shelter was a hut containing a bed, could expect only one demand from her father.

  That was right and proper, of course, even if it was damnably awkward. At least the children like her, Will thought. And the sobering thought of an irate bishop—did they wield croziers instead of shotguns when herding sons-in-law to the altar?—had killed the last trace of that inconvenient arousal just then. But marriage to this argumentative creature?

  ‘There, I knew you would be sensible about it once you recovered from the shock and stopped trying to be noble about it,’ Miss—Verity said with an air of satisfaction that had him wanting to shake her all over again. And then...

  ‘Here is the hut,’ Will said, quite unnecessarily as they were standing right in front of it. He wondered if he could build a raft. If he had an axe and some strong twine... And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. There was the door of the hut, of course. Would that float? He opened it and examined the hinges.

  ‘Don’t you dare think about it, Will,’ Verity said firmly as he measured the thickness with finger and thumb. She appeared to be able to read minds. ‘That is only one degree less dangerous than trying to swim across.’

  ‘Does nothing ever ruffle your calm, Verity? Or do you insist on producing sensible advice under all circumstances?’ he demanded, irritation suddenly overcoming the tattered remnants of good manners.

  ‘Would you rather something did ruffle me?’ She paused, one hand on the door frame, arrested in the act of tossing her wrecked hat inside, and smiled at him. It was not reassuring. ‘I have no intention of not being sensible, or of pretending to be less intelligent than I am, even if you would prefer me to produce some tears and flutter my handkerchief. I have no idea how to have a fit of the vapours, if that is what you are expecting, Will.’

  It might be easier if she did succumb to nerves, he admitted to himself. Then he could rely on his own judgement without having to give due consideration to her, undoubtedly reasonable, objections. That smile—genuine, amused, warm. He had no idea she could smile like that. And his name on her lips.

  Will moved closer without consciously thinking why he was doing it. Would you rather something did ruffle me? she had asked.

  ‘I expect you know what to do with tearful young ladies who cast themselves upon your manly bosom. Does it happen very often?’ Verity teased.

  When had been the last time someone had teased him? Male friends, of course, but not like this, certainly never with that smile that asked him to laugh with her at the joke. But it was not amusement he felt. The desire came flooding back as their gazes locked and her eyes widened with something that was not fear or apprehension but, perhaps, surprise and curiosity. Or arousal?

  How had he come to be so close to her? Close enough to see that the brown of her eyes held darker flecks and a thin fringe of gold rimmed the irises. ‘I have never had that experience,’ he heard himself say, his voice husky. ‘It is one I find strangely appealing.’

  Had he moved again? Perhaps Verity had. Her right hand was certainly raised, the palm flat against his breastbone.

  ‘No?’ Will asked softly.

  Her fingers moved slightly, not to push him away, but as though she was reading his breathing, his heartbeat, through the tips. ‘Yes,’ Verity murmured.

  He bent his head and she lifted a little on her toes to meet him, her hands sliding up over his coatless shoulders to clasp behind his neck. The only other time Will had ever kissed a respectable young lady, a virgin, was when he had held this one on Sunday beside the pond. He thought again, with what was functioning in his brain, that this was not what he had expected. Verity was not brazen, but not shy either. She was cautious, but not tentative, following his lead, her lips parting to the pressure of his tongue, opening for him, learning fast, so that as his tongue stroked into the velvet warmth hers met it, copied his movements and then began to explore.

  * * *

  He tastes of coffee this time...a little, Verity thought. But more of something else. Man, perhaps? Or just Will?

  The taste of him was familiar now, even though this was only a second kiss. His tongue caressed hers and so she answered him, almost taken aback when he let her slide between his lips, surprised by the heat of his mouth. If this was how kissing him was, so very much better than her experience nearly five years before, what would it be like to make love with him?

  And then Will drew away, lifted his mouth from hers, set her back against the door frame and steadied her with his hands cupped around her shoulders.

  Which is a good thing because my legs are decidedly shaky...

  ‘I apologise,’ Will said, suddenly very formal.

  ‘Again? I thought we had discussed this by the pond.’

  You enjoyed it, do not try to pretend you did not. I might not be very experienced, but I know what it meant when I felt your body change as it pressed against mine.

  She did not say it and she did not let her gaze slide downwards from his face. If truth be told, it had been rather alarming in a shivery kind of way—and very arousing.

  ‘I took advantage of you again.’

  ‘Oh. You exasperating man! You asked, I said yes. You kissed me, I kissed you back. Then you stopped. Please define taking advantage.’

  ‘You are under my protection. Under no circumstances should I have kisse
d you. Not then, not now. It was not the behaviour of a gentleman and as much of a mistake now as it was before.’

  ‘Poppycock. It was the behaviour of a man and it is probably long past time when you allowed yourself to be one of those and not some marble statue of the perfect duke.’

  Which way was the headland? Verity gave His Grace’s well-muscled chest a prod with her finger, which made him sway back with a sharp intake of breath, and took advantage of his momentary loss of balance to stalk off down the overgrown path. Was this the right direction? It was of no consequence, all she wanted to do was get away from him, as far as this miniature island permitted.

  Apologise? Again.

  How he dared! Verity swatted a leafy twig out of the way. Will couldn’t have said anything more insulting—except, possibly, Ugh. She was an adult, intelligent woman who had agreed to kiss him, had shown she was enjoying it clearly enough. So, was that an apology for kissing her or regret that he had kissed her?

  He was following her, she could hear him pushing his way along the path, but she ignored him, tried to ignore the insinuating little pulse that beat low down in her belly and the tingle of well-kissed lips.

  Think about something else. Do not let him become important.

  Presumably these faint tracks through the bushes had been made by the Calthorpe children once they had discovered the island, Verity reasoned. How they must love the freedom it represented, now they had been pitchforked by the death of their father from the undisciplined life they had been used to into the formality and restraint that Will demanded.

  If this was her island, she would buy a little sailing boat and she and her friends would come here every day, far from the conventions and expectations that bound them. It might be difficult to bring a pianoforte for Lucy, though.