My Darling Duke

Kitty swallowed her alarm when his hand tightened on his walking stick, and he slowly ambled closer. He stumbled, and with a gasp, she lunged toward him.

He slapped her outstretched hand, but she did not recoil, gripping his upper arm to steady him. “Your Grace!”

His impossibly beautiful eyes iced over. Slowly she released him but didn’t step back. Kitty suspected she had offended him with her instinctive reaction, as fierce pride and a guarded watchfulness burned in the gaze that settled upon her.

This was not a man who relied on others for help, and even now with the grooves of pain deepening the frown on his lips, he did not unbend. There was a stillness in his gaze that spoke of suffering, an unfathomable strength, and something elusive that she might never touch or comprehend. Suddenly her heart ached, and her throat burned, sensing the depth of pain he must have endured to be this indomitable.

Finally, he reached for her hand and she allowed it, though she could not say why.

“Forgive me, Miss Danvers. I confess I am not used to being touched by anyone other than Penny.”

His lover? Why did the notion make her heart squeeze?

His thumb made a slow stroke down her wrist. “My sister.”

Oh. She took a long, ragged breath. “I didn’t wonder at it.”

“Liar,” he whispered with soft amusement. “Your eyes are very expressive. It is a wonder you were able to fool anyone.”

He lowered his head, and Kitty stared up at him uncomprehendingly. Then nothing else mattered, for his lips pressed against hers, and her senses caught fire. She gasped at the soft featherlike pressure as his mouth gently molded over hers. With a quiet sound of surprise, she parted her lips and stiffened as shock poured through her veins when he touched his tongue to her bottom lip.

“You are truly an innocent. I wouldn’t have thought it,” he murmured against her lips.

Kitty stumbled back, staring at him helplessly. “Whyever did you kiss me?”

Inexplicably, Kitty’s heart pounded, and something long dormant inside her stretched and hummed to life. The ripple of interest to know this man burned through her, igniting a need that was at once terrifying and exhilarating. She was not the fanciful sort. Papa had always praised her for being sensible. This surge of interest felt irresponsible and silly. Yet it was there, roiling through her in confusing waves.

Finally, he said, “You are my betrothed.”

Dear Lord. His tone was mocking, and worldly, and thrummed with a tension she hardly understood. The fierce intensity of his gaze sent her pulse into a gallop. “You are angry, and you have every right to be so, but I pray you will oblige me to make amends.”

“I am not out of sorts in the least. I’ve already mentioned you invite in-depth study. I am fascinated and curious about our engagement.”

Our engagement? Hope stirred in her breast. “Do you mean you will permit me the charade of being your fiancée?”

His dark, arrogant head lifted. Many indefinable emotions tumbled through Kitty. It seemed improbable that he would go along with this. What would be the benefit of this arrangement to a man such as himself? It was astonishingly generous of him to allow her the farce.

“Why?” she demanded, then stiffened as a notion occurred to her. “I’ll not be your mistress.” That disgusting proposition had been placed to her once, and it had infuriated her that gentlemen truly had no tender, respectful regards for a woman without fortune or connections. “If that is why you took liberties and kissed me, I assure you—”

“You’ll not have to worry about ravishment. I am not interested in you in a carnal manner and will never be. Disabuse yourself of the notion.”

The force of his reply struck her speechless with mortification. “You kissed me, and I—”

“I am impotent, Miss Danvers. I assure you, ravishment will never be your fear.”

The low words settled between them, both icy and heated. The chilling finality in his tone warred with the fiery rage that burned briefly in the dark depths of his eyes before his expression shuttered.

“I…I am dreadfully sorry,” she muttered, trying to understand the full implication of this impotence and what it had to do with ravishment. Cleary there was some connection, not that she would reveal her ignorance and naïveté. This man was so coldly self-assured, so effortlessly commanding despite his infirmity and scars that she must not falter in their negotiations. Or what she hoped would be the start of a negotiation. “Then, please be explicit with whatever you want from me, Your Grace.”

He smiled, and it rendered him charming. “Perhaps we shall be friends.”

“Friends?”

“Yes,” he

smoothly affirmed.

“Surely you did not leave your home to meet me to suggest we be friends?” Suddenly Kitty felt frightened. That assessment felt too simplistic to be rooted in reality. The duke must be in possession of a motive he was not ready to share.