Miss Dane and the Duke

‘Oh.’ Claudia laid one small white hand on her forehead in a weary gesture. ‘Do not talk to me of politics, it is so tedious.’

‘Well, in that case,’ Sophia snapped, ‘I will not bore you any longer.’ She rose to her feet, walked across the room to the piano and began to pick out a new ballad. Antonia felt like applauding before a note was played.

She glanced every few moments at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf until, unable to bear sitting still any longer, got up to whisper a question in Anne’s ear.

‘Oh yes,’ her hostess whispered back. ‘Down the corridor on the left, the third door. Marcus has had one of Mr Bramah’s flushing water closets installed – such a boon.’

Antonia admired the new-fangled sanitary arrangements, wondering how much it would cost to replace the old earth closets at the Dower House. She glanced in the mirror on the wash stand, tweaked her hair into order and wished she had a little rice powder to calm her hectic cheeks. That last glass of wine sang in her veins, making her feel quite unaccustomedly reckless. Never mind, it would give her the courage to do what she had to do and drive Claudia out of Marcus’s mind for ever.

The conservatory was filled with a damp heat and the heady scent of lilies underlain with wet moss and earth. A few candelabra had been set on columns amongst the plant stands and beds of ferns, casting mysterious pools of shadow. Moths fluttered in through the open doors, fatally drawn towards the candle flames by the voluptuous smell of the hothouse plants.

Antonia strolled up and down the tiled floor, her gown swishing in the stillness. Would he come to her after that angry scene in the study? She walked on, biting her lip in growing anxiety as the wine-induced courage began to ebb away. No, he was not coming, she had lost.

‘Antonia.’ His voice was husky and very close. Antonia’s heart leapt, but she turned slowly to face Marcus, the man she loved.

The moonlight burnished his hair, casting strong shadows across his face, veiling his eyes. But she could see his mouth curling with a sensual tenderness and the rise and fall of his shirt, gleaming white against the dark blue cloth of his coat, showed that he was not entirely master of his emotions.

‘You wanted to speak to me?’

‘No, what I wanted was this.’ Antonia stepped straight up to him, wound her arms sinuously around his neck and, pulling his head down, fastened her lips full on his.

There was the merest hint of hesitation. She had taken him by surprise, acted as no well-bred young woman would ever dream of acting. But then his instincts took command and Marcus pulled her tighter against his body, deepened the kiss, opening and exploring the softness of her mouth. The scent of him filled her nostrils, the taste of him sent her senses reeling.

Without freeing her mouth he swept her into his arms and carried her effortlessly to where a bench had been set in a bower of fragrant stephanotis. Antonia found herself nestling on his lap, the strength of his thighs supporting her, his arms holding her fast against his chest.

The kiss went on and on druggingly, sweeping away all reason and sensibility. Antonia had prepared a little speech, all about how she was prepared to forgive him if he renounced Claudia, but even if she had been able to free her mouth, she could hardly recollect what she had intended to say.

At last he broke the kiss and she gave a little moan of protest which became a whimper of sheer sensual pleasure as his teeth nibbled gently down her throat, his tongue-tip tracing the sensitive line of her jaw before his lips found the swell of her breast.

His lips were so hot on the cool curves, they seemed to burn where they touched. Antonia’s hands pushed under the edges of his coat, her fingers caressing and tasting the firm flesh beneath the fine lawn of his shirt.

Her fingertips found the waistband of his breeches, tugging his shirt free so she could press her palm against the smooth muscled back. Marcus groaned deep in his throat and cupped the swell of her breast in one hand in an answering caress. His thumb stroked against the silk of the bodice, sending such a sensual shock coursing through her that Antonia gasped.

At the sound he raised his head and, gazed into her eyes. For a long moment their eyes held in a wordless communication, then Antonia saw his attention caught by something behind her.

To her shock she found herself deposited unceremoniously on to the cold ironwork of the bench as Marcus got to his feet, tugging his waistcoat straight over the chaos she had wrought with his shirt.

‘Marcus,’ she protested softly.

‘Shh,’ he hissed, hard eyes staring into the dark foliage. Leaving her breathless on the bench, he stepped out into a patch of moonlight. ‘Claudia.’ His voice was heavy with sensuality. ‘So, this is where you are. I was looking for you.’ He took another long stride and Antonia, peering through the tangle of foliage, saw him reach the side of Claudia Reed, bend his head and

claim her lips with a hard kiss.

Antonia was too shocked even to gasp, then too humiliated to risk being seen by the other woman, who was greedily kissing Marcus, her knowing body curving into his.

‘Later, Claudia, later,’ Marcus murmured, leading her towards the door. ‘We must rejoin the others, or it will cause comment.’

All intoxication burned away by anger and humiliation, Antonia stared at a moth scorching its wings in the candle flame. Just like me, scorched by my passion for Marcus.

She should have known he was not a forgiving man. She had refused his suit, she had tricked him on the riverbank with Jeremy, putting him at a disadvantage in front of the other man. She had let her satisfaction at the trick show too plainly this evening and he had wreaked a terrible revenge on her, guaranteeing she would never dare cross swords with him again.

Humiliated, stricken to immobility by misery, she sat on, unheeding of time, until Anne Meredith sought her out, concern on her face.

‘Antonia, my dear, are you unwell?’

‘No. Yes.’ Words seemed to come from a long way away. It was an enormous effort to squeeze them past her stiff lips. ‘l think I have caught a chill. Forgive me, but I must go home. May I have the carriage?’

‘But, of course, my dear.’ Lady Anne hurried out, returning some minutes later with Antonia’s cloak and reticule. ‘Let me put this round your shoulders. Why, your hands are quite frozen. Mead is sending for the carriage, it will not be long. Would you like me to accompany you back to the Dower House? Miss Donaldson may not have returned.’