“I know we have known each other hardly any time at all,” the duke said, mere inches in front of her, his gaze boring into hers, “but we understand one another, do we not? I haven’t laughed so much with anyone. And our kiss—”
“Shh,” she said, unable to believe she was shushing a duke. Not even an earl or a marquess. A duke! Second only to a prince of the realm. Nevertheless, if her parents heard of her inappropriate behavior in the back room of Rare Confectionery, she wouldn’t be able to bear their disappointment. Or worse, if Jeremy caught wind of it — she should have thought of him before her parents. He was her fiancé now.
“Please!” she begged. “You must go.”
On the contrary, his hands were at her waist drawing her against him.
“Why must I go?” he asked, his glance flickering to her mouth.
In turn, she looked at his. “Because this is improper.”
“Not if we’re engaged,” he said.
“We are not.”
“But we could be,” he promised.
“I cannot have two—”
His lips claimed hers, stealing her breath as well as her thoughts. Her hands somehow found their way up his chest and around his neck to clasp behind his head, his intoxicating scent filling her nostrils. He tilted his head until their mouths perfectly fused. She felt the tip of his tongue touch the seam of her lips and opened to him.
He groaned. She moaned. Their tongues slid across one another languidly, and then suddenly, Amity was hit on the back of the head. Twice.
The door! She tried to break free but was trapped. Luckily, the duke realized what was happening and jumped back like a leaping frog in the spring, while Amity turned to open the door wide. It was Beatrice.
“I was about to open the door and you knocked into me with it,” Amity said, thinking that might be her first lie to her sister.
“Were you? Did I?” Beatrice asked with a smooth tone, her blue eyes taking in her eldest sister’s flushed face.
Amity’s mistake was in glancing behind her at the duke, seeing his own guilty expression and feeling her cheeks heat further.
“You two had best cool down a little before you return to the parlor,” her sister advised. “By the way, your fiancé is asking for you.”
With that, and a final knowing smirk, Beatrice turned and left them. Nothing daunted her sister, not even tormenting a peer of the realm.
For her part, Amity could barely look at him. A few moments earlier, she’d been pressing against the length of him while his warm hands were upon her body and his even warmer lips ground against her own.
It was, as she’d thought, a madness! Now, with her head clear ... frankly, she wanted to do it all again.
“You cannot really want to marry that lawyer and kiss me like that,” he said gruffly.
“Shh,” she said again. “I would not kiss you like that,” she whispered, “if I were to marry Mr. Cole. I mean, when I am married to him.”
His eyebrows rose. “If you were engaged to me, would you kiss another so ardently?”
“Of course not!” she exclaimed. “Why would I ever—?” Belatedly, she realized he’d trapped her into almost declaring her deeper affection for him than for Jeremy.
“You do feel something for me that you do not for him,” the duke confirmed, momentarily satisfied.
“Please,” she begged. “We must return to the parlor at once.”
He crossed his arms stubbornly. “I have asked you to marry me.”
Had he? It seemed he had told her to marry him. Besides, nothing had changed. She could not be his duchess and make chocolate, even if she learned the name and title of every last, blasted nobleman in Britain. She shook her head.
“Are you turning me down?” His tone was as astonished as his expression.
How could she not? “I have recently become engaged. And we — you and I — beyond any doubt, do not belong together. My lord!” she added, reminding him of her faux pas and how they truly were from vastly different worlds.
With that, she followed her sister. If Amity thought she’d had the final word on the matter, though, she was mistaken. After she entered the parlor, the duke — Henry, as she’d started to think of him — came in directly behind her. Too quickly. When she stopped, he practically bumped into her bustle.
Every eye turned toward them.
Amity didn’t know what to say and, thus, said nothing. She should have thought of a chocolate matter but coming up with a lie was an entirely new task with which she was not comfortable.
“We were discussing whether to have lamb or beef for dinner,” Felicity Rare-Foure said to break the silence, yet Amity could tell by her mother’s sharp look they’d been discussing nothing of the kind.
“Will you stay?” her father asked as the duke came out from behind Amity and casually stood beside her, not the least bit bothered by the air of disapproval coming off some family members and especially from Jeremy.
Amity expected the duke to decline politely and leave. After all, it was a long trip back to London, and she had just turned him down.
Good God! She had turned down the Duke of Pelham, who was a dashing, sought-after bachelor. More than that, he was someone she very much cared for. Feeling ill, she sank into the nearest chair.
“I would love to,” she heard him respond, “but I don’t know how late I can ask my coachman to take us home. I would hate for him to fall asleep on the road to London. In hindsight, I should have come by train, but it was rather spur of the moment and I didn’t know if there would be transport at the station. Or even if there was a station, for that matter.”
“Nonsense,” her father said, “you must stay the night. You’ve only just arrived. All this way for an apology no one needed or wanted. You must have dinner with us, and then we shall find you a bed.”
Amity hoped Henry refused the offer. Honor demanded he decline for the sake of all that was proper and moral in the world.
“I cannot put you to any trouble,” he said, and she relaxed a little. He would leave her in peace.
But to her extreme annoyance, Henry added, “I will certainly take dinner with you, and I am grateful for the invitation. However, if there is an inn nearby, I shall go there after we eat.”
Amity was all but glaring at him. He was openly fishing for the offer of a bed to be proffered again.
And her father did exactly that. “Nonsense,” Armand Foure declared once more.
Every Rare-Foure female seemed to stare at him simultaneously. He was being welcoming to the point of pushiness. And Jeremy, who’d seemed pleased to shake hands with the duke when he’d first arrived, now wore a pinched expression.
“Perhaps for the duke’s comfort, Father,” Amity pointed out, “he might prefer the Three Boars Inn.”
“I’m positive neither His Grace nor his driver wish to go out again in this dreary weather. Even his horses are probably tucked in the stable munching hay.”
“Very well,” said Henry jovially as if he were doing them all a favor. “I shall stay and be glad of it. But I insist you put me on a cot somewhere. I would hate for you to turn Mr. Cole out of the guest room if there is none other available.”
In fact, it was the only one available, the other rooms being her parents’ bedroom, Amity’s chamber, and her sister’s shared room. Amity supposed she could move in with her sisters and give Henry her bed, but even offering to let him rest his body upon her mattress seemed inappropriate.