On a Wild Duke Chase: The Wayward Woodvilles Book 2 Read online

  "Well, as to that, I overheard you all boasting about certain ladies' fortunes the other evening. The way you discussed your choices based on their worth is despicable, and you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

  He chuckled. "Believe this if you do not believe anything else that is said between us, Miss Woodville. I will make my choice based on their income, for, unfortunately, I have little choice in the matter. But I will not be shamed for doing so. Nor would I allow my wife to be shamed for chasing a title. It is commonplace in our society. That I have caused you offense once again brings me back to believing you're jealous that I am not courting you. If only you had a fortune, then you would not be so safe."

  She blustered at him, looking even more beautiful than before. "You would court four ladies at the same time merely to see who was more agreeable financially to you?"

  "Of course. I would need to know who was worth the most. Do not forget that," he added, wanting to get under her skin a little more. Her mouth gaped, and he leaned toward her, feeling the disgruntled breath on his lips. "I may also steal a kiss or two to see who reacts to my touch more than the rest. That is important."

  "Important," she said, her words breathless.

  He nodded. "Well, yes, of course. I do not want a cold fish. No matter the basis of that union, a passionate marriage would be preferable. I want to desire my wife. I want her to want me too."

  Her gaze dipped to his lips, her eyes growing heavy with desire. He could recognize it on anyone. Not that he would give this hellcat what she wanted. What he wanted too, not that he would admit to such a thing, but damn she was making it hard.

  "Women are not as promiscuous as men."

  Unable to deny himself, he tipped up her chin, making her meet his eyes. "Oh, Miss Woodville, yes they can be," he said, letting her go and counting the steps toward the drawing room. If he stayed outdoors with her a moment longer, he would show her exactly why women could be as passionate as men and prove her wrong.

  He sought out Lady Martha, having not spent as much time with her as the other two. For the remainder of the night, he fought not to glance in Miss Woodville's direction. He could feel her eyes on him, but she would not do. Her dowry was too small. Five thousand pounds was not enough. Even if he had a sinking feeling she would be more than enough for him in every other way.

  Chapter

  Nine

  The following day and evening, Isla was able to keep away from Lord Leigh and his opinionated, insulting ideals on why marriages as the one he sought would suit him above any other type.

  However, that did not mean that she would allow his ambition to succeed, even after he told her such marriages were commonplace. Lady Francesca, Susan, and Martha were already ladies by birth. They did not need a duchess or marchioness title. Their position in society was already well placed. And if they did wish to gain such lofty marriages, they ought to be allowed to acquire one that included love and affection.

  They would be happier in their lives if that were the case.

  She wandered from the group who had settled down for cards, several tables laid out in a variety of games for the evening. Such pastimes had never interested Isla, and she barely knew how to play whist, nevertheless losing her pin money by taking part in piquet.

  The night was warm, and she slipped onto the terrace, heading toward the gardens. Again they were lit with an array of lanterns, making the gardens appear magical. In the darkness, a wooden garden structure with wisteria growing over it rose before her. It was circular in shape, and white flowering roses were planted at its base. It was rather lovely, and she knew several ladies had spent the afternoon within it reading and enjoying the shade on the warm afternoon days they were enjoying.

  She stepped within and spied several lounge chairs, pillows, and blankets laying over them, just imploring anyone who wanted to laze the day away to enjoy the comfort they offered.

  Isla sat on one, lying back and closing her eyes, breathing deep the sweet, lovely scent of wisteria. In the distance, she could hear the mumbled sounds of laughter and music as the house party enjoyed their evening of gambling and cards.

  For a time, she lay there, content to remain outdoors for the rest of the evening when the sound of determined footsteps crunched on the gravel pathway outside. She frowned, a prickle of regret running through her that she had left the party alone and had not told anyone of her whereabouts. What if it was a highwayman intent to rob the estate?

  She was about to flee when the recognizable face or Lord Leigh poked about the opening. His annoyance was plain to see, and she sighed, not in the mood to tolerate any more of his opinions. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, annoyance layering her tone.

  “Are you trying to be molested, Miss Woodville? What are you doing outside on your own at this time of the evening? Unless,” he said, gesturing toward the gardens. “You have a rendezvous with a gentleman, and I’m merely delaying the actuality.”

  He glared at her, and she rolled her eyes. “I do not gamble and wanted to go for a stroll. I’m within sight of the house. I’m perfectly safe,” she lied, having only a moment before regretted her choice of slipping away.

  Not that she would tell him such a thing. She studied him, so arrogant and lofty. But also, so utterly handsome and dreamy. The kind of rough, coarse gentleman who saved the heroines in the novels she loved to read.

  Tonight, he wore a superfine coat, his knee-high silk breeches glistening against the moonlit sky. He was the complete London gentleman, highly starched cravat and jacket that fit him like a glove. He was a viscount, a gentleman with so much more than many, and he looked as if he knew it.

  Never in her life before had she ever wanted to wipe the haughtiness off his visage. As if he knew better than her. As if his opinions were worth listening to and obeying. She had never been one to be told what to do, and she wouldn’t start with the man before her who had no moral compass.

  “You are not safe, not in London or in the country. To wander away from a party such as the one indoors could lead you into a danger you could not imagine. Do not think that people wishing to harm others do not do so here in York. They do and more often than you would ever know.”

  “Really,” she sighed, standing, having had enough of his lecture. “Do you never tire of listening to your own voice, my lord? I came outside for quiet before retiring. I do not need you here rescuing me like some woman who cannot look out for her own wellbeing. Are there not ladies indoors who you believe wealthier than me who would like to listen to you all evening? I am not one of them.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw, and he stared at her. The pit of her stomach churned, not in a lousy kind of way, but in a way she had never experienced before. It was similar to last evening when she had confronted him on the balcony, but more potent. She would say desire was what she felt if she didn’t know any better.

  She glared, forcing the idea out of her mind. No, she did not feel desire for Lord Leigh. He was a fortune hunter, and she did not need him to know that she had one. She would never marry a man merely to save his own arse.

  Never would she allow herself to feel anything for the man before her but contempt. They may have been friends, but not anymore. She could not be so with someone who would lie merely to get his own way.

  “Are you not?” he asked, stepping into the space with her. The area, which she had thought large enough for several people, now seemed small and confined. She met his eyes and stared back, not willing to recoil at his attempt to overwhelm her with his presence. “Why do I think that is not that case?”

  “Excuse me,” she stated, but even to her own voice, it sounded too high and panicked. “I am not interested in you. Not even as a friend. That ship has well and truly sailed, my lord.”

  “Hmm.” He was before her now, tall and masculine. The scent of the flowers, his cologne of sandalwood she would later blame for what she did next, but in truth, she had crumbled like so many women before her, and it was disgraceful.

 
Isla smirked. “Are you trying to change my mind, my lord? You will not be successful,” she teased, wanting him to try. At least once. To be here with a man she was determined to loathe for all eternity was absurd. But so too would be giving up the opportunity to taste his lips just once. She could hate him after tonight, but for five minutes, what would it hurt to allow him to try to persuade her that he had won this war?

  “I think I could. May I?” he asked.

  “May you what?” she questioned, her skin prickling in awareness, her legs shaking with need. For a moment, he did not move, and when he did, she wasn’t sure her taunting was such a good idea after all. He lowered his lips, brushing hers, so soft and slow as to be painful with the want he ignited in her.

  She shouldn’t want to be kissed by him, but neither did she want to miss this opportunity to enjoy her first real kiss. And by someone who knew what he was doing. The breath in her lungs hitched, and her mind reeled. He was all warmth and tasted of brandy, of vice, and everything she should not want.

  But she did. More than she dared to admit.

  Duke teased her lips with his tongue, a little part of him wanting to frighten the mouthy chit who seemed to have an opinion on everything he intended to do. He already knew marrying for money was not ideal, but he had little choice. And now, she would pay for her ire toward him, her words that made his skin prickle with guilt.

  She gasped, and he deepened the embrace, slipping his tongue into her warm, inviting mouth. She did not pull away. Instead, she swayed toward him, her hands fisting the lapels of his coat, holding him against her.

  His mind reeled, a headiness settled low in the pit of his stomach. She was quick to learn, and he angled her head, allowing him to deepen the embrace. The feel of her tongue, tentative at first against his, made him groan. Yes, this is what he wanted. He wanted her to want him as much as he had wanted her these last few days.

  Even if she were a little prickle in his boot, kissing her now was payment enough for having to endure her bite. He cradled her face in his hands, moving from side to side, taking her mouth in a kiss that was no longer soft or beckoning but brutal, a statement that she ought not to play with him.

  Not in this regard. She did not seem to grasp the danger.

  He wanted to touch her but denied himself the need that coursed through his blood. To do anything but kiss her was dangerous. He could not marry Miss Woodville. She may have a dowry, but five thousand pounds would never be enough.

  The realization brought him out of his haze of desire. He lifted his head, staring down at her, not quite understanding what had happened between them. She looked as dazed as he felt. Her lips were swollen, her eyes heavy with hunger.

  She looked ravished. At some point, his hands had slipped into her hair, knocking out several pins. His attention dropped to her long, brown locks, longer than he had thought them to be. The woman was beautiful, sensual, and utterly captivating.

  You cannot marry her…

  He stepped back, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “Apologies, Miss Woodville. I overstepped my bounds.”

  She reached up, pinning her hair as if his words and his kiss were long forgotten. He frowned. How did she compose herself so well, and so quickly? His heart still beat too fast, the blood in his veins going directly to his groin. If she only looked down, she would see what she did to him.

  “Do not apologize, Lord Leigh. I kissed you back, as much as it frustrates me that I allowed you such liberties. But, at least I now know what all the fuss is about when a man kisses a woman. I had often wondered, and I have no need to wonder anymore.” She slipped past him. The scent of her perfume, fragrant wisteria, floated in the night air. She smelled divine and felt the same in his arms. “Goodnight,” she threw over her shoulder as if he were an afterthought.

  Duke gaped, shaking his head to clear its fuzziness. Had she really just discharged him so easily? The woman either loathed him as much as he had thought she did or was one of the best actors in England.

  He watched her make the terrace and slip indoors. Next time he supposed, he would just have to make their kiss unforgettable and her less presentable. An amusing way to pass the time before he married his heiress and let Miss Woodville marry a man she loved and he in return, leaving everyone satisfied.

  The thought of her married to some unknown gentleman left him cold, and he started back toward the side of the house, not willing to enter via the terrace just in case someone noticed him. It was just because the night had turned cool, he told himself.

  A lie, but one he would tell himself in any case. Miss Woodville was for someone else and not him, and that was the end of the matter.

  Chapter

  Ten

  Isla tossed and turned in bed later that night. The memory of Lord Leigh's mouth on hers, the delicious slide of his tongue against her own made the pit of her stomach clench, and a pleasant thrum occur between her thighs.

  She sighed, knowing such thoughts would never do. She hated what he stood for. He wanted an heiress, something she was, not that the fool knew, and nor would she be the one to tell him. She would never marry a man because he needed her money. She liked herself too much to settle for anything less than what she deserved.

  The memory of his shocked visage when she had left him in the gardens made her grin. Her dismissal of him had taken all her power to say. When, what she had really wanted to do was wrap herself in his arms, push her aching breasts against his chest and let him do what he would with her. Kiss her more and guide her toward the blissful path he ushered her along.

  No wonder women fell from grace when around rakes. She could certainly see the temptation now that she had kissed one.

  She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, not that she could make out much in the room, other than dark shapes and the windows with the moonlight coming through the curtains.

  Isla threw back the covers and lifted her night rail from the end of her bed before leaving her room. She would find a book in the library, one she had not read before, to help her sleep. Lord Billington may even have the first installment of The Moor by Rosa Matilda, who always wrote stories of strong women who followed their passions and beliefs.

  She made her way downstairs and entered the library with soft footsteps without waking anyone. It was thankfully empty, and she walked over to a wall sconce on the chimney breast and lit the candle to offer light. An array of bookcases came into view, and she strolled along each one, looking to see if Lord Billington had what she wanted to read.

  The sound of feminine giggling and a man's deep growl made her jump, and she raced over to the candle, snuffing it. For a moment, she stood in the dark, hoping whoever it was who was running about the house at this hour would not come into this room. Hearing nothing more, she crept over to the door, peering out into the vacant foyer. She couldn't see anyone, but she could hear the muffled sound of a couple having a midnight tryst.

  Isla bit her lip. Who was it running about? Was it Lord Leigh partaking in a tryst? She pushed the annoyance that ran through her at the thought and followed the sound, needing to see for herself.

  She did not know why the idea of Lord Leigh having a wicked rendezvous with another woman aggravated her more than it ought, but it did. At least if she found out who it was, Lord Leigh or not, she would know to keep well away from him regarding future courtship.

  She pushed the library door open just enough for her to slip through and tiptoed to where she could hear whispers and more giggling. Whoever they were, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. As she walked past the staircase, a hand shot out, startling her. A hand wrapped about her mouth, stifling her scream before a heaving muscular chest came up hard against her back and whispered words against her ear that sent her wits to spiral.

  "What are you doing, Miss Woodville? Is it not past your bedtime?"

  She bit his hand, and he yelped. The voices in the other room stopped talking, and with a muffled curse, Lord Leigh hoisted her into his arms and ca
rried her into the small closet beneath the stairs. Little light entered the space, but she knew he was facing her.

  "Shush," he said, as the sound of footsteps came out into the foyer before they moved on and a door closed deep within the bowels of the house.

  "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded of him, his highhandedness reproachable. "You cannot drag me in this room and think it appropriate."

  "When you're about to ruin a couple possibly on the verge of an understanding, I can. And anyway, what are you doing about the house at midnight? Mayhap you are loitering about the house in search of a lover."

  She narrowed her eyes, even though she knew he could not see her. "I could not sleep. I came downstairs for a book and happened to hear giggling. I was merely going to look and see who it was."

  "So you're into watching other couples then. Interesting."

  She pushed at his chest, immovable as the oak trees that grew on their estate. "Do not be so crude. Being nosy is not whatever it was you said." She paused, his scent of sandalwood and something else she could not place making her head spin. "I thought it may have been you, and then what I think of you would have been correct after all."

  "How disappointed you must have been to discover it was not me." He sounded as if he were laughing at her. She ground her teeth.

  "And you, my lord. What were you doing about the house? Mayhap another giggling lady is waiting in one of the rooms, despondent for her Lord Leigh, who has been waylaid by Miss Woodville."

  "Do you always talk about yourself in the third person? How strange you are," he mocked.

  She felt him step closer, his warm breath tickling her neck. When had he bent his head so close? She allowed the shiver of awareness to slide down her spine, but that was all she would permit. There would be no more kisses. No more anything with this rake. "When the need arises, yes, I do."