The Duke of a Thousand Desires Read online

  “I’m sorry, too, Simon. I’d no idea that her death was more than it seemed. Was anyone with her at the time? Who saw what happened?”

  “Her groom was walking her horse below the window when she purportedly fell. He and the gardeners fought to revive her, but the surgeon called to the estate attested that she died instantly and didn’t suffer. That much I need to believe.” He studied her face beneath the straw bonnet. She was kind and easy to talk to. She listened. She did not judge. Nor had she ever pretended to be perfect.

  “You’ve spoken to the earl of your suspicions?” she asked.

  “Yes. He claims to pity me and insists he and I remain family. I trusted him once. Not only did he deceive me, but he killed an innocent woman. I was a fool. I offered to use my influence to help him establish a constituency for Parliament. He has high aspirations as men without conscience often do.”

  Her brow creased. “You haven’t spoken to me this openly in all the years of our friendship. Griffin blamed himself when Liam broke his neck during their horse race. It wasn’t Griff’s fault, but no one was able to convince him of that.”

  “I remember. Griff was accused of luring Liam to his death so that he would inherit the dukedom. It was an ugly accusation. I blame myself for dragging you into my battle.”

  “We are friends, Simon.”

  He wanted more than friendship. He wanted to be her day and knight, her forever and only love, but enough had been shared for now. “That’s too much melancholy for the first day of our engagement. I don’t mean to scare you off before we take our vows.”

  “I have given you the impression that I’m timid?”

  “Timid? Never. But you are elusive.”

  “I am?”

  He was almost caught. “Yes. Look how you got out of your engagement.”

  She stood on her toes and without warning touched a kiss to his cheek. He swallowed. He went hot and hard and somehow managed not to drag her into his arms against his pounding heart. The muscles of his shoulders tightened in effort. He couldn’t remember the other women he had kissed. Not their faces, their names. He would never forget this. He burned for her so intensely he felt altogether frantic.

  “Thank you for being truthful,” she whispered, dropping back on her heels. “I despise liars. I suspect you have more to say, but this isn’t the time or place.”

  “No,” he said. “In fact, it wasn’t the best idea for you to kiss me just now.”

  “No one saw,” she whispered as if it made a difference.

  His voice filled with soft vehemence. “It’s what I felt.”

  Her eyes lifted to his. “I didn’t realize you were that susceptible.”

  “I thought I’d warned you that I’m prone to moments of passion.”

  “And here I was holding back tears for you.”

  “I hope to make you weep only tears of pleasure,” he said, purposefully lightening the mood.

  “I should turn my back on you for that. But then if I’m going to marry you it would be impractical to run away every time you fluster me.”

  He stared at her, entranced by her fearless assessment of the inevitable. “You do far more than fluster me.”

  “Suppose we were alone? What would you do?”

  “Didn’t I warn you last night?”

  “I don’t heed warnings.”

  “I’d start by taking your hair loose,” he said in a low voice. “Then I’d unclothe you from top to bottom. I would cover your naked curves with kisses and stroke my fingers down your spine until you fell into my arms. I’d learn the secrets of your body one by one.”

  “Shame on you,” she said with a laugh. “If that’s your idea of how to soothe my emotions, I am doomed. I’ll never -- ” She subsided into silence, pointedly looking past him.

  “What is it?” he demanded, swinging around to search the path for the source of her unease. “Have you seen someone? Tell me where. Is it him?”

  “It’s worse,” she said, drawing away. “It’s Aunt Glynnis, and she’s headed straight toward us. You are truly dead now, Simon. We both are. Go and hide with Rhys and Isolde. Quickly. Hide.”

  11

  Simon debated whether he should face the formidable beldame or rocket off like a quail while Ravenna had diffused her aunt’s palpable agitation. From across the lawn the snowy-haired Welshwoman skewered him with a stare that penetrated to his marrow. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, however. She might not have recognized him.

  “Don’t stand there like a target,” Rhys whispered loudly, waving to him from behind the shrubbery. “Take cover. She’s got smoke coming from her ears and scales rising on her back. She’s heard about your engagement.”

  “I can’t leave Ravenna alone to deal with her.”

  “I can,” Rhys said.

  Well then, perhaps Simon could too. Over the years he had developed a fondness for Glynnis, and he thought the woman cared for him. But Rhys had a point. Simon was better off staying out of sight until Ravenna explained the situation. Presumably, once Glynnis understood that Simon’s intentions were honorable, she would not strangle him with her shawl.

  “This is rude,” he muttered as he joined Rhys behind the hedgerow.

  “It’s a matter of survival,” Rhys said. “None of the tactics I learned in the cavalry are effective against the Welsh witches in the family.”

  “That isn’t a kindly way to describe your aunts.”

  “I use the term in reference to their powers of intuition, not to their temperament.”

  “This only makes me look more suspicious.”

  “If you can’t hide quietly, don’t give me away.”

  Simon ducked his head, grinning involuntarily. Their undignified concealment reminded him of the afternoon he had spent years ago with Ravenna in Glamorgan. He had been fishing from an old stone bridge, waiting for Rhys, in fact, when Ravenna came flying at him from the castle.

  Breathless. One slipper missing. Oddly compelling as she pled for his help in a crinkled white muslin gown. At least he thought it was white. The closer she came, the more dusty gray the frock appeared.

  “Hide me, Simon! Don’t give me away!”

  He lowered his pole. He hadn’t had a nibble in an hour. “Who are you hiding from?”

  “Liam, Griff, and their hideous friends. They’ll kill me.” She bent at the waist to catch her breath, her long black hair brushing his boots. “Simon, please. Don’t ask questions. I’ll teach you how to catch a fish with a fork in the shallows.”

  He stared down at her. He didn’t particularly care about fishing. She smelled like rose soap and a cough remedy. Pretty as ever, even if she was a trouble-prone mess. He wondered if it was his imagination that she often darted in the opposite direction when he came into view.

  “What have they done to you?” he asked, pleased that she had sought his help.

  “Nothing yet.” She yanked off her remaining slipper and tossed it over the bridge. “It’s what I did to them.” She pulled herself upright. The appeal in her blue eyes rendered a refusal impossible. “I poured a bowl of Aunt Primrose’s foot soak on Liam’s head from the gallery while he was undressing his new mistress.”

  He burst out laughing. “I might chase you down for that myself.” Then again, Liam kissed anyone in a skirt and had no concept of discretion. He had also been influential in Simon’s discovery of the opposite sex.

  Simon admired Liam’s ease with the ladies but not his absence of finesse. “There are countless places in the castle to hide,” he said. “Your aunts would order him drawn and quartered if they had wandered into the gallery in the middle of his antics. It’s a pity you had to be offended, but better you than Primrose or Glynnis, I expect.”

  “He didn’t offend me. I’ve caught him with girls plenty of times. And my aunts are in Swansea.”

  Simon suspected he’d taken the wrong side. She was a young lady, rather a mighty one, pitted against three boisterous brothers, although she was secretly his favorite. “The
n why did you douse him?”

  “I asked to ride his new mare this morning. He refused and said I couldn’t manage her.”

  “The horse that hasn’t been trained? You sound like a proper brat in need of a spanking. I agree with Liam.”

  She backed up a step, knocking over his pail with her skirts.

  “I shouldn’t have asked. You’re one of them.”

  “I’m not sure I should betray your brothers.”

  She stared up at him in such innocent disappointment that he was aware of his towering height, the birthmark on his cheek, and the realization that he came off like a rogue. He hoped he hadn’t ruined the chance to prove what he felt for her had gone beyond friendship. She was eighteen, after all, and he was three years older. He knew he’d never find another girl like her even if he was inclined to look.

  “Take my hand,” he said. “We’ll hide together.”

  “Where?”

  “Under the bridge.”

  “Oh, no. We’ll be drenched. The water is freezing.”

  She let him lead her down the embankment, nevertheless. “We’ll hide behind the rocks,” he said.

  “One day I shall have to return the favor,” she murmured carelessly.

  “Don’t forget you said that. Now, remain calm. Imagine that you are invisible.”

  They descended to the water, holding hands. He felt her flinch at the onslaught of the icy river against her knees. To his surprise she made no complaint when on impulse he lifted her into his arms and carried her to a cluster of rocks under the bridge. Water frothed above his boots to his thighs.

  He hunkered down like a troll with a maiden tucked in his lap. Holding Ravenna brought his blood to a smolder, but they were both half-frozen by the time her pursuers clattered overhead and into the woods, shouting her name and threatening to close the drawbridge to lock her out of the castle overnight.

  “They wouldn’t dare,” he said, realizing that he had to move or he might ask to kiss her. She was sopping wet and huddling against him for warmth. He could feel the fullness of her breasts and her soft rump through her wet frock. It would be a miracle if she couldn’t feel how stiff he was. Ravenna would likely notice such an embarrassment. She’d received quite the accidental education from her brothers.

  “They’ve locked me out before,” she whispered with an awkward wriggle as if to announce he could safely let her go. “It was decent of you to help me, Simon. I won’t tell my brothers about this.”

  He swallowed. “I won’t, either.”

  She eyed him carefully. “You might not be as bad as I thought you were.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She never answered.

  He visited the castle a few times after that. Another sweet encounter with Ravenna eluded him; she eluded him, in fact, but now when their eyes met she gave him a secretive smile before she skipped out of sight. Was that a good sign? Should he be encouraged? Damned if she didn’t make his throat tighten. He thought it was time to take a step.

  During his fourth visit he sought out her eldest brother in private and asked for her hand. Liam turned him down almost the instant Simon voiced the petition.

  For over a century the English faction of the Boscastle family ignored their collateral Welsh relations owing to a resentment that had occurred during the rule of King Charles II.

  The pleasure-seeking monarch had awarded Evan Boscastle, Baron Ponterdwe, the then-castle holder, a duchy for services rendered during the civil war and devotion to the Royalist cause. This honor miffed the pride of the English Boscastles who until this elevation had held the highest ranking in the family, that of marquess.

  “Almost a century and a half of this feud passed with ill feelings between us,” Rhys had explained once to Simon, who laughed in sympathy, understanding the perils of aristocratic rivalries.

  “Basically then, the estrangement derived from title envy.”

  “What made it worse,” Rhys said, “was that the baron lived in wild and uncivilized Wales, still considered a barbaric land to many Englishmen. And we are an offshoot of the family.”

  “Don’t the Boscastles have relatives in Scotland?”

  “Yes. In Edinburgh and the Highlands. They are considered only slightly less savage than us.”

  “How did you make up?”

  “The younger generations saw no reason to continue the enmity. A soldier in the English line fought beside a Welsh relative and discovered they were cousins. Or so the myth goes. The truth is blurred in time.”

  Simon mulled over this story in amusement. It made no difference to him. He’d met the Welsh brothers at military school, and while Rhys had gone on to serve his country, Simon’s hope for a career ended when his father died and Simon inherited the dukedom. He concealed his sorrow and shouldered the responsibilities of a first-born son.

  As it turned out, he liked his friends’ younger sister even more than he liked her brothers. She was quick and something of a tempest and he craved her warmth and energy. He tried to forget her when he was at home, but the truth was that he looked forward to their visits together until he could think of nothing else.

  He didn’t understand how it had happened. He hadn’t fallen for her in any one single moment, but gradually instead, a subtle change like winter turning into spring.

  She had become the best part of his life.

  “Why?” he asked Liam, insulted and astonished at the rejection. “I’m a duke. Our fathers took their Grand Tour together, and she has to marry someone.”

  “You might be a duke, but you’re also a rogue in the making, and my father betrothed her to another man on his deathbed. That’s the man she’s going to marry when he returns from the army.”

  “I’m a rogue?”

  “We spent a summer together in London, Simon. You were circumspect, but you aren’t a Bible scholar. Not that I am judging you. It’s only that Ravenna is my sister. I wish you had approached the family earlier. Perhaps something will change.”

  Simon was momentarily speechless. Should he point out that he wasn’t Liam? He hadn’t produced children around the Welsh countryside. Liam had.

  “You and I have played afield, Simon, which is not a hypocritical condemnation of your affairs. Ravenna is my responsibility. She’s been pledged to another man for some time. He has been away on other matters. Soon he will be ready for marriage.”

  Simon lifted his hand. “Don’t tell me anything about him.” He did not add that he might use the information to provoke a rival he had not known existed.

  Liam was apologetic. “If my father had not agreed upon this other arrangement, I’d leap at the chance to see my sister a duchess.”

  Simon forced himself to accept his answer with grace. His first marriage offer had been refused. The family he most admired had rejected him.

  “Does Ravenna know of the arrangement?” he wondered aloud. “Is she content with it?”

  “She knows. She is content enough, and even if she wasn’t, she has to obey our father’s wishes. We must behave with honor,” he said as if to warn Simon against coercion, abduction, bribery or perhaps outright seduction for all he knew.

  This perplexed Simon. He could not help thinking that if he had an opportunity to court her, he might have persuaded Ravenna to his side, and she could have changed Liam’s mind.

  Her unnamed husband-to-be might not be her true love.

  Could Simon stop loving her? He was afraid not. But he would act honorably, even if Liam had not always done so. The Welsh duke had used his appeal to take advantage of young women with no experience at all. One of his affairs had produced an unhappy come-by-chance daughter called Edlyn.

  “Let us forget this conversation,” Liam said. “We must remain friends.”

  It was shortly after this meeting that Simon returned to London, and Liam died in a riding accident. Simon returned for the funeral, waited a year, and during a bout of intense fencing on the castle battlements, asked Ravenna’s current and
now eldest brother, Griffin Boscastle, the Duke of Glamorgan, for her hand.

  “I notice that her engagement has not been announced,” he pointed out to Griff, who was more approachable than Liam had ever been.

  Griff was also wracked with guilt. He had challenged Liam to the horse race that had ended in his death.

  “Life struck us a blow,” Griff said. “Sir David reenlisted in the army, and then we lost Liam. As you know we have been in deep mourning. Announcing a betrothal did not seem appropriate, I suppose.”

  Sir David. Now the enemy had a name. Simon lowered his arm, masking his expression. “She is personally attached to this man?”

  “She has an agreement.” Griffin shrugged uncomfortably. “Did you ever indicate your desire to marry her before now?”

  Only a thousand times in his heart.

  “I asked Liam a year ago.”

  The men became quiet. Griff poked his foiled sword into the straw figure that stood in the corner for practice. “If I’d known you were considering her, Simon, I would have done everything to discourage the other match.”

  Did Simon want her enough to deal for her in secret, not knowing her wishes on the matter?

  Honor. He could not court Ravenna in defiance of her family. “If the engagement is broken for some reason, you know where I will be.”

  “I can’t change a promise,” Griff said. “Look, you’ve asked twice. Perhaps the next woman you propose to will accept. I’ll keep this between us, shall I?”

  Timing, Simon thought.

  It was everything.

  How could it possibly work in his favor? He would act with honor. But if he asked a third time, would luck befall him?

  12

  Ravenna dutifully waited before her bespectacled aunt on a curved bench in Jane’s writing room. Her lady’s maid Isolde stood at the ready with a decanter of sherry cordial, polished glasses, and a pair of scented gloves to wave under her aunt’s nose in the event of a swoon. Jane scribbled away at her desk, her swan’s quill bobbing back and forth.