How to Forget a Duke Read online

  Jacinda lost her battle against the blush as she watched Mr. Fellows carefully not look in her direction.

  Clearing his throat and keeping his shoulders straight, the butler simply said, “No, sir. I had every confidence in Your Grace’s abilities to keep her safe.”

  Crispin reached out and laid a hand on Mr. Fellows’s shoulder without saying a word.

  After this brief exchange, Crispin led Jacinda down the hall, not slowing his stride until they reached the arch of the library. Then he pulled her inside the room and kissed her soundly, turning her knees into wobbly jelly. “I’m going to inform my aunt that we—”

  “Not yet,” she interrupted, out of breath and clinging to him. “I haven’t given my answer and marriage requires careful consideration.”

  “Rather the horse before the cart at this point, darling.” He chuckled, nuzzling the underside of her jaw, eroding her resolve. “But do not fear, I was only going to tell my aunt that I would be taking dinner in my rooms this evening. After venturing into the storm, I should think that you might have caught a chill and will be in your rooms as well?”

  “You never allowed me to catch a chill,” she teased, but he made a liar of her when his mouth grazed the sensitive place just behind her ear and a shiver tumbled through her.

  Grinning again, he pressed his lips to hers. “Perhaps I should ensure that you don’t by escorting you to your chamber this instant.”

  Loving this new intimacy between them, she was tempted to give in. And she found herself wondering if this was what marriage to Rydstrom would be like, verbal parries interlaced with a constant hum of desire, the sweet ache rolling over her skin and through her limbs, that yearning to be close to him, flesh to flesh.

  In such a moment, it was difficult to recall any of her reservations. But she did, nonetheless.

  With gentle pressure against his shoulders, she stepped back. “We have much to discuss.”

  He growled his disapproval but conceded with another promise of “later.”

  Yet when later came, Jacinda realized that Crispin intended to make it impossible to resist him.

  The instant her bedchamber door closed, he took her in his arms and kissed her. Through his shirtwaist and green-and-gold silk banyan, hungry murmurs rumbled in his chest as if the hours apart had been weeks or months. And clearly it was a mistake to have donned only her night rail. The ruffles and thin cotton were no barrier beneath the heat of his ardent, capable hands, and the gentle scratch of the fabric over her skin only heightened her own appetite.

  She’d missed him, too. And when his fingers splayed over her back, sliding down to the curve of her derriere, hitching her against the hard length of him, her determination to sort out matters nearly gave way to the need to assuage the tender, aching pulse, deep inside her body.

  “I’ve been thinking,” she said, breaking away from the enticing pull of his lips and panting. But he stayed the course, his mouth blazing a wicked, tantalizing trail down her neck. “Considering the circumstances . . . it is possible that our actions were a bit . . . rash. Oh—that’s nice. Right there—But no. What was I saying? Oh yes. Yessss.” He found a new place near the curve of her shoulder that tingled all the way to her toes, making them curl and the rest of her argument spilled forth in one slow breath. “Right now, you might be feeling some regret and it would be perfectly understandable if you wish to rescind your offer.”

  He lifted his head, his lips glistening in the candlelight, his brow furrowed. “Do you regret what happened?”

  “Not for a single instant.” Impulsive, though she may be, she wasn’t an idiot.

  “Good. Neither do I.” He grinned and began walking her back toward the bed. “Now, with that settled, I believe it’s time to demonstrate those dreams I’ve been having . . .”

  Face flushed, her heart sputtered into a lopsided rhythm, unsure of whether to be nervous or intrigued. In the end, she couldn’t decide. Her womb shifted, clenching in aroused curiosity, and her palms grew damp in maidenly discomfiture.

  “But surely you never anticipated this occurrence,” she persisted, hands splaying over his parted shirtwaist, her fingertips weaving into the crisp brown hair on his chest. “How could you want to marry the very woman who—as you said—carelessly put her own life in danger in order to expose your secret?”

  Once again, he lifted his head and nodded on an exhale of apparent compliance. “You are right, Jacinda. I need to clear up the matter that I thoughtlessly put between us.”

  Instead of continuing toward the narrow tester bed in the smaller chamber she now inhabited, he took her hand and led her to the tufted rose chair, angled near the hearth. Turning, he folded his broad frame into the seat and pulled her onto his lap, situating her against the undeterred hardness at her hip.

  He kissed the tip of her nose and skimmed his fingers through the locks of her unbound tresses, brushing them away from her cheek. “Darling, I was never afraid that you would do something deliberate to hurt Sybil if you discovered the truth. What frightened me was your tendency to act on impulse and not think about the repercussions until later.”

  Her cheeks grew hot. “Under the circumstances, it seems I have not changed much from the person you knew in London.”

  A slow, wicked grin lifted one corner of his mouth, his hand gripping the curve of her hip and drawing her closer until her breasts were flush against his chest. “I’ve come to believe that impulsiveness is one of your many fine qualities.”

  “Of course you would say that now.”

  He waggled his brows and kissed her, but all too briefly before he drew back and revealed the sudden serious set of his features. “Teasing aside, I am in earnest, and I also am in awe of your tenacity and courage. Though, as for the latter, I should rather keep you safe by my side.”

  Her heart fluttered at the sincerity of his words, speaking more than truth as they tunneled into her. So much had altered between them that it seemed they were different people. And yet, they were not.

  “I still do not understand the reason you have kept Sybil’s illegitimacy such a well-guarded secret,” she continued, “and one that you haven’t even shared with your aunt.”

  “Because I could not bear it if Sybil suffered the life that so many illegitimate daughters of noble blood do. I can see doubt in your expression—your eyes reveal you, darling—but it is the truth. There is a great unfairness, and I know this because I was once part of it.”

  “The set of your jaw tells me that you would rather not go on, but if we are to be married—”

  “When, Jacinda.”

  “If,” she said firmly. After all, wouldn’t such an impulsive creature be doing them both a disservice by leaping into a marriage that he had wanted no part of just a day ago? “I should like to know everything about you.”

  “Even if it involves another woman?”

  Oh. She had not expected that response. After hearing in the village that she’d been his only visitor in four years, she’d hoped that he hadn’t had any other women in his life. But that was foolish, she supposed. He was a virile man with—from what she gathered earlier—a healthy appetite for pleasure. But did she truly want to learn about how another woman affected his life?

  Still, the answer was yes. Hesitant, she nodded.

  He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly before pressing his lips to hers in a soft kiss, lingering as if he thought it might be the last. “The day my parents died, I’d come home to request additional income from one of the properties I was set to inherit. I’d learned that the land was making a tidy profit and had a mind to take a mistress.”

  He paused, allowing her to absorb this, and she felt an acidic rise of unmistakable jealousy, burning in her stomach. Instantly, Jacinda wanted to know the name of this harlot, to hunt her down and . . . Well, she wasn’t sure what next, but she felt she had to do something to make sure this woman knew that Crispin was Jacinda’s, and hers alone.

  “And did you?”
r />   “No,” he said gently, a sadness in his eyes as he cupped her face, his thumb coasting over her bottom lip. “What I did was even worse. Are you certain you want to hear the rest?”

  Nervous now, she drew in a shaky, but resolved, breath. “I am.”

  He swallowed and dropped his hand. “I was proud, boasting over the noble thing I was doing by becoming the protector of a marquess’s bastard daughter, and giving her the best life she could hope to have. And I was thoroughly surprised by my father’s reaction. He became incensed, railing that I’d become selfish and reckless, acting as though I was entitled to behave without morals. And at the age of four and twenty, full of my own self-righteousness, I was not about to let him shine such a sanctimonious light on me. So, I responded in kind.

  “We argued for hours. When he threatened to cut me off altogether, I stormed through the corridors of Rydstrom Hall, vowing never to return. Yet, at the door, I met Sybil for the first time, and she asked to see her father. Our father, I quickly surmised.” He paused, his mink brown lashes drawing together as if pained, his gaze turning distant.

  “Brewing my own outrage, I found him in the morning room and began ranting about his hypocrisy, not realizing that my mother was nearby. And at the time, I loathe to say, I did not care. I only thought of myself. Then, leaving a path of destruction in my wake, I prepared to leave once more, but then the storm came.” He exhaled brokenly and fixed his sorrowful gaze on hers. “The rest, you know.”

  She took his face in her hands. “Oh, my dearest Crispin. You’ve carried this burden with you all this time, but you cannot blame yourself for what happened.”

  Carefully, he encircled her wrists and drew her hands down. “They wouldn’t have been arguing on the cliffs, if not for me.”

  “I don’t agree.” She shook her head with absolute certainty. “They had much to discuss that day, and I’m sure they’d wanted privacy to do so. As for that, they could have just as easily been in a section of Rydstrom Hall that collapsed around them. Just because they were near the cliffs is not your fault.” But she could see that he did not agree with her. “If I would have fallen today, would you have blamed yourself as well?”

  “Of course. I am the one who sent you running out in the storm.”

  “No, you didn’t. I chose to run out into the storm like a ninny. I chose to stand too close to the edge. But in my own defense, it hadn’t seemed that close at the time. Nevertheless, I stood there, knowing how dangerous it was. If anything should have happened, it would have been my own fault. Not yours. Therefore, you must let go of your guilt and be at peace.”

  He slid his hand to the nape of her neck and drew her forehead against his, closing his eyes. “I shall take the matter under consideration.”

  “Mmm . . .” she murmured, doubtful, but pressed her lips to his. “And so, for the past four years, you’ve nobly protected Sybil from a scornful society until a rather curious young woman found herself on your beach without a memory.”

  His focus returned to her, his mouth giving way to a tender grin. “And I am all the better for it.”

  And there it was again, that happy rise of bubbles in her lungs and the glad, eager beat of her heart. Oh, how she loved this man.

  Her fingertips wandered aimlessly over his shoulders, down the lapels of his banyan, and found a loose golden thread. Absently, she plucked at it. “Whatever happened to your mistress? Did she ever come to . . . visit you here?”

  “She found another protector, and no. In the past four years, there has been no one but you. And that is the way it will always be.”

  Pleased by his answer, she grinned, sliding out of his lap to stand in the space between his parted thighs. “No mistress at all?”

  “Only the mistress of Rydstrom Hall. My wife. At least, when she finally consents.” He reached out as if to pull her back, and likely to convince her.

  But Jacinda had other plans. She evaded his capture, skirting out of his grasp, and walked backward toward the bed. “And she, I imagine, wouldn’t ever have a need to find a lover.”

  Crispin grinned darkly, rakishly, and rose from the chair in a sinuous, predatory motion. “I will keep her well satisfied.”

  A thrill pulsed through her, hot and startling in its intensity. She could already feel herself grow damp and he wasn’t even touching her. Yet. “And when you awaken, aroused in the middle of the night, will you write her name in your ledger?”

  “No,” he said when he reached her in four prowling strides. Taking her by the waist, he hauled her into his arms, settling her hips against the fall of his trousers and the unashamedly hard length of male flesh. Then he lifted her, sipping the startled gasp from her lips, his purposeful steps guiding her to the edge of the mattress and peeling away her nightdress, inch by inch. “I’ll turn to her in our bed, slide my hands, my mouth over her body, until she is equally feverish. Until her neck arches back in the pillow and my name spills from her lips like a prayer. Until she trembles and cries out, with my flesh buried deep inside her.” A blur of white cotton sailed overhead and he nudged her backward onto the coverlet, his gaze darkening at the sight of her sprawled naked before him. “And she’ll never forget that she’s mine.”

  Chapter 30

  “It was a melancholy change; and Emma could not but sigh over it, and wish for impossible things.”

  Jane Austen, Emma

  For a brief, decadent few hours, it had been easy to imagine herself as Crispin’s bride.

  Had she been able to form a coherent thought, then perhaps before he’d left her chamber at dawn, she might have forced him to have the conversation that they’d been avoiding—his need for a wealthy bride in order to repair Rydstrom Hall.

  Instead, she’d given over to his kisses and allowed him to fulfill his promise of feasting on her body. When she was sated—and frankly, quite awed by all the shameful, delicious things he’d done to her—he tucked her drowsy, pliant body against his and settled the coverlet and his banyan over her. And while all of that was like living in a wondrous dream, afterward he surprised her once again.

  She could not help but smile wistfully at the memory as she stared down at her hand.

  “What are you doing?” she’d asked, watching in the low flicker of candlelight as he tugged that gold silk thread from his banyan and began to wind it around her finger.

  “I should think it obvious. I’m tying a string around your finger, so that you cannot forget that you are mine.” He’d pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. “And I’m tying it to this finger to leave room for the gold band you’ll have on the other when we marry.”

  And that time, she did not correct him by arguing with an if.

  Now, however, in the excruciatingly bright light of morning, Jacinda was all too aware of how a moment of passion could lead to lifelong regret. Not on her part but, she feared, on his.

  After all, knowing how deeply rooted his sense of duty was to his feelings of guilt, how could she not feel this way? If she had done her duty as a sensible maiden by guarding her chastity instead of practically flinging it at him, he never would have proposed. Sensibly, she knew this to be true.

  So where did that leave them today?

  With a need to have a brutally honest conversation.

  Even so, she did not leap out of bed in a rush to speak to Crispin. Instead, she lingered, mindful of the tender, intimate places on her body, and decided to decipher the puzzle box waiting on the bedside table. With her thoughts elsewhere, however, it was impossible to concentrate. She only pushed and prodded absently, lounging against the bolster pillow as Lucy quietly swept around, preparing tea and laying out clothes.

  “That’s a pretty melody, miss,” Lucy said, bringing over a cup of tea. “I didn’t know that was a music box all this time.”

  Absently listening to the notes, Jacinda hummed along. “It was my mother’s. I imagine that Ainsley must have—”

  Jacinda bolted upright and stared wide-eyed at the box as a kaleido
scope of images flooded her mind.

  Suddenly, she remembered how her mother would wind it up and let it play while she brushed her long blond hair, sitting on the vanity stool in their little cottage. “My mother’s hair smelled like lemons and she always hiccupped when she laughed. And Briar, my younger sister, does the same thing, and she looks just like our mother. And Ainsley . . . Oh, Ainsley will be so disappointed about what I have done. There will be no living with her after this.”

  Tears were streaming down Jacinda’s face and she couldn’t tell if the sound bubbling out of her throat was laughter or sobs. Uncle Ernest would understand, she imagined, thinking of the dear man who knew every emotion inside the human heart.

  “Miss Bourne, you have your memory back!” Lucy shouted with joy while black tea sloshed over the rim, into the saucer and onto the rug. “Do you remember meeting me as well?”

  Jacinda nodded, that last day in London coming back to her in detail, starting with her encounter with Crispin in his study. Oh dear. “I remember seeing you crying as you put your advertisement in the window of the servant’s registry. I thought it was fate that we should have met right then and there.”

  “Yes, that’s just what you said, miss!” She set the teacup down on the table and bent to blot the rug with a serviette. “Now you can write to your sisters and invite them here for the wedding.”

  Jacinda had never said she’d intended to marry Rydstrom. But when Lucy had discovered the remains of the underclothes, she’d leapt to conclusions, all the while vowing to keep their secret from the other maids until after the wedding. And Jacinda, too immersed in a dreamlike afterglow, hadn’t corrected her.

  Now she had more problems to face than ever before.

  His wedding. Her sisters.

  The agency.

  Oh dear. Oh dear. Oh dear.