Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

F rances sat, shocked, which at this point was ridiculous. Every time she conversed with Duke Pilton, he accused her of scavenging for scraps of information. "I'm at a loss, Jenny. Do I come across a certain way? I have never had someone react to me before without just cause."

Jenny was no longer sitting up but slouched down with a pillow over her face. She muffled a response, but Frances couldn't understand a word. "Jenny. Please. I'm serious. I'm going to develop a complex of the mind if I continue with him."

"It's not you, Frances. He wasn't always like this, but these past few months have been extremely difficult. It's the only answer I have."

Frances stood, once again brushing the wrinkles out of her dress. No. She couldn't accept that answer. They all had struggles; life was ever-changing and throwing obstacles in the way. It was no excuse to treat someone with such hostility and vitriol. There had to be something else. She needed answers, and there was only one person who could give them to her.

"Jenny? I think I will retire for the evening. Could you find Simmons and have him call for my carriage?"

"Where is Simmons? He never did bring the refreshments. I'll go look for him." Jenny made her way to the door and turned. "Meanwhile, please don't sit here and ruminate over my brother. He's not worth it. Feel free to pick up the book I was reading; it is quite good."

Frances waited until she heard Jenny's footsteps disappear down the hall. She had no intention of sitting around and ruminating about anyone. She was going to settle this dispute once and for all. Now, to find a duke.

She found him in the library. He was standing in front of a window that looked out over a small garden. His muscular arms strained as he pulled up the heavy pane. Standing in the doorway, she took in his physique. She never gave herself the chance to fully take him in, most likely because she hated to admit he was gorgeous. Tall, with an athletic build, one could tell he did manual labor. Yet he had the poise and posture of a refined gentleman of the ton . Quite the paradox. His dark hair curled over his collar, and she had a momentary lapse of judgment when she wondered what it would feel like in her hands.

"I want an answer." Frances inwardly sighed in relief because her voice came out stable and strong. Not like her stomach which was currently turning and flipping to the point of nausea.

The Duke quickly turned, a look of shock on his stupid beautiful face. This would be much easier if he were ugly.

"Miss Ambrose! You should not be here. Where is Simmons?"

Frances closed the door behind her and locked it. They were going to have this discussion whether he liked it or not.

"What are you doing?" Duke Pilton rushed to the door with long strides, causing her to back up against it, blocking his access to the lock.

"Do not think for one moment that I can't pick you up and move you out of the way." Frances blushed at his comment. "This is highly inappropriate. If someone were to walk in on us, our marriage banns would be announced tomorrow!"

Frances smiled. "Well, it's a good thing I locked the door, isn't it?"

The Duke's eyes flew open in horror. "Are you mad, woman?" His face reddened in anger, but Frances swore she could see a hint of amusement in his eyes. It was a flash but enough to embolden her to ignore his question.

"I have noticed, Your Grace, you like to accuse me of a lot of untoward behaviors. I feel like I am owned an explanation. We've met only twice, yet you have concocted this opinion of me that has greatly offended me, and I would like to know why."

The Duke paced back to the window. "And you wish to do this now?"

Frances shrugged and leaned back against the door. "Seems like a good time to me. Simmons is fetching my carriage although he seems to have gotten lost. Jenny went to go find him. You might want to reevaluate your staff." Frances sniffed. "And what is that smell? It smells as if something died in here."

The Duke ran his hands up and down his face before he ran them through his hair. An action that fascinated Frances. It was as if the aura of His Grace was being peeled away with each swipe of his hands and replaced with roguish masculinity. She rather fancied him this way. Everyone characterized his "roughness" as a blight on his character whereas Frances found it exhilarating.

"That's exactly what happened in here. Pretty sure the old duke was in here several days before anyone found him."

Frances cocked her head. "That's horrific! Why are you in here then?"

"Because it has brandy. And books. And once I get these windows opened and the furniture replaced, it'll be my favorite room." He paused, "Why do you ask so many questions?"

"Why do you avoid so many questions?" she countered.

Duke Pilton took a very deep breath and released it. "I know people like you. You come off engaging and friendly. You say the right words; you know how to work a room. You find the most fragile of us and suck them dry of information to use to boost your social standings. Well, I refuse to allow my sister to fail for your amusement."

Frances did not let his words penetrate her resolve. She would not cower to him and give in to his bait. She pushed herself off of the door to stand her ground. "I will not be judged on others' actions. Until I do something that warrants this hostility, I expect to be treated with respect and dignity."

Duke Pilton guffawed. "Respect and dignity? Those are nothing but oxymorons when it comes to the ton ."

"Nonetheless. Like it or not, you and your sister are a part of society, Your Grace. It is unfortunate that there are fortune hunters and gossipers amongst us, but until I start partaking in those pastimes, which I don't, I demand you treat me with respect."

The Duke's eyes darkened, and his head dipped in concentration. Frances felt the energy in the room shift; she feared she may have taken it a step too far. Duke Pilton sauntered to her like a lion stalking its prey, quietly, purposefully.

"Making demands of a duke." His words, just above a whisper, settled over her skin like fine silk. Words escaped her, and she was left with only her pure stubbornness not to wilt under his gaze. The toes of his boots brushed up against the hem of her dress as he leaned in, causing her to stagger back into the door. He placed his hands on either side of her head, effectively caging her in. Alarm bells went off in her head. She definitely had pushed him too far. She should apologize, she should duck out from underneath his arms, she should do… something .

She was woefully outmatched. It was at this moment the significance of locking the door weighed on her. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. How many times had her father and tutors drilled into her not to be alone with a man without a chaperone? Standing here, in between the Duke's arms, her back against the only way out, she finally understood the danger.

Frances paused; there was also something lurking underneath her fear. Something warm, exciting, something she felt the need to explore.

His hooded eyes dipped to meet hers. "Is that where we are now, Miss Ambrose? You're making demands of me?" Her palms were sweaty, and her knees knocked underneath her, yet she still refused to cower. She bit her lip to steal her nerves, keeping her eyes locked on his.

But he was no longer looking into her eyes, and his focus fell to her lips. More precisely, the lip she was currently chewing on. A small movement caught her eye, and a wide red tip emerged between his lips, licking his bottom lip. The movement captivated her thoughts. Through the chaos that was whirling in her mind, she thought she heard him mutter something about her mouth when she felt his lips push against hers. The force of his kiss pushed her further into the door. Her eyes widened in surprise before her instincts took over, and they fluttered shut.

She let out a soft groan, and he stilled. When she opened her eyes, she found blue fire staring back at her. She had just been kissed by a man, who was still looking at her like he could devour her. Her lips felt tingly; her heart was pounding. The same part of her brain that sent off alarm bells was shouting at her to push him away. Slap him. Leave!

But she couldn't. Her feet were rooted to the ground. The tingle spread from her lips, down into her belly where it settled into firm resolve. The Duke shifted to step away, and her heart dropped. What do those damned Americans say? In for a penny, in for a pound.

If she was going to kiss a Duke in a dusty, smelly old library, then she was going to really kiss him. She reached up on her toes and pulled his head back to hers. She planted her lips to his and felt the sharp intake of surprise. She locked her gaze in on his, challenging him to push her away. She half expected him to come to his senses and push her away. One of them should remain levelheaded, but it was not going to be her. If he wanted to start something, he could finish it. The thrill of just how he would finish something like this was enough of a reason for another throaty groan to escape her.

She saw the change in his eyes. He took the bait. His hands found their way to her face, and while they cupped her cheeks, his tongue pushed through her barrier and into her mouth. He invaded her senses. His was now everywhere around her, in her. The heady scent of sandalwood flooded her nostrils as she tasted the brandy on his exploring tongue. His roughened hands, the ones that felt so strong under hers just two nights ago, now held her so gently. She was completely lost to his ministrations, and for once in her life, she didn't feel the need to take control.

Following his lead, she moved her hands into his hair, reveling in its softness between her fingers. How could this man be both soft and hard, intimidating yet gentle, judgmental and open? He was a mystery Frances enjoyed being caught up in.

"Frances?" Jenny's echoing voice could be heard in the hallway. The Duke jumped back, straightening his cravat before reaching to adjust his breeches. Frances noted the movement with curiosity while trying to quiet the pounding of her heart.

"I should go," she whispered. Her voice breathy and soft.

"Frances, are you still here?" Jenny's voice continued from further down the hallway. "I found Simmons. There was an accident in the kitchen he was seeing too, but your carriage has pulled up."

The Duke just nodded and reached behind her to unlock the door. Frances had to restrain her body from leaning into his arm. She knew the feeling of embarrassment would settle over her as soon as she left, so she wanted to stay in this moment as long as she could. Her body was still humming, and her hands felt empty, but reality was waiting for her on the other side of the door.

She nodded her goodbye and rushed into the hallway. She found Jenny in the drawing room. With one final breath to get her breathing back under control, she entered the room.

"Sorry, you were gone awhile, so I went looking for you. You said my carriage is ready?"

Jenny turned, taking in France's appearance. Frances' fingers itched to straighten her dress or hair, but she felt that would only solidify any implication she was anywhere she shouldn't have been.

"Um, yes. Let me walk you out." Jenny smiled, but Frances couldn't help but notice some hesitancy on her friend's behalf.

"Thank you. I hope you'll allow me to continue to visit. I meant what I said earlier; I would love to help you."

Whatever plagued Jenny's expression before disappeared, and her shoulders relaxed. "I would love that, Frances. Would you be able to come by at the end of the week?"

Frances' eyes betrayed her and looked past Jenny's shoulder down the corridor to the Duke who had stepped out into the hallway. "Yes, I would love to come back. Send word on when you'd like me to visit, and I'll be here."

Jenny squealed and enveloped Frances in an all-consuming hug. "Wonderful! I will send word as soon as I can."

Frances said her final goodbye and made her way into the carriage. She sank back into the plush seat and brought her fingertips up to her lips. If she closed her eyes and held her breath, she could still feel his lips on hers.

The further they drove from Froudrigh Manor, the more the weight of her actions weighed on her.

She kissed a duke and not just any duke — one that she was certain didn't like her.

Embarrassment crept up her spine which had her sinking further into the seat. What must he think of me? The thought of him thinking she was some inexperienced want-to-be-harlot throwing herself at dukes had her stomach churning.

What if he tells someone?

Frances pushed out a heavy sigh. She shouldn't worry about what happened. She wouldn't tell anyone, and she highly doubted the Duke would go around announcing his participation. Based on his reaction to any of her questions, he was quite good at keeping secrets.

She closed her eyes and counted to ten, a trick her father taught her to do to control her thoughts in times of strife. Unfortunately for her, her mind wandered back to the library. Her breath picked up as she recalled the way he held her, the way he looked at her, and the way he tasted.

Frances finally understood what her friends had been talking about all these years when they spoke of their husbands. The warmth that pooled in her body, the racing of her heart, the way their breath intermingled. If only there was a way to experience more without the eyes of the ton watching her. She would love to experiment with more of those feelings.

Blue steel eyes flashed in her mind. The Duke undoubtedly experienced his fair share of those feelings. The way he kept her body at attention screamed experience. An idea sparked in her brain, one that sent her conscience running to ring that damned alarm bell again.