Chapter 8

It had been three nights since James last saw Elizabeth, and tonight proved once again that the mastery he once had over his thoughts was obliterated. James found himself in a rare state of introspection as he lay in the darkness of his bedchamber, unable to sleep, for Elizabeth Armstrong kept him awake and restless. This feeling of uncertainty, of not knowing what to think or feel, was entirely foreign to him—a man who had navigated life with confidence and ruthless control. Yet, Elizabeth had pierced through his control with startling ease and with a single, chaste brush of her mouth against his.

"It was not even a bloody kiss," he snapped.

There was no justification to still feel the soft press of her mouth against his skin, or the feel of her body against his … and the clasp of her fingers that could not encircle his cock. Or hear her teasing tone and light laughter in his sleep.

She was refreshingly unpretentious, a trait that shone brightly in their conversations, setting her apart from the many who had paraded through his life. This was undeniably her most appealing quality. It was a novel experience for him. In his thirty years, flattery had always been a constant undertone in the interactions he had, a predictable melody played out by those who sought his favor or feared his displeasure. But Elizabeth spoke with a directness and sincerity that cut through all pretenses.

Pushing himself off the bed, James glanced toward the mantle where the clock showed it was nearing midnight. He had planned an early night in preparation for an important morning meeting with his solicitors and business partners, one of whom was Brandon Armstrong. With a deep sigh, he rang for his valet. When the valet entered his bedroom, he swiftly assisted James in dressing in dark evening trousers and a jacket, complemented by a silver waistcoat that conceitedly enhanced the grey in his eyes. The outfit was impeccably tailored, fitting his form with precision and a touch of vanity that James didn't mind admitting to himself.

Once dressed, he called for his carriage and soon stepped into the cool night air, directing his coachman to head toward Aphrodite. As the carriage rolled through the streets, James kept his thoughts calm, for he had learned a calm mind did not make mistakes.

Arriving at the pleasure palace, he was greeted by the sounds of revelry and laughter that filled the halls. Madam Rebecca was hosting her own decadent ball that night, and the air was thick with music and the scent of perfume. Ignoring the gaiety around him, James cut through the crowd, his eyes scanning for a familiar face. He spotted Radbourne on the upper floors, deeply engaged with a lady. With a subtle gesture, he indicated he wished to speak to him. Patiently, James waited as Radbourne excused himself from his companion and made his way over.

"I did not expect you tonight," Radbourne greeted, his expression curious.

James accepted a glass of whisky from a passing server, her gown provocatively clinging to her curves, and took a healthy swallow. "Is Armstrong here?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

"Yes."

"I need a favor," James continued, his voice low.

Radbourne's eyebrows shot up. "You need a favor?"

It was well known among his circle that James preferred to handle things on his own, his independence a shield forged from past betrayals and hardships.

"Yes," James said quietly, recalling the painful lessons learned when his father's death had left him to rebuild his fortune amid closed doors and turned backs.

"Tell me," Radbourne offered, his tone indicating he was ready for anything, even the gravest of requests. "Even if it's a dead body you need help with, I am here. I'm certain Ambrose would join in, too."

James chuckled, appreciating the loyalty. "Nothing so grave. I merely want you to find out, very discreetly, if Armstrong's sister is at a ball tonight. And if so, which one."

Radbourne's mouth dropped open slightly, then he shook his head, a bemused expression crossing his features. "His sister?"

"Yes."

"Do I want to know why?" Radbourne asked, half-joking, half-serious.

"I'm not too sure myself why I need to know," James said, a voice inside him chiding softly. He ran a hand over his face. Bloody hell. "We had an encounter when she was a bit … intoxicated. I want to see where we stand without liquid courage loosening her tongue."

"And you are interested because …" Radbourne prodded, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

"I find her fascinating," James admitted, more to himself than to Radbourne.

His friend whistled softly. "Never say you have met your match. Will you marry—"

"Good God, no," James cut him off quickly, the very thought startling him.

Radbourne raised his palms in a gesture of surrender, a grin playing on his lips as he turned to leave, the task set, and the challenge accepted.

James leaned against a Corinthian column, his eyes flickering over the throng of scandalously dressed attendees, as he waited for Radbourne to return with the information. During those few minutes, several ladies, adorned in their finest silks and jewels, approached him with veiled invitations to join them in conversation or dance. Each offer was met with a polite but firm refusal. His mind was preoccupied, his anticipation building like a low hum in his gut, an unusual feeling for him.

Finally, Radbourne reappeared at his side, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "That took all of my considerable charming skills. She is indeed at a ball, Lady Andrew's."

"Good," James responded, a brief flash of relief passing through him, though his expression remained composed.

His friend's eyes widened, a knowing look overtaking his features. "Ah ... it is that kind of interest."

Without further discussion, James excused himself from the pleasure palace, his steps quickening as he headed to his waiting carriage. Once inside, he directed the coachman to the countess's residence. Upon arriving, James bypassed the main ballroom and moved directly to a secluded terrace that overlooked the gardens, a spot that offered a strategic view of the ballroom through its open French doors. From this vantage point, he watched the swirling dance of gowns and coats, the room a kaleidoscope of color and light, until his eyes found Elizabeth.

She was in the midst of a lively quadrille, her smile subdued, but her moves exuberant and elegant. As he watched her move gracefully among her partners, a surprising emotion pricked at his chest—longing to be the one dancing with her, and something else he couldn't quite name, an emotion that deepened with each turn she took.

James leaned against the cool stone balustrade, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on Elizabeth and allowed himself to simply watch her. She seemed so vibrant and full of life, her enjoyment palpable even from a distance. This artless innocence was a side of her he hadn't anticipated being drawn to, yet there he was, unable to look away or deny the growing attraction.

As the music wound down and the dance concluded, Elizabeth made her way gracefully to the refreshment table. With a glass of champagne in hand, she mingled briefly, exchanging pleasantries with a young lady he did not recognize. Yet, it was clear from her restless glances toward the grand doors that Elizabeth was planning her exit. Subtly, she began to edge away from the thick of the crowd, her movements poised and discreet, until she finally slipped out of the ballroom altogether.

From his vantage point on the terrace, James watched with a heightened sense of curiosity as Elizabeth made her escape. He raised an eyebrow, impressed by her deftness. Turning around to survey the steps leading to the gardens, he wondered if she would choose the path that led directly below his spot. He didn't have to wonder long; within moments, she appeared, stepping into the moonlight that seemed to cloak her in a soft radiance. The night air seemed to enhance her allure, casting her features into a play of light and shadow that captivated him completely.

She strolled toward shrubberied gardens at the back of the townhouse, to the garden area barely lit by a lone lantern, where she slowed her steps. James withdrew from the shadows and made his way down the terrace steps, his footsteps silent on the cool stone. As he approached, his anticipation built with each step.

Reaching deeper into the garden, he found her standing alone, and her face lifted to distant stars, lost in thought. Elizabeth stood under the soft glow of the moonlight, her appearance striking in a dark blue gown that melded beautifully with the night around her. The gown was cut in the latest fashion, hugging her figure gracefully at the waist before flowing out into a fuller skirt, which whispered against the grass with each subtle movement she made. Her hair was an artwork in itself, piled high in an elaborate arrangement of curls that framed her face beautifully.

James was shocked by the intense desire that suddenly pierced him. The soft rustle of his approach caused her to turn, and her expression shifted from contemplation to surprise and pleasure. The moonlight highlighted her features, adding a luminous quality to her skin and deepening the intensity in her eyes. Her prettiness once again struck his heart with considerable force, and to his shock, James felt … helplessly enthralled.

* * *

James,his name whispered through Elizabeth's heart in a delighted cry of surprise. His evening clothes were exquisitely tailored to fit his elegant form; he looked the perfect gentleman with just an underlying touch of dangerous allure. Her heart racing, Elizabeth merely lowered into a curtsy and said, "Your Grace. I had not anticipated seeing you."

"You have a habit of sneaking away from the dancing."

"You have a habit of appearing wherever I am. You followed me."

"My chivalrous nature, I'm afraid."

She scoffed. "Chivalry?"

"Hmm, who else will protect you from wicked, unprincipled rakes and libertines lurking in the gardens?"

She cast him a pointed stare. The duke pressed a hand over his chest, and even in the shadows of the alcove, she saw the provocative deviltry dancing in his silver eyes.

"I am wounded, Elizabeth. I am far from being an unprincipled libertine; I am another breed altogether."

"I am sure you'll inform me of the distinction."

His lips quirked. "Those men only care about their pleasures."

She heard the hidden meaning that he would pay keen attention to his lady's pleasure. Something heated stirred in her belly, and Elizabeth experienced a surge of helpless longing in her heart, drawn irresistibly to the hint of wickedness that his eyes promised.

"You seemed as if you enjoyed your dancing, but just now, as I approached, you seemed saddened. Are you well?"

Shock froze Elizabeth for a moment, and she lowered her lashes. Was she so transparent in her unhappiness? It could not be, for her mother had no notion of her lingering discontent. A slender and far too elegant finger was placed under her chin and nudged upward.

"Why do you hide your expression?"

A knot of emotion clogged her throat. "Who are you to know the hunger I have inside of me? Who are you for me to confide them?"

The face that regarded her had an almost cruel sensuality. Yet, inexplicably, she felt a sense of safety, and that frightened her. Elizabeth did not trust easily, and the duke was not coaxing her, but somehow, she was still pulled close.

"I could be your friend."

Her heart began to hammer wildly, and her cheeks grew flushed. "My friend?"

"Yes." He lowered his finger. "Why do you sound so aghast."

"You do not seem like a gentleman one can call a friend."

"I can tell you have no one to speak to of your worries."

His words pierced her chest. "You offer this friendship freely?"

The duke arched a brow. "What are you asking me?"

"My brother says you have no wish to marry … and that … I should be careful with you."

"Smart advice. However, I would never take anything that you do not willingly offer."

An unexpectedly hot sensation kindled in the pit of her stomach and drifted lower. "What does that mean?"

"As I said."

"I do not fully understand."

His mouth curved faintly in provoking amusement. "Do you wish for me to show you?"

That warning prickled over her skin like a dark, heady flame, and Elizabeth did not understand why she shifted a bit closer to him. Perhaps she needed to understand the danger she flirted with so that she could shore her resolve against it. A wicked instinct pushed her to lift her hand and stroke over his jaw with the tip of her finger. He closed his eyes at that touch as if he savored her light caress. The idea this man was tempted by her closeness sent a languorous ache rolling through her body. The feeling was new, but she welcomed it.

Lowering her finger she softly said, "I merely had the thought that everything is the same. This is my sixth ball of the season … but I am already listless. I want … I want more, more of life, more of anything, but I have no notion of where to find it. I certainly did not leave my gilded cage in New York. When I set sail with my mother, I thought that I was free to breathe at last. It has become alarmingly clear that I stepped into an even more restrictive one, and I feel as if I am suffocating."

Her voice cracked, and flushing, she stepped back, creating a semblance of propriety. Hungers and needs long denied rushed through her with crippling intensity. "What would it be like to enjoy life a little."

"What does this enjoyment look like for you?"

Elizabeth glanced away from his steady regard. There was something far too knowing in his gaze, and she did not want him to see too deeply inside of her heart. No one had that privilege, and certainly not this duke. "You do not think I am silly?"

"No."

She smiled. "How unusual. I somehow got the impression dukes were puffed up prigs who expected women to always be a model of decorum and propriety."

"They only expect it of some women."

"Is that to say you do not see me as a lady of quality?"

"I see you as a woman who is not afraid of life but wants to reach for all that it could offer. I would never judge you for it but help you find it."

Fascinated, she took that single, improper step closer, the hem of her gown swirling over his boots. "How would you help me?"

"There is a life in the city that you have no knowledge of. A life of freedom and revelry."

"A life that you, as a duke, know."

"A life that every man knows."

"Ah," she said softly, "I forgot these ridiculous expectations of propriety are only expected to be maintained by us ladies. What do you get from being this generous?"

"Perhaps I get to enjoy life through you."

"Enjoy life?" Elizabeth laughed. "You are a duke. I daresay you could wave your hand, and whatever it is you want, you shall receive."

"Not everything."

"Is there anything you have ever wanted that you prevent yourself from having?"

"Yes."

Astonished, she said, "What?"

Something heated shifted in his eyes before his expression closed. "We digress, Elizabeth."

Oh. "You … you want me." And he is holding back his interest.

"How fearless you tread."

"I know," she said, loving that she could be herself with this man and had no fear of censure or judgment. "I no longer have the hope of marrying in my heart."

He seemed surprised. "Are you certain?"

"Yes." Her heart shook violently underneath her breast. "Since the other night, five different men asked me to dance. I refused all except one."

"Your refusals will not be viewed favorably."

"My aunt informed me a lady is never to refuse a partner for it will invite speculation and judgment. Everyone who approached me has seen me at other balls. They cared not to ask me then or that I stood on the sidelines without a partner, enduring pitying glances. Now that everyone knows I am an heiress, invitations have poured in, and now I am eligible to dance."

He veiled his eyes briefly with his long, dark lashes. "Have you formed new plans?"

"Yes."

"Permit me to enquire about them."

After a brief hesitation, she said, "I wrote to my father and informed him I would be returning home at the end of the season. Until then, I mean to have fun … with you."

There was a hint of something hard … almost intimidating about his handsome visage. "A risky proposition. Tread carefully, Elizabeth."

"Oh?" she drawled provocatively, mimicking his earlier action by placing her finger under his chin, tugging him forward. "Afraid to be my lover?"

His eyes widened, and a thrill surged through Elizabeth.

"Never say I have surprised the unflappable Duke of Basil. Or did you believe I meant something else?"

The gleam that entered James's eyes revealed him to be darkly amused. "I am not the kind of man you take to be your first lover. Or second."

She took a deep breath and steadied herself against the feelings rushing through her. "Why not?"

"I want to do unspeakably carnal things to you."

"Such as?" At his silence, Elizabeth lifted her shoulder in a shrug. "You presumed you would be my first. I am sure that there are other gentlemen who would be delighted—"

Her words cut off when he hauled her against his body with something seemingly dangerous in his gaze. Suddenly, Elizabeth felt surrounded by him. Her heart stuttered alarmingly, and her body flushed. He reached out and brushed the back of his knuckles down the bridge of her small nose. "You want to have fun for the rest of the season."

Her heart started to skip and dance beneath her breastbone. "Yes."

"You are the type of woman a man marries."

"If I allow it," she said softly.

"I will not marry you."

She laughed. Elizabeth had never shied away from acting because of fear, and she could not do so now. "It is not marriage I want from you, James."

His eyes gleamed with something that seemed almost savage, and Elizabeth's heart drummed at the barely contained heat in his stare.

"You want to indulge in an affair."

A knot of warmth unraveled just beneath her breastbone at the rough hunger in his voice. She held her breath, keeping the air tightly within her lungs, afraid to release it. Afraid to let go of the momentary calm before the storm of emotions that swirled within her rushed inside to fill her with chaotic desires. The intensity of her feelings frightened Elizabeth, for she knew she was venturing into uncharted waters. She released a slow breath, tipped onto her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth and said almost shyly, "Yes, only with you, James, only with you."

That slow, enigmatic smile tugged at James's lips. It was a smile that seemed to promise both thrilling pleasure and potential heartbreak. Elizabeth found herself caught in its pull, sinking too quickly and too deeply into whatever this connection was becoming with the duke. "What are you thinking?" she whispered.

He smoothed his face into an expressionless mask.

"Please … I … do not do that."

"Do what?"

"Hide your thoughts. Instead of closing me out, be honest with me and tell me if I have overstepped. I apologize if I did."

He touched her cheek. "You are …"

"Interesting?"

"Very much so." An unknown sensation wrenched inside her heart when he tenderly kissed the corner of her mouth. Elizabeth shifted imperceptibly so their mouths brushed against each other.

Those beautifully silver eyes caressed over her face. "The pleasure you take from the simplest joy reminds me of a time when I was not so …"

"Cynical," she whispered.

"I like seeing the delight and wonder on your face. I do not like this feeling of wanting to know everything about you, yet it lingers inside of me, and no rational reasoning suppresses it."

A sense of awe filled her chest. Elizabeth closed her eyes, and as if controlled by forces outside of herself, her body tilted against his. He was a big man, tall, lean, and broad of shoulder, and she felt surrounded by his heat and strength.

Oh, be careful, she silently whispered to her aching heart. This is only a stolen season of doing what I want, nothing else.

Her mouth trembled against his, and she lifted a hand to lightly touch his jawline. She liked the want and need in his eyes, and something inside of her reached for him because she felt it, too.

Her lashes fluttered as he brushed kisses over her jaw, her cheek, and her temple. They were whisper-soft kisses. James's breath feathered over her lips, and she instinctively licked at the seam of his mouth. He made a muffled sound, his arms closing around her like iron bands. He held her like that, his strength at once intimidating yet arousing.

He put his powerful hands very gently around her throat, the feel of him holding her so sensually domineering. She parted her lips, and his tongue plunged past them, wicked and alluring. He tasted … darkly male and tantalizing. Elizabeth was almost shocked by her eager responses and the liquid heat she could feel soaking her sex.

Oh, God. So, this is a kiss …