An Innocent Maid For The Duke

She turned this way and that, regarding her reflection. Better. Much better. Why, she might almost pass as one of the girls. And if she really used her imagination, perhaps as a lady. The neckline was not as bad as she had feared. It was a little low, showing the rise of her bosom, but not at all indecent.

Eyes half-closed, she twirled around humming one of the tunes she’d heard the musicians playing in the ballroom earlier that evening, pretending she was waltzing with one particularly handsome gentleman, who had no clue she even existed.

Sore feet and aching back gave her not one twinge.

* * *

Returning from seeing his grandmother, Jake passed a carriage standing outside the front door of Vitium et Virtus. Waiting for one of nobility’s late-night revellers, no doubt. Usually it was the ladies who kept their carriages at the ready. He went around the side of the club, to the door out of sight of regular members, reserved for the owners.

The porter, Ben Snyder, bowed him in. ‘Good evening, Yer Grace.’

Jake froze. The pain of loss held him rigid, followed swiftly by a rage he could scarcely contain.

With a muttered curse Jake slung his coat and hat on one of the four hooks in the shape of aroused male appendages they’d bought as a job lot upon opening Vitium et Virtus.

Snyder handed him a mask and retreated to his chair.

No doubt the man had seen the anger and thought it was directed at him. Jake reined in his emotions. Built the wall of distance that kept him halfway sane. But, God help him, each and every time he heard those two words, his instinct was to glance around for his father. Only to realise it was he who was being addressed. He loathed it.

It was a constant reminder of his father and brother. Of their lives. Of their deaths. Of the reason he was now addressed as Your Grace.

It was also why he was here and not tucked up in the ducal bed in the ducal mansion. Here and only here did he seem able to snatch a few minutes’ sleep. A slog through the ledgers with a brandy or two in the comfort of the owners’ private rooms should send him into the arms of Morpheus. He hoped.

‘Any one left above stairs?’ he enquired of the porter, trying to sound normal and coming off icily cold.

‘A few, Yer Grace,’ the man said warily. ‘In the gaming room and upstairs in the private bedrooms. Want me to clear them out?’

‘No. I am not in. To anyone. I don’t care if the place burns down, I do not want to be disturbed, understand?’

‘Understood, Your Grace.’

The porter also added a whispered as usual, but Jake decided not to hear. The porter would follow orders. He always did and that was all Jake required. He strode along the deserted corridor with its erotic statues and murals seeming to leer at him, the need for brandy an ache in his throat.

He took the servants’ staircase down. It would take him to the other side of the house to another set of stairs leading up to where the owners’ private quarters were located. Allowing him to avoid any lingering customers.

A sound of soft humming brought him to a halt outside the ladies’ dressing room. He frowned. The girls should all be gone by now. They were certainly not supposed to entertain gentlemen here. There were rooms on the top floor set aside for such frolics. Rooms equipped with costumes and toys for every taste.

He donned his mask and opened the door a fraction, enough to see in but not be seen until he could figure out what was going on.

A petite woman in a glittering red mask was singing to herself, her scarlet gown swirling around her shapely ankles as she twirled in front of the mirrors, each one giving a different reflection of a gown moulded to every curve of a sinuously lush body moving in time to her humming. The smile on her parted lips was not the forced smile of a courtesan, nor that of a jaded widow, or yet the hopeful smile of a debutante anxious to please a duke. This smile was pure delight. Enjoyment.

Her joy at the simple act of dancing spilled over with an infectious feeling of lightness that unaccountably lifted his spirits. He found his own lips curving upwards in response. Even more surprising, he found himself wanting to be the one to waltz her around the room.

* * *

A movement in the shadows caught the corner of Rose’s eye. She turned and gasped. It was him! The Duke. Though he was wearing his usual mask, she would know him anywhere by his height and breadth and commanding presence. By his dark stubbled jaw and firm chin. By his lovely mouth.

Too many times had she stopped to admire him as he passed her at her work. Of all the owners of the club he was the only one who had caught her attention in that way. He was impossibly handsome, but coldly unapproachable. A proper duke.

Or how one assumed a duke to be.

Not that she would ever mention that she knew who he was. No names were ever spoken. House rules.

Despite his lofty position, something about him had struck her as sad. As if some deep sorrow weighed him down and made her want to offer comfort. A foolish fancy. Someone of her lowly station had nothing to offer a man such as he.

But how often she had dreamed of feeling those strong arms curl around her while she laid her head on his chest. The very idea of it made her feel strangely weak.

Never before had she felt such a powerful attraction, despite knowing better than to get tangled up with a man. Fortunately, he was nothing more than a fantasy. A man who marched through her dreams like a knight in shining armour. As long as she kept him there, in her dreams, she was safe.

But this was no dream. The crushing realisation pressed down on her shoulders. She should not be here. It was against the rules. She glanced around for an escape route. But he was between her and the door and approaching slowly, his bright blue gaze fixed on her face.

His expression did not reflect anger. Indeed, the warmth of his smile, with a glimpse of white teeth, charmed her into remaining still. She released a breath she had not realised she was holding. A sigh really. Of appreciation.

His smile broadened and he bowed. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not mean to startle you.’

My lady? Her heart fluttered strangely. If only she were his lady. She placed her hand below her throat and shook her head. ‘Merely surprised.’

She’d responded with the careful diction she’d taught herself from listening to those of the upper classes as she moved unseen among them, cleaning grates and scrubbing floors.

‘I have interrupted you,’ he said, cocking his head to the side in question.

‘Foolishness,’ she said, peeping up at him. Heavens, he was taller than she had thought and broader. And so much more handsome close up. She could scarcely breathe and yet somehow the scent of his cologne filled her lungs and made her feel strangely dizzy. ‘I should go.’

‘Not before you give me the honour of a dance, surely?’ His voice had deepened. His eyes, which had always seemed coldly reserved as he went about the business of the club, were bright, sparkling with mischief.

Dance? With a duke? ‘I cannot,’ she choked out.

He chuckled, low and deep. ‘You certainly can. You waltz as beautifully as you hum.’

Heat rushed up from the neckline of the shocking gown, for now with his gaze upon her, she felt almost naked. Flirting. A duke was flirting with her and every particle in her body wanted to allow it. Nay, wanted to encourage it.

Wanton. Like your mother.

She must say no. But it would never happen again, this chance to dance with the man who haunted her dreams. When she was about her work, he never noticed her underfoot. None of the gentry did. They weren’t supposed to. She had long ago realised it saved both the served and the server embarrassment.

What harm would one dance do? This was the first time she had seen the man smile since she started working here. If it would bring him a measure of happiness, and her, too, why not? It would certainly be something for her to dream about for the rest of her life and perhaps tell her grandchildren at some long-distant time in the future.

The night their old granny danced with a duke. The idea of that dream of a family made her smile.

‘You know you want to,’ he said, holding out a hand.

A moment later, she was in his arms.

* * *

The faraway gaze in eyes the loveliest shade of green Jake had ever seen sent blood humming through his veins. Those eyes were limpid and soft as she gazed up at him, as if this was all a dream. To his surprise, not only did their steps meld in perfect unison, it was if they were designed to be partners.

For months he’d been numb to everything around him, going through life by rote, fulfilling required duties and responsibilities hour after brutal hour. Keeping himself busy. But now, here, with this vision of loveliness, he could actually feel the blood coursing through his veins. It was as if he had left a cold dark place to enter a land of light and warmth.

Her light. Her warmth. He basked in it, even though he knew he did not deserve it.

He swept her around a turn at the end of the room, gazing down into her face. What did she look like beneath the mask? Her lips were lush and full, her eyes dreamy, her loose hair a river of thick gilded waves that curled in little tendrils on her faintly flushed cheek.

His body responded to that shadowed glow of pink on her skin. The blood in his veins beat a tattoo of desire.

Her lips parted as if she, too, felt the connection between them. The rise and fall of her generous breasts quickened with each indrawn breath. A pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat. A place he longed to taste with his tongue.

Awareness sparked in the air. Their steps slowed. Their gazes locked. Hers dropped to his mouth.

With all the old reckless impulsiveness he’d been determined to curb these past many months, he drew her flush against his body. She tensed and, though he wanted to curse, he eased his hold, preparing to let her go. Unbelievably, she smiled up at him and relaxed into his embrace.

A brief kiss was all he intended, a thank you for the respite she’d brought to the darkness of his world, but as the plush full mouth yielded beneath his lips, he lost himself in the pleasure of kissing a willing woman.

Deeper and deeper he delved the soft recess of her mouth, while he felt the warm breath of her sigh against his cheek. A tentative dart of her tongue into his mouth sent a jolt of lust ripping through him.

A groan rumbled up from deep in his throat and he pulled her hard against his body. Feeling pleasure as her belly pressed against his groin.

She gasped and pulled away, staring at him in shock, startled out of her daydream by the evidence of his arousal through the wisp of silk she wore. He cursed his stupidity. Lost in sensation, he’d forgotten the rules of the game. Never rush a woman, especially one he did not know.

He stepped back and bowed. ‘I beg your pardon.’

Fingertips went to her lips, covering her mouth, her eyes wide behind her mask, wary, distraught, but also hazy with desire, which gave him a vague sense of satisfaction.

‘I mean you no harm,’ he hastened to assure her, taking another step back.

‘I must go,’ she said breathlessly, her glance finding the door. ‘I should not be here.’

A married woman then, out for a night of discreet fun. A strange sense of disappointment filled him. Really? This was exactly the sort of entertainment his friends had been recommending would get him out of the doldrums. Before he settled down to find a duchess.

‘Allow me to escort you to your carriage.’

She looked startled. ‘My carriage?’ She swallowed. Smoothed her hands down the front of her gown, caressing the lovely shape that only a moment ago had seared a memory into his skin. ‘Oh, yes. My carriage. No need for escort, Your Grace.’

Inwardly he cursed. She knew who he was. Of course she did. There wasn’t a person in London who didn’t after all that had happened. No wonder she didn’t want to be seen with him. To be seen leaving a place like this on his arm would create yet another scandal.

He schooled his expression into cool reserve and looked down the renowned Westmoor nose. ‘As you wish.’

She cast him a shy little smile. ‘Thank you for waltzing with me.’

That tiny upward curve of her lips, her soft voice with its odd little accent he could not place, caused a pang behind his breastbone. ‘You are welcome, my lady. May I see you again?’ He froze, startled by the words that had left his lips before his brain caught up to them. Yet he waited for her answer with a sense of hopeful anticipation.

Her jaw dropped a fraction. ‘Me?’ she squeaked.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her surprise. He took her small hand encased in a silky glove and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. ‘Naturally, you.’ There was no denying it to himself. He wanted her. And since he hadn’t desired a woman since the night of the accident, it came as something of a relief to know he could still feel desire. ‘I would like to get to know you better. If it would suit you.’

Heart pounding strangely hard, he waited for her answer. God, he felt like a schoolboy all over again. Shy. Nervous of rejection, yet full of hope.

She looked wildly around as if expecting someone to leap out at her. ‘I couldn’t.’

She sounded so genuinely regretful, it made him all the more determined. ‘You could if you really wished to.’

Her bottom lip drooped. ‘It is not possible.’

He’d not flirted and bedded the most beautiful women in London without learning a trick or two. ‘It will be our secret. No one will ever know. Not from me. Not if you do not wish. I give you my word.’ He ran a fingertip along her jaw and ended up touching her bottom lip still flushed red from his kiss. ‘Please.’

‘I cannot risk—’

‘No risk. I simply want to talk, that is all. There is a garden at the back of the club. Very quiet. The windows on that side are all nailed shut.’ He and his fellow owners had decided early on that they would make very sure the club was inviolable to peeping toms and nosy newspapers. Nor did they wish to upset their more respectable neighbours. ‘Meet me there tomorrow evening at seven. I will leave the gate beside the mews open for you.’

She looked adorably confused. ‘I shouldn’t.’

He reached out to touch her mask. ‘You came here and you shouldn’t.’

Her shoulders sagged and he felt a little spurt of triumph, tinged with a dash of guilt.

‘If I can...’

Again the careful diction. Perhaps a foreigner trying to sound English, but not an accent he recognised. ‘If you can’t come tomorrow, then I will wait for you the next evening and the next until you do.’

‘I don’t know.’ On those words, she turned and fled.

But she would. He was sure of it. He’d seen the longing in those amazing spring-green eyes.

He followed her at a leisurely pace, not wishing to scare her. By the time he reached the front door and looked out, the carriage was gone.

‘Anything I can do for you, Yer Grace?’ Snyder asked.

Jake smiled at him. ‘Nothing.’

The man’s eyes widened in shock.

Feeling just a tiny bit smug, Jake walked away, humming.

Chapter Two

‘’Ere you are!’

Heart in her throat, Rose swung about, water and suds splashing on the floor. Those were not the deep drugging tones of the man she’d lived in fear would discover her, but Flo’s strident angry tones.

She sagged back against rim of the sink. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

Flo folded her arms across her chest. ‘’Oo else would it be?’ Her expression changed from anger to worry in a heartbeat. ‘Wot’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ She swallowed the dryness in her throat that had been there since two nights ago. ‘I’ve had extra work,’ she mumbled. ‘I haven’t been able to get away. Perhaps I will see you later.’

Flo narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh, no. You’ll just go sneaking off again.’ She grabbed Rose’s wrist and dragged her into the pantry. ‘Tell me wot’s ’appened. You look like someone died.’

Misery climbed Rose’s throat and stuck there in a huge lump at the memory of His Grace the Duke of Westmoor’s large hand on the small of her back. The sensation of the tease of his lips danced across her mind and sent chills rushing across her skin. He’d been lovely. So handsome in an unkempt way, his hair a little longer than it should be, his cheeks hazed in stubble, his appearance slightly rumpled. As if he needed someone to care for him.

But, oh, his kisses, they had been truly amazing. Never had she suspected a kiss could be so pleasurable. It was all she’d been able to think about in her bed of a night.

How could she have let him kiss her? Knowing he was one of the owners of the club. Knowing how far above her he was—a duke, no less. How wanton she had been in her enjoyment of his mouth on hers. Worse yet, how she longed to kiss him again.

And she could, if she met him as he’d asked.

She didn’t dare, yet the thought of him waiting... She pushed the thought aside. ‘Was the dress to your liking?’

‘Of course it was. Why do you think I was looking for you?’ Flo shoved a handful of coins at her. ‘Why haven’t you popped in to see us tonight? No one does hair the way you do and the girls have been asking after you.’

She should never have ventured into the Green Room in the first place. If she hadn’t, she would never have met His Grace and she wouldn’t be walking around with her mind in a whirl and her heart aching.

They’d told her and told her at the orphanage what happened when girls let their emotions and feelings get the better of them. Most of those left there were the product of illicit relationships. As she was. Wanton blood ran through her veins. She’d refused to believe it, until two nights ago. ‘I have to go. If Mrs—’

‘The sooner you tell me wot’s wrong, the sooner you can go back to your dirty dishes.’

She gazed at her friend, at her kind and worried expression. She had to tell someone. Had to. ‘You promise you won’t tell.’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

Rose managed a weak smile at the childish oath. Where to begin? She peeked out of the pantry door. No sign of Cook.

‘I met a man.’

Flo squeaked with excitement. ‘You are walking out?’

Rose shuddered at the very thought. ‘Oh, no.’

Her friend glowered. ‘If the bastard took advantage, I’ll scratch his eyes out, so I will.’

‘Nothing like that,’ Rose hissed. ‘We danced a bit. He kissed me.’ She touched her lips at the recollection. ‘He was lovely.’

‘So...where’s the problem?’

‘He’s a gentleman. Oh, Flo, I tried on the gown and the mask and he caught me waltzing around in it. I think he thought I was one of the lady guests. He wants to meet me.’

‘So meet him. If you like him, that is.’

‘How can I?’ She gestured to her faded gown. ‘He’s a gentleman. One of the nobs.’ Worse. Far worse. He was a duke, but she did not dare mention that or Flo would guess his identity. ‘What would he think if he saw the real me?’ The thought of his disgust had her heart sinking to her shoes. All her life she’d been disdained. An unwanted orphan. Child of sin. ‘Perhaps he’ll think I tricked him on purpose. I can’t lose this job.’ Or her small room in the boarding house. She was barely able to afford it as it was. She’d have to start all over again and this time with no character. She’d be lucky not to end in the workhouse. Or worse. ‘I should never have put on that dress.’ She sank on to the hard wooden chair. ‘What am I to do? He’d said he’d wait every night until I met him. What if he really is waiting?’

Flo tilted her head, her blue eyes perceptive. ‘You like this man.’

She’d be lying to her friend if she said no and that she did not want to do. ‘He was nice.’ More than nice. He made her heart do somersaults and her body tingle in wicked places. That last, though, was something she would never admit to anyone.

‘Then the real question is...do you want to see him again?’

Dreadfully. The longing in her heart would not be denied. ‘I feel horrible every time I think of him waiting.’ The back of her throat burned at the idea she would never see him again, except maybe from a distance. ‘I should at least let him know meeting him again is impossible. But how could I, dressed like this? I’d be too ashamed. Oh, why, oh, why did I try on the dress?’

Flo ran a glance from her head to her heels. ‘You’re right. That dress certainly won’t do. Leave it to me.’ She bustled away.

Rose mopped the water from the floor and she plunged her hands back into the hot soapy water.

Her heart picked up speed at the thought of seeing His Grace again. She took a deep steadying breath. She couldn’t. No matter what Flo said. It was an impossible dream. Hadn’t she learned long ago dreams were not for the likes of her?

Of course he would not be waiting.

She’d heard all the rumours about him. How he was before he came into the title. He was a man who loved the ladies. All different sorts of ladies. Never faithful to one particular one. Always out for a good time. There were darker rumours, too. Those she’d ignored.

Oh, he might have shown up once, she supposed, shrugged his shoulders at her non-appearance and moved on.

If only her foolish heart didn’t keep wanting to know for certain. And hoping.

* * *

Only a fool would spend three nights sitting on a cold stone bench waiting for a woman who had made it pretty clear she wouldn’t meet him.

A fool indeed.

Not to mention that the last thing he needed was to become entangled with another man’s wife. Dukes didn’t do that sort of thing. So what if she’d felt so right in his arms, had eyes the colour of peridots and her kisses tasted of honey and innocence? He had responsibilities now. Duties. The days of dalliance and enjoyment were done.

Besides, he didn’t deserve them.

And yet, still he sat here, watching the gate in the wall leading into the garden from the alley. This was the very last time. He’d said it last night, but tonight he meant it.

He got up and paced around the lawn, letting the blood flow back into his backside, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. Though why he’d be tense he didn’t know. All the paperwork he’d ploughed through earlier in the day, no doubt. He needed a drink to relax him, instead of hanging about here like some lovesick swain.

Hell. He didn’t even know her name. Had no way of seeking her out. In his mind he called her the lady in red. His lady in red, no less, he mocked.

If she didn’t come this evening, he’d pin his card to the gate. She could damned well chase after him. He had only come tonight because a gentleman always kept his word. At least, until it was no longer viable. Three nights was more than enough, though he’d likely always regret never seeing her face or getting her name. A feeling he couldn’t account for at all. Perhaps it was because of his surprise at seeing her float around in front of the mirror like a goddess come to earth. And the way she’d made him feel something other than numb for those few moments.

Perhaps this was his punishment for all the times he’d missed appointments with his father because he was having such a good time. Just deserts, so to speak. He glanced heavenwards and shook his head. Pure imagination. And wishful thinking.

He returned to the stone bench and eyed it with distaste. Why not simply give up and return to the comforts of the club and a very fine old brandy?

Better yet, he should go home. The thought of the accusing stares of his household slid a dagger between his ribs and into the hollow cavity of his chest. The same guilty pain he felt every time his grandmother looked at him.

He pulled out his pocket watch and flicked open the case with a thumbnail. Twenty minutes past the hour of seven o’clock. Ten minutes and he was leaving.