Damn him to Hades and back. After such a question, the last thing Darcy thought any sane man would do was stand upright as if he’d been poked by a scalding fireiron and take ten paces. She remained on the seat, watching him and not ready yet to give up her quest for the evening.

Athelby needed to be kissed, to be shown that just because his brother may have passed away after a very reckless life, it did not mean that one kiss with her would lead his grace down the same road. The man needed to be shown that life could be passionate without peril, disaster, and death. Not everyone was like his late sibling.

“No, I would not. I do not know what game you’re playing, my lady, but I do not find it amusing in the least.”

She shrugged. “I want to kiss you, so I asked if the feeling was reciprocated. You have stated it is not. There are no hurt feelings or broken hearts, I merely wanted to show you that by kissing me, the ducal line shall not fall. It’ll be there tomorrow just as it is today. That is all.”

“You wanted to use me?”

She barked out a laugh, not the most ladylike thing to do, and yet for the first time ever, his grace didn’t scald her about it. “No, I wanted to kiss you. Simply a man and woman enjoying each other.” She stood and sauntered over to him, amused when he retreated away from her until his back came up against a large oak tree.

“I do not want to kiss you, Lady de Wolfe.”

“No? Well, that is a shame.” She ran her hand down the lapels of his coat, the accelerated breathing and heartrate telling her more of what the duke was feeling than what he was saying.

“Aren’t you the least bit curious about what it would be like. We’ve rarely got along, but maybe we would get along grandly in this regard.” The more she spoke about kissing the man, the more she wanted to reach up and do it. Take his lips, that looked perfectly in proportion to the rest of his face and see if they were as soft as she suspected they were.

“We would not,” he said, his attention snapping to her mouth.

Darcy bit her bottom lip and didn’t miss as his jaw clenched. Oh yes, the duke wanted to kiss her. And if she were a woman of the world, which she was in a way, he wanted to do it with a desperation that she herself admitted.

“Just a little one. You wouldn’t deny a lady that small request, would you?”

He frowned, and she clasped the lapels of his jacket, going up on her toes so to reach him better. “Do not deny me, duke,” she whispered.

“Damn you, Darcy.”

She gasped as the little control she had just a moment ago vanished and she was seized by the duke, wrenched against his chest, his mouth coming down hard against hers, his tongue thrusting against her own.

She moaned. Shocked and delighted at the pleasure that coursed through her. Darcy had not anticipated wanting to do a hell of a lot more with the duke than a kiss, but she certainly did now.

This would never be enough. She wanted more, so much more and the hard part would be how she could get what she wanted. How to convince the duke that they could be together like this, without his fear of becoming a debauched rake like his brother impeding his decision.

He held her firm, his hands slipping further around her back where one thumb brushed against her bare shoulders. Darcy tried to keep up, but her mind was spinning. The duke could kiss, very well, considering he’d not kissed anyone like this before.

He may say otherwise, but knowing him and his ways, Darcy was sure she was the first.

Leaning up further on her toes, her breasts brushed him as she slid her hands through his hair, keeping him exactly where she wanted him. The kiss turned molten, and she grappled not to lose the little control she still held.

Athelby slid his hand over her delectable body, barely hidden by her silk gown and clasped her thigh, lifting it a little against his thigh. His breath came out in a rush and his heart threatened to burst. Darcy kissed him with a desire that ignited him to flame. His cock hardened, painfully so and her pleading whimper when she rubbed against him almost made him lose himself in his breeches.

He ought to be ashamed of himself, this was not what he should be doing with her. His moral compass had completed deserted him. Athelby tried to think of his brother, his death and the woman behind it. Remind himself that his sibling's recklessness over a woman, a woman the family would’ve never allowed him to marry in the first place, was the reason he partook in that stupid carriage race that had killed him.

But when Darcy slowed the kiss, her tongue coaxing his, all Athelby wanted to do was ravish her. Take everything and all that she would give. Her kiss was all that he thought it would be and it would never be enough. Not for him.

“Let me court you, my dear. I need more than just this one night,” he said, taking her lips again as if his life were dependant on it.

Darcy’s mind whirred at the mention of courting. She’d already married a man who was controlling, mean and vindictive. Not that the duke was vindictive, but he could certainly be cutting and liked control most of all. She might wish to take him as a lover, but never as a husband. She did not escape by chance one terrible marriage, only to enter another of very similar credence.

She wrenched herself out of his arms, and he stepped toward her, his gaze unfocused and mad with desire. “What are you doing?” he asked, breathless.

“Saving us from a mistake.” She righted her gown and fixed her hair, holding up a hand when he reached for her. “No more your grace. I shouldn’t have teased you so into kissing me, and I apologize.”

He stood there, shock, and annoyance settling on his features. The duke took a calming breath and ran a hand through his hair, looking about and seeing if anyone had been watching their blatant fondling session in the garden.

“It is I who should ask forgiveness. I was carried away with unexpected emotion.” He bowed. “Good evening, Lady de Wolfe.”

Darcy placed a hand across her lips to stop herself from asking him to stay, to finish what she’d feared for some weeks now, was between them. Desire, a scorching, intoxicating need for each other, that she was fearful she had sparked to life tonight with her teasing and their kiss.

She watched him disappear up the garden path and sat back down on the bench. There was only one way forward from tonight. She would have to keep well away from the duke, not attend any events that he might also attend and try and keep herself from doing exactly what she wanted to again.

Take the duke of Athelby to her bed.

* * *

Athelby had, up to tonight, been successful in avoiding Darcy de Wolfe, but upon entering Earl Musgrove’s and his wife’s musical loo, which was to be followed by a light supper repast, his days of avoidance were over.

He stood at the front of the music room where Lady Musgrove had set up chairs before a makeshift stage where fellow guests would perform, and a small orchestra would play to compliment the singers.

These types of events he had, up to tonight, enjoyed very much. He did not have to converse too much with those attending, and with supper served just afterwards, most were eating and therefore conversation was again, not overly required.

His location gave him the perfect opportunity to watch others as they arrived, and he nodded as the Marques of Aaron discussed the latest Crown Lands Act in parliament. But his mind was otherwise engaged. In fact, his mind and body had not been his for the past fortnight. It belonged to another.

Endless hours of reliving the kiss he’d shared with Darcy haunted his mind. His body ached as it never had before. He’d lost count of how many times he’d woken in the middle of the night, his cock as hard as a rock, and sometimes, at his lowest ebb, he’d found his hand had been clasped about it, stroking it, teasing it as he wished she had.

Utterly mortifying and inappropriate and he would quite literally die of shame, should anyone know what he’d been thinking. Of what he’d been longing to do with the little minx who stood laughing at something her friend Lady Oliver was saying. The way he was going, he would be a debauched as his brother was before the Season’s end.

“If you keep staring at de Wolfe the way you are, you’ll be made to marry the chit. What have you done with the lady that’s made you so possessed with her person?” Aaron asked, taking a sip of his wine.

Not as much as I’d like to have done.

Damn it. He wrenched his gaze down to the floor and studied the parquetry for a moment. “I’ve not done anything with her ladyship. She merely annoys me.”

Torments me…

“The betting book at Whites now states that Lord Thomas and Sir Fraser are front runners in contending as her lovers. They’ve been quite attentive to her, and she’s certainly allowed them to show their affection if you understand me.”

“She’s allowed them to kiss her?” He shut his mouth with a snap and stood tall, lifting his chin so not to show that the mention of Darcy kissing another, hurt. Hurt like bloody hell.

“I understand Sir Fraser has had the pleasure, but then, you know with these young bucks, they often tell tales just to boost their own self-importance.

“They should not be associating their scandalous behaviour with Lady de Wolfe if it isn’t true. Her reputation could be tarnished by such rumors.”

“She is striking, I must admit. And I’ve meant to apologize for my behaviour the other week. My teasing of you was not warranted, and I’m sorry I spoke of you in such a way to Lady de Wolfe.”

Athelby nodded once. “Apology accepted. But you should not concern yourself. I never take any notice of your nonsense when you’re in your cups.”

The marquess snorted, lifting his wine glass up in salute. “As you should.” He paused for a moment. “Lady de Wolfe does seem to take an interest in you though, Athelby. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth that there is nothing between the two of you?”

There was a lot between them, but nothing he would ever admit verbally. Not even to his closest friend. He raised his attention to where he knew Darcy was located and their gazes locked. Again, his stomach somersaulted in the most dizzying, intoxicating way and he clenched his jaw.

Damn it. He’d hoped after being away from her these past weeks such a reaction would not occur. How wrong he’d been. If anything, it was worse.

Denial it would seem, made the bond grow stronger.

“You’ve kissed. I can see it between the two of you as clear as air. And you want to do it again. Admit it, man, you’ve had a tryst with the de Wolfe.”

“No tryst, just a kiss.” Blast, he was not going to say a thing about it. He wrenched his attention away and frowned at his friend. “Do not tell anyone of what you know, and do not put my name down as a contender for her ladyship’s hand, either in marriage or as a lover.”

“I think you could be a contender for both, for the way she’s looking at you right now, I would say you’re more likely to be her lover before anything else.”

The thought of having Darcy beneath him in his bed made his blood beat at a crescendo that even the instruments about to play could not reach. “I will not sleep with her. Ever.” To do so went against all his morals, the way in which he’d lived his life. Fleeting liaisons were not who he was or ever would be. He was a respectable, upstanding duke. Not a rake.

“Oh, well, from the looks of Sir Fraser you’ve missed your chance. And Lady de Wolfe seems quite pleased by his attentions if I’m any judge of character.”

“I do not care.” Athelby sat and steadfastly refused to move his attention from the stage, even though the singing was yet to commence. Aaron sat beside him, shaking his head, but deciding not to voice whatever it was he was thinking.

Probably for the best, considering Athelby’s mood was decidedly soured. Whether it was due to Darcy fawning over another gentleman and acting yet again inappropriately, or because it was not he himself that she was acting inappropriately with, he couldn’t be sure.

The musical night hosted by the Earl and Countess Musgrove was something Darcy had been looking forward to, up until the point that she’d seen Athelby in all his elegance standing beside the Marques of Aaron, his dark, intense inspection of her rattling her more than she’d like to admit and leaving her flushed.

She had promised herself, and up until tonight had done quite well in keeping her distance from him. Their set was wide and varied, and it hadn’t been hard to go to balls and parties that both were invited to, but at different times. If she’d heard from his grandmother that he was to attend so and so at this time, Darcy ensured she attended at opposite times.

It had all worked out splendidly, until this evening. A musical loo was not something she’d thought the duke would be interested in, and yet, here he was, as handsome as ever, cold and aloof as he’d always been.

She shook her head as she ate a crab cake during the supper repast. After the music he’d seemed to disappear, and she assumed he’d returned home or moved on to attend another event. The fact that his absence left her a little bored and forlorn was not to be considered. Darcy was determined never to marry again, no matter how enticing being courted by the Duke of Athelby might be. She could not risk another bad marriage like the one she’d had to endure with Terrance.

“Fran, darling, I’m going to use the ladies’ retiring room and then I think I shall leave. I wish to go for a ride tomorrow morning, and I’ll never rise should I not head home soon.”

Her friend handed her glass to her husband who stood with them. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

Darcy waved her suggestion away. “No, I shall be fine and my maid is waiting for me there. You stay here and enjoy this delicious repast.”

She exited through the door she’d seen other ladies slip through. A footman explained where the retiring room was and pointed her in the right direction. Darcy walked along a bank of windows, some of which were bay in design. Red velvet drapes hung down on all of them, allowing anyone who sat upon the seat overlooking the gardens privacy if they so wished. Walking past one that was drawn closed, she stifled a scream when a large hand came out and pulled her into the secretive alcove.

“You!” The wild, ravenous look on Athelby’s face gave her pause, and she didn’t say another word.

“Yes, me,” he said, pushing her against the wall and taking her lips in a searing kiss. Against her better judgement and rules, her past mistakes and wishes for the future, Darcy clung to him, all but climbed up against his person and made herself as close as she possibly could while the kiss carried on.

It was too much, this need, the all-consuming obsession with him could not be possible. “Touch me, Cameron,” she gasped as he tried to lift her up to get them as close as achievable.

Failing that, he moaned and rocked against her instead. One hand fiddled with the base of her gown, before the cool night air kissed her ankle, calf and then thankfully, finally her thigh. Athelby paused, pulling back a little to stare at her. “I don’t know what to do.”

Darcy fought to understand what he was saying through her desire consumed mind before understanding dawned. Taking his hand, she guided him to where she wanted him to touch her most.

He didn’t pull away and stop what she was showing him, and the fact that this man, a duke no less was not skilled in the ways of what a woman wanted suited Darcy. He was hers to mould. To teach touches, kisses and whatever else they did together. To know no one else had been with Athelby like this left a powerful elixir that was hard to deny.

At first, his touch was hesitant, too careful as if he was scared to hurt her. This kind of endless teasing was almost enough to send pleasure to ricochet through her. “Slide your hand against me, explore and learn me, Cameron.”

Cameron had never, ever wanted to take a woman as much as he fought not to take Darcy. She stood before him, his to take, her legs spread as the wall supported her while he teased and touched the most private of parts of a woman.

When he’d pulled her into the curtained space, he’d not thought this would happen. He’d meant to chastise her for teasing Sir Fraser and leading the poor fellow on. But the moment she’d entered the space, all he’d wanted to do was kiss her. Taste her one more time.

The woman’s anatomy was not as he’d expected it to be and touching Darcy like this allowed him to learn what she liked, what made her gasp and cling to him like he was the only other living soul on earth.

“Athelby,” she gasped when his finger found a peculiar, small entrance. Seeing if his touching of her there was something she enjoyed, he slid one finger a little way inside.

Darcy kissed him hard, her tongue meshing with his, and emboldened he slid his finger fully the way in. It was then he realized she was riding his hand, just as he imagined a woman would ride a man’s phallus.

His balls ached and were tighter than he’d ever known them to be. Other than the times he’d woken up in bed, panting and as hard as hell after dreaming of the woman who currently resided in his arms.

“I’m going to come,” she whispered against his lips.

Her lips parted, her head tilting back as she continued to ride him. Athelby nibbled and kissed her while she peaked, her bottom lip clasped tight in her teeth to stop any notifying sound. In time Darcy regained her composure, and already he longed to have her in such a state again.

He’d never slept with a woman before, probably a fact that Darcy now knew, and the pleasure she seemed to experience made him yearn to know if it would be the same for himself. He’d gained so much enjoyment from watching her, being more involved, finding his own release, was that as addictive as he imagined it would be.

Just the thought had him wishing she’d undo his front falls, sit him on the bench at the window and ride him until they both found release.

Their gazes locked and instead of pulling away, Darcy wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing him lightly before she said words, that were never truer. “We have a problem, Athelby.”

And they did. A big one.