Duke Ian Furchess is not a man who likes to be told what to do, but the mantle of responsibility has always lain on his shoulders. For the first time, however, a gorgeous American tourist with her own royal agenda might just tempt him to go too far...
Chapter Three
Bugger the duke. Ian froze, wondering if he had said that last bit out loud.
Lifting his body away from Daisy's slowly, he tried to regulate his breathing and regain the control that was expected of him.
When he could manage it, he got to his feet. There was nothing he could do about the state of his sex. It was too big to hide, and too painfully rigid to simply pretend nothing had happened. He could barely breathe.
Daisy seemed shocked by what she saw. Which made him rather angry, truth be told. Did she seriously not realize how close they had come to carnal relations? A few seconds more, and she would have found her skirt pushed up to her waist and her knickers dragged down to her—
Damnation. He turned his back and bent forward, putting his hands on his knees. After taking several labored gulps of air, he finally managed to regain a modicum of equilibrium.
But still he couldn't face her. He inhaled sharply and spoke with his back still to her. "The duke should be home any moment," he said curtly. "I'll go now and determine whether or not he can meet with you this afternoon."
From behind his shoulder, Daisy spoke, her voice subdued. "That's very kind of you. I'm sorry that I..."
He whirled, cursing his own weakness. He should have sent her on her way immediately. "That you what?"
She stood up as well, and with her arms wrapped around her waist, she was the picture of discomfort. "That I let you think I was willing to...um...fool around."
"Is that what you Americans call it?" He scowled. "How many euphemisms can you invent for having sex?"
Daisy frowned. "I was trying to be polite."
"I don't feel particularly polite at the moment," he growled. Merely looking at her, all disheveled and alluring, was getting him revved up again. "I feel more like finishing what we started."
When she opened her mouth to speak, he put a hand over her lips. "Don't worry," he said roughly. "I'm clear now on your priorities. You want to see the duke."
Daisy grasped his wrist and pulled his hand away, her pretty eyes beseeching him to understand. "You're a lovely man," she whispered. "But I was sent here for a very important reason. I can't allow myself to get sidetracked."
"They must be paying you a lot of money to purchase such devotion."
She flushed, visibly wounded by his sarcasm. "Money isn't the issue."
He stepped away, unaccountably depressed. "Money is always the issue," he said bluntly.
"Is that how you judge people? By the money they have? I would think a man in your position might have a more democratic outlook on life."
"A man in my position?"
She shrugged awkwardly. "Someone who works with his hands."
Damn, everything she said made him think of sex. He, the only remaining male scion of the house of Wolffhampton, had come perilously close to shagging a perfect stranger in broad daylight. Good Lord. Clearly, it was time to end this. "Goodbye, Ms. Daisy Wexler. I hope you find everything you're looking for."
***
Though the day was still sunny and clear, a cloud settled over Daisy's emotions. Watching the handsome stranger descend the hill with long, loping strides made her want to weep for some unaccountable reason.
She'd likely never see him again...unless she happened to run across him as she was leaving the duke's estate. Though, given his current mood, he'd probably hide out until she was gone.
In theory, Daisy was not opposed to a holiday romance, particularly with a man who sounded like one of her favorite British actors but was far more blatantly virile and sexually intense. A vacation fling was not, in essence, a mistake.
But Daisy was not on vacation; she was employed. And that employment was going to enable a project of her own, one that could change her life.
Glancing down at her watch, she surmised that enough time had elapsed to warrant approaching the enormous, fortresslike house. She tromped down the incline, across the meadow, up the tree-lined path and onto a stone apron that fanned out from the gigantic oak doors. The ornate iron knockers looked ancient.
Palms damp, she reached out a hand, grasped one of the heavy circlets and rapped it three times. In her imagination, the sound reverberated inside the house. Shifting from one foot to the other, she waited.
The interval was no more than a few seconds, but it might as well have been eons. At last, the door swung open, and an older man, clad in the traditional garb of a butler, greeted her with a slight inclination of his head. "Good day, mum."
Daisy hesitated, abashed at his formality. "My name is Daisy Wexler. I'm here to speak to the duke." She thought about mentioning her go-between, but decided against it.
As she fidgeted, the majordomo assessed her rumpled clothing and lack of transportation. "I will see if His Grace is ready for visitors," he said stiffly. "Perhaps you'll be so kind as to wait in the parlor."
Daisy perched on a cushioned settee that looked as if it might have supported the fannies of knights and ladies down through the ages. Her heart rapped against her ribs and her knees felt like jelly even though she was seated.
She'd flown across an ocean to request information from a duke, and until this very moment, she hadn't actually contemplated what form such a conversation might take. Perhaps she should have rehearsed. Under normal circumstances, she never had any trouble with shyness. But even for someone reared on the precepts of equality for all, the idea of actually meeting nobility was daunting.
Her throat was completely dry by the time the starchy retainer returned to fetch her.
The man looked down his nose. Or so it seemed to Daisy. "He will see you now."
***
Daisy followed her escort along one hallway and then another. To call this place a house was a misnomer. Castle was the more correct term. It was surely next to impossible to adequately heat the enormous chambers with their vaulted ceilings and stone floors.
Finally, the butler halted in front of a set of double doors. Grasping both knobs and pulling them open with ceremony, he stepped aside and spoke to someone beyond Daisy's line of sight. "Ms. Daisy Wexler to see you, Your Grace."
Again, her knees trembled. Glancing at the servant beside her, she found neither sympathy nor assistance in his blank gaze. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she entered the room.
For a moment, awe overtook her. The chamber in which she found herself was like something out of a movie. Enormous mullioned windows shone in the afternoon sun. Though the glass was immaculate, millions of dust motes danced in the beams of light, no doubt courtesy of the heavy gold-brocade and crimson-velvet draperies that flanked the wavy antique panes.
A priceless Oriental rug, faded but lovely, lay on the floor beneath her feet, adding to the impression of old money and exquisite taste. As a librarian, she couldn't help but also be impressed by the walls of bookcases, laden with leather-bound volumes.
But before she could do more than glance at them, something else, or rather someone, caught her eye.
The man had his back to her, his gaze trained on the view beyond the curved bank of windows. Standing behind an impressive antique desk, the silent figure projected an air of absolute authority. Suppressing an insane desire to curtsey, Daisy moved into the room, hoping to see him more clearly. Framed as he was in the alcove, the sun blinded her.
As she walked toward him, expecting him to speak at any moment, she took stock of her host. He wore a navy suit, obviously hand tailored to fit his broad-shouldered, lanky frame. Dark brown hair showed evidence of dampness, as if he had showered recently. The faint, pleasant scent of aftershave lingered in the air.
Her toes curled in her canvas espadrilles. Curiosity and anticipation warred with nervousness in her stomach. "Thank you for meeting with me," she said quietly. "I'd like to ask you some questions, if I may."
"Be seated." The words were low and terse, barely audible.
Feeling like a recalcitrant schoolgirl, she glanced at the choice of seats on her left and right before deciding on a Louis XIV needlepoint chair. Unfortunately, it was more impressive than comfortable. She squirmed to settle herself, placed her tote on the floor and took out a pad and pen. Laying them on the edge of the highly polished escritoire, she sat back and folded her hands in her lap.
The silence lengthened and deepened. "Your Grace?"
Perhaps her verbal prompt was considered a social faux pas, because those wide, impressive shoulders stiffened. "Patience is not really an American virtue, is it?" he said, the syllables curt and aristocratic.
Something about that gravelly but cultured voice raked across Daisy's nerves like a kitten's claw on silk. She swallowed hard, unable to speak.
Finally, the duke turned around to face her. Daisy's breathing stumbled. "You?" she cried. "You're the duke?"
Oh, what a tangled web they've woven... how will they undo this deceit? With Ian offering a deal she can't resist, of course! Find out what Ian's agenda is in Chapter Four of Daisy and the Duke!
If you're enjoying this funny, sexy story, you won't want to miss
USA Today bestselling author Janice Maynard's MINDING HER BOSS'S BUSINESS, book one in the Dynasties: The Montoros series, launching May 2015!