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 Four
The man stood with one hand in his pants pocket, the other resting on the back of a carved chair. His fingers were long and masculine. He was cool, collected and remote. Neither a smile nor any sign of recognition marked his expressionless face. No indication at all that just minutes before he had coaxed her into breathless intimacy on a hilltop.
"I am," he said. "Ian Furchess. We don't stand much on ceremony these days, so you may call me Ian. Tell me, Ms. Wexler, what brings you to the Lake District?"
Her mouth hung open. Did he seriously think she didn't recognize him? The cognac-colored eyes were the same. The thick, wavy chestnut hair. Was she losing her mind? Perhaps this sophisticated nobleman was related to the fellow she'd met outside.
But no...it wasn't possible. She had kissed him passionately only moments ago.
Hadn't she?
"You were feeding pigs," she blurted out. "But you're a duke."
At last the hint of a smile lifted the corners of his beautiful mouth. "In case you haven't noticed, Ms. Wexler, we are having an extraordinarily lovely dose of early spring. Even dukes have been known to play hooky on such occasions." With complete calm, he sat down at the desk and rested his hands on the arms of the chair.
Forcing herself not to gape, Daisy backed up mentally. If this was how he chose to play their official encounter, she would go along with it. "Call me Daisy," she said firmly. As if he hadn't already. "I'm here on behalf of Victor and Vincent Wolff."
Ian's eyes narrowed. "I'm not sure I follow."
"Surely you've heard of Wolff Enterprises."
"Indeed. They're a multinational corporation, well-respected even outside the States. But again, what does that have to do with me?"
"My employers are in their early seventies and semiretired. One of the younger Wolffs is at the helm of the organization now, and with more spare time on their hands, the two older men have taken up studying the family tree. Recently, they came across a document that suggests a connection with your ancestors. Obviously Victor and Vincent aren't interested in money. They have plenty of their own. But they are extremely invested in finding out whether or not their family has roots here, in the seat of the Wolffhamptons."
She took a deep breath and sat back, realizing that her palms were sweaty and her stomach churned from being so close to him. Ian appeared unruffled. Perhaps he dallied with wandering tourists frequently.
He picked up an expensive pen and rapped it lightly against the leather blotter. It was the first time she had seen him exhibit even a hint of agitation. "Why you, Daisy? Why did they send you?"
"Because I'm very good at what I do. I'm a research librarian at the University of Virginia. The Wolffs hired me to come here and examine some of your family records. If you give your permission, that is..."
***
Ian frowned inwardly. All he had to do was say a definitive "no" and send her on her way. But he couldn't. Not yet. He didn't want to. He could only think about lying beside her on a grassy hill and acting like a man and not a duke. For a few short moments with Daisy, his life had seemed full of possibilities.
He sighed. "I assure you, Daisy, we take genealogy very seriously here in England. And I can also tell you with absolute certainty that my dear grandmother and I are the only remaining members of the Wolffhampton family. Period." He hated disappointing her, but her employers had sent her on a fool's errand.
She leaned toward him, her heart-shaped face earnest. The passion and conviction in her voice seduced him as surely as her beautiful spirit. "But your family may have been misled," she said. "A bastard son, Octavius, who shamed your ancestors with his antics, didn't die at sea, as it was claimed. He survived being thrown overboard, showed up in America, took Wolff as his surname, started a family without bothering to get married, and made a fortune in railroads."
Holy hell. "How do you know this?"
"Victor and Vincent found a journal."
"And you have this for me to examine?"
"Well, no. It's far too valuable to travel with...but I photocopied some pertinent passages. All I need to do is see your family Bible and any other records you may have from that time so I can cross-reference the information in the journal. You can call the Wolffs if you want to verify my identity."
He shook his head in bemusement. "I doubt you're here to steal the family silver. And I suppose there's no harm in letting you poke around. But why on earth are you staying in a hostel? Surely the Wolffs could have sprung for more upscale accommodations."
Guilt etched her expressive face. "I'm trying to save money. When I'm done here, I hope to take a few days and visit Scotland. Do you know if it's true what they say? That the men go naked beneath their kilts?"
His lip curled in exasperation. "What is it with you women and Scotsmen? An Englishman is worth two of those barbarians any day."
Daisy grinned at him, the sparkle in her eyes making him want to kiss her again...urgently.
"Nevertheless," she said primly. "I cancelled my original reservations and I've been spending as little cash as possible. I guess a man like you wouldn't understand that."
He lifted an eyebrow. "A man like me?" They had played this verse before.
"You know. Rich."
He decided to let that comment pass. "Why are you so determined to see this through? Most people would have cut and run the first time I told you to leave."
Vulnerability shadowed her face, and he sensed that what she was about to say wasn't something she told just anyone.
"I grew up in a children's home, knowing very little about my birth family, so genealogy has become a passion of mine. I have a few leads about my great-grandfather, a faint possibility that I hope to follow up in Scotland, but without being hired by the Wolffs, I could never have managed to get here. I owe it to them to uncover the answers they seek. And hopefully I can find some of my own."
"I see." He admired her spunk and independence. Daisy Wexler was as determined to steer her fate as he was to steer his. And despite the strictures of his upbringing, he was a man accustomed to action.
Suddenly, a shocking idea came to Ian, one that guaranteed him more time with the delectable Daisy and at the same moment offered a possible solution to a very awkward situation. "I have a proposition for you, Daisy. In exchange for my cooperation on the research front, you could do me a favor."
She looked suspicious. And rightly so. "What kind of favor?"
He stood up and rounded the desk, propping his hip on the priceless antique. Daisy shrank back in her seat, her eyes wide.
Leaning forward, he took her hand and drew her upward to stand beside him. "Tell me, Ms. Daisy Wexler. Do you know how to dance?"
***
Daisy found herself in danger of swooning like a Victorian miss. The Duke of Wolffhampton at close quarters was an impressive figure. She was fairly certain that the buttons on his worsted wool suit were made of sterling silver imprinted with a coat of arms...no doubt the crest of the mighty Wolffhampton dynasty.
But as beautiful as the garment was, Daisy couldn't help thinking he would look better naked.
She nibbled her bottom lip. "Dance?"
He played with a strand of her hair, his crooked grin lazy and sexy. "A man. A woman. Romantic music. You know the drill. Saturday is Valentine's Day...and it also happens to be my grandmother's ninetieth birthday. We're having a little soiree here at the castle to celebrate. Nothing too fancy. A hundred people or so. I'd like you to accompany me as my date."
Daisy might not have had a speck of aristocratic blood in her veins, but she knew a scam when she saw one. "It's a little hard to believe that a duke has to troll for female companionship a few days before an event."
"I'm in a bit of a pickle. My sainted nana has invited a young woman who Grandmother hopes will agree to be my bride."
Daisy's heart plummeted to her feet. "You can't find your own girlfriends? Seriously?"
Ian drew her across the room to the one piece of furniture that actually looked cozy...a low, cushiony love seat. They sat hip to hip, his big, hard body warming hers. "In case you haven't noticed, this monstrosity of a house is a money drain. I am in the unenviable position of being the first Duke of Wolffhampton who may actually have to deed the property over to the National Trust and let strangers tramp through the house in order to pay the taxes. We've been limping along so far, but Grandmother fears that I am depleting my personal fortune and throwing good money after bad."
"And are you?"
He leaned back and stretched out his legs, his thighs rippling with muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his trousers. With his hands behind his head, he gave her a sideways glance. "Truthfully? Yes. Grandmother has decided that the only solution is for me to marry an heiress. Guilliana's bloodlines are impeccable, and her father is, as you Americans say, stinkin' rich."
Daisy hated the woman already. "Does she want to marry you?" Of course she did. What woman with a brain and two eyes wouldn't? Ian Furchess was a catch.
"I have no idea. But Grandmother has invited Guilliana to the party, and since I'm not yet ready to throw myself on the sacrificial altar, it occurs to me that you would be the perfect diversion."
Not a very flattering offer, but then again, Cinderella was surely entitled to one evening with the prince, even if the shoe didn't fit. "And in exchange for my cooperation, you'll allow me full access to your family records?"
Ian stuck out his hand. "Deal?"
She wrapped her fingers around his, noting the exact moment when the warmth and vitality of his touch sparked an insurrection in that secret spot deep in her core. "Deal."
***
Five days later, Ian cooled his heels in the foyer, waiting impatiently for his beautiful Daisy to appear. The past week had been the happiest few days of his life. He'd taught her how to ride a horse. Or tried to. Witnessing Daisy's utter lack of proficiency, he'd laughed and taken her up with him on his mighty stallion, riding across fields and hedgerows at full gallop.
In the afternoons, he had spent hours with her in the library, combing over old documents. When at last they discovered the definitive piece of evidence proving a connection to the American Wolffs, he and Daisy had celebrated with an impromptu hug that quickly turned into a scorching, highly un-duke-like kiss. This time he could not stop the wild mating of lips from becoming much more intimate.
Ian locked the library door, lifting Daisy and coaxing her legs around his waist. "My bedroom's too far," he groaned. "I need you. Now."
She responded by circling his neck with her slender arms and nibbling the tendons that stood out in relief. "Hurry," she panted.
He steadied her against the wall and fumbled to free his aching shaft. Daisy wore a soft skirt and nothing underneath but panties. With no patience left to remove them, he pushed aside the narrow cotton band, fit the head of his erection to her core and thrust upward.
"Oh, Ian..."
Still remembering in vivid detail the way her soft, warm body had welcomed his, Ian swallowed hard and began to mentally list the monarchs of England in backward order from Elizabeth. It wouldn't do for the duke to be caught with an embarrassing boner.
His impatience to see her again was tempered with wry amusement at how his plan to make Daisy his decoy date had mushroomed. The women on his staff had jumped on the idea, more, he suspected, out of a delight in transforming the pretty American tourist than to curry Ian's favor.
Now, the man of the house was on tenterhooks. His bow tie felt as if it was choking him, and his shoes were too tight. Where in the hell was Daisy?
Grandmother was dining in her suite tonight. The ball would tax her stamina enough as it was, so she was resting until the last minute. Ian had picked at a tray of fruit and cheese in his bedroom while he dressed for the evening, his mind on matters more erotic than nutritious.
The ball was to commence at eight o'clock. Finally, at a quarter past seven, a faint noise on the upper landing caught his attention. He looked in that direction and his heart stopped dead in his chest.
A woman stood at the top of the curved staircase wearing a fairy-tale gown of deep, royal blue chiffon and satin. After a split second of shock, he recognized her. It was Daisy, his Daisy. Her white shoulders were bare above a bodice that glittered with tiny bugle beads and crystals. The dress nipped in at the waist and then billowed out in dozens of fluffy layers that barely brushed the floor. Her blond hair had been carefully upswept in a sophisticated do that gave her the graceful bearing of a young Grace Kelly.
When he saw the uncertainty on her face, though, his heart kicked into gear. Bounding up the steps, he met her halfway. With Daisy still one step above him, they stared at each other, eye to eye.
"You look beautiful," he said gruffly, wishing he had thought to offer her jewelry to wear. But then again, with that skin and those eyes, the family sapphires would have been cast in the shade.
Daisy blushed, an adorable pink that tinted her cheeks alluringly. "Thank you," she said softly, smiling. "I feel like a little girl playing dress-up."
His gaze drifted to the mouthwatering curves of her cleavage. God in heaven, give me strength. "Definitely all grown up," he croaked. Heedless of any eyes that might be watching from shadowy corners, he leaned forward and covered her mouth with his. Small hands settled on his shoulders. He cupped her narrow waist in his palms. She tasted of sweet cream and strawberries. The head gardener loved to keep the succulent fruit available in the greenhouse year-round, if possible. At the moment, Ian was imagining sharing a bite if Daisy felt generous.
Their lips clung, parted on exhaled breaths and came together again. "I don't want to mess up your lipstick," he said, his pulse racketing away like a steam engine. He touched the center of her lower lip with his forefinger.
"It's supposed to last for eight hours," she deadpanned, humor dancing in her eyes.
"Good...that gives us plenty of time to experiment."
***
Daisy thought she must be dreaming. And it was such a lovely, fantastical, whimsical, imaginary delight, she really didn't want to wake up.
She was dancing...waltzing to be exact. With Ian Furchess, Duke of Wolffhampton. He held her in his arms, his long legs trapped now and again in her voluminous skirts as they whirled across a polished marble floor.
The enormous salon, decorated in pink-and-silver tulle with gamboling cherubs, was filled with men in formal eveningwear and women garbed in a rainbow of expensive gowns. But Daisy had eyes only for Ian. In a tuxedo and tails, he looked like a prince.
He held her more closely than was strictly necessary for a waltz. And the warmth of his hand on her back reminded her that he was a flesh-and-blood man, not a fantasy. Everything about him was real. Solid.
His lips brushed her cheek. "Are you having fun, Daisy?"
She tilted her head, smiling wryly. "Except for the part where your grandmother stabbed me with her eyes, yes. I half expected her to tack a scarlet C to my chest for commoner. Or better yet, an A for American."
He chuckled. "Don't take it too seriously. She and I play this game. I stay in the perpetual doghouse for not giving her great-grandchildren, but I insist on waiting to marry until I find someone I love as much as she loved my grandfather."
"How long were they married?"
"Sixty-three years. He died five years ago."
"She must miss him very much."
"Indeed. Theirs was a great love affair in a time when arranged marriages were still the norm among the aristocracy. But despite the fact that they barely knew each other when they wed, my grandfather wooed his young bride, and she fell in love with him."
Daisy fell silent, content to float on air in Ian's embrace. Envious gazes all around them tracked their progress, but curiously, Guilliana's was not among them. The slim, gorgeous countess had been introduced to Daisy early in the evening and had greeted her with charm and a mischievous smile. Nothing in her demeanor indicated a prior claim on the duke's affections. If anything, Ian and Guilliana seemed more like siblings as they exchanged comfortable conversation.
During the course of the ball, Ian led all sorts of women out onto the floor—his "courtesy dances," he called them. But Daisy was no wallflower. A line of handsome, amiable young men claimed her hand time and again. Fortunately, she was a quick learner and her partners steered her well. She did know the basics of dancing, but the formality of the occasion was a bit overwhelming.
Ian returned to her side as often as was socially acceptable. Which was not nearly enough for Daisy's liking. The hours were slipping away, and now that they'd both fulfilled their ends of the bargain, this could well be Daisy's final night with Ian....
Will Ian allow this to be his final night with Daisy? All will be revealed in the fifth and last chapter 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!