Discouraging the Duke by Alexa Aston

Chapter Sixteen

Emery shivered. Miles’ voice had been low and tender. So very tender. It caused her resolve to dissolve, the invisible wall that she had tried to maintain around her.

And failed. Miserably.

Her gaze met his penetrating one. The small scar stood out on his cheek. She realized he was waiting for her. He wasn’t going to take from her.

He allowed her the choice to give.

And that was what made her decision.

“I would like to share a kiss with you,” she said hesitantly, her usual confidence fleeing.

“Are you certain?” he asked, his eyes roaming her face.

“I am.” At least she was certain in this moment that if he didn’t kiss her, she might perish.

“Very well.”

He took a step toward the tree and she moved with him, her hand still resting in the crook of his arm. Miles turned her and his hands captured her face, his thumbs gently caressing her cheeks.

“So very, very beautiful,” he whispered.

Then he lowered his lips to hers.

The instant they touched, her body remembered. Her limbs tingled with recognition. Her breath quickened. Anticipation filled her. Her palms moved to rest atop his chest. One hand felt his heart thumping against it, surprising her.

Did she affect him as much as he did her?

His lips touched hers gently at first, causing her to want more. His hands slipped to her neck, caressing it as his kiss grew more urgent. Without him prodding her, she opened to him, causing a low groan to emerge from the back of his throat. His fingers went to her shoulders, tightening, as she felt herself moved back a step. The tree pressed against her back, his body close enough to pin her against it. Miles radiated heat, which spread to her, racing through her, her blood singing and her skin heating at his touch.

His tongue swept inside her mouth, toying with hers, engaging her in an unspoken game. Her palms crept up and her fingers touched his jaw, feeling the slight end-of-day stubble beneath her fingertips. She stroked his jaw and more low sounds emerged from him. His hands moved to her waist, anchoring her.

But Emery wasn’t going anywhere. She returned Miles’ kiss, her heart beating wildly, her insides giddy. Heat pooled between her legs and a fierce pounding began there. His muscular chest pushed against her, causing her breasts to grow heavy and needy. It shocked her to realize they wanted his touch on them.

Though she hadn’t voiced those thoughts, it seemed his body had heard hers speak. One hand moved from her waist, dragging slowly up her ribs and then cupping her breast. She gasped into his mouth as he palmed it, squeezing it slightly. Then he tweaked her nipple and a frisson of desire shot through her, causing the drumbeat between her legs to pound violently. He rolled the nipple between his thumb and finger and then raked his nail over it. Even through her gown and undergarments, she felt the heat singe her. Something made her want to shed her clothes and Emery fought for control.

Miles broke the kiss and his lips glided along her jaw and then down the long column of her neck, even as his fingers played with her breast. He found the point where her pulse beat and licked it, causing her to shudder. Then he nipped at her, a love bite that shot a bolt of lightning through her. Her arms wound around his neck and she fought to keep him close.

His other hand moved upward and now both fondled her breasts as he continued kissing her neck. Emery whimpered and clung to him, unsure of the need building within her. She wanted something from him but had no name to attach to these desires.

“Emery,” he murmured against her neck, his lips rising again to meet hers, taking her in a fierce kiss which went on and on.

Tears filled her eyes from the strong emotions that ran through her. She had no name for them—and that frightened her. Reality began to set in. She was kissing the Duke of Winslow in the middle of a field. Anyone could see them.

That thought caused her to begin struggling. She tore her lips from his and unlinked her fingers from behind his neck. She pushed against him, trying to move him away.

He only tightened his grip on her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, his eyes dark with need.

“Let me go,” she ground out.

Immediately, he released her and took a step back.

“I am not my brother,” he said quietly. “I would never—”

“I know you are not,” she interrupted. “Nevertheless, you are the Duke of Winslow. You are destined to wed a highborn lady, most likely the daughter of another duke. I am not a plaything, You Grace. I have worked extremely hard to prove how capable I am. I refuse to let you destroy what I have accomplished through years of work.”

“You aren’t a passing fancy, Emery,” he said resolutely. “I wish—”

“You think you are different,” she said, again interrupting him. “You want to be a different man from your father and older brother. I understand that. I think you will be. You have all the makings to be an excellent duke. You are intelligent and already care for your people. You haven’t a selfish bone in your body. But you are a member of the ton, Miles, like it or not. They will judge you.”

“I don’t care for their opinions,” he insisted.

“You say that—but you will. You will want your sons and daughters to be held in respect. You will want them to make good matches. For that to happen, you must wed a woman Polite Society finds suitable for you.” Emery shook her head sadly. “I am not that woman. Not that you would want to wed me. But I cannot kiss you again like that. Those kisses—those caresses—are meant for the woman you will marry, Miles. The woman who will bear you children.”

Emery reached out and cradled his cheek. “You are a good man. You will be an excellent husband and father and an outstanding duke. I ask you to leave me be, Your Grace. I have found my place in the world. You must now find yours.”

With that, she dropped her hand. “Only speak to me regarding estate business, Your Grace. I have already taught you much. The rest you may figure out on your own or ask someone else on the estate. The time for relying on me is over.”

She lifted her skirts and took off, running the rest of the way to her parents’ cottage, knowing not to look back. If she did, she would lose all reason and run straight into Miles’ arms again.

*

Emery excused herselfto her father and left the steward’s office. She needed a few minutes to collect herself.

Today had been a terrible day. While her father made sense, he had been querulous since breakfast, wanting to pick a fight with her over everything she said or suggested to him. She took a brief turn outside, the June afternoon air muggy from the brief rainstorm an hour earlier.

Returning to the house, she found her mother and asked, “Could you invite Papa for a cup of tea in your office?”

“Is he giving you trouble?” her mother asked, her eyes both sympathetic and worried.

“Some,” Emery admitted. “I don’t seem to be able to get anything done today.”

Actually, that had proven true for the last three weeks.

Ever since her declaration to Miles—no, His Grace. She must think of him only as her employer, the Duke of Winslow. He had respected her wishes. He had merely nodded to her if they passed. When he came to the office, he would ask her father a question. Thankfully, Papa was having a good spell and was able to answer his employer. Once, when Papa had hesitated, Emery had provided the answer. The duke had given her a clipped thank you and left abruptly.

She would stare at the ledgers and find it impossible to concentrate. All she wanted to do was recall his mouth on hers. The heat. The need. His touch on her breasts. His lips traveling along her throat.

“Return to him. I’ll come along in a few minutes and collect him,” Mama promised.

Emery went back to the office. Her father stared off into space. She slipped into her usual seat behind the second desk that they had placed in the room and returned her attention to the ledger in front of her. As expected, her mother came and convinced her husband to come take a cup of tea with her, leaving Emery alone with her thoughts.

A light knock sounded on the door and she bid the servant to enter. A footman presented her with the day’s post and she thanked him.

She culled through it, glad to have a different task before her rather than studying numbers. The last piece of correspondence contained a beautiful hand and she eagerly opened it, hoping it was what she had awaited.

My dear Mr. Jenson –

Mr. Fillmore told me of the Duke of Winslow’s interest in having his portrait painted. As I am between commissions and do not take up my next one for three weeks, I would be happy to come to Wildwood immediately. Mr. Fillmore is providing transportation to the estate for me and I should arrive very soon. In fact, I have papers from Mr. Fillmore for His Grace and will present them to him upon my arrival.

Yours,

Lawrence Leavell

Panic surged through Emery. This wouldn’t do at all! She had specifically asked Mr. Fillmore to forward the artist’s address to her father. She had wanted to write to Mr. Leavell personally and explain a bit of the situation to see if he would be interested in making adjustments to the portrait of the three Notley sons. Instead, Leavell would arrive at the estate thinking he had been commissioned to paint Miles’ portrait.

She refolded the letter and slipped it inside her pocket. Her desire to act kindly had gone badly. No, it had exploded—and she might be shattered beyond repair. She didn’t know how Miles would react to Leavell’s arrival, much less her idea of erasing Ralph from the portrait. He most likely would refuse to sit for a current portrait, meaning the artist would have wasted a trip to Kent. If things were better between them, Emery might go to Miles and explain the situation. Instead, the past three weeks had seen a wedge placed between them, with her barely looking in his direction and Miles acting like a duke—haughty, sullen, and distant.

What was she going to do?

“Miss Jenson?” a deep voice said, one which she recognized.

Lifting her gaze, she saw Miles standing next to her and she started.

“Didn’t you hear me knock?” he asked.

“No. I didn’t,” she managed to get out, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way to bring up Lawrence Leavell’s imminent arrival.

“I have something I wish to take up with your father. Is he available?”

“He is out on the estate,” she said, thinking the duke might not approve of his employee taking time to indulge in a cup of tea. “Might I help you?”

“I suppose you can,” he said loftily, seeming very duke-like to her, confirming her instincts had been correct. Though not born to the role, Miles was certainly fast becoming the Duke of Winslow.

He took a seat and briefly outlined an idea he said he’d had regarding production in the mill.

“No, that won’t work,” she told him, explaining step-by-step why his idea, though seemingly good, wouldn’t be feasible.

“I still think it could improve efficiency,” he said stubbornly.

She sniffed. “And I am saying it won’t. True, in the short-term it might but one must look at the long-term results. Perhaps I did not explain it thoroughly enough, Your Grace. Let me try again.”

Emery took a deep breath and went over her reasoning. His mouth set stubbornly as she spoke.

“Are you even listening to a word I am saying?” she demanded.

“I am. I just think my idea is better,” he snapped.

“How would you know?” she demanded. “You haven’t even been through a single harvest. I have been through a decade of them.”

“While I am happy to listen to your suggestions, they are only suggestions, Miss Jenson. It is my estate and I will see things run the way I wish.”

She snorted. “Then you will run it into the ground, Your Grace.”

He pushed to his feet. “Do you always believe you are right about everything?”

She stood, almost as tall as he was. “I usually am. And I am about this. Ask Papa. Ask your foreman. Ask Mr. Munson. They will tell you. It is one thing to try something new and quite another to be warned it won’t work and attempt it anyway. If you care so much about your tenants, as you say you do, you will be a better man and listen to reason.”

Miles burst out laughing.

Emery felt her face flood with color. She grasped her hands in front of her.

“I am sorry,” he apologized.

“No, I am the one who should apologize,” she said meekly. “You are the Duke of Winslow. It is your estate. You should do as you wish upon it.”

“We both like to assert ourselves, don’t we?” he asked.

Reluctantly, she nodded. “I suppose so.” She fought to keep from smiling. “We are both impatient, I believe.”

“I am sorry I pushed for control,” he said. “I had none as a boy. I will admit that I fear the loss of it now. In fact, I relish being in control.” He cleared his throat. “I should have approached that better than I did.”

“I should have—”

“What? Let me have my way and fall on my face? Cause our profits to lessen? Bring harm to my tenants?” Miles shook his head. “No, you were right to stand up to me.”

“I could have managed it better,” she admitted. “I was prickly. It is just that you were behaving so harsh and unfeeling. As if my opinion didn’t matter one whit to you.”

His sky blue eyes darkened. “It is the opposite, Emery. I am not harsh and unfeeling. I feel too much. For you.”

The air between them crackled. If someone had lit a match, they would both have gone up in flames.

Her body hummed, anticipating his kiss. His touch.

Miles took a step to her.

Then a loud rap sounded on the door. Immediately, she collapsed into her chair while he strode toward the door and flung it open.

“Yes?”

“A carriage has been sighted, Your Grace,” Trottmann said.

Alarm filled Emery. No visitors were expected. It could only mean one thing.

Lawrence Leavell had arrived.