Trapped with the Duke by Annabelle Anders

What if?

This was not at all what Addison had intended for this drive, but talking to her—getting to know her—felt natural, right. And shockingly, he wanted her to know him, as well.

“Would you be a different person on the inside if your father had accepted you?” he asked once he had the horses headed toward the street again.

She was shaking her head, as though she would deny him an answer but also as though she was searching for one.

“I don’t know,” she said.

She was lying.

“You said I wasn’t going to have to go to Scotland.” She changed the subject before he could press her. “What did you mean by that?”

She’d done this on more than one occasion. Changed a subject or diverted a conversation. Normally, she’d done it out of impatience or curiosity. This time, she was deflecting.

Miss Jones most definitely did not fit squarely into any one particular category he’d formed in his mind about women.

“I didn’t mean to add to your worries when I told you that your brother had risked his social standing when he presented you and your sister to the ton.” This had bothered him last night. He didn’t want her to think he was manipulating her emotions in order to suit his purposes.

Because as it so happened, her guilt could be considered useful for him.

“I know,” she said.

“I just wanted to give you an honest answer.”

“I would expect nothing else from you. Even if it isn’t something I particularly wish to hear.”

“But as it so happens.” He turned them onto the street and then steered around a slow-moving carriage. “I can help you with that.”

“This is why you told me I wouldn’t have to go to Scotland?” Her question wasn’t really a question.

“Yes.” He would have preferred to not be driving while having this discussion, but… “By marrying me, you will increase your brother’s standing considerably.”

Rowan’s words niggled in his mind. She’d told him no once already. It ought to have fulfilled his duty to honor.

She sat silently. Perhaps she was coming around as she wasn’t rejecting him outright.

His lungs seemed to squeeze inside his chest as the silence drew out.

Why am I pressing her on this?

“I was rather hoping you were going to offer me a teaching position.” She sighed.

“If I could convince Fiona to leave school, I might have considered that an option. As it is, I have no need of a tutor.”

“But… Do you actually wish to marry me or is this still because your honor compels you for kissing me that day?” Her question removed yet another barrier between the two of them. It made her vulnerable. It was raw and more than he’d expect from… anyone.

The kiss.

It was part of what compelled his proposal. The memory plagued him. He’d been taunted by the notion that he’d never experience another like it ever again.

She was not an unmarriageable woman, even if she was not completely marriageable. She didn’t fit into his rules. She definitely would not fit into his mother’s rules.

He moved the leather straps of the reins into his right hand and after a quick glance down, covered both of hers with his left, waiting to see if she would pull them away.

“A little of both,” he answered, his heart skipping a beat.

She wanted his honesty.

An unfamiliar energy sparked between them. Not completely unfamiliar—no—but he’d only ever felt it with her.

The power of it affected more than one of his organs.

“What does that even mean?” Her voice came out tight-sounding.

He stroked his thumb over her softly-worn gloves and the energy hummed even louder.

“I want to marry you regardless. But that kiss, yes. It is part of my reason.” Even in his own ears, he sounded like a lovesick fool. “Because I… rather enjoyed kissing you. Very much in fact. And I wish to do it again.”

This was not at all what he’d set out to tell her today.

She turned to stare at him, as she did so, her hands turned in his, embracing them. “Because you enjoyed…? You wish to…?”

Addison pulled the curricle to the side of the street, parking beneath a tree. The wind had picked up and a few leaves gusted around them.

He turned to meet her startled eyes and leaned forward. “I do.”

And he kissed her.

* * *

“Oh!”Collette parted her lips just as his mouth settled on hers.

Rather than answer her question, he was showing her.

His mouth felt cool and firm at first, from the wind. And he tasted like the outdoors, but also like the familiar spices she’d dreamt about more than once. He swept his tongue between her lips, softening his own at the same time.

“Oh.” She’d not imagined how wonderful it had been. Was this kiss even better?

She squeezed his hand between hers. Her limbs were not melting simply because he was a duke. Her heart wasn’t expanding simply because he was so very handsome and impressive.

All of these feelings were for him—the man—the person.

Himself.

He palmed the back of her bonnet, tilting her head and deepening the kiss. If she wasn’t already gripping his hand, she would have wound her arms around his neck.

What was closer than a kiss? Because that’s what she wanted.

His mouth abandoned hers but just barely. He trailed it to the corner of her lips, and then along her jaw.

If not for the oncoming sound of another carriage, Collette likely would have turned and straddled him.

Instead, she jerked away, her heart racing in excitement and fear and something wholly unfamiliar.

He had just kissed her.

Again!

“My apologies.” He looked as startled as she felt. “Does that answer your question?”

Today, his eyes were almost the exact color of the sky, the color of the approaching storm. His lips were shining and wet from… hers.

Otherwise, he looked as perfectly put together as when he’d arrived to collect her from her brother’s townhouse.

Had his kiss answered her question, or had it only given rise to a slew of other ones?

When she didn’t say anything, he calmly turned back to the horses and, using only one hand, he pulled them back onto the street.

His other hand remained clasped between hers.

He’d said he had liked their first kiss.

She’d liked it too. In fact, she’d secretly treasured it. But this kiss. It had been more deliberate, and he had not initiated it out of any sort of panic or fear.

She liked this one just as much… perhaps more.

“Did you enjoy the second kiss as much?” she asked. “Do you still wish for more?” Because it might have been something of a disappointment for him, since he had not been experiencing any sort of emotional distress at the time.

She felt him chuckle beside her. “Yes, to both of your questions.”

Oh.

Something blossomed inside of her. He was able to touch her with his words the same as with a kiss.

If he hadn’t already expressed his desire to marry her, then she would suspect he wanted to set her up as a mistress. Was this how her father had made her mother feel? Because Collette wasn’t sure she could turn the duke down if that was what he wanted.

And after only two kisses, she’d nearly forgotten her own name.

She released his hand when he turned onto Bond Street where the traffic was heavier. After driving a short distance, he pulled to a halt outside of a bookstore. He climbed down first, leaving her perched atop the tall contraption while he tossed a coin to a lad, presumably to keep watch of the horses and vehicle, and then circled around to assist her down.

“You can place one foot there.” He indicated one of the spokes on the large wheel. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

When his hands settled on her waist, she smiled. This could very well be why a gentleman might take a lady driving in such a tall vehicle.

Because she was utterly at his mercy and didn’t mind it in the slightest when he slowly lowered her onto the ground. And if she was not mistaken, his hands lingered longer than was necessary.

“You wished to show me something in the bookstore?” She did her best to act normal, happy that her brain was able to put words together properly again. Even so, her voice sounded breathless in her own ears.

“I do.” A light in his eyes made him seem as though a weight had lifted off his shoulders. Because he’d kissed her? Or because of something else? “This way.” He hooked his arm for her to take and then covered her fingertips with his free hand, briefly, making her feel… protected as they entered the store.

As this was the nearest bookseller to her own home, she’d visited it on numerous occasions.

“Are we looking for anything in particular?” she asked, eyeing the row that held her favorites, mysteries and murders made even more interesting by a good romantic storyline. He too, apparently had visited before and led her deeper into the store, past the mysteries, past the biographies.

“You asked me,” he spoke softly, halting between two long shelves in what she believed were adventure stories, “how I kept my true self alive—the man inside—the part of me who is not Bedwell.”

She nodded, noticing his fingers twisting a ring on his opposite hand. Also appreciating how lovely those hands were. Capable looking, but also… elegant. Much like him.

He must have a favorite book for when he felt disconnected from who he was on the inside, from the essence that was uniquely him.

She had a few of those as well.

Exhaling a deep breath, he reached around her to pluck a thick, dark red leather book off the shelf. Without a word, he stared down at it, rubbing his thumb along the embossed writing.

And then offered it to her.

Collette read the title, turned it over, and then opened it to the first few pages.

The Crossing, by Holden Hampden. Published by Smythe, Smythe and Tufts Publishing House, London, 1828.

Ch. One.

Angus closed his eyes, allowing the gusts of sea mist to whip against his face, tossing his hair in every direction…

Collette lifted her gaze to his. “You wish to travel, to explore?”

“The wind could be harnessed,” he said, “but never controlled, never bested, never enslaved even though sailors dreamed they could.”

She dropped her stare back to the written words. He’d recited them, almost as though they were his own—”

“You wrote this,” she whispered.

Because, of course, he would keep this secret. Who else knew? “You wrote a book?” But when she turned to examine the shelf, she realized she’d underestimated him. Standing adjacent to the empty space left by The Crossing, were several others, all bound in the same dark red leather but with different titles.

Spinning back around, she hugged the book to her chest.

He glanced down but then raised his gaze to meet hers again.

A lump of emotion formed in her throat. “You are Holden Hampden?”

He nodded, and then shrugged, still looking sheepish.

“Does anyone else know?”

“Rowan, my brother.”

She turned to the shelf again, this time to drag her fingertips along the line of books. Six, in all. The distinct aroma of leather and paper permeated her senses.

“Anonymously,” she guessed.

“Not even the publishers know.”

Speechless, she pressed one hand flat against her chest.

He’d written books! Books that had been published by a legitimate publishing house—a publishing house who had no idea that they were distributing stories written by one of England’s very own dukes.

She’d yet to realize the depths of this man’s character, but the more she got to know him, the more she wanted to explore them. What other fears did he have? What dreams taunted him? How did he see the world?

How did he see her?

The door clanged from the front as another customer entered.

“I would feel as though I belong.” The words gushed out of her. She’d told him she didn’t know what would be different about her if her father had married her mother, but she’d simply been afraid to admit it.

He looked confused for a moment.

“You asked me—”

“What would be different about you.”

“Yes.”

He dragged his fingertips slowly from her shoulder to cover her hand—where it rested on her heart. “The heart wants to belong.” They might as well have been the only two people in the world. The air surrounding them was thick, preventing other souls from entering. “Sometimes,” he smiled sadly, “the brain doesn’t allow it.”

“I know.” Her voice caught.

“If belonging is a state of mind, Collette, we need to alter your thinking.”

She exhaled a sound that wasn’t a word nor was it a sob. It was an exclamation of utter confusion.

“Don’t give me your answer yet. But promise me one thing.”

Even though she knew better than ever to promise something without knowing what it was, she found herself inexplicably agreeing to it. “Yes.”

“Three things, actually.”

“Very well.” She smiled at this.

“Firstly, that you will not try to make up reasons not to marry me.”

She nodded.

“Secondly, that you will not make plans to travel to Scotland. It would be rather inconvenient for me to have to chase after you for an answer.”

She shook her head at this but answered, “I won’t.”

“And thirdly…” He tilted his head. “When we’re together, in private, will you call me Addison?”

Which meant he intended to meet with her in private again. Was he courting her? He said he would wait for her answer.

“Not Holden?” she asked.

He grimaced. “My middle name.”

Addison Holden Brierton. It was a lovely name. Perhaps the loveliest she’d ever heard for a man.

“So long as you will call me Collette.” But he had already.

“Collette.” Was the air even heavier?

“Addison.” Such a lovely name. “Will you promise me…?”

“Yes?”

To kiss me again.But she could not say that. Feeling heat flood up her neck and into her cheeks, she shook her head and then licked her lips.

He grinned. “You can count on it.”