Trapped with the Duke by Annabelle Anders

Oh, My!

Only after wiping away tears of laughter did Collette realize the duke was quite serious in his very blunt and unromantic suggestion that they marry. He did not appear at all pleased at her response.

“You are not serious.” He could not be!

“I assure you, Miss Jones. I would not joke about such a serious matter.”

Of course, he wouldn’t. She wondered what sort of matters he would, in fact, see fit to joke about.

Collette rubbed her hands down her face. He was too outrageous for words.

“It’s not as though the two of us have been caught in a scandalous embrace on some ballroom terrace,” she said. That, she believed, was how a lady was compromised. No, this was definitely not a ball, and she was not a miss on the marriage mart; she was a teacher. “No one need concern themselves over the two of us being accidentally locked together in a stairwell… Oh, drat.” The reminder had him squeezing his eyes together even as that most unattractive green pallor ebbed into his complexion.

Anxious to keep his panic away, she handed him another comfit. Rather than pop this one into his mouth, however, he dropped it in his pocket and reached out his hand.

She blinked at it and then realized he wanted her to distract him again by drawing her invisible lines. Collette wrapped her fingers around his wrist, and his head fell forward. A few more inches and he would be resting on her shoulder.

“Dash it all…” His voice came out tight, almost as though he was struggling to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “For bringing…” She clamped her lips together and studied the thickness of his hair. And then, without thinking, moved her hands up and threaded her fingers through the strands, slowly massaging his scalp.

From the bottom to the top and then down again.

“Does this help?” she whispered, and he nodded.

Slow circles, moving from his forehead to the back of his neck.

He groaned.

That was a good sign, was it not?

Over his ears and then back into the thick softness of hair that was not really brown but not blond either. By now his forehead was, in fact, resting on her shoulder.

Roaring filled Collette’s ears, but she told herself this meant nothing. He was a duke. He was in distress. Furthermore, he’d used the door for this same purpose. Likely, in a moment or two, he would try to smash his brain into it.

All of which did nothing to calm her own heart, which was racing for no reason at all.

For no reason at all, that was, until he turned his head.

Was that his mouth pressed against her neck? And his hands only gripped her waist to balance himself, didn’t they?

Collette licked suddenly dry lips.

“Your Grace?” Her voice came out thready and weak. Good heavens, her nerves were rather unsteady as well, now.

His mouth dragged up her neck, around to her jaw. “Oh…” She exhaled a sigh of surprise because it felt so…

Incredible.

Her heartbeat, thundering in her ears, must be echoing loudly up and down the stairwell.

She lowered a hand to his shoulder. She should push him away. Even she knew this was improper.

Yes, she ought to push him away. And she would.

Just one more moment.

Because his shoulder felt thick and solid beneath her palm and his chest was a stone wall of intoxicating masculinity. How could something be terrifying and yet thrilling at the same time?

What was he doing?

He’d been panicking, hadn’t he?

His lips trailed over her chin, to the corner of her mouth, and she tilted her head back.

When Collette decided to teach, she’d told her sister she doubted she would ever know what it would be like to be kissed by a gentleman. Diana, however, had scoffed and insisted that of course she would.

And although Collette would normally resent admitting it—she exhaled a fluttery breath—it seemed that in this instance, her sister had been right.

Because this man was going to kiss her.

It didn’t matter that he was a duke or that he was practically a stranger to her. All that mattered were the vibrations coursing through her veins—tremors that shot from her chest to her belly to her limbs.

His mouth nipped the corner of hers, teasing it, teasing her.

“Miss Jones?” Minty breath mingled with her own. Was he asking permission?

Collette pressed up onto her toes and closed the distance between them.

At the same time, his arms tightened around her, and she could feel his person all along her front. He was hard—everywhere. Except for his tongue and his searching mouth, which were tender as he explored and tangled with hers. And except for his hair, soft and thick threaded through her fingers.

He is kissing me.

She had best enjoy it, because she was unlikely to ever experience it again.

His proposal, as honorable as it was, was also somewhat maddening. She had not been born to be a duchess. She’d been born to be a secret.

Being a respectable teacher took her beyond her wildest dreams. It was more than she ever could have hoped for.

The thought was a sobering one.

She loosened her grip, dipped her chin, and lowered her hands. His chest rose and fell beneath her palms, his breathing as labored as hers.

If not for the sound of footsteps approaching from the corridor behind the door, she might have begged him to kiss her again.

His chin jerked up. “Someone is coming.” He released her abruptly to pound on the door again.

“Hello!”

“Your Grace?” Miss Shipley called from the other side. And then the door shook.

Collette spun around and all but flew up the stairs, stepping lightly so as to make as little sound as possible. As she passed the landing of the third floor, Miss Shipley’s voice carried up the shaft, causing Collette to freeze.

Would she really be ruined if she was discovered alone with him? Was society really so very particular and unforgiving? She raised a hand to her chest, frightened at the possibility that he’d give her away.

But why would he? He cannot seriously want to marry someone like her.

“Your Grace. I am so very sorry. I don’t know how this could have happened.” Collette winced upon hearing the dismay in Miss Shipley’s normally cultured voice. “The banister needed repair and Mr. Driver said he would block the stairwell until he could get around to it. All these doors ought to have been locked… No one should have been able to enter. I am so very, very sorry.” Collette could not have imagined Miss Shipley sounding so flustered. The woman, raised to marry an earl, but then jilted by the horrid man, addressed all matters with the utmost of dignity. “Are you unwell, Your Grace? Are you injured in any way?”

“Placing a written sign on the door would have been a better course of action, would you not agree? What if there had been a fire and it was students trapped instead of me? Repairs or not, this door must never be locked in the future. In fact, have them removed. Is the structure even safe?”

The duke sounded more like the man who’d barged into her classroom earlier than the one who’d been kissing her two minutes before.

“No, Your Grace. And we will have Mr. Driver make the repair to the bannister and remove the locks at once. This will not happen again, I give you my word.”

Collette hovered, crouching now, as Miss Shipley and the duke exited the stairwell, other ladies’ voices now sounding over theirs. Among them, she heard what sounded like Miss Fortune, along with the unmistakable whining voice that belonged to Mrs. Metcalf.

The door closed and Collette waited until she was sure she was alone. Even after they’d drifted away, however, Collette stayed put, stunned. Her time spent in this small stairwell over the past hour with the Duke of Bedwell did not seem real.

And yet, it had been, and she knew without a doubt that she would never forget it. She touched her lips. That had been her first kiss. Was it the only kiss she’d ever know?

But she could not remain here sighing over something the duke had likely already forgotten. She had students to attend to, duties to perform. She couldn’t hide in here forever.

The sound of clanking locks below spurred her into motion. She rose and the very instant she reached for the handle to exit to the fourth floor, the door swung open. Mr. Driver glanced at her hand, which hovered in midair.

“I’ve already unlocked this one.” She swept past him in a hurry.

Cool air hit her cheeks as she shuffled purposefully toward the main stairwell.

That had been close.

Too close.

If she was going to enjoy a long teaching career, she best be far more diligent about who she wandered off alone with.

And that sinking feeling inside of her was not regret. It most certainly was not.

It was relief.