How to Catch a Duke in Ten Days by Violet Hamers

Chapter Five

Hermione had never been kissed before. With the stranger’s lips against hers, she didn’t want to pull away. It was insistent at first, with just his lips pressing on hers, but when she didn’t recoil away, he changed the kiss. He began to move his lips against hers, and Hermione responded, mirroring the action as the excitement that had been in her stomach before erupted into a pure thrill.

When his hands moved to her waist, she was only aware of the tingles it sent across her back, making her spine shiver. Then, with his hands, he pulled her up from the chair, until she was standing and pressed against him. He was tall, much taller than she, with his face angled down to her.

Each move of his lips on hers made the thrill simply become more enthralling to her until she felt his hand slide further across her waist toward her back. It became even more intimate then with her chest flush against his.

What am I doing!?

Furious she had allowed such a lapse in judgement, that the excitement of their conversation had actually transpired into a kiss, she shoved him hard in the chest, forcing him away from her. He stumbled back, releasing her completely. The loss of his warmth was instant, leaving her bereft.

Hermione covered her mouth with one hand, caught somewhere between marveling at the tingles the stranger had caused and the horror of what had just happened.

I am truly a ruined woman now.

“I think you won our game,” she said tartly as she lowered her hand. He was still smiling at her, but it only infuriated her more. “That does not make this moment your victory.” Her words made his smile falter. She hoped he understood her meaning, that in his determination to win their game, he had actually compromised her honor.

She ran around the chair in the effort to be away from him and sprinted for the doorway, not caring that she had left the book behind her. In London, everyone thought she was a damaged woman, brought low, but now it seemed she had taken her first step in actually becoming the woman they all thought she was.

She had kissed a man out of wedlock. Worse than that, she had kissed a member of staff. She had been alone with him in the library of a Duke. It was all too awful to put into words! Had anyone seen them together, she would be cast aside for good. Her reputation that was already tarnished would well and truly be in tatters.

She ran through the corridor toward the staircase and took the stairs two at a time in her haste to be far away from the stranger as quickly as possible. When she found her chamber, she hurried inside, leaning her back on the door and breathing heavily, uncertain whether she was trying to catch her breath from the run or from the excitement of the kiss.

“Hermione?”

“Ah!” she called out, jumping as she whipped her head round.

“It’s only me,” Phoebe said from where she sat on the far side of the room. “I couldn’t retire to bed yet. I had to find out how it went.”

Hermione placed a hand to her chest, trying to slow her breath. She loved her sister dearly and part of her wanted to confide in Phoebe everything that had just happened. Yet, she knew she could not. Phoebe’s chance of happiness and a life not as a spinster depended on Hermione seducing the Duke. How would she feel to know Hermione had ruined her reputation again? Phoebe’s happiness hung in the balance.

“I didn’t see him,” Hermione said as she crossed the room toward her sister.

“Oh, good,” Phoebe smiled. “I do think it best you meet in the daylight. Are you all right? You look a little…” she paused as Hermione sat on the end of the bed.

“A little what?” Hermione asked.

“Well, shaken,” Phoebe explained, gesturing to her. “Did something happen?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly, trying to pin a false smile in place. “I was just reading a gothic novel in the library. I fell asleep and woke with a nightmare.”

“You shouldn’t read so many of those books,” Phoebe said sweetly, standing and crossing toward her to place a hand on her shoulder in comfort. “They get in your head. In a place as spooky as this, it will only be worse.”

“Yes, you are right,” Hermione said without genuinely meaning the words, merely relieved that Phoebe had not seen through her lie.

“I’ll leave you now. I best retire and get some sleep before we meet the Duke tomorrow. Good night, Hermione.”

“Sweet dreams, Phoebe,” Hermione said to her sister before Phoebe disappeared through the door and left her in peace. The moment she was alone, she slumped back on the bed with her arms out to the side and stared up at the plaster ceiling.

As her eyes traced the plasterwork that had been molded to resemble the ocean and the cliffs from the bay nearby, her mind went back to what had just happened in the library. She lifted one of her hands and touched her lips, tracing exactly where the stranger had kissed her. Even now, she could feel the tingling sensation he had caused and the thrill too.

“Stop it,” she murmured to herself and let her hand drop back to the bed. She closed her eyes, blocking out the view of the plasterwork, and tried to concentrate on rational thought. “I am here to do a task. For Phoebe’s sake, I must do this. I have to charm a Duke and not succumb to the advances of a servant.”

As tempting as the idea to see the man again was, it would only risk her reputation more. She had to resolve upon a course of action. She couldn’t go back to the library alone, and whenever she saw him wandering through the house, she would have to ensure there were others with her, or she would have to avoid him entirely.

Even as she made the resolution, she felt something in her chest object. She lifted a hand to the locket round her neck, playing with the pendant another time. It was a memento of the pain that was already passed, and she clung to it as she thought of how cruel the world was to give her a man that she was attracted to but could never kiss again.

* * *

Antony was reeling as the lady ran from him. The pale blue gown had fluttered behind her in her desperation to be far away from him. The moment he saw the look of horror in her eyes, he’d felt guilty for what he had done. He was unable to stay away, lost in their amusing argument, and he’d thrown caution to the wind and succumbed to his desire to kiss her. The game had worked, and he had pulled her from the chair.

She kissed me back. She had responded with fervor, and he could still imagine the way her lips had pressed back on his, along with her body sliding against his own.

“She is a lady,” he muttered to himself. “I should not have done that.”

He sank down into the chair beside his father’s and picked up the book that she had been reading, turning it to read for himself. He’d read it once the year before when it was published, but for some reason, now that he had seen her with it, he wished to enjoy the story another time.

As he turned the pages, his mind kept flicking back to the lady and the way she had ran from him. He was sorry to have made her so ill at ease yet still thrilled she has kissed him back.

He couldn’t wait to meet her officially the next morning and reveal that he was no staff member after all but the Duke.

* * *

“Careful!” Fergus complained as Antony pulled the rapier back. They were both awake early, long before breakfast, and Antony had taken the opportunity to practice his fencing skills in the sports room they had built for the purpose.

Along one wall was a rack of rapiers and beside them were padding and netted helmets. One such helmet he now had on his head with padding over the top of his loose shirt.

“You nearly got me with that strike,” Fergus complained, pulling off his mask to reveal his usually coiffed hair now tousled beneath. His face was flushed too with the effort of keeping up with Antony. “May I remind you, this is merely a bit of fun?”

“This comes from the naval officer,” he said, chuckling. “You should be better at this than I am.”

“If only,” Fergus complained, slowly lifting the mask back up.

“Come on. All you need is a little practice,” Antony said with glee as he advanced on his brother another time. Fergus had to rush to slip the mask in place before he lifted his rapier to block Antony’s blow.

The two of them parried for a few minutes, striking back and forth. At first, Fergus was strong, forcing Antony back a couple of steps, but Antony still had the taller and stronger build that worked in his favor. Soon, he was driving Fergus across the room.

With one clean strike, he managed to knock the weapon completely out of his brother’s hand before placing the tip of the rapier at his chest. “I think you win again,” Fergus said, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Try not to scar each other, dearests,” a kindly voice came from the side of the room. Antony turned, lifting the helmet and mask off his head, to see his mother standing in the doorway of the room. “What will our guests say if you turn up at breakfast bleeding?”

“It is just practice, mother,” Fergus said, lifting the sword from the floor again. “As a naval officer, I need to improve my skills.”

“When you are the next Duke, you won’t have to worry about such things so much,” Antony said as he crossed the room and replaced the sword in the racking.

“Antony, please.” His mother’s voice made him turn around, just as she scurried toward him, with the skirt of the dress so narrow that her feet could only take tiny steps. “Tell me you are not still clinging to this awful resolution never to marry.”

“I am, mother,” he said, resolutely. “That is the end of it. I think Fergus is rather pleased by the idea.”

“I never thought I’d be a Duke growing up,” Fergus said from where he stood behind them practicing a few strikes by himself. “It’s quite a thrill to know it’s now possible.”

“But…” Rose faltered then looked down at the floor.

“Is something wrong?” Antony asked, watching her closely.

“I would like grandchildren, Antony,” she said, lifting her face again.

“Mother, I’m sure Fergus will give you that whenever he marries,” Antony assured her, patting her shoulder as he walked past her.

“But I want lots of grandchildren,” she pleaded, hurrying after him across the sports hall.

“Lots?” Antony said. “Did you hear that, Fergus? When you do marry a lady, you best make sure you perform your duty a lot it seems.” Behind their mother’s back, Fergus smiled mischievously.

“Be serious,” Rose said, pulling on Antony’s arm. “Is it so awful for me to hope you will marry?”

“These days, yes,” Antony said with full seriousness.

“But what happened… Not all women are–”

“I do not wish to speak of it,” he cut her off before she could say anymore. Her face set into sadness, and she turned her gaze down to where she was holding onto his arm. “I prefer to ignore that part of my life, and I never wish to discuss it again.”

“It hardly seems a wise way of dealing with pain, Antony,” she whispered so quietly that Fergus couldn’t hear them from where he was practicing his figures.

“That is my decision, mother,” he said gently as he disentangled his arm from hers. Whilst he appreciated her wish to help him, in truth, he knew it could not be done. He had found a way to deal with his pain, and that was that. He ignored it, he never thought of the lady from his past, and he distracted himself with the women at the gentlemen’s club.

“Antony, tell me one thing then,” she pleaded, hurrying to walk alongside him as he left the sports hall.

“Of course,” he said with a smile. “What do you wish to know?”

“Are you happy?” Her words brought him up short. He came to a sharp stop and turned back to look at her.

“Naturally,” he said, feeling how false his smile had become. “I have a good life, do I not? A dukedom, a fine house, loving family, happy tenants, good friends. What do I have to be sad about?”

Rose didn’t answer him. She looked down once more as though hoping he would offer an answer himself. He didn’t wish to. He was as happy as he could be, and that was all that mattered to him.

“If you would excuse me, mother, I need to go wash up before I greet our guests at breakfast,” he said, gesturing to the staircase as they appeared in the hallway.

“Very well,” she said. “Oh, they are so lovely,” she giggled, off in her own world once more as she recalled memories of the last evening that she had spent with them after their arrival. “You should have heard their tales from London. What a joy they are! And I have not seen my friend in so long.”

Antony stiffened as he recalled the memory of the young woman from the library the night before. It burned within him to ask who she was, but to do so would be revealing to his mother that he had already met her, and possibly jeopardize the woman’s reputation. He couldn’t do that. He’d already done it once by kissing her, after all. He would not be so much of a rogue to refer to it in front of others.

“Tell me, your friends,” he said, taking care to use the plural, “who are they?”

“Well, they are–”

“And most importantly,” he asked, pausing as he thought about the words. “Why are they here?”

* * *

“Are you really going to do this?” Phoebe asked with her arm through Hermione’s as the two of them descended the staircase together.

“I have no choice,” she whispered to her sister. “I’m doing it for you, Phoebe,” she said with full honesty. “I would never forgive myself if I was the reason you were condemned to a life alone as a spinster.” She watched as Phoebe smiled sadly.

“You are the kindest person I know, Hermione,” she said just as they reached the bottom of the stairs. “I can scarcely believe you are willing to do this all for me.”

“Do not praise me just yet,” Hermione sighed shakily with fear. “For all we know, this attempt could be disastrous, and the Duke may take a disliking to me. No, for now, let’s not place any hope on this endeavor.”

“As you wish,” Phoebe said, though the excited smile in her features seemed to counteract her words.

As they walked toward the breakfast room together, Hermione felt her nerves grow worse and worse. She had seen her father and Cordelia already descend the stairs for breakfast that morning, and, in truth, she had put it off for as long as she could, in order to delay the moment. Now, she had to face up to it.

“Here they are,” Rufus’ voice greeted her. “I do apologize, Your Grace, for their lateness. I expect they were tired after their long journey yesterday.” Her father’s attempt to ingratiate himself with the Duke was not subtle, and Hermione had to work not to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

In the dining room, the sunlight was strong, streaming through three great windows and bathing the space in white light. At the table, the Dowager Duchess was seated. Beside her, Cordelia stood talking to two gentlemen. The first, Hermione could see clearly, with his face turned toward her. He was the gentleman she had seen walking out of the carriage the night before. The second gentleman had his back to her though, and she couldn’t see his face.

“May I introduce my daughters, Your Grace,” Rufus took Hermione’s hand. Subtly, by hiding their hands behind their backs, he took Hermione’s wrist in a pincer action and drew her across the room until she was by the group. “This is Lady Hermione Rogers, my eldest, and Lady Phoebe Rogers, my youngest.”

The tall figure turned around, revealing his face. Hermione felt her lips part in amazement to see the servant from the library standing before her wearing formal clothes and a smart jacket.