If I Only Had a Duke(33)

They sat in their customary silence for a few minutes, drinking their porter. Dalton thinking how strange it was to picture Con plowing a field or milking a cow.

"Any news of O'Roarke?" Con asked.

Dalton leaned closer, keeping his voice low. "His ship's the Rambler, out of New York. Set to sail two days from now from Cork."

Con gripped his glass. "We've time to catch him."

"I think he's the one, Con. I can feel it." He'd been searching for so long. Consumed by the need for revenge.

Con grunted. "We'll see. But right now you have to go tell the lady why she won't be traveling with us." He smirked. "Give her a chance to yell at you."



Dalton rapped on Thea's chamber door.

He was here to inform her of his decision and nothing would cause him to waver. He was here to say goodbye.

At her command he entered, preparing himself for that first glimpse of lively blue-gray eyes and curved strawberry lips.

"Dalton." She stayed seated, but one of her hands rose and stretched toward him.

She smiled and he actually had to turn his face away, pretend a sudden interest in the carpeting. "Hello, Lady Dorothea."

"Lady?" she teased softly. "My, how formal we are today."

Her hair was still damp from a bath, and whatever she'd used to wash it smelled different. Sharper. Like roses that only bloomed at night.

He had to stop himself from leaning over and inhaling the scent.

There would be no easy way to do this.

He was a danger to her. Best to end this swiftly.

He cleared his throat and lifted his head. "I'm leaving."

"But you only just arrived," she laughed. "Sit down. Have some tea."

"No time. I'm off to Cork tonight."

Her brow creased. "Yes. I know that."

He still wanted her. Of course he did. That would never go away. Not today. Not until the day he died. But he could never have her.   





 

"Con and I are continuing on alone and you and Molly will take a steam packet tomorrow morning."

She stretched out her hand again and he fought the urge to back away. If she touched him, he'd be lost.

"You promised to escort me to Ireland, if I remember correctly." Her eyes sparked. "That was the bargain. And you're a man of your word. Just read the betting book at White's, remember?"

Dalton clenched his jaw. "Remember what I told you? Never trust a man, Thea. We say we'll do one thing and then do another. I purchased you first-class passage on the finest steam packet to Cork. You'll have a luxurious dining saloon. A chamber music band for entertainment."

"You know I don't care about any of that."

"It will be more comfortable."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you doing this? Is it because of last night?"

Of course it was because of last night. "What happened between us last evening was-"

"Not something you need to apologize for." She tossed her unbound hair and the seductive scent filled the air. "I'm perfectly fine. More than fine."

He'd been prepared for tears, recriminations, at the very least bleary eyes and a whiskey headache. Not bright eyes and a seductive smile.

"You're far too good for this treatment, Thea. Too good for one night. Too good for me."

"You're afraid," she accused. "You think I'll use what happened between us last night to make demands."

That wasn't it at all. He was afraid of himself, of this ocean of longing that had opened in his chest, crashing down the walls he'd built, sweeping away anything but the tidal pull of Thea's arms.

"You think I don't know my own mind, but I do." Her hands gripped the chair arms. "I've always been on the edges of things. Schoolrooms. Ballrooms. I was never in the center, unless Mama pushed me there, and then I was apt to trip and fall. I find I want to be right in the heart of things. I want to know what life's all about. Can you trust me, Dalton?"

He couldn't trust himself.

"Thea, you're forcing me to speak very plainly." He reached over and caught her chin in his hand, turning her to face him. "I can never marry you."

She pulled her chin away from his grip. "I'm well aware you're off to seek your Irish bride, with statuesque curves, flaming hair, and emerald eyes."

Damn. He'd completely forgotten about the fictitious wife search. He cleared his throat. "I never told you what she looked like."

"Oh." She waved her hand through the air. "You have a type. Tall. Fashionable. Showy. Abundant of bosom. Meager of mind."

Except that he had a new type now.

Petite, persistent, contrary . . . and smoldering with awakening sensuality.

"You picture me as some lonely, defenseless spinster in Ireland," she chided, "when that's simply not going to be the way of it at all." She gave a carefree laugh. "I'll be a scandalous spinster. I'll take a lover in Ireland. Maybe more than one."

Challenged flared in her eyes. "Handsome fellows in Ireland. Rather like your friend the Duke of Harland. Dark hair and green eyes. Well muscled." She glanced at his arms. "But not ostentatiously so."

Was she insulting his physique?

This conversation was going all wrong.

It didn't feel right telling her even one more lie. But he'd been lying so long that it was second nature. "I should leave now. I've a call to make on a"-the word stuck in his throat-"a widow I know in Bristol. Before my ship sails."

Thea's eyes darkened to stormy gray, just as he'd expected. "A widow?"

Blotches of color appeared on her cheeks, and the dangerous streaks of lightning in her eyes intensified. "You don't need any more widows."

"My widows understand me completely."

"All they understand is the size of your fortune."

"Are you moralizing, Thea? I thought you were adventurous and unconventional."

She tossed her head. "I am."

"The first rule of adventure is variety. When one path becomes restrictive you choose another. I understand the allure of thinking one path might be the answer." Dalton stared past her, his gaze finding the window, the brick building across the street. "But I'm nobody's answer."

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

Because it was better to make her hate him. Easier for her that way, in the long run.

"I thought you might need more proof that I'm a heartless rake. In the event that it hadn't been thoroughly established last night."   





 

"What do you believe in, Dalton? Do you care about anything? Or is life just a game to you?"

"I believe the sun will set tonight and rise again tomorrow." He set his hat back on his head. "I believe that men chase sensation to stave off the knowledge that every breath brings us closer to death. That the devil lives in empty pockets and greed seduces men to sin. I believe that love is an illusion people invent to cheat the fear of death."

"I mean nothing to you," she said dully, all the laughter gone from her voice.

He couldn't answer that truthfully, so he remained silent.

The truth was she meant everything to him. And that's why he had to leave.

She deserved so much more from life.

Quiet nights reading together by a roaring fire. Uncorking a new French wine. The clink and covenant of glass against glass.

New paint for the nursery.

Everything tender and warm.

Everything he could never give her.

"Very well, seek your empty pleasures. Drown in a sea of accommodating widows." She pushed a still-damp lock of hair away from her eyes.

There. His job was done. She hated him, and that was for the best.

He turned to leave but the door swung open and Con strode into the room. "Where's Miss Molly? Can't find her anywhere."

"Having a rest," Thea said. "She slept the whole way in the carriage. Still a little ill, I believe."

Con shook his head. "She's not in her chamber and the bed's untouched. When was the last time you saw her?"

"An hour ago."

He paced across the floral carpet. "You don't think she would do anything . . . foolish, do you? She wouldn't pretend to be a highwayman again?"

"I have her pistol," Dalton said. "I don't think she'll get far without it."

"But this Raney character, the one who stole her money," Con pressed, "she told me last night that he's a sailor. You don't think she'd go searching for him?"

Thea's shoulders tensed. "I thought she was too exhausted to leave the inn but now that you ask, it does sounds exactly like the rash sort of thing Molly might do." She twisted her silk skirts in her hand. "I should have kept her with me. Kept an eye on her."

"It's not your fault," Dalton reassured her. "We'll find Molly. If Raney's a sailor he's bound to be near the docks."

"She did mention a tavern he frequents. Let's see . . . what was the name? Something nautical . . ." Thea's worried gaze moved to the grate, searching for the answer in the wavering flames. Her head snapped up. "The Anchor! That's the place."

Dalton and Con exchanged a glance. That was the tavern they'd just come from. And it was no place for a young girl.

Con clutched the brim of his hat. "We have to find her. There's no time to lose!" He spun on his heel and stalked out the door.





Chapter 17





"Faster, man. We haven't got all day," Con bellowed, poking his head out the window of the carriage.