The Regency Season: Decadent Dukes: Rufus Drake: Duke of Wickedness / Griffin Stone: Duke of Decadence / Christian Seaton: Duke of Danger

Her eyes flashed deeply blue as she looked up at him. “A simple acknowledgement of being the Duke of Northamptonshire would have sufficed, as I am sure you are well aware.”

Rufus could not help but smile at this show of her previous sharpness with him, laying his hat on top of the wall and placing a hand beside it before jumping nimbly over into the garden.

“What are you doing?” Anna took a step back, having raised her hands to her breasts in alarm.

He strolled unconcernedly down the pathway to join her. “I have no intention of conversing with a wall between us when anyone might walk past and overhear us talking.”

That sentiment was all well and good, as Anna had no wish for anyone else to learn of the circumstance of their previous acquaintance either, but Rufus was now standing far too close to her.

So close, in fact, that he was able to reach out and take one of her hands in his. “There is no reason for you to fight me, Anna.” He frowned as she instantly attempted to release her hand. “Better.” He nodded as she reluctantly stilled but continued to regard him warily. “The truth of the matter is, I am still becoming accustomed to the fact that is who I now am. I was not born to be a duke, Anna,” he added as her gaze became quizzical.

Anna gave a slow shake of her head. “I do not understand.”

He smiled ruefully. “I am the third grandson of my grandfather, the only son born to his second son, and until five weeks ago I was just plain and uninteresting Mr Rufus Drake,” he dryly reminded her of her opinion of her own name in the woods that day. “I should never have become a duke, Anna, and truly wish I had never inherited,” he added grimly.

She gave a snort. “That is ridiculous!”

“Is it?” he mused softly.

“Of course,” she dismissed impatiently. “What gentleman would not wish to become a duke?”

“This one,” Rufus assured her, aware that his body was once again responding with its usual wilfulness at her close proximity.

Three days ago, Rufus had known his arousal was such that he had to get away from this young woman, or else break every rule he had ever set himself in regard to innocents.

And to Rufus’s chagrin and surprise, little else had occupied his thoughts but this young woman since.

No matter how hard he tried, he had been unable to rid himself of the memory of how soft and silky her skin had felt beneath his fingertips that day. How full and responsive her breasts. And her passion had been more than a match for his own as she’d returned the intimacy of his kisses. As for her taste... Rufus believed he had developed an addiction to that unique taste of honey and mint.

His mouth tightened as he recalled the last three frustrating days spent trying to ascertain the identity of his little wood nymph. Not as easy a task as it might have initially seemed.

He had not spent any time at Banbury Hall since he was a child; the Drake family was not a close or mutually sociable one, and as such he had absolutely no idea who Anna could be once he realised she was not Turner’s daughter after all.

The situation was one of delicacy. To ask outright for the surname and whereabouts of a girl called Anna would have placed them both in a questionable position.

And so Rufus had spent his time with Matthew Turner discussing Jacob Harker, the previous estate manager. Rufus had decided that the man had in all likelihood been involved with the other traitors to the Crown, unfortunately still in so many of the homes of the English aristocracy. Rufus had already sent word to his cousin Zachary in London, giving a detailed description of the man. Helped by the fact, he hoped, that Harker apparently had a distinctive mole on the left side of his neck.

There was nothing else Rufus could do about that while he remained in Northamptonshire, and so he had turned his attention to asking Turner for the names of all the people residing in and around Banbury, on the excuse that he wished to become acquainted with all his tenants. To Rufus’s frustration, during none of their conversations did Turner make mention of a young lady named Anna.

And then the young parson had called to see Rufus early yesterday evening, and introduced himself as Mark Bishop. Mark was the son of Andrew Bishop, the previous parson of the parish, and Rufus had learned through conversation with the younger man that he resided at the parsonage with his unmarried sister, Anna. A fact Matthew Turner, not being a churchgoer, had not seen fit to mention!

Rufus’s first instinct had been to return immediately to the parsonage with Bishop and see the man’s sister for himself. His second, more cautious response, had been to wonder whether it was possible that his Anna and the daughter and sister of two parsons could really be one and the same person. Rufus had questioned himself as to whether the spinster relation of two parsons would have behaved as she had in the woods that day.

But here Anna Juliet truly was, working in the parsonage garden, her blue gown slightly soiled from her endeavours, her hair softly ruffled by the lightly blowing breeze.

She looked utterly beautiful to him.

Utterly desirable.

Nor, he was pleased to have learned in the past few minutes, did her sharpness of tongue seem to have lessened in the least since learning his identity as the Duke of Northamptonshire.

“I did not wish to become a duke, Anna,” he repeated ruefully. “I liked my life exactly as it was, free of the responsibility of others, of all restraint. Until five weeks ago I could go where I wanted, be who I wanted, with whom I wanted.”

“And can you no longer do those things?”

He sighed. “Now I have numerous estates needing my attention, servants and tenants I am responsible for, along with all the other expectations of bearing the family title.”

Anna had never thought of a duke as being someone who had restraints placed upon him.

Restraints that seemed so strangely similar to her own, when all her close family relations were connected to the church.

All her life she had been Anna Bishop, the respectable daughter and then sister of a parson, her actions and words always guarded so that she did not bring embarrassment or shame upon her father or her brother.

But inside, shamefully, Anna had always longed for the sort of excitement she had known in this man’s arms three days ago.

“What are your own hopes and dreams, Anna?”

She looked at Rufus guardedly as he seemed to see, to recognise, her secret, wistful longings.

Her chin rose. “I have been the daughter of a parson all my life, sir, and now I am the sister of a parson, and since my mother died eight years ago, and I lost my father two years ago, I have been helpmate to my brother. I do not have any hopes, dreams or ambitions beyond that.”

Rufus did not believe her. He had seen the wistfulness of her expression just minutes ago; her cheeks flushed, the softness of her softly parted lips, as if she yearned for something just beyond her sight. Just beyond her reach.

“What if you should marry?” he probed softly.

She gave a humourless smile. “It is unlikely that I shall ever do so.”

Rufus’s relief at the realisation there was no particular young man in her life at present was instantly followed by surprise at why it should matter to him one way or the other.

His curiosity won out. “Why not?”

She shrugged slender shoulders. “I know all of the gentlemen in the area, and have no wish to marry any of them. Nor will I ever leave Banbury.”

This time Rufus had no doubts as to the longing, the ache, he could hear in Anna’s voice. “What if a gentleman were to take you away from here?”

She gave him a brief startled glance, whatever she saw in his face causing her to look quickly away again. “I told you,” her jaw was tight, “I am helpmate to my brother.”

“And what if your brother should marry and have children of his own?”

Anna gave a rueful smile, having no doubts that her brother would marry as he had recently taken quite an interest in Mary Turner, the pretty young daughter of the new estate manager at Banbury Hall. That Mark also hoped to entice Matthew Turner into his fold was no doubt an added incentive to that attraction. “Then no doubts I shall happily become the devoted sister-in-law to his wife and spinster aunt to his children.”

“And with each month and year that passes will you also become increasingly bitter as your own life passes you by?”

“How dare you?” Anna demanded indignantly, even as she knew this man, this duke, spoke the truth.

That he somehow knew her.

Rufus Drake knew of the yearnings she had in her heart; for excitement, freedom, to travel and to see the world outside Banbury. Of how she longed to be wholly loved and cherished by the man she would wholly love and cherish in return.

Yearnings that she would never voice, never acknowledge, but would keep hidden inside her like a bitter, festering wound.

“I dare, Anna, because I see that same restless spirit in you that I know is inside me.” He reached out to take a firm grasp of her chin as he tilted her face up towards his, so that Anna had no choice but to gaze up at him. “Admit it, Anna, you wanted me that day in the woods,” he encouraged gruffly. “You wanted me to kiss you, to make love to you.”

“No!” She gave a desperate shake of her head in denial of his words. Sweet, truthful, sinful words that caused her heart to clench painfully in her chest.

“You want me to kiss you now...”

“No!” She gave another frantic shake of her head.

“Yes, Anna.” Rufus raised her hand to stroke his lips across her knuckles, instantly aware of that same smell of mint he had tasted when he kissed her in the woods. “I love the way you smell,” he groaned as he rubbed her hand against his cheek.

A cheek that was hot with embarrassment.

Or desire?

“It is only mint from my herb garden,” she excused as she snatched her hand away from his and put it behind her back. “You must not do that. Anyone could walk by.”

“We have introduced ourselves now, you could invite me into the parsonage,” he suggested huskily.

“No, I— Our housekeeper will very soon be back from shopping in the village.”

“And is that your only reason for refusing me?”

“You must go! I cannot— We cannot!”

Rufus looked down at her as he heard the distress in her voice, and noted the look of panic in her expressive eyes as she looked up at him pleadingly. He gave a sigh before stepping back. “I am not going anywhere, Anna. And we will meet again.” It was a promise rather than a threat.

Anna’s emotions were in complete turmoil as she watched Rufus cross the garden to jump lithely back over the wall. He collected and put on his hat, nodding to her briefly before going on his way.

As if nothing had happened.

As if seeing her again had not shaken up his whole world in the same way that her own world had just been shaken on its foundations by seeing him again.

Chapter Five

Two more days passed before Anna saw Rufus again, and at a time and place she was completely unprepared for.

Hurrying out of the rain, on her way into the church to arrange the flowers for tomorrow’s Sunday services, she instead came to an abrupt halt as she saw a solitary man standing a short distance away in the churchyard.

Rufus.

He stood at the Drake crypt, head bent, seemingly unaware of the light rain falling and dampening his hat and clothes.

He looked so alone.

Which was a strange thought to have about a duke. A very wealthy and much-sought-after duke, as village gossip indicated that every well-connected family in the area had sent him invitations to dinner parties and hastily arranged balls.

Invitations Anna knew he had so far neither accepted nor refused.

She fought a battle within herself for several minutes as she continued to watch Rufus, part of her wanting to continue on into the church and begin her flower arranging and forget that she had ever seen him, the other part of her drawn to somehow try to alleviate some of his loneliness.

The softness of her heart meant the latter easily won out.

Leaving her flowers in the vestibule, Anna came back out of the church to walk down the pathway towards where Rufus stood.

Rufus knew almost instantly that he was no longer alone, sensing—no, feeling—Anna’s presence behind him, at the same time as he smelled the faint hint of mint he now associated only with her.

He turned slowly to look at her from beneath the brim of his hat. “You should not be out here in the rain.” The shawl she had draped about her shoulders was already showing damp, as was her pale green gown.

“Neither should you,” she countered gently. “Were you very close?” She looked up at the crypt where the names of Rufus’s uncle and two cousins had been added these past three years.

“Not close enough.” He gave a sad shake of his head as he too glanced up at his ornate family crypt. “I suppose we all think there’s plenty of time, that next week, or next month, or next year, we will make an effort to spend time with family, with those we love. And then fate decides otherwise.” He turned to look at her, “No, I was not close to my uncle and cousins, Anna. But I now wish that I had been.”

“You have other family?”

“Oh yes,” he smiled. “I have an interfering mother, and a maternal cousin who can be just as interfering.”

“They both love you, else they would not take the time to bother.”

Rufus looked at her incredulously for several moments and then he gave a rueful smile. “You are very wise for one so young.”

She shrugged. “I am a parson’s daughter.”

She was the strangest parson’s daughter Rufus had ever met. The only parson’s daughter he had ever met.

Anna was only in her very early twenties, and yet there was such wisdom in her eyes, so much understanding for what he had been trying to convey with words that, to him, seemed too trite, too dismissive.

He did deeply regret that he had been too busy with his own life to allow him to be close to his uncle and cousins, because now it was too late.

Was all of life like that? he wondered.

Was life, time, so fragile that it had to be grasped with both hands?

Was that how Anna had felt when they’d spoken two days ago? As if time, life, was passing her by? That it would continue to pass her by?

Was that how he now felt, standing in this churchyard, gazing up at his family crypt, where so many of his ancestors lay, including his own father? Did he feel that if he did not seize life, seize the things he really wanted, that he would lose them forever?

Rufus had become very introspective over the past couple of days as his thoughts dwelled on just that problem. Knowing that he hungered for something.

Or perhaps someone?

“I—” He stopped as the heavens suddenly seemed to open up above them, a deluge of rain falling down on them both. “Let’s get you into the church out of the rain.” He took a light hold of her arm as they hurried down the pathway.

Even with her shawl pulled up over her hair Anna was soaked through by the time the two of them reached the church vestibule.

“Do you love the rain as much as I?” She laughed with happiness as she removed her shawl before looking up at Rufus. He removed his hat, sweeping the dampness of his dark hair back from his brow. “I always feel that it cleanses everything and makes it brand new.” She continued to smile as she looked out of the arched entryway at the falling rain.

“Would it cleanse me, do you think, if I were to stand out in it?” Rufus mused unsmilingly.

She turned to look at him quizzically. “You already look very clean to me.”

He smiled ruefully. “I am talking of my past, Anna. Do you think the rain would cleanse me of that?”

Anna’s breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. “A person’s past,” she spoke carefully, “is exactly that, surely?”

“Is it?” He grimaced. “And what if that past has been less than reputable?”

“But honourable? Always honourable?”

His mouth twisted into a grimace of a smile. “Oh yes, always honourable.”

“Then it must be accepted as the past.” She shrugged. “For the past cannot be changed, we can only hope for the future.”

Rufus felt something shift deep inside him, as if a key had just been turned to open a part of him that had been locked away.

“Anna,” he murmured gruffly as he moved to take her in his arms. “Beautiful, wise Anna.” He rested his cheek against the silkiness of her hair.

Anna had no idea what was happening. Did not fully understand what Rufus was saying. But she did understand that he was in need of warmth and understanding, possibly because of that visit to his family crypt, that she had not been mistaken in how alone he had seemed.

Her arms moved about his tapered waist as she rested her head against his chest, and she became instantly aware of the rapid beat of his heart.

They stood like that for some minutes. Long, delicious minutes, when Anna simply enjoyed holding and being held. A time out of time.

A time that surely could not last.

“Would you be ready to do the church flowers now, Miss Anna?”

Anna pulled sharply out of Rufus’s arms, her face blazing with colour as she turned to look at Mrs Faulkner, the baker’s wife. She had arrived to help arrange the flowers. As she did every Saturday...

Something Anna had completely forgotten in Rufus’s company.

“His Grace was sheltering from the rain, and I was keeping him company,” Anna announced brightly as the elderly lady looked at the duke suspiciously. Unlike some in the village, Mrs Faulkner was not a gossip, thankfully.

Anna quickly made the introductions before announcing that it really was time for the two of them to go into the church and see to the flowers.

Rufus eyed her with amusement as he took his leave. “A pleasure to have met you, Mrs Faulkner. We will meet again soon, I hope, Anna,” he added huskily.

Anna was too embarrassed to reciprocate, too mortified at being caught in the duke’s arms by Mrs Faulkner, to even be able to look at Rufus again before he turned and left them.

* * *

“Did you arrange this deliberately?”

Rufus looked at Anna as she sat to the left of him at the mahogany table in the smaller dining-room at Banbury Hall, her head bent as she looked down at the folded hands on her knees, the softness of her voice sounding hurt rather than imbued with her usual fire.

No doubt that was because of the presence of Rufus’s butler who, having served their meal, now stood in attendance near the door.

Rufus motioned for Watkins to leave them, waiting until the other man had closed the door behind himself before answering her. “I am responsible for calling upon your brother after our meeting at the church this morning, and also for issuing the invitation for you and your brother to dine here with me this evening,” Rufus acknowledged. “But I certainly had nothing to do with your brother being called away to tend to one of his flock the moment our dessert had been served, leaving the two of us alone here together.”

Although Rufus accepted that he was guilty of persuading the young parson to allow his sister to stay and finish her meal, after which Rufus had promised he would see she arrived home safely.

Anna looked so beautiful this evening, her gown a pale lemon, with matching slippers on her feet, her hair shining like burnished gold in the last of the evening’s sun streaming through the dining-room windows, her eyes a deep and sparkling blue in her beautiful heart-shaped face.

“You are a duke, sir,” she answered him waspishly as she finally raised her head to look at him, “and no doubt capable of arranging anything you please.”

Ah yes, and there was that sharp little tongue that could amuse and arouse him in equal measure.

“Are you angry with me because of this morning?”

Anna eyed him impatiently, knowing it was not Rufus she was annoyed with, but herself. This morning she had allowed herself to forget who she was for a few pleasurable moments of being held in his arms. A pleasure she had paid for by suffering numerous questions from Mrs Faulkner as they’d arranged the flowers together, the elderly woman at last accepting that Anna had merely been comforting the duke, who had been overcome with emotion after visiting his family crypt.

“You did not have to come here this evening, Anna,” Rufus spoke quietly. “You could have used any number of excuses not to accompany your brother.”

Anna knew that.

But that part of her, which was wilful as well as impetuous, the part of her that so longed for adventure and excitement, had refused to allow her to do so.

Because she had wanted to see Rufus again. To know if her legs would once again become weak just at the sight of him. If her body would become aroused just by being near him...

A single glance at Rufus in his evening clothes and Anna had known without a doubt that she did indeed feel all of those things towards Rufus.

Achingly.

Futilely.

She was a parson’s daughter, and Rufus Drake was a sophisticated London gentleman, not to mention a duke, and at least ten years older than she.

“Anna?” He frowned as he stood up to stand next to her chair, his eyes holding hers captive.

Her heart raced. “What are you doing?”

“I believe you are well aware of what I want, what I have wanted since the moment you arrived here this evening.” His eyes gleamed with desire. “What we both want.”

It was indeed a desire, a need, that Anna echoed. With all her heart.

She swallowed. “But we should not.”

“I must, Anna.”

He bent to swing her up into his arms and carried her over to a chaise in front of the window, laying her down upon it before joining her, the heat of his body pressed close against her own, a pleasure Anna had never thought to know with him again.

“You have no idea how much I have longed, hungered, to hold you in my arms, to be with you like this again, Anna,” he murmured throatily as his head lowered and his lips captured hers.

If his hunger was even half as much as her own was for him to hold her, and make love to her, then Anna did know.

Chapter Six

It was as if the past six days had never been, as if they were simply continuing where they had left off that day by the pond, as Rufus’s hot, marauding tongue swept confidently between Anna’s parted lips, plundering, claiming, demanding that she respond in kind. A demand that Anna gave into willingly.

He gave a low groan of satisfaction as he felt the shy stroke of Anna’s tongue alongside his own, her hands moving up from his chest and over his shoulders before her fingers became entangled in the dark silky hair curling at his nape. He felt himself once again lost to satisfying his addiction to her unique taste.

He moaned as his lips moved to her cheek, the length of her throat, the creamy tops of her breasts. “I have hungered for this again since the day I met you, Anna. For the taste of you. For you,” he murmured urgently, knowing he spoke the truth, and that he had thought of little else, and no one else, since the two of them had first met six days ago.

“Rufus?”

“Yes, I am Rufus!” he urged fiercely. “Not Northamptonshire. Not a duke. With you I am only Rufus,” he insisted urgently.

She looked up at him searchingly. “What is it you want from me?” she finally murmured softly.

“Everything!” he assured her heatedly, his gaze feverish. “I’ve longed to be with you again, to touch you again,” he murmured achingly. “Will you allow me?” His hands were against the buttons at the back of her gown.