Daisy and the Duke. Janice Maynard
She refused to let his comment dissuade her from her quest. “I like to think of it as being goal-oriented. Or are you a chauvinist who believes women belong in the bedroom and the kitchen, and nowhere near the boardroom?”
“I’m sure you could handle all three.” His voice was smooth as whiskey, and he smiled for the first time as he spoke, a quick, flashing grin that stole her breath. The men Daisy usually dated were intellectuals, professors and the like. She had never been attracted to the earthy, works-with-his-hands type. Until today.
But she wasn’t here for a holiday fling. Reaching into her purse, she extracted a twenty-pound note. “I’m running out of time. Are you above being bribed?”
Ian kept his face straight with difficulty. The urge to laugh was almost overpowering. “I wouldn’t feel right,” he said. “About taking your money.”
“My expenses are being covered. And you’d be doing me a huge favor.” Daisy grasped his hand in both of hers and curled his fingers around the bill.
At that moment, everything changed. Because Ms. Daisy Wexler had the softest, most delicate touch Ian had ever felt. Immediately, his mind conjured up wicked, unexpected scenarios of him and Daisy frolicking in bed…naked…with those slender fingers wrapped around his—
Bloody hell… He cleared his throat, stepping back half a stride, all amusement vaporized by the blasting surge of lust that threatened to bring him to his knees. No longer touching her, he strove to regain his senses. Dukes did not frolic, particularly with strangers. Therein lay the path to ruin. This woman was dangerous.
And yet Ian had never wanted to be a duke. He was a man, too, damn it. And this man didn’t want to let Daisy go just yet.
The money in his hand burned his skin. Without second-guessing his actions, he stuffed it in her tote, taking care not to make contact with her in any way. “If it means that much to you, I’ll see what I can do.”
The brilliance of her smile almost blinded him. “Thank you,” she cried, reaching out to hug him. For a brief moment her small breasts mashed against his chest. Flyaway, sunshiny hair teased his lips. The fragrance of rose petals assailed his nostrils. It was everything he could manage not to bend her over his arm and kiss her senseless.
Instead, he did the right thing, a lamentable characteristic of Wolffhampton dukes through the ages. He straightened his spine and held her at arm’s length. “We Brits are not as chummy at first meeting as you Yanks,” he said laconically. “No need for an overabundance of gratitude. You’ll likely not leave here with what you want. So don’t expect too much.” Releasing her reluctantly, he bent and picked up a pail of hog feed, using it as armor. Perhaps the ridiculous state of his love life was to blame for his aberrant behavior….
“But you’ll help me?” The anxiety on her face made him squirm inwardly. He was not, by nature, a duplicitous man. But he’d waded into a deep pit of muddy intentions, and the climb out was a slippery slope—one that would surely mean the end of any encounters with Daisy Wexler.
He nodded, wanting to do anything to coax that warm, wonderful smile out of hiding again. “I’ll try. Tell me more about why you’re here.”
Wide-spaced sapphire eyes regarded him with suspicion. He fancied that her chin tilted skyward a centimeter or two. “I don’t think I should be gossiping about the duke’s private affairs,” she said stiffly. “I’m sure he would appreciate my discretion.”
I’m sure he would appreciate peeling the clothes from your body like the skin of a ripe peach and sucking your…
Sweat broke out on Ian’s forehead. Thank God his trousers were fashioned of thick corduroy, or else this sylph of a woman would be shocked to see that he was hard as a steel spike.
At that moment, Daisy couldn’t care less about her mission. She was far more entranced with the way the stranger’s eyes had shone hot with desire before he deliberately reined it in and pretended to ignore the sizzle in the air. Daisy was not particularly experienced, but she recognized hunger when she saw it. This tough, rugged man with muddy boots and elegant hands wanted her.
The knowledge excited her. Daisy was not the kind of woman who drove men to do wild things. She was a good organizer, a decent cook and a damned fine researcher. But she was neither seductive nor sexy. That wasn’t self-pity speaking. She merely knew her own limitations.
But this man saw her differently… Suddenly she wished she had worn a more alluring outfit than a comfy cotton dress that traveled well.
Nibbling her bottom lip for half a second, she blurted out a most un-Daisy-like invitation. “Would you have dinner with me tonight? After I meet with the duke?” This stranger really would think she was a pushy, forward American if she kept this up. “My treat,” she said hastily, once again assessing the worn state of the man’s attire.
His throat and face flushed. A noticeable bulge tented the front of his pants. Dear Lord. Daisy blushed as well, feeling hot and shaky and wonderfully excited. Suddenly, she had a vision of the two of them hidden away in a hay-filled barn, Daisy riding astride this man’s impressive, impossible-to-miss—
“I’ll have to take a rain check,” he said gruffly. “Perhaps another time.”
The gentle rebuff curdled her stomach. She rarely put herself out there, and this was why. He had shot her down, albeit gently, but nevertheless a slap in the face. Gathering her tattered composure, she ignored the way her eyes stung and her throat closed up. “Very well. I only wanted to show my gratitude for your assistance.”
She heard her prissy words and realized that she had unwittingly picked up some of his toney accent. Glancing at her watch to disguise the fact that she was near tears, she took a deep breath. “If it’s not too much of a bother, would you please go in and ask if he will see me?”
The man with the dark amber eyes and the face of a Roman conqueror did not smile as he took a step closer, and with one finger, reached out to wipe a damp stain from the corner of her lashes. “You’re a lovely woman, Ms. Daisy Wexler. I’ll do what I can.” His hand lingered, cupping her cheek. “Where are you staying while you’re here?”
She nodded over her shoulder to the view of a placid Lake Windemere glistening in the distance. The water was a deep, mysterious cerulean beneath the noonday sun. Barely a whitecap or a ripple disturbed the broad expanse. “Ambleside. The youth hostel across the way.”
He nodded, his expression almost grim. “Come back in an hour. If the duke is available, I’ll ask him to speak with you.”
Disconsolate and bereft, Daisy watched the man stride toward the enormous, unwieldy castle that was more regal than prepossessing. He disappeared around the side where the stables adjoined the house.
She had no idea if he would really plead her case, and she wanted badly to simply walk up the tree-lined path and knock on the door. But something held her in check, perhaps his unflattering assessment of her fellow Americans as pushy.
If this man and the duke expected docility and compliance, she would try to be patient. After all, her mission was important, not only for the ones who had sent her, but for Daisy personally.
The Duke’s ancestral home sat on a rocky hill overlooking the lake. Beyond and to the left, a second outcropping rose against the sky, beckoning the adventurous to follow. She had time to kill and a fascination for exploration, so Daisy set off toward it. The weather was perfect for touring, and briefly she regretted that she wasn’t in England for a simple holiday.
But too much was at stake to goof off now. If her