The Reluctant Duke (7 page)

Maybe she should just come out with the truth now and get it over and done with?

Oh, yes—and no doubt find herself cast into the dungeon below.

Lexie had been repelled, and a little fascinated, too, when years ago Grandpa Alex had been persuaded into showing her the dungeon hidden behind the huge wine cellar in the basement of the house. A small structure, probably only six feet deep by ten feet wide, its walls, floor and ceiling were made of solid stone four feet thick. The fourth wall was a metal door with one-inch-solid metal bars that had been driven deep down into the stone floor.

She had wondered all those years ago, as she’d stood looking at that impregnable structure, what the past inhabitants of that stone and metal cell could possibly have done to merit being cast into such a lightless and virtually airless prison.

Right now Lexie couldn’t help wondering if deliberately deceiving the current Duke of Stourbridge would be considered crime enough.

So, yes, she obviously had the option of coming clean—of telling Lucan exactly who she was. But it was a disclosure that would no doubt make the contempt Lexie had faced this morning—when Lucan had believed her behaviour
towards Andrew Proctor to be unprofessional—seem like child’s play in comparison.

Had some part of her always relished Lucan knowing who she was? Wanted to somehow spring that knowledge on him, like a magician bringing a rabbit out of a hat, and then enjoy watching Lucan squirm?

If so, then Lexie knew she didn’t feel that way any longer. Just a few hours in Lucan’s company had been enough to tell her she would be the one who came out worst in any springing of her relationship to Sian Thomas on him!

She stood up abruptly to cross the kitchen and stand near the warmth of the oven. As far away from Lucan as it was possible to get in the confines of what was actually a cavernous kitchen, but seemed to be getting steadily smaller and smaller by the second.

‘What would
you
be doing now if you were in London? Out with a beautiful woman, dining at some exclusive restaurant, no doubt? ‘ she prompted derisively.

Lucan studied Lexie’s flushed and challenging face for several long seconds. There was something about the way her gaze refused to meet his and the husky tone of her voice that told him that wasn’t what she had intended saying. That she was deliberately trying to irritate him.

‘I
am
with a beautiful woman,’ he pointed out softly. ‘And Cathy’s casserole smells better than anything I could buy in a restaurant—exclusive or otherwise,’ he added ruefully, effectively cutting off the scathing comment he was sure had been about to come out of Lexie’s sexy mouth at his compliment; there was nothing she could say after his last comment that wouldn’t sound rude to Cathy Barton’s generosity!

Instead she turned away and began busying herself getting out the plates and cutlery they would need to eat.
‘The casserole is ready to serve now. I was just waiting for you.’

Lucan stood up. ‘Would you like some red wine to go with it?’

‘Not enough for you to have to bother going down to the cellar and—’ She broke off, her eyes wide as she turned sharply to face him. ‘At least, I presume that’s where you keep your wine?’ she added offhandedly.

‘Some of it.’ Lucan gave a slow inclination of his head, his narrowed gaze still fixed intently on Lexie’s slightly pale face. ‘But there’s probably a bottle or two of red in the back of the food pantry.’

‘You don’t come here very often, do you?’ Once again Lexie decided that offence was the best form of defence if she wanted to deflect Lucan’s attention from the fact that she had made yet another slip by mentioning knowing there was a cellar at Mulberry Hall.

‘Actually, I attended my brother’s wedding here a week ago,’ he dismissed. ‘And if that was a pick up line then you didn’t say it quite right…’ He quirked dark and mocking brows.

As if! Only a woman who didn’t mind playing with fire would even
think
of becoming involved with Lucan St Claire. Which was a strange thing for Lexie to have thought, considering she had initially thought him so icily cold.

The truth was that Lexie was having trouble continuing to see Lucan that way. How could she think of him as cold when she was still totally aware of the warmth that had emanated from him earlier? Of the feeling as if she were standing on the edge of a volcano that was threatening to erupt and engulf her in its heat?

Outwardly, there was no doubting that Lucan was a cold and arrogant man, but beneath that coldness Lexie realised
there was a powerful force. A physical energy that was overwhelming in its intensity.

Much like a magnet, drawing Lexie slowly but surely towards him.

And she didn’t want to be drawn to Lucan—recognised only too well the danger of such an attraction.

‘I don’t have a pick up line, Mr St Claire,’ she assured him coldly as she took the casserole from the oven. ‘And even if I did I certainly wouldn’t use it on you! ‘ she added derisively.

Instantly she realised her mistake, as instead of lessening the tension between them it suddenly seemed to become thicker, almost palpable.

Lucan’s eyes had narrowed to black slits. ‘Why not…?’

Lexie swallowed hard, her eyes wide as she watched Lucan cross the kitchen with the slow grace of a jungle cat. ‘Why not what? ‘ she prompted distractedly.

‘Why not try a pick up line on me?’

Lucan was standing so close now Lexie could feel the warmth of his breath stirring the loose tendrils of hair at her temple as he spoke.

She flicked her tongue nervously across her lips before answering. ‘Well, for one thing I make it a rule never to become involved with the people I work for or with.’ She had meant the remark to be derisive, but instead she just sounded breathily expectant.

‘Is that an old rule or a new one?’

‘New. Very new,’ Lexie assured him pointedly.

His brows rose speculatively. ‘I see…’

‘Do you?’

‘I believe so,’ Lucan murmured softly. ‘And does that rule still apply if that employer is only a temporary
temporary
one?’

‘Especially then.’ She nodded abruptly.

Teasing Lexie had started out as a game to Lucan—a way of prodding at her outspoken and perky self-confidence. It had stopped being a game the moment she’d dismissed any interest in him so arbitrarily.

Lucan hadn’t reached the age of thirty-six without knowing when a woman responded to him, and earlier this evening, outside on the steps up to the house, Lexie had been as physically aware of him as Lucan of her. Had been as receptive to his kiss as he to the idea of kissing her.

His gaze dropped to the fullness of her mouth. Those plump and sensuous lips were slightly parted, and still slightly wet from that recent nervous flick of her tongue.

Lucan’s breath caught in his throat as she repeated that nervous movement. Her tongue was a moist caress across those parted lips, awakening a hunger in Lucan to do the same.

‘Don’t!’ Lexie gasped, stepping back as she saw Lucan’s intention in the raw hunger of his dark gaze. That step brought her up abruptly against one of the kitchen units. ‘This is
so
not a good idea, Lucan!’ She put her hands up to stop him as he followed her, those hands becoming crushed between them as Lucan leaned his body into hers so that they were now touching from breast to thigh.

Heatedly.

Achingly.

‘It feels like a very good idea to me,’ Lucan said softly as he moved his arms either side of her, so that his hands could grip the worktop behind her, effectively trapping her as the heat of his body fitted against her much softer curves, his arousal hard against her thighs. ‘Doesn’t it feel like a good idea to you, Lexie?’ he prompted huskily.

Lexie couldn’t breathe as she looked up, and instantly felt as if she were drowning in the warmth of those dark
and mesmerizing eyes. In the longing she felt to know the touch of Lucan’s mouth against her own.

Lucan St Claire’s mouth!

Because that was who this man was, Lexie reminded herself desperately. Lucan St Claire. Her beloved Grandpa Alex’s eldest son and heir. The same man who, with the rest of his arrogant family, had shunned Lexie’s grandmother for so many years.

Ice entered Lexie’s veins, and her eyes were glittering with that same cold anger as she straightened. ‘Get away from me, Lucan,’ she bit out icily, even as she pushed hard against his muscled chest.

Lucan frowned as he easily resisted that push, still holding her captive in the circle of his arms as his hands tightened on the worktop behind her. ‘Your lips are saying one thing but your body is saying something else,’ he rasped harshly, and he glanced down pointedly at the fullness of her breasts, where the nipples showed hard and aroused against the soft wool of her sweater.

‘I’m cold,’ she dismissed scornfully. ‘Look, Lucan, I’m sure there are plenty of women who would be only too happy to share the bed of the Duke of Stourbridge—temporarily! I just don’t happen to be one of them!’

Lucan’s eyes narrowed, and he straightened abruptly before stepping away from her. ‘I don’t remember mentioning that I’m the Duke of Stourbridge.’ He eyed her coldly.

She had done it again, Lexie realised sinkingly.

Because she was flustered. Because Lucan was right. Her mouth and her body weren’t in agreement at all! Her brain knew that she shouldn’t feel this attraction towards Lucan, of all men, but the ache in her body told her it had completely different feelings on the subject.

She breathed raggedly. ‘John Barton mentioned it
earlier.’ Well… he might have done, mightn’t he? ‘Imagine my surprise when he referred to you as “His Grace”,’ she added tauntingly.

‘I prefer not to use the title.’ Lucan bit the words out as he thrust his hands into his pockets.

‘Why not?’ Lexie derided. ‘Just think of all the extra women you could attract into your bed if they knew you were a duke!’

His eyes narrowed at her obvious mockery. ‘I said I prefer not to use it!’

‘And I asked why not.’

His mouth thinned to an uncompromising line. ‘It’s a long story.’

‘I’ll be happy with the condensed version,’ Lexie encouraged huskily.

His nostrils flared angrily. ‘There isn’t a condensed version.’

‘Oh, come on, Lucan—’

‘Just leave it alone, will you, Lexie?’ he rasped harshly.

Lexie felt a shiver down her spine as she took in the cold glitter of his eyes, the nerve pulsing in his clenched jaw, and the uncompromising—dangerous—set of that sculpted mouth. ‘I—okay, fine.’ She turned away. ‘Perhaps we should eat now?’

Lucan breathed deeply in an effort to control the black tide of anger that had held him in its grip at the reminder of exactly who he was and what he was doing at Mulberry Hall. Most of the time—in fact, all of the time he was in London—Lucan managed to forget completely that the Duke of Stourbridge even existed, let alone had any bearing on his own life.

Because as far as he was concerned it didn’t. The title,
Mulberry Hall, the whole damned estate could all just disappear as far as he was concerned.

Damn it, he shouldn’t have come back here again so soon after Jordan and Stephanie’s wedding. Should have resisted John Barton’s suggestion that he come up to Gloucestershire and view the damage for himself.

So why hadn’t he…?

Because, Lucan realised with a frown, the idea of being alone for a few days with the beautiful and feisty Lexie Hamilton had somehow appealed to a side of his nature that he was usually at pains to control.

The sensuous side of his nature, which was so much like his father’s, and which had caused so much unhappiness to Alexander’s wife and sons.

He had decided long ago that no woman would ever lead him around by a certain part of his anatomy. That he would never want, desire
any
woman enough to cause the hurt and destruction that his father had brought on his own family twenty-five years ago, when he’d fallen in love with another woman.

‘Lucan…?’

He scowled darkly as he looked up to find that Lexie had placed the casserole in the middle of the table, ready for serving, and was now looking across at him expectantly as she resumed her seat.

He gave a terse shake of his head. ‘I don’t think I’m hungry after all.’

Lexie gave a pained frown. ‘As far as I’m aware, you haven’t eaten anything all day…’

Lucan’s expression was derisive. ‘And that bothers you because.?’

‘It doesn’t bother me, exactly…’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Lucan drawled ruefully.

She gave an impatient sigh. ‘The Bartons didn’t even
know I was going to be here, so Cathy Barton obviously prepared this meal for you.’

‘Trying to guilt me into eating it, Lexie?’ Lucan taunted.

Angry colour entered those ivory cheeks. ‘You’re being childish now!’

Lucan was usually so emotionally logical—so controlled. Too much so, perhaps? Whatever the reason, he had absolutely no way of stopping the fury that washed over him as he crossed the kitchen in two strides to reach out and pull Lexie effortlessly to her feet and into the prison of his arms. ‘Does
this
feel childish to you?’ he growled.

Lexie found herself unable to look away from the savagery of Lucan’s expression as he loomed over her: hard and glittering dark eyes, clenched cheeks, thinned mouth, that nerve once again pulsing in the firmness of his jaw.

Pulsing with the same rhythm as the hardness of his arousal pressing into the softness of her abdomen.

Whatever she had said or done in the last few minutes, Lexie knew that part of it had somehow pushed Lucan too far—that at this moment he was beyond being reasoned with, beyond denial as his mouth came crushingly down on hers.

He kissed her fiercely, hungrily, tasting, feeding on the softness of her lips. His arms were about her as his hands cupped her bottom and he moulded the heat of her thighs into the hardness of his, lifting her slightly, accommodating her, until he found what he was looking for. Lexie groaned low in her throat as he moved that hardness rhythmically against the apex of her thighs.

She returned that kiss hungrily as she felt herself swell, moisten, felt heat course through her, her breasts becoming full, the nipples hard and aching, as Lucan moved his chest abrasively against her.