The Broken Duke Read online

  Chapter Two

  Adelaide stared as the Duke of Northfield ducked beneath the low doorframe and stepped into her dressing room. Suddenly the chamber felt tiny because he filled the space so completely. He was…beautiful. That was the only way to describe a man as put together as the one who stood before her. A tall, broad-shouldered Adonis with blond hair that was pulled back in a queue because it was too long for current fashion, a scruffy slash of facial hair across a well-defined jaw, and blue eyes that were the color of a cloudless sky.

  He looked across the room at her. Their eyes met and she could think of nothing, do nothing, be nothing except a speechless fool as he stared at her.

  Melinda, on the other hand, had no such problem. She let out a low curtsey. “Your Grace,” she said, her tone filled with the kind of theatric deference that they normally reserved for performances of Shakespeare’s works.

  Northfield darted his gaze to Adelaide’s understudy, though he showed no interest in the pretty brunette. “Good evening.”

  “Melinda Cross, Your Grace,” Melinda cooed, edging herself closer and batting her eyelashes seductively. “I’m Mrs. Ford’s understudy.”

  “Mrs. Ford,” Northfield repeated, his eyebrows lifting.

  Adelaide somehow kept her expression calm. The actresses all labeled themselves as Mrs. It was the best way to maintain a modicum of safety and decorum in a profession that was looked down upon by their so-called betters.

  “Good evening, Your Grace,” Adelaide said, moving forward at last. “I’m Lydia Ford.”

  “Yes, I know,” Northfield said, a tiny smirk tilting up one corner of his full lips.

  Great God, why did her brain have to point out that they were full? Now all she could do was stare at them. And he certainly never had that look on his face when he was in ballrooms being proper and…skulky. Was skulky a word? She didn’t even know anymore. Either way, he looked…wicked right now.

  Melinda looked between them slowly and then sighed. “Well, I can see where I’m not wanted. Good evening, you two.”

  “Don’t shut the—” Adelaide began, but Melinda slipped from the room and closed them in together. “—door.”

  Northfield tilted his head. “Don’t want to be alone with me?”

  Adelaide took a long breath and thought briefly of her first night on the stage. She’d been just as petrified as she was now and it had gone well. Thus far Northfield had made no indication that he recognized her true identity. All she had to do was present herself in the way he expected and she would be fine.

  Somehow.

  “We’ve only just met,” she said, stunned by how husky her voice sounded. That fact would help her, of course, for it was a bit different than her normal tone. But why did her throat feel so thick? “Do you think it’s proper for us to be alone together?”

  He seemed to consider the question. “Perhaps not. But I’ve been proper for a long time and it’s gotten me…”

  He trailed off, and for a brief moment she saw a flash of emotion over his face. A flash of regret and pain and anger that touched her soul. She knew all those emotions very well, herself, and considering what he’d been through lately, she believed he had every right to them.

  But she wasn’t meant to know those things, gossip or not. So she smiled. “What has it gotten you?”

  “Nothing,” he finished with a small shake of his head. “Nothing good, at any rate.”

  She shivered at how close the room felt and turned away to give herself some space, at least in her crowded brain. “Why did you want to meet me, Your Grace?”

  He chuckled. “I imagine I’m not the first man who has come to your dressing room to talk to you after a show.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him and caught her breath once more at how handsome he was. This was getting ridiculous. “It would be a lie to say you were.”

  “And you don’t lie?” he asked, his gaze narrowing.

  She faced him. There was such an edge to his voice. To his body language. A tension and a coiled strength that felt very…dangerous. And yet she didn’t want to step away from it.

  “I try very hard not to,” she said, even though that was a falsehood in itself.

  Right now her entire persona was a lie. Lydia Ford, the actress this man was…well, it felt like he was stalking her across the room. Every time she edged back, he moved forward, and it was very distracting. But he was stalking Lydia, and Lydia only existed for a few hours each week and then she was packed away like the costumes Adelaide wore and the lines she spoke.

  “You’re blushing,” Northfield said with another half-smile. “Do I make you nervous?”

  She swallowed and pushed her shoulders back slightly. “You do, for I’m still not certain why you are here, Your Grace.”

  “Ah,” he said, folding his arms and making his broad chest even more noticeable. “Well, I can remedy that. I came to congratulate you on a good show.”

  She tilted her head. In Society she might be viewed as an innocent lady, but that was as much of a mask as Lydia was. Adelaide was no fool and she knew the reason why men came in the back to talk to actresses.

  “You thought I was good, did you?” she said, arching a brow.

  “You sound like you don’t believe me,” Northfield said with a chuckle.

  She shrugged. “What was your favorite line of mine? What did you think I delivered especially well?”

  He met her gaze and she saw that he recognized she was calling his bluff. To her surprise, he leaned in. “My favorite line was when you said, ‘We are all walking through this world as shadows, ghosts. Some of us just hide it better.’” He gave her a look and then stepped back. “You also died very prettily.”

  Despite herself, Adelaide laughed at his words, and his face lit up like he’d won something. It was funny, for she’d known of this man for most of her adult life. He and his friends, all dukes, all members of some exclusive little club, were impossible to ignore. Hell, her own best friend Emma had just married one of them less than six months before.

  But she’d never known Northfield. Just been intimidated by him. Now she found herself liking him. It was impossible not to when his rare smile made him even more handsome.

  “Very well, so you were paying attention to the play,” she said. “You must forgive me for doubting you, for most men who come back to compliment me couldn’t even tell me what the performance was about. They come to…”

  “Seduce you?” Northfield supplied, and the smile fell, replaced by a look that could only be called smoldering. The man was smoldering at her, and the spot between her legs began to tingle even though she didn’t want it to.

  “Yes,” she gasped out.

  He inched forward, closing the distance he had allowed and nearly touching her with his big body.

  “Do not mistake me, Mrs. Ford, I absolutely came back here to seduce you.”

  Adelaide squeaked. She didn’t mean to squeak, but the sound escaped her lips before she realized it was going to happen or could call it back. But how could she not? Northfield was standing right against her, his body brushing hers in a most inappropriate fashion, crowding her against her makeup table and he just…took all the air out of the room. Out of her lungs. He took all protests out of her brain when he was this close.

  All those reactions made it very clear to her that she had been far more than just intimidated by him during the years she’d watched him roam through Society. She’d been attracted to him. But while a man like Graham Everly, rich and popular Duke of Northfield, might not look twice at Adelaide Longford, spinster daughter of a minor and very dead earl, he was looking more than enough at Lydia Ford.

  And right now she liked being Lydia Ford more than she ever had before.

  “Do you think you could?” she whispered, shocked by the flirtatious words that fell easily from her lips. “Succeed where all other men who have come back here have failed?”

  He smiled again. “Ah, a challenge. I’ve always…ris
en to a challenge, Mrs. Ford. Lydia.”

  Her hands were shaking, and she reached back to steady herself on the table behind her so he wouldn’t see. Tonight she was Lydia, a character she had created so she could do what she wished. And Lydia was bold and confident where Adelaide wasn’t. She had to be Lydia. What harm was there in it, anyway? This was just a passing fancy of his. They’d flirt and that would be the end of it.

  Except he wasn’t talking or flirting anymore. He was moving forward and suddenly one of his massive, muscular thighs pushed against her skirts, then farther forward. His chest brushed hers. He reached out and slid his hand along her jawline, up into her hair. It was the first time he’d ever touched her, and she was shocked at the tingling heat that shot from his fingertips and through her entire trembling body.

  He tilted her head back, forcing her to look up and up into his handsome face. “I’m going to kiss you, Lydia,” he promised, his mouth moving toward hers. “Unless you tell me not to.”

  Adelaide swallowed hard. She should say no. She was going to, because that was what was proper, right. Because she already knew the consequences of giving in to desires, of forgetting oneself.

  Except her mouth just couldn’t form the words. Her body couldn’t pull away. She stood there, silent and staring, watching as this man’s full lips descended upon hers. And then he was kissing her.

  At first it was just a brush of lips, tender, even a bit tentative. His beard was soft against her chin. Her eyes fluttered shut and she stopped thinking, stopped bargaining with herself, stopped fighting between Adelaide and Lydia. But then the pressure of his mouth increased, his hand angled her head slightly and she caught her breath as his lips parted.

  He took advantage of that and his tongue glided past her lips. The world evaporated. She lifted her hands to his upper arms, clinging to his biceps as she heard herself let out a low, hungry sound of pleasure.

  And there was pleasure. This man knew how to kiss. He drove his tongue inside of her mouth, stroking her own, building a fire of passion that she rarely allowed to burn because it frightened her. But there it was, exploding out of control as he slid a hand around her waist and drew her up hard against the unyielding plane of his big body.

  She let her tongue tangle with his as that fire pulsed through her veins, cascading down her limbs, settling heat at her hard nipples, at her tingling sex, at her shaking knees.

  He made a harsh groan in the back of his throat as he lifted her onto the table behind her, setting her bottom on the edge and leaning into her with all his weight. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as she reveled in that sound. It was a sound of surrender, of being swept away.

  The Duke of Northfield was being swept away by her.

  And she was not far behind him. He used his thigh to part her legs and stepped between them, tangling her gown and letting her feel the harsh, insistent thrust of his erection against her belly. Her eyes went wide as he continued kissing her, for he was a large man in all ways.

  His hands began to move and her mind emptied again. He cupped her hip, then slid his fingers up her side until he brushed her breast with the tips. She arched against him, sensation mobbing her as he flicked her sensitive nipple with his thumb.

  He smiled against her mouth and drew back, their panting breaths matching in the quiet room. He held her gaze, forcing her to drown in seaside blue, as he rolled his thumb around and around the nub. Electric pleasure, hot and heavy, ricocheted through her body and she let out a low cry as she jolted against him in helpless pleasure.

  Her entire body throbbed, wetness flooded her sex, her legs shook until she feared they wouldn’t support her if she was forced to stand on her own. This man did these things, easily. And it was clear he wanted more.

  What was even clearer was that she would allow him to take more. She would surrender to his ministrations because desire drove inside her like a persistent drumbeat. And she was helpless to it, to him, in a way she had never experienced before.

  He lowered his mouth again and just before he could kiss her, there was a knock at the door behind them.

  They both froze, locking eyes, and slowly he backed away from her. He held out a hand and she took it to get off the table. She smoothed her tangled skirt, her cheeks flaming as reality intruded upon this wild and wanton fantasy she’d been playing out.

  “Yes?” she called out, her voice thick and rough from desire and pleasure.

  Toby popped his head into the room once more and jolted as he saw Adelaide and Northfield standing together in the middle of the room. “I’m sorry, Lydia, I didn’t know you still had a visitor,” he said, darting his gaze down to the ground. “Richard wants to know if you plan to perform on Tuesday.”

  Adelaide swallowed, trying to refocus her kiss-addled mind. She normally did a show on Saturday and two during the week, assuming she could get away. Most actresses weren’t allowed that kind of independence to choose their schedule, but her popularity had afforded her some freedom. A good thing, too, since it was a mighty trouble to escape her home and the watching eyes of her guardian aunt.

  “Y-Yes,” she breathed. “Tuesday.”

  “Good,” Toby said, making a note on a piece of paper. “Well, I’ll…I’ll see you then. Goodnight, Lydia.”

  She nodded, and he shot her one last look as he closed the door again. Adelaide felt Northfield watching her as she moved away from him. Felt the heat of that stare and the promises it held. And a great part of her wanted to fall right back into the place they’d been when they were interrupted.

  But reality had returned, not just the reality of where they were and the position they were in…but the reality of who she really was. She couldn’t surrender to passion with the Duke of Northfield. That was foolish to even consider.

  “You are frowning,” Northfield said, his voice low and seductive.

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and her heart stuttered. God, but she wanted to turn back into him, lift herself against his chest and throw all caution to the wind. But she shoved that wicked part of herself aside and shook her head.

  “I’m only remembering reality, Your Grace. And where I am.”

  He cocked his head. “If where you are is a problem, I have a solution.”

  She faced him slowly. “And what is that?”

  “Come back to my home,” he suggested. “And let’s continue what we started.”

  She hesitated. What he was offering was shocking to Lady Adelaide, proper Society miss. He never would have thought to say such a thing to her. But to actress Lydia Ford? Well, why wouldn’t he offer a night of sin and passion? How many actresses in her acquaintance were having affairs with men like him?

  But she wasn’t Lydia, not really. And surrendering to this passion he offered her was dangerous to her real life. So she shook her head even though it took a great deal of effort to do so.

  “I-I don’t think so, Your Grace,” she whispered. “I was carried away a moment ago, but my level head has returned and I-I think it would be best if I simply offer you my thanks for your compliments on my performance and say good night.”

  His eyes went wide, like he was surprised at her answer, and she held her breath as she waited for him to grow angry with her. To push, like so many did when they didn’t get what they wanted. The Sir Archibalds of the world used their power to leverage control, certainly the Duke of Northfield had far more to leverage than most.

  But instead his mouth turned up into one of those fetching half-smiles and he nodded. “Very well, Lydia. I shall bid you good night. For now. But I think we both know that we have unfinished business.” He stepped toward the door and opened it, letting the air back into the room. He nodded at her. “I very much look forward to our next encounter.”

  Then he was gone, leaving Adelaide to sag against the table where he had all but ravished her. Leaving her to ponder his words. Their next encounter might not be where the duke would expect it. And she could only hope that this night wouldn’t bring
down all she had carefully built to protect herself.

  Chapter Three

  Graham looked around the room at the spinning couples in their finery and barely held back a sigh. He had not been to a ball in months, not since the betrayal that had sent him spiraling into himself. Now he felt uncomfortable, especially since it seemed the whole room was determined to stare at him. Judging. Whispering.

  Tyndale stepped up beside him and held out a drink. “Here, to buoy your strength.”

  Graham shook his head. “I doubt a watered down drink will buoy anything,” he said, though he took the offering before he looked out into the crowd again. “I don’t want to be here.”

  Tyndale turned toward him, genuine kindness and understanding in his dark green eyes. “I know, mate. I really do. After Angelica died, coming back to Society was torture. The loss was still fresh and the whispers magnified it. But I promise you it will get easier the more you do it.”

  Graham flinched. “It must make you sick to hear me whine about Simon and Meg when compared to your loss.”

  Tyndale’s forehead wrinkled and he reached out to squeeze Graham’s arm. “Pain isn’t a competition. You have a right to the feelings in your heart. I just don’t want to see you drown in them.”

  Together they looked around the room again and for a moment both were quiet. Then Tyndale glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “Why did you decide to come out tonight?”

  Graham shifted. The answer to that was unexpected and complicated. After his impulsive and highly passionate encounter with Lydia Ford at the theatre, life had seemed a little less…grim. And when Tyndale had pushed him to come to the ball, the invitation had seemed less horrifying than it had the first twenty times he’d been asked to return to Society by a well-meaning friend.

  “It just felt like time,” he said on a sigh. “I can’t hide forever, can I?”