Dukes By the Dozen

She stared at him, her mouth falling open. This was a joke—he had to be joking…except that it wasn’t a very humorous joke, and his handsome face was serious as he waited for her to reply. To say anything.

But in her stunned state, she couldn’t find her voice except to squeak out, “Pardon?”

Not breaking eye contact, he reached into the desk drawer and retrieved a stack of letters, secured with a red ribbon.

“I should have told you sooner.” He set them on the desk. “As soon as I realized who had been leaving those letters for me.”

For him? The world fell away beneath her, and her fingers dug into the chair arms to keep from spinning away with it. No. Not him. For John. The man she’d danced with, the man who had made love to her with his words—

The man who was standing right in front of her.

“But you’re—you’re—” She choked, her eyes stinging.

“John Drake,” he replied quietly. “The man who sent you all those letters.”

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t release the death grip her hands held on the chair. Even now, the floor rose and fell beneath her, stealing her breath and making her heart pound so hard that the rush of blood through her ears was deafening.

He reached into the drawer again, this time pulling out the white swan mask. “The man you danced with at the masquerade.” Slowly, he circled the desk to stand in front of her. He set the mask on top the letters, taking a brief caress of its satin. “The same man you wanted to spend the evening with.”

The same man she’d wanted to make love to her.

Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the things he’d whispered to her, how he’d kissed and caressed her, how she’d reacted—impossible! That was John. He could not

have been Monmouth.

Yet he had her letters, her mask…and the way he’d felt when he’d kissed her as Monmouth had stirred the same delicious sensations she’d felt when she’d been kissed by her masked John.

He knelt on the floor in front of her and covered her hand with his. Caressing the backs of her fingers until she loosened her grip on the chair arm, he folded her hand in both of his. “You had no idea who I was?”

“None,” she whispered, then caught her breath when he lifted her hand to kiss it.

“And if you’d known I was Monmouth?”

She bit her lip, then honestly whispered, “I never would have left that first letter.”

He laughed and squeezed her hands, as if she’d said the most perfect thing to him rather than insulting him. “Thank God that you did.” He reached up to cup her face in his palm. “I cannot begin to tell you how much those letters meant to me, that you were sharing your deepest thoughts and secrets with someone you thought was simply an ordinary man, or that you wanted to spend the evening with me. The man I am, not the title that was thrust upon me.”

“I don’t care about any of that.” She’d meant the words as a scolding, but they emerged as a throaty whisper.

“I know.” With a smile, he caressed his thumb over her bottom lip and made it shiver. Just as he had the night of the masquerade. “Which is why I love you.”

Her heart stopped. When it started again, the foolish thing raced with a happiness it had never felt before.

But her head knew differently.

“But you don’t. You’re…”

“The enemy,” he finished for her, his smile fading into a frown. “I’m not your enemy, Cora. What I am is a man who has fallen in over his head and needs you to help rescue him. You’ve seen during the past few weeks what my life as Monmouth is like.” Another caress across her lip. “I cannot do this without you. Beyond that—” He rose up to touch his lips to hers, drawing a surprised inhalation from her. “I simply adore you.”

He kissed her again, this time so slowly and tenderly that she completely lost her breath. Her hand reached up of its own volition to touch his cheek, to feel his warmth and strength. She closed her eyes and drank in the overwhelming sensation.

He slid his lips over her cheek and back to her ear. “Tell me…do you love him, the man who sent those letters? The man who danced with you, who whispered words of love to you in the shadows?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

He shifted back to cup her face in both hands. “Then love me, too.” Her eyes fluttered open, and the expression on his face took her breath away. “Marry me.”

Oh, how she wanted nothing more! But they weren’t living in a fairytale masquerade, and she sadly shook her head as the hot tears blurred her vision. “I’m a miller’s daughter,” she choked out. “You’re a duke.”

“I’m also a warehouse owner. Before that I was a builder in construction, and before that, I started as a day laborer, digging ditches.” A stray tear fell down her cheek, and he brushed it gently away with his thumb. “Do you think you could lower yourself enough to marry a ditch digger?”

He reached into the watch pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew the ring she’d found in the lane all those weeks ago. The same ring that started it all. But now it had been freshly polished until it gleamed, a portent of a shiny new future for them. Together.