Dukes By the Dozen

Yet it fit her perfectly—her regal beauty, her strength of spirit. If he were to become the duke, wouldn’t she be exactly the type of duchess he would wish for?

“Boadicea, then?” he offered.

Her face squinched adorably. “Also cumbersome. Not to mention undeserved.”

“I disagree,” he said. “With the undeserved part, leastways. As for the other, I could call you Bodie for short.”

She actually stuck her tongue out at him. He laughed aloud—mostly to cover the fact that her gesture now had him thinking of kissing her even more than he had been before, if that were possible.

“And what would I call you?” she asked.

That sobered him. He couldn’t very well give her his true name either.

But she didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “‘My-knight-in-shining-armor-and-my-little-dog’s-too’ is quite cumbersome as well, no matter how accurate.”

Her words touched a place inside Max that he’d long closed off. Did she really see him thus?

For years, he’d striven to be thought of as a man who helps those in need. It’s why he’d become a barrister in the first place, and why he now fought to change the law so that those accused of crimes could be represented fairly in court. But his views were unpopular, and had earned him the scorn of many who thought him too soft on those who didn’t deserve mercy. Many thought him disreputable at best for his stance.

He preferred the way this woman looked at him.

“I wouldn’t say shining armor exactly,” he jested, unused to such praise. “Not after the Serpentine anyway.”

“True,” she agreed. “But ‘knight-in-reeking-armor’ doesn’t have the same ring.”

He scowled in mock outrage.

“I could call you Galahad, I suppose,” she mused. “After all, he was the purest of knights and renowned for his gallantry. I’m sure he saved a few dogs in his day, as well.”

It was his turn to wince. He didn’t feel pure when he was with her. Not when he remembered the feel of his arms around her yesterday, however innocent. Not when the alluring feminine scent of her, all warm vanilla and something spicy (cinnamon, perhaps?) had been driving him mad all morning. Not when flashes of the two of them entwined in his dreams last night still seared through his memory. “That might be a bit much.”

“I could call you Gal, for short,” she offered, oblivious to the prurient turn his thoughts had taken. She cocked a brow. “Or Haddie?”

“I give,” he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Please. Not Haddie.”

She grinned. “Then not Bodie, either.”

They tossed out other options, teasing one another and laughing more than he had in weeks. By the time they parted, they hadn’t settled on a nom de guerre for either other them, but there’d been much fun in the attempt.

And as Maxwell said his farewells—already anticipating seeing her again on the morrow—he thought of one thing he wished he could call her…

Mine.

CHAPTER 4

NEARLY A FORTNIGHT LATER, that little four letter word still dominated Maxwell’s thoughts.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Perhaps it was the clandestine nature of their daily rendezvous—secret, forbidden encounters in broad daylight. Completely innocent, yet not.

Perhaps it was still simply the allure of their mutual in-betweenness.

But he didn’t think so.

It was her.

She.

The girl who remained nameless.

The Helen to his Paris? She’d just shaken her head when he’d declared that her face could launch a million ships, not merely a thousand.

Needless to say, those names did not stick.

Cleopatra to his Marc Antony, then? “Much too volatile a pair,” she’d protested. “Besides, I have no wish to die by poisonous snake bite.”

Those names didn’t take, either.

Perhaps Beatrice to his Dante? “That, at least, is closer to reality,” she’d said when she’d suggested it. “After all, they only ever met a few times. Strange, don’t you think, that he remained devoted to her for the rest of his life when he’d never even kissed her?”

Once she’d pointed out that sad fact, he was the one who refused to adopt those monikers.

He didn’t want this…whatever was growing between them…to be so fleeting. Or so tragic.

Yet how could it be otherwise?

Unless…

Unless he became the duke.

And convinced her to become his duchess.

The idea whispered through his mind, enticing.

He played a dangerous game with his heart. He had no control over whether or not he’d inherit, but as he’d suspected, the possibility of having her for his wife made it much more appealing.

He couldn’t pursue her in earnest yet. It wouldn’t be fair to her. But he could determine whether she wished to be pursued…

By him. By a duke? By both? By neither?

It was all so confusing. The only thing he knew for certain was that the more time he spent with her, the more he needed to know.

He wanted to know everything about her—which was deuced difficult when they conversationally danced upon the surface of their lives.

Lovely dance though it was, he wanted more.