A Duchess a Day (Awakened by a Kiss #1) - Charis Michaels Page 0,82

making it . . . worse.”

“I know,” he said. “But your challenges are great enough without taking on my problems as well.”

“Your problems are my problems,” she said.

“No,” he said, “they are not. They are mine, and I have tried very hard to keep them from you. I’ve tried so very hard to not entangle my cocked-up life with yours, but I have not . . . been able . . .” he mimicked her same angry gusts of speech, “. . . to keep away. From you.”

She spun from him and came to stop on the edge of the clearing. The night was cold; she felt it suddenly to her bones. She began to shake. She wrapped her arms around herself. She stared into the murky green shrubs.

“Did he hurt you?” Declan asked softly. He came up behind her. “When you were pushed onto him.”

“No.”

“Their behavior was unforgivably cruel,” he said. “I risked everything by going in, but I refused to leave you to their ridicule and . . . and whatever came next.”

She fell against him again and he held her. After a moment, he said, “I cannot believe Lusk gave you a way out.”

“The duke hates me,” she yawned. “But his hatred is the least of my problems. If nothing else, it means we rarely have to interact. Before I met you, I considered his hatred to be one of the few things I had working in my favor. It fortified me: at least he doesn’t press himself on me. But now?” she asked, looking up, searching for the comfort of his familiar brown eyes. “Now I am fortified by my love for you. It is far better. To enjoy love instead of thinking, At least he won’t touch me.”

He whispered her name—soft, so softly. She went up on her toes and lifted her face. She didn’t have to wait. He descended immediately, a reflex now, his lips as known to her as her own. He began soft, and she followed, receiving; she was too exhausted to do more than allow him to lead.

They fell into a kiss that vanquished every bad thought of the night and every terrible fear for the future. They were consumed with each other; their hands grasped like they were sliding down a cliff. Their bodies pressed so tightly together they breathed as one.

A stone bench sat on the edge of the clearing and Declan swept her up and carried her to it, dropping down. One minute they were standing, and then she was in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck, climbing him, and he scraped her skirt into a bunch at her waist. He scooped her bottom against him and devoured her mouth.

She squeezed him, the anxious coils of her insides finally slipping from their heavy knots. She could feel Declan’s heartbeats inside his chest, too fast to count. It was a drumming she could listen to all night—all her life. How she wished she could leap over the obstacle of escaping Lusk and dive into a future with Declan. This wasn’t greedy, was it? He was conflicted about their rank, he had some extenuating circumstances, but she knew they could sort it out.

If only she wasn’t forced to extricate herself from Lusk first. Just when she thought she could resent her betrothal no more, the impending dukedom felt like a closed door with a double lock. If only they could—

Helena stopped.

She ran the sequence in her head again.

Oh my God, she marveled. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

“Declan,” she said breathlessly, pulling back.

“Hmm?” he said, kissing her.

“There is one way to make certain that I cannot marry the duke.”

“Marrying him off to one of these other girls,” he recited.

“Yes,” she said, kissing him again, “but if that doesn’t work.”

“It must work,” he moaned.

“It might,” she said. She gave him a hard kiss. “But regardless of what happens with the other girls, the Duke of Lusk cannot marry me if I’m married to someone else.”

Declan went still.

She finished it. “He cannot marry me if I am married to you.”

Chapter Twenty

The seventh and final potential duchess was a baron’s daughter called Miss Tasmin Lansing. Most mornings, she was said to ride her horse in Hyde Park, and Declan and Helena had planned to approach her on Saturday morning while the household recovered from the masquerade.

It was meant to be the simplest and most straightforward of all their duchess encounters. The equestrian-minded men and women of London routinely rode