The Duchess and the Dragon Read online

  Drake shook his head. “No, Daniel. I was never more than an illegitimate boy who believed he would someday be a duke.” A harsh crack of laughter escaped him. “But that’s another long story and I want to hear the rest of yours. I am happy my belongings came to your aid. Pray continue.”

  Daniel took a long drink, wiping the foam from his upper lip with his sleeve. “I don’t know as I could have done it without your fine belongings. I owe you, Drake, God’s truth I do. And that’s about the end of my tale. I made my way back here hoping to find work and you. Imagine my surprise to run into you here.”

  Drake looked at the ring, sliding it on his finger. It felt right, a familiar and comforting weight, but he knew it no longer belonged there. “We’re both fortunate. Where are you staying?”

  “Last night I slept in a barn. I’m down to my last shilling—” he nodded at his ale—“and drinking that.”

  “Here.” Drake dug into his pocket and slid some coins across the table. “To get you through until you can find work. I might be able to help with that. The Friends are extremely well connected and have a soft heart toward the downtrodden. What sort of work would you like?”

  Daniel shrugged. “Smithing don’t sound bad. Do you like it?”

  Drake raised one eyebrow as a harsh laugh escaped him. “It took me three weeks to learn how to make buttons. I’m afraid my skills lie elsewhere. But I will see what I can find for you.” He stood up and drained his mug. “I need to be getting back soon, so let us quit this place. Take me to my trunk.”

  SERENA SUPPRESSED ANOTHER yawn, eyes watering. It was hard to concentrate on what Christopher had to say when she was so concerned about Drake. Where was he? Would he come back? Her father assured her Drake just needed a little time to himself. After all, they had kept him tight under their wing since they’d met. She couldn’t blame him for wanting to be on his own, but still . . . what was he doing so late on a Sunday evening? And why had he rushed out and brushed her off so at meeting?”

  “Serena? Didst thou hear me?”

  Christopher’s patient smile was belied by the concern weighing his features.

  “I am sorry, Christopher. Thou hast caught me wool-gathering. Please, go on.”

  “I was telling thee about my new barn. But then, I can see that thou art not very interested in such things. I apologize. It grows late. I should go?”

  There was much in that question. They had been friends for a long time and Serena knew that one day, when Christopher felt his farm was ready to support her, he would ask her to become his wife. Looking into his startlingly blue eyes she realized Christopher had come to his own conclusions. He had already heard the story about Drake. Serena struggled with an honest response. Toying nervously with a fold in her skirt, she suddenly stilled her hands and took a deep breath. “I am sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what?”

  “I–I have, of late . . . found myself unaccountably attached to my father’s new apprentice. Pray—” she looked up at him, her brows drawing together—“believe me when I say I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  “He is not a Friend, Serena. Hast thou thought this through? Thou wouldst be excommunicated.”

  Serena had hardly dared dream of Drake asking her to marry him, but the excitement that rushed through her body at the thought of being his wife eclipsed all else. “I only know what I feel for him. I am sorry.”

  Christopher stood and raked his fingers through his hair. For a second, Serena saw him as others might—tall and lean and attractive, strong, sure and good. He would make someone a very good husband someday. “Perhaps I am dazzled by the unknown. Please, hold me in the Light.”

  Christopher did not look very happy with that speech, or her request to hold her in the Light, to pray for her. But he nodded quickly, put on his hat and said, sadness and levity bracing up his words, “Thou knowest where to find me if thou needst me for any reason, Serena.” He reached out to touch her cheek, his thumb skimming the line of her jaw, his eyes pain-stricken, then turned and walked off the front porch to his buggy in the street.

  She watched him go into the darkness, his shoulders set, back straight, and a bittersweet feeling assailed her. Was she making a mistake? She could call him back. He would marry her if she gave him the slightest indication that she returned his feelings. She watched with a sick feeling while he climbed into his buggy, but the words to call him back stuck in her throat as untruth.

  As he rode away, Serena saw a dark form standing in the shadows of the old oak tree. Her heart gave a leap. It was Drake. Had he heard her? She took a step toward him.

  “You should marry him.” His voice was like the deep of the night—dark and velvety, filled with danger. She inhaled the thrill it evoked in her.

  She continued her steps into the shadows, stood in front of him, and gazed up into his dear face. The wind blew through the giant old tree he was standing under, allowing the glow of the moon to reach his face only occasionally. It was a cold light, washing out all the color in the world, leaving them looking at each other in shades of gray, casting the sharp planes of Drake’s cheekbones into harsh relief, making him seem a creature of the night and more dangerous than she’d ever seen him look.

  The coldness of the light reached his eyes, sending a shiver up her spine. Why would he look at her so when all she wanted was to smooth away the stark set of his features and see him give her that melting smile. Instead she replied, “Yes, I should . . . but I do not think I love him.”

  Drake’s gaze roved her face like a whispered caress. “You are not sure?”

  Serena tipped her head, longing to see past the shadows of his eyes. “I thought I might grow to love him . . . someday. I thought I should love him. I respect him.”

  “That is more than most marriages are based upon. You could do worse.”

  “I have said as much to myself many times, and even more of late.”

  “Why send him away then?”

  Serena’s gaze dropped to Drake’s chest as she shook her head. She couldn’t say it. Just the thought set her cheeks aflame.

  “I know how you could tell for certain.”

  There was a wicked smile in his voice that sent another shaft of thrill through her. She shivered. “How?”

  “Have you kissed him?”

  She took a sudden indrawn breath. “No, of course not. W–why should I kiss him?”

  He reached for her then, pulling her close, grasping her face between his palms. “Because if he cannot make you feel like this, then you will never love him.”

  She waited as his lips hovered over hers, the moon itself seeming to pause in its revolution looking down upon them with the stars in sudden interest. Serena wanted this—wanted him—with an intensity she hadn’t dreamed she possessed. He held her captive with the black depths of his eyes. There lay a road to a place of sensual abandonment, but a way fraught with the rocky cliffs of uncertainty and adversity. Acceptance meant surrendering this life for the unknown. Dare she accept his challenge? Dare she throw her lot in with a man who was still, in so many ways, a dark and dangerous stranger?

  His breath moved over her face, and she strained to reach him, to touch him. The relief when his lips finally touched hers was profound. Like the last time, she swam in a maelstrom of whirling emotions. Unfamiliar sounds came from her throat because of the force of his mouth as she gave free rein to the desire to press into him. She breathed him in, wanting to be as close as she could, clinging to his broad shoulders.

  Suddenly he broke the contact. Hands gripping her arms, he gasped out a challenge. “Can he do that? Have you felt that with him?”

  Her senses spinning, she tried to make sense of his words. “Who?”

  Suddenly he was a savage stranger, giving her a shake. “Can he make you feel like that?”

  Christopher. He was asking her about Christopher. Her breathless answer was immediate. “No . . . never . . . no.”

  Drake spun from her, walking in long, angry strides to
ward the back of the house. Serena put her hands to her hot cheeks, tears welling up in her eyes. Christopher would never make her feel as Drake did. Christopher never made her feel anything very much at all. But what of all her mother said? What of her life as a Quaker and brown-cloaked knights? Yes, Drake promised her much—not the least of which was a lifetime of such kisses. She could have it. Have him, a life with him. She only had to do one thing.

  Give up everything.

  Chapter Eleven

  Standing in the moonlight alone, awash with feelings Drake had stirred to life, Serena found another new emotion coursing through her.

  Anger. Pure, white-hot anger singed her heart.

  How could Drake leave her like that? Alone with whirling emotions, with feelings that wanted to fly?

  Whatever he was, whatever he proved to be. He would not get away with it!

  With determined steps, Serena made her way to her old bedroom. She didn’t stop to think—no more thinking—about anything. She turned the knob and walked into his room, shutting the door behind her with a soft click. She leaned against the solidness, her heart thudding in her chest so that she knew he must be able to hear it.

  A shaft of moonlight spilled across the bed outlining his movements as he sat up. “Serena, is that you?”

  She nodded, unable to move, and heard, more than saw, him get out of bed and slip into his pants.

  “Come here.” Though a whisper, his gentle voice commanded her.

  She walked to him, her eyes adjusting enough to make out his frown.

  “What are you doing here, Serena?”

  She lifted her hand to his face, touched his cheek, running her thumb on the rough stubble of his jaw—then dropped her hand to her side. “Thou canst not just leave me like that.”

  He caught her hand in his, his gaze searching her eyes in the moonlight. “You cannot be here, love. Your parents are mere steps away.”

  “And deep asleep.”

  He chuckled deep and low. “Temptress. What did I do to deserve this test?”

  She knew he wasn’t asking her, which was good. For she had no answer for him. “I love thee, Drake.” It was the hardest—and yet the easiest—four words she had ever spoken.

  He groaned, dragging her into his arms. His chest came up against the wool of her plain, gray dress. “I fear I am forbidden fruit,” he sighed into her hair. Her hands grasped him in answer.

  “I would know such fruit. For always.”

  “Oh, sweetness, you know not what you are saying. It can be so dark here, with me.”

  “I’m not afraid.”

  Even as he gave up and kissed her, he murmured a warning. “You should be. You should be.”

  SHE WAS DRIVING him mad.

  Drake pulled off the cap she always wore and threw it far into the darkness where it lay, glowing like a talisman. He unraveled her heavy hair from its knot. Long, more golden than red in the moonlight and to her waist, it swirled around them like a living thing, more glorious than he dared dream, silkier than he had imagined.

  The light made the rose of her lips stand out, begging to be kissed. Drake could not resist the invitation. Just a few moments of this passion and then he would stop it as the madness it was and send her back to the attic with her sisters. Where she belonged. Safe from him.

  He could not, much as he might want to, take Serena to the completion of this folly, most assuredly not in her parents’ home. He would not betray Josiah’s trust in him, even if, as he looked at this woman’s ethereal beauty, it felt a slow death to deny them both.

  But he knew she deserved so much more than an illicit affair. When the time was right, he would make it perfect for her. Somehow, he would make a perfect life for her.

  He kissed her, letting his mouth linger over hers, then broke off the exquisite contact. “Tell me what you want from me, Serena.”

  She looked up at him, her gaze saying more than any string of words could.

  “You love me?” He needed to know for certain that she understood what that would cost her. “More than anything?”

  She pounded her fist on his chest, angry now. “Thou knowest I do!”

  He cupped her head in his palms, running his fingers through the silky strands of hair. “You would give up this life? For a bondservant’s?”

  “Yes!”

  He stopped her from trying to kiss him again, intent that she fully understand. “I have so little to offer.” His thumbs caressed her cheeks as if to ease the roughness of his tone. “But I would freely give you what I have.”

  “I only want thee.” Her breath was a soft whisper on his face. He allowed himself to be submersed in her, the feel of her skin so pliant under his searching fingertips, the soft sounds escaping her throat, the feel of her lips. His hands found the delicate bones at her collar, stroked the slim shoulders and then down her back.

  He inhaled deeply, wanting to make this magical feeling last, so thoroughly did it chase away the blackness that engulfed him. His hands spanned her waist, outlining her ribs, feeling the rise and fall of her breath, feeling her delicacy and appreciating the form of a woman in a way he never had. So feminine and sweet.

  “Like none other in all creation,” he murmured into the curve of her neck. He felt her smile.

  His lips had just found the hollow in her throat when the door burst open and light intruded upon the room. A sinking sensation brought him crashing back to the tiny bedroom. Serena was still too dazed to yet realize what had happened, but he knew the moment comprehension dawned. She stiffened and moved back from him, her hand to her mouth. He turned, ready to accept responsibility—and meet a father’s righteous wrath.

  At least he still had his pants on.

  Her mother, mouth gaping, stared at the two of them. Her father looked like the grave.

  “I see thou hast made thy choice.” He directed this at Serena, apparently knowing his daughter’s heart and the part she’d played in this scene. Before she could reply, he turned to Drake. “Thou wilt take responsibility in this.”

  Drake nodded. “Of course. We will be married.”

  Serena stepped forward. “It was my doing, Father. I came to him.”

  Leah stared at Drake, slowly shaking her head. “Do not marry her unless thou truly loveth her. We can forget tonight and find thee other work.”

  Drake knew what she wanted from him. A promise, a reassurance. This was a mother, a woman who knew what committed love looked like. “Have no fear, madam; I shall cherish her all of my days.” Some of the old sarcasm had crept into his voice, but he wished it hadn’t. He meant it to the best of his ability to believe it was possible.

  Serena smiled into her mother’s strained face, her happiness apparent in her shining eyes. “Thou must not worry.”

  Josiah sighed. “From the looks of things, we must make haste.” He turned to his wife. “How soon can they be wed?”

  Leah lifted her hand, the gesture hopeless. “We must seek a clearness committee concerning matters. Serena, upstairs with thee.” She nodded to Drake. “Good night.”

  Drake bowed his head and realized he meant it out of deep respect, not to be perfunctory. “Good night, madam.”

  They closed the door taking the candle—and the light of his heart—with them. Drake turned toward his empty, rumpled bed, waiting for the despair to come . . . but it did not. Serena would be his wife! For better and worse, she would know him, the good and the evil.

  For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he prayed.

  A whispered plea in the darkness. “Do not let me hurt her. Please . . . God, do not let me hurt her.”

  AS SOON AS the girls had left the breakfast table the next morning, Josiah asked Drake the question that had kept him and Leah up all night. “Drake, what feelings dost thou have for the Friends?”

  Drake gave himself time to truly consider his answer. He did not want to respond lightly to what he knew was a serious inquiry. “I have the utmost regard and respect for them, sir. I have
met few people in my life who are as kind, honest, and selfless as the Quakers I have met here in Philadelphia.” He sat back in his chair and continued with feeling. “I have watched you help the poor, the sick, the destitute, the prisoner and the slave. I know firsthand your kindness and I know it saved my life. You live, instead of preach, what you believe. Living among you has given me . . . new sight.” He smiled a little sadly. “I was brought up to believe the world owed me gratitude just for being born into it. In the short time that I have known you, sir, you have changed how I look at humanity. ’Tis no small thing, I assure you. And I am grateful for it.” Nodding at Leah, he included her. “I must apologize for taking advantage of your trust in me last night. The responsibility lies solely with me.”

  “No, not thy fault alone, Drake.” Serena put down her heavy silver spoon and looked to her father. “I went to him. He did not invite me there.”

  Her father nodded. “I am not surprised. Thy feelings have been clear to us for some time, Serena.” He focused again on Drake. “I am glad for thy admiration for the Quakers. But I would like to ask thee an important question. The commitment is not a light one, and I would not voluntarily ask it except that my daughter loves thee. She has chosen to make thy life her own.”

  He glanced at Serena, a mist glistening in his eyes. “If thou shouldst choose a different life than that we have chosen, I fear, in the end, we will lose her. And so I ask thee, Drake, wouldst thou join the Society of Friends and embrace our life?”

  Drake stared at the man that he would be honored to call father. A man he felt more respect for, in their brief acquaintance, than he’d ever felt for his own father. A man he wanted to please . . . but was destined to disappoint.

  “I am sorry.” He put as much sincerity into the words as he could. “I have thought about this, and find I am not ready to commit to a particular religious belief. I feel there are many unanswered questions that I must discover on my own, not by another’s opinion or even most excellent example. But be assured in this. I will continue to seek out God. And I will not let the life I choose hurt Serena.” Even as he said it he knew it was a promise that he should not make. How could anyone predict the future? His own had been so certain, and now look where he was . . . what he was.