Crash Landing (The Silver Dukes #6)

Chapter One

Gull Hall

Weymouth, England

“Isn’t this an intriguing turn of events,” Trajan Aubrey, the newly installed Duke of Weymouth, remarked while studying the pair of legs dangling from the leafy cover of a majestic oak tree on his property.

The tree was among several comprising a small woodland separating his property from that of his neighbor, Lord Everleigh Frampton, a man who had risen quite rapidly in political circles of late and was viewed by some as prime minister material.

But the lovely pair of legs now before him had nothing to do Frampton or politics, and all to do with his bird-watching nemesis, Lady Florence Newton, a bluestocking who did her utmost to hide a body that could drop a man to his knees in lustful desire.

Not him, of course. He was impervious to her charms…for the most part.

In truth, he did not know what to think of her other than she was one of the few people ever able to outwit him on a regular basis. And that, he had to admit, rankled him to no end.

“Florence, is that you?”

“Aubrey? I don’t believe it. Ugh. What are you doing here?” Florence began to wriggle and twist her lithe body in an attempt to tug the gown over her legs, which remained indecently exposed.

He grinned, knowing he should not be enjoying her predicament as enthusiastically as he was, nor should he be studying those shapely limbs so avidly.

But how could any man with an ounce of sense turn away when she was giving him a delightful glimpse of those exquisite legs?

Her every movement was making matters worse for herself.

The gown, an ugly brown muslin that he decided was quite unfashionable, now rode up her thighs because the hem was well and truly caught on the protuberance of a branch and would not budge without tearing the fabric, which was not easily torn because it was a very sturdy fabric. She might need a knife to cut it free.

“Stop, Florence,” he cautioned her before she gave him an unimpeded view of her pert, rounded bottom. He dared not think what else she might inadvertently expose, but the mere thought of it was making him sweat.

It was already too hot this morning, almost no wind whipping off the cove waters to offer a cooling reprieve.

Even the shade provided by the canopy of trees did little good.

For this reason he was merely wearing a work shirt and trousers, having forsaken his cravat, waistcoat, and jacket for this more practical attire. “I’ll climb up there and help you.”

“No! I can do it myself.”

Stubborn chit.

“That branch is about to crack and you are going to fall. Stop being obstinate and allow me to help.”

“I am not going to—” Florence shrieked as, true to his prediction, the branch on which she had been dangling suddenly snapped, sending her tumbling out of the tree and crash landing atop him.

He yelped as she struck him full in the chest, and the impact sent him reeling backward.

Served him right, fool that he was.

Instead of darting out of the way and leaving her to the bruises and ankle sprains she was certain to receive, he had played the hero and flung himself forward to catch her.

Not only did he catch her, but he’d had to twist his body awkwardly in order to ensure she landed atop him rather than under him, where the weight of his body landing on hers might have crushed her.

That mistake now had him breathlessly knocked to the ground, stunned for a full minute as twinges ran up his side and a wicked spasm coursed unrelentingly along his back.

“Blast it, Florence,” he said upon regaining his voice. “What were you doing up there?”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” Which was clearly a lie, but he was not going to give her the satisfaction, even though she appeared genuinely concerned and gave his cheek a light caress. “I always enjoy having the stuffing knocked out of me while twigs and pebbles poke holes in my arse.”

“Why are you being so unpleasant? I did not ask you to save me…but thank you. You were quite heroic and magnificent,” she said with a sincerity that melted his irritation.

She took another moment to regain her breath, but could not manage to roll off him just yet. Trying to rise proved too difficult for her, and he worried that she might have truly been hurt in the fall.

“Take another moment,” he said, allowing her to remain perched atop him. “You took a bad tumble. Does anything feel broken?”

“No, I’ll be all right in a moment. You cushioned my fall.”

In truth, he did not mind her using him as a makeshift mattress until she recovered.

However, it did pose a little difficulty, as the entire length of her was stretched across the entire length of him, making it impossible to ignore the sensations aroused by this impertinent little nuisance who should not be affecting him at all.

But who could ignore her hips? Or her fine legs. Or those pert, yet surprisingly ample, breasts that rested on his chest as though he were some convenient shelf upon which to place assorted sundry items.

Not that he minded the slight weight of her on him.

In truth, her body fit his with remarkable perfection.

He grunted to acknowledge her gratitude in his cushioning her fall.

Her mouth was dangerously close to his as she studied him. “Have I maimed you for life?”

“No. I’ll recover,” he said, managing a small smile. “You’re awfully heavy for a little thing.”

She laughed, taking no insult at the comment.

He liked the melodic lilt of her laughter. He also liked the graceful curve of her lips.

It would take nothing for him to lean forward and capture her mouth in a kiss.

Wait. No.

Why would he ever want to kiss her?

“What are you doing here, Florence? Why aren’t you in London menacing the unsuspecting populace?”

She blushed and averted her gaze a moment before returning her attention to him. “Would you believe me if I told you I was on holiday here because this Dorset seacoast has the best bird watching in the entire south of England?”

“No, I would not. We established that you were a fake bird watcher last year.”

“I am not a fake,” she insisted. “I am still chairwoman of the Lower Bramble Ladies’ Ornithological Society.”

“And yet you would not know a cormorant from a kittiwake.” He held her fast when she attempted to wriggle off him. “Tell me what you were really doing perched up in that tree, other than delightfully baring the lower half of your body to my inspection?”

“A gentleman would have averted his gaze.” She frowned at him when he remained silent. “Are you going to hold me hostage until I confess?”

“Yes.” He did not bother to point out she was the one who had settled atop him, and only then had he bothered to wrap his arms around her. “And where are your spectacles?”

“Oh.” She stopped trying to push herself off him and let out a breath. “They’re probably crushed now. I had them in the pocket of my gown.”

He stared at her, noting the striking flecks of dark amber within her emerald eyes.

They even sparkled like gemstones, or perhaps that sparkling effect on those deep green pools was merely a trick of the sunlight beating down on them through the silvery canopy of leaves.

“I knew those spectacles were fake, too. Why pretend you needed them?”

“Because I do not want people to notice me. How am I to go about my discreet investigations if everyone is watching me?”

“Who are you investigating now? Not me, I hope.”

“No, Aubrey. Nothing to do with you.” She was still pressed atop him, stretched quite comfortably, and apparently resigned to remaining in that position for a while. She folded her hands on his chest and rested her chin on them while studying him.

He had not been jesting about the twigs and pebbles that were not only digging into his arse but into his back, as well. Still, he was loath to move out from under Florence before he got his answers. “If it’s nothing to do with me, then what are you doing on my property?”

“This is your property?” She frowned again, as though confused. “Does it not belong to the Duke of Weymouth?”

“Yes, it does. You are looking at the new duke. Three weeks to the day since I inherited the title.”

“From your father? Who must have inherited it fairly recently himself from the old duke.” She inhaled lightly. “Oh, Aubrey. I am so sorry. My condolences. I know you and your father were quite close.”

“Thank you, Florence. We were. He only held the title for a few months, and was too ill to do much with it. The added responsibilities were too much for him. I had to take over management of the Weymouth properties along with our Lothmere holdings.”

“That is quite a burdensome task.”

He shrugged. “I am managing.”

“You struck me as a very capable fellow when we first met.”

They had become acquainted last year at a house party at Northam Hall, the summer residence of the Duke of Bromleigh and his wife, Cherish, located just outside of Brighton.

To the best of his recollection, he had not made much of an impression on Florence, although she had quite intrigued him.

Unfortunately, she had spent much of that otherwise pleasant week avoiding him as deliberately as one might avoid rotting fish.

“I’m sorry we did not have time to get to know each other better,” she said, completely ignoring the fact that she had been the one to snub him. “But you know I was busy investigating Lady Cordelia Milbury and retrieving those jewels she stole from Lady Wilmot.”

“Who are you investigating now?” he asked, gently nudging her off him before he grew too comfortable holding her in his arms.

Because she felt really nice in his arms.

She smelled nice, too, a subtle floral scent reminiscent of summer roses at just that point when their petals unfurled under the warmth of the sun and filled the air with the delicate aroma of rose and citrus.

Refreshing. Soothing. Leaving you wanting to breathe in more of her. All of her.

Right. Enough of that.

He sat up and settled her beside him.