Instead, what she’d heard at every farmhouse and cottage they’d stopped at was how kind he was as a landowner. Bringing them baskets and checking on them personally was simply proof of that in their eyes. More, they gushed with excitement about the potential opportunities they credited him with for creating jobs for them and their extended families at the factories to the northeast. Thanks to his canal, the one that her father’s mill was currently stopping.

Comments like those gnawed at her. She would have suspected he’d somehow bribed or forced the farmers and their families to say such things in front of her, except that she knew several of the tenants personally and knew he’d never be able to coerce them like that. No, their sentiments toward the man were genuine, drat him.

“I’m a new duke who only received this title and land due to a fluke of birth,” he explained with chagrin. “A new duke who doesn’t know what to do with all he’s been given because he’s used to working hard to earn everything he’s ever gotten before in life. That’s who I am.”

The tiny muscles in her belly tightened in empathy. “Your Grace, I had—”

“John, please.” With that correction, he cast her a long, hopeful glance. But he didn’t seem to garner the reaction from her that he’d wanted, and his shoulders sagged. “When we’re out here alone, like this, I would prefer that you call me by my Christian name.”

“All right,” she agreed, a bit reluctantly. He might be a new duke who was unsure of his position, but he was still a duke.

“As for this week’s outings, I’m doing them because I want to get to know my tenants, and I can’t do that through a land agent, no matter how good the man is at his job. I also want to let them know that I’m approachable and always ready to listen to their concerns.”

Hmmm…“Are you?”

His lips quirked into a half-grin. Then he surprised the daylights out of her by pulling off his right glove and daring to reach up to stroke his knuckles over her cheek.

He drawled, “I think I’m very approachable.”

For a moment, she could do nothing but stare at him, stunned at his audacity, as her heart somersaulted in her chest. He’d overstepped his bounds, by a goodly ways, yet inexplicably she couldn’t find it within her to scold him for it. “I meant about listening to their concerns.”

“Oh.” With exaggerated disappointment, he dropped his hand away. “That, too.” His eyes shined mischievously as he stole a sideways glance at her. “But I prefer being approachable.”

Based on the way her pulse raced, he was very good at it, even if he’d meant it only as a tease. She should have been relieved to know that he was simply bamming her, yet inexplicable disappointment panged hollowly in her chest. “Then why won’t you listen to my concerns about the mill?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t argue that she was wrong because he was doing exactly that. He’d refused to discuss the mill and the lock during the past three days, despite having hours together to work through their issues and perhaps find a solution. Every time she attempted to bring it up, he changed the subject. So she hadn’t tried to bring it up at all today. Until now, when he’d given her the opening.

“Why ruin a perfectly good mill, John?” The use of his name came easier than she expected, given both that he was a duke and that he shared the name of her secret correspondent. But half the men in England were named John, and Monmouth certainly wasn’t her John. She would know him instantly, even without his mask.

“Why ruin a perfectly nice day by talking about it?” He dismissed her concerns with a flick of the ribbons and a turn of the horse toward the village.

She sat back on the seat with a heavy sigh, once more thwarted in her attempt to discuss the mill.

It had been a perfectly nice day, although she’d never admit that aloud. She’d even looked forward to it, especially the luncheon when the two of them sparred over literature and philosophy, discussed art and all the wonderful places to explore in the world. He’d been self-educated, as was she, and she found him to be as intelligent as anyone who was graduated from university. Moreover, he didn’t hold her in disdain the way she thought he would. He’d surprised her when he’d asked for her input regarding the estate and the village, then downright stunned her when he listened carefully to her opinions and actually gave them worth.

Already she missed their luncheons, knowing after today that there would not be others.

Just as she missed the letters that had stopped coming.

“I know a man named John,” she ventured quietly, spurred on by the ache that flared in her belly at the memory of the masquerade.

He tensed, his shoulders stiffening, but kept his gaze fixed on the horse’s ears. “Lots of men are named John.”

“I suppose.”

When she fell into contemplative silence, he nudged her with his shoulder. “And this John you mentioned, he lives in the village?”

“I don’t know.”

“But he’s one of my tenants, surely.”

“I don’t know that, either.”

“Well, what’s his surname?”

She shook her head.

“But you said you know him.”

“I do,” she shot back defensively. “I know that he’s good and kind, hard working, and intelligent. That he loves his family and has the heart of a poet. He’s sympathetic, considerate, caring—” Dashing, alluring, enthralling…with a gaze that could see into her soul and a touch that had her yearning to surrender.

Until the night of the masquerade, when her mask came off and the magic vanished. When the reality of her father’s mill came crashing back.

“Well, he sounds like a remarkable man,” he mused.

“He is.”

“And nothing like me.”

Far too similar, in fact. But she’d never tell him that. “Not in the least. You’re both two very different men.”

His mouth twisted at that, as if he knew she’d just lied to him. But he let the subject drop and said instead, “We’ve got two more baskets to deliver today, to two cottages on the way back to the village.” He paused as the large wheel dipped into a depression on the dirt road. “Would you be willing to come out with me again tomorrow?”

Oh yes! She shrugged a shoulder as nonchalantly as possible. “I suppose, if you need help with the baskets.”

“I won’t need help with the baskets.” He nudged her again, but this time by touching his thigh to hers. “I just want to spend time with you.”

That quiet confession sparked a faint thrill inside her. She knew not to become infatuated with him. For heaven’s sake, he was a duke, and she was a miller’s daughter. They had no honest future together, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who let men bed her. Not even dukes. Not even ones as handsome and interesting as Monmouth.

But she simply couldn’t resist. The only other man who had made her feel as beautiful and intelligent as Monmouth had during the past few days was no longer part of her life, and she simply wasn’t strong enough to deny herself this small happiness. No matter how fleeting.

Yet the future of her father’s mill continued to hang over them, and she knew that he’d refuse to discuss it tomorrow, just as he’d done today. Unless…

A perfectly devious idea struck.

“We have two baskets left?” She turned in the seat to try to look behind at the wooden box beneath the seat of the dog-cart where they’d conveniently placed them. “Two baskets? But I’m certain there’s only one.”

He darted a glance at her. “Are you sure?”

She bit her lip. “Perhaps we should stop and check. How awful to arrive at the cottage without a basket.”

He reined in the horse, then set the brake and tied off the ribbons. When he jumped to the ground and started to the rear of the dog-cart, she snatched up the ribbons, released the brake, and started the carriage forward.

Surprised, Monmouth scrambled to catch up with the carriage as she drove it away at a slow pace. She certainly wasn’t used to driving, even an easily handled carriage like this, and her hands clenched around the ribbons so tightly that her fingers were white. But she was in no danger, not at this slow pace, and certainly not with this horse, whose plodding gait would have been fit for a child’s pony cart.

“Just pull back slowly on the ribbons, and the horse will stop,” he explained, falling into a walking pace beside the carriage.

She slid him a narrowed glance as if he’d gone daft. “I don’t plan on stopping and letting you back onto the cart. Not until you agree to discuss the mill.”

“I don’t want to ruin an otherwise nice day by—”

She flipped the ribbons, and the horse sped up, forcing him into a faster pace. He’d give up soon and relent. After all, his boots were not made for walking. “I want to discuss the mill.”

“Terms of surrender, you mean,” he chided, now having to bounce along in a jog.

“Terms of negotiation,” she corrected. “Surely a duke knows diplomacy when he sees it.”

“Or at least blackmail,” he grumbled.

Another determined flip of the ribbons, and the horse started into a fast trot.

With a curse, he grabbed the dashboard with one hand and jumped up onto the mounting step on his left foot. He swung himself up onto the cart.

When he slid onto the seat beside her, his hand covered hers to take the ribbons from her. But his other arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to him, bringing her so tightly against him that she could feel the hard muscles of his chest pressing against her bosom and the pounding of his heart, echoed in the rapid pulse of hers.

When she tried to push herself away, the frustrating man refused to budge, except to bring the horse to a stop. His eyes never left hers even as he threw the brake and tied off the ribbons.

Anger flared through her, but so did something else just as hot, just as consuming. “How dare you—”

He kissed her, so unexpectedly that she gasped against his mouth. But beneath the caresses of his sensuous lips, the gasp turned into a low sigh, and her hands that had been pushing at his shoulders to shove him away now clutched at his coat sleeves to keep him right there, pressed tightly against her, kissing her.

Her head swam. Not at the realization that Monmouth was kissing her, this same man who wanted to destroy her father’s mill. Not even because he was a duke.

No, confusion rushed over her like a wave because of the heady sensations of pleasure and need he stirred inside her. She didn’t think any man except for her John could have this same effect on her, could kiss her so knowingly and with such affection. She tasted the same longing and need on his lips that she’d tasted on John’s the night of the masquerade, felt in his strong arms the same tenderness behind his need.

But this wasn’t her John. This man was Monmouth. This man was—

“My enemy,” she whispered breathlessly against his lips.

HE FLINCHED as her words eviscerated him. “We’re not enemies, Cora,” he murmured as he slid his mouth back along her jaw to kiss at the tender flesh beneath her ear. She trembled in response, and his lips smiled against her. “How could we enjoy this so much if we were?”

“I don’t—” she forced out between panting breaths, her hands still clutching at his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“But you do enjoy it…being kissed by me?” His hand slid up to her nape, to massage seductively at the base of her skull.