CHOCOLATE, TEA AND THE DUCHESS (7 page)

she would cry rivers of tears, for she shouldn't be here; she had no right. Phillip had not

chosen her, and she'd never felt more unwanted in her life. He'd not given her any idea

as to how the rest of this day would be spent, nor had he spoken a word to her since

they left her parent's home.

He'd engaged a lady's maid, who greeted her downstairs and showed her to this

room, but Felicity had dismissed the maid before they'd had time to acquaint

themselves with one another.

The desire to dissolve into fits of feminine hysteria threatened to overwhelm her.

She felt desperately sorry for herself and for her new husband, who, above all, was an

honorable man suffering for her impulsive immaturity. She wouldn't blame him if he

never
spoke to her, instead making her suffer in silence for her misdeed, while he

continued with his life as before.

She walked around the room, touching the small keepsakes that had once

belonged to someone else. Nothing in this room was hers, save for the clothes she now

wore. Even they hadn't been in her possession long.

Her life had taken an unseemly turn, one she'd never considered for a single

moment when she'd surreptitiously hidden in his carriage. It all seemed so foolhardy

now, so immature . . . so permanent. Too permanent.

* * * * *

Phillip sat before his fireplace, trying to suppress his rage at their unfair

situation. Though early in the day, he held a glass of brandy in one hand, his other arm

hanging over the arm of the settee.

Glancing into the mirror that hung low over the fireplace, he noticed he'd raked

his fingers through his hair since his return so many times he looked as though he'd just

gotten out of bed. Still clothed as he was for the wedding, he slouched on that setee, not

even having removed his coat or cravat.

Stunned, in shock . . . hazy . . . dead inside. Almost as though during the

ceremony, he'd watched someone else saying the words that sealed his fate. He'd felt

nothing but the strong urge to run, far and fast.

The woman he married was incidental to his feelings. She seemed pleasant

enough, certainly beautiful, but apparently, just as miserable as he. They'd been dealt a

nasty hand, indeed, but dealt it nonetheless. He now had a duchess. Young, in no way

did she resemble any duchess he'd ever met. She undoubtedly knew nothing of the

running of a ducal household, managing servants—or him, for that matter.

Then came the matter of all his secrets, and as the good Lord knew, those were in

abundance. Was this the death knell to his visits to the Sapphire Club? Was he destined

to spend the rest of his miserable days attending balls and Sunday dinners with Lord

and Lady Plimmswood? The thought made his stomach roil.

He took a deliberate, long draught from his glass, hoping to numb his mind

against the myriad thoughts that fought for prominence. He thought of Haynes's

splendid ass, its welcoming warmth wrapped around his cock, massaging the release

from him.

His cock stirred beneath the trousers he'd worn for his goddamned wedding.

Sadly, it hadn't done so for the young, virginal woman in the next room. Instead, he

wished to bury himself inside a young man, for whom Phillip held no more feeling than

for the furniture in this room. Haynes was a vessel—that was all—a faceless, soulless

vessel.

He touched the bulge his thoughts had created; shame flooded over him. A man

of forty with a wife of nineteen should be smiling and anxiously anticipating being the

first man to plunge into her virginal quim. Instead, he sat thinking about a young man's

ass.

One didn't turn those feelings off simply because one acquired a wife—his

penance for a foolish hour. He
was
who he was, a man who enjoyed a woman's charms

as well as a man's. He needed a thrashing as surely as nature called each day, and he

wished to inflict spankings as often as possible on a willing bottom. He would never

apologize for those needs nor would he give them up. The question was, could he ever

tell his wife of those needs? He'd never had to explain himself or his desires to anyone

before this day. Was it necessary to start the unsavory practice now? Was it possible for

them to live separate lives? Certainly, he would consummate the marriage, tonight in

fact, lest the legality of the union be questioned. But after that, could he conduct his life

apart from Felicity's, leaving her to bear the burden of her impetuosity? It all seemed so

unfair to them both.

Yet, they'd share this purgatory they'd created. And they both had played a part,

for he could've chucked her out of the carriage upon discovering her presence. His

honor as a gentleman hadn't allowed him to do such a reprehensible thing, and that

same honor forced him into this marriage.

She'd become his responsibility. He was her husband now, and his duty was to

be that husband. He would find a way to explain his sexual proclivities and assure her,

despite where he might spend several evenings a week, he would return to her side,

and for all the world, they would be the Duke and Duchess of Thornhill.

He dragged himself from the settee and rang for Densham, his valet. There were

preparations to be made for a wedding night to remember.

Chapter Seven

Felicity's maid, Emily, informed Felicity she was to share dinner with her

husband in his chamber. Her heartbeat increased, glad to know she wouldn't spend her

entire wedding night alone. Emily had come to her with the news and had helped her

into clothing more appropriate for the occasion. Her luggage had been sent along even

before the ceremony earlier in the day, and apparently, all her belongings had been put

in their proper places. Emily brought with her a nightrail made of the sheerest silk

Felicity had ever seen, along with a matching wrapper and slippers. Without the

security of her stays and the many layers of clothing she wore each day, she felt

positively, embarrassingly naked.

Emily took the pins from Felicity's hair and brushed the auburn locks until they

shone. She left them down, pulled them back to Felicity's nape, and secured them with

a delicate ribbon.

"When we are finished, Your Grace, you are to join His Grace."

She had only a slight idea as to what to expect. But she wished to see him, to

explain how sorry she was and to beg him at least not to hate her for what she'd done.

On legs that felt like water, she walked toward the adjoining door. After

knocking twice, she waited.

"Enter." His voice sounded deep and powerful.

She gripped the door handle and pushed down on it tentatively. As much as she

wished to see her husband, she was afraid as well. Her stomach lurched as the large

door swung open to reveal a room bathed in candlelight. The shadows from seemingly

hundreds of candles dancing merrily on the walls and ceiling, danced faster with the

sudden movement of air she'd caused.

Masculine smells of sandalwood combined with beeswax assailed her nostrils.

She stepped into the room, seeing Phillip leaning against the mantel, dressed in a dark

blue and gold dressing gown. She noted he still wore trousers but had replaced his

shoes with black kid slippers. He smiled when she turned toward him.

"Good evening, my dear. Please, do come in."

"Thank you." Her voice stopped short, for she didn't feel she belonged there,

despite his invitation.

Phillip pushed away from where he stood and walked toward her. He extended

his hand in welcome and guided her to a round table set up in the middle of the room.

Domed, silver-covered dishes gleamed in the firelight, beckoning her toward them. Her

stomach rumbled quietly, making her realize how hungry she was.

"Please, my dear, sit down, and we shall sup. You must be starved."

"I am. Thank you, Your Grace."

"Please, call me Phillip. We are man and wife now."

She detected no animosity in his voice, no censure, but she looked up at him

from down-turned eyes. As meager as their acquaintance had been, she had nothing on

which to base his current behavior. He was most cordial, most solicitous, but could she

trust this?

"Thank you, Phillip." She smiled as he pulled her chair out and saw her

comfortably seated before taking his own just opposite.

"I believe we need to find some common ground if indeed we are to survive the

next thirty or forty years."

"Yes, I suppose we should." She hesitated before continuing. "I'm sorry for the

trouble I've caused, truly I am. I tend to act before I think, but never did I suspect my

actions would lead to trapping you."

"We mustn't think that way, Felicity, or neither of us will survive this. We must

make good on what we have pledged to do, on our commitment to each other. I cannot

say that I will love you, for I fear I am incapable of such emotion. However, I will

respect you and protect you. I will treat you as befits your position as my wife. I pray I

shall never do anything that causes you a moment of unhappiness, though I cannot

promise that much."

"You needn't promise anything."

He smiled. "I
can
promise that this food is excellent. I employ the finest cook in

all of England." He served her a portion of a wonderful looking pigeon pie, the savory

aroma tantalizing her nose. He poured wine for her then served himself.

"Please eat before it gets cold." He encouraged her by taking a bite himself.

She tasted the pie tentatively, then with zeal. "This is quite good."

He responded with a smile. He had a wonderful smile. She said a silent prayer

that she would be able coax more from him.

"On the night of the ball, in the carriage, you eluded to some knowledge as to

what to expect of the marriage bed. Would you care to share with me what you know?"

Now wasn't the time to be missish, a trait she simply loathed in young women. "I

know that we are made to fit together. My mother said it hurts, and that you will be the

only one to derive pleasure from our coupling. She said I must endure for your sake."

She didn't divulge anything else, waiting to hear what he would say.

"Yes, we are made to fit together; yes it will hurt, but only the first time, and I

say, with all due respect to your mother, you will experience as much pleasure as I will,

for I shall see to it."

"Is that possible?"

"But, of course, it is possible."

She thought back at her conversation with Serenity and of hearing the woman's

moans of delight as she and her husband engaged in their lovemaking. Her quim

clenched, her breasts tightened.

"Do you know about your maidenhead?"

"Yes, I know that you will break it and that will hurt terribly."

Phillip's smile appeared sympathetic. "My dear, it is no wonder that marriages

are so notoriously unhappy, with poor, uninformed girls entering into marriages with

their mother's advice as their only guidance.

"Yes, it will hurt as I break through the thin membrane inside you, but shortly

after, it will hurt no more. I cannot tell you the degree of pain. You will have to tell me

and I will act accordingly."

"I'm not afraid."

Phillip rose from the table and offered his hand to Felicity. She rose as well and

was surprised when he swept her into his arms. He towered over her, something she

hadn't really noticed until just then. She'd been somewhat aware during their dance, but

the magic of that moment had negated any relevant thought.

He leaned in and whispered, "You are quite beautiful."

The warmth of his breath against her ear sent shivers throughout her body. He

was rocking her slightly, pulling her closer and closer to him. Her head was full of his

scent and thoughts of what was to happen next. Fear and want consumed her.

His hand slid down her back, coming to rest just above her buttocks. With a light

nudge, he pressed her against his erection. Her immediate thought was to thank Agnes

Dye for the lessons in school because Felicity knew what he was doing.

"Do you feel my want of you?" he asked, kissing her forehead.

"Yes." Her mouth went dry. She stood with her hands still at her sides, not sure

what to do with them. God, how she wished she'd watched Serenity and Lucien! That

was the lesson she really should have had, though she'd rather enjoyed the spanking.

Phillip dipped his head and found her lips, taking them with tenderness. His

tongue lightly moistened her bottom lip then nibbled just enough to awaken her from

her thoughts. She raised her arms to his shoulders, encircled his neck, and pulled him

closer to her mouth. Her tongue ventured out, touching his, savoring the taste of the

wine he'd drunk at dinner. Once engaged, they kissed, bit, and licked.

Felicity felt his fingers in her hair as he untied the ribbon. Backing away slightly,

he combed through her locks, spreading them down her back and some over her

shoulders.

"You smell of lavender," he said.

His observation amazed her.

Then he let her go and went to ring for the servants. She stood alone, in the

middle of the room, stunned by the enigma that was her husband. Densham scratched

at the door moments later, and Phillip instructed him to remove the table and to bring