Duchess in Love (34 page)

E
sme had slept with more men than had many ladies in the
ton
. Mind you, she had slept with fewer men than were credited to her, and yet more than she should have, as a lady who married at seventeen years old. But since her wedding night, some ten years previous, she had never invited a man into her bed unless they shared a good deal of mutual desire. In fact, for the past six years, she hadn't desired anyone enough to take the risk. Until last night, of course.

She tightened the cord around her robe. Her husband had said that he would visit tonight. She had dismissed her maid two hours ago, and still there was no sign of him.

The problem was…the problem was last night. With an effort she pushed away an image of her body, shaking so much that she literally trembled from head to foot. Dismissed from her memory the muscled chest, the kisses, the cries, the—

Babies, she thought. Think about babies. Last night was a fantasy, a dream. It will never happen again. She sat down before the fire. Babies were reality. A baby would love her, and stay with her. A baby wouldn't escort her back to her room without a word, and avoid her throughout the day. It
wasn't that she wanted acknowledgment from Sebastian. After all, he was on the verge of marrying her best friend in the world. But a goodbye would have been nice, she thought forlornly. She clenched her teeth. She wasn't the sort of woman to whom the Sebastians of the world said goodbye. Oh, he'd enjoyed last night. She hadn't been the only one shaking. He'd enjoyed her, and enjoyed the night, and left without a word.

There was a scratch on the door, just in time to stop her from dissolving into tears. She loathed tears, despised them. Babies, she thought as she rose. Little round heads and sweet smells. Virtually every married woman said that after the third baby they vowed to become celibate. She would have so many babies that the memory of the previous night would fade into nothing.

She opened the door and smiled at her husband. “Do come in, Miles.”

He tiptoed in and waited until she shut the door before he spoke. “Good evening, Esme,” he whispered.

“You needn't whisper,” she said. “We
are
married, after all.”

Miles cleared his throat. He had an embarrassed air that she thought was terribly nice of him. “Of course. You're absolutely right. Of course.” He fell into silence. His eyes slid away from hers. “What a good fire!” he said.

“This isn't very comfortable, is it?” she said, answering his demeanor.

“It isn't you,” he said, meeting her eyes again. “I…well, you're beautiful. And here I am.” He patted his stomach, which was indeed rather large. “With Lady Childe—” He ground to a halt. “Beg pardon, my dear, I meant never to mention her.”

“Oh, Miles, we shouldn't pretend with each other.” Against all reason, she was feeling much better. “Why don't
we sit down and have a glass of wine, and talk like the sensible married couple that we are?”

They both gratefully succumbed to the little ceremony of pouring wine and seating themselves.

Then Esme looked at her husband. He truly was one of the nicest men she'd ever met. “So does Lady Childe admire your tummy, Miles?” She twinkled at him. “I think we should be quite frank with each other. After all, we are about to become lovers again, and we are already friends.”

He looked startled and then enormously pleased. “We are friends, aren't we?”

She nodded. “And now that we're going to be parents, our friendship is even more important.”

“True enough,” Miles said. “I'm afraid that my parents were not pleasant to each other, and it made my childhood rather painful.”

“Neither were mine,” Esme said, and they smiled at each other with the relief of finding something in common.

“So we both value civility in parenthood,” she continued, taking a sip of wine.

“Other than that, I don't know anything about parenting,” Miles confessed. “My parents spent most of their time at court and left us in the country, so I never saw much of my father or my mother.”

“That's why you wish us to live together,” she guessed.

He nodded. “It did give me a lifelong love of the country. My hope is that we can spend time there with the children, rather than living apart from them.”

“I intend to be a very motherly mother. In fact—” she looked at him challengingly—“I am going to breastfeed my own children.”

Pink rose up his throat. That was obviously more detail than he had bargained for. “Whatever you wish, my dear,” he spluttered.

The wish that her husband didn't have a double chin darted across Esme's mind—and then she took it back. If she started being critical, there'd be no end to it. The best thing would be to never allow herself to have negative thoughts about Miles. She swallowed the rest of her wine.

“Shall we?” She stood up and glanced at the bed, and then smiled at her husband.

He heaved himself to his feet but stood without moving. “This is damn hard,” he said. “I feel like some sort of reprobate, bedding you.”

“We're
married,
Miles!”

“But we're not—I'm a tub of lard, as the phrase goes.” He tugged at his waistcoat. “And you're the most lovely woman in the
ton,
everyone knows that.”

Esme walked over to him and put her hands flat on his chest. “Will you join me in our bed, Miles?” She leaned over and feathered a kiss across his lips. Then she stood back, untied her robe, and let it fall.

He blinked.

Esme knew precisely what she looked like: she was wearing a French creation that was designed to make any man in the vicinity ravenous with lust. In fact, when she wore it on a previous occasion, the man in her vicinity lunged in a quite gratifying way.

Miles didn't move a finger.

She started undoing his vest. “Would you like to come to bed now?”

Color surged up into his cheeks. “Yes, of course. Beg forgiveness, my dear.” He removed her hands and undid his waistcoat by himself. Released from tight buttons, his stomach seemed to expand in every direction. Esme politely averted her eyes.

He began to wrestle with his cuff links.

“Would you like me to help?”

“No! No, thank you,” he said.

She couldn't help but notice that his tone was rather miserable. She backed up and sat on the edge of the bed. Miles wore the kind of shirt that hung almost to his knees, so it was quite an operation hoisting it over his head. Moreover, it seemed to be a difficult business bending over to pull off his boots—obviously his valet did that for him normally—but he managed it. And finally, there he was, wearing nothing more than smalls. Esme took a deep breath. It wasn't as bad as she thought. She could do this.

The question really was: could he? He didn't appear riveted by lust. He sat down next to her on the bed, but all he did was pick up her hand and pat it, in the most paternal fashion.

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. But he didn't lunge at her. Perhaps she should take off her nightdress? Unlike his clothing, the French nightdress practically flew off her body, it was so easily unfastened.

He cast a glance at her but looked away, as if she had belched in public. Esme looked down at her body. As far as she could tell, it looked just as appealing as it always had. Certainly the same as when they first married, and he had been gratifyingly complimentary at the time. At least when they weren't quarreling.

“Miles, we're friends. Therefore, as a friend, please tell me what the problem is?” She tried to make her voice sound casual.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm not absolutely certain I can do this.”

“Am I—is there something?”

“You're lovely.” But she noticed he still didn't look at her. “I feel guilty,” he said in a rush. His eyes were as mournful as those of a sick cow. “I don't make a very good adulterer. I feel as if I'm being unfaithful.”

“To Lady Childe,” Esme said.

“Yes. Isn't that foolish? You're my wife, and she's not. But—”

“She's the wife of your heart,” Esme said, smiling at him. “Would you rather not do this, Miles?”

“She told me to,” he said miserably. “She said that I must, that she was happy for me, that there was no choice, really.”

“There
is
a choice. You could put on your clothes and go back to your room, and no one would be the wiser.”

He shook his head. “I have spent an absurd amount of time in the past few years thinking about having an heir, Esme. I never believed it was a true possibility.”

“You could have divorced me,” she pointed out.

“No. Our marriage was a joint failure.”

“You are such a
good
person, Miles,” she said in a rush. “I don't deserve you.”

“Nonsense!”

She bit her lip. “Here—” She stood up and walked across the room to the wine decanter. “Have some more wine.” She poured it into his glass and then snuffed the candles until there was no light in the room but the glow from the fire.

Then she got herself into bed and under the covers. “Miles, will you join me?” she said, trying to sound very sensible. “I should like to make an heir now.” She said it exactly as if she were requesting that he partner her at whist.

The bed groaned as he lay down. Esme drew the bed curtains so that they lay in absolute pitch darkness.

She waited a moment but he didn't move, so she gave an internal sigh and reached out. But she met his hands halfway; his slid by and rested on her shoulders.

“I'm embarrassed—”

“Miles, we're
friends
. We are not virgins either. That should make this whole thing easier.”

His hand slid from her shoulder to her breast. Her hands slipped even lower on his body.

 

I
t was some three hours later that Esme woke up. Had Miles made a sound? No, he was breathing loudly but evenly, which was good because at some point his breath had become so labored that she thought he might be overexerting himself.

It wasn't so bad, she told herself. They had gotten through it with a modicum of grace and a good deal of humor. She could certainly do it again, if need be. Well, it likely took a while to become pregnant. Perhaps even four or five times.

She did hear something! She rose up on her elbow but the bed curtains were still drawn and she couldn't see anything. Yes—there was definitely someone in the room. She could hear a shuffling noise.

Then, with an awful lurch to her stomach, she remembered the statue that Gina had given her for safekeeping. It stood on her bedside table, in clear view of the intruder.

She put her mouth to Miles's ear. “Wake up! There is a thief in our room!”

He woke up without a sound and pushed her back. The bed creaked when he sat up, but the thief didn't seem to have noticed. She didn't hear the door open. Perhaps he thought that she made the noise turning in her sleep. Soundlessly she slid to the other side of the bed, off the side and under the bed curtain.

Grabbing the Aphrodite, she started to tiptoe around the bed when there was a muffled scrambling sound. She ran around the end of the bed to see that Miles had lunged from the bed and seized the intruder. The fire was quite out by now, so all she could see was two black forms grappling in the darkness. She could hear Miles grunting with exertion.

Suddenly she found her voice. “Help! Help!” she
screamed, darting to the bell cord and pulling it with all her might. “Someone help us. There's a thief in the room!”

A second later she heard a confused noise up and down the hall. But it all happened so fast that afterward she had great difficulty describing the scene. The two men struggling before her separated, and the larger one swayed and went to his knees, clutching his chest.

“Miles!” she shrieked, running to him.

Oddly enough, the thief didn't immediately flee. She waved the Aphrodite at him. “I'll brain you with this if you approach!” Then she cast a closer look at her husband and dropped the statue, which fell to the ground with a dull thump. “Miles, are you all right?” He was oddly slumped with his head on his chest. He made a gargling noise.

With one swift movement the thief crouched at her side and reached out his hand to prop up Miles's head.

“Oh my God, Sebastian!”

T
he door burst open and a crowd of people exploded into the room, but Esme paid no attention. When the door opened, light flooded in from the candles people held. Miles's face was an odd grayish-green color. She tried to push him backward so that he could lie down but she couldn't move him from his knees.

“Someone help me,” she said hoarsely. “Miles, please. Speak to me.”

Strong hands pushed her to the side. Lady Childe pulled Miles forward so that his head lay against her chest. Esme saw with a sickening thump of her heart how limply his body collapsed. She scrambled to straighten his knees.

“Miles,” Lady Childe said in her deep voice. “Open your eyes, Miles.”

There was a hushed silence around them. And then Esme heard, as if from a distance, Helene ordering everyone from the room. Vaguely she wondered about Sebastian, but her husband had opened his eyes. He looked up at Lady Childe for a moment and the breath caught in Esme's throat at the look in his eyes.

Lady Childe put a hand on his cheek. “Don't speak, dearest.”

Esme saw that all the color was gone from his face now.

“Make sure they've sent for a doctor,” Lady Childe whispered.

Esme jumped up and threw open the door. Sebastian was standing just outside, looking as grim as a sentinel. She recoiled. “What are you doing here?” she hissed.

“Waiting to see if Lord Rawlings will recover.” His face was absolutely white.

“We need a doctor!” she said furiously. “Go get one!”

“A curricle has already been sent for the doctor,” Sebastian said. “May I—”

But she couldn't bear to listen to him. She shut the door with a quiet rap.

Miles was looking at Lady Childe again. The room was so quiet that Esme started counting his breaths. They came slowly and with visible effort.

“William,” he said in a harsh whisper.

“William? William who?” Esme asked.

“The babe,” Lady Childe said. Her hand cupped his cheek. “We'll name your babe William. Don't worry about it, sweetheart. Just stay with us until the doctor arrives.”

Esme's eyes filled with tears. “He's not—he's not—”

Miles had turned his face against Lady Childe's bosom. She stroked his face and dropped a kiss on his forehead. “It's all right, darling,” she said, and her voice was as soft as water falling. “I love you.”

He seemed to be struggling to say something. She hushed him. “I know you love me, Miles. I know, I know. And I love you.” She pulled him tighter against her chest. “We'll name him William, and I will make sure he knows you, darling. I will tell him all about you.”

Esme clutched the hand she held. “I won't ever leave William alone in the country and go to London, Miles. I'll take him with me everywhere.”

She couldn't tell if he heard her and it didn't feel right to sit with the two of them, so she rose after a few moments and went to the window. She pulled the heavy drape and looked out, her back to the couple on the ground. She could hear a confused clamor from the household, footsteps and raised voices.

Why had Sebastian entered her chamber? She closed her eyes. Obviously, he thought to surprise her in bed. Humiliation, anguish, and pain beat an alternating rhythm in her chest. Her lover had come into her room and her husband was dead as a result.

It was early, early morning. White fogs danced over Lady Troubridge's lawn, swept over the rose bushes as they waited to be evaporated by the sun.

The sky was just turning a delicate pearly rose color when Lady Childe rose and stood beside her.

Esme cast a quick look over her shoulder. Miles looked as if he were sleeping, except that he was lying on the floor. “I'm not sure that I
have
a child,” she said. Her throat was rough with tears. “I think it takes more than one night.”

“Very likely. But Miles knew little of reproductive matters. He was comforted by the thought.”

“Yes, well.” Esme put her hand on her tummy and wished with all her heart that a small William was nestled there.

“Last night…” she said stumblingly.

“It doesn't matter,” Lady Childe said. Her face was utterly calm and she didn't appear to have shed a tear, unlike Esme, whose eyes were swollen.

“It mattered to Miles,” Esme insisted. “It wasn't a simple thing. He felt adulterous…he couldn't…we had to be in the dark.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “He loved you so much.”

“Yes he did,” Lady Childe said, and Esme saw the first crack in her composure. “And I…and I too—”

She was smaller than Esme, so Esme pulled her husband's mistress against her shoulder and wept with her, for the sweetness of Miles, for the love of Miles, for Miles.

 

I
t was sometime later, after Lady Childe and she had managed to put Miles's shirt and trousers back on, that there was a scratch on the door. Lady Childe was sitting on the floor, stroking Miles's hair. Esme walked to the door and opened it slightly. Sebastian was still there. He looked at her without speaking. Lady Troubridge and an elderly gentleman stood beside her.

“This is Dr. Wells,” Lady Troubridge said in a low voice.

“I'm afraid it's too late.”

She nodded. “May I speak to Lucy?”

With a start, Esme realized that she didn't even know Lady Childe's first name. Lady Troubridge must be a close friend to address her as Lucy. She moved back silently.

The doctor bent over Miles for a second, talked briefly to Esme and Lady Childe, and then left. Esme stepped into the hallway and faced Sebastian. “Do you…did everyone see you?”

“Yes. How would you like to proceed, Lady Rawlings?”

“Proceed? What do you mean?”

“I realize this is not a propitious time for a marriage proposal, but—”

“Are you deranged? You think I would marry
you
? The man who killed my husband?” She spoke out of the depths of her fury and self-hatred.

He went completely still. “I apologize from the bottom of my heart,” he said. “I can only offer—”

“Your hand!” she spat. “I wouldn't take your hand in marriage even if you weren't a stodgy—boring—
virgin
!”

She wouldn't have thought it was possible for him to
grow whiter, but he did. “I am afraid that your reputation will be damaged—”

Again she cut him off. “Leave. I want you to leave. The one thing you can grant me is the promise I will never see you again. Ever. Have I made myself clear?”

His eyes searched hers. “Quite clear,” he said.

She stepped back and waited for him to go, and after a moment he did. She went back into her bedchamber and sat next to her dead husband. But she didn't belong there. Lady Childe belonged there.

Still, she sat. It was the least she could do for Miles, even though it was too little, too late. She sat, twisting her hands in her lap, her stomach knotted in self-loathing.

After an hour or so, Lady Troubridge looked at Esme and said, “Would you mind asking a footman to summon my maid, my dear?”

Esme walked back into the corridor and almost collided with Helene. “Does everyone know?” she asked, without ceremony. She had to force the words out past lips grown stiff.

Helene was known in the
ton
as a woman of utmost composure. Faced with her husband's worst depravities, she had never showed a twinge of emotion. But her face was condemning now. “Bonnington was partially dressed,” she said. “He had taken off his shirt when Miles attacked him. Apparently he thought to steal into your bed.”

“Does Gina know?” Esme whispered.

Helene drew her across the hallway and into her room. “How could you? How could you do that to Gina?”

“I didn't until night before last. Not until it was clear that Gina was going to remain with her husband. Sebastian knew I was reconciling with Miles. But he left before I could tell him it was happening immediately.”

“You shouldn't have done it,” Helene said. “And Bonnington—the fool—men are such fools!”

“It's all my fault,” Esme said dully. “I killed my husband. I killed Miles because I'm a trollop.”

“Bonnington is protecting your reputation,” Helene said. “He has announced that he mistook the room.”

“What? Whose room did he say it was?”

“He said that he meant to visit his wife.”

“His
wife
?” Esme's voice rose.

Helene nodded. “He has told the entire house party that he and Gina were married yesterday afternoon, by special license, and that he was visiting his wife's room. Except that he miscounted the number of doors and ended up in your room by accident. Esme! You're not going to faint, are you?”

“I never faint,” she muttered. But she did sit down. “Did you say that he told the house party that he and Gina were
married
?”

Helene sat down as well. “Yes.”

“That's impossible! Gina is still married to her husband.”

“In fact, I gather that the annulment was finalized a few days ago.”

“But she is in love with her husband.”

“I have no idea about her feelings.” Helene's voice had regained its customary dispassionate ring. “She has not yet denied Bonnington's account. There is, naturally, a good deal of speculation regarding the presence of your husband in your bedchamber.”

Esme made an impatient gesture. “Let the vultures think as they will. Where is Gina?”

“I haven't seen her. I assume that she is downstairs accepting congratulations on her marriage. Naturally, everyone is horrified by your husband's death. Most people are leaving the house party immediately, out of respect.”

There was a noise at the door and Gina slipped through.

Esme rose to her feet. “I'm sorry,” she said haltingly, “I know there is nothing I can say, but I'm so
sorry
. I shouldn't ever have—” Her voice cracked.

For a moment Esme and Gina just stared at each other. “I cannot say that it doesn't matter,” Gina finally said. “It does. Do you wish to marry Sebastian?”

A revolted look crossed Esme's face. “Absolutely not,” she said. “I must have been crazed to sleep with him in the first place.”

Gina sank into a chair. “Everyone thinks I'm married to him now,” she said, her tone stark. “So I gather I'll be the one sleeping with him next.”

“You don't have to acquiesce in that story,” Helene stated.

“If I don't, Esme's reputation will be ruined,” Gina said. “If people even suspect that Sebastian intended to visit her bedchamber, she will be thrown out of society.”

“Esme's reputation is hardly untarnished now,” Helene pointed out.

“And I don't care!” Esme put in. “I betrayed your trust, and slept with your fiancé. Why are you even
thinking
about my reputation?”

Gina's eyes were strained and bleak. “Most husbands keep a mistress,” she said. “I suppose I shall become accustomed to sharing Sebastian.”

Esme swallowed. “He isn't that kind of—” she started, but Helene put a hand on her arm.

“Where is the duke?”

“He's in London although he'll likely return soon, because he thinks we're performing the play tonight. We did not part on the best of terms. In fact, I told him that I was planning to marry Sebastian.” Then Gina added, rather miserably, “and he didn't argue with me.”

“This is my fault,” Esme cried. “It was I. I killed Miles, and—”

“Nonsense,” Helene said in a quelling voice. “Miles died of a spasm of the heart. Lady Troubridge told me that he had had two episodes just this week. She had urged him to send for a doctor from London. He could have gone at any time. He was not well.”

“I didn't know that. I'm his wife, and I didn't even know he was ill.” Tears were falling down Esme's face again and her voice was raw. “No one thinks I loved him, but I
did
. He was so good, and true, and I should never have made him leave. I should have stayed with him, and by now we would have had children. He wanted a baby but I don't have it—” She broke down into convulsive sobs. “If only I hadn't been so stupid!”

Helene patted her shoulder. Gina reached over and took her hand.

Esme's face was blotchy and swollen. At that moment, she was far from being London's most beautiful woman. “Sebastian must tell the truth,” she said. “I shall do so myself, as soon as I go downstairs. I don't care a bean for my reputation. I'm going to retire to the country.”

“And do what?” Helene said fondly. “Grow beans?”

“I shall be in deep mourning. Please, Gina, tell Sebastian to be truthful. I intend to leave the house immediately. It is of no consequence what people think of me.”

Gina swallowed. “The
ton
will crucify you, Esme. There has to be another way.”

“There isn't. I don't give a hang what people think of me. I will never, ever sleep with another man, so help me God. All I want is to be left in peace. You and Sebastian have my blessings.” She hesitated. “I just want you to know, Gina, that I never would have done it, except that I believed you wanted to remain married to Girton.”

“That's just it,” Gina cried. “I don't know what I want! One moment, I want to be married to Sebastian, and the next, I want to be married to Cam.”

There was a noise in the hall. Esme wrenched open the door just in time to see four footmen carry her husband from the bedchamber. She stood in the doorway, hand on her heart. Helene came up behind her.

“Do they know where to take him?” Esme asked. “Miles has to go home to the country. He would want to go home.”

“There's time,” Helene said soothingly. “They'll put him in the chapel for the moment. The coach will leave this afternoon.”