Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) (26 page)
Read Falling Into Bed with a Duke (Hellions of Havisham) Online
Authors: Lorraine Heath
She, who never cried, was feeling those burning tears once again. “Ashe—”
“I can make do without a dowry. I can’t make do without you. Even if you don’t love
me—
”
“I do! I tried not to, but I can’t stop thinking about you, missing you, wanting you. Yet I’m afraid that these feelings aren’t real. The love we both claim. What if it’s pretense, like Lady V?”
“She’s not pretense. She’s simply another part of you. Minerva, almost from the beginning, I knew who you were. Everything we had at the Nightingale, we’ll continue to have. Everything we had outside the Nightingale, we’ll continue to have. We’ll have it all.”
And she believed him. The truth was there in his eyes, in the way he smiled at her. “I love you, Ashe.”
The look he gave her melted her heart. It was the sort of look for which she’d waited six Seasons. It was the sort of look that promised an eternity of happiness. “Although I’d rather marry sooner than later.”
“How does the end of the month suit you?” he asked.
“People will think we were forced to marry.”
“We were—because we couldn’t stand to go a night longer without each other.” He drew her in close. “Keep the knee down.”
Before she could assure him, she would, he took her mouth and kissed her as only a man who was in love with her could.
M
ISS Minerva Dodger’s upcoming marriage to the Duke of Ashebury was the talk of London. Especially as it became evident whenever they were seen together that they were madly in love. Minerva, who usually hated the gossip rags, suddenly found herself enjoying them very much.
But more, she’d enjoyed preparing for her wedding. She wasn’t at all nervous that it was almost time for her to head to the church. Rather, she studied her reflection in the cheval glass, loving the way that her gown of white Honiton lace and pearls molded to her body. Orange blossoms circled the crown of her veil, holding it in place. Wearing the gold anklet, she jangled just a tiny bit when she walked.
“You look beautiful, Minerva,” Grace said as she adjusted the train.
“I do rather, don’t I? I knew love was worth waiting for.”
“I told you that you would find a man who loved you.”
“I still have a difficult time believing it sometimes.”
“But you’re happy.”
“Immeasurably so.”
A knock sounded on the door. Grace opened it, and Minerva’s father walked in.
“Fathers need a moment with their daughters on their wedding day. I’ll be waiting downstairs,” Grace said before slipping out of the room.
“You’re as beautiful as your mother,” he said.
Minerva gave him a teasing smile. “I always thought I more closely resembled you.”
“You have my dark eyes, but other than that, you are your mother.”
“I have your head for business.”
“But you have her backbone. Are you sure you want to marry him?”
“Very sure. I love him, and he’s not going to like this, but I want my dowry back. I was so busy searching for someone to love me, to prove he loved me, that I didn’t realize it was enough that I loved him. I don’t want him to have to sell his treasures or be burdened unnecessarily because his investments didn’t pan out. I know he loves me with or without my dowry, but more importantly, I love him. I want him to have the funds you promised.”
“They’re already in his bank account. It’s your wedding present. I intended for you to find out in a few days when his man of business pays him a visit to give him a report on his finances.”
In spite of the fact that she might wrinkle her gown, she wrapped her arms around her father’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. “I love you so much.”
“Always remember, Minerva, I was the man who loved you first.”
“I know.” The tears fell, and she didn’t bother to stop them.
“Don’t cry. I can’t stand it when a woman cries.”
With a laugh, she shoved away from him. “I know that as well.”
He turned away, but not before she saw dampness in his eyes. “Let’s get on with it,” he said. “It’s not every day I give my daughter away.”
“You’re not giving her away. She’s still yours.”
With a smile, he glanced back. “That she is. That she will always be.” Reaching toward her, he lowered her veil over her face. “Lucky man, him and me.”
Lucky girl, she thought, to have the love of two incredible men.
T
HE wedding was grand, more than Minerva had ever expected. The church was packed, the reception following well attended. Ashe had looked so handsome standing at the altar. The expression on his face as she neared—how had she ever thought that he didn’t love her?
Now she waited in her bedchamber for him to come to her. The gaslights burned low, chasing away the shadows. She wore a silk nightdress, the gold around her ankle, and—
The door opened. Her breath caught at the sight of her husband in a silk dressing gown. He looked at her. Laughed.
“Oh, no, we’re not having that.”
She couldn’t stop herself from smiling as he strode across the room. Reaching behind her head, he untied the ribbons and tossed the mask aside. “That’s better,” he murmured, just before taking possession of her mouth.
They’d managed to sneak in a handful of kisses during the past month, but she had wanted to wait for more until their wedding night. Now they would have all the time in the world to be in each other’s arms. He peppered kisses over her face, along her throat. She sighed, whimpered.
“My wife,” he murmured.
“Your wife.”
He stepped back, untied the sash on his dressing gown, and shrugged out of it. Her breath caught at the sight of him, her mouth went dry. “I’m going to learn how to use your camera.”
He grinned. “Not tonight.”
He walked over to the bed, climbed onto it, and sat back against the headboard, his arms behind his head.
“What are you doing?”
“Take off the nightdress . . . slowly. I want to watch the light touch every inch of you.”
“Do you?” she asked, as she sauntered nearer to the side of the bed. She was amazed she could be this comfortable with him on her wedding night. On the other hand, it wasn’t as though she was a virgin. Very slowly, she released a button. Then another, another, watching as his eyes darkened into a smoldering haze, his body tightened, his breathing shortened. When the last button was released, she skimmed her finger along her torso between her breasts. His breath caught.
Oh, she liked having this power. She eased the cloth off one shoulder, slipped it off the other. The silk slowly glided down.
He growled, low and feral, before moving swiftly, capturing her, and rolling her onto the bed until she was on her back, and he was pressed against her side, raised up on an elbow, gazing down on her. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to see you in light. When we go to the estate, I’m going to take you out to a field, where the sunlight can shine down on you, and I shall make wild, passionate love to you there.”
“Outside?”
“We’re going to make love everywhere: in the forests, in the rain, in every room, every building.” He skimmed his hand along her side. “I love you, Minerva.”
“I shall never tire of your saying that.”
“Good. I intend to say it every day.”
“I love you, Ashe. I can’t believe how much. I didn’t know it was possible to love this deeply.”
He lowered his mouth to hers, and she allowed everything she felt for him to bubble up as passion consumed them in a conflagration that she feared might leave them both scorched. How was it that there could be so many various sensations coming together to create a marvelous journey into pleasure?
As they touched, kissed, stroked, caressed, the fire that had always been between them built, higher, wider, stronger. Their movements became frenzied, their needs overwhelming. When she thought she would go mad with wanting, he plunged into her, hard, deep. Her body closed around him, held him tightly.
Lifting himself above her, he gazed down on her, pumping into her with sure, steady, hard thrusts. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she dug her fingers into his buttocks, holding him close, urging him on. Every inch of her felt as though sparks were shooting from her. Their bodies became slick. Their moans and groans echoed around them.
The sensations built, tightened, then exploded. Fireworks burst behind her eyes as she cried out his name, heard him growl hers as he threw his head back with a final thrust.
Then he stilled. His breathing as harsh and heavy as hers. With a satisfied smile, he kissed the tip of her nose before rolling onto his side and bringing her flush against him.
“It’s magnificent with light,” she said breathlessly. “When I can see everything.”
He chuckled low. “I should have a mirror installed above us for you.”
She nipped at his nipple. “Maybe we’ll just go to the Nightingale one night.”
“If you like.”
“Might be interesting.”
“We’ll go on the anniversary of your first visit.”
She trailed her fingers along his chest. “Will you show me your private collection of photos sometime?”
“I burned them.”
Rising on her elbow, she stared down on him. “Why?”
“Because I no longer needed them.” He tucked her hair behind her ear. “They helped me deal with the images of carnage that I couldn’t get out of my mind. I thought that if I could replace those images with perfect lines, I could conquer the nightmares. But it didn’t work until you. As I told you, thoughts of you silence the horrors. So I had no need to keep the others.”
“I should have liked to see them.”
“I can re-create them with you as my model.”
“If I pose for you, you must pose for me. Tit for tat.”
Grinning, he threaded his fingers through her hair, held her head. “My daring and wicked wife. Is it any wonder that I love you?”
Then he brought her down, captured her mouth, and plundered.
Wasn’t love grand?
Several years later
S
TANDING on the sixth step of the stairs that led into the foyer, Ashe stared at the door through which he’d watched his parents leave. It was odd that the older he got, the more he missed them.
He wished they could see how he and Minerva had managed to turn their finances around with investments—and without touching the gift her father had given them for their wedding. It was merely held in reserve in case it was ever needed. Otherwise, since it wasn’t part of the entailment, it would be divided among their children.
He wished they could have met Minerva, the rudder in his life. He had not thought it possible to love so thoroughly. There were times when the depth of his feelings for her scared the hell out of him. He’d hold her all the more tightly.
He wished they’d had an opportunity to know their grandchildren.
The patter of tiny feet echoed through the foyer as his son and daughter rushed to the front door, their mother following at a slower pace. She was once again with child.
“Papa, come on!” his burnished-hair daughter cried. “Grandfather promised to teach us how to pick pockets today.”
Ashe scowled at Minerva. “Thought he was going to teach them how to avoid getting their pockets picked.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “You know my father.”
He started down the steps. “I suppose you’ll teach them to cheat at cards.”
“Lovingdon’s son has already mastered it. We can’t have our children at a disadvantage.”
He slipped his arm around her. “How are you feeling?”
“Making progress. My breakfast stayed put.”
“Come oonnn!” their son lamented. “Everyone will already be there.”
All of Minerva’s siblings and their families were meeting at her parents’ residence to celebrate her parents’ wedding anniversary.
“All right then,” Ashe said. “Off we go.”
The footman opened the door, and the children rushed out.
“Our children need to master patience,” Ashe said, as he started to escort Minerva across the foyer.
“I prefer their enthusiasm.”
“Then enthusiastic they shall be.”
At the door, Ashe stopped and glanced back. Once the screams of his youth had haunted this place. But now all he heard was the laughter of his children, the joy in his wife’s voice, and love.
A
SHE suffered from a condition known as dyscalculia. It’s similar to dyslexia, except that it involves the concept of numbers. I first learned of this condition many years ago when a friend’s son was diagnosed with the condition. With the patient help of knowledgeable educators, he was able to learn how to work with numbers. This condition would not have been understood during Ashe’s time.
As for the Nightingale Club, it is based on the Parrot Club, a house set up in the 1850s by three ladies who wanted a place to meet and share lovers. For this story, I took the liberty of expanding its purpose and its membership.
LORRAINE HEATH
always dreamed of being a writer. After graduating from the University of Texas, she wrote training manuals, press releases, articles, and computer code, but something was always missing. When she read a romance novel, she not only became hooked on the genre, but quickly realized what her writing lacked: rebels, scoundrels, and rogues. She’s been writing about them ever since. Her work has been recognized with numerous industry awards, including RWA’s prestigious RITA®. Her novels have appeared on the
USA Today
and
New York Times
bestseller lists.
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