Heartless (12 page)

Another dull-witted one. Wonderful. Glancing at his bride, he asked, “How is it, beautiful Merri, that you are so perceptive while the rest of your family seems to play a few cards shy of a full deck?” She shrugged in answer, her eyes wary.

The duke crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head curiously at the dowager. “And you know Derringer so well, my lady?”

She appeared nonplussed. “Well, of course I do. He is my son-in-law.”

“Is he? So Merri is your daughter. How lucky for you if not for her,” he retorted caustically.

“She did lie!” exclaimed young Lady Harwood, clapping her hands in glee. “Everyone believes she is legitimate.”

“You mean she is not related to her ladyship?” the duke asked in apparent shock. He glanced at Leandra. “Is this true?”

“I am afraid it is,” the duchess murmured contritely, her earlier wariness replaced with silent laughter.

Derringer grinned. “Thank God. Were you related to a harpy like her ladyship here, I’d pity the duke, Merri.”

“Would you?”

“Truly. To have to endure such family would be the death of him. I hear he’s a trifle crazy, you know,” he added confidingly to the dowager and her children. Derringer saw the youngest female pale and felt an unusual qualm about frightening her unnecessarily.

“Nonsense!” stated the dowager in accents of annoyance.

“Do you know Derringer, then, my lady?” inquired the duke with every appearance of interest.

“No, actually. But he is a duke. And dukes are above reproach.”

“You being the expert on dukes,” he retorted.

Leandra’s stepmama lifted her chin haughtily. “It is none of your concern, young man, but I do happen to be acquainted with several.”

“Gammon!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“And well you should,” he replied smugly. Leandra giggled.

“Just who are you, young man?” the Dowager Lady Harwood demanded imperiously.

He straightened and addressed everyone. “I am Derringer,” he said with a mocking half-bow. “Welcome to Derringer Crescent and all that rot. Have a lovely stay. If I see any of you even once during your short visit, you will regret it.” Michaella squeaked and he swung around to look at her. His left brow cocked in inquiry. “Except you. Who are you?”

“Michaella,” she whispered.

He bowed. “Lady Michaella, welcome. If you have need of anything, do not hesitate to ask any one of my servants. They will be pleased to serve you.” His tone implied there would be dire repercussions if they were not.

The man was very charming when he tried, Leandra thought wonderingly.

“And now,” he continued in the best good humor, “I must go and make myself presentable. Merri, come with me. I need to speak with you.”

“I will in a moment, Hart,” said Leandra softly.

Derringer, who had started toward the back of the house, stopped and turned slowly around. He ignored everyone and focused his attention on his wife. “Excuse me?” His voice was deceptively soft.

“I must see to my guests and then I will wait upon you, Hart,” she said with determination, trying to still the sudden trembling in her limbs.

Derringer marched up to his wife in three determined strides. “They are not your guests, Leandra,” he bit out in an undertone. “They are uninvited, unwelcome, unwanted. You are not to cater to them.” He paused and looked at that unwelcome group. “Except her,” he added with a nod in Michaella’s direction causing that young lady to blush.

“Then I am taking care of Michaella’s needs,
your grace
,” Leandra returned stubbornly.

Derringer’s face darkened and he pushed a hand through his loose hair in frustration. “Woman, you try my patience.” He turned abruptly on his heel and continued to the back of the house.

“Where is he going?” she whispered to herself.

“That man is no gentleman,” announced the dowager.

Leandra turned on her stepmother. “Then I suggest you avoid him for the duration of your visit, my lady.” She turned a bright smile on Michaella but addressed all four ladies. “If you will excuse me, I really should see what it is my lord requires. Ask Mrs. Stark if you need anything. Good night.”

Leandra had no intention of seeing what it was her husband wanted. She went instead directly to her room and allowed Liza to remove the gold velvet and slip a white cotton nightrail over her head. She knotted her white silk dressing gown around her waist and sat down at her dressing table to allow the maid to brush out her hair.

Besides, she was unsure where he was. He had walked to the back of the house. She assumed he was in his study or the library perhaps and she was not going to wander around the house searching for her husband.

He was infuriating. How dare he order her around as if she were one of his servants! She was not; she was his wife and it was high time he realized it.

She slammed her hairbrush on her dressing table and squeaked in dismay as a bottle of scent tumbled to the floor. Honeysuckle soon took over. She coughed and gazed ruefully at the mess, part of her feeling an urge to clean it up while the other part wanted to walk away and leave it to Liza. With a sigh, she retreated to her bedchamber.

She stopped short on the threshold. “What are you doing here?”

Her husband lounged with apparent comfort against the pillows on her bed, his hands behind his head and his eyes closed. Through the deep V of his loosened shirt she could see a gold chain, a thin, bright line against his sun-darkened skin. His black breeches were tucked into black Hessians, feet crossed at the ankles.

Derringer opened his eyes and gave her a benign look, one dark brow cocked in unspoken irony. “Waiting for you.”

“But why?”

He slid from the high bed with the grace and ease of a well-kept cat, crossing the room in a few easy strides. “Do you recall me requesting your presence?”

Request was hardly the word she’d use. Ordered, perhaps, in the autocratic manner he was used to using with those around him. She doubted he was often defied in his “requests.”

Derringer reached out, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. Leandra watched as one long finger stroked the frothy lace on the bodice of her dressing gown. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

“Then I wonder why you did not come,” he said almost to himself.

He followed the lace with his finger, never looking at her face. Starting at her neck, he moved down to the point where the fabric met between her breasts. In that moment, his eyes met hers and all the breath left her lungs. Heat pooled in the obsidian depths, a heat that she couldn’t identify. 

Derringer leaned closer until his lips hovered a mere hairsbreadth away from hers. “Why did you not come, Merri?” he whispered, the soft query encased in steel.

Before she could even think of the way her name on his lips made her feel, the duke slipped his hand down over her gown and cupped her breast. She gasped and tried to pull away.

He dropped his hand and pulled her up against him so that they were at eye-level. For lack of a better place to put them, Leandra wound her arms around his neck.

“Why did you not come?” he repeated. He put his hand on the back of her neck, under her thick hair and said, “You should have at least inquired as to my comfort. Is that not the duty of a good wife? To ensure her husband’s ...
comfort
?”

Leandra stared at him, brow furrowed. “Is everything not to your satisfaction?” she asked breathlessly.

He smiled. If everything had been to his satisfaction, he thought in surprise, she would have been waiting naked in his bed.

“No, not exactly,” admitted the duke. “But I didn’t expect it, either.”

His wife released an exasperated sigh, the movement brushing her sensitive breasts against his hard chest. It took a considerable amount of will to calmly inquire,  “What is this all about then?”

Derringer removed his hand from her neck and set her back on her feet, very little of his natural grace apparent in the abrupt movement. Then he turned and strode into the sitting room that was situated between their bedchambers.

She stared after him, clutching her robe close over her breasts. His recent caresses still burned her flesh, sending a white hot shiver down her spine. The calculated intimacy of his touch incited her longing for even greater intimacy, as was no doubt his intention. But his own reaction, the way his breath hitched just before he let her go, incited her curiosity. What thoughts occupied his mind when he held her as close as any lover? Surely, he didn’t desire her?

She took a deep, steadying breath and with cautious steps, followed him.

The duke had already settled into a chair near the fire when she entered the room. He looked up at her, his eyes sweeping over her, a frown growing with each passing second. Those black, black eyes lingered over her chest. Leandra took an involuntary step back when that frowning countenance returned to her face.

“Don’t do that,” muttered Derringer. The way she clutched at her robe only outlined her breasts, emphasizing their perfection. He groaned when her hand clenched even tighter. Eyes closing, he allowed his head to fall back.

“What did I do?”

Derringer’s head shot up. “You sound distressed,” he remarked. His lips twisted into a pleasantly surprised smile. “You are not quite the calm young woman you pretend to be.”

His experiment of a few moments ago as well as her kiss in the Great Hall confirmed his discovery. He clenched his teeth, a thrill coursing through him that was part excitement and part malicious glee. She was definitely not as calm and collected as she let on. How exhilarating would it be to destroy that peace, to render her unable to think, unable to object, unable to do anything other than respond only to instinct?

Her chest rose and fell with three deep breaths, and right before his eyes, Leandra Derringer regained her calm, the peace settling over her like a protective, impenetrable shroud.

Upon this transformation’s completion, Leandra’s hands ceased twisting the front of her dressing gown—thank the Lord above!—and clasped before her. Her eyes gazed back at him, calmly, from behind her thick spectacles. The whole look of her reminded him of a pious nun. Derringer’s mind shied away from that particular idea. What use did he have for a nun?

Still, he watched this transformation with a small amount of envy. He’d never before met anyone who exercised so much control of their emotions. Not even Aurora was so, so… passionless. Of course, Derringer had only been in the company of his bride for a grand total of two days, if that. And if one were to add up the actual hours of their association, it wouldn’t even amount to a day. He had no idea the kind of woman he had married. He thought he might actually enjoy finding out what went on behind those glorious eyes of hers.