My Dark Duke (18 page)

His mouth twitched. ‘Oh? In that case, I must ask that you keep that particular truth to yourself. I cannot have my reputation ruined or I will not be taken seriously by my business partners.'

‘I find myself in such a predicament. What should I do with this bit of information?' She pretended to consider the question.

‘All right. What can I do to persuade you?'

She adored seeing the playful look in his eyes. ‘Hmm . . .' Alethea tapped her chin with a finger.

‘A trinket of some kind?' He leaned a little closer. The familiar scent of sandalwood and mint teased her nose.

‘I am not that easily bought.' Her voice sounded breathless and inwardly she rolled her eyes at herself. It seemed that whenever she was close to him, she had no more composure than a young chit still in the school room.

He chuckled. ‘I didn't expect so.' He placed his hand on her stomacher and her breath caught at the glitter of desire that had sparked in his eyes. ‘Perhaps I can have Cook prepare a tray of your favourite sweets.'

‘Tempting . . . but no.' He pretended to frown at her reply and she couldn't help but giggle. She felt a delicious warmth where his broad hand rested on her abdomen, and an accompanying nervousness made her stomach flutter.

‘A kiss, then?'

She shook her head, biting her lip as he leaned even closer, his breath fanning her lips. ‘Only one kiss? I am offended that you would think that one kiss would be sufficient to buy my silence, Your Grace.'

‘James.'

‘James,' she whispered obediently.

‘It seems that you have forgotten just how skilful I am at that particular sport,' he said in a low voice. ‘I think it is time I reminded you.' James's lips brushed hers teasingly.

Once.

Twice.

Her eyelids drifted closed.

It felt like an eternity before his mouth finally settled firmly on hers. And then he was kissing her in earnest, his kiss deep and possessive, as if he was making it clear that she was now truly his. She thrilled at the thought, pressing her mouth hard against his and kissing him back just as fiercely. Her lips parted to admit his tongue and she moaned in her throat as he pressed her back into the seat, his mouth ravaging hers hungrily.

James leaned over her, never breaking contact, and the pressure of his mouth made her slide slowly to the side until she was lying half-prone, her husband's hand bracing her back, while the other steadied himself on the edge of the seat so his weight was not fully upon her. She strained to get closer to him and slipped her arms around his shoulders, desire spreading through her whole body like a raging inferno.

Drowning in a wave of passion, her mind was so consumed with the sensuality of his kisses that she barely felt him lifting her skirts until his hand grazed the skin of her right knee. Alethea gasped in shock, jerking backwards reflexively and breaking off the kiss.

‘Wh-what are you doing?' Heart thudding in her ears, she stared at the duke, frozen with surprise.

He looked back at her, his dark eyes hawk-like, the planes of his face sharp with desire. Slowly, his hand glided up her thigh, then gently pushed her legs apart. Vaguely, she wondered when he had removed his glove. ‘I would have thought it obvious. I am making love to my wife.'

His hand traced circles on her inner thigh soothingly and Alethea shuddered, feeling her nipples peak against the fine lawn of her shift. ‘H-here?' In the daylight? She knew she should stop him, but lethargy seemed to have overcome her limbs, contrasting with the blazing heat in the pit of her abdomen. Her skin felt tight and her breath was shallow and rapid.

‘I cannot seem to keep my hands off you,' James murmured, sounding preoccupied as his fingers drifted higher.

And then she felt his fingertips touch her intimately.

Alethea arched up to his touch, her hands scrambling to find purchase on the seat. At the movement, his fingers found a spot that sent a shaft of pure lightning through her.

‘Shh,' he said softly, as if calming a skittish horse. She watched him with wide eyes, panting softly as he stroked over violently sensitive flesh. Desire fought with embarrassment when she recognised the ease with which his fingers moved. Why was she wet? She felt a moan escape when a broad finger gently pressed shallowly into her.

She thought she heard him breathe out an expletive. His finger retreated then gently pressed back in. And again.

She inhaled sharply. ‘Oh!' she gasped, overcome by the kaleidoscope of sensations coursing through her body. Moaning, she pressed up against his hand. His shallow strokes weren't enough. She needed something more. ‘Please,' she whispered, her breathing ragged. His finger moved, and touched again the part of her that made sensation shoot up her spine and straight into her brain. ‘James!' she cried out, gripping the seat cushion tightly enough to rend some of the seams.

Over and over he stroked. Fast, then slow, around and around until she lost track of time and space. Gentle at first, then firmer, his fingers unrelenting. Alethea stared helplessly into his eyes, his gaze holding hers captive as the muscles in her body tensed, tighter and tighter. And then the tension suddenly broke and her entire body shuddered violently in reaction. She keened softly as wave after wave of pleasure swept over her, making her wonder how she would ever survive such a cataclysm.

Some time later, she watched with heavy lids as her husband smoothed her gown back in place before drawing her against him on the seat. Overcome with exhaustion and still dazed from a surfeit of pleasure, she rested her head on his shoulder and allowed her eyes to slowly drift close. Just before sleep overcame her, she thought she felt the touch of his lips on her forehead. She fell asleep, a smile gracing her mouth.

Our Heroine Arrives at Her New Home

‘Alethea, it is time to awake.'

At the sound of his voice, Alethea forced her eyes to open as she slowly roused from sleep. Much to her embarrassment, she found herself lying against James's side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He had turned slightly towards her, propping his back against the side of the carriage so that she could lie more comfortably against him.

Once she realised the position she was in, Alethea jerked upright at once and automatically began to smooth down her gown. A furious blush heated her face when she remembered why her attire was rumpled. She pretended to be preoccupied with ensuring her coiffure was still intact so she wouldn't have to meet her husband's eyes. She wasn't certain she would ever have the courage to look at him again.

‘Are you perchance avoiding me?' The infuriating man sounded amused.

‘Of course not.' She tugged at her gloves, straightening the creases.

‘I am pleased to hear that. It would not bode well for the start of our married life if you were.'

Alethea fluffed her gown. ‘Avoiding you? Why ever would you say that?'

‘No reason at all. It must be your intention to smooth that row of silk rosebuds right off your gown.'

She snatched her hand away so quickly she almost smacked herself in the face. Drawing in a breath, she made herself look at him, keeping her countenance bland. ‘I never did like those rosebuds. They mar what otherwise would have been a perfectly adequate wedding gown.'

James's mouth twitched. ‘My duchess. Never at a loss for words. I vow I am very much looking forward to our future conversations.'

Warmth filled her at those words. ‘Well, I do hope you are not expecting a wife who will always be compliant. If I disagree with your opinion, I shall certainly voice my thoughts,' she told him with a challenging look.

‘I would not expect you to be agreeable all the time, my sweet.' He then smiled wickedly. ‘Unless we are in the bedchamber. Then I expect you to do as I command.'

Where had her breath suddenly disappeared to? She felt light-headed from lack of air. ‘Th-that hardly seems fair.'

‘All right then. What do you suggest?' His smile was indulgent.

‘Perhaps . . . I should be permitted to be the one making the commands . . . sometimes.' She could barely believe she had just uttered these words to her husband. She wasn't even certain if she could even do such a thing, for heaven's sake.

‘Mmm . . . that's a very intriguing proposition indeed. We will discuss it later.' He reached over to the other seat and picked up his tricorn. ‘I am not sure you realise what your request would entail.' Alethea stared at him. He was right. She knew nothing beyond what Ruth had told her. Certainly nothing about having her husband under her command. His voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘Prepare yourself. We have arrived at Cavendish House.'

Alethea's eyes widened when she stepped out of the carriage. Before them, in the gathering dusk, stood two long rows of servants, the men dressed impeccably in mulberry livery and the women in the traditional black, whilst behind them loomed an enormous building. The duke nodded to the man and woman who were standing at the front, between the two rows, facing them. ‘Hawthorne, Mrs Tilford, this is your new mistress.'

‘Your Grace,' the duo enunciated crisply.

Alethea inclined her head in reply to the butler's bow and the housekeeper's curtsy. Both of them were tall and thin and in their early fifties, the butler with a thin moustache and slicked-back grey hair, and the housekeeper with greying hair pulled back in a severe bun.

‘Your Grace, would you like the staff to be presented to Your Graces?' asked Hawthorne of the duke.

‘Not at this time, we have had a long day and wish to retire.'

‘Very good, Your Grace.'

James extended his arm for Alethea and she rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. They walked towards the house, moving down between the two rows of servants, acknowledging the bows and curtsies of the staff as they passed. When they finally stepped inside the front doors, Alethea's lips parted in surprise.

As a daughter of a wealthy peer, she had grown up in the lap of luxury. But the magnificence before her took even her breath away. The entry hall was cavernous, the centrepiece a grand marble staircase facing the front doors. An extravagantly detailed carved banister and railings curved gracefully around it, drawing the eye upwards until her gaze encountered a magnificent scene of angels and cupids in the vaulted ceiling. A multitude of sconces lit the hall and stairs, highlighting the gilt-edged doors and decorative designs on the wall panels. Statuettes and busts formed rows on either side of the hall. The opulence was nearly overwhelming. This was to be her new home?

Alethea's survey of her new residence was interrupted by her husband's voice. ‘Mrs Tilford, I presume Her Grace's bedchamber has been prepared.'

‘Yes, Your Grace.' The older woman turned to Alethea. ‘I can take you to your rooms now, if you wish, Your Grace.'

Alethea was about to agree when she remembered her new station as wife. And there was the fact that tonight was their wedding night. A tremor of nervousness ran through her and she looked up at the duke. ‘Does that meet with your approval, Your Grace?' She could not bring herself to call him by his first name. Not yet. And certainly not before the servants.

‘Yes, of course. If you will excuse me I wish to speak with Hawthorne regarding some supper. Go ahead and settle in. I believe your maid is waiting for you there. I will join you directly.'

Alethea lowered her head. ‘Your Grace.'

‘Madam wife.' He bowed to her, then took her hand and kissed it before stepping away.

She looked up to see him walking towards a set of gilt-edged white double doors to the right. Before the doors closed behind him, she managed to catch a glimpse of rich furnishings and a large, dark-coloured desk.

‘Your Grace, this way please.' Mrs Tilford directed her toward the wide staircase that dominated the entry hall.

Alethea followed the housekeeper up the stairs and down a corridor to the left. After passing numerous doors, Mrs Tilford finally stopped before a set of doors and opened them. She stood to the side, waiting for Alethea to precede her. The new duchess walked into the room which she was to call her own. Her concern that she would dislike her rooms disappeared and a smile slowly formed on her lips.

Her bedchamber was dazzlingly beautiful and deliciously decadent. Silver-blue silk drapes covered the windows and hung over the large bed, and a matching embroidered coverlet lay over the mattress. A large marble fireplace lay to the far left, and next to the enormous, mullioned window opposite the bed was a dressing table above which was hung a large, oval, bevel-edged mirror. The room's magnificence made her feel as if she had stepped into a dream. She walked over to the dressing table and trailed her fingers wonderingly over the set of silver hairbrushes that lay atop the surface. Her eyes widened when she saw the letters engraved on the handles.

A.C. Alethea Cavendish.

A new name. A new life. It was frightening and yet so exhilarating that she could barely draw a breath, due to the excitement coursing through her. She had beaten the odds and married a man with whom she had fallen completely in love. She made a silent promise that she would do everything in her power to make their lives together happy.

A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. ‘My lady!'

Turning around, Alethea smiled with delight at the sight of her maid. ‘Martha! Oh, Martha, it is so good to see you. When did you arrive?'

‘I left soon after you departed for the church and arrived several hours ago. Oh, I cannot believe my little lamb is married.' She wiped a tear from her eye, and Alethea reached over and squeezed her maid's hand tightly. Martha sniffed. ‘Now, all your gowns and personal effects have been unpacked and put away. Are you hungry?'

‘No, not really. But I would like some tea. I am quite parched from the journey.'

‘A tray will be brought up to you shortly, Your Grace,' said Mrs Tilford from behind them.

Alethea turned around, almost having forgotten the presence of the housekeeper. ‘Thank you, Mrs Tilford,' she said with a genuine smile. The housekeeper curtsied and exited.

After the housekeeper left, Martha spoke. ‘Come now, my lady, we must get you ready to receive His Grace. You will have all the time in the world to look around your new room tomorrow.'

‘Oh . . . yes, of course.' Alethea stood still as Martha quickly and efficiently stripped her of her outer garments, corset and shift, before helping her into her nightgown and robe.

‘Sit, dearie, and I will brush your hair. Did you see the brushes His Grace has given to you? Are they not beautiful? He has also given you a fine jewellery box. Here.' As she spoke, she began to take the pins out of Alethea's hair.

Alethea looked down at the large silver box, which was generously inlaid with small rubies. The inside of the box was lined with plush red velvet. It currently lay bare, inviting her to fill it with her jewellery. She felt her hair tumble down her back as the pins were removed, and Martha had just picked up a brush when they heard the duke's voice.

‘Allow me.'

At the sound of the familiar baritone voice, the new duchess looked upwards in the mirror, eyes widening as her husband took the brush from her maid.

‘Martha, is it?' When the maid nodded, James continued. ‘Thank you for your services, Martha. We won't be needing you any further this evening.'

Martha curtsied. ‘Certainly, Your Grace.' Before she left, she gave Alethea a reassuring smile.

Alethea was too nervous to return her smile, her entire being tense as a result of her husband's proximity. Her eyes never strayed from his reflection in the mirror and an involuntary shiver of fear entwined with excitement raced over her when he gently unravelled her hair with the fingers of his free hand.

‘Your hair is no less entrancing than the rest of you,' he murmured, drawing the brush through her mane of wild curls. Martha had applied the curling iron with aplomb that morning.

‘Th-thank you.' Being accustomed to her maid's enthusiastic brushing, which she had in the past laughingly likened to brushing down a horse, Alethea was surprised to find that her husband's preference was for slow, methodical strokes. He first worked through the section of hair near her waist then gradually moved upwards. Before long, the brush was sweeping through her tresses from scalp to waist, again and again, the hypnotic movements weaving a sensuous web of seduction around her.

She felt her heartbeat quicken when he lifted a lock of hair to his nose. ‘I will never again inhale the scent of jasmine without thinking of you.'

‘I like the smell of you too,' she blurted out unthinkingly, cursing inwardly at her lack of grace.

James chuckled and she blushed furiously. Blast, why did she always have to appear the ninny before him? He took her hand and drew her to her feet. ‘I am very pleased to hear that. It is a combination especially prepared for me.'

That didn't surprise her in the slightest. She was about to turn away from the dressing table when the jewellery box caught her eye. ‘Oh, I have to . . .' She reached for the clasp of her diamond necklace.

‘Must you?' asked her husband in a low voice, although his hands were already at the nape of her neck, undoing the clasp as she held her heavy hair out of the way. He stepped over to the dressing table and placed the necklace in the box. ‘I must admit to having a yearning to see you in the necklace and nothing else.'

‘Your Grace!' gasped Alethea, feeling her face burn anew. At that, the duke laughed aloud and she glared at him. ‘You are a wretched tease!'

‘Have we not established that I never tease about such matters?' he retorted, shutting the box.

A thought crossed her mind. ‘Your Grace . . . ah . . . James,' she corrected herself when he turned to look smilingly at her. ‘I have not thanked you for your most generous gift.'

‘You like it, then?' He took hold of her hand and brought it to his mouth. His lips touched the back of it lingeringly and she shivered. His dark eyes appeared to pierce right through her.

‘V-very much. They are the most beautiful things I have ever seen,' she only just managed to utter.

‘It is but a faint reflection of your beauty.' Pressing a kiss to her palm, he then tucked it in the crook of his arm and led her towards the set of chairs, between which was a small round table.

She was surprised to see a tray of food laid out on it. When had someone come in?

‘May I serve you some bread and cheese?' he asked solicitously after they had both taken a seat. ‘Perhaps some ham. Cook cures it herself, you know. It is quite good.'

Alethea shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I would like some tea, though.'

‘Of course.' He poured her some tea and added a little milk. ‘Sugar?'

The scene was altogether banal and yet she was unable to act normally. What was about to come to pass filled her with more anxiety than she had ever felt in her entire life. ‘No, thank you. But I would like some brandy, please.' She hadn't failed to notice the decanter sitting on the tray. Thank heavens for insightful servants.

James's eyebrows rose but his only reply was a nod, for which she was grateful. He poured a small measure into her tea.

Alethea accepted her teacup, then proceeded to drink the contents in two gulps. She put the cup back in the saucer and looked up to find her husband observing her with a half-smile. ‘What is it?' she asked.

‘Nothing.' He picked up the decanter. ‘More?' His mouth twitched.

She stared at him with narrowed eyes, then extended her cup. He obligingly poured her another measure. She brought the cup to her lips and drained it. Without the tea, the liquid burned a harsh path down her throat and she gasped, coughing.