The Confessions of a Duchess (34 page)

In the fortnight since Dexter had insisted on their marriage Laura had blanked out all doubt and hesitation from her mind, concentrating only on the need to do what she had to do in order to protect Hattie. Dexter had come to visit her every day, but they had spent very little time alone in conversation and he had not touched her once. His sole intention had been to start getting to know his daughter and so they had gone out onto the hills to fly Hattie’s kite, or taken a picnic down to the river, where Dexter had fashioned toy boats for Hattie out of twigs and sticks and they had sailed them together. Sometimes Alice had accompanied them, and Rachel had come, too, which had eased the situation for Laura and also, at the beginning, for Hattie, too. But Hattie had accepted Dexter into her life with all the openness of her character and Laura’s heart had ached to see the unguarded nature of her daughter’s love. To Hattie everything was so simple and easy.

On Dexter’s side, too, Laura thought that the love was unconditional. It hurt her to see him watching Hattie with so much pride and affection because it could only serve to emphasize all that she had denied him for the past three and a half years. And then Dexter would look up and see her gaze on him and the softness would melt from his own eyes and Laura would know that he had not forgiven her.

Miles never joined their family outings even though he had remained in Fortune’s Folly. Laura had been surprised, for she had expected Miles to be pleased when she had announced her betrothal to Dexter—she had hoped that it would heal the rift that had been between them since the night Miles had discovered them together in the library. It had not.

Something had been said between the two of them, Laura thought, and the breach was wider than before.

“You look beautiful, Laura,” Alice said, putting a gentle hand on her arm and breaking into her thoughts. “Here—I have picked some of the last roses from my hothouse for you to carry. It’s time to go.”

Laura picked up the small bouquet and inhaled the faint scent. The roses smelled like the last days of summer.

“Thank you,” she said. Alice smiled and Laura realized with a pang that her friend thought she was choosing to marry Dexter because she loved him, not because she had no choice. Alice had been so pleased when the engagement was announced—one of the few people who had accepted the news without judgment. Laura did not have the heart to tell her it was all a sham.

She had deliberately chosen the early evening for the wedding, when most of the curious inhabitants of Fortune’s Folly would have gone to their homes. She had no desire for her charade of a wedding to become a freak show, as well, with the whole village staring. The only people she wanted there were Alice as bride’s attendant and Miles to give her away. She had not even wanted Hattie to be present, although Dexter had insisted. He had wanted their daughter to be there to see her parents wed but Laura knew the significance of the occasion was for her benefit, not really for Hattie. Dexter was staking his claim to both of them publicly, openly, and with no pretense.

Hattie was with Rachel in the hall, a small, sleepy bundle rubbing her eyes and clutching a smaller posy of thornless rosebuds that were a miniature version of Laura’s own. Laura’s throat closed with tears as she brushed her daughter’s soft cheek with her lips.

Miles was there, too, an oddly sober Miles, his face set and stern. He smiled when he saw her and Laura managed a wobbly smile back.

“Are you all right, Lal?” he asked her and Laura nodded, feeling the tears at the back of her throat.

Miles swung Hattie up into his arms and they stepped out into the night, making their way along the path from The Old Palace to the church.

The autumn evening was chill. Laura shivered deep within her cloak with a combination of cold and nervousness. The path to the church was uneven and slippery with dew and she was grateful for the support of Alice’s arm. She could see the candlelight behind the windows. The vicar of Fortune’s Folly was waiting at the door and inside, in the timeless calm peace of the interior, stood Dexter and his groomsman, Nat Waterhouse. As they approached, Miles exchanged a stiff nod with Nat but ignored Dexter completely.

Laura met Dexter’s eyes. He was looking at her and for a moment he looked dazzled and something more, then the coldness swept into his eyes again.

“Dearly beloved…” the vicar began.

The service passed in a blur. Laura knew that she must have made the appropriate responses but she could remember nothing of it.

Dexter kissed her briefly at the end, his lips cool and remote against hers. It seemed there was no emotion in him for her at all.

Hattie wrapped her arms around Dexter’s neck and kissed him and it was then that he smiled, a sweet, tender smile for his daughter that had Laura’s heart thumping in her chest and her face burning red with grief that he had such uncomplicated love for Hattie and none for her. The love that she felt for him was impossible to dismiss. She had been afraid that, as with Charles, her love for Dexter would wither under the onslaught of his anger for her, but it had not. She saw him with their daughter and felt full of tenderness. She ached for him to love her whilst knowing he did not, but she could not quite eliminate the hope from her heart that one day things might change.

Miles kissed Laura but did not even shake Dexter’s hand. He stood looking at his former friend with cold dislike, shoulders squared, aggression in every angle of his body. “I warned you not to marry unless you meant it,” he said to Dexter. “If I hear one word that Laura is not happy, Anstruther, I’ll come looking for you.” He nodded abruptly to Alice and walked away. For a moment there was an angry glint to Dexter’s eyes. Then he picked Hattie up and turned to Laura.

“Shall we go home?” he inquired with scrupulous courtesy.

Alice reached up to kiss Laura’s cheek. “I hope you will be very happy,” she whispered.

Hattie was so tired by the time they got back that she was asleep in Dexter’s arms.

Laura watched as he carried her up the stair to bed. It felt extraordinary, as though everything was the same—and yet it could not have been more different. Mrs. Carrington had done her best with a dinner of mutton, but Laura was not hungry. She sat alone in the parlor, the mutton stew congealing on her plate, and reflected morosely that this was more like a wake than a wedding.

The parlor door opened and then closed with a very firm click. Laura was aware of Dexter standing behind her chair.

“Are you tired?” he asked. He touched her cheek, his fingers gentle but impersonal.

“Perhaps we should go to bed.”

Laura said nothing. The last time he had kissed her—the last time he had touched her—had been in the drawing room when he had sworn their marriage would be a full one in every possible way. In the intervening time he had become almost as a stranger to her, but now that moment had come and she was suddenly afraid. She went out of the room and walked up the stairs in front of him. She didn’t turn round. The back of her neck prickled with awareness of Dexter’s scrutiny. She could feel him watching her and it was like a physical touch on her skin. As each step took her closer to the top of the stairs, her nervousness increased. Her heart was stumbling in her chest. Her fingers were shaking. The hysterical laughter bubbled inside her. It was her wedding night and she felt like a prisoner taking her last walk to the executioner’s block.

On the top step she stopped abruptly and turned to him. “Dexter, I cannot do this.

You…I…I feel as though I no longer know you at all.”

There was a lamp standing on the armada chest on the landing and it threw a soft light. In that light Dexter’s expression was remote and it was that very aloofness that made Laura curl up inside. He was worse than a stranger to her now: someone she loved, someone she
wanted
to love her, except that somehow all the pieces of their lives had been shattered by secrets and lies and she could not see how to put the pattern together again.

He took her hand in his, his thumb moving against her palm, and she felt the tingling of physical awareness through her body and felt even more wretched in her mind that her perfidious senses could betray her when she did not want them to. She had always been wild and with Dexter that wildness was translated into a sensuality over which she had no control and no choice.

“You know me.” Dexter kissed her and her lips parted beneath the inexorable pressure of his mouth. His tongue swept hers, sweet and tantalizing. Her body recognized him instantly and filled with a trembling longing. Her knees weakened and her toes curled within her pink silk slippers and his mouth ravished and plundered hers until she had to drag herself away simply to draw breath.

Dexter made a sound of satisfaction deep in his throat and picked her up, carrying her through the doorway of his bedroom, where he dropped her full in the middle of the bed.

Her petticoats rode up about her thighs and she sat up quickly to cover herself. The kiss had made her body ripe with wanting but her mind felt detached, cold and afraid. She could
not
respond to Dexter like this. She did not want to. Not when everything else was twisted and broken between them, not with her guilt and Dexter’s lack of forgiveness.

Dexter was pulling his neck cloth loose now. He dropped it carelessly on the floor.

His shirt followed. Laura looked away quickly, but not before she had caught a glimpse of his broad and muscular chest. The breathless feeling in her body intensified. So did the panic in her mind. She tried to communicate something of her disquiet to Dexter, making a last-ditch effort to make him understand.

“Why are we doing this?” she said desperately. “You do not even like me now, Dexter, let alone love me. And I have told you before that I cannot have sex without love, only for the physical pleasure—”

“And I have told you that I am sure that you can.” The blue glitter of Dexter’s eyes was implacable. He came across to the bed and the mattress gave under his weight as he sat down beside her. “It will be my aim, my dearest Laura, to prove to you that you can.” Laura’s stomach squirmed with an anticipation that both horrified and excited her.

Their eyes met and Dexter put out a hand to the rose-pink ribbon that tied the neckline of her gown. His knuckles brushed the upper swell of her breasts above the bow. Laura sat tense and upright, all her senses suddenly sharply alert. Dexter ran the ribbon thoughtfully through his fingers, then he gave a tug and the ribbon came loose.

“You are my wife and I want to make love to you,” he whispered, his hand moving to the first button on her bodice. “I am going to make love to you and it will be very pleasurable indeed, for both of us.”

His other hand came up to tangle in her hair, drawing her head forward so that he could kiss her intimately, deeply, branding her as his. Laura’s head spun. Her senses flared into vivid life. He had taken everything that day, she thought, as he eased her back against the bedcovers, following her down into their soft embrace with the weight of his body on hers. She was his wife, she bore his name, he had his child now and all he needed to do to complete his possession was to take her body. Her soul, which once she would have given so freely, was the only thing that he could not touch now. So why fight this intense, delicious warmth that undermined all her resolutions and defenses? She wanted the physical comfort of his touch and for now that would have to be enough. She did not want to struggle against him or against her own instincts any longer. She was tired and lonely and she wanted the illusion of being loved.

Dexter propped himself up on one elbow and unfastened her bodice in slow, measured movements, pausing to press soft kisses on her pale skin as each button came open. Released from the conflict between her thoughts and her desires now, Laura’s body relaxed and unfurled, lying still and quiescent beneath his hands, her flesh warming beneath his touch, a blush heating her exposed skin. Her breath was rapid and shallow. She allowed her eyes to flutter closed and let her mind drift, thinking of nothing now other than carnal pleasure and the slowly spiraling need for fulfillment.

Dexter drew her bodice down so that she was bared to the waist and cupped one of her breasts in the palm of his hand, lowering his lips to its taut tip. Laura did not try to hold back the small moan that escaped her and he paused on hearing it before taking her nipple between his tongue and teeth and sucking gently. Memories of their previous encounter in the library flashed through Laura’s mind, inciting a further rush of helpless feeling. She squirmed on the bed, feeling the roughness of the covers against her bare back, wantonly pressing her breast against Dexter’s lips as he caressed and stroked her with his tongue.

“How do you feel now?” His voice was low and very gentle.

“I feel warm…” Laura’s voice sounded distant to her own ears. “And shivery…”

“Good.” She felt the curve of his smile against her naked breast. “So it is quite pleasurable for you?”

“Quite.” She gasped the word, arching upward like a drawn bow as he bit down gently on her skin.

His hand slid lower over the gentle curve of her stomach, easing her away from her gown, petticoats, stocking and chemise, and pushing them aside in a tangled pile. She lay pale, naked and exposed on the bed, and although her eyes were closed she knew that Dexter was looking at her, his gaze drifting slowly down every quivering, anticipatory inch of her body. A small part of her mind was still telling her that this was not what should be happening between them and she reached for something to cover her nudity, but he caught her hands and pushed them aside.

“Don’t cover yourself. I want to look at you.” His fingertips trailed fire over her belly. His tongue curled wickedly in her navel. “You are beautiful, Laura.” His hand slid over the silken skin of her thigh and Laura shuddered. That calculated, deliberate touch was stroking intimately close to the heart of her femininity and she tensed for a second, then allowed him to spread her legs wide and slide down gently to lick the swollen flesh he was caressing.