The Duchess and the Dragon (21 page)

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Authors: Jamie Carie

BOOK: The Duchess and the Dragon
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“What does that mean?”
Drake sighed in mock exasperation. “Do you want me to talk to you or kiss you?”
Serena shrugged a shoulder and gasped as her sleeve slid half way down her arm. Looking down she saw that he had undone the ribbons on the front of her gown. “However didst thou do that?”
He answering grin was wicked. “My vast experience.”
The next hour was a haze of pleasure to Serena. She had not understood how two could become one, until he made sense of it. Their breaths intermingled, their hearts pounding in urgent accord. Sensation became a new kind of direction, with touch its map. Before, she had only been able to look at him and she had thought that wondrous. Now, she used all her senses to explore him. She reveled in the essence that was Drake, the taste of his mouth, warm and rich with the wine. His scent, a mix of her mother’s soap from his wedding bath and his own unique fragrance, delighting her. She breathed him and knew him and lost herself in the world that he showed her. She gave all that she had, her trust complete.
It was nearly painful, loving him thus.
ASTONISHING.
Drake had thought himself experienced. How humbling to learn he had only known the physical, never this joining of souls that had somehow, miraculously happened with Serena. What magic did she possess?
In the face of her sweet generosity, he felt the hard edges of his self-possession crumble. There was no room for the shroud of protection he had worn as effortlessly as his own skin for as long as he could remember. In the face of her love it melted, giving way to flesh and flesh, blood and blood. Left in its place was a sense of awe that this act of loving could be so humble—and yet so core deep.
He would never look at marriage the same way. Those few he’d seen that had seemed so connected . . . now he knew. Now he knew love. And nothing would ever be the same.
Chapter Fifteen
A week had passed since their wedding. A week of dreamlike floating where nothing seemed very real. They’d moved in with her parents, taking up residence in Drake’s bedroom until they could save enough to start out on their own. But now, as Serena gazed out the thin-paned window, clinging to the frame, watching her family drive off to meeting, she felt a pang of sadness. It was the first meeting she had ever missed except for sickness.
Drake stood behind her, his hands at her waist. “Are you sorry?” he murmured into her hair.
She leaned back against his chest and shook her head. “It feels strange though . . . like I have grown up and started my own life. And yet . . . I do not feel that different.”
“You are afraid?”
She nodded, unable to speak. He rubbed her upper arms with his hands and then turned her around to face him. “I have asked much of you. I am sorry for that.” He smiled. “Come, let us think happy thoughts. I have a surprise for you.”
Looking at the gentle smile he gave her, she felt the weight lift and smiled up at him. In his arms, everything felt right. “What is it?”
Drake led her into what was now their bedroom and over to his trunk.
“Daniel retrieved this for me.” Taking out a velvet pouch Drake pulled the drawstring open, reached for her hand, and shook a massive ring into her palm.
“If I sell this ring, I may have enough to buy us our first home.”
Serena picked up the ring and studied it. Heavy, of shining gold, she stared at the insignia in Latin and above it, a fire-breathing dragon, the fire represented by brilliant rubies inlaid in front of the dragon’s open mouth. A shiver went down her back as she looked up into his eyes, the solid weight of it in her palm feeling like an inescapable trap. “It is thine?”
Drake’s nod was brief and unquestionable, his eyes shuttered. “My father gave it to me.”
Serena reached out and took his hand. Slowly she slid it on his finger, marveling at how fitting it looked. “Thou art of noble birth, then. Tell me.”
He took the ring off, unknotted the black silk cord that drew the velvet bag together and pulled the cord out of the seam. Taking the ring he slid it onto the cord and then tied it around Serena’s throat, making a long necklace. “I was lied to, Serena. And now this ring is mine to do with as I please. I am not an aristocrat. Believe me when I say I am as common as you. More so, even.”
Serena shook her head vehemently, feeling the heaviness of it lie against her breastbone. “Thou must not sell it. It is thy heritage, from thy father.”
He tossed the velvet bag back into the trunk and turned, studying her, then took her by the shoulders. “It represents a promise broken, nothing more. You, a home for us, that is the future. I want to provide for you. With this ring we can begin to make our way in the world, on our own.” He tucked it securely inside her bodice, his flat palm resting on her heart. “You are my future.”
Serena saw his need to be the man, the provider and protector of her, and gave in. “Very well. But I do hope thou wilt not regret it someday.”
His answering smile lifted her spirits. He kissed her briefly. “Let us go for a walk and see if there are any houses for sale.”
Catching his excitement, she clasped his hand in hers. “We could stop at the post office to see if any notices have been placed.”
They walked the quiet side streets of Philadelphia in the overcast spring afternoon, hand in hand, laughing and happy. There were some buildings being raised in a business district, but seeing nothing for sale in the way of housing they wandered over to the post office.
“It is doubtful we can go in on a Sunday,” Serena said as they approached the door.
Just then, a thickly built man with round spectacles came out and turned to lock the door behind him.
“Good sir,” Drake called out. “Might we have a word before you leave?”
“Eh?”
Drake hurried them across the street toward him. “Good day, sir.” They shook hands. “I am Drake Winslow and this is my wife, Serena. We are recently married and looking for a house to buy. Might you have notices in the post office or a newspaper we could buy?”
Shrewd eyes assessed him and then Serena. “Winslow, you say. Come in, come in.” He turned the handle of the door and hurried them inside. As they walked back into the post office, the man turned suddenly. “Too bad the name is not Drake Weston. I have an important letter from England for a man by that name.” He raised his brows. “I have been searching for him. One doesn’t ignore a letter of such importance, and it is my job to see that it gets delivered, but no one seems to know of a Lord Weston of Northumberland.”
Looking suddenly at Serena, the man gestured to a back corner. “If you would be so kind, madam, there is a newspaper on that table. You may find an advertisement in it for a home to buy.”
While Serena went to fetch the paper, the man turned to Drake. “You wouldn’t know of a Drake Weston, Earl of Warwick, would you, sir?”
Before Drake could answer, Serena returned with the paper. She hesitated and then, with sudden purpose, pulled the necklace out of the bodice of her gown. Holding out the ring she became breathless. “Sir, I could not help hearing and . . . might thou knowest if this would be the Earl’s signet ring?”
Drake gritted his teeth as the man’s round face lit up. He waited in sinking resignation as the man studied the ring.
The man glanced up from his study of the ring, a frown between his eyes. “Where did you come by this, madam?”
“My husband gave it to me, just this morning.” She looked at Drake. “We were hoping to sell it to buy a house. Do you know the insignia, sir?”
The man shook his head and handed the ring back. “I am no expert in matters of insignia, but as postmaster here, I have had occasion to see several and would have to say that this ring belongs to a peer of the realm of His Royal Majesty, King George II.” He turned to Drake. “Sir, either this ring is ill-gotten gain or, indeed, I have your letter.”
Drake didn’t try to conceal his outrage at the man’s audacity as he bit out a reply. “The ring is mine.”
The postmaster nodded, a small smile on his lips. “I thought as much. Would you like your letter, my lord?” He reached behind him and pulled out a yellowed envelope.
Drake ignored the outstretched hand. Turning away, he strode out the door.
SERENA TOOK A long look at the letter and then snatched it from the man’s hand. “Thank thee,” she whispered, stuffing it safely in her cape pocket. Then she turned away before he could change his mind and left the room.
It was gray and turning cold, looking like it might rain, as they walked away from the post office. Serena hurried to keep up with Drake’s long, angry strides.
Touching him on the shoulder, she stopped him. “I am sorry. I had to know and thou wouldst not tell me.”
He didn’t answer, just walked away from her faster than before. She half ran to catch up to him. “Please understand, it might have been my only chance to know.”
He stopped and faced her, gripping her shoulders in the middle of the cold, wind-swept street. “You do not know what you have done! It is too soon! They will know I am here now. Word will get out and—” His hands tightened on her upper arms.
Stricken as much by his tone as his words, she pulled away. In a voice that shook with anger and fear, she demanded, “Know what? What art thou hiding?” She raised a hand to his chest and stepped closer. “How can I know when thou wilt not tell me?”
“Serena . . . do not make me tell you.” The anguish in his voice made his words thick. He took her elbow in a tight grip, urging her into the deep shadows of a tall building. Looking around to ascertain that no one was about, he cupped her face between his gloved hands. The wind had pulled loose tendrils of hair out of her knot and it danced across the backs of his hands. He pulled her to him, his actions fierce. “Don’t ask this of me. I can’t bear the thought of seeing regret in your eyes.”
Serena pulled back. His irises were so dark blue they seemed black—deep wells of pain and guilt. Dread snaked through her. “How can I help thee if thou wilt not trust me? Drake, I am thy wife. Thy pain is now my pain. Let me bear it with thee.”
“You do not know what you are asking.” He turned away from her, half facing the stone of the building they hugged.
Serena put her hand firmly on his arm and insisted. “I want to know.”
Drake swung around, his face ravaged, his voice menacing. “I
killed
a man, Serena. With my voice and size and power to intimidate, I as good as pushed him over the rail of a third-story balcony . . . and when he reached out his hand . . . I didn’t save him . . . I let him fall. I. Let. Him. Fall.”
Silence followed those bitter, pointed words. When he spoke again, he was quiet, terse. “And then I ran. Ran to the colonies as an indentured slave.”
She stared at him, not able to utter a word as shock straightened her spine.
“Are you glad now? That you demanded an answer? Now you know what you married. A murderer and a man haunted by the surety that someday his misdeeds will catch up to him.”
“Why? What had he done? Why didst thou not save him?”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head, looking down at her gray skirt, touching the tiny, perfect threads of a seam. “Except,” he looked up into Serena’s eyes, “that he represented everything I hated.”

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