The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (24 page)

“You were the brave one, sweetheart,” he said with a mix of gentleness and pride, “limping through the storm, determined to do whatever you had to do to save Abner.”

“And I found you,” she said in a whisper, her voice achingly ragged. “Latch the door. I don’t want us to be disturbed.”

Ian’s heart began to pound through his ears. He wanted to spend the night with her, hold her in his arms. He wanted to do much more, explore her body and understand the workings of her beautiful, generous heart. What did she intend?

Her smile slipped a little. “Stay with me, Ian.”

“Dillie—”

“I couldn’t bear it if you left me now.”

“Very well, a little while longer.” He settled her in the chair beside the fireplace, and then strode to the door and latched it, closing them in. This was madness. The two of them alone and cozy in this chamber while the storm whistled and howled outside. Scary how good it felt to be alone with her. What in blazes was he doing? Did Dillie understand what she was doing? She’d struck her head in the spill. Was she thinking clearly?

He certainly wasn’t.

He returned to her side, still soaked to the skin and not caring a whit. And though she was no longer in his arms—a problem he would soon remedy—the sensation of her perfect breasts rising and falling against his chest was etched into his memory. He could still feel those soft mounds, her taut, puckered nipples.
Hot, buttered crumpets
, as Dillie would say. He could still feel
everything
.

He started to turn away, but she protested. “I like the warmth of your body against mine.”

He shouldn’t have shut the door. Or latched it. Dillie hadn’t accepted his offer of marriage yet. If they spent another minute alone, there would be no turning back for Dillie.
Lord help me!
He couldn’t possibly spend the night with her. Come morning, she’d have no choice but to marry him or forever remain a ruined spinster.

“I’m glad you stayed,” she said, another soft breath tickling his ear. “We have to talk.”

“Good. Talk. That’s what we need.” He carefully eased her foot onto the pillowed stool, for he needed to do something to calm himself. He refused to look at the invitingly enormous bed, nor did he dare settle Dillie in it yet. Far too dangerous for her. They’d talk for a short while, and then he’d walk out and find somewhere else to sleep.

Not that he wanted to do anything of the sort. He wanted to stay with her, put her in that big bed, and never let her out of it.

As ever, he was hot and aching for her.

Hard
and aching.

“I just want you to know...” She paused to let out a soft, quivering breath. “No matter what Abner says, it was my fault. I think it’s important for you to know that I made a terrible mistake. Abner almost lost his life because of it.”

He knelt beside her, angry that she still cast blame on herself. He understood all too well the terror and disgust gnawing at her insides. He still felt that same disgust over what he’d done to James. “Am I supposed to think less of you, Dillie? I don’t. Accidents happen. That’s all it was. You both survived. It’s over. You’re both on the mend. I won’t hear another word about it.”

“But it was my fault. We’d passed another inn earlier. I didn’t like the look of the place and insisted we move on. What if he had died? Or been maimed for life?”

“He’s very much alive, no doubt enjoying an excellent whiskey at my expense.” He took her hands in his. They felt cold. His ought to have been cold, but every part of him heated whenever he was near Dillie. “He suffered nothing more than a broken leg.” Arching an eyebrow, he cast her a small smile. “And a lump on his forehead to match your own.”

She didn’t smile back, and instead began to nibble her lower lip. “Ian, is this how you always feel?”

He stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“That sick, churning feeling in your stomach. That terrible ache in your heart, because you were to blame for something dreadful. Is the rumor true? Did your brother die because of you?”

So that’s why she’d been carping on about Abner’s injury and blaming herself. That’s why she’d lured him into staying.
Latch the door.
He, like the idiot that he was, had fallen for it. She had been trying to draw him out, hoping he’d speak of James.
Damn her
. She had no right. He was mostly angry with himself for allowing her to shoot that cannonball straight through his heart. He’d let down his guard, and she’d blown a hole straight through him.

He rose and turned to storm out, but she hobbled to her feet and clutched his arm with both of her hands to hold him back. “Please, Ian.”

She winced, the mere effort of standing obviously painful to her, but she had that stubborn Dillie look on her face and he knew she’d follow him into the fiery pits of hell to find her answers. “I’m so sorry. I went about this all wrong. I didn’t know how to broach such a painful subject. I never realized until today just how horrible a burden you’ve carried all these years. We have to talk about it. I need to know the truth.”

“No, you don’t.” He’d been poked and prodded all his life, the family knives twisting into him with rapacious glee, tormenting him in the hope he’d break. He never had, even as a child. He never would. Not even the French had succeeded, torturing him for information on English invasion plans. He hadn’t spilled those vital secrets either. No, he wasn’t ever going to break.

She eased her grip, but the gentle look of determination in her eyes held him close. He loved that look, loved her gentleness. He couldn’t pull away even if he tried, even when angry with her as he was now. “I’m not trying to hurt you, Ian. You must believe me.”

He did.

“I’m trying to understand you. More precisely, I need to trust you if I’m to be your wife.”

“Who said my offer was still open?” But he smiled and arched one eyebrow so that she knew he was jesting. She probably knew it anyway. Dillie had a way of reaching his heart, soothing his heart, as no one else ever had.

“Take off your clothes,” she commanded, shifting out of the blanket he’d made sure to tuck securely about her, for he didn’t trust himself when all that stood between him and a naked Dillie was his last clean shirt. “You’re soaking wet and I’d hate for you to catch a chill.”

She handed him the blanket.

Firelight glowed behind her, illuminating her slender body through his spare shirt. Big shirt covering a little body. She looked good enough to devour.

The hem of the shirt reached only to her knees. She had spectacular legs, even that left leg with its swollen, purplish ankle. He wanted to see the rest of her, wanted to slip the shirt off her body and kiss his way down her skin.

She must have noticed his look, for she cast him a scowl that warned “we’re still talking” and nothing more was going to happen until he’d bared his soul.

“How can I truly trust you when you don’t trust me?” she asked as he continued to study her.

“What makes you think I don’t trust you?”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t trust anyone. You keep everyone out. Those walls around your heart are thicker than the walls of Jericho. But I have a proposition for you.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, knowing he ought to refuse but wouldn’t. “Go on.”

“I propose that we trade intimacies.” She hurried to explain as his eyebrow shot up in surprise. “You tell me a secret. In turn, since I haven’t any secrets whatsoever, having led an exceptionally dull life until you came along... well, the point is, I will do a favor for you in return.”

“A sexual favor?”

She blushed. “Yes, I suppose that’s the point of intimacy. But you had better reveal big, important secrets if you ever hope to see me naked.” She paused a moment and her blush deepened. “You do wish to see me naked, don’t you, Ian?”

He was down-on-his-knees-begging desperate, but it wouldn’t do to let her know how thoroughly she affected him. “It has crossed my mind a time or two.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Good. I thought so, but I wasn’t quite sure. You’ve been a gentleman with me all along. I’m glad the notion crossed your mind. More than once or twice, I hope.”

“Quite a bit more.” He removed his shirt and spread it out on one of the small tables in the room, the one closest to the hearth. If they were to talk and exchange sexual favors—did she understand what she was suggesting?—he may as well be comfortable. As she’d said, he’d catch a chill if he remained in his wet clothes. Lord, he was feverish already.

He took a moment to tug off his boots, but kept his trousers on. Perhaps he’d allow her to unbutton them. She might enjoy it. He certainly would.

She let out a little
eep
when he turned to face her. She was still standing, gripping the back of her chair for support. “Ian, you’re supposed to cover yourself with the blanket.”

“No.” He wasn’t about to wrap that itchy thing about his bare shoulders when she’d already seen him naked in her bed, and now they were once again up to their eyeballs in trouble. Even if nothing else happened tonight, they’d already given Lady Withnall enough material to fill her scandal sheets for years.

“No?” Dillie let out a soft laugh. “Not even to spare my delicate sensibilities? Although I haven’t been very delicate, have I? Asking you to latch the door. Asking you to remove your wet clothes. Demanding that you allow me into your heart.” She paused and swallowed hard. “Ian, I want to know you better. I want you to know me. I suspect you already do. I’m not very complicated. But you are. Do you think you can ever let me into your heart?”

He’d been alone for so long, his defenses were too deeply embedded. “I don’t know, Dillie. I realize it isn’t the answer you hoped for, but it’s the best I can give you right now.”

He expected her to end the game. Instead, she cast him the gentlest smile. A log splintered and crackled on the cozy fire. Then silence. The noise of the raging storm seemed to disappear into the background. The shutters no longer rattled, and all that could be heard was the low howl of the wind outside and the muffled
pick-pock, pick-pock
of the icy rain that struck the shutters’ thick slats.

So quiet he could hear himself breathe.

A bottle of whiskey and serviceable glass had been set out on the small table beside the window for him, and it hadn’t been removed when he’d given the chamber to Dillie. The whiskey glowed, a dark, rich amber against the glow of firelight that filled the room. He dared not take a drink. He was already too besotted for his own good.

“Honesty is good, Ian. I’ll be honest with you, too.” She glanced at the canopied bed, its blue velvet curtains drawn back with matching velvet ties. “I want to be in that big, comfortable bed. I want you in that bed with me and doing all sorts of delightfully wicked things to me.” She held up a hand, as though to stop him from carrying out her wishes. “But you’ll have to work hard to earn your way into that bed.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Dillie—”

“We’re not getting out of this scrape, are we? You and me. Alone at the inn. Alone in this room.”

He agreed. “We’re done for.”

Her smile slipped a little. “The choice should be an easy one for me. Do I marry a handsome, wealthy duke, or do I remain a ruined spinster for the rest of my days?”

He put his hands on each side of her waist and gently drew her close. “It is easy. Marry me.”

“I want to, truly I do. But I don’t know anything about you or the secrets you keep locked away. I don’t know if you’ll break my heart. I think you will, because you can have any woman you want, and I don’t see you reforming your rakehell ways after we’re married. I’m not good at sharing. I never was, Lily can attest to that.” She cast him a wan smile. “Knowing that you’re satisfying your... base, manly urges on other women while I sleep alone in my elegant apartments in Belgrave Square isn’t for me. I suppose I could discreetly take on a lover as other duchesses do.” Her eyes began to water. “But I couldn’t ever do such a thing.”

Hence her proposed game. Ian groaned inwardly, not only understanding her concerns, but wishing he could put her mind at rest. She needed to be happy in her marriage, just as her parents were. Just as her sisters were. She needed to know that he wasn’t a bastard who would destroy her life as he’d destroyed the life of his brother. She wanted it all. Love. Commitment. Happiness. Forever.

“Dillie, you’re making too much of this marriage business.”

She took a stumbling step back, as though he’d physically struck her. He reached out to steady her, but she’d already taken another step back and now stood with the chair between them, as though using it as a shield against him. “Brutal honesty. Well, I asked for it, didn’t I?”

He sighed. “No, Dillie. I’m an idiot, as you well know. I didn’t mean it as it came out. I don’t know what I meant by it.”

She brushed a hand across her cheek to swipe at a stray tear. “Of course you do. You’ve answered my question. Thank you. And you can keep your secrets.”

He sighed again. “Dillie—”

“No, you needn’t fret.” She swallowed hard. “We needn’t continue this game, although it isn’t really a game, is it? Not when hearts are involved. I’m not going to boot you out, Ian. Not yet, anyway. I actually have a secret to reveal to you.” A light blush stained her cheeks. “After our scandal broke, I promised myself that if you ever landed in my bed again, I would take full advantage. You aren’t quite in my bed yet, but I hope you will be before too long. Right now, it seems that I’ll end up a spinster for the rest of my days. All the more reason for me to have this night with you. I want this night.
My night.
To treasure always.”

“Damn it, Dillie.” He ran a hand along the nape of his neck. When was he ever at a loss for words? He wanted her. Ached to have her. Not this way. “You’re right. We don’t need the bloody game. Just marry me. Don’t try to break through my walls. Ignore the gossip about me. You don’t need to know about an event that happened over twenty years ago.”

She frowned. “Wait. What? Your brother died over twenty years ago? How old were you when it happened?”