When a Duke Says I Do (6 page)

Read When a Duke Says I Do Online

Authors: Jane Goodger

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General, #Historical

BOOK: When a Duke Says I Do
7.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
Alexander lowered his head as if in defeat. “I do. Far more than is proper.”
“Are you so very proper, then?” she asked with a teasing lilt.
“I must be,” he said forcefully. “You must be.”
“Why?” Elsie breathed, even though she knew why. She’d never in her life felt so strange, so alive when with a man. She had never before kissed a man, never wanted to, truth be told. But she found herself staring at his mouth and wondering what it would feel like to press her lips against his. Just that thought made her stomach twist, made her want something she didn’t understand.
“Miss Elsie, you should go.” His hands gripped his thighs so hard, she could see the indents of his fingers in his trousers.
“Do you know Badinerie by Bach?” Elsie looked at him cautiously and thought she detected the smallest of smiles. “It’s a duet.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve never had the opportunity to play a duet,” he said.
“Here is your chance.”
His expression was one of disbelief. “Have you any idea the sort of danger you are courting, Miss Elsie?”
She looked him straight in the eye. “Duets are not dangerous. Now, get up so I can find the music. It’s in the bench.”
He got up with an air of impatience, and waited until she found the correct sheet music.
“Here it is,” she said unnecessarily. “Now sit and play with me. Please.”
He sat as far from her as possible and Elsie beamed a smile at him, which apparently had no effect on his mood for he simply stared at her darkly. Nodding her head, she began to play, and he played his part without hesitation. It was a short piece, and lively, and when they were done, Elsie clapped.
“Well done,” she said. “Now, how dangerous was...” She looked at him and felt a sudden rush of heat, of desire, that she’d never felt before in her life “... that.” Elsie swallowed, her eyes drifting down to his mouth, her breath coming out in shallow spurts.
Kiss me. Please, kiss me.
Never before had a man looked at her like this, as if he were angry and dangerous and untamed.
“I think. You. Should. Leave,” he said softly.
Elsie swallowed, then blinked, feeling as if she was coming out of a trance. “Until tomorrow, then,” she said, forcing a politeness, a distance, she didn’t feel. What she wanted was to throw herself into his arms, but she feared if she did, he would push her away, and that would be far too humiliating to bear.
Alexander waited until the door clicked shut before muttering a vile curse. That girl could tempt a saint, he thought, rubbing his hands through his hair. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do, because God only knew he wasn’t a saint.
He’d thought she might be frightened by his desire, but curse him, she welcomed it. Elsie was no child, but he had a feeling she was experiencing a woman’s desire for the first time, an intoxicating and perilous mix. He could hardly think of her without becoming aroused. The last thing he needed was a nightly concert sitting next to her soft body with only two thin layers of cotton between her and his hands. When she touched his arm, it took strength he didn’t know he had not to drag her into his arms and kiss her and release some of the awful tension that had been building since the day she walked into the ballroom.
“Please, God, give me strength,” he whispered fervently. Nothing good could come from kissing her, from allowing himself to feel anything for her. He feared it was already too late for his heart, but he’d be damned if he allowed himself to touch her with his body. The best thing for both of them was to push her away, tell her to leave him alone. He couldn’t risk a scandal and he couldn’t bear to hurt her.
And he knew he could never have her, just as he knew that the life he was supposed to have had was gone forever. The day his father put him in that asylum and walked away without looking back, without an ounce of sadness or regret, was the day he knew that other life was over.
 
Elsie walked quietly and determinedly to the piano and lit the lamp, completely ignoring the man who painted so diligently. She knew, knew, knew she shouldn’t be here. She knew she wanted something she could never have. And yet, when nighttime came again, she found herself unable to keep away, as if Alexander was a drug, the only cure to her terrible loneliness. All day she thought of him, how his eyes looked when he stared at her in that intense way of his. How his hair curled, unruly and unkempt, onto his brow, how his firm lips always seemed to be fighting a smile. She felt truly alive for the first time in her life and knew she was in the throes of an infatuation she didn’t even want to try to stop.
When she walked to the piano, she didn’t look at him, but she felt his eyes on her. Oh, she loved this feeling of knowing a man looked at her with something other than bland disinterest. It was intoxicating, wonderful, exhilarating and so completely welcome. She began playing Chopin’s Étude “Winter Wind” quite badly. She played and watched Alexander cringe over and over again. This piece was far beyond her skills, and yet she doggedly forged ahead, murdering the piece and no doubt making Chopin roll in his grave, poor man. Finally, blessedly for both of them, she came to the end and looked up, laughing silently as he continued to ignore her.
“How was that? I’ve been working ever so hard on those runs and I think I’m finally getting them as dear Mr. Chopin wrote them.”
Alexander’s shoulders shook, and Elsie wasn’t quite sure whether he cried or laughed.
“Oh, surely it could not have been bad enough to make you cry,” she called. She’d never been one to flirt, but found she had quite a talent for it—at least when it came to Alexander. “Please, Alexander,” she said softly. “Play it for me.”
He turned and stared at her a long moment before letting out a sigh and putting down his brush and pallet. “One song,” he said firmly. “As it is, this mural may not be completed for your birthday.”
“You can catch up the next few days when I am gone.” She moved off the bench and allowed him the seat. “Have you ever played this?”
“Not well.”
“But better than I?”
He gave her one of his half smiles. “Perhaps.” He did play the piece nicely, but Elsie could tell he needed practice.
“Bah,” he said when he’d finished. “This piece is beyond my skills.”
“I expect perfection when I return.”
“How long will you be gone?” he asked with what seemed to her like forced nonchalance. He stared at the piano keys, lightly running his fingers over them so that they produced nothing more than muted thumps instead of notes.
“Three days. And I’ll miss you, too,” she said, teasingly.
His answer was a frown.
“You wound me, sir.”
He gave her a quick, angry look. “Please stop, Miss Elsie. I am not one of the boys you flirt with at balls. I think you do not know how cruel you are.”
Elsie felt her cheeks burn in mortification. “No, no,” she said, rejecting his conclusion. “I’m sorry. I... I’m awful at flirting. I’ve had little practice, you see, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You shouldn’t even speak to me. And certainly you should not flirt. To do so is ...”
“Is what?”
His nostrils flared slightly and she could tell he was angry. “It’s beneath you. There have been other women who wanted me. Who had me. I know I’m a novelty of sorts. I
know
this. And I haven’t been above taking what they freely offered. I’m not a fool. I know what you are doing.”
Elsie let out a sad laugh. “Then could you please tell me because I don’t know. I only know that I cannot stop thinking about you, that the only thing I look forward to is nighttime so that I be with you.”
He looked at her, searching her face for mendacity, then apparently finding none, let out a weary sigh. “Go to your party, Elsie. And when you come back, leave me alone.”
“Why?”
“Because you tempt me beyond reason,” he said harshly. “Surely you know that. You cannot be so innocent. You are not a child.”
She looked ridiculously pleased, and Alexander let out a groan of frustration. “You want to kiss me,” she said, rather too happily.
“Yes, I want to kiss you. I’m a man and you are a beautiful girl sitting next to me night after night in her bedclothes.” He ended on an exasperated note.
“I give you permission.”
He pressed his fingers to his temples and muttered a prayer. “Have you not heard a single word I’ve said, girl?”
“You said you wanted to kiss me.” She sat on the bench and smiled up at him.
“What are you doing to me?” he asked, looking at her almost beseechingly. As she watched, desire and something like resignation flickered in his gaze. And then in one quick, desperate motion, he grabbed her upper arms and brought her against him, their lips only a breath away. “This is a mistake. A mistake,” he said fiercely, giving her a small shake.
“No. It’s not.” And she pulled him to her, until their lips touched and she thought she’d die of pure happiness. She was kissing him, Alexander, and it was wonderful and freeing. At first, he resisted, even as his lips pressed against hers, even as she let out a sigh. Then, as if something broke or snapped, he moaned and moved his mouth against hers in a way that was so incredibly carnal and unexpected, she nearly swooned. It was as if this kiss turned her entire body to a strange liquid that pooled high between her legs in a delicious sensation that was purely wonderful. Never would she have dreamed that a single kiss could make her feel so. It was stunning.
He pulled away, looking anguished. “Oh, God,” he said, his hands clutching her upper arms convulsively. “I’m done for now.” And then he brought his mouth against her jaw, her neck, and Elsie learned the bliss of a man’s rough beard against a woman’s delicate skin. She let out sounds she wasn’t even aware she was capable of, and felt sensations she didn’t know existed. It was insane, but she wanted him to touch her—everywhere, anywhere. He brought his mouth against hers again, and placed one hand gently on her chin, his thumb on her lower lip. Pulling, he opened her mouth and he kissed her, touching his tongue against hers, creating so much heat between her legs, she thought she might explode. She not only welcomed him, she moved her own tongue against his, exploring the wonderful sensations such a carnal action created. A low sound came from deep within him as they deepened the kiss, as her hands moved to the back of his head and kneaded through his thick hair.
“Oh, God, Elsie,” he said, moving his hands along her sides, with nothing to stop the heat of him except two thin layers of cotton.
“Please,” she whispered, not even knowing why, only knowing that her body ached for him to touch her. She felt his hand on one breast, a thumb moving across a taut nipple, and couldn’t stop the sound of pure pleasure that came from her parted lips. Nothing could have prepared her for the intense sensations his touch invoked. His breathing was harsh as he cupped her breast, as he dipped his head and kissed her aching nipple through the layers of her nightclothes. He let out a strange sound, almost a moan of pain, as he stopped and laid his head against her breast.
Then he exploded off the bench, leaving her nearly toppling over on to the floor without his support. He strode over to the mural and picked up his brush, and stood there staring blindly at the painting. She stayed on the bench, her hands bracing herself, her breath hard, her eyes glazed with desire, her body aching for more. She finally knew what it was like to feel a man’s touch, to ache for more.
“Oh,” she said, small and nearly silent. She understood, now she finally comprehended what he’d been trying to say, why a kiss could be the cruelest of all fates. It
had
been a mistake, a terrible one. For now Elsie knew passion, and knew that she would likely never have it in her married life. She never should have kissed this beautiful man. He had warned her, practically begged her to leave him alone. He’d been right, right, right.
For Elsie had a terrible feeling she was falling in love with him, with this silent man whom she could never have.
Chapter 6
 
“What is wrong with you, niece?” Aunt Diane asked. “You’ve done nothing but mope around ever since we arrived.”
Elsie stared out at the expansive lawn where many of the Wrights’ guests were gathered for a game of croquet, a game Elsie had just learned to play and had previously found to be rather delightful. But Lord Hathwaite was playing and she simply couldn’t bring herself to join him.
This was the extent of their conversation in the first two days Elsie had been at the house party.
“So good to see you, Lord Hathwaite.”
“Yes. And good to see you.”
“We received your father’s missive about the wedding.” This said simply to garner some reaction.
“Indeed.”
She wanted to bash him over the head with his mallet just to see if he’d react to that.
Indeed.
“Is this to be my future, Aunt? Do you see anyone laughing or enjoying life?” Of course, at that very moment, one of the female guests let out a rather unseemly laugh, which only made Elsie scowl more.
“Your father told me about the wedding date,” her aunt said knowingly.
Elsie stared mulishly at Lord Hathwaite, knowing that her future was set in stone before her and also knowing there was nothing she could do about it. At least her overbearing future father-in-law was not at the party. She was terrified of him and he knew and probably expected it. She half suspected Lord Hathwaite was terrified of the old duke, as well.
She knew she was being difficult, but it was as if she’d awakened after a long sleep only to realize her entire life had passed her by. Though she hadn’t looked forward to her marriage, she’d never actually dreaded it. And now she did.
Because of one—or perhaps two—kisses.
If only Lord Hathwaite had shown even the smallest interest in kissing her... or talking to her or looking at her or walking with her. She supposed when you knew who you were going to marry since the time you could think, the idea of pursuit never entered one’s head. Perhaps if she pursued him, it might be fun.
With determination, she said, “I’ll go play.”
When she reached the group, she called out, “Can you have one more player?” They agreed and she took up the ugly yellow mallet that was left. “You’ll have to refresh my memory as I’ve only played once. Lord Hathwaite, perhaps you can be my mentor.”
He looked slightly put out, but maybe Elsie, in her contrary state, was simply imagining things. “Of course,” he said, giving her a graceful bow. Ever proper, ever polite.
She looked up at him in what she imagined was a coquettish manner. “How does one hold the mallet?” she asked, purposely holding it wrong.
“That’s fine,” he said, distracted. “Hey, good shot, Whitmoore.” Then he looked back at her. “You’ll be fine. It’s a simple enough game and it doesn’t matter who wins, after all, does it?”
And off he went. Elsie stared after him, then gave her aunt a pointed look, as if to say: See what I mean? Aunt simply laughed and waved her hand at her niece as if all was well in the world, which it was. Her niece would be a duchess some day. What could possibly be wrong with that?
 
“You look particularly glum, Hath,” Lord Whitmoore said to his old school chum. “And your father isn’t even here.”
“But he hovers like a black specter in my life,” Oscar said, pulling back a long drink of fine French brandy. He stared at the rich, amber liquid, swirled it about, then placed it firmly on the mantel. It wouldn’t do to get drunk before lunch. “He’s set the wedding date.”
“Ah,” Whitmoore said. He stood by a large bank of windows overlooking the Stapleford gardens where several young ladies were examining the Wrights’ prize-winning roses. Among them was the lovely Miss Elizabeth. “She’s grown into a beauty. That’s some luck there.”
Oscar grunted. “I suppose.”
Whitmoore laughed. “I still wouldn’t trade places with you for a harem of beautiful women.”
“Thank you for your encouraging words,” Oscar said dryly.
“Hell, Hath, we all know what a miserable codger your father is. And we probably don’t know the half of it. But this marriage is your escape. You can move to your town house in London and never speak to him again until he’s on his deathbed. You can start the life of idleness and debauchery you’ve always wanted to lead.”
Oscar smiled grimly. “I was thinking of going to Northumberland. Or Scotland. But I fear his tentacles will find me no matter where I go.”
Whitmoore looked suitably shocked. “You cannot drag a new bride to Northumberland. She’d leave you in a day.”
Oscar actually looked happy for a moment. “Precisely.”
“It’s not as if she’s a shrew. She seems rather nice to me,” Whitmoore said with clear puzzlement.
“Then you marry her.”
“Too late for that, you know.”
“Nothing is more disgusting than a happily married man.”
Whitmoore grinned. “You might be happy, too, if you’d put your mind to it.” He peered out the window again. “She seems to get on with my Agnes. We could have dinners together and attend the opera in Town.”
“And raise our heir and a spare together,” Oscar said bitterly. He hated this, hated feeling sour and sad and angry all the time. He’d hated his life, every single minute of it, except for the times at school and those glorious two weeks that single summer. He felt as if he were suffocating, as if something heavy was pressing down on him, making it impossible to breathe. Why did his brothers have to die. Why?
And then Oscar heard his father’s voice and felt his body convulse.
“Hell, Hath, what’s he doing here? Sorry, old chap,” Whitmoore said with real concern.
God, he wanted to cry. Instead, he straightened and schooled his features to betray no emotion as he watched his father walk into the room.
“Drinking already? Isn’t it a bit early for that, Hathwaite? Is this your bad influence, Whitmoore?” he boomed.
“No, sir. I mean, yes, Your Grace. In fact, that is mine,” he said, indicating the abandoned drink on the mantel. Whitmoore, the most confident of men, lost all poise in the face of the Duke of Kingston.
“And the one in your hand?”
“They’re both mine,” he said weakly. “Good day, sir.” And he was gone before Oscar could blink, not that he blamed his friend.
“Still need your friends to lie for you, I see.”
“The drink is mine, Your Grace.”
Kingston ignored his son’s comment. “Why aren’t you out in the garden with your intended? I’ve heard you’re ignoring her completely.”
“No, sir.”
“There have been rumors about you. Ugly ones. The sooner you are married, the better.”
Oscar gave his father a look of complete confusion. He never did anything or went anywhere. How could there possibly be rumors about him? “I don’t understand, sir.”
His father looked at him with the purest disgust. “Is there a reason you don’t wish to spend time with your intended? A reason you haven’t shared with me?”
Oscar thought back on every moment he’d spent in the company of Elizabeth and could not recall one thing that would cause his father distress. He had not been attentive, that was true, but neither had he ever put them in a compromising position. He’d never even kissed her cheek.
“No, sir. We played croquet yesterday, as a matter of fact. She’s quite good. Rather a vicious player,” he said, with a small note of appreciation. In fact, her aggressive play was one of the most memorable times he’d spent with her, giving him a small glimpse into a woman who might not be a complete timid mouse.
“I never hear of any escapades about you and females.” The words were innocuous enough, but his father’s tone was incongruous, as if this were some sort of strange interrogation.
“That is because you forbid it.”
His father threw back his head and laughed, but it was an ugly, evil sound. “Good God, Hathwaite, you must be the only son in the kingdom who has obeyed that particular edict. Unless there is something else keeping you from females.”
Oscar stared at his father in disbelief as it finally occurred to him what the duke was suggesting—that he didn’t like women, but preferred men. “Rest assured, Your Grace, I greatly enjoy the company of women,” Oscar said, feeling his temper rise. “It is only my restrictive and oppressive life that has made any debauchery quite impossible. In addition, I am a Christian man and an honorable one.”
“It doesn’t matter whether you are or not or whether you enjoy women or not. Just know that you will be married and you will produce an heir. I, too, am a man of honor and will obey the agreement I set down with Lord Huntington. Nothing will prevent your marriage. Nothing.”
The duke turned on his heel, leaving Oscar behind seething with impotent rage. By God, when the old man died he’d dance on his grave and not care who saw him.
 
Elsie, of course, was completely unaware of the tension and drama between Oscar and his father, and picked an unfortunate time to request her first kiss from the man she would one day marry.
After dinner, Oscar, looking even more tense than usual, requested that she join him for a walk in the garden. Although he’d asked politely, there was no mistaking him for a man who was doing this voluntarily, something that was confirmed when she saw his father give his son a subtle and curiously arrogant nod of approval.
They walked in silence for a time, an uncomfortable, tense silence, until Elsie had to talk. “It’s a lovely night, is it not?”
“Yes, it is.”
She looked up at his profile and acknowledged dispassionately that he was handsome. “Is your mother expected tomorrow?”
“I have no idea.”
Beneath her hand, she could feel his arm flex until it was almost like holding onto an oak pole. “Lord Hathwaite, are you angry with me?”
He stopped suddenly, his jaw flexing, which for some reason reminded her painfully of Alexander. “No. I apologize. I’m not good company this evening. Perhaps we should go back inside.”
“Perhaps, instead, we should talk about why this marriage of ours is as unwanted by you as it is for me.”
He looked at her with complete surprise. “I beg your pardon.”
“If I’m wrong, please tell me. I shall beg forgiveness.”
“You are not wrong,” he said, sounding rather miserable. “But please, do not take it personally.”
Elsie laughed, and was happy to finally see a real smile on his handsome face. “How else am I to take it?” Then she waved her hand at him when he began to explain. “Please, do not apologize. We hardly know each other and yet we are expected to marry in a matter of months. I’m quite content with my life right now. I have a little sister, if you remember, and I shall miss her terribly when I’m married.”
They continued on with their walk, more relaxed.
“And you? Why do you not want to marry?” Elsie asked. Even though she was not looking forward to their union, she had to admit she was slightly unsettled knowing that he wasn’t either.
“I feel like a cad.”
“Please don’t,” Elsie said, giving his arm a squeeze. “We are simply pawns, you and I. I think that is part of it, is it not?”
“Yes. That’s it precisely. When I was younger, I wondered if I could breathe without my father’s permission. And now I am a man and he still maintains a stranglehold on my life. Sometimes I wish...” He stopped, bending his head as if the ground would offer up an answer.
“You wish?” Elsie urged.
“I wish I was not the Marquess of Hathwaite. I wish I could do as I pleased in life.”
Elsie laughed. “I imagine there is no one in Christendom who has not made that wish.”
He looked at her strangely a moment, as if seeing her for the first time. “Have you wished it?”
“Of course. While there is a certain amount of comfort in knowing I shall marry into a good family, a part of me wishes it were my choice.”
“Should I feel insulted?” he asked with a rare smile.
“No more than I.” They continued walking side-by-side, no longer arm-in-arm, as if by unspoken agreement. “I suppose it has been difficult for you. Your father is a bit ...”
“Overbearing?”
Elsie smiled guiltily. “A bit.”
“I’m afraid it’s much more than that. He’s even demanded that our first son be named Henry. Can you fathom it?”
“He’s naming our children?” Elsie said, aghast. “Goodness.”
“Hardly good,” Lord Hathwaite said dryly.
They walked until the shadows grew long, stopping to admire a pretty arbor completely covered with ivy. That arbor, its leaves, reminded her of her mural, which reminded her of Alexander. She missed him and felt a frisson of happiness at the thought of returning home on the morrow and seeing him again. Yes, that kiss had been a mistake, but Alexander was her friend. Certainly they could remain friends.

Other books

Bound by Vengeance by Noir, Adriana
Wife Wanted in Dry Creek by Janet Tronstad
The Cay by Theodore Taylor
Blood Red Road by Moira Young
Claire of the Sea Light by Edwidge Danticat
Plague of the Undead by McKinney, Joe
Tears on My Pillow by Elle Welch
The Creed of Violence by Boston Teran