Before she had time to think, it was her turn to say her vows. Somehow, she managed not to stumble over the words. Then came the moment for Damien to place the ring on her finger. Her hand trembled but he held it steady as he slipped the wide, intricately carved, gold band on the third finger of her left hand. She stared down at the symbol that told the world she now belonged to Damien.
The priest gave them a final blessing. The ceremony was over. She was officially the wife of Damien Trevor, Duke of Wyndham. She belonged to him until death parted them. This had been her deepest desire, to be wife to Damien. But she had not wanted it forced on him. She had wanted him to want this marriage as much as she did.
Damien turned her to face him and folded back her veil. She looked up into his handsome face, and her mind froze. All her thoughts and doubts were stilled as her senses were overpowered by the man before her.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I believe,” he said quietly, “that it is customary for the groom to kiss the bride at this point.”
His arm went about her, pulling her close. She braced herself for the ravaging of her mouth that she had come to expect, but instead, his lips came down on hers softly, gently caressing and surprising her into a response. The world seemed to spin around her, and her knees turned to jelly. She held onto his coat with both hands and swayed against him for support. Her lips parted, inviting him, beckoning. All thoughts of their bargain flew from her mind as his kiss deepened.
She had no idea how long they remained in their embrace. The priest clearing his throat finally brought her back to reality. As Damien raised his head, his green eyes glinted with heat and something else… She couldn’t define it, but it made her breath catch in her throat. Then with a smile, the spell was broken. He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. Together, they walked back down the aisle.
It had only been a short while ago that she had walked this path alone. Strange, how a few minutes of time could completely alter one’s life. Before, she had been the poor daughter of a deceased earl, thrown out of her own home by her stepmother. Now, she was the Duchess of Wyndham, wife of a very powerful and very rich man.
They emerged into the late afternoon sun and hurried down the steps and into the waiting coach. A curious crowd had gathered outside the church, and there was much shoving and pushing to see the new wife of the Duke. Once inside the coach, Jessica sat as far into the corner as possible. She was suddenly very shy of her new husband.
Damien was unable to sit very close to her because of the long train of her dress. The creamy satin billowed around his feet and up over his knees. He pushed at it ineffectually and smiled ruefully.
“I think wedding dresses are designed to keep husbands away from their new wives as long as possible,” His eyes danced with humor as he glanced at her. He took her hand and placed a kiss on her open palm. “You look beautiful today, my love,” he murmured. “Delectable witch turned into a fairy princess.” He flashed her a grin.
Jessica blushed and ducked her head. He could charm the feathers from a peacock with his flirting.
A few minutes later the coach pulled up before the door of Damien’s house. He descended, then turned to help Jessica. As she gazed up at the front door, apprehension at meeting the guests inside, most of whom she did not know, made her stomach flutter.
Damien bent close and whispered in her ear, “Do you suppose we could sneak away for a private game of cards?”
She smiled up at him. “Only if you let me win,” she whispered back, grateful for his attempt to help her feel at ease. Her heart swelled at the connection between them. Together, they walked up the stairs and into the house.
When they entered, they discovered all the servants lined up waiting for them in the front hall. Jacobs cleared his throat, then announced, “Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Wyndham.” All the servants cheered and applauded.
Damien thanked them, then smiled down at Jessica. “It seems they have accepted you as their mistress,” he observed.
With apprehension, she answered, “I hope I do not disappoint them.”
The applause died, and Jacobs shooed the servants back to their duties, then he turned to Jessica and Damien. “May I extend my congratulations and best wishes to Your Graces,” he said with a formal bow.
“Thank you, Jacobs,” Damien answered. “That is most thoughtful of you.”
Jacobs snapped his fingers and Frannie appeared with a tray that held a snifter of brandy and a steaming cup of tea. “I took the liberty of preparing a small libation for you both,” he said.
“Oh, Jacobs, you are a dear,” Jessica exclaimed as she took her cup.
The butler looked rather aghast, but pleased, at her informality “Thank you, Your Grace.” He nearly smiled. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must attend to my duties.” Bowing again, he left.
Jessica and Damien were alone, but only for a few moments. Damien’s mother arrived along with Donny and Leftenant Johnson. The two women hustled Jessica upstairs, so she could refresh herself before meeting the guests. Halfway up, she glanced over her shoulder. Damien was watching her, his gaze warm, intense, possessive. A pleasurable shiver ran through her. Then Leftenant Johnson said something to him and the spell was broken. But as she continued up the stairs, she smiled to herself as she began to plan her campaign to make Damien fall in love with her.
Chapter 21
A fortnight after the wedding, Jessica sat on a quilt on the warm grass under a tree. Her needlepoint had fallen unheeded to her lap. She gazed back at the house—Damien’s house—proud and regal, sprawling in the sun.
This was her home now. She was its mistress. A duchess. She could scarcely believe it.
The house was built in the shape of an H, with the main entrance in the center of the crossbar. In order to reach the front door, one had to climb a wide, sweeping flight of stairs. The large, open foyer, which was two stories high, was actually on the second floor of the house, along with the ballroom, the main dining room, the salon, and various other rooms for entertaining guests. The bottom floor contained an extensive library, Damien’s study, a morning room, a parlor and a smaller, more intimate dining room where the family ate when not entertaining. On the opposite side of the crossbar on the ground floor were the kitchen and the other rooms necessary for the every-day running of the mansion. The two wings contained bedrooms and the staff living quarters.
Jessica took most of the first week to inspect the entire structure, and even then, there were parts she had not yet seen. She thought that she might have some reorganization ahead of her, but everything was running smoothly without her intervention. There was little for her to do. Out of deference to her position in the household, Hobbs, the majordomo, asked her opinion on the menus and the linens to be used for dining, but he was so competent that she felt superfluous.
And lonely.
Damien had not spent much time with her. He was immersed in reacquainting himself with his estate because he had been away for so long. He had occasionally taken her out for a ride in the curricle, but their conversations would center mainly on the sights or the history of the estate. Gone was the charming, teasing seductive rogue who had won her heart. Jessica feared that his polite but distant demeanor would define their marriage.
Now, she sighed heavily and poked at the needlepoint in her lap. The young maid who was sitting several feet away got up and approached her anxiously. Damien had instructed that she was never to go outdoors alone because of her condition. She supposed she should appreciate his concern, but she felt confined.
“Is there something wrong, Your Grace?” the maid asked. “Are you feeling ill?”
Jessica smiled to belay the girl’s fears. “No, Mary, I am not ill,” she told her. “I think I have done enough needlepoint for today. I am going back to the house.”
The girl helped Jessica gather up her things, and walked with her back to
the house. At the doorway, Jessica asked the girl to put her needlepoint away for her, then she made her escape to her bedroom.
The master bedroom suite consisted of two bedrooms which were connected by a large sitting room. Each bedroom also had its own dressing area. Jessica’s rooms were decorated in shades of light blue and white. It was a pleasant room, situated at the back of the house and looked out on formal gardens directly below the windows.
Damien’s room, which she’d only seen in passing while on her tour of the house, was on the side of the house, facing rolling lawn and forest beyond. His room was done in shades of darker blue and gold. The connecting sitting room was situated on a corner of the house, thus having two walls with windows. This room combined the colors of the two rooms on either side. Jessica liked this room, but found herself apprehensive about using it. She was always afraid she would meet Damien in it. For some reason, she felt it was his room, and she did not wish to tread on his territory. Bored, frustrated, she decided to raid Damien’s library. At least a book would provide some companionship, even though it was imaginary.
At dinner that evening, Damien was quiet. He told her a poacher had been seen in the woods and to stay close to the house. After that, he lapsed into brooding silence. The only conversation was between Hobbs and whomever he happened to be serving at the time. As soon as she could, Jessica escaped upstairs to her room and left Damien to befriend his brandy. Her book would be much better company than her silent, overbearing husband.
Near dawn, a noise outside Jessica’s bedroom door awakened her. She lay quietly and listened. It came again, a shuffling noise, then her door handle slowly began to turn.
“Who’s there?” she called.
The door was flung wide, and Damien stood in the opening.
“You are a witch!” he announced. “You have worked your spells too well, Witch.”
Jessica jumped out of bed and hurried over to him. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she could not tell whether it was from fear or anticipation. Her only thought was to get him out of her room before he woke the servants.
“You need to leave,” she said as she tried to push him out.
“No,” he disagreed, not budging. He draped his arm heavily across her shoulders and pulled her against him. “What I need is a kiss, Witch.”
Before she could protest, his mouth descended and captured her lips. Caught off guard, still groggy from sleep, she kissed him back. Warm tingles ran through her and curled her toes. The taste of him, flavored with brandy, made her senses reel. Damien was magic.
Finally raising his head, he grinned down at her. “Good night, my Witch,” he whispered. Then he turned away and sauntered down the hall, bellowing for Wilson as he went.
After returning to her bed, Jessica lay awake pondering her husband’s strange behavior. He had been so distant and taciturn at dinner, she had been certain that he wanted little to do with her, that he had no soft feelings for her. The kiss he had just bestowed on her was warm with feeling. Her lips still pulsed from his stolen caress.
She turned impatiently in the bed as she tried to block out the delicious throb in her center and the confusion in her head. Sleep did not come easily for the rest of the night.
The next morning, Jessica found the dining room empty when she came down for breakfast. She had almost finished her meal when Damien entered and sat in his chair at the head of the table.
She was not about to sit through another silent meal. Placing her napkin beside her plate, she said. “If you will excuse me, Damien, I have things to attend to.”
As she rose, he commanded quietly, “Sit down.”
She remained standing.
“Please,” he added.
She dropped back into her chair. Nervously, she chewed at her bottom lip as she waited to hear what he had to say, then forced herself to stop. She would not let him see how uncomfortable she was. She was a better card player than that.
Confusion clouded his eyes. “What are you trying to do to me, Jessica? I have honored your damn bargain. What more do you want?”
Jessica’s mind raced. Except for the kiss of the night before, he had honored the bargain. She could tell him what she really wanted was his love, but that would be like rubbing salt across the open wound of her heart. That would never do.
There was something which she had wanted to speak to him about since their wedding day, but had not found the right time or the right words. It concerned Jason, who still remained Margaret’s ward. Damien had power and influence. Perhaps he would be able to help her brother. But she was not about to relinquish her superior position in this battle of wits with her husband. Not yet.
Looking suitably puzzled, she asked sweetly, “Why Damien, whatever do you mean? Have I suggested that you have been anything less than agreeable to live with, gracious, or honorable?”
A pained expression flitted across Damien’s face before he warned, “Do not play games with me, Jessica. I have very little patience this morning. You know I can make you tell me what I want to know.”
Having her husband’s attention in spite of his poor disposition, she decided to take advantage of the opening he provided. She sat back and ran her finger thoughtfully along the edge of the table as she searched for a way to begin. The best way, she decided, was to be direct.
“I have a brother,” she said. “He is twelve years old, too young to shield himself completely from Margaret’s influence. He inherited the title of Earl of Braeleigh upon my father’s death, and several months ago, we learned he also inherited a substantial land holding in America. But he is Margaret’s ward. She has control of everything—the money, the estate, and my brother.”
“Fascinating,” he murmured.
She glanced at him. Her husband’s gaze was icy. Her family was far from his most favorite topic of conversation.
She took a breath and plunged forward. “Could you do something about the situation? Could you take over as my brother’s guardian?”
Disbelief crossed his face. He responded with an incredulous question of his own. “You are asking me to become involved with another member of your family? Have you no sense of justice, Jessica? Or is this further punishment for what I have done?”
Jessica answered him with only one word. “Please?”
Damien’s face closed over his emotions. Sardonically, he asked, “You would trust me more than your own, dear stepmother?”
Jessica answered coldly, “I would not trust Margaret to tell me the correct time of day.”
Damien did not answer right away. He sat staring at her for so long that she began to fidget in her chair. What was going on behind those cold, green eyes?
Finally, his voice stony, he said, “I can do nothing for your brother.”
He rose, apparently deciding the conversation was at an end.
Jessica had one more thing to say. “Then I will write to him.”
Damien stopped and turned to her. “You may write to the Devil for all I care.”
Jessica watched him stride angrily from the room. She had been stupid. She should have known he would want nothing to do with her family. She had asked too soon. She might have spoiled her chances of ever getting Jason away from Margaret.
At least she could write to her brother. Out of deference to Damien’s feelings, she had only sent one, short note to Jason informing him of her marriage. Now, she would write to him regularly, whether Damien liked it or not. She only hoped that Margaret would not intercept the letters.
Chapter 22
Three days passed before Jessica was able to write to Jason. Many tasks occupied her as she learned how to run a house as large as Wyndham. The boredom she had experienced was gone, but Damien was still a missing piece in her life. They lived in the same house, but more like acquaintances than husband and wife. She had not yet figured out how to rectify that.
He had gone out early that morning with several of the servants to track the poachers who had been killing deer on their property and leaving most of the carcasses to rot. He would not return until late that evening, so she had a bit of time to herself. She was at a small desk in the morning room, a cozy room situated at the southeastern corner of the house, and had just begun her letter when Hobbs knocked discreetly.
“Begging Your Grace’s pardon,” he said. “The men have captured the poacher.”
She was puzzled that the majordomo would relay this information to her. “That is good news, Hobbs,” she said. “Has His Grace been told?”
“His Grace is still out searching the grounds.” Hobbs discreetly cleared his throat. “Begging Your Grace’s pardon, but I believe you would prefer to deal with this yourself.”
Intrigued by his suggestion, Jessica put down her pen and followed him outside. A group of Damien’s retainers stood about a small, bedraggled fellow. As Jessica approached, they parted to allow her through. A pair of dead rabbits lay at the poacher’s feet.
“What is the problem, Hobbs?” Jessica demanded. “You caught the fellow red-handed.”
At her words, the poacher raised his eyes and stared sullenly at Jessica. She was taken aback to see a smudged, pixie face glaring at her.
“Why, it’s a girl!” Jessica exclaimed.
“Isn’t she the smart one,” the poacher said sarcastically.
The footman, who had been holding the girl by the arm, gave her a shake. “Watch yer mouth, wench. This here’s the Duchess o’ Wyndham.”
“Well, la-di-dah,” the girl sneered.
Before the footman could throttle the young girl for her insolence, Jessica held up her hand to stop him. “What is your name?” she asked her. “Where’s your family?”
The girl just hunched her shoulders and stared at the ground. Jessica glanced around at the hostile faces of the men and had an inspiration. Putting her arm about the thin little shoulders, she said gently, “Come sit over here with me. We’ll talk, just the two of us.”
The Duke Who Loved Me: On His Majesty's Secret Service Book 1 Page 25