“I do hope it’s not serious,” Miss Wilde said, with the most sincere of expressions. She worried for Margaret all day long and continually reminded Ezra to give his mother her best wishes for her recovery.
The second day was much the same. He came, he did not see her. As they rode along in the carriage, he watched the woods pass through the window and thought of all the kisses they’d shared.
Nathaniel had not felt so afraid of losing something since he was a child.
On the third day, he walked with such haste that Miss Wilde struggled to keep up. And when they arrived, he expected to see her there, awaiting him in the drawing room.
But there was only Ezra, smiling up at him.
Nathaniel’s shoulders slackened and his features changed. It felt like his hope had come to nothing in a mere moment. Until he heard her voice. “Are you well, my Lord?”
Nathaniel turned to see her standing in the doorway. She looked bashful, though pleased to see him. There was a tenderness in her eyes that wilted him and he expelled an unsteady breath of relief.
He did not answer her, only said, “Will you be joining us today, Your Grace?”
She smiled a little more. “If it suits you, my Lord. I am feeling a great deal better.”
They walked together, but did not touch. He didn’t know where he stood with her anymore. Had she reached a decision? After many minutes, he could stand the silence no longer. “Margaret, please do not torment me.”
Margaret put her hand upon his arm to still him and he looked up at her as though he expected her to say something truly awful.
That they must not see each other in a romantic capacity ever again. “Torment you?” She murmured, with furrowed brows. “Is that what you think my purpose is?”
Nathaniel shook his head. “I do not think it is your purpose,” he admitted. “Only a consequence of your indecision.”
Her hand fluttered down his arm until she could take his hand into hers. She lifted his cupped knuckles and used her free hand to stroke the lines and crinkles of his palm.
“I am sorry to have tormented you, Nathaniel.” She paused a while, merely stroking his hand. She did so with such softness, yet he felt it to his very bones.
“My mind was such chaos two days ago. I had hoped to gain some clarity.”
“And have you?”
The Duchess nodded. “I believe I have.”
He took his hand from hers and held it, rubbing his thumb across his tingling skin. If she meant to deny him, he could not allow her to be touching him. It would be salt in the wound.
The space between them felt like a gorge.
“I have thought a great deal and I realize that our options are extremely limited. If we spend more time together, in this capacity, we cannot continue to do so in absolute secret.
There is enough scandal to my name as it stands. But if we go public, you will certainly face a fair amount of scandal yourself, the thought of which I cannot bear.”
Margaret looked down at her hands, tangled in front of her. “The simplest thing to do, with the least risk, would be to discontinue what we have.”
Nathaniel felt his heart begin to plummet. He felt suddenly sure that she had met with him today only to give him this terrible, terrible news. That she wanted nothing more from him.
“But it would not be so simple,” she said, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her over his thundering heart. “For my heart.”
Nathaniel’s eyes rose to her face. She was looking at him, with hopeful expectation.
“If you are certain, Nathaniel, that you fully understand and accept the consequences of being seen together… then I would like to spend more time with you.”
“Margaret,” he breathed and took a sudden step towards her as though he meant to kiss her. She stopped him before he could reach her, by pressing her palm against his chest.
“On one condition,” she added. “I am still in the midst of my mourning period. Until it passes, we may continue to learn one another in the meantime. But only as friends.”
He blinked, as if he didn’t quite understand, and watched Margaret’s eyes lower to her hand upon his chest. He knew that she must be able to feel the force of his beating heart. “You mean…”
She nodded sadly. “I mean that you mustn’t kiss me anymore.”
Chapter 18
Lady Margaret Abigail Baxter, Duchess of Lowe
It was harder than she’d ever thought it would be. Having told Nathaniel her condition, it had taken him a moment to agree.
But agree he did, with a small crinkle between his brows. She understood that this would be difficult for him, as it would be for any man, but she hadn’t expected to struggle with temptation herself.
Joshua had given her plenty of practice keeping a gentleman at arm’s length. In fact, she believed that much of the reason he’d been so keen to marry her had been because she’d been so adamant about keeping her distance from him.
That was the trouble with men. They very much wanted what they couldn’t have, but lost interest once the chase had been won. She could only hope that Nathaniel was the exception to the rule.
Despite her practice, she itched to touch him every second of the day. She wanted to touch his springy hair, his lips which were as soft as the inside of rose petals, his wide shoulders and his rough cheeks.
Above all, she wanted him to kiss her again and there were often moments when it seemed as though he might. When, at the very least, she could see that he wanted to.
But each time, he would look away and take a breath, and she would burn red right up to her hairline. Not with embarrassment. With needfulness.
At the end of their walk one day, Nathaniel put a proposition to her.
“There is a masquerade ball myself and an old friend of mine have organized, to fund further improvements at the schoolhouse. I had hoped that you might join me?”
A ball.
Her throat felt thick. When she didn’t answer, Nathaniel frowned. “I thought this was what you’d hoped for. That we might spend time together in the open.”
“Certainly, it is,” she said quickly. “Only…”
“What is it, Margaret?” Nathaniel pressed, with obvious concern.
“Only it has been such a long time since I attended a ball.” She bit her lip and looked down at her hands. When she looked back up at him, he was smiling with open affection. “Why do you smile so?”
“You are nervous,” he noted, his smile still growing. “It is rather endearing to see you so.”
Such a simple thing to say and yet her worry floated away as easily as a leaf on a gale. She smiled too and lightly smacked his arm. “Do not tease me. It has been years since I last danced…”
“Did the Duke not take you?”
Margaret shook her head. “He would always tell me he was busy when we were invited to a ball.” Her voice quietened.
She knew now why he had always been busy. But before she could sink into that feeling of melancholy that had become so familiar to her, Nathaniel squeezed her hand.
“It would be my honor to take you to the ball, Margaret.”
She felt lighter in the wake of his words. “I may step on your feet,” she told him.
“I look forward to it.”
***
Lord Nathaniel Sterling, Earl of Comptonshire
He had thought it would get easier as time passed, but it only became harder, because every day that he spent with Margaret, he wanted her more. And having already kissed her, he felt like a man who’d been given a taste of paradise only to have it snatched away from him.
Sometimes, as they walked, he would be swallowed up by silence and she would ask him if he was well. He’d blink over at her as though he was coming out of a dream.
And, in truth, he was. A wakeful dream in which he relived what it had been like to kiss her.
There were many times that he came close to breaking his promise. When he would be overwhelmed by a need to hold
her, touch her, or kiss her. But when that needfulness came upon him, he reminded himself what the consequences might be if he did not regain control of himself.
The thought of losing her kept him from doing something foolish.
But whether or not he could sustain such a level of self-control, his heart remained foolhardy. He spent all his energy keeping himself physically in check, that there was nothing left of his capacity to keep his feelings in check.
Every day he fell for her again, harder than the last.
And not only for her, but for Ezra too. His leg was almost healed and he’d been well enough to ride with Nathaniel, albeit upon the same horse.
“My back is feeling a great deal better,” Nathaniel had said. “How does your leg fare?”
“It feels normal now,” Ezra had answered, so Nathaniel had suggested a ride.
He had never seen Ezra so happy, nor so excited by a prospect. Even the boy’s newfound love of archery could not hold a candle to his love of riding.
Ezra had sat in front of him and rested his hands upon Nathaniel’s forearms as they rode, with Margaret riding beside them. They did not get back until late that evening, because Ezra had not wanted to stop.
When they returned to the estate, Ezra had been so tired that he’d barely made it up the stairs before falling sound asleep.
In his absence, Margaret and Nathaniel were left alone. It was strange to be alone with her in such a capacity. They weren’t in the woods anymore.
They were in her home, under her roof and rule, in a place where a man and a woman need only answer to one another and no one else.
It felt so much closer than the woods.
“Thank you for today,” Margaret murmured as they stood in the hallway. She did not lead him into the drawing room, but she didn’t tell him to leave either.
Nathaniel didn’t think she knew what she wanted. She was leaning in the drawing room doorway, peering up at him from beneath her lashes.
He saw her tiny teeth bite at her lower lip until it was rosy and plump. He’d gotten so used to seeing her this way. That shy, searching, indecisive look of hers that was so astoundingly tempting.
“I enjoyed myself,” he assured her.
She was quiet for a moment, pursing her lips as if there was more she’d like to say, only she wasn’t sure whether she ought to say it. “He is very fond of you,” she said, at last, without meeting his eye.
Margaret spoke the words as if speaking of some terrible weakness she’d wished to hide. For some reason he could not yet understand, the prospect of Ezra loving him made her feel vulnerable. He could see it in her eyes.
Did she worry that Nathaniel would disappoint her son? Or did her son’s love put some pressure on their relationship? He did not think it right to ask.
“And I am extremely fond of him.”
She looked at him. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
She offered him a gentle smile and merely looked at him from across the hall. The distance between them felt wrong and he longed to rectify it. “I had hoped that you might dance with me tonight,” he said.
Margaret blinked in surprise. “Dance with you? Tonight?”
“Yes,” he answered. “We could practice. To spare your nerves for the ball.” He smiled and glanced down at his feet before adding, “And my toes.”
She laughed quietly and seemed to think about it for a moment, before nodding her agreement.
Nathaniel began to draw nearer to her.
“But we do not have any music,” she noted. Nathaniel could feel her nerves, even now, and he wanted to swaddle them in his warmth and affection until she felt them no longer.
“We do,” he said, just as he reached her.
Nathaniel offered her his hand… and started to hum. It was a deep, melodic sound that mimicked the tune of a popular ballroom dance.
As he hummed it, soft and quiet, she put her hand in his and drew a little nearer, until he could feel the warmth of her chest almost pressing against his.
Very gently, he placed his hand on her waist.
“That is a lovely tune,” she whispered, as he started to move her to a rhythm created by their own heartbeats.
He did not answer her. Only continued to hum. He felt the song vibrate through his chest and was sure that she must feel it too.
They moved about the hallway in a gliding trance, aware of every breath, every slide of muscle and every tentative glance.
“This is reckless,” she breathed, though she made no attempt to part from him. He did not believe she truly wanted to.
Nathaniel knew better than to tempt himself, but he’d reasoned the risk away in his own mind, so that he could find an excuse to be so close to her. “It is only dancing,” he sang, to the tune he’d been humming. It made her smile and he felt her hand slacken against his shoulder, where before it had been clenched tight.
As though lulled by his voice, her eyelids grew heavy and her fingertips twitched softly against the groove between his shoulder and collarbone. Her hand was slipping lower, until she was tracing the shape of his sternum.
They’d stopped dancing.
His hum softened into silence.
The only sound was the rustling of his clothes as she followed the bones and muscles across his upper torso with her palm and fingers. She was staring down at his chest as she did so.
He whispered her name in a voice so husky that he sounded more like a wolf than a man. He was warning her that his control was slipping.
Nathaniel’s hand tightened on her waist and she sucked in an audible breath as though he’d jerked her against him and knocked the breath out of her.
All was quiet. They were not in the woods anymore, where the chirp of birds reminded them that they could at any moment be happened upon. This was her home.
“Nathaniel,” she whispered, as her eyes fluttered up his chest until she could meet his eye. Her fingers followed her gaze, until she was tracing the strong shape of his jawline.
He felt her rise up onto her tiptoes and was frozen still. Strung with expectation and desire.
She kissed him. So delicately, that it felt like the brush of a feather against his mouth. And yet such a tentative thing stole his breath entirely.
“Margaret,” he whispered, in an unsteady voice, as her hand rose towards the nape of his neck. “I made a promise.” It killed him to say it.
She nodded, in a slow and dazed way, as her fingertips found the downy hair at the base of his neck. “You promised not to kiss me,” she murmured. “But you see, it is I who is kissing you.”
With that, she sealed her lips against his and clenched her fingers in his hair, drawing his head down to sip from the fountain of her mouth.
With a heavy moan rumbling through his throat, Nathaniel was undone by her. He pressed forwards against her until she was forced to take a stumbling step backwards.
Her back pressed against the wall and her upper body arched into his torso like opposing magnets compelled to fuse together.
In answer to his rumble, she made a meek and pitched sound that shivered down Nathaniel’s spine as if she’d kissed a path down it.
He knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. They both knew it and yet they couldn’t stop.
***
Lady Margaret Abigail Baxter, Duchess of Lowe
When Nathaniel had started to dance with her, Margaret had felt as if all her worries were being carried by someone else.
Every fear, every sad memory and every concern for the future was taken by him as he hummed and guided her about the hall.
She’d been afraid that her dancing would be rusty. That she’d step on his toes and make herself look like an utter fool.
But with Nathaniel’s hand upon her waist, guiding her, she fell into a natural rhythm that had been imprinted in her mind and body from her very first dance.
She knew this. How could she forget something she’d always loved so dearly? Dancing was perhaps the thing that had foole
d her into falling in love with Joshua in the first place.
But they’d soon stopped dancing.
Now, in Nathaniel’s arms, she was overcome by some stealthy desire that she did not feel building until it was entirely upon her.
Watching his chest rise and fall, feeling the curves of his muscles and bones, she had wanted to kiss him so terribly that she forgot her one and only condition. It suddenly hadn’t mattered. No one mattered but him.
An Earl for the Broken-Hearted Duchess Page 13