An Earl for the Broken-Hearted Duchess

by Lucinda Nelson

  Margaret had kissed him, but it was not like the kisses they’d shared in the woods. This kiss was a fire between them.

  It wasn’t too adolescents flirting amongst trees. It was a man and a woman, each of them experienced in their own way and each of them having known love before, frantic for each other.

  When he pressed her against the wall, the breath was knocked from her lungs and puffed out of her in a rush. He kissed her again and again, tasting the sweetness of her breathlessness and trading it for his.

  He was a big man. A strong man. And the weight of him pressing her back into the wall felt so wonderful that she thought she might melt into a puddle at his feet.

  He gasped her name and she gasped his.

  But when their lips parted so that he could kiss a path down her jaw and across the lush slope of her neck, Margaret saw something over his shoulder.

  It was a stag’s head mounted on the wall.

  Margaret had always hated it and had heartily expressed that hatred when Joshua had first brought it home. She disliked hunting and she disliked the celebration of unnecessary death even more.

  When she’d expressed her dislike for it, Joshua had reluctantly agreed to get rid of it. But he hadn’t. He’d only brought it to Comptonshire and hung it in the hall.

  She did not know why those marble, empty eyes suddenly felt so intrusive. They seemed to become the embodiment of all the people watching her every move. Of the people who wanted to laugh at her. To drag her name through the mud.

  And suddenly, as Nathaniel’s lips passed over her pulse, she pulled away from him.

  He lifted his head. His hair was disheveled from the way she’d been gripping at it and his cheeks were burnished pink with passion.

  He looked into her eyes, but did not ask her what was wrong. He didn’t need to. With a heavy sigh, he cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. “Enough now,” he assured her, in a murmur. “You are tired.”

  She was grateful to him for not acknowledging the real reason she’d stopped kissing him. With a sad, apologetic smile, she touched his lower lip with her fingertips. It was glistening. “Do I play with your heart?” She asked, quietly and sadly.

  Nathaniel offered her a half-smile and shook his head. “My heart makes a game of itself.”

  He began to step away, but she took him by the hand to prevent him from doing so. “You know that my heart is not indifferent to you, don’t you Nathaniel?”

  He squeezed her hand and, though there seemed to be some relief in his smile, he nodded. “I believe you care for me,” he confirmed. “But I understand that it is a great deal more complicated than that.”

  His understanding knew no bounds. It astounded her, every single day.

  “I will take my leave now,” he said.

  Once again, she held tight to his hand. “We have failed rather miserably at friendship, haven’t we?”

  “I think we were bound to. But we will keep trying. I promise you that.”

  She nodded and, at last, released his hand. It was a difficult thing to do, because the thought of him leaving made her feel so alone. Just the thought of it. “I will meet you at the ball tomorrow?”

  He tipped his head in agreement and said, “And we will finish our dance.”

  Chapter 19

  Lord Nathaniel Sterling, Earl of Comptonshire

  Nathaniel was beginning to wonder if Margaret was not coming. The ball was in full swing, yet still he stood by the door awaiting her.

  As the host, he had greeted each and every person as they arrived, but even the latecomers had thinned out.

  Still, his Duchess was nowhere to be seen and he suspected the reason. Their interactions had been ever so delicate since he’d first kissed her. She had fluctuated between needing space and needing him as close as was physically possible.

  So much so that he was beginning to wonder if she even truly wanted him. If this was all, perhaps, too much for her.

  Could it be that her infatuation with him was a symptom of her mourning, or of being subject to her husband’s infidelity?

  Or was her reason less introspective?

  Was it his rank that kept her away?

  Was she coming to her senses and realizing that she could not lower herself to be with him in public?

  As he stood by the door with the stiff breeze from outside giving him goosebumps, his mind churned through each of these prospects until his mood was so low that he felt nauseous. Was he being a fool?

  “My Lord,” came a voice beside him. A slight lady curtsied. Her masquerade mask was very fine indeed and it disguised most her face. He knew her, he felt sure of it, but couldn’t determine how.

  “My Lady,” he said and bowed. He must have greeted her at the door, but couldn’t recall her. Was he so distracted by the thought of Margaret? “You must forgive me. We have met before, yes?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “No, we have not. But I have heard a great deal about you.”

  Nathaniel’s brows furrowed slightly. “I am certain that I recognize you.” And she had certainly recognized him, masked though he was. “Perhaps if you were to remove your mask for a moment?”

  The lady touched the mask, as though he’d reached out to take it from her, and shook her head quickly. “No,” she said.

  He blinked at the suddenness of her response and she smiled in a queer way. “I am such a fan of a masquerade. There is something exciting about it, don’t you think? Never knowing a face.”

  Nathaniel hesitated for a moment, before conceding. His mind was still on Margaret and he didn’t have the energy to press this woman for her identity.

  Perhaps he did not know her and she only reminded him of someone.

  “Very well. What might I do for you, my Lady?”

  His concession seemed to please her. “I see that you have not danced. Not a single dance, my Lord.”

  Nathaniel did not say that he was not in the mood for dancing with anyone but the Duchess. “The plight of the host,” he said. “We are always alert to our guests’ whims, but never to our own.”

  “Then would you see to a whim of mine?”

  “Certainly.”

  Her lips quirked. It was such a familiar little quirk. Yes, her mouth was terribly familiar to him. But it was a faded reminiscence, as though she was someone he’d known as a child.

  “I would have someone dance with me.”

  Nathaniel’s brow lifted and he looked about them. “I find it difficult to believe that no gentleman has asked you to dance, my Lady.”

  She shook her head. “None of them have been to my taste.”

  He was momentarily perplexed. It was a strange request. Did she expect him to arrange a dance on her behalf, with a gentleman of her choosing?

  She need only speak to a gentleman she liked and he would certainly ask her to dance with him.

  It took a moment before it clicked. At last, he looked down at her. She was smiling, as though he amused her. He smiled too and shook his head at himself. “You wish to dance with me?”

  She smiled wider. “Are you asking me, my Lord?”

  He stole a glimpse over his shoulder, the hopeful part of himself expecting to see her there…

  But she was not.

  Nathaniel looked at the lady and nodded, with a poor attempt at a gracious smile. “I am.”

  ***

  Lady Margaret Abigail Baxter, Duchess of Lowe

  She would go, as she had promised. Yes, she would go.

  Only, once she reached the door, her hand hesitated on the handle. The carriage was waiting outside and had been for quite some time.

  How many times had she come to the door, only to retreat again?

  “Come now, Margaret,” she whispered to herself. “It is only a dance.”

  She couldn’t fool herself, because it was so much more than a dance. It was a statement. It was a risk. It was everything she wanted and everything she didn’t.

  She had come to Comptonshire to protect hersel
f and Ezra from the voices of scandal. Now that she was here and things were finally beginning to improve, was she truly willing to risk it? For the sake of a man?

  She reminded herself that men were untrustworthy. That she had been fooled before and the consequences still haunted her.

  As she thought herself into a fluster and stepped away from the door, she would remember Nathaniel’s countenance as he rode with Ezra.

  How he’d come to apologize for prying into her business. How hurt he’d looked when she’d accused him of coming to blackmail her.

  Nathaniel was not like the men she’d known. He was not like Joshua and he did not deserve to be left waiting on her, at a ball he’d arranged on behalf of the community he loved.

  No, he did not deserve that. He had been scorned before.

  It was the thought of her absence reviving the heartbreak of his past that made her open the door, after many hours spent deliberating.

  Her stomach was doing flips when she arrived. She hadn’t realized how late she was until she walked through the doors. There was no one to greet her, because the ball was fully underway. The music chimed in harmony with the chatter of voices and couples danced across the hall, with only their smiles and eyes to be seen through their masks.

  Margaret stood in the doorway and smoothed her hands across her dress, anxiously. She hoped she looked well and was glad of the mask she wore, which was adorned with silver, white and light blue jewels.

  She knew that beneath the mask, her cheeks were pink with nervousness.

  She was dressed as Hera, the Queen of Olympus, with a Grecian gown that shone white and hugged the curves of her body.

  Margaret suddenly realized, as she looked out at the dancing figures, that finding Nathaniel would not be an easy task.

  She could linger at the sidelines and hope that he found her, but that did not seem likely at such a time in the evening. She doubted he expected her to arrive at all, given how late she was.

  As she contemplated her other options, a gentleman approached her. He was lean and athletic. He tipped his head towards her in greeting and asked if she would care to dance.

  Margaret parted her lips to kindly decline, but before she could muster an answer he had taken her hand and began to lead her towards the dance. She knew the tune well. It had been years since she’d danced to it.

  The gentleman held her tightly and danced with a flourish in his every step. When the song ended, he held to her until the next began, but seemed disappointed when the dance required a change of partners.

  Margaret was spun about the room, from gentleman to gentleman. And, in time, she stopped looking like a lost damsel and began to dance with genuine zeal.

  She smiled at the men she danced with and felt something that she had not felt in a long time.

  Young.

  Though she scarcely in her mid-twenties, being widowed had aged her. People treated her differently. But here, no one knew her.

  She was only a young woman in a mask, dancing without shyness, without coyness, without intention. She only wanted to dance.

  One particular gentleman had perhaps had a little too much to drink. She laughed when he skipped across the room with her and spun once, twice, three times. She was dizzy when she glided into the arms of another gentleman.

  She smiled up at him, apologetically, but his expression was terribly sullen. He danced with her silently, with his lips pressed into a hard line.

  At first, she thought he seemed angry and only hoped she would be passed to another gentleman soon.

  But as she peeked up at him, she saw the sadness in his eyes.

  And she knew his eyes.

  Margaret felt rapture pulse through her. She squeezed his hand, but he didn’t look down at her. He seemed so tired.

  “You look rather sad, my Lord.”

  “Forgive me,” he remarked and tried at a smile, which only seemed tight and resistant. He did not recognize her voice. This pleased her a little.

  There was something about seeing him as others might. About holding him, as though they were strangers. “Is this what others see of you?” She wondered. “A sullen statue?” She said it warmly.

  Nathaniel blinked down at her. He did not take kindly to the remark. And from a stranger, why should he? There was barely concealed anger in his eyes.

  “I am sorry that my manner offends you, my Lady, I am only-” He stopped speaking as he looked down at her. Their eyes met.

  He was silent and looked like a stunned rabbit. She wished she could take the mask from him, so that she could see every inch of his wonderful face.

  “You are always so very warm with me,” she murmured.

  Before he could answer, she was snatched from him and into the arms of another gentleman.

  They did not return to one another for the rest of the dance, but she could see him craning his head to look at her, though the ladies he danced with tried very hard indeed to gain his attention.

  Margaret smiled throughout the dance, until it came to an end. She curtsied and the last gentleman she’d danced with bowed. “Would you dance with me again, my Lady, before the end of the night?”

  “I will, good Lord.”

  The gentleman smiled like a young conqueror and took his leave.

  “You are quite popular.” The voice came from behind her. She knew it well. How she wanted to lean back into his chest.

  “I am quite late,” she answered, as she closed her eyes. She could feel the warmth of him behind her. She wanted to savor it. “Will you forgive me?”

  There was a smile in his voice when he said, “You were worth waiting for.”

  She opened her eyes and turned to face him. It would have been too easy to lay her hand upon his chest, but she reminded herself that they were not alone.

  It was a strange feeling, to have eyes on them while every word they spoke felt so private, so intense, so intimate. It made her skin prickle.

  “You are a rather handsome Mark Antony,” she remarked, as she took in his costume for the first time.

  “And you are a devastating Hera.”

  Oh, how she wanted to kiss him.

  “Would you dance with me, Your Grace? I believe this dance will not require you to be stolen away from me, as the last one did.”

  She agreed and, as she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor, she smiled a little impishly. “Did that bother you, my Lord?”

  “Terribly,” he said, with good humor.

  As he took her into his arms and he placed his hand upon his hip, Margaret took a deep, steadying breath. She recalled the dance they’d shared in her estate. And the kiss that had followed.

  The memory alone left her breathless.

  When she felt Nathaniel exhale softly beside her ear, and his hand tightened on her, she swallowed.

  “We must be careful,” she whispered to him, as her eyes stole a glimpse of the people dancing around them.

  He nodded.

  He knew as well as she did that they couldn’t make a display of themselves, but it was easier said than done.

  The air was charged with excitement, with liveliness and reckless decisions, as dances often were. It was hard not to get caught up in it all.

  Being close to him was like being drunk. She’d not felt so safe and secure in a public space since long before Joshua died.

  Here, in Nathaniel’s arms, she felt that she could weather any storm. Any scandal. And wondered why she’d been so afraid to come in the first place.

  ***

  Lord Nathaniel Sterling, Earl of Comptonshire

  When the lady he’d been dancing with drifted away from him, Nathaniel had known who she was. She was a ghost from the past. Someone he’d spent many years longing for, and just as many wishing he’d never seen again.

  Though she wouldn’t tell him his name, he’d seen something in her eyes when she’d flashed him a final glance over her shoulder.

  Tessa.

  Seeing her had left him in a terrible mood
. He’d felt downtrodden. Mocked. Why was she here? Where was her husband? And why would she insist upon dancing with him?

  All these questions plagued him, right up until the moment he’d found Margaret in his arms. He hadn’t been able to get out of the dancing and had felt altogether surly about it. He had only wanted a moment alone.