Dunsaney's Desire (Historical Romance)

by Brianna York

  "With those beautiful eyes of yours, you can wear anything at all,” she told Tess, holding out the first dress, a dark green confection. “However, I do believe that bold, primary colors will suit your complexion best.”

  As the modiste tucked and folded with pins to size the dress to Tess, she looked at herself in the mirror and attempted to imagine life as a Duchess. Finding the stretch to her imagination rather cumbersome and a bit intimidating in a thrilling sort of way, she let the thought go for the time being. The modiste nipped and tucked away at the dense fabric until she had sized it perfectly to Tess’s slender frame. “You and Lady Alex are much the same size,” she announced, placing her hands on her knees and regarding Tess in the mirror with her head-tilted to the side in her characteristic bird-like fashion. “You do wear clothes exceedingly well. I do wonder if you mind modeling some of my creations for next season in order that they can be drawn?”

  Tess blushed hotly at such praise. “I would love to be of service to you,” she replied a bit breathlessly. It was not just the compliments the modiste was heaping on her that had her so distracted. She hardly recognized the woman who stood before the cheval glass. She had always known herself to be comely in rather an exotic way. However, standing in front of Alex’s narrow cheval glass with the lush material of the empire gown draped over her tiny shoulders, she felt like a veritable queen. The rich fabric leant her eyes a deeper green than they owned of their own accord and played up the soft golden hue to her cheeks that were warmed by a pleased blush.

  “This one is ready for His Grace to examine,” the modiste announced, rising slowly as if her knees hurt her. “I dare him to find fault with such a lovely picture.” Tess smiled brightly at the modiste, trying to still the excited fluttering of her heart as she stepped from behind the dressing screen.

  Matthew was staring off across the room, his thoughts obviously well-occupied as she came to stand before him in some trepidation. It took him half a second longer to become aware of her presence than it would have if he had not been distracted so thoroughly with his own thoughts. When he started a bit, then sat up in his chair to stare at her, she could not at first read his expression. Then he smiled that enigmatic smile that she had yet to understand fully. All she knew it meant was everything that you did not understand and nothing at all that you could discern. And it pleased her inordinately to see it because she knew that it was hers alone.

  “Well? Do I pass muster?” she asked, a flutter in the pit of her stomach.

  Matthew’s boyish grin spread across his face, immediately replacing the slightly possessive, vaguely arrogant smile that had been there moments ago. “I had no idea that anything could be so beautiful.”

  “It is indeed very comely on you,” Alex agreed, a gentle smile on her face.

  Tess blushed hotly and looked down quickly at her feet. Matthew had risen and was pacing around her, inspecting her dress from all angles. When he had come full circle, he knelt before her, and smiled gently. “You are going to have to get used to such compliments, love. A woman as beautiful as you is bound to attract excessive attention.”

  “I suppose that will please you,” she said softly.

  Matthew nodded. “So long as you only take my compliments to heart.” When she smiled at him a bit more bravely, he half-rose, and kissed her softly.

  The mesmerized modiste found that she could not look away even if she should. She had always found the Duke to be a bit forbidding, and a trifle distant, as if he watched the events around him from a great distance. Her former assessment was totally at odds with the doting manner he took with his betrothed. Even if she had never seen a man in love, she would have known that this one was head over heels in love with his young, pretty fiancé. And if she did not miss her mark, the girl returned his affection with equal fervor. She remembered fitting the Duke’s first fiancé for her wedding clothes. His second fiancé was everything that the foolish and shallow chit he had been engaged to first would never have been.

  “Go on and get the rest of your dresses fitted,” Matthew told Tess as he returned to his chair. Tess hesitated a moment, simply smiling at him with such pure joy that he was rather incapable of any thought that did not center on her glowing countenance. He finally winked at her and she giggled before flouncing across the room and vanishing behind the screen once more.

  Once Tess was safely behind the screen again, Alex crossed the room to lay a hand on her brother’s shoulder. He glanced up at her, the remnants of the smile he reserved for Tess still on his face.

  “You love her very much,” Alex stated simply in a voice soft enough that Tess and the modiste would not overhear her.

  Matthew nodded. “More than I thought I could,” he replied, his face devoid of emotion, but his eyes alight. Alex smiled down at him and nodded.

  ∞∞∞

  An hour later the modiste had finished with Tess, promising to be finished altering the dresses within a few days. Alex called Milton to see the woman downstairs, then she turned to Tess.

  “Well that takes care of that. Are you ready to be home, or would you like to have tea first?”

  Tess hesitated. She glanced up at Matthew briefly, then said, “Tea would be lovely.”

  “I think that you have everything that you will need now,” Alex said to Tess. “If I think of anything, I will just order it for you.”

  Tess smiled at Alex. “You are too good to me.”

  “Impossible,” Matthew replied, his eyes twinkling at her. She smiled back at him, feeling more at home here with him than she ever had with her brother. “There is nothing that you would like to request?” Matthew asked her then.

  She shook her head slightly. “You have done quite enough for me already, Matthew.”

  He caught her hand, halting her. “I disagree. If you could have anything in the world, what would it be?”

  She wanted to protest, but the feeling that she was living some sort of wonderful dream enveloped her and made her say instead, “A horse of my own.”

  Matthew grinned brilliantly at her. “Done.”

  She started at that, appearing to wake from a private dream. “Pardon?”

  He chuckled and raised her hand to his lips. “Consider it done, love. I have the perfect mount for you at High Gate. He will be here within the week.”

  She felt a little stunned. “Thank you, Matthew. I assure you that I need nothing else.”

  He chuckled again. “I shall just have to shower you with unasked for gifts then.”

  The threesome made their way to the drawing room, Alex chatting about fashions and a ball they were to attend in a week. By the time the tea had arrived, Alex was regaling Tess with tidbits of gossip about the rest of the ton. Matthew watched his betrothed laughing gaily with his sister and felt a profound contentment settle on him. He would never be happy to simply sit and be still; he would always have to set himself goals to meet and achieve, but today he allowed himself to enjoy the simple pleasure of living in a moment that he had earned.

  After Alex and Tess had climbed into his carriage so that Tess could be taken home, he was feeling greatly in charity with the world. Emmeline happened upon him standing in the foyer and smiling gently.

  “You look pleased with yourself,” she said, causing Matthew to turn in some surprise.

  He regarded his mother with one brow winged higher than the other. “Is there some particular reason that I should not be?” he inquired.

  She shrugged. “It is always good to see one’s son happy in his choice,” she replied, something in her voice making him realize that she was being sincere.

  In response to her sincerity, he said gravely, “I presume that you are extending your blessing then?”

  She eyed him narrowly for a moment, as if she thought he were trying to trap her into an admission that she did not wish to make. “You have my approval in this instance, yes,” she qualified carefully.

  Matthew shook his head slightly. “Thank you, Mother.”

&
nbsp; He started to turn away, but she caught a hold of his arm. He turned back, one brow lifted in inquiry.

  “I do wish you happy, Matthew,” she said firmly, her voice sincere. “It was high time that you found the right woman to be your wife.”

  He stared down at his Mother for a long moment, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek. She raised a hand to caress his cheek briefly, then released him. He seemed slightly bewildered as he took his leave of her, and she felt her heart ache for all the many little hurts that had made their relationship so strained. A sudden memory of her late husband laughing and throwing a toddler-age Matthew into the air caused her to shut her eyes tight and press her hand to the pain in her heart. If only she had not been so absorbed in her own pain and loss, perhaps Matthew might not have drifted so far from her. She thought of the dark-haired girl that Matthew had decided to marry. She glanced up at the ornate ceiling, sending a brief prayer heavenward for Matthew’s happiness in his second choice. Lord knew that not many people ever got a second chance at anything, let alone lifelong happiness.

  Twenty

  T

  ess cringed slightly as Matthew’s carriage pulled up before the little townhouse that she and her brother were borrowing for the season from their cousins. It looked dreadfully shabby when compared to Matthew’s elegant house in Grosvenor. She reprimanded herself for such a thought and allowed herself to be handed out of the carriage by the footman holding the door for her. She thanked the young man with a smile, then skipped up the stairs, buoyed by the feeling of contentment only Matthew could give to her.

  She entered her house humming to herself. She held her skirts out and twirled around giddily before prancing toward the stairs on the way to her bedroom.

  “Tess?” the voice was her brother’s, cutting through the levity of her mood and halting her dead.

  “Yes, brother?” she called back warily.

  “Come into the sitting room a moment. I would have a word with you.”

  She took a deep breath and gathered the remnants of her wonderful afternoon closer to her as a form of protection against her brother. She halted just inside the doors of the sitting room. “Yes, brother?” she said woodenly.

  He glanced up from the book he held in his hand, smiled for an instant and set the book aside. “You have a new wardrobe now?” he inquired.

  She nodded stiffly. “That I do. I am tired, brother and wish to take a nap before dinner. So if you will excuse me...” she turned to leave, but he stopped her.

  “I am not through with you yet, Tess,” he said firmly. He waited until she had turned around reluctantly to face him again. “We must discuss the details of our plan.”

  “What details?” she asked, her voice sounding thin and strained.

  Her brother lounged back lazily in his chair. “We never planned anything specific other than that we intended to come to London, find the Duke and attempt to win him over. Since you have so handily done that very thing, we must discuss the next step in our plot.”

  The way that her brother described Matthew’s courtship of her was so completely opposed to her own feelings about the events of the past weeks, that she felt a chill sweep over her. It was not right that he be able to demean the most significant event in her life so easily. Wishing that she were still at Matthew’s house, she clasped her clammy hands together and attempted to focus on her brother’s words.

  “Your wedding is in a week and then we will be free to continue with our plans,” he told her, rising and crossing the room to the drink cabinet. “Something to drink?” he asked as he poured himself some brandy. Tess shook her head, and her brother shrugged. He took a sip from this glass, then went on with what he had been saying. “Do you happen to know if Matthew keeps his own books?” Dartmoor asked.

  She thought a moment, her mind feeling as cold and numb as her tightly-clasped fingers. “I believe that Lady Alexandra does most of the work on the books.”

  Dartmoor nodded glumly. “Just as I had expected. Damn. Well, we shall have to take a longer-term perspective on our retribution then. I think that the alternate scheme that I have worked out will work much more tidily anyway.”

  Tess crossed the room to stare out the window at the street below. It had started to rain, and she watched the raindrops slither down the glass before her with idle interest. She had never felt so imprisoned in her life. She reminded herself that she was almost free.

  “And then,” her brother was saying, “after you have given him an heir, we will kill him and then we will own the title for all practical purposes.”

  Her heart felt like it had stopped. Suddenly chilled to the bone, she turned slowly about and said in a quavering voice, “I am sorry, what did you say, brother?”

  He glared at her. His voice was sharp as he replied, “Do pay more attention, Tess. I am not going to repeat everything twice.”

  “I am sorry,” she murmured through the constriction in her throat that made breathing difficult. “Please just tell me what you said.” She could not, would not believe that her brother would ask anything so horrible of her.

  Dartmoor sighed and closed his eyes, his fingers going to the bridge of his nose. “I said that once you have borne Dunsaney an heir, we will arrange an accident to remove him from our lives and then you and I will be able to control the future of the Dukedom via your son. It is so simple and innocent -looking. No one will ever be able to see through our plan. Just think, Tess, not only will we be comfortable for the rest of our lives, but we will have gained more than our own property in return for all of our suffering these long years.” He turned to grin at her.

  Tess thought that one had to be confronted with pure evil to truly be able to believe that it existed. She stared at her brother in horror, her face drained of all color and the ringing in her ears drowning out his words. She imagined the picture that her brother had just painted and felt nausea wash over her. A sudden image of Matthew’s face with his boyish smile and the sparkle of affection in his sherry eyes forced a muted moan past her lips. She stumbled forward and ran into a wingback chair. She clutched at it convulsively, her knuckles white. She saw Matthew cradling a baby with golden hair in his arms and her stomach clenched into a knot as she slid to the floor, retching.

  “Tess!” She recognized her brother’s voice, but it sounded as if it was coming from a great distance away. “Tess? What is wrong?” His face swam into view, his brows drawn low over his greenish eyes in obvious consternation. He reached out to pull her to her feet, but she drew violently away from him, her momentum shoving the chair across the floor with a raucous scrape. “Tess? Whatever is wrong with you?” He reached out again, and this time she bit his hand with the wildness of an animal caught in a snare. He yelped and clutched his hand, his wide eyes staring at the blood welling up in the deep cuts her teeth had left behind.

  “You little bitch!” he screamed and backhanded her with his uninjured hand. She thought that she cried out, but she was not sure. She scrambled to her feet and fled the room, stumbling over the chair on her way to the door. She heard her brother screaming obscenities at her as she scrambled up the stairs, but she did not look behind her. Her momentum carried her all the way to her room, and she managed to lock the door before the tears began coursing down her face. She faltered her way over to the bed and collapsed onto it, sobs wracking her slender frame. She turned her face into her pillow to stifle her sobs, and let the world crash in around her.

  Twenty-One

  “S

  hall I get you a drink?” She asked Matthew.

  His golden eyes were warm on her as he nodded. “Yes, please, love.”

  She crossed the room, her luscious skirts swishing around her and poured two glasses of port. She turned her back on him so that the glasses were hidden from his view and flipped open the poison ring on her right hand, emptying its contents into one of the glasses. Smiling brightly, she turned around, and carried the glass she had doctored to him. She settled primly into the chair
opposite his and sipped at her port while she watched him. He tossed back half of the contents of the glass, then smiled at her.

  “I am truly blessed to have you, love,” he said fondly to her.

  She smiled gently. “I am pleased that you feel that way, Matthew.”

  “I do,” he assured her, taking another sip of his port. He smiled contentedly at her for a moment, then suddenly his features contorted with pain. He rose precariously to his feet, his hand clutching his stomach and his eyes wide as they met hers. “Tess?” he said, almost as if he was uncertain whether to accuse her or not. The glass fell from his hand and shattered, spattering her with the remnants of the port it had held. “No,” Matthew whispered. “No, you wouldn’t!” She heard herself laughing just before he stumbled a step forward and then collapsed.

  Tess came awake with a violent start, gasping for air. She shivered miserably and wrapped her arms around herself. Her haunted eyes traveled to the windows which revealed the grayness of predawn. She allowed her breathing to still somewhat, then she wrapped a blanket around herself and slipped from her bed. She opened her writing box and removed a sheet of foolscap before sharpening a quill.

  Perching uncomfortably on the edge of the chair that sat before her dressing table, she smoothed the sheet of foolscap and poised the quill over it. She attempted to gather the thoughts that were chasing themselves about inside of her head with little success. She kept seeing Matthew’s eyes glowing at her as he slipped his ring onto her finger; she kept hearing his voice and feeling his lips on hers. With a stifled moan, she buried her head in her hands and drew a shudderingly deep breath.

  When she felt more composed, she dropped her hands and began to write. It took only a few minutes to compose the letter to satisfaction, but she felt more like it had been long, arduous years that had passed while her hand fashioned this admission of her own guilt. She stared down at the letter on her dressing table for a long moment, feeling the chaotic nature of her thoughts stilling into the silence that accompanies numbness.