The Ice Duchess: Prequel to the Duchess Society Series

by Tracy Sumner

  His gaze sharpened, his body tightening. “I don’t know. What can you?”

  Going to her knee, she gathered his cravat from the rug and looking up at him, pulled it through her fingers. “How good are your knots, Dex?”

  His breath left him in a rush. “You’d let me do this? Control you in this way?”

  She wrapped the length of snowy-white silk around her fist, gave it a firm tug. “I trust you. You’re my closest friend. Everything between us flows from that reality.”

  Slipping a hand beneath her elbow, Dex pulled her to her feet, his intent gentle but possessive as his mouth captured hers. Love was a dull blade carving him in two, but he could not, would not, admit it. Suffering to last a lifetime lay down that path.

  Georgiana’s arms went around his neck as he turned and pressed her to the wall. His cravat fluttered heedlessly to the floor. They didn’t need it. He needed nothing but her.

  “I’ll take the five days,” he whispered against her lips. “And your Christmas gift.”

  But he couldn’t help but think as he lost himself in her—and when it’s over, I’ll release you even if it kills me.

  Chapter 9

  Over the next five days, Georgiana glanced up from making notes in Dex’s folio and caught him gazing at her with the same bookish expression he carried when he categorized fossils. And at other times, too. After they made love, across a candlelit dining table, walking the moors, the look was there, searching, probing when she’d told him exactly what she was thinking, why she had to return to London, why she didn’t want to remarry.

  Simple statements of fact when nothing was simple.

  Opting to embrace cowardice, she’d revealed all except the critical fact that she loved him with every part of her being. If this deadly admission slipped free, he wouldn’t let her leave when the time came, which it would in twenty-four hours.

  Pushing aside the gloomy comprehension that had sneaked past pleasure, Georgiana lifted shakily to her elbow from her spot on the floor, where she and Dex had tumbled during a rather acrobatic session on the bed. “Are you injured? You managed to spin us around and take the brunt of the fall. It was awe-inspiring.”

  Dex yanked the tangled sheet off his face, revealing moss green irises. The more relaxed, the darker his eyes. Over the past week, this had proven to be a fascinating study. “I told you not to twist that way. You nearly snapped off an essential part of my anatomy.”

  She laughed and rolled to face him, her hand going to his bottom lip. It was plump and moist, battered from her attention. She’d had it caught between her teeth when they took their tumble. In retribution, he grasped her fingertip and sucked on it until her vision blurred.

  “But you liked it,” she gasped.

  Releasing her, he shook his head, his gaze going to the ceiling. “You know I loved it. I made enough noise to wake the ghosts in this place. Don’t try to catch me in your feminine trap, have me confessing what you do to me. Leave me with a slight crumb of dignity.”

  She propped her head on her hand, questioning how she was going to survive without him. His habits had become part of her routine, part of her joy in the day, pleasure outside the bedchamber. The way he folded his newspaper into a neat square and shoved it under his breakfast plate so he could read without handling; the way he paced while tossing a rock from hand to hand when he considered a vexing geological theory; the way his nose crinkled when he laughed; the way he rolled his sleeves into faultless folds on his forearms; the way he held her hand, lightly but forcefully, when they walked the heaths as if he feared she was preparing to run away from him; the way his pupils expanded a tick before he leaned in to kiss her.

  Being exposed to such intimate details of a man’s life had started to change the way she looked at relationships, and her belly quivered with this understanding. She feared she’d been teaching her young ladies the wrong things—

  No. She frowned, not wrong. She’d been teaching without actual knowledge. Relationships could provide the opportunity for great passion. For love. Her gaze roved Dex’s face. High cheekbones, strong jaw. Hair too long, lips too full. And his body, God, his gorgeous, athletic, magnificent body. Maybe more men than she’d anticipated were out there, seeking affection and understanding, vulnerable in a way she’d not imagined a man could be. Like many women were. She palmed her aching chest and swallowed hard.

  How had she been so mistaken about life?

  “I can feel your thoughts churning,” he whispered when she believed he’d slipped to sleep, a feat he accomplished quicker than anyone she’d ever known. Turning on his side to face her, he mirrored her posture, head in hand, gaze drowsy but steady. “I’ll pay a halfpenny for them but no more. That’s my final offer.”

  “I think I’ve misled my apprentices,” she blurted, then hoped she’d recover without admitting what she was feeling. Too much, too befuddled, too jumbled. And Dex would pounce on her confession like a starved lion.

  A tiny dent flowed between his brows. Another fascinating thing she’d noticed, this worrying dink. “How so, Georgie girl?”

  Her gaze roamed the rug with the tattered edge, the ceiling with the spider crack, the narrow slice of moonlight shooting through a grimy windowpane. The manor she’d leased wasn’t in the best condition, but she loved it, was cozy and happy and satisfied.

  But she feared her happiness was all due to Dex.

  “Uh-huh.” He tipped her chin until her gaze had nothing to do but return to him. “How so?”

  His quiet way of listening had proven hazardous to her secrets, encouraging her to tell him everything about her disaster of a marriage, her resentment toward her father for putting her in such a position, her hopes for the Duchess Society. Everything.

  Except for the I-love-you part.

  “I didn’t know it could be like this, I could be like this,” she murmured. “I had such bitterness in my heart and my view that my marriage was representative when perhaps it was not, and now I’ve unintentionally provided erroneous guidance. Toxic guidance even. A veritable Ice Countess releasing venom on society. A bad example, when I never imagined I would be, tainting what I touch.”

  “I didn’t know it could be like this, either. Therefore you’re forgiven.” His tone was impassive, hard to decipher. His lids drifted low like they did when he wanted to hide his feelings. “You’re realizing what we have. But I can see from the firm set of your lovely jaw you’re still set to make us pay for Arthur’s mistakes. Me, especially, when I’d kick the man’s arse from here to Piccadilly if he still took air. It’s ludicrous the statutes you’re imposing but my hands, as they were last night against these very bedposts, are tied.”

  A bitter gust raced in the open window and drifted across their skin, still moist from loving each other this eve. Twice, in relatively rapid succession. Georgiana shivered, Dex cursed. With a twist, he yanked the counterpane from the bed and tossed it none too gently over her.

  She pulled her head out from beneath the coverlet, blew a strand of hair from her face. “What would you have me do, Dex?”

  He snorted, his eyes when they met hers flashing with fury. Banked to the color of a fallen tree, a dozen shades of brown and black. His palm slapped the floor as he reared to a sit. “Really, Countess Winterbourne? Shall I go down on one knee again?”

  “You haven’t gone down on any knee, Dex. You’ve only suggested what I should do, in your opinion. Always in your opinion. When you know I’m confused. When you know I used to do anything you asked of me, which is part of the problem. You expect my compliance, demand it even. Come along, Georgie girl, and do what I request of you. Don’t think about it because I’ve done the thinking for you!”

  He stilled, considering what she’d said. It broke her heart, made her love him more. She’d never known another man who actually listened. “Had I asked for your hand all those years ago, would you have said yes?”

  Her breath caught as they stared, unable to look away from each other. This was a dre
am she’d once wished for, prayed for. Oh, if only…if only… Beneath the counterpane, her hand tightened into a fist.

  In the end, she nodded, the silent admission ripped from her.

  “A most remarkable blunder.” His oath was violent. “My hands are still shaking,” he said and held them out so she could see them trembling. “Just so you know, I’d stalk right from this chamber to fully communicate my despondency if my legs would hold me.”

  “I’m not in any better shape to bring you back like I did last night.” But his apology, offered on the sweeping staircase leading to her bedchamber, had been delightful.

  He slumped against the bedpost, head hanging, throat flexing. “You’re leaving tomorrow, Georgie. I know I agreed to this, but I’m starting to panic.”

  She licked her lips, crimping the counterpane’s frilled seam between her fingers. “What if you came to visit me occasionally—”

  “What about my wife? That silly duchess person.” He made an inane gesture, an insult to his future spouse. “Do I bring her as well? Tell her not to worry as we’re childhood friends-turned-lovers. Pay no mind, darling, everyone in the ton does it. Very progressive, this marriage. No fault of yours it’s with the wrong woman.”

  Georgiana pressed the heel of her hand to her belly, forcing back the queasiness rippling through her. “Oh, God.” She drew her knees up, dropped her cheek to them. “That won’t work. I’ll scratch her eyes out if I get within reach.”

  The silence thumped like a heartbeat between them. They’d done this before, waited out the hush until one of them broke. Usually her. She was finding Dex to be extremely hard of head and steady of mind. A log snapped in the hearth, a mantel clock counted off the seconds. The scent of lavender and sandalwood, smoldering birch and mating bodies, filtered in and gave her heart a hard twist.

  “You’re not really going to leave, are you?” he finally asked in a stark murmur.

  She rolled her head to look at him just as he lifted his to look at her. His eyes were losing their acidity and sliding back to a pale, approachable hue. “I have an interview with the Earl of Nottenworth’s daughter in four days. Camilla is beautiful and temperamental and practically abandoned by her family. Her father has gambled away the fortune. Her brother, Vincent, is an absolute bounder. She cannot enter the upcoming Season without support. She simply cannot.”

  A muscle in Dex’s jaw flexed. “Your support.”

  “Mine and Hildy’s.” Her partner, Hildegard Templeton, had agreed to manage the Duchess Society while Georgiana traveled for the holiday but this was a temporary arrangement. Georgiana’s temper sparked as Dex continued to stare as if his searing gaze would change her mind. They were naked, after all, and it had happened before. “Why is your surveying so important, all those blessed fossils, every split of rock from here to India, when my work is not? Is it because I’m a woman? Please enlighten me, Dex. I’d love to hear why my career, unique though it may be, is not valuable to society when yours is.”

  His top lip canted, escalating her irritation. She’d no idea why her displeasure often made him smile. “I have an idea, Georgie girl.”

  “Oh,” she whispered and dug her face into her knees. Dex’s ideas were legendary. Legendary debacles. Like the time they’d spent the night in one of those limestone caves he cherished after misjudging the daylight and getting lost. It had been exciting, a remarkable adventure, even as she’d questioned if they’d make it home. It was one of her fondest memories of Anthony. Her brother had laughed as the darkness rushed in on them, fearless, the most daring man, aside from Dex, she’d ever known.

  Dex took her hand, turned it palm up, and started drawing deliberate circles that caused her skin to heat, her body to burn. “Believe it or not, my responsibilities are luring me to London as well. A legal issue with a tenant on one of the Yorkshire estates requiring consultation with the family’s solicitor. Also, there’s a government committee I’m scheduled to discuss the Wales expedition with, details of the start date, funding, equipment, and such. I can do much via messenger, but not all. The correspondence back and forth regarding each is killing me.”

  She blinked, lifted her head. “Yorkshire estates. As in two?”

  He drew up his leg, hooked his arm around it, and propped his chin on his wrist. She completed a comprehensive study from his unruly hair to his very masculine toes, unable to check the impulse. His skin, still damp, glistened in the firelight. His body was simply breathtaking, and her fingers itched to touch.

  He sputtered out a laugh. “I’m supposed to talk to you while you look at me like that?”

  Her cheeks flushed as she lifted her gaze to his. If he laughed again, she would punch him.

  “Georgie, you’ve no idea the hardship this ducal title brings. More responsibility than funds allow for. I’m to be burdened with two residences in London, two estates in Yorkshire, Markham Manor you’re acquainted with, plus a charming castle of sorts in Ireland to round out the bunch. Accountability for the village here, which you know I’ve been reviewing improvements for. I’ve only visited the Irish castle once and plan to take my charming bride there, conceivably for an entire summer as a research project on the Cliffs of Moher has been presented to me. The first Duke, a staunch Royalist, fled there after being expelled from the House of Lords in 1642. The home is haunted, the whole bit. And lovely, from my memory. Romantic.” He sighed, his lids dipping low, his lashes a neat sweep against his skin. “I’d hoped to have her, the duchess, that is, travel with me to Wales for an upcoming expedition, too. Not many wives accompany their husbands on these excursions, that’s true, but for the right woman, the absolutely perfect one, which is what I’m tasked with finding, it could be advantageous for both parties. It could be, dare I dream, fun.”

  Georgiana squinted as he pressed his lips together to hold back his laughter. He was tempting her with what she sought to reject. Dangling all that appealed before her, like he appealed, every last bit of him. His flat tummy, his chest covered in what she’d determined to be the ideal amount of hair, his wickedly charming smile, those eyes. Oh, she did love his eyes. His wit, his sly humor, his intelligence. Hair no man in London could claim, in shades of ginger and gold. “You are a scoundrel,” she groused.

  He shrugged, scratched his chin with his thumb. “I propose we table this discussion until Twelfth Night because I want to triumph, which is, at present, not occurring. Six days to ponder our noteworthy circumstances and what each of us wants from the other with two hundred miles of terrain separating us. A fair distance, that.”

  Her mind whirled, her thoughts dizzying. This was another roundabout proposal—the most enticing one yet. Lots of pull without all the push. “Your father?”

  “His condition has improved enough that I can leave for a few days, and these issues aren’t going to disappear because I wish like bloody hell they would. And I can’t help him, much as I find I’d like to. I’m doing no good pacing his bedchamber an hour each day and talking to the walls.”

  “What of your promise?”

  “I plan to fulfill my promise.” He leaned to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Her breath left her in a soft sigh Dex wouldn’t miss. He looked away, his jaw clenching. “In London, it seems.”

  “What I’m hearing is you expect I’ll miss you so much I go blind.”

  His laugh was clipped but exuberant, surprising them both. “I’m not sharing the details of my plan, darling. What kind of strategy is that?” He leaned even closer, his lips skimming hers. More the fool, she didn’t move away. “Perhaps I’ll roam the cobbled city streets searching for the perfect duchess. Since your beloved society has not provided able assistance.”

  She made a sound, either a groan or a sigh, and his pupils expanded, flooding those gorgeous eyes. Then he was kissing her, hand tangling in her hair and drawing her against him, bare skin melding as they reached and strained. Gasping breaths and desperate appeals. Sizzling contact with a bite, nothing sweet about it.

  B
efore the world dissolved into hazy hues, she shoved him back. He’d been lowering her to the rug, and she knew where the party went from there. “Six days.”

  His lips parted as he blinked. “What?”

  Poor man, she thought, kissing himself senseless. “Six days. And we meet on neutral territory.”

  He paused, considered, nodded. “January 5. The British Museum. Natural history room. One o’clock.”

  Georgiana rolled her eyes. Only a man of science found a museum romantic. “They only conduct personal tours, Dex. You have to have connections, be a member. I tried once before to gain entry and was denied.”

  His answering grin was hypnotic. “Georgie, half the rocks in the place are mine. I can gain entry. I’ll send my carriage for you, let’s make it noon.”

  He believed he had her. Wrapped nice and tight, when this was the first time she’d been free. Having a delicious love affair, no husband in sight, her own means of income, however trivial. Free. That was quite something to consider giving up. Vexing, arrogant male. “I’ll get myself to the museum at one o’clock without your assistance, thank you. I have transport, pitiful state the carriage is in, but it’s mine.”

  Dex pulled her into his arms and rolled her to her back, his laughter echoing off the crack in the ceiling and smooth as silk, slipping right through it. “Not going to give an inch, are you, Georgie girl?”

  She brought his lips to hers, whispered against them, “Darling, what kind of strategy would that be if I did?”

  Chapter 10

  Dex missed her enough to go blind.

  He’d come to London the day after Georgie and done some very embarrassing things since then. Ridden by her townhouse twice, visited her favorite bookstore and a tea shop on Strand she frequented. Searched the gossip sheets for a mention of the Ice Countess, popped in White’s, which he loathed, perusing the betting book in the event she was listed. Even made an appearance at an excruciating musicale in the hopes she’d be in attendance. These endeavors doing nothing but creating a heightened state of unease—because the woman hadn’t said no, but hadn’t, in any manner, said yes.