The Perfect Duchess

by Jen YatesNZ

  ‘That’s not necessary, Dom,’ she whispered, eyes widening at his generosity. ‘It’s just—I’m very attached to Springwoods.’

  ‘It is necessary,’ he murmured. More than you know. Bax would insist. ‘Then you’ll have at least two properties you can leave to our daughters.’

  The soft, endearing blush on those ivory cheeks was rare, but he’d achieved that several times in the last week. He touched his lips to her fingers.

  ‘Marry me, Sher.’

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed.

  He almost exploded with the relief of it, as if he’d been holding his damned breath! Pressing a hot kiss to the palm of her hand he rose and drew her up into his arms. Hers stole round his waist. At last they were in accord. He pressed his lips to her forehead.

  ‘Thank you, Sher. I promise you’ll not regret the trust you’ve placed in me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, her breath warm against his throat.

  Cupping her face, he looked deeply into her eyes then promised, ‘We’ll be good together. This proves it.’

  Lowering his head he set out to steal her breath, her senses, every last vestige of resistance she had to him. Fingers spearing into the perfect coil of her hair he dislodged pins, allowing the silky mass to tumble down her back.

  ‘I can’t wait to see this spread out on my pillow,’ he murmured.

  His thumbs caressed her cheekbones and he leant back to watch the fire build in her eyes. There was that hint of fear, restraint again, but it was probably natural since she was still a virgin. His.

  And he was an expert with virgins after all.

  He wanted her now. Moving his hands to the delicious curve of her bottom, he drew her lower body hard against the ridge of his arousal.

  A shocked, breathy moan escaped her mouth and her hands shot to his hips, as if to thrust him away.

  What was he doing? He could wait. He was the Master of Control. She wasn’t—Jassie! In fact, he hadn’t even thought of Jassie—not once tonight!

  Feeling slightly disoriented, he eased the pressure off her backside. Bringing his hands up to the nape of her neck, he leaned his forehead against hers.

  ‘God, Sher, I want you. I just want to take us down to this floor and anticipate everything we’ve just pledged to one another—but—while I’m certain I have the skills to overcome any maidenly scruples you might have about that, I also realize it’s unfair to pre-empt our wedding night when you’ve waited so long for it. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then one more thing and I’d better leave. When? No need for a long engagement. It’s time both of us got on with marriage. Yes?’

  Sheri nodded.

  ‘There needs to be time for the reading of the banns.’

  ‘Of course. Five weeks from now? I’ll call on Aunt Gussy later in the morning to settle everything with her. We could make the announcement at Princess Esterhazy’s soiree tomorrow night. Would that suit you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured again, her voice husky.

  He leant back to look down into her eyes, reveling in the soft smolder he saw in their depths.

  ‘I don’t know why it took me so long to discover the temptations of you, Sher, but I’m glad I have.’

  He placed a kiss on the end of her straight little nose and turned to collect his glove. The other was probably on the floor of the carriage. Which reminded him he had one of hers once again. Delving into his pocket he retrieved it and handed it to her with a flourish.

  ‘Yours, I believe, my Lady.’ Her soft laughter accompanied him to the front door. ‘I’ll come by early for our usual ride.’

  Warmth vanished from his face as he strode down the steps to his carriage.

  ‘Whites,’ he called up to the coachman as he swung into the vehicle. He needed to find his cousin and sort the bastard out.

  …

  Sheri shot the bolt on the heavy door and stood listening until Dom’s carriage rolled away down the street. As silence settled over the Square she walked slowly back into the library to stare into the empty grate.

  She’d done it. Agreed to be Dom’s wife. Her heart still thumped in her chest, blood and nerves danced in all directions about her body, each one leading to that burning place low in her belly. She hadn’t known! Jassie had shown her books from a high shelf in the Windermere library so she knew the basic physiognomy of joining with a man, but nothing of this burning need for him to—touch her, do things to her.

  Her hands crossed over the bodice of her gown. He’d touched her there and she’d thought she might fly apart with the toxic mix of desire and the terror he might expose her ugly secret.

  What had she done? With the desire blazing down at her from those emerald eyes, with the heat and power of his body pressed to hers, with the hoarse admission of his wanting her, any sense of self-preservation had simply melted.

  ‘Sher?’ Augusta looked in the door. ‘I heard the carriage. Dom has gone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you all right, love?’

  In a blue velvet dressing gown and matching satin slippers, Augusta crossed the room and sank into the chair facing Sheri.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. ‘I think so. We’re engaged. H—he will call on you—tomorrow—later in the morning.—We’ll ride first thing, as usual.’

  ‘Are you happy, Sher? I only want you to be happy.’

  Sheri looked at her mother for several long moments then whispered, ‘I—think so.’

  Silently Augusta clasped Sheri’s trembling hands and it was sometime before they climbed the stairs for bed.

  …

  Bax wasn’t at White’s, or Boodles or any of the respectable Clubs. By the time Dom found him in a back street gambling hell, his head was swimming with brandy and he’d long forgotten any promise he’d made to Sheri. The only pertinent fact retained in his alcohol befuddled brain was the need to call off the bet. Waiting for his cousin to play out the hand while trying to cool his temper with yet another brandy, he negated any possibility by ruminating on the proposition Bax had made to Sheri. His fists were curling and clenching by the time his cousin snagged him by his neck-cloth, now hanging loose, and hauled him into the street.

  ‘What the devil could be so’mportant y’interrupt me at thish hour? D’you know wha’s at stake in there?’

  ‘No. Don’t care either. The bet’s off!’

  ‘What bet?’ Bax shook his head, staggered a little, pulling them both back against the building. ‘Ah! Our bet?’

  ‘Yes. It’s off.’

  ‘No way! Not when I have an ace in the hole—ha—to get my cock in the hole!’

  ‘What?’

  The snarl started low in his belly, but before it could erupt Bax slid along the wall, laughing.

  ‘A shtud shervishe for a—shtud fee! She wants my Sh-Sh-Zeus to sherve her mare. I want her to—sherve me! What better trade? She—Sher’s—thinking—’bout—it.’

  The last spoken slowly, was accompanied by a finger jabbing Dom’s chest. The snarl in his gut exploded. He swung a punch at Bax’s grin and connected with satisfying accuracy.

  Swaying, surprise bloomed across Bax’s face as he tried to cover his nose with his hand, then fell like a log to the filthy cobbles, to sit against the building, leering up at Dom.

  ‘You’re sh—s—serious ‘bout ‘er then?’

  The door opened and light briefly illuminated Bax slumped against the wall and Dom leaning over him, fist cocked to punch again should he try to stand up.

  ‘I am.’

  Chumsley stumbled out.

  ‘I shay fella’s. Whatsh up? Here—don’t `it him `gain, Your Grashe—pulled his cork `ready!—Get up, Bax—you never know what you might be shitting—sitting in—’

  ‘Right the first time,’ Dom snarled. ‘You’re sitting in deep shit if you don’t back off. The—bet—is—off.’

  ‘We made that bet fair’n’shquare, Your bloody Grashe,’ Bax growled back up at him, shaking off Chumsl
ey’s hand. ‘It sh—shtands!’

  Dom glared down at his cousin and dimly recognized the rare phenomenon of the Earl of Baxendene minus his usual careless insouciance. The bastard actually managed to look serious.

  The bet would stand.

  Grabbing hold of Chumsley, who used the wall for support, Bax hauled himself up.

  Dom glared into his cousin’s belligerent countenance only dimly visible in the gloom, and slowly the fog in his brain began to clear. Determined on protecting Sheri’s honor, he’d forgotten the actual terms of the bet.

  Suddenly laughter, decidedly drunken but laughter nevertheless, rumbled out of him.

  ‘Then Zeus’s mine! The perfect engagement gift for my fiancée!’

  ‘Fuck!’ Bax said after a beat of silence, and slid back down the wall.

  …

  Sheri had just put her feet on the floor when Maggie entered.

  ‘Morning, m’Lady. This just came from His Grace.’

  Oddly enough she’d gone straight to sleep last night, but woke a couple of hours ago to lie in the darkness watching for daylight and struggling with the duality of her emotions. A deeply hidden part of her had loved Dom for years and simmered in anticipation while her realistic side quaked for the pain she feared lay in wait. It was her—supposed—beauty that made her the perfect—second-choice-Duchess.

  What’s done is done, she told herself sternly. Time to be the poised, confident woman she’d managed to portray all these years. She’d had plenty of practice.

  Suddenly her heart was galloping around in her chest again and she could hardly breathe.

  ‘Are you all right, m’Lady?’

  ‘No, Maggie, I’m not! I—accepted the Duke’s hand in marriage last night. This morning I’m so excited I feel ill—and so terrified I could throw up!’

  No need to tell Maggie why. The maid gave her a comical grimace.

  ‘Now, do I congratulate you and tell you how wonderful it truly is, or do I wrap you in a quilt and bring you one of Lady Augusta’s powders?’

  ‘Thank you, Maggie, for making me laugh at myself. T’is done! Now—I just have to face whatever comes.’

  ‘You do, m’Lady.’

  ‘Like, why he’s not coming riding with me this morning?’

  ‘Aye. And he probably has a perfectly natural reason, which he’s explained in yon missive!’

  ‘Indeed,’ Sheri agreed, shooting Maggie a mock scowl, breaking the seal and smoothing the sheet of vellum on her knee.

  Good morning Sher. Thank you I may now call you mine. Lord Baxendene will no longer bother you and Zeus is available whenever you’re ready for him—at no cost. I, however, am unable to ride with you this morning. I will call on Aunt Gussy as planned and if I don’t see you then I will pick you up at 8pm as agreed.

  Yours always, W.

  Bax would no longer bother her? What had he done? As quick as the panicked thought formed, she dismissed it. This was Dominic ‘all in control’ Beresford. And he’d promised.

  ‘So, you’re not riding this morning?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Not with the Duke. But I think I’ll ride anyway. Might clear my head a bit. Could you please send word to Carter? I’ll need him this morning. And after breakfast you and I could go shopping! Could you send to see whether the Misses Wallbank would like to join us?’

  ‘Certainly, my Lady,’ Maggie said approvingly.

  …

  Eliza and Suzette Wallbank were engaged to visit the museum with a bevy of younger cousins so Sheri and Maggie set out for Bond Street alone. It was a fine morning and Sheri hoped the walk might do what the ride hadn’t, clear the milling anxieties from her mind. No matter the decision was made and the path set, her mind wouldn’t stop agitating over what that path would involve—and what it would lack. She’d not have Dom’s love, but certainly his lust. And always, she stumbled at the thought of his reaction the first time he looked upon her breasts—spun endless crazed scenarios by which she prevented him from doing so.

  Bond Street was bustling as they made their way to El Milagros. Sheri had patronized the vivacious Spaniard since her first season in London and was a favored customer. If she was to become a Duchess, her wardrobe needed augmenting and she should put the Senorita on notice a wedding gown would be needed in five weeks. Augusta would want to be involved in decisions concerning that and Sheri had no intention of depriving her Mama of the joys of planning her only daughter’s wedding.

  The etched glass doors to the salon opened as they approached and two young ladies emerged into the street closely followed by their maid loaded down with their purchases.

  Sheri sighed inwardly then arranged her face in the social smile that covered most occasions. Lady Melissa and Lady Bernice Wyvern, sisters of Lord Chumsley, were as wearing on the nerves as their arrogant boor of a brother. Sheri really did not want to talk to them this morning. Even if there’d been any way of avoiding it, Lady Melissa apparently had every intention of talking to her.

  ‘Lady Sherida!’ There was a shrill almost accusing note in her voice. ‘I’m surprised to see you out this morning!’

  ‘Good morning, Lady Melissa. Lady Bernice. Why is my being out so amazing?’ Sheri asked, wondering whether she really should have.

  ‘Chumsley came in to breakfast this morning with a garbled tale of a drunken brawl between Baxendene and Wolverton! Something to do with a wager—and yourself! It sounded totally scandalous! I’d have thought you’d leave town to let the gossip die down.’

  Every nerve clenched, then clenched tighter, like an over-wound clock with springs about to snap in all directions at once. But her years of the London Season had taught her well. She let her gaze glide slowly from Lady Melissa’s oversized feet squashed into pink kid slippers two sizes too small, up over the many ruffles and furbelows of the ugliest walking dress she’d ever seen, to the chinless countenance almost trembling with arrogant disgust.

  ‘I’m not so lily-livered,’ she enunciated clearly, and sailed up the stairs.

  With Maggie bristling at her elbow she entered the salon, determined not to look back though she’d desperately wanted to.

  ‘Well said, my Lady!’ Maggie muttered.

  ‘I knew something was going on between those two, Maggie,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll kill them! How dare they?’

  ‘Hush,’ Maggie whispered. ‘Here comes herself.’

  ‘Lady Dearing! Welcome to my humble salon. How can we help you this morning? You are looking a little flushed! Per’aps a cup of tea?’

  ‘In truth, Senorita, I think I—have a headache coming on and should simply return home. I—I’ll call again in a day or two when I’m feeling more—um—feeling better.’

  ‘Tut, Lady Dearing! Do you have your carriage? Do you need me to send someone for it?’

  ‘Thank you, Senorita. You’re too kind. But maybe a walk in the fresh air is just what I need to—to clear my head.’

  ‘Just so, my dear,’ the modiste agreed soothingly. ‘And you have your Maggie to take good care of you.’

  ‘Indeed I do, Senorita. Thank you.’

  Maggie already had the door open and she erupted into the street almost as precipitately as she’d entered the shop only a moment before.

  ‘Are they gone?’ she asked tersely, pretending to be occupied searching for something in her reticule.

  ‘Yes, my Lady.’

  ‘Thank heavens!—Now, all I want is to get home in time to talk to Mama before His Grace turns up! At this point our engagement at least, doesn’t seem to be public and I still have a chance to cry off!’

  ‘Oh, my Lady,’ Maggie said brusquely, matching her stride to Sheri’s as she set a cracking pace back towards Grosvenor Square. ‘Don’t be acting too hasty now. Give the Duke a chance to explain—’

  ‘He promised, Maggie! And then he went and found his cousin and they fought! How can I trust him if he breaks his very first promise to me?’

  Disheveled and flushed, Sheri handed off her cloak, bonnet and
gloves to Maggie and strode along the upper hall to her mother’s rooms. After a brief knock she stormed in.

  Seated at a table in the window enclosure, Augusta was sipping tea and reading the morning paper, a picture of matronly contentment.

  Sheri had no doubt her betrothal contributed to the aura of deep serenity surrounding her mother. She hated to shatter that, but this morning’s confrontation with the supercilious Ladies Wyvern had completely destroyed her usual ability to consider another’s peace and happiness before her own.

  ‘I’m crying off, Mama! I’ll not be marrying Dom!’

  Augusta’s cup crashed onto the saucer, splattering tea across the table.

  ‘Sherida Rosaleen Dearing! You’ll do no such thing!’

  ‘No one knows of the engagement but us. There’s still time!’ Sheri argued.

  Color fluctuated alarmingly in Augusta’s cheeks and her small plump hands clenched in her lap.

  ‘You gave your troth to Dom! You won’t do this to me, Sherida!’

  Mama only ever called her ‘Sherida’ under the direst of circumstances—and she supposed this was that. But the reiteration of her full name had finally broken through the whirling mix of panic, anger and terrible disappointment fermenting within her. She sank onto the other chair at the table.

  ‘He—he fought with Bax—over me! He promised not to. He sent a note this morning to beg off our ride in the park—so either he’s still in his cups or showing evidence of the brawl! Which means he left here last night to seek out Lord Baxendene! I met Lady Melissa and Lady Bernice Wyvern outside ‘El Milagros’ and Melissa said Chumsley came into breakfast this morning with some story of Baxendene and Wolverton brawling—over me!’

  ‘Well, I’d take that as an encouraging sign!’ Augusta snapped. ‘If Dominic is moved to fight over you it means he cares a little at least! What has been going on I don’t know about? Why would it be necessary for Dom to fight Lord Bax over you?’

  ‘Something’s been going on between those two since the Windermere christening. I’m pretty sure it’s why Bax borrowed a horse from Windermere and rode back with us instead of travelling in his carriage. Dom would only say it was gents’ business, that there’d always been rivalry between them. It—he—’