The Perfect Duchess

by Jen YatesNZ

  ‘There’s no one who’d bring your finesse, your depth of feeling, passion and honor to that role. What am I to do when another desperate young woman comes seeking the means to cuckold her lecherous, old, would-be husband because she’s forced into a liaison not of her choosing? As you well know, we’ve a few lady members who make it their business to inform such ill-fated chits there’s a way, that just once they can know true satisfaction at the hands of a Master. For most of them it’s the only chance they’ll ever have.’

  Dom refilled his glass and set the bottle on a small side table, then sat staring down into the deep golden liquid. It was clearly doing its job. Beginning to feel pleasantly mellow, it was easy to articulate his answer.

  ‘Before you intruded upon my solitude I was berating myself for being fickle, shallow. At eighteen I was head over tit and all but suicidal over Veronica, my—esteemed—sister-in-law. Then all these years I’ve believed my heart in thrall to Jassie. Tonight I’ve realized there’s only one woman alive who even really exists for me anymore. Sheri is all I desire. You’ll have to find another Master of Virgins—or adopt the role yourself.’

  As for honor—he’d shown little enough of that tonight.

  …

  The woman in the mirror, clad in ice blue and silver richly embroidered with tiny white pearls, appeared as sensate as the stone walls of the Castle. Her eyes were so dark and unreadable even she could see no spark of light shining there.

  Maggie twined pearl ropes and tiny pink rosebuds through the silver blonde strands of her hair. Jassie held the gold and diamond tiara to be fixed above the coronet of intricately plaited hair and pearls. Her usually sparkling topaz eyes were serious and Sheri kept avoiding their perceptive gaze. If they’d been alone she’d be subjected to an intense Jassie-interrogation, which she must avoid at all costs.

  Nevertheless, she was grateful for Jassie’s presence which precluded either Mama or Aunt Olwynne probing her withdrawn state. She doubted her ability to disseminate should any one of them ask the discerning questions shimmering in their eyes.

  No doubt they thought her wrapped in her usual aura of ice, which told everyone she was calm, in control—and not wishing to communicate. If she didn’t feel so desperate, she’d laugh at the anomaly she presented. The frozen façade was all that held together the mixture of utter despair, terror, and feverish anticipation roiling in her belly.

  When Maggie declared herself satisfied at last, Sheri rose and turned to face her small audience.

  ‘Oh, Sheri, my love,’ Augusta whispered, ‘you make a perfect duchess, just as I always knew you would.’ Her breast, encased in deep mauve silk, heaved. ‘If only your father could have seen you—’

  Breaking off, she pressed a tiny square of fine linen to her lips as if she’d snatch the words back. Aunt Olwynne slipped a frail hand over Augusta’s and for a moment the two just smiled mistily at each other.

  ‘He’d be so proud,’ Lady Windermere agreed.

  Jassie handed Sheri the ribbon-bound pair of deep red roses Dom had sent to her that morning, and as her nerveless fingers closed round the stems carefully shorn of all thorns, she struggled to hold down the sob threatening to erupt from her throat. Red roses for love. The desperation of her desire for Dom’s love was all but crippling her.

  ‘You look absolutely perfect, Sher, and you are the perfect match for His Grace, the Duke of Wolverton.—Come. The carriage awaits.’

  Her cousin, Albert Dearing, 7th Earl of Parmenter, waited at the foot of the staircase and solemnly offered his arm, leading her out to the waiting carriage and handing her in, before turning and offering the same courtesy to Jassie.

  Mama and Lady Windermere were to ride in the following carriage with Lord Hadleigh as their escort. Dom and Rogan awaited them at the church in the coastal town of Wolverton.

  Jassie sat opposite, her usual golden glow dimmed by a slight frown of concern. During the half hour journey Cousin Albert prosed on about Sheri’s extreme good fortune in making such a prestigious match, especially in view of her advanced years, and the great generosity of the Duke in the drawing up of the settlements.

  Sheri desperately wished he’d shut up; was just as desperately relieved he didn’t; her thoughts were so rabid it was likely they’d be heard if silence fell in the carriage.

  For now, as she sat opposite Jassie, the dearest of friends, she could no longer block from her thoughts the number of times Dom’s smoky emerald gaze had rested on her golden brilliance, now enhanced by the glow of happiness and motherhood. There was no question she was totally happy with Windermere, but there was a softness in her eyes when they considered Dom, a gentleness no other inspired. She couldn’t decide what lurked in the shadowed depths of her fiancé’s eyes, just that he couldn’t keep his gaze from this woman he’d admitted held his heart.

  She trusted Jassie, implicitly. She was open and guileless, and in that deep inner knowing place in her soul, she believed she could trust Dom. The issue was trusting herself. After loving him so futilely, so hopelessly, for so long, it was difficult to believe fate had blessed her with her deepest desire; that there would not be a price to pay, recompense demanded.

  She might have his physical being to enjoy as her husband, but would she ever have his love, his heart, his soul?

  All of that, her heart, her love, her soul, she would pledge to him today and in so doing grant him the power to destroy her in every way that mattered.

  Jassie led the way up the aisle with pews packed with family, friends and Wolverton tenants and staff, but the only person Sheri saw was Dom, standing at the chancel steps with Windermere at his side.

  Unbelievably handsome in buff pantaloons, white linen and black morning jacket, he turned as she was telling herself this was her last chance to renege, to run, to turn and save herself and her stupid bleeding heart.

  Their eyes met over the length of the church and everything stilled around her, and within. His gaze held her, would always hold her. There’d be no turning away. Pain awaited her whichever way she chose to turn, but as the knowledge of all that had passed last night flared between them now in the sacred precincts of the church, she couldn’t turn her back on the ecstasy she knew would accompany whatever pain accrued to her through marrying him.

  She would be his. His—imperfect—perfect duchess.

  Windermere was speaking and though she knew Dom heard what was said because his eyes flickered and a hint of color crept along the sharp ridges of his cheekbones, highlighting the stark pallor of the scar angling from brow to jawline, his gaze never left her. He was as acutely aware of her every movement as she walked towards him, as she was aware of his stillness.

  There was something in his eyes that said, even if he didn’t love her, he—desired her. If she’d not been so rigidly controlled, she’d have laughed at herself for ever thinking she could walk away from a lifetime with this man.

  Chapter 12

  In all his years of army service, sleuthing and espionage, he’d never once felt his heart had stultified to the point of stopping altogether. He hadn’t believed in fact, there was anything left in life that could seriously impair his iron nerve, his well-honed armor of complete control.

  Sheri appeared at the door of the church and he understood how a virgin might feel who’d come seeking his services. Something jammed in his throat. Breathing wasn’t possible. The ice-blue perfection of her punched the air from his lungs.

  So this was love. Relief so intense it almost brought him to his knees, flowed through him as she began the long walk up the aisle to his side. For only now that she walked towards him, hadn’t run from him instead, could he freely admit he’d spent all morning in a feverish sweat in case last night hadn’t convinced her.

  She still thought he loved Jassie and he could think of no way to tell her otherwise that didn’t make him appear fickle and false. Nevertheless there was a surging desire to meet her halfway down the aisle, rip her from Parmenter’s arm and tell her he loved
her; make an ass of himself before the great crowd of guests who even now avidly watched their every expression and reaction to one another in this most public of private moments.

  ‘Breathe, Wolf!’ Rogue muttered from behind his right shoulder. ‘Don’t want you fainting like a virgin bride!—Dear God! You love her! Praise be.’

  The words and Windermere’s knuckles pressing into his ribs, reminded him breathing was necessary and there’d come a time and a place when he could do everything, say everything he needed. Later.

  Huffing a damned nervous laugh, he drew in several shallow breaths as she came finally to his side. Reaching for her gloved hand, he placed it on his sleeve then turned to face the Archbishop.

  His blood simmered, smoldered, like coals on a smith’s forge, but the coldness of her hand and the rigidity of her body against his told him the moment of flaming connection when their eyes had first met down the length of the church had been ruthlessly repressed. But she was here and her presence confirmed he had the rest of their lives to convince her she was his perfect duchess.

  ‘I do,’ she murmured at his side, and suddenly breathing was easy.

  It was patience he struggled with now.

  …

  If she’d truly been ice she’d have melted in a puddle at his feet. She had to acknowledge however strong her fears and doubts, there was a stronger part of her that over-rode it all, a part of her that would be wife to Dominic Beresford, exactly as she’d wished for so long.

  Whatever that meant for the future, she would endure. What they did have would be enough to compensate for what they didn’t. Dom’s deep voice was concise and clear in answer to the Archbishop. She must have managed the required responses in the right places and signed her name in the register, for of a sudden they were facing the congregation again as the Archbishop pronounced them man and wife. Dom’s dark head lowered, his eyes blazing green fire down at her. Then his lips were on hers and all else ceased to exist. It was not a hurried peck, more a savoring. When he lifted his head again, his gaze held hers with a promise, and a demand that even in her frozen state she couldn’t misunderstand.

  Then with his hand at her waist he led her down the aisle, halting on the steps as the guests exited around them.

  ‘And so our life together begins, Your Grace. Thank you.’

  Raising her hand to his lips he pressed a kiss to her wrist at that vulnerable spot between the buttons of her glove. The warmth from his gaze, from his hand enclosing hers, seeped through her being with the stunned realization she was now Her Grace, the Duchess of Wolverton; Dom’s wife.

  Her deepest wish had come true and she must face her greatest fear—expose her imperfection.

  The Archbishop bowed over her hand and murmured his congratulations then Jassie was before her.

  ‘I would be the first to acknowledge Your Graciousness!’ she smiled, and swept a deep curtsey.

  Laughter bubbled in Sheri’s throat and she was grateful for the easing of the tensions humming all through her.

  ‘Get up, Jass! I’m no different to the person I was when I walked into this church!’

  ‘Oh yes you are, Sher! You’re now the wife of a Duke, and the world and I must ever respect that! Must we not, Rogan?’

  ‘We must!’ Lord Windermere agreed solemnly, although his deep blue eyes danced with amusement. Making an elegant leg, he pressed the merest hint of a kiss to the tips of Sheri’s fingers. ‘We must also be the first to wish you every happiness in your marriage.’

  Suddenly Jassie was clasping Sheri’s and Dom’s hands together between hers.

  ‘I cannot think of anything more perfect,’ she said, her voice warm and her eyes bright and guileless, ‘than my best friend married to Rogan’s best friend. Be happy!’

  ‘Thank you, Jass. Rogue. I couldn’t agree more,’ Dom said, pulling Sheri’s arm back through his and covering her hand tightly with his own.

  With Jassie’s effervescence to uplift her, and Dom’s close physical support, she was able to smile in genuine appreciation as others crowded in to offer words of felicitation and to make bows and curtseys in deference to her elevated status.

  As Dom handed her up into an open landau, brightly polished for the occasion, and Rogan handed Jassie up to the opposite seat. Sheri realized the hour that had passed since her arrival at the church on the arm of her cousin had indeed changed her life. There was no going back. The chance for choice was gone. From this day she’d always be Lady Sherida, Duchess of Wolverton.

  The lanes leading back to the Castle were lined with ordinary folk, waving banners and flags, curtseying and bowing, and calling out blessings as they passed. Sheri waved back, her smile wide and fixed, but all she could think about was whether Dom would honor his promise their conjugal intimacies would take place under cover of darkness.

  Conjugal intimacies! If last night was any indication she knew it highly likely as soon as Dom touched her she’d lose all awareness of anything except the incredible sensations he could induce with just his mouth. Last night they’d remained more or less fully clothed.

  Tonight they’d be in a bed with none to see if he stripped her naked.

  …

  Amid the discordant sounds of the four piece orchestra tuning up, the army of footmen lifted the carpet runners and moved the tables away from the center of the hall. As soon as the music began in earnest Dom rose and led Sheri onto the floor amid hearty applause. She’d been quiet all through the meal, but the apprehension he saw in her eyes now disconcerted him. He’d thought her seasoned enough in her icy serenity not to mind being the cynosure of all eyes.

  Just as he was practiced at putting nervous virgins at ease, at claiming their total attention so they were aware of no one else. It was how he operated, as naturally as breathing and—it had never mattered so much as it did now. He not only wanted Sheri at ease in his arms, he wanted to be the center of her awareness—to the exclusion of all others.

  Out on the floor he turned to face her, took her long slender hands, still naked, raised her fingertips to his lips—and lost himself in the dark warmth of her eyes and the soft color tinting her cheeks.

  God, she was exquisite!

  ‘You are beautiful, Sher. So beautiful,’ he murmured, kissing each fingertip in turn, their avid audience totally forgotten. ‘I couldn’t be more proud to have you as my wife. I don’t know why it took me so long to discover what everyone else seemed to know already; that you would be the perfect duchess. Tonight you are so much more than perfect. You shatter my mind.’

  Some unreadable emotion flickered in her eyes. Hectic color flooded her cheeks then fled, leaving them pale, as if in fact, carved from ice. She couldn’t doubt him?

  ‘You are, Sher,’ he murmured, taking her into his arms and leading her effortlessly into the waltz he’d ordered for their first dance as husband and wife. ‘There’s no one of my acquaintance more suited to the role of Duchess of Wolverton. Perfect. Believe me.’

  For a moment he thought desperation looked back at him from the hot coffee depths of her eyes, then she proved he hadn’t succeeded in stealing all her awareness, after all.

  ‘Lord Baxendene seems kindly attentive to his niece this evening—and her chaperone. I hope he doesn’t intend to make Lady Jane his next victim!’

  ‘Angular Jane?’ He’d allow Sheri a reprieve for now. But later he’d share her focus with no one! ‘She and Bax have a long history of taunt and counter-taunt. Angular Jane is quite capable of managing my rambunctious cousin.’

  ‘Angular Jane! That’s what you called her at the Regent’s Ball!’

  Her eyes flew to his face and he knew the old nickname for the flame-haired Lady Rotherby was not all she remembered from the Regent’s ball.

  Drawing her close against his chest, he swept her around the room with the kind of flamboyant style he usually left to Bax. For some reason that defied his usually sharp understanding, he needed to make certain every man present knew he’d totally claimed this woman
for his own.

  The Ice Queen had reigned over her last Season. He’d give them reason to re-name her. Duchess of Fire, perhaps! And none should doubt she belonged to the Wolf of Wolverton.

  The floor filled up around them. The orchestra had orders only to play waltzes and he had no idea how long he and Sheri had been lost in each other’s arms when the Duke of Wellington halted them in their dreamy trajectory about the Hall.

  ‘Your Grace!’ Dom acknowledged, pulling Sheri close to his side when she would have taken the opportunity to pull away. ‘You cannot be leaving at this hour?’

  ‘Indeed not, Wolf. It’s now too late and I’ve already spoken to your excellent housekeeper to provide me a room. I shall leave at first light tomorrow. No, I’m on another mission entirely. I would dance with your beautiful wife. It seems no other is brave enough to approach, let alone dare try to prize your beautiful Duchess from your grasp. My title might not outrank yours, however I’ll claim Commanding Officer status! Unhand your wife, Wolf! I would be greatly honored to take a turn round the floor with her. Go do your duty by your guests, sir!’

  The Beau’s brilliant blue eyes twinkled beneath his beetling brows and Dom knew he really had no choice but to do as he suggested. Manners demanded it.

  Joy punched in his belly as he glanced back at Sheri. He’d swear she wasn’t pleased to have their interlude interrupted. No more was he, but it might be best if they maintained a little cooling space between their bodies until they could be alone together.

  Alone—together. Fuck, he felt like a youth faced with his first willing woman! He also felt unaccountably like a schoolboy dismissed by the master. Consciously twitching his spine straighter, he forced himself to focus on Aunt Gussie, now his mother-in-law, whom he intended to invite onto the dance floor next. He wouldn’t look back at Sheri, now held in the embrace of the blue-eyed hero of Waterloo.

  He’d never been this possessive of Jassie; she’d never been his to possess. He must tell her; she had a right to know she no longer had to carry the burden of his broken heart. Although Windermere had probably already done so.