Her husband might yet cast her aside but there was no reason to suppose her activities down in the wilds of Devonshire would become cruel gossip for the ton. She sipped at her wine, mulling over her problem. Should she manage to emerge from this situation unscathed, it was imperative she curb her impulsive nature and somehow make the Duke proud of her.
Grace glanced up at her husband. His face was harshly beautiful in the torchlight, the habitual frown for once absent. She knew he would most certainly catch the eye of the female members of the ton, perhaps even take a mistress. Grace felt an unfamiliar pang at the thought of another woman in his bed. She supposed he would not be obliged to spend the whole night with any lightskirt, a term she’d heard her father use more than once, so his nightmares would not be an issue.
Although Grace was not completely bird-witted when it came to matters of the flesh, neither was she entirely sure of the fundamental actions resulting in the production of a baby. Did a man conduct himself differently when he was not looking to produce a child? Did a woman? She frowned, reaching for her wine glass, only to find it disappointingly empty.
“I think perhaps it is time you retired Grace. Should you drink another glass of wine, I may have to put you to bed myself.” Nicholas’ voice was unaccustomedly soft, a lazy smile taking the sting out of his words.
Grace coloured up, wondering if her husband could read her thoughts. Dear God, he was handsome when he smiled. Her pulse quickened as she stared at him helplessly, no quick retort springing to her lips. She wondered what it would be like to be kissed by those lips. Was that a necessary part of creating a child?
She recalled hearing Blackmore’s scullery maid talk about kissing her stable boy. The chamber maid with whom she was confiding in was shocked to the core and had threatened to tell Mrs Higgins. Grace hadn’t remained to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation. Instead she'd sent a missive to her father asking for his assistance in facilitating the course of true love by ensuring the stable boy did the proper thing!
She became aware that Nicholas had risen from the table and was now standing at her elbow. Frowning she looked up at him. Did he think her unable to make her own way to her chamber? Nevertheless, she took his proffered hand and made to rise. The room began to tilt alarmingly, and panicking slightly, she clutched her husband’s arm. Without further ado, he lifted her as though she was a mere child, seemingly with no effort at all. “Nicholas, your injuries,” Grace protested while trying to make sense of the room spinning.
“Hush, wife, you are as light as a feather. I’ll not worsen my wounds.” For some reason his voice was gruff, and she peered curiously into his eyes which oddly appeared to be glittering. Sighing, she surrendered to the wondrous feeling of security his embrace provoked and rested her head upon his chest as he carried her up the private staircase to their rooms. Once outside her door, he gently set her back onto her feet, keeping hold of her hands to steady her.
“Do you still feel out of sorts?” he asked evenly. She wondered if he was angry with her and looked up in trepidation, only to be surprised by his laughing blue eyes. What would he say if she asked him to help her get into her night attire? Would he kiss her? Grace stared into his eyes as the laughter slowly leached from them, leaving the same disconcerting glitter. Mesmerised, she lifted her hand and lightly brushed her fingers over his full lips, feeling his sudden indrawn breath in response. Slowly, she rose onto her tiptoes and lifted her face to his, leaving no doubt as to her wish.
With a low groan, Nicholas obliged, wrapping her in a crushing embrace, his mouth opening over hers in a fierce, wildly arousing kiss. Distantly Grace recognised that this was nothing like the scullery maid’s description, and as an unaccustomed heat began racing through her, she pressed herself against the intimate hardness of her husband’s body, wanting, she knew not what. He responded by cupping her bottom, pressing her against his rigid arousal until she moaned in pure instinctive primitive desire.
After what seemed like an age, Nicholas lifted his head and stared down at her eyes, deep pools of languorous wonder. For him. Groaning, he set her from him. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he couldn’t take advantage of her intoxication, even if he was her husband.
“Grace,” he breathed raggedly, “if we continue, I fear I will be unable to stop, and this is not the introduction you deserve to the pleasures of the marriage bed.”
Grace looked up at him confused. She wanted to take his hand, pull him with her into her bedchamber, but the seductive invitation that had blazed from his eyes earlier was gone. Her heart sank and she looked back to the floor, humiliated she’d appeared so wanton in his arms. Nicholas pushed her gently towards her room. She didn’t look back as she meekly entered the chamber and shut the door.
Chapter Twelve
“No!”
Grace bolted upright as she heard the cry in her dreams, her attention immediately going to the connecting door between their two rooms. Nicholas was having another nightmare.
Her heart in her throat, Grace pushed the hair out of her face as she waited to see if the cry came again.
She had no idea what to do. Malcolm was not with them having journeyed to the Sinclair London townhouse a day earlier to prepare for their arrival.
“Don’t… please don’t…. look at me John, concentrate on me…”
This time his words were shouted, the anguish palpable and Grace feared they would be heard by other residents of the inn. She couldn’t leave Nicholas to deal with this alone.
Silently she climbed out of bed and pulled on her robe. Taking a candle, she opened the door between their two bedchambers and spied the thrashing man asleep on the bed. Placing the candle on a small table to the side of the bed, she leaned forward and touched her husband’s damp forehead. He moaned low in his throat and she wished she could take the pain away. Instead she helped him disentangle his legs from the sheets that trapped him.
She’d never before seen his naked form, but now was not the time to study it as she stroked his brow, ever mindful of his fists as they clenched in the bed.
“Dear God, don’t let him die. Please don’t let him die.”
His heart-rending cries broke her heart. “Nicholas,” she said softly, her fingers running down the length of his face. “Nicholas wake up. It’s just a dream.”
When his eyes fluttered open, they were unfocused and glazed over. Grace kept her touch light as she watched him come out of his nightmare. “Grace?” he whispered raggedly, his eyes focusing finally on her face.
“I’m here,” she whispered, resting her hand against his chest. His heart was beating rapidly under his skin.
She expected him to immediately dismiss her, but instead he lifted his hand and touched her cheek almost wonderingly. “Perhaps you are my grace,” he murmured before suddenly pulling her down to lie almost on top of him. She squeaked in surprise but had no time to pull away as his mouth claimed hers in a soul-searching kiss.
With a small moan she surrendered, wrapping her arms around his neck as his hands stroked her back and sides with an urgent hunger. Desire was roaring through him like wildfire as he flipped her over onto her back, theirs mouths still locked in a scorching kiss.
His mouth seemed to devour hers and Grace returned his kisses with the same fervour, her hands roaming almost impatiently over the strong planes of his chest. His body was still hot, the muscles of his chest hard and ridged, with a small sprinkling of hairs that led down to the mysterious shadowy area between his legs. His lips slid along her jaw line and down her her neck as his fingers worked at the laces holding her shift together, finally parting the thin material and exposing her breasts to his questing hand.
Returning his mouth to hers with a small groan, he rubbed her nipple between his fingers, feeling it peak against his palm. Tearing his mouth away he bent his head to the hardened bud and carefully took it between his lips. Gasping at the flood of sensations that slammed between her legs, Grace arched her back and ran her fing
ers through his black hair, holding his head to her in helpless desire. He lavished the same attention on her other breast until Grace was mewling and panting restlessly, her body instinctively thrusting up to meet his.
Slowly, without taking his attention from her breasts, Nicholas slid his hand down her inner thigh. Grace was so lost in sensation, she had no thought until his fingers found her centre. Gasping, her eyes flew open just before he covered her mouth with his, kissing her with raw dizzying hunger until she surrendered, her legs opening as his fingers worked over the aching core of her, a pressure building unlike any other she’d ever felt.
“Yes,” he breathed against her cheek. “That’s it Grace.”
She cried out as her body jerked, an explosion of warmth spreading out over her limbs. Whatever Nicholas had just done, it felt wonderful.
Grace pressed her forehead against Nicholas’s shoulder, her body quaking. “Is that it?”
His body shook with laughter. “No, my Duchess, that’s not it.”
Oh my.
“Do you wish me to continue?”
Grace stared in languid wonder up at her husband. Although his voice was rough with passion, there seemed a calmness about him that had not been there before.
“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly, “please continue.”
Grace grasped at his strong shoulders as he rose above her. She felt him nudge her legs apart feeling a sudden hardness press against her entrance. Her eyes fluttered open as she felt that same hardness begin to push into her carefully. Staring fearfully up into his face, she hardly recognized his features harsh with passion. “Don’t be afraid Grace,” he whispered huskily, “The discomfort will last but a moment.” Quickly he plunged deep inside her, breaching her maidenhead. Grace cried out in shock, attempting to pull away.
Holding her tightly to him, Nicholas trembled with the effort of remaining still. Stroking her hair, he soothed his wife as he would an unbroken colt, then began placing soft quick kisses over her face as he felt her start to relax. Slowly, he began to move, sliding partially in and out of her incredible warmth, his face tense with the strain of holding himself back. Gradually she began to meet him, thrust for thrust until she was arching her hips towards him, her cries encouraging him to finally plunge his full length deep inside her.
Grace felt the throbbing pleasure build and build until it erupted in an explosion that tore a loud cry from her throat. Nicholas took her mouth with his, kissing her almost desperately as he gave one last thrust and joined her in sweet oblivion.
There was no more guessing. She was his wife in every sense of the word.
Fearing he might crush her, Nicholas rolled onto his side, taking Grace with him. When he finally managed to get his breath back, he glanced down at his wife, marvelling at the feel of her in his arms. His injuries were throbbing from exertion, but for the first time, the realisation actually made him smile. It was a good pain.
They lay in silence for a while, Grace revelling in the pleasure of finally being in her husband’s embrace. For the first time she felt like a proper wife. Idly she traced the scars on his chest, then cursed herself as he stiffened and drew in his breath.
“Forgive me,” she said softly, “I have no wish to cause you more pain. I simply wish to understand.” She did not remove her hand but held her breath, waiting to see what her husband would do.
Nicholas shuddered again under her touch but didn’t move away and Grace gradually loosened her breath, snuggling up closer as the cold began to seep in after their exertions.
Glancing down at her, Nicholas reached to pull the covers over them both. “Do you require a bed warmer?” Grace smiled against his shoulder. “My thanks for your concern husband, but I already have one.” She felt rather than heard him chuckle and the knowledge that her stubborn handsome husband had a lighter side to him filled her with joy and bode well for their future together. Perhaps even now she was with child.
If only he would let her into his torment and tell her about his nightmares. However, she didn’t want to spoil the moment by her questions, so contented herself by simply stroking her hand lightly over the healed wounds on his chest.
To her surprise, after a few minutes he spoke, though his words were barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t always like this.” Grace glanced up but he was staring off into the dark.
“I left Blackstone when I was fifteen years old.” His voice was impassive as though he was telling the story about someone else. “As you are no doubt aware, my brother died in a riding accident just before I left. What you may not be aware of, is that my father blamed me for his death.” Grace drew in her breath but did not speak.
“It was my idea to ride our horses along the road in the pouring rain. My brother may have been the elder by minutes, but he always followed my lead. What my father didn’t realise was that I too blamed myself for his death.” She felt him shake his head. “Or perhaps he didn’t care. He couldn’t bear the sight of me, so I left. I was still a green boy.
“The fact that I didn’t end up dead in a ditch was entirely due to one man. He was already a captain in the Royal Navy on his way to Plymouth to join his ship. He took me with him, and I joined up as a midshipman. Almost immediately we set sail for the Mediterranean.” He paused and she felt him look down at her. “Do you have any knowledge of the war against the French and Spanish? It’s not something I believe most ladies of a sensitive disposition would find particularly interesting.”
“You should at least know by now that my disposition is not particularly sensitive and I very much enjoy reading,” Grace responded tartly. “My knowledge is no doubt lacking, but I believe I know enough.” She softened her voice. “Please continue Nicholas.”
“The war against Napoleon is still very much in progress, but we had a crucial victory last October.”
“Trafalgar,” Grace whispered. She felt him nod.
“Aye, Trafalgar. You don’t need to know what went before Grace, but I rose through the ranks very quickly, showing an aptitude for leadership my mentor had somehow observed in me when I was still a lad.” His voice now held a trace of bitterness and Grace felt her heart contract but didn’t know how to comfort him – or indeed whether he would accept her comfort.
“I spent the whole of my naval career blockading first the French, then the Spanish, and by the time the British fleet sailed for Cadiz I had command of my own ship.” She felt him swallow and hardly dared to breathe lest he choose not to continue.
“We were greatly outnumbered by the French and Spanish fleets but not for nothing was Admiral Nelson revered by all. He was a master tactician and gave the order to sail the fleet in two columns directly at the enemy, taking them completely unawares. Only the ships at the front of the line were directly in the line of fire.” His mouth twisted as Grace waited breathlessly to hear what happened.
“I was given the honour of accompanying HMS Victory near the front of the line. My ship took heavy fire as we approached, and I lost nearly half of my crew… including a ten-year-old boy.” Then he did stop. Grace could feel his chest shaking slightly, and realized suddenly, achingly, that her strong, harsh husband was crying. She felt answering tears fill her own eyes. She couldn’t even imagine what horrors he’d gone through. “Please Nicholas,” she whispered brokenly, “you don’t have to continue if you don’t wish to.”
“The screams,” Nicholas continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “were the worst. That, and the smoke. There were severed limbs lying all about the deck, and the blood made keeping your footing almost impossible.
“John had just celebrated his tenth birthday. He’d been promoted to a cabin boy, helping in the ship’s galley. If he’d stayed there, he’d have been safe.” Grace felt her husband’s hands clench and in wordless sympathy, covered his closed fist with her own hand.
"A cannon ball from a French ship struck very close to where I was standing and I fell to the deck, my body pierced with splinters of wood in a hundred places, but John, d
amn his disobedient hide, was closer and it took both his legs. I managed to get to my feet in time to have him die in my arms.”
He took a deep breath. “Malcolm was my steward. He saved my life. Though sometimes I wish he hadn’t.” His voice became matter of fact. “Nelson’s ploy ensured the French and Spanish line was broken into three parts and those ships of the British fleet left afloat were able to pick them off one by one. As you are no doubt aware, the battle was a glorious victory though it cost Nelson his life.
“At the end, I was fortunate my ship was still afloat, and we managed to limp to Gibraltar where my wounds and those of my men left alive were tended. My injuries were such that it became clear very quickly that my career in the Royal Navy was over. I had no idea what I was going to do.”
He looked down at her and she met his eyes. “That’s when I received news of my father’s death. The old bastard had finally done me a favour because I had nowhere else to go.”
Chapter Thirteen
On the same day in London, the Morning Post reported that the Duke of Blackmore, only recently returned from Trafalgar due to severe injuries sustained during the battle, would, for the first time be resident at his London town house until the end of the Season. Also in attendance would be his wife, her grace the Duchess of Blackmore who would be making her formal bow to society at a ball to be given by the Marquis of Blanchford in honour of recently returned naval heroes. The paper finished by noting that the Duchess of Blackstone’s official introduction to society at such an event was fitting indeed.
London’s ton digested the news with varying degrees of excitement. Nicholas Sinclair had not, to anyone’s knowledge, been present in society since he was a boy. The rumours were rife concerning everything from the injuries he’d sustained, to why he had married so hastily on returning to England.
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