Secret Confessions 0f The Enticing Duchess (Steamy Historical Regency)

by Olivia Bennet

  “Oh, it was no trouble, Your Grace.”

  He took her hand, leading her to the sofa. “Please sit.”

  She took the offered seat gracefully, and he sat opposite her, taking a deep breath and trying to find his way into the conversation.

  “I have been doing a lot of thinking lately,” he began, clutching at his cane so that his hands did not fidget, “and I have come to certain conclusions.”

  “Indeed, Your Grace?” Lady Rosaline inclined her head with interest.

  “Yes, indeed I have. The first conclusion that I have come to is that you are an exemplary young lady, who is deserving of all that should be coming to her.”

  Lady Rosaline smiled, “Why, thank you, Your Grace.”

  “You’re most welcome, My Lady. The next conclusion that I have come to is that I am not deserving of you.”

  Lady Rosaline stiffened, face paling, “I beg your pardon, Your Grace?”

  Percival nodded gravely, “Indeed, I have been most remiss as your betrothed. I have put my needs before yours, and have behaved in a manner not becoming of my station. I would like to respectfully withdraw my suit so as to give you the opportunity to find another, more deserving candidate.”

  Lady Rosaline gaped, opening and closing her mouth like a landed fish. “B-But I-I...y-you c-cannot…”

  Percival got to his feet, looking Lady Rosaline in the eye. “I am very sorry, My Lady.”

  With that, he turned and left the room. He was collecting his hat and coat from the butler when an inhuman scream rose from the parlor. He turned, waiting to see if she would emerge, but the scream simply trailed off into nothing. He hurried out of the house like the hounds of hell were after him.

  * * *

  Lady Rosaline sat hunched over on the chair, unable to draw a breath. She scrabbled at her gown, trying to get to her stays to loosen them. She felt like she was drowning. She reached out, searching for the bell, and rang it frantically. Immediately her lady's maid came rushing in.

  “What can I get you, My Lady?” she asked, bending down beside Rosaline and looking anxiously into her face.

  “S-Stays. Loosen my stays. I c-can’t breathe,” she gasped.

  The lady's maid immediately bent down and began to undo fasteners at the back of her gown, “Tis all right, My Lady. You’re going to be all right,” she soothed, anxiously rubbing Lady Rosaline’s back gently.

  Once the stays were loosened, Rosaline finally found it a little easier to breathe. She slumped back against the chair, eyes closed.

  “What is going on here?” Her father's voice made her snap open her eyes in shock.

  “Father, get out, I'm not dressed!” she cried, as her lady's maid moved to shield her from any male gaze. There were rapid footsteps and then the door slammed, and silence reigned in the room again.

  “Milady?” Her lady's maid said tentatively, “Should we not retire to your chambers now?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I want my mother.”

  “Yes ma'am, I'll just get her for you.” The lady’s maid stood up, backing away slowly, before turning to hurry from the room. Rosaline continued to sit on the floor, eyes closed, listening to her own breathing. She could not believe this was happening.

  Did the Duke just break our engagement?

  The thought reverberated in her head, disorienting and confusing her. She did not understand what was happening. The Duke had proposed to her, he gave her a ring. All that was left was the marriage ceremony. How could all that be no more?

  Her mother came rushing into the room, dropping to her knees beside Rosaline. “Darling, what is wrong?” Her voice was high with anxiety.

  “I- i-it’s h-h-he.” Rosaline absolutely could not get the words out.

  “Shhh. Calm down, my dear. Tell it to me slowly.” Her mother trailed a soothing hand up and down Rosaline’s arm. Rosaline closed her eyes and just breathed, trying to find the words to communicate the utter disaster that had just taken place.

  How could this have happened to me?

  “His Grace was here, he wanted to speak to me about a matter that he said was urgent. Then he told me that he does not deserve me and that he has not been putting me first and that he wants to let me go so that I can find someone more worthy of me.” Rosaline burst into tears, “B-but th-there’s n-n-no one that I-I-I wa-want e-ex-except h-h-h-h…”

  Her mother gathered Rosaline into her arms, swaying with her from side to side as she tried to soothe her. Rosaline’s cries only got louder and more filled with despair.

  “Shhh, do not fret, honey, do not fret. We shall make it better. Promise you. Promise darling.” Her mother murmured.

  “H-h-how? How w-will y-you ma-make it better?” Rosaline hiccupped.

  Her mother merely shook her head, at a loss for words.

  * * *

  Getting down to the country in a hurry was never easy. Excuses had to be made. No, no, no, she did not need any company. She would be fine on her own. Thank you for offering.

  Her son could be overly solicitous, her nephew overly curious. She was surprised that she had gotten away with this for years now. She chalked it up to the relief they felt at not having her hovering over them, questioning their every decision. Her absence was as much a respite for them as it was for her.

  When Lady Stanley arrived at the Earl's hunting lodge, all was quiet, nothing stirred. She concluded that he had not arrived yet.

  Dismissing her driver, she dug out her keys and opened the door. She decided that she would wait for him in the bedchamber. It had been too long since she had been in his arms. While he would no doubt want to discuss certain developments—and she was not averse to that—first she needed to be loved. To feel his arms tight around her, and his passion inside her.

  After, they could come up with a plan to salvage this disaster of an engagement.

  She stripped down to her white silk moiré corset with its underlying white petticoat. She left her stockings on but took off her shoes. She released her hair from its knot, letting it wantonly cascade down her back.

  The sound of the opening door made her smile; Benedict was here at last.

  * * *

  Percival sat down to dinner with only Henry for company. His aunt had taken herself off into the country, quite soon after he announced the end of his engagement. He could only conjecture that she needed some time to come to terms with his announcement. He was surprised that Henry was still here, and lifted an enquiring eyebrow at him.

  “I expected to be deprived of your illustrious company this evening, Henry. Am I not to be shunned until I come to my senses?” he asked in a half-joking way.

  “If that is the edict, I have not yet heard it,” Henry replied without a smile. “I will not stand in judgment of you although I feel you have treated Lady Rosaline cruelly.”

  Percival nodded, “Likely I have. But it could not be helped.”

  He spooned some soup into his mouth, feeling that he might have this conversation many times in the coming days. The servants stood around, ready to serve the next course, which meant the scope of their discussion was limited.

  They moved to more agreeable subjects, the conversation light and pleasant. Still, there was a tension in the air that could not be denied. Percival had a feeling that Henry was not done with him quite yet.

  He was more concerned, however, with Abigail. He had received a note that she had gone back to her parent's home. While he was glad that the rift was healed, he was disappointed that the opportunity to lie side by side with her again was gone for now. When he closed his eyes, he could feel her in the curve of his hands, soft and pliant, her body fitting against his as if it was made for him.

  There was simply no question in his mind that he had made the right choice.

  He needed to call upon her soon so that he could tell her about the new developments. He was not quite sure of the etiquette of these situations. He would just have to feel his way through.

  * * *

  Abiga
il couldn't sleep. Her mind was churning with so much recent information. She felt like an entirely new person, different from everything she had thought she was.

  Philip Sinclair is my uncle?

  When they had gotten home she had stared at him, the closest picture she had to her father.

  “Do you look alike?” she had asked with wide eyes.

  He had laughed indulgently and shaken his head. “My brother was taller than me, broader through the shoulders, too. When he was ten he fell out of a tree and broke his knee, and so he used to walk with a limp. One leg was slightly shorter than the other. He was louder than me, and had less of a temper.”

  Abigail had listened, fascinated as her uncle brought her father to life. He sounded larger-than-life and Abigail felt a moment of deep regret that she would never know him. She felt that she might have liked him, in spite of the fact that he was a rogue.

  Maybe even because of it.

  He sounded like those swashbuckling pirates in stories of old, who stole hearts as well as gold from the straight-laced. Hearing about him like this soothed something in Abigail's heart she did not even know was hurting.

  A tentative knock on her door had her looking up. “Come in, Mama.”

  Her mother poked her head into Abigail's bedchamber. “I brought you some warm goat's milk.”

  She held out a cup for Abigail to see. Abigail smiled, not having been treated to that indulgence since she was in leading strings.

  “Why, thank you, Mama,” she said holding out her hand to take the cup.

  “I thought that you could probably use something to help you sleep after all the excitement today.”

  Abigail smiled into the cup. “Mother, I am fine. I am more than fine. I am happy.”

  Joan smiled back at her, rubbing at her arm. “I am glad. Do you want to ask me anything?”

  Abigail put the cup down on the desk by her bed. “Are you all right, Mother? This must have brought up some memories for you, as well.”

  Joan’s whole face softened, “So typical of you to be worried about me. I have had years to come to terms with the situation. I am fine. Your uncle is fine. We are just worried about you.”

  She rubbed at the tiny curls behind Abigail's ear with soft soothing strokes, “All of this cannot have been easy for you to hear.”

  “Indeed, it wasn't. But I am so happy to know my father at last. I feel...complete.”

  Joan got to her feet, and picked up the empty cup. “Well, then I will let you get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.”

  “Goodnight, Mama.”

  “Goodnight, Abby.”

  * * *

  Abigail was sweeping up the shop when there was a significant reduction in the amount of light coming in. She looked up to see that Percival was blocking the doorway with his tall, broad figure. While she was unsurprised to see him, she was also taken aback at his sudden appearance.

  “Oh,” she whispered, hand on her heart, “you startled me.”

  “I am sorry. I didn't mean to do that.”

  Abigail waved her hand. “It’s all right. Come in.” She put her broom aside, wiping her hands on her apron. “Sit down,” she pointed to the bench near the window.

  “Can we go somewhere where the whole street cannot see us?” Percival asked, after a look at the bench.

  “Oh! Yes of course. Come...come this way.” She led him to the back, fetching a stool for him to sit on. She took a seat herself before turning to face him.

  “You got my note, did you?” She wrung her hands, feeling nervous for some reason.

  “I did indeed get your note. And I will not scruple to tell you that I was a little disappointed that you had moved back home.”

  Abigail frowned, even as Percival lifted a hand, seemingly to stop any response from her.

  “Do not get me wrong. I am pleased that you have reconciled with your mother. I simply enjoyed our time together and hoped that it would continue.”

  Abigail nodded. She could understand his sentiments, for in hindsight she could see how...comfortable she had been with him. At no point had she felt unsafe, even though she had been alone with a man all night.

  She still hadn't found the words to tell her mother about it. Surely, she would be in for a scolding.

  She remembered the decision she had come to, just before she went to seek her mother out. She had known that she could not be a mistress. Even as she looked at Percival with regret, knowing that she would probably never feel for another man what she felt for him, she knew it was time to say goodbye.

  Chapter 19

  A Proposal

  Abigail looked extremely discomposed, her face was flushed, she was wringing her hands together and she could not keep still. Percival wondered what was making her so nervous.

  Has she heard the news? Surely it didn't spread that fast.

  He had not heard a word at his club when he stopped by for an early breakfast this morning. Certainly, no one had mentioned it to him. He did not think that Lady Rosaline would go about spreading the news of her own broken engagement. No, if word were to get out about this, it would be through the servants' network.

  Perhaps that is where Abigail heard it?

  But he was getting ahead of himself.

  “Percival?” Her voice was soft and hesitant and he leaned forward to better hear her. “I'm afraid I cannot be your mistress.”

  Percival froze with surprise, wondering why she felt the need to say that. If she knew of his broken engageme—. He stopped short, realizing what her statement meant.

  “Well, that is good, then,” he replied, looking her in the eye and seeing how her face dropped at his words, “because I would wish you to be my wife.”

  Her eyes widened as she snapped her head up in shock. “I-I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled, watching her face first pale and then fill with color. She looked most becoming. He noticed the line of freckles across her nose and his fingers itched to touch.

  I could drown in your eyes if you let me.

  He got to his feet, walked towards her and held out his hand for hers. She lifted it slowly, placing her palm against his, moss-green eyes drowning in black.

  “My dear Abigail Thorne, would you do me the very great honor of consenting to be my wife?”

  She gaped at him.

  “But...what about Lady Rosaline?”

  Percival smiled. “What about her?”

  Abigail sighed irritably. “Oh, I don't know, but the last I heard you were engaged to her,” she snapped. That made Percival laugh.

  “Well, as of yesterday morning we are no longer engaged.”

  “W-What?” Abigail’s eyes were bulging out of her head.

  “When I left you two mornings ago, sleeping so peacefully, I knew that there was no way I could continue with my engagement to Lady Rosaline. It would not be fair to you or her. I had to make a choice. I chose you.”

  Abigail hesitated a moment, searching his eyes for the truth, before she surged up, fusing her lips to his, her arms tight around his neck. Percival could feel happiness bubbling in his chest, wanting to explode out of his mouth in peals of joy.

  He smiled into the kiss, barely restraining himself from letting the laughter loose. The only thing stopping him was that he did not want to break the kiss. As sloppy and inexperienced as Abigail clearly was, he felt it was the best kiss he had ever had.

  His hands trailed downwards to cradle her waist and pull her closer, his tongue questing between her lips, wanting to taste her heady nectar again. He crossed his arms around her back, anchoring her flush against his chest as he plundered her mouth.

  He could feel her hands clutching at his shoulders, holding on for dear life.

  I want to bend you over the table and—

  Percival pulled back, breathing hard as he stared down at Abigail. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to...to…” he could not find the words as he stared at her lips, flushed pink and glistening. His chest heaved as he tried to tear his gaze away. H
er bosom rising and falling rapidly right in front of him was not helping him to achieve clarity.

  “Abigail,” he whispered, willing his arms to loosen about her waist. Her gaze pierced him with its intensity and he could not help himself. He simply had to swoop downward for one more kiss. That she went up on her tip toes to meet him did nothing to help his control.