“It’s unlucky not to have it in the barn?” Jonathan questioned. “You’d rather the food smelled like horses?”
Mrs. Larson’s hands clenched into fists upon her barrel-shaped waist. “Now, don’t ye be tossing your nose at things ye canna understand, lad. Our Miss Andrews has waited long enough to be a bride. I’ll not have her wedding be tainted with bad fortune.” To emphasize her point, she removed Victoria’s bonnet.
“Why are you taking my bonnet?” she asked.
Without answering, Mrs. Larson snatched the top hat that Jonathan was carrying in one hand. “I’ll be needing that, too.”
“For what?” Jonathan tried to retrieve it, but the housekeeper was adamant.
“Why, the two who catch them will be the next to marry. Come now, you can throw them from atop the stairs.” She gestured for them to follow, and Jonathan exchanged a look with Victoria.
“I suppose we must,” she acceded. It was beginning to wear upon her, having everyone’s attention upon them. She eyed the stairs, feeling uncomfortable at the thought of all the people staring.
But then, Jonathan took her hand. Almost as if to prevent her from fleeing, she mused. As he guided her up the stairs, he never took his eyes from her. Beneath his strong gaze, she suppressed a shiver, for she could read his thoughts. He wanted her, and now that they were married, he had the right to touch her as he desired. The thought of his body upon hers was both startling… and irresistible.
Renewed fear welled up inside her when she saw the crowds gathered below. Jonathan turned her away from them and Mrs. Larson passed them the bonnet and hat. Before Victoria could accept hers, the housekeeper lowered her voice. “I knew that ye were meant to marry him from the first moment ye stood at his left.”
Victoria frowned, not understanding. But the housekeeper’s face held a mysterious smile. “He was brought here, tae be your husband, lass.”
Then she hurried down the stairs, leaving Victoria to stand beside Jonathan. He said nothing about the housekeeper’s superstitions but offered, “You can go first. The ladies are waiting.”
She threw her bonnet over the railing and was surprised to see her sister catch it. Juliette’s face bloomed with color, but she accepted the teasing with good nature.
Jonathan threw his hat over the railing, and it started to fall into the hands of one of the Highlanders. Before the man could grasp it, another man jumped for it, seizing the hat. A roar of approval sounded from the men when they saw it was Dr. Paul Fraser. The man lifted the hat in triumph and started to approach Juliette.
As soon as she saw him, the young woman passed the bonnet to Amelia and fled.
Jonathan leaned in to Victoria, murmuring, “I gather she doesn’t like the doctor?”
“No, they’ve been friends for years. But ever since last year, she’s avoided him.” She’d wondered if somehow the doctor had offended her sister, but Juliette would say nothing.
Yet, she didn’t miss the way Paul Fraser slipped away from the crowd to follow.
Jonathan led her down the stairs where the dancing had continued. The ale flowed freely, and men and women were feasting, dancing, and enjoying the celebration. But although this was her wedding day, it overwhelmed her. There were so many people, and everything had happened so fast. The urge to leave was irresistible, along with the desire to disappear into one of the rooms and gather up her thoughts.
“A toast!” cried out one of the MacKinlochs. “To the bride!”
The men raised their glasses, cheering once again, and Victoria caught a name she didn’t recognize in the midst of the celebration. Jonathan handed her a cup of ale, but though she raised it, she didn’t drink. “Did they just call you Worthingstone?”
She’d paid so little attention to the ceremony, she hadn’t recognized the name.
“It’s… one of my titles,” Jonathan said.
It meant he was an English peer, as she’d suspected. Worthingstone. She’d not heard the name before, but her mother likely had. She frowned, not understanding. “Then what is your—”
He cut off her question, capturing her mouth in another kiss. All around her, Victoria heard the encouraging merriment, but she recognized his gesture for what it was: a means of not telling her his rank.
She didn’t know whether he was a viscount or an earl, but her heart beat faster at the thought. Her mother’s words now took on a new meaning: You can’t even imagine the life ahead of you. What had she meant by that?
The kiss ended, and Victoria confronted him. “Take me away from them. I want to talk with you alone.”
He didn’t argue but caught her hand, leading her away from the others. Some of the guests teased them as he guided her through the house and down toward the kitchen. It was hot inside the small room from the heat of the stove.
It only took one pointed look from him, and the crofters who were busy cooking the food departed in haste, giving them privacy.
“Do you want to remain in here, or shall I open the door for some fresh air?”
She ignored the question and confronted him. “Who are you? I want the full truth.”
“Does it matter?” His voice grew guarded, and she didn’t know what to think of that. “It’s not as if I’m the Prince of Wales.”
“You have a title.”
“So do you,” he said. “You’re now my wife.” He pressed her slowly against the door, his arms on either side of her.
“What is your title?” she demanded. “Am I now Lady Worthingstone instead of Mrs. Nottoway?”
When he didn’t answer, she rested her palms between them, to hold him at a slight distance. “You owe me the truth.”
“Jonathan Nottoway is my name,” he said quietly. “I didn’t lie to you about that. You were the one who made up the name Smith.”
“And what about Worthingstone?”
His hands moved to her waist, drawing her close. In the suffocating heat, she felt a bead of perspiration moving down her skin. He held her in such a tight embrace, she could feel the length of his arousal pressing close.
“I am Jonathan Nottoway,” he murmured against her throat. Thousands of shivers broke over her as his mouth drifted lower, his hands moving up her bodice to cup her breasts. “And after my father died over a year ago, I became His Grace, the Duke of Worthingstone.”
Chapter Thirteen
HE SENSED the change in her from the moment he let the truth fall. Victoria’s body tensed, and her hands came up to push him away.
“Nothing’s changed,” he said. “It’s just a name.”
“Everything’s changed.” Shock filled up her expression, as if he’d physically struck her. “You’re a duke.”
“Yes.” He didn’t bother denying it.
She leaned back against the kitchen door, her gaze turned from him. “Why would a man in your position ever marry a woman like me? A woman who can’t even walk outside!”
“Because she saw the man, not the duke,” he countered. His hands moved into her hair, pulling the pins free as he seized her mouth in another kiss. By God, he wasn’t a man of words. He couldn’t tell her what the past fortnight had been like, but he could show her. He kissed her hard, tasting her anger mingled with sorrow.
He wouldn’t apologize for what he’d done. Victoria Andrews was a woman who deserved a better life than this. He could help her family through their financial crisis until their father returned home.
But more than that, he didn’t want to leave her behind. It wasn’t safe here, and he wanted to protect her.
She broke free of the kiss, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I can’t be a duchess, and you know it. I don’t have it in me.”
“I won’t ask that of you,” he swore. “I have dozens of estates, all over England and Europe. You can live wherever you choose.” He drew her in a closer embrace, her head resting beneath his chin. “I have all the money you would ever need.”
“It’s not about the money,” she whispered. “It’s about bringing
shame upon you.”
He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t give a damn what people said, and if they dared to gossip about her, he wouldn’t hesitate to use his power against them.
“I know what’s expected of me,” she continued. “I’m supposed to command dozens of servants and host lavish parties on your behalf.” Her voice held a weariness, as if she never wanted such a life.
“You don’t have to do any of that,” he said. “As a duchess, you can do as you please.”
“No. You have duties, and it would be my place to support you in them.” Raising her gray eyes to his, she added, “Any other woman would be thrilled beyond words. I know Margaret would be.” She took a deep breath, before reaching out for his hand. “With your wealth and position, you can help my family and the crofters… but I can’t help but wish you were an ordinary man.”
A hollow feeling centered inside him, for he could do nothing about his birthright. But knowing that she preferred him instead of the duke made him wish he could throw it all away.
“Behind closed doors, I am an ordinary man.” He drew his hands around her waist, rubbing circles against her spine. “Only now, I can give you jewels and silks instead of spoons and gloves.”
He was trying to help, but from the look on her face, he was getting nowhere. “And there are other advantages to being a duchess,” he said. “You’ll never have to touch a needle again.”
Her eyes turned sad. “I enjoy sewing, Your Grace. And I want to continue the work I’ve done.”
Once again, he’d chosen the wrong thing to say. Gently, he reminded her, “Duchesses don’t make their own clothing, Victoria. There’s no need for it.”
“Of course they don’t.” She folded her hands and stared at him. “How am I to spend my time, then?”
He was baffled by her sudden change in mood. “If you wish to embroider, I won’t stop you, but you can pay others to make your gowns. And think of your sisters,” he reminded her. “You can give each of them a Season, and I’ll offer my full support.”
She rested her cheek against his chest, her palms upon his ribs. “That would please Margaret and Amelia.”
He embraced her, hoping that she was softening toward the idea. In time, she would grow accustomed to her new life, he felt certain.
“What about the crofters?” she asked, drawing back.
He didn’t understand her concern. “What about them? I’ve told you, I’ll allow them to build homes upon my land. They can pay rent, or we’ll work out an agreement of labor in return for their living arrangements.” It was more than reasonable, even generous.
“They’ve been sewing unmentionables for me,” she reminded him. “They will receive a portion of income from it.”
“And once those garments are sold, you won’t have to sew any more. Their services won’t be needed.”
“Then how are they to support themselves? They can’t farm here; the land is too poor.”
“The same way they did before,” he insisted. In her eyes he read the doubts. For some unknown reason, she’d taken responsibility for these people. She might not believe they could survive without the sewing income, but he would find work for them. The idea of his wife, a duchess, continuing a business that sold seductive unmentionables to ladies of the ton was impossible. He couldn’t allow it.
But if he told her so, it would cast yet another shadow upon their wedding day. He held out his palms to her. “Will you trust me in this, Victoria? I won’t let anyone suffer because of our marriage. Not your family. Not them.”
She didn’t move, but let her hands remain at her sides. There was such pain in her eyes, as if she deeply regretted marrying him. “Why did you lie to me about who you were?”
“I believed it was necessary at the time. You would never have married me if you knew I was a duke.”
She held herself around the waist as if trying to keep herself away from him. “My mother knew, didn’t she?”
He gave a single nod. “I was truthful with her.”
“You knew she would be delighted with the marriage.”
He let his hands fall back to his sides, refusing to beg for Victoria’s affection. “Like any mother, she was glad to see her daughter wed to a duke.”
“And neither of you cared about what I thought.”
He wasn’t going to allow her to blame this on him. “You had the chance to say no. I offered for you because I thought we could make a good marriage. That you would want children and a different life than this one.”
“You should have told me the truth.”
“If I had, I wouldn’t be married to you right now.” He walked away from her, standing before the kitchen hearth. Above them drifted the sounds of merrymaking and laughter. A true celebration that belied the growing distance between them.
She gave no answer, and he wasn’t about to ask for forgiveness. “We should return to the others.” He didn’t doubt the guests would believe he and Victoria were behaving like lovers at the moment, though nothing could have been further from the truth. Jonathan started up the stairs, waiting for her to follow. When she didn’t, he debated returning alone. But instead, something drew him back to her side. She was facing the door, and when he reached her, he saw the silent tears on her face.
The sight of her devastation caught him like a fist to the stomach. He’d never expected to make her cry.
“Would you rather end this now?” he demanded. “Should I send them away and make arrangements for an annulment?”
She shook her head. For a moment, she leaned her head against the door. “I’m afraid,” she admitted.
“Don’t be.” Jonathan took slow steps toward her, standing behind her. Though he wanted to touch her, to pull her back into his arms, he sensed if he made a single move, it would drive her further away. “I’ll help you. Or I’ll take you somewhere no one will bother you. You won’t have to face society, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“No.” She let out a soft sigh and turned to face him. Her gray eyes were wet with tears, but she seemed to gather her emotions back under control. “I’m not afraid of them. I’m afraid you’ll grow to hate me.” She reached out and took his hands in hers. “I can hardly walk out that door, much less go to London. I’m afraid that one day, you’ll look back on this as the greatest mistake you ever made.”
He tightened his hold upon her fingers. “There were dozens of women I could have married,” he said quietly. “Daughters of marquesses, even other dukes. Women who were born to lead a life of privilege, who could be the perfect duchess.” He raised her hands to his mouth. “But I can’t fathom spending an hour in their company. That, and they would never bother to play chess with me.”
That earned him a slight smile. “I don’t want to play chess with you, either.”
With his fingers, he brushed aside her tears, leaning his forehead against hers. “I’ll likely disappoint you as a husband, Victoria. I can’t help that. But I can honestly say that I wanted to marry you.” His hands moved down her neck to her shoulders. She didn’t pull away from him and it renewed his hope. “I want to take you into my bed and give you children.” His hands trailed down her back, pulling her hips to his. Her breath caught when he held her close, inhaling the scent of her hair.
“Will you try to be my wife for a while?” he asked.
Her hands came up to touch his hair, moving over his cheeks. The softness of her touch sent a thrum of need rising inside. He wanted to be with her, skin upon skin.
“I will try being your wife,” she agreed at last, “but not your duchess.”
It was the best he could hope for, under the circumstances.
Victoria lifted her mouth to Jonathan’s and though her mind was roiling with confusion and hurt, she kissed him back. He was relentless, capturing her mouth as if he intended to seduce her this very moment. She clung to him for balance, dimly aware of his hands moving over her, stroking the area covering her breasts.
“I know your corset
won’t let you feel my hands,” he breathed against her cheek. “But imagine me touching you again, the way I did the other night.”
She closed her eyes, not revealing the truth—that she could feel everything. The corset she’d worn did indeed keep her waist and hips small, but though it supported her breasts, the thin layer of satin made it possible to feel the warmth of his hands. She gave a cry when he seemed to guess where her nipples were, lightly stroking them. “I want my mouth on your skin,” he told her. “And I want to be inside you.”
His words overwhelmed her, shocking her with the intimacy. What would it feel like to be joined with this man, to feel the weight of his body upon hers?
She couldn’t voice a response, and he didn’t allow her to speak. Her lips were numb from being kissed by him, but other needs were aroused within her. She wanted these layers of clothing to be gone, to understand this madness in the secrecy of his bed.
A loud pounding noise came from the kitchen door behind them, a knocking that made Jonathan curse. “Whoever it is can go away.”
Victoria tried to pin up a stray lock of hair, feeling self-conscious as her husband watched her. “You may as well answer it,” she said. “They don’t sound as if they plan to leave. And the sooner they do…”
Her answer was enough to make him jerk the door open. “What is it?” he demanded. Then a moment later, he took a step back, his face transformed with anger. He crossed his arms and glared at the young man standing there.
The boy couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen, Victoria guessed. His face appeared familiar, though she couldn’t place where she’d seen him before. From the white look upon his face, he looked as if he wanted to flee on the spot. She started to come forward, but Jonathan held her back with a hand. “Did you come to finish me off, then? Since the first bullet didn’t complete your task?”
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