by Gill, Tamara
His grace sighed, looking up at the ceiling a moment before meeting her gaze. “I was not married, Mary. The tryst hurt no one. When I marry, I will be true to my wife. Always.”
Mary crossed her arms over her chest, her stomach in knots over what to believe. What she saw or what the duke was telling her. She had gone to his room after tossing and turning in bed thinking of him, wanting to see him again, be with him and see what else he could show her.
Scandalous behavior and not so different from what the duke and many of their set did every night in London during the Season. She held no hope of marrying the man, so to be so offended and upset seemed a silly reaction to have.
That’s because you do hold a little hope the duke will ask for your hand…because you care.
Mary pushed the thought aside, dismissing it. “You don’t owe me an explanation, your grace. We’re not betrothed.”
The muscle in his jaw clenched as he stepped toward her. “I need to explain. You need to understand.”
“What?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “What do I need to understand?”
He stepped closer still, his warm, muscled body warming her blood. “You need to understand that the only woman I want in my bed is you.”
Mary swallowed, clasping the book against her chest as if it were some lifesaving apparatus. Did his grace really mean that?
He glanced down at the tome in her hand. “Where were you off to really? I would be surprised if your reading desires had turned to gardening in the northern climes of a sudden.”
She bit her lip, the need to flee, to save herself rode hard on her heels and yet she could not move away. “I find gardening very interesting and engaging.” What on earth was she saying!
“Liar,” he whispered, leaning down and clasping her cheeks.
Mary nodded. “Yes. That too.”
He took her lips in a searing kiss, lifting her quickly to place her on the bookcase shelf behind her.
“You’ve been haunting my dreams and waking moments, Mary. Only you.”
That was said with such an edge of frustration she believed him, and something improper inside of her thrilled. His height placed him directly at her core and she melted into his arms. All thoughts of Lady Hectorville fled from her mind, of his roguish ways in Town, all of it. The moment he touched her she knew it was right. What she wanted.
His hand slid gown to grapple with the hem of her nightgown, the cool night air kissing her legs as he pushed it to pool at her waist. And this time, she would get what she wanted. Him.
Dale tried to rein in his overwhelming need for the woman in his arms, but he could not. And if he were honest with himself, unless she said to stop, he’d do all and anything that she wanted.
“Tell me again,” she murmured, a sensual, secretive smile about her lips.
He ground against her core, the memory of her sweet lips making him as hard as stone. “I want you and no one else.”
Her fingers spiked through his hair, pulling him close. “Yes.” Her whispered word snapped the thin thread that he walked along, the one all gentlemen should to keep them from despoiling virginal women set on husbands. Mary might not be interested in husband hunting right at this moment, but her family certainly was and that in itself should give him pause.
But it did not.
The house was deadly quiet, the falling snow outside masking any exterior sounds, and all he could hear was them. A melody that drove him to part her legs, to tease her flesh with his fingers before fumbling with the front of his pants.
Their movements were desperate, quick and full of need. Her fingers clawed into his shoulders, her body slick and hot, ready and willing for what was to come. Dale kissed her with a fervor that left him breathless, he’d never been so desperate to sheathe himself within a woman before, to lose himself and forget everything that impacted his life.
It was simply Mary and him. No-one else and that was enough.
She begged him, her raspy, seductive tone whispering against his lips and he kissed her, deep and sure as he thrust within her. She stilled in his arms and he held himself motionless a moment, waiting for her to adjust to his size.
“I’m sorry,” he said, kissing her cheek, her chin and neck, reaching down to run a hand over her breast and sliding her puckered nipple between his thumb and forefinger. She relaxed in his arms, her hands pulling at him in silent want, and he slowly eased out, before thrusting back within her again.
She moaned his name, an elixir that banked a fire burning within him. He took her, laid claim to her body, the slap of skin hitting skin the only sound in the room. Mary didn’t shy away from the ferocious way they came together. Being a maid, they should be on the softness of sheets and bedding, taking his sweet time to teach her how to love, to move and take pleasure. Not this way, hard up against a wooden bookcase, sneaking about in the quiet of the night. Part of him registered the shame of taking her so and he cringed.
“Dale,” she gasped, her legs high against his hips. She watched him as he pumped relentlessly into her hot core until at last she lay her head back against the cupboard and let go.
He smothered her cry of release with a kiss, her tight core milking him of his own pleasure. Dale slumped against her, their breathing ragged and his ability to move, to pull out of her and set them to rights lost on him a moment.
Her legs went limp and he pulled back, helping her off the bookcase and to stand. Righting her nightgown and his own breeches which shamefully he’d not even removed, had simply ripped open at the front. He pulled her into a kiss, needing to hold her in his arms, to taste her sweetness on his lips.
The door flew open and they pulled apart as if they’d been burned. Dale steeled himself as the furious Peter and Lord Lancaster stared at him, murder most clearly on their mind.
Dale glanced behind his lordship to the stairs leading to the first floor and didn’t miss Lady Hectorville turning toward her room, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
“You had better have a good explanation as to why you’re both down in the library in the middle of the night alone, and why I find you kissing my daughter, Carlton.”
Mary snatched up the book on the nearby shelf, holding it against her breast as if it would somehow protect her. No amount of armor would protect them for what was to come.
“I wanted to read and so came down to the library to fetch a book. His grace was helping me decide.”
Dale cleared his throat as both Peter and Lord Lancaster threw disbelieving looks at Mary.
The need to protect her roared inside of him and he found himself saying, “Actually, I have asked Mary to be my wife and she’s agreed.”
Mary let out a little yelp, but he didn’t look at her. His lordship gaped at him, and Peter glared. “What have you done to my sister, Carlton?”
He’d never heard his friend speak to him with such deadly ire before, and he clamped his jaw shut. He wasn’t a fool and he certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone that he’d just shagged Mary within an inch of her life, and damn well enjoyed every delectable moment of it. The thought of marrying her should fill him with regret, with fear and yet it did not. She might test him at times, question his decisions, but surely, she would know how to conform to the role that was required of her as his wife. That he was a duke and she would need to be a true and elegant duchess. Perform her duties and not cause any trouble.
“Nothing, Peter,” Mary said. She turned to him, clasping his arm. “Your grace, you do not need to offer simply because we were caught in the library together. A kiss is not such an offence that marriage is the outcome.”
He took her hand, wrapping it into his, squeezing it a little when he noticed hers was shaking. “We will be married four weeks from now. The banns may be called. We’ll marry here in the drawing room with only close family and friends. Are you in agreement, Lord Lancaster?”
Mary stared up at him, her eyes wide and filled with shock.
“Say yes,” he said when she continued to
stare at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. “Yes, Mary. Say it,” he urged.
Chapter 12
Mary turned to her father. “May I have a moment with his grace, please, Papa? I need to speak to him about his proposal.”
“Absolutely not,” her brother interjected, slicing a finger through the air. “I think you’ve been alone quite enough already this evening.”
Her father pursed his lips thinking over her request. “You may speak to the duke, but we shall be present. We will afford you a little privacy by going to stand before the fire.”
Mary waited for her father and brother to move away, before she turned back to Dale, not quite sure how he could seem so calm and in control of himself. She was beyond confused and her heart seemed to be beating louder than a drum in her ears. “Why me, your grace?”
“What do you mean, why me?” He glanced at her clearly confused. “After what just happened, I thought you might be a little relieved rather than questioning my declaration.”
Mary frowned, not wanting anyone to marry her out of obligation. “You know that I wanted to marry someone who, if at all possible, I loved. A man that would allow me to continue in the same vein in which I live now. To remain in the country instead of in Town. You, your grace cannot be that man.”
He cleared his throat, and stood taller like a soldier as if he were about to go into battle. “I like you, I think that we will do well enough together. As for how you live, you must understand there will be limitations of course. I’m a duke, when you marry me you’ll be a duchess. Your place will be at my side, having said that,” he said at her gasp, “that does not mean that we’ll always be in Town. We shall return to Carlton Hall regularly, and certainly often enough to sate your desire for the outdoors.”
Mary stared at him a moment, lost for words. A week in Town was too much. London had always made her feel out of place. It was simply not who she was. If he forced her, their marriage would not be a happy one. “But that’s not what I want. I don’t want to be in London most of the time. I want to marry a man who suits me and my character, my likes and dislikes. You do not.”
“We do suit. We suited very well not half an hour ago,” he whispered.
At his scandalous reminder heat shot across her skin. “Hush, my father will hear. And you know that is not what I mean. If I have to marry, I want to marry a man who prefers the country to Town. You do not and your standing within the ton would mean that I would have to be by your side all the time. Never mind the fact that you do not want a wife. I fail to believe that all of a sudden you’ve had an epiphany and now want a wife.”
“I have not had an epiphany, I’m merely doing what is right and you will marry me, Lady Mary. There is no choice. I think you understand as well as anyone the possible repercussions of our meeting earlier tonight.”
Oh yes, she understood very well all the repercussions of what had transpired between them. Of being forced into a marriage neither of them wanted, and the possibility that she might fall pregnant. “I’m too opinionated for you. If we were to marry, you would soon tire of me not wishing to follow you to London. I don’t want to quarrel with you.”
He blanched at the mention of such a thing, and ran a hand through his hair, leaving it on end. “We shall not quarrel if you behave like a duchess, the well-bred young woman that you are, we will get along well enough.”
She raised her brows. “I’m not one to be told what to do, your grace.” She took a step away, crossing her arms across her chest. “I will not marry you.”
“You have no choice.”
Mary swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. The thought of being a social matriarch, of hosting and giving balls and soirées left her dizzy with dread. She could not do it. “Everyone has a choice.”
Dale turned back toward his lordship and Peter. “It is agreed. One month, my lord, and Lady Mary will be the new Duchess of Carlton.”
Her father burst into a smile, clapping his hands. Her brother, however, stared at the duke with deadly ire.
“Congratulations, your grace. Mary darling.” Her father shook Dale’s hand and pulled Mary into an embrace.
“I wish to talk to the duke,” Peter said, not using the duke’s given name. An oddity, for Mary had only ever known her brother to use the duke’s given name while at home these past weeks.
Her father readily agreed. “Of course. No doubt you wish to have a toast celebrating the newly engaged couple.” He pulled Mary toward the hall. “Come, Mary. Tell me of your wishes for your wedding day.” Mary glanced over her shoulder meeting Dale’s gaze as they left, so much still left unsaid between them. Did he believe she would not marry him or did he truly think them engaged?
Her father walked her upstairs, discussing how happy this news would make her mother and her throat tightened with panic. This was exactly the situation in which she did not want to find herself and for all the duke’s gentleman-like honor, it was not needed here. Not yet at least.
Her father stopped at her bedroom door. “We shall tell your mother together tomorrow. Now,” he said, opening her door and ushering her inside. “Off to bed, my dear. The next few weeks will be busy indeed and you need your rest.”
Mary stared at the door as it closed. Had they all lost their minds? What about what she wanted, what the duke wanted, what he really wanted. It was not her he really wanted, she was certain of that.
If there was one thing she disliked it was being managed, and she’d been utterly managed this evening. She stomped her foot, and growled at the door. It wasn’t to be borne and she would not be marrying anyone unless he loved her enough to allow her to be who she was. Always. And it did not escape her that if he had offered a word of love…of some gesture, she would have said yes. The ache in her heart bloomed to encompass her entire body. How could she really consent to marry a man she feared she had fallen so much in love with…but he only liked her?
Dale turned back to Peter after losing sight of Mary and her father. She was shocked, there was no doubt, and probably felt a little managed by him as well. In time he hoped she would thaw to the idea. He was not the type of man to hold anyone back from being who they were, and he would not start now with his wife. Only in society would he expect Mary to abide by society’s line.
She would have to be by his side when he went to London, for either the Season or when Parliament resumed, but when they were not obligated to be in Town, the idea of being carefree, home on his estate with Mary made him eager for the first time in as long as he could remember to go home.
He walked over to the decanter of whisky pouring both himself and Peter a glass. He held it out to his friend who followed him and placed it on the sideboard when he didn’t venture to take it. “Say it,” he said to Peter when he merely stood before him, glaring.
“How could you,” Peter said, pointing a finger in his direction and stabbing it at him as if he wished it were a blade. “Did you ruin her? Could you not, out of respect for our friendship, not leave my sister alone. Do you not have enough women to warm your bed that you had to take an innocent, your best friend’s sibling?”
Dale raised his chin, hating that Peter’s words were true. All of them. He was a cad. Known about London for his many lovers, his wayward nights on the town. But Dale also could admit to himself that his lifestyle no longer satisfied. He was sick of it, weary of keeping up an appearance when in truth his desires had shifted.
Having Mary tonight had been the moment he realized she made him feel complete. Satisfied beyond measure. A niggling of it had occurred when in the linen closet, but being with her fully this evening had proven the point. As much as he’d railed about marriage, he was simply railing against the institution because he’d not found the right woman.
His parents’ marriage had been a disaster because there were no feelings between them, other than annoyance and regret. He liked Mary at least, and she was an earl’s daughter, not wholly wild at heart. That he’d ruined her came into play. She could be
carrying his child, and that alone forced his hand into offering marriage.
“I will be faithful to Mary. You have my word on that. I like your sister very much and her exuberance. She will keep me on my toes.” And it would be no hardship to have the little hellion in his bed at night.
Peter threw him a disbelieving look. “I find that hard to believe. You may have been one of my best friends, but should you hurt my sister in any way, I will make you pay.”
“I shall not hurt her. On the contrary, I shall try and make her happy.” Try and ensure that their home life was a happy one. A peaceful, calm place that they would never bicker in.
“You dislike confrontation, and Mary is the embodiment of all that. She is not a woman to be managed and if you try and force her you will find your marriage one of regret.”
The pit of his gut clenched at the thought of having an unhappy marriage. Mary was independent and opinionated. A slither of doubt entered his mind that he’d been hasty in acting the gentleman. But then, being caught kissing after he’d shagged her forced his hand in any case.
“I know you, Carlton, and I know how you suffered in your parents’ home. I do not want to find my sister has entered a similar fate as that of your mother.”
Dale clenched his jaw. The insinuation from his friend hurt and he took a couple of moments to cool his temper. “I would never abuse Mary or any woman. How could you think I would?”
“I do not think you would, but she’s my sister. My concern stands with her.”
Dale stared at Peter as he stormed from the room. Damn it, he didn’t want them to fall out over this. He’d broken Peter’s trust to be sure, but he would do all that he could to make Mary happy. He might not love her, but many marriages had started out on less solid foundations and survived.
He drank down his whisky and then not wanting to waste the second glass that sat untouched on the sideboard, he drank that down too. All would be well, he was sure of it, and in time he would prove to Mary, Peter, everyone that their misgivings on the match were unfounded.