The Duke That I Marry

by Cathy Maxwell

  At the sight of him, she came to attention. He motioned for the food and mouthed, “Bring brandy.” She nodded her understanding and was off.

  He closed the door. The day’s light was fading. Willa had turned her head as if she could not stand having him step into her line of sight.

  Matt sat on the bed next to her. She edged away from touching him.

  “Willa, I know this is hard to believe right now, but it won’t be like this all the time.”

  Her silence was deafening.

  “You will heal and we’ll give it another go. It will be better.” God, he hoped it was. What a curse it would be to have a wife who could not tolerate his touch.

  He would not let that happen. It was his responsibility to help her, to guide her. He was the one with the experience.

  Leaning toward her, he said, “You liked what we were doing before.” He had to remember that. She’d been extraordinarily responsive. This had led him to believe that her passion matched his own. He’d forgotten himself.

  “It will be good between us.” How many times had he already said this to her over the last two days? Now he prayed the words could be true.

  Instead, she kept her back to him, hiding her face behind the blanket of her hair.

  There was a knock on the door. He rose from the bed and answered it. Marshall himself stood with a cart. “There is brandy.”

  “Thank you,” Matt said, taking the cart from him and rolling it into the room to leave the butler in the hall.

  “I thought you might like to know the dowager has returned.”

  “Good,” Matt said, his grandmother the last person on his mind.

  “She was in good spirits. I take that to mean the wedding was a success?”

  If only he knew. “Yes, it was. Breakfast on the morrow, served here.”

  “Yes, Your Grace. Have a good night.”

  Was it Matt’s imagination or did Marshall almost give him a wink of brotherhood? He shut the door.

  The repast he’d asked for was a cold one so that he and Willa wouldn’t have to worry about when they ate. Of course, he’d made the request in an optimistic frame of mind.

  He poured a healthy draught of the brandy in a glass and walked over to the bed. Willa huddled to the far edge. He knelt on the floor beside her, offering the drink.

  “Willa,” he whispered. She was probably thinking he was the worst pest. Well, he was. He had to help her through this. “Here is some brandy for you. I believe you should drink a bit.”

  Then they would talk.

  He’d explain, apologize, promise—whatever he had to do.

  What had happened between them had been inevitable, but they could not let this bad start be a mark against their marriage. Thinking about how she’d been so ready to give him the boot yesterday, he might need to do a good bit of convincing.

  But he’d won her over once, and he would again.

  “Willa?” He put a dash more imperative in his voice. “I need you to drink this. You will feel better.”

  Still, no response.

  He dared to lift the curtain of her hair and was shocked to discover she had fallen asleep.

  She slept like an exhausted child. Her hand was curled close to her lips and there were still tears on her cheeks. The sheets were damp with them.

  “What a bloody bastard I am.” Matt sat on the floor. Sleep was probably the best thing for her.

  He glanced over at the cart of dishes and the bottle. The servants had placed a small vase of flowers upon it. They’d hoped to please their new duchess.

  Matt lifted the brandy to his lips and drained the glass.

  Wakefulness came slowly to Willa.

  She felt heavy, as if drugged. She stretched her arms and tried to wake up. By the amount of light in the room, it was full morning. She arched. She could happily fall back to sleep, except she felt a very persistent call of nature.

  Willa started to sit up, rubbing the sleep caked on her lashes, and that was when she realized that this was not her room—and she was completely naked.

  Memory returned. His clothes were folded haphazardly on a chair. Her stockings were on the floor but she didn’t see her dress. She had no idea where it had gone.

  Worse, the air, her person smelled of him. The man whose big body took up most of the bed beside her.

  He was sprawled on his back, a growth of whiskers darkening his jaw. His hair went every which way. A corner of the sheet covered him discreetly although his bare legs and chest were there for her view.

  And she remembered everything.

  Willa back-crawled out of the bed and came to her feet, wanting to put as much space between them as possible. There was something dry on her legs. She didn’t want to think about what it was. She reached for the closest piece of clothing at hand, his shirt, and pulled it on. The hem went past her knees.

  She was dragging the tangled mess of her hair out from the collar when Matt opened his eyes. He smiled sleepily, an endearing expression that she did not want to admire.

  Any more than she wished to notice how shapely and masculine his long legs were.

  Willa decided to give orders. “You must leave. I need a moment of privacy.”

  He rubbed his jaw and started to sit, pushing a pillow behind him. She prayed the corner of the sheet did not shift. She did not want to see his oyster bits.

  “The chair is behind the screen,” he said, and yawned.

  “I require you to leave.” She spoke softly, but firmly.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Did you not hear me say I desire a moment of privacy?”

  “You can have it,” he replied, a touch irritably. “Behind the screen.”

  Willa truly needed relief . . . however—

  “I can’t do anything with you here.”

  “I’m not leaving,” he answered, and crossed his arms as if to show he could be as stubborn as he thought she was.

  She could have stamped her feet. “I want my own room.” It was not an unreasonable request.

  “Well, you can’t have it. In my family, husbands and wives share the bedroom.”

  Willa narrowed her eyes at him. “Funny, I overheard your sister Kate inform you that in your family, husbands loved their wives, and you informed her that you didn’t love me. Why are you standing on tradition now?”

  If she’d slapped him, the response would have been little different. “You overheard that?”

  Willa responded with a haughty shrug, not trusting the edge in his voice. “What does it matter?” she managed. “We aren’t a love match.” She almost choked on the words. She remembered everything from last night now—from the sheer bliss of his touch, to the knife-edged pain of his invasion of her body. What people had said was true. He had almost ripped her in half. She could never be a wife to him. She could not imagine what would happen if she carried his child. Why, there would be nothing left of her.

  She forced herself to say clearly and distinctly, “We don’t have to be together in this room. We are free to do whatever we want.”

  Matt’s jaw tensed as if he wanted to speak and yet held back the words. Instead, he rose from the bed, heedless of his nakedness.

  Willa tried not to look.

  He picked up his breeches and put them on with quick, efficient movements. “Better?” The word dripped disdain.

  “Much,” she answered, surprised she could speak past the lump in her throat.

  “But I’m not leaving this room,” he said. “I won’t,” he answered her unspoken protest. “You will have to become accustomed to me.”

  “Why?” she ground out.

  “Because we are married,” he said. “You might already be carrying my child.”

  Willa thought she would be sick.

  A knock sounded on the door. He moved past a tray of covered dishes that she was certain had not been there last night. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Answering the door. Or do you wish me to yell, ‘Come in�
��?”

  “You should put on more clothes.”

  He glared at her as if that had been the most priggish of statements. “I would, but you are wearing my shirt.”

  She was.

  And she did not want anyone to see her in it. Furthermore, she could hold herself no longer. Her mind hurling every foul insult she could imagine at him, she dashed to the privacy screen, hoping that whoever was at the door would keep him from hearing her. With movement came an uncomfortable awareness of deep muscles she’d not known she’d had before.

  And just the slightest hint of pain.

  It was Annie at the door. “Good morning, Your Grace.” To Willa listening behind the screen, the maid sounded nervous, as if the sight of the duke’s bare chest was both disconcerting and highly improper. “I’m Annie, Her Grace’s maid.”

  “I remember.”

  Her voice even more timid, Annie said, “I have your breakfast.”

  “Let me take the cart,” Matt said, his grumbly voice sounding as if he was some dreaded beast from the innards of the earth. “You can roll the other one out. And order a bath. Make it the way my wife likes it.”

  A bath sounded like heaven. Willa was reluctantly glad he asked for one.

  “Yes, Your Grace.” There was the sound of movement and then Annie uttered a small cry.

  Willa strained to hear what had happened.

  “You can change the sheets on the bed as well,” Matt said. “Take them away. Burn them.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Annie replied, sounding chastened.

  Willa believed she would die of the mortification. Especially when Annie dared, “Is Her Grace all right?”

  “She is fine.” Matt spoke as if “fine” was a sharp, pointy word.

  There was the sound of sheets being wadded up. “Please call me if she needs me, Your Grace,” Annie murmured, and then there was the rattle of dishes and a door closing.

  Willa vowed she would never come out from behind this screen. She was going to stay here forever.

  But she couldn’t, especially as she caught the smells of fresh bread and even sausages. Her stomach rumbled. She’d barely eaten yesterday.

  As she prayed that silence on the other side of the screen meant he’d left the room with Annie, hunger moved her out from behind the screen.

  Her prayer had not been answered. Matt sat in a chair at the desk by the window. At the sight of her, he said, “My turn,” like they were children playing a game.

  He went behind the screen. Willa could hear him back there, just as he’d probably heard her. It was all too intimate, especially after last night. She sat in the chair he’d vacated, her back to the screen.

  Matt came out with the chamber pot and walked to the door. He handed it to a maid who was out in the hall. He faced Willa. “There, that’s done.” He walked over and washed his hands in the basin. “Do you wish some soap?” he said.

  She didn’t move. “I don’t like this.”

  “What, soap?”

  “No.”

  “It’s called marriage, Willa. We are married. Do you wish to wash your hands?”

  Willa rose and walked over to the basin. She stopped and motioned him out of the way. He did not like that. For a second, there was a war of wills, but then he did step back. She scrubbed her hands well. “Thank you for ordering the bath.”

  He had already gone over to the cart and was lifting the covers on the food. “I thought you would like it. Hungry?”

  Her stomach rumbled the answer.

  He tried to hide a smile and she imagined how pleasant it would be to run over him with the cart. Instead, she admitted, “I’m starved.”

  “Cook is a far cry from your father’s excellent chef, but she makes a good breakfast.”

  “I could eat raw meat right now,” Willa said. She began filling a plate with sausage, fresh bread still warm from the oven, and a heap of butter. Taking silverware, she went over to the desk before returning for a cup of hot tea.

  He had poured it for her.

  Matt prepared a plate and joined her. For a good bit, there was only the sound of their eating. Food was a remarkable restorative.

  When she was done, Willa set her silver down, and pulled her hair back. It would take an hour to untangle the ends. Matt was still shirtless. “Annie sounded a bit alarmed.”

  “By the sheets, yes. They weren’t that bad. She is just concerned for you.”

  There was a knock on the door. Annie said, “Your Grace, I have the bath.”

  Willa jumped up from the chair and raced to the privacy screen as if hiding could divorce her from the humiliation of what had happened to her. She heard him swear under his breath and then called, “Come in, Annie.”

  Of course, Annie didn’t carry up the bath alone. She had other servants with her. Willa listened to the noise of their pouring water into a tub. Her skin itched to be washed clean.

  “Shall I stay and help Her Grace at her bath, Your Grace?” Annie asked.

  “Your services will not be needed. I will let the hall maid know when we wish to have this all cleaned up.”

  “Shall I take the breakfast cart?”

  “No, leave it there,” Matt said. “My wife has a healthy appetite.”

  “She does,” Annie readily agreed, a proud smile in her voice. “For such a wee thing, she enjoys her food.” Almost as an afterthought, Annie tacked on, “Your Grace.”

  Matt laughed, the sound a far cry from his coldness moments ago. “Thank you, Annie.” The door closed. He said, “You may come out of hiding.”

  Willa stepped into the room. The tub of steaming water looked marvelous.

  “Annie made the bed,” he said.

  Only then did Willa glance at the four-poster. All evidence of what had happened to her was gone. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she released it.

  “Will you now give me some privacy to enjoy my bath?” she asked.

  He was sitting at the desk again, his large body relaxed, his long legs stretched forward in front of him so that she’d have to step over him to reach the tub. “No,” he answered. “I won’t.”

  Her temper flashed. “Matt, why are you doing this? Can’t you tell that I don’t want us to be this close?”

  “We are man and wife. Willa. We are this close.”

  Her laugh was bitter.

  He leaned forward. “I botched it last night. I hurt you. But be fair, Willa, before that horrible moment, I did please you.”

  Yes, he had. Which added to her sense of betrayal. “I didn’t like it. You didn’t stop.”

  “I couldn’t, Willa. I’d reached a point I—”

  His voice broke off. He seemed genuinely distressed.

  Some of the hardness she felt toward him eased.

  “I don’t blame you for being angry,” he said, his voice quiet, humble. “But the first time is always the worst. It will become better.”

  Willa didn’t know if she believed him. However, the water in the tub was cooling. There was scented soap and several good linen towels. She longed for nothing more than to feel fresh. “You aren’t going to leave me alone about this, are you?”

  Matt shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “Just because we are ‘married’?” She shook her head. “You wanted my dowry, Matt. You have it. There is no reason to pretend that we are something more.”

  “I’m not pretending.”

  She almost scoffed at the idea.

  He stood as if he’d heard her anyway. “Willa, I like you. I’m drawn to you. Will we fall in love? I don’t know. But I do not believe you are indifferent to me, either. I’m not going to let what happened last night ruin what might be between us.”

  “Are you actually saying you might someday love me? If so, please don’t put yourself out.”

  His brows drew together, and then he looked upward in frustration. “Why, God, have you surrounded me with headstrong women?” He turned back to her. “Are you going to use that bath? Or sh
all I?”

  “I’m using it,” she hurried to say.

  “Then be on with it,” he answered and began unbuttoning his breeches.

  Willa took a cautious step back. “What are you going to do?”

  “Serve as your lady’s maid. I promised Annie. And I don’t want to splash water on these.”

  Chapter 9

  Willa was furious. Her eyes had taken on an unholy light of outrage.

  But Matt wasn’t going to back down.

  He hadn’t lied to her. In a short span of time, she’d taken over his imagination. His senses were aware of her in a way no woman had captured them before. He also knew if he bent to her wishes, she’d never come near him. She’d be like her mother, always lurking or attempting to escape the notice of her husband. That was not a marriage he wanted.

  Taking off his breeches, he willed that arrant part of his body with its own mind to behave. No good would come from scaring Willa off.

  The problem was that his reason and his lust were in conflict. His rodney, as his sisters affectionately referred to it, was like a divining rod searching for Willa.

  “Matt, I don’t need your help.” She put the tub between them and crossed her arms. Did she realize how adorable she looked in his shirt that reached almost past her knees?

  “You have it, whether you need it or not. Now, don’t pay attention to him.” He indicated his erection. “He is not trainable but I can keep him in line.”

  A strange look crossed her face. “Him?”

  Matt shrugged. “It would be silly to call it a her.”

  She eyed it. “He isn’t very attractive.”

  “No, he’s not. However, he can do tricks.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “I will have to show them to you someday. But right now, you bathe. Or I’m using the tub.”

  That hustled her. “I don’t want you here.” Her protest was a touch weaker.

  ”Willa, we’ve had this discussion. This room. You and me. We both belong here.”

  She could have run out the door. It was right there. But he was taking a gamble. Willa was not a coward.

  And he’d wager that she wanted something more than cold disdain between them as well.