Winning the Duke

by Jenn Langston

While they talked, Braiden found more reasons why Grace had been a perfect choice for his duchess. He hadn’t realized how bad his mother’s condition had become, and Grace handled her with care and respect. The feelings swirling inside his body made him question if bringing her here had been a wise decision.

  When she’d confessed her happy moments had occurred at her sister’s house, the knowledge struck him to his core. His proposal, their marriage, and their life in London meant nothing to her. That realization hit him while lying there, and an overwhelming desire to change her thinking drove him. Now he had the chance to do so at his house. But how?

  “Grace,” he called. “I believe it is time to show you to your quarters. Mother, please excuse us.”

  “Of course. We will have plenty of time to catch up later.” The dowager duchess shuffled from the room with a lightness he rarely saw from her.

  Taking his wife’s hand, he escorted her up the stairs and down the hallway to her rooms. He’d redone them for her in a similar fashion to the townhouse, and he hoped she approved.

  In her bedchamber, she spun in a slow circle with wonderment in her eyes and a smile on her face. “This is perfect. Did you do this for me? It smells new.”

  He shrugged, uncomfortable with the awe he heard in her voice. “The space needed a change.”

  She crossed the room, reached behind him to shut the door, and then ran her hand slowly up his chest to his shoulders. His breath caught. He knew what would happen next, and he also knew he would hold no power to deny her once her lips touched his.

  “Grace.” He pulled her hands off him and led her to the sitting room. “We need to talk about my mother.”

  She nodded as she took a seat. “I can see she’s unwell.”

  Sliding in a chair beside her, he cleared his throat. “Over her life, she has suffered a great deal, but after my father died, she seemed to have lost the last bit of her mind that remained intact.”

  “She must have loved him a great deal.”

  “No,” Braiden said with more vehemence than he intended. “The late duke was not a good man. I don’t care how well-liked he was, they didn’t know the true him. He had fooled me too.”

  “Don’t worry.” Grace put her hand on his thigh. “I’ll take care of your mother.”

  Although he knew her touch was meant to soothe, it only teased him. When her fingers spread and rubbed his leg, sweat broke out across his forehead. He couldn’t move as his body screamed for her hand to travel further up. As if in an answer to his silent plea, her hand shifted.

  He jumped up.

  “I suppose I should leave you to settle in.”

  Unable to wait for her reply, Braiden sped from her rooms. Luckily the door between their bedchambers remained locked, just like at the townhouse. The longer he could keep Grace out, the better. Tonight would be spent with another bottle of brandy. The drink had gotten him through far worse.

  In his study, he went straight for the side bar and poured a glass. The brilliant bouquet filled his nostrils as it burned down his throat. The soothing familiarity brought him comfort. Before long life would appear more manageable.

  Bringing the bottle to his desk, he noticed a package waiting for him. His breath caught once he opened it and revealed the twinkling jewels. After removing the letter, he ran his fingers across the expensive rubies, trying not to think of the stories the necklace could tell. Why would his solicitor think he’d want the jewels Tabitha had taken returned? Had she died wearing this?

  The thought made him close the package and shove it in a drawer at the bottom of his desk. Turning his attention to the missive, the contents had him pouring himself another brandy.

  Mr. Spinner located the last survivor of the group who’d killed Tabitha. They’d been hired by a member of the peerage. Now, for some reason, the culprit was killing all the mercenaries. Perhaps to keep their mouths shut. Unfortunately, Mr. Spinner hadn’t received much from the man before he got away.

  “Braiden,” his mother called as she rushed into the study. “Why did you bring that girl here?”

  His mouth dropped open. “You mean Grace, my wife?”

  “She’s not your wife. You bring a mistress here to stay in the duchess’s quarters? She won’t be happy, nor am I. Have you no respect?”

  Standing, he stretched to his full height and stared down at the woman. He knew she didn’t understand, but he wouldn’t tolerate Grace being maligned.

  “Grace is no mistress. She is Lady Grace Everett, Duchess of Donetic. It will do you well to remember that.”

  His mother shrank back, making him feel horrible. Falling back into his chair, he rubbed his temples. No woman he came in contact with ever made life any easier for him. He would have been better served had he sworn them all off years ago.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, Mother,” he assured in his softest voice. “I’m not him, nor will I ever be.”

  “Of course you aren’t.” Suddenly she drew to her full height and looked around. “Why are you sitting here alone? You have a wife who needs to acclimate herself to her new surroundings. She’s never been here before. Did you at least have the decency to give her a tour of the estate?”

  Braiden sighed. She sounded more lucid, but was she? “What is my wife’s name?”

  “Have you gone mad? I don’t imagine Grace would forgive you if she heard you forgot her name.”

  Smiling, he winked at her. “Then it would be better if we didn’t tell her.”

  “Men.” She shook her head. “Now, get upstairs and go see to that lovely lady.”

  Shoving Mr. Spinner’s letter under some other correspondence, Braiden followed his mother out of the room. He would have to watch her closely. He couldn’t have her upsetting Grace. After all, the point of their time here was to make Grace love him.

  The word made him freeze. No. He didn’t want that. Never that. Love didn’t exist. Why would he think such a thing? He wanted Grace happy, that was all. Wasn’t it?

  Grace stabbed her needle into the cushion she was embroidering, all the while wishing she could stab someone else. Braiden was driving her crazy with his constant presence, light touches, and outright denials. The last fortnight at Donetic brought her no peace. Between her husband and his mother, she’d easily believe she’d been confined to Bedlam.

  “It’s best if you don’t show so much emotion,” the dowager duchess said from across the room. “Over time, you’ll learn how beneficial a mask of indifference is.”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand.”

  She offered Grace a kind smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you learn. It will make things easier.”

  “Thank you,” Grace said, although she had no idea what the woman meant. She was beginning to believe it was better not to know.

  “And I’m pleased to see you powdered your hair. I can’t tell you how many nights I’ve laid awake worrying over it.”

  “I don’t powder my hair.” Grace touched a lock of her black hair. Did it look powdered? She hoped not.

  “You don’t have to hide with me. There is no shame in self-preservation. I taught Willimena everything, and I shall do the same for you. I always felt my daughter did better with the black hair anyway.”

  Hearing Braiden’s sister’s Christian name sounded odd. Honestly Grace had never heard anyone call Abigail that before. And Abigail didn’t powder her hair. The beautiful shade of red couldn’t be replicated.

  “Why does the color of my hair make a difference?”

  “He doesn’t like red hair.”

  “Who?” Grace didn’t like this conversation. Abigail and Tabitha had red hair.

  “The duke, but don’t worry. He’s not here now. But he will come. He always finds me.”

  “Braiden?”

  The
indulgent smile the dowager gave came as a contrast to her strange warnings. “He’s such a sweet boy. Nothing like his father. That’s the man you need to look out for.”

  Grace couldn’t take this conversation any longer. Braiden’s father had been dead for a number of years. Excusing herself, she went to seek out Braiden. The dowager duchess scared her. Although clearly sick, something cold and calculating existed in her eyes. The woman was hiding something.

  Unable to locate her husband, Grace donned an apron and some gloves to engage in her favorite stress-relieving activity. She could speak to Braiden later about his mother. For now, she needed an escape from the woman.

  The cool air outside made her smile. Abigail shared Grace’s love of gardening and tending to the flowers made her feel more like she belonged.

  As Grace yanked the weeds from among the flowers, she thought over her conversation with the dowager duchess. Braiden became uncomfortable every time she brought up his mother, so she decided it might be better not to tell him. In any case, it wouldn’t change the woman’s condition.

  “There she goes again,” Braiden said from behind her. “Teasing me with her delectable bottom. Just like last winter.”

  Sitting back on her haunches, she turned her head to see Braiden leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. He looked beautiful with the sunlight framing his brown hair. Like an angel. She shook her head. An angel with wild drunken eyes. Again.

  She returned to her gardening. “Go away. It’s not even dinnertime and you’re already deep in your cups. I have no need for a drunken husband.”

  His body brushed up against hers as he fell to his knees behind her. She sucked in her breath as his body covered hers.

  “Is that so?” he whispered in her ear. “I can think of many uses for a drunken wife.”

  He lightly sucked on her ear lobe as his hand caressed her breast. Her mouth fell open as desire assaulted her. Perhaps his drunkenness wasn’t such a bad thing. Normally, he chose the bottle over her, but clearly something had happened to make him want both. She wouldn’t complain.

  Pushing backwards, she ground her bottom against his breeches, making a strangled groan escape past his lips. Loving the sound, she did it again. His grip on her breast increased as he thrust back and set his mouth on her neck.

  When he sat back while remaining on his knees, he pulled her up against his chest. Both his hands ran down her body and rested on her thighs. Desire rushed to the private place between her legs. One of his hands slowly moved in that direction, and her body froze. Time didn’t exist as she waited for him to help her. To save her from the unbearable ache he’d set inside her.

  “Braiden,” she moaned. “Please.”

  Immediately his hands were gone, and he got up so fast she fell back on her bottom. He stood two feet away, looking down at her as if he would devour her.

  “I’m sorry, Grace. I can’t. I just can’t.” He shoved his hands in his hair and closed his fists over the strands as he leaned back against the tree. “But I can’t live like this anymore. You drive me mad, and brandy doesn’t help.”

  She stood and faced him. “Then let me help. I can end your suffering.”

  “No. It will only be worse. And I will not survive it.”

  Taking a step forward, Grace allowed her oversensitive flesh to guide her.

  “How can it be worse?” She pulled his hands from his hair and put them around her. “Nothing can be worse than this.”

  Beginning at his shoulders, she slid her hands up and down his chest, then dropped them lower and lower until she grazed the bulge in his buckskins.

  His eyes darkened as he spun her around to back her against the tree and plunge his tongue into her mouth. Reveling in his wildness, she wound her leg around him. Like at Christmas, he pulled her leg up, but this time he freed her skirts.

  He drove his body against her core, unhindered by her skirts. She threw her head back and moaned as pleasure flowed through her veins. The sensation was beyond anything she’d ever dreamed.

  “Braiden,” the dowager duchess’s scolding voice pierced through her cloud of lust. “If you are going to maul the poor girl, have the decency to do so indoors.”

  With his eyes closed, Braiden released her. Once her feet touched the ground, he walked off, deeper into the garden. Grace wordlessly watched him go.

  “I’m sorry, dear girl,” his mother said breathlessly. “When I saw that drunken look in his eyes, I went in search of you as quickly as I could. In the future, you might not want to venture so deep in the garden.”

  Grace couldn’t speak, just stared at the woman in astonishment. She wanted to scream. Clearly his mother had good intentions, but now Grace wasn’t sure she would ever get her child.

  “I know you are in shock.” The dowager took Grace’s arm. “Let me help you to your quarters. I will tell Cook you don’t wish to dine tonight.”

  Allowing the woman to lead her into the house, Grace tried to calm her aching body. Tears stung her eyes. What was she to do now? Her husband surely wouldn’t seek her out anytime soon after what just occurred.

  An hour later as she lay in her bed, she found the perfect solution. He didn’t need to come to her. She would go to him. It was past time she used the key she found hidden in her bedchamber.

  Braiden found himself in the most vivid dream he’d ever had. He fought himself, not wanting to awaken. His body felt so hard, he thought he would explode any second. A feather light touch ran across his strained member. He moved, then cursed the blanket as it fell over him again.

  Reluctantly opening his eyes, he gasped. It wasn’t a blanket. Grace sat beside him in a thin white night dress while all her attention centered between his legs. He remained frozen as she shifted, then lifted the hem of her gown with determination flashing in her eyes.

  Knowing where this was going, he grabbed her arm and tossed the coverlet across his nakedness.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.

  She shrugged his arm off. “What you should have done months ago.”

  Furious, he climbed out of bed and crossed the room in search of his dressing gown. He didn’t care what she saw. After all, she apparently had no qualms about sneaking into his room and baring his body.

  “Earlier in the garden.” He took a deep breath. “That was a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

  “No!” she screamed, as tears fell from her eyes. “The interruption was a mistake. You pushing me away was a mistake.”

  “Have you no care for my wishes or my desires?”

  “That can go two ways, Braiden. Don’t act like the victim here. Neither one of us is getting anything out of this marriage besides frustration. I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

  He laughed out of bitterness. “Only because you don’t know what the alternative is. Well, I’ll spoil the surprise for you. You might know what your family told you, but they don’t know me.”

  “It doesn’t matter, they—”

  “What you’re asking for isn’t pleasant. In fact, it’s so bad you won’t want to be around me afterwards. It will send you into the arms of another man to have your baby. Just like her,” he couldn’t stop himself from adding.

  Grace climbed from the bed and stood right in front of him. “Don’t you dare say that. I’m nothing like her.”

  “Not yet, but you will be.”

  She slapped him across the face. The small sting was nothing compared to his shock.

  “I guess you are right about one thing. I don’t want to be around you anymore.”

  With that she turned and calmly walked from his room. The door slamming shut was a dagger plunging into his heart. He’d done it again. Turned another wife against him. Unfortunately this time he didn’t have the benefit of brandy to satisfy the aching in h
is chest. Not anymore.

  After attacking Grace in the garden while his mother remained nearby, he decided liquor wasn’t worth the lack of control. From now on, he would stop at one glass, no matter how deep the sorrow went.

  He lay back in bed, deciding to apologize to Grace in the morning. Surely they could work out something to benefit them both. Maybe since she knew the truth about him, she may be able to suffer the act just enough to keep him sane and to get her child.

  As he fell asleep he felt much better. Everything would work out fine now. If only he remained open with her, and she understanding.

  The next morning, Grace wasn’t down at breakfast like usual. Feeling guilty for keeping her up, he headed back upstairs and knocked on her bedchamber. The door swung open without resistance. The room was empty.

  Hurrying downstairs, he asked everyone he came across if they’d seen her. No one had.

  “Danvers,” he bellowed. Immediately his butler appeared beside him. “Has the duchess gone out to tend to the garden this morning?”

  “No, Your Grace. The rain has made such an excursion impossible.”

  Alarm pierced him. She said she didn’t want to see him anymore. Had she left? The agony striking him was unlike anything he’d experienced before.

  “Find her.”

  Unwilling to wait around and take the chance that she had left him last night, he grabbed his greatcoat and headed out into the rain. None of the horses were missing. How much ground could she cover on foot? Would she stick to the road or meander through the forest?

  Not even bothering with the saddle, he bridled his stallion and led him out into the rain. The weather made riding bareback more difficult, but he would do anything to find Grace. All the while, he prayed she simply locked herself in the library or an obscure room to hide from him.