She did so, only because she couldn’t understand why his tone remained so composed. Then he cupped her face and blotted her tears with his thumbs, making her gasp. How could he possibly be kind after what she’d done? “Exton?”
“She is not correct. Lady Kingsford is not correct.”
Lilian blinked at him in incomprehension. “Beg pardon?”
“She lied,” he said bluntly. “Having an orgasm…does not kill a baby. Saying such a thing is beyond belief.”
“But it must be true. Otherwise, how do, er, you know, ah, ladybirds, stop themselves from conceiving?”
Exton sighed and shifted position on the bed again. “You really want to know? It’s not, as you would say…proper.”
At this moment, she didn’t care if the information turned her hair green and made her toenails fall out. All she could cling to was the promise that she hadn’t accidentally committed a most terrible deed. And if her husband deigned to actually answer her question rather than rebuking her curiosity…
“Please tell me,” Lilian whispered. More than anything she wanted to be held tightly in his arms, to rest her cheek against his shoulder and be warmed. Instead, she reached out and grasped his hand. “Even if it isn’t something a lady should hear. I know I ask too many questions, but I want to know the truth. Not another lie. Please.”
For a long moment he stared almost yearningly at her slender fingers curled around his big hand, then he lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a light kiss over her knuckles. Blast it, why was he so confusing? Why did he never remove his robe, and why did he forbid her to touch him anywhere other than his hands and forearms, when he seemed to want so much more?
“You don’t ask too many questions,” he said eventually, his voice low. “On bedchamber matters, you may ask me anything. There are several ways to avoid conception. A man might spill his seed on her belly. Or use a sheath made of sheep’s gut over his cock. The woman might have a sponge, soaked in brandy. Or vinegar. Worn inside her.”
Her eyes widened so far it felt like they might pop from her head. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Nothing to do with orgasm. Also, not every bedding results in a baby. Sometimes once is enough. Usually it takes several attempts. Can take years. Others never do. Look at the royals.”
Lilian sagged against her pillow, suddenly more exhausted than if she’d run the length of the city and back. “I never thought of that. You are quite right. But why would Grandmother say such a wicked thing? I’m so cross with her.”
“No idea. Perhaps that is what her mother told her. Or her husband. Maybe he was a selfish bas—er, man. Or perhaps she just passed on her own beliefs. Some people have a…distorted view of the world. Very Cromwell-like.”
“Hmmm,” she said, reaching down so she could pull the sheet and quilt up over her legs.
Exton smiled and tucked the blankets around her hips. “The main question is, did you enjoy yourself? Before your fright, of course.”
A fiery blush heated her cheeks. It had been incredible. Her first orgasm, from his finger and thumb between her legs. The deliciously stern order to remove her nightgown. His hot, hungry stare as he’d looked on her scandalously near-naked breasts. The way he had carefully pushed his cock inside her, and astonishingly, while the stretching fullness had danced on the edge of discomfort to start, when he started to move…the wondrous friction. The oh-so-good pressure on her mound. Last of all when he’d pinched her nipple and said those raw, crude words, the jolt had gone straight to her center and hurled her over the edge into a second orgasm much stronger than the first.
As for discovering that not only could pleasure be found in marital relations, but that it had no dire consequences…well. That changed everything.
Lilian opened her mouth to answer and yawned instead.
Exton laughed. “Poor, tired duchess. I should leave you to rest. More ledgers tomorrow.”
He moved off the bed, and she had to clasp her hands so she didn’t stop him. Bite her tongue so she didn’t embarrass them both by asking him to stay and hold her, to kiss and touch her some more until the chill of the terror she’d experienced had been fully banished. Even perhaps let her explore that intriguing triangle of bare, hair-dusted chest she couldn’t stop thinking about.
Firmly suppressing such thoughts, Lilian nodded. “Indeed. Goodnight, Exton.”
“Goodnight…” he hesitated, and again, that wayward yearning made her heart thump.
Stay with me.
His shoulders straightened. “Breakfast for two in the morning? On the trolley?”
Lilian smiled. “Yes please.”
Exton inclined his head, and left her bedchamber. Eventually she climbed out of bed and walked over to her washstand. Swiftly attending to the stickiness between her legs, she then returned, put her nightgown back on, and settled under her sheets and embroidered quilt.
The silly feeling of disappointment needed to stop. At once.
Everyone knew husbands and wives of the ton did not sleep together all night, let alone dukes and duchesses. The only reason to share a bed was marital relations, and once completed, they bid each other goodnight and went their separate ways. Just because her feelings toward him were changing, didn’t mean the reverse was true. Really, she should be counting her blessings: a title at the pinnacle of society, generous allowance, one of London’s premier addresses. A most considerate husband.
Only a fool would crave anything more.
Chapter 8
The next time he saw the dowager Lady Kingsford, he would be hard pressed not to strangle her.
Absently rubbing the scar on his upper thigh, once again unhappily trapped in form-fitting buff trousers, Gabriel took his breakfast plate and sat down at the dining table. Miracle of miracles, after the time he’d spent in Lilian’s bedchamber, he’d actually been able to sleep for a few hours. Now he was ravenous for the coddled eggs, sautéed potatoes, buttered toast, and thin slices of rare beef in front of him.
But what a near-travesty. Exquisite fucking almost ruined thanks to that poisonous old puritan and her vile lies.
When Lilian came the first time, it had merely been a task well completed. His real victory had been bringing her to orgasm with his cock inside her, rocking his hips the right way against her clitoris, penetrating her at an angle that maximized her pleasure. When the sweet pulsing of her cunt forced him to spill his seed, he’d been both elated and smug. Until she’d burst into tears. That had been an awful moment, assuming he’d been too forceful and hurt her. But no. His wife had fallen apart because of some damned nonsense her grandmother had spouted in her ear about orgasms killing babies. And he still had to address Lilian’s odd comment about her mother’s terrible hot blood.
Christ. Yet another way the ton ruined young ladies. No information about the marriage bed, ridiculously incomplete information, or out and out revolting falsehoods.
When Lilian wept, he’d never been so grateful for all his years in the army. On countless occasions with women, children, and the elderly in Spanish and French villages, in forests and fields with bullet-ridden men, and around campsites with young ensigns trying to unravel the full gauntlet of emotion when they killed a man for the first time in battle, he’d had to coax information from them to understand and resolve a situation. So he had a well-honed ability to stay calm when faced with acute distress. But with Lilian, it had been infinitely more difficult. Her tears and fright had affected him deeply, had made him want to stay with her rather than return to his own bedchamber. But again, she’d made her wishes plain.
Which was for the best. A sheltered, well-bred society daughter would never be able to manage him at his worst, when he experienced his nightmares about Bayonne. He would just have to somehow keep those dark days from her. Forever.
“Good morning, Exton.”
Gabriel looked up as his wife entered the dining room and walked over to the buffet. “Lilian.”
“I just spoke with Imogen, she and Cl
arissa are going to visit the museum today. A new statue or something. I must say, I’m quite relieved your aunt’s companion shares her interest in relics. I like dirt, not dust!” she finished with a shy smile as she picked up a plate.
At first, after gazing wistfully at the array of tempting food, she only added a slice of toasted bread and berry preserve to her plate. But when he stared at her and raised an eyebrow, she added a spoonful of coddled eggs and one slice of ham. Then requested a footman bring a fresh pot of chocolate at once.
“Satisfied, Colonel?” she said with enough pertness to make his cock stir, as she walked over to sit in her new place at his right.
“Quite, corporal. Although not as much as I was…last night,” he murmured, too low for the footmen to hear.
Her cheeks went cherry red. “Exton.”
Gabriel held up his hands, innocent as a choirboy. “What?”
“You mustn’t say such things in the dining room,” she whispered.
“If you insist on talking of must nots…your gown.”
His duchess shot him a startled look, then stared down at the loose-fitting, high-necked, green monstrosity she wore. “What is wrong with it?”
“Everything, compared to the yellow gown…you wore yesterday.”
Lilian sighed. “I only have the one gown that fits like that. In truth, my attempt at rebellion. All the others are like this, approved by Grandmother.”
Ugh. As if he didn’t already have enough reasons to despise Lady Kingsford for life. But these atrocious gowns, that disguised Lilian’s ample breasts, and covered up her elegant shoulders, would have to go. Perhaps he could have her armoire taken out to the mews and accidentally set on fire. Or put all the gowns in a pile, and unleash a litter of untrained puppies. “I insist you have a new wardrobe made. Gowns that fit.”
She gasped. “But that will cost a fortune!”
“Tis lucky that the coffers are full, then. Isn’t it.”
“Very well. I shall make a modiste appointment,” Lilian replied non-commitally, as if she regarded shopping a terrible chore. Except her eyes were sparkling like the damned sapphires he hadn’t been able to purchase.
“Not just gowns,” Gabriel continued. “Slippers. Bonnets and shawls. Riding habit. Chemises. Everything. And soon. I don’t want any reminders…of previous influences. You are Duchess of Exton.”
“I am humbly obedient, husband.”
Minx. If they didn’t have an audience right now…
Inclining his head, Gabriel returned to his breakfast. Several neatly ironed newspapers sat to his left, but he didn’t read them. There were far too many stories about Napoleon. After everything he and his men had gone through to defeat that devil’s army and end the long, bloody Peninsular War, they’d all thought the fallen emperor’s exile to Elba would be the final chapter to the story. Exile, followed by a shameful and hopefully gruesome death. But no. On February 26, he’d somehow escaped the island and returned to France. By March 20, the man had reached Paris with an entire army marching behind him. God knew what Napoleon might be planning next, but his goals were never small ones. Whatever the next step, it would be cataclysmic. Brutal. And extraordinarily well planned, like some sort of elaborate chess match, because the Corsican had a genius military mind to rival anyone.
“Beg pardon, Your Grace, but the post has arrived.”
Gabriel glanced up at the fresh-faced footman hovering at his elbow. It seemed his wife was making inroads with the servants, the attitude of most had definitely improved. “Thank you.”
First he separated the bills to one side. Then he flicked through the small mountain of letters and invitations, tossing most aside unopened. Until he came to one with a very familiar crest stamped into the wax seal.
Opening it carefully, he read through the invitation to a private ball celebrating the start of the Season, in four days’ time at the Foreign Secretary Lord Castlereagh’s home in St. James’s Square. And the short scrawl at the bottom—“I’m resending this because I haven’t heard from you. Please come. EC.”
Emily Castlereagh. All at once a clever eccentric, rigid Almack’s patroness, and rather gifted diplomatic hostess. Yet also one of the kindest women he’d ever met. Emily had been a dear friend of his beloved mother, apparently the pair had been infamous in the Georgian court for their exclusive literary salons discussing risqué books and poetry. After his mother passed, Emily had been the one to send clean handkerchiefs, packages of candied fruit, and gossipy, lecturing letters to wherever he was on campaign. He considered her an honorary aunt, and the thought that he’d missed or misplaced an invitation from her irritated him greatly.
“What are you reading?” said Lilian, putting down her empty chocolate cup.
Gabriel held up the parchment between two fingers. “Invitation from the Castlereaghs. A private ball.”
“Good heavens,” she replied, looking impressed. “The cream indeed.”
“Would you like to attend?”
Her eyes widened. “Could we? You wouldn’t mind an evening out?”
“Emily will be happy…if we debut as husband and wife at her party. It won’t be a crush. Plenty of officers who won’t stare. Decent brandy. Many reasons to say yes.”
“Quite. I didn’t realize you knew Lady Castlereagh.”
“She was a dear friend of my mother’s. Very well, then. Consider us going. Only four days away.”
Lilian clapped her hands together, rewarding him with a beaming smile. Damnation she was a beautiful woman. Then she stilled. “Oh dear. If it’s that soon, I’ll need that modiste appointment at once. I hope Daisy can fit me in at such short notice.”
“You’re a duchess now. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to assist. Especially if you clink some extra guineas.”
“My goodness, Exton. Are you implying money and a lofty title open doors? Well I never!”
Gabriel’s lips twitched. Two pert comments in one morning. To say he much preferred this more relaxed Lilian was an understatement; it seemed their conversation the previous evening, after such satisfying bedsport, had lowered her walls somewhat. Yet while a part of him wanted so much more, in bed and out, the whole thing was bloody complicated with his injuries and related issues.
How could he ever reconcile the two?
“This is all very furtive, Your Grace. I am both intrigued and baffled, because let’s be honest, the day you turn criminal is the day I frolic naked along Rotten Row.”
Lilian sighed, and shifted for the thousandth time in the luxury town carriage. In contrast, her younger brother sat sprawled in his best leisurely lord about town pose, completely at ease. “I do not need that thought in my mind, thank you very much. And let’s be honest, Xavier, if you weren’t pursued by Grandmother’s footmen, you would strip and frolic anytime, anywhere, for any reason.”
His eyes widened. Then he grinned. “Touché. And now I’m even more intrigued, because you almost sounded saucy. What on earth has Exton been teaching you?”
A hot blush raced across her cheeks. “Never you mind. But he is the reason I need your help today. And why Dawn is currently shopping for hair ribbons, and you are in this carriage.”
“Oh?”
Lilian took a deep breath and absently smoothed her green gown, the one Exton disliked. He would like what she was about to do even less. “My husband thinks I am going to visit the modiste. But I’m not. Well, not right away. First of all I want to, er, behave…badly.”
Xavier sat forward, all trace of amusement gone from his face. “Bloody hell, Lilian, you haven’t even been married a fortnight. Bad form to be considering an affair before you have a son in the nursery. I won’t be a shield for that. Why can’t you wait until you’ve birthed an heir like every other ton wife? Then he’ll go his way, you’ll go yours, perhaps you’ll meet at the odd soiree and give each other a polite smile. All thoroughly civilized.”
Lilian’s jaw dropped, both at the accusation, and his uncharacteristic bitterness. “You thi
nk I wish to commit adultery?”
“You just said you did.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. You are clearly spending far too much time with the Marlborough House set. I said behave badly. Meaning…inflict a public setdown.”
Her brother tilted his head, and thankfully London’s most notorious blue-eyed rogue returned. It had been disconcerting seeing a cold stranger. “Humblest apologies. On whom do you wish to inflict a setdown? Grandmother? Because I would hand over all I had to witness that.”
“No,” she replied hesitantly, and explained what had happened when Exton went to Rundell, Bridge and Rundell.
“No,” breathed Xavier once she’d finished. “Called Exton a drunk and threw him out? Appalling.”
“Precisely. I won’t have it. Yes, he has been reclusive, but he must be accorded every respect due a duke. Even more because he is a hero who faithfully and brilliantly served king and country for twelve years.”
“My, my. If I didn’t know better, I might declare you held a candle for His Grace.”
As the carriage came to a halt, Lilian looked out the window toward the familiar and imposing cream stone façade of the jeweler rather than face her brother. “He is very different from the previous duke. And I find myself…liking him,” she finished awkwardly.
“Well. We must guide a certain clerk toward the path of righteousness, then,” said Xavier, his tone everything unholy.
If she weren’t so nervous, she might have laughed. Instead, she stepped out onto the Ludgate Hill footpath. In happier times, the Nash family had patronized the place frequently; her mother’s favorite pieces had been purchased here, as had cameo brooches for each of the three girls, and engraved cuff links for Xavier. Mr. Rundell the elder had always attended them with smiling cordiality, and not once had a purchase been anything other than exquisite.
But today, she was angry. No, not angry—furious.
Taking Xavier’s arm, they strolled into the shop, and were immediately enveloped in a cloak of hushed opulence. It might have been a while, but little had changed. Still the thick rugs underfoot, walls plain cream, and the large cabinets understated glass and oak, so for all eyes, the center of attention remained the jewelry. No one could dispute the beauty and elegance of the pieces on display. Bracelets, necklaces, brooches, and rings for ladies. Fob watches, cuff links, engraved pistols, and snuff boxes for gentlemen. But also a collection of magnificently sculpted candelabra, urns, and elaborate silver and gold plates. Anyone could see why this firm remained the preferred choice of the royal family, and the wealthiest of the ton.
Duke in Darkness (Wickedly Wed Book 1) Page 11