A Duke Of Her Own-[Rogues and Roses 01]

by Lorraine Heath

  “Let’s hope not, shall we.”

  She shook her head. Hell would be staying with Hawkhurst always knowing she was with him by default. Hawkhurst had not wanted her, but he’d settled for her out of obligation. If she’d learned one thing about him while being married to him, it was that he took his obligations seriously.

  “I’m truly sorry about your mother,” she said quietly.

  “Thank you. Now, enough melancholy. I have decided to risk waltzing with you.”

  She laughed. He was kind and sweet. She would be happy with him.

  Once she got over the heartbreak of leaving Hawkhurst.

  “Oh, Hawk!” Caroline cried, rushing up to him the moment he and Louisa walked into the library after seeing the last of their guests’ carriages rolling off into the night. She wound her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. “Thank you! Thank you for giving me the most wonderful night of my life!”

  Holding her close, he looked past her to his wife, who stood nearby, a soft smile on her face. “I believe it is Louisa who deserves all the credit.”

  Caroline released her hold on him, spun around to face Louisa, and hugged her as well. “Thank you.”

  “I took great delight in arranging everything.”

  “If I never attend another ball, I shall be forever content.”

  “I suspect you will be attending a good many other balls.”

  “I can’t believe how well it went,” his mother said, moving away from the fireplace.

  “I noticed you dancing with Whitson,” Hawk said, as he walked to the table and poured claret into four glasses.

  “Yes, I’d forgotten what a charmer he is,” his mother said.

  And Hawk wondered if the man’s charms would be enough to entice his mother into returning to London. He handed a glass to each of the ladies and lifted his. “I would like to make a toast. To Caroline and her successful introduction into Society, and to my lovely wife, who made it all come about so splendidly.”

  He took pleasure in watching Louisa blush as she sipped on her wine.

  As far as balls went, theirs had been relatively small, with only fifty couples, but Louisa had kept true to her word, being extremely select in whom she invited. Those in attendance weren’t easily scandalized, because most had experienced scandals in their own family. Except for the Roses, but then they weren’t British, and that by default made them scandalous. He had a very clever wife: introduce his sister into Society by first presenting her to those who could not cast stones.

  Little wonder she’d managed to acquire the position of chaperone. She was not easily intimidated. She was well acquainted with those of influence. She had a laugh that was music to his ears and a smile that dazzled. She’d made a wicked wager he couldn’t wait to make good on.

  Was it any wonder he adored her?

  Dear God. That thought had his wine catching in his throat. He covered his mouth, choked, coughed, cleared his throat, coughed again, all the while his mother pounded his back.

  “Are you all right?” his mother asked.

  “Yes, I believe I’ll switch to brandy.” He returned to the table and poured himself a generous helping.

  Caroline yawned. “I’m so tired, and yet I’m sure I shall be unable to sleep.”

  “Come along,” his mother said. “I’ll help you get ready for bed.”

  Caroline walked to the door, stopped, and turned back. “Midnight came and went, and I didn’t turn into a pumpkin.”

  “I promised you wouldn’t,” Louisa said.

  “Indeed you did. Again, thank you.”

  She walked out of the room, but his mother lingered a moment longer. “Yes, my dear, thank you, thank you for everything you’ve done for all of us.”

  He watched tears fill his wife’s eyes. “You’re welcome, Your Grace.”

  His mother finally left the room.

  Hawk walked over to Louisa and lifted her into his arms. She released a small squeal as she wound her arms around his neck.

  “I thought they would never leave,” he said. “I have a wager to pay.”

  He would not allow her to touch him. Louisa had not counted on that.

  “The wager was to pleasure me, and I take pleasure in touching you,” she told him.

  “The wager was also that I be denied pleasure. I take pleasure in your touching me, so therefore, you cannot.”

  “Hawk—”

  “Perhaps later,” he said in a low provocative voice.

  He did remove his clothes after removing all of hers, and simply gazing on his magnificent, sculpted form brought her pleasure, but he managed for a good bit of the time to remain beyond her reach, giving an inordinate amount of attention to her ankles, her calves, the dimples on her backside, her back. He used some sort of fragrant oil—he wouldn’t reveal where he’d obtained it—that made his large hands slick and when he ran them over her skin, her body melted further with each caress.

  Sometimes she’d hear him groan low in his throat as though running his hands along her back brought him as much pleasure as it brought her. Perhaps, indeed, it was impossible to give pleasure absolutely without receiving at least a small bit in return.

  What a silly wager she’d made, because it was pure torture to have him touching her when she couldn’t touch him. And once his hands had their way with her, his mouth skillfully followed. Slowly, no rush, no hurry. His teeth nipping gently at her delicate skin, then his tongue slowly caressing as though in apology.

  When he rolled her onto her back and did move up her body to bestow a long, lingering kiss, he held her wrists in one large hand above her head, while his other hand stroked and caressed her intimately. She writhed beneath him, desperate to be freed, desperate to be held, wanting release, but wanting to remain on the cusp forever. Anything to hold his attention, to keep him near. Forever and a day. Forever and a night.

  He released his hold on her wrists. She went to touch him, desperate to feel his skin beneath her hands. He quickly grabbed them and gave her a pointed look. “Not yet.”

  “When? You were supposed to pleasure me, not torture me.”

  He gave her a knowing smile. “It is a fine line between pleasure and torture.”

  “But you were supposed to do as I instructed.”

  “And I will. As soon as I’m finished doing as I please.”

  Slowly, so slowly, as though he were memorizing the feel of every muscle, every bone from her fingers to her toes, he worked the scented oil into her flesh until she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to lift her arms if she had to. She was lethargic, so terribly lethargic that when he placed his hands between her thighs and parted them, she did not object. And when he used his tongue to stroke her with an incredible intimacy, she could do little more than gasp.

  “Now,” he rasped, “now, you may touch me.”

  But all she could reach was his head, his shoulders as he worked his magic, until she was no longer relaxed, until her body was thrumming with desire, tightening with passion reborn.

  “Oh, my word,” she croaked. “Oh, Hawk!”

  Her back came off the bed as she clutched him to her and quite simply shattered into a thousand bits of pleasure.

  Stretched out on his side, raised on his elbow, Hawk continued to stroke his wife, trailing his finger beneath her breasts. He was certain he’d never seen a woman who looked more gloriously pleasured.

  “I should do that to you,” she said, languidly.

  “Perhaps later. You should sleep well now. You’ve been such a busy girl of late.”

  A corner of her mouth quirked up. “You have no idea. I feel almost drunk. I can hardly move.”

  He leaned down and kissed her temple. “Go to sleep.”

  With a contented sigh, she rolled on to her side, nestled her head against his shoulder, and draped her arm over his stomach. He lay there for a long while, staring at the canopy and listening to her soft, gentle breathing, knowing he would never grow tired of her.

 
“I’ll pleasure you when I wake up,” she murmured.

  He said nothing as she drifted off to sleep. But he wouldn’t be there when she awoke.

  She deserved a man far better than he.

  For too many years he’d been angry at his mother, living in her isolated world, her pleasure her garden. He’d thought he was so different, living in the exciting and bustling city of London. But he was no different. He was still a recluse; his haven wine and women.

  Louisa had courageously carved a place for herself in the world. She had defied tradition, had not settled for living a life of quiet desperation.

  She deserved a husband who had the courage to go forth as she had. In a few hours, he would leave for London and take his first step toward becoming that man.

  Chapter 22

  A s the coach journeyed back to Selwyn Manor, Hawk knew a sense of satisfaction he’d never before realized. Even if nothing came of his actions, he would take gratification in knowing he’d done something.

  This afternoon he’d include Louisa in other plans, and he’d work with her to help bring to fruition her desire again to serve as a social chaperone. Together they could work to get their estates back into order, could get Caroline to London and find her a suitable husband.

  He suddenly felt quite invincible. The future held promise, and he could hardly wait to share with Louisa what he’d done.

  As the coach neared the manor, he spotted a black coach in the drive. Nothing ornamental about it told him to whom it belonged. It was a bit early for a gentleman caller for Caroline, but it was the only logical explanation. She’d obviously caught someone’s eye the evening before.

  He descended from his own coach. The breeze brought Caroline’s laughter to him. He walked around to the side of the house. She did indeed have a gentleman caller: Jeremy Rose.

  They were on the tennis lawn, volleying the ball back and forth. He watched as Jeremy missed the serve, then laughed.

  “I believe you have soundly beat me yet again, Miss Selwyn!” he called.

  “You are far too easy,” she said, walking toward the net. She must have spotted Hawk, because she waved her hand. “Hawk. Look who’s come to call.”

  He headed toward them, only to have his mother approach. Obviously she’d been watching them. He wondered where Louisa was. She’d promised never to let Caroline out of her sight when gentlemen were near. He hadn’t planned his first words to her this day to be a chastisement for not properly overseeing the situation.

  “I’m going to take Caroline farther into the garden,” his mother said.

  “A splendid idea,” Hawk said.

  He waited until Caroline had said good-bye to Rose before approaching the young man, who was hitting his racket against the palm of his hand. Hawk decided pleasantries were not in order, that he needed to get straight to the crux of the matter.

  “My sister…she is not the daughter of my father.”

  Rose’s eyes widened. “I went to Yale, Your Grace. I’m very good at ciphering and deducing.”

  “Your mother will not approve of your interest in her. She would no doubt cut you off if this relationship led to anything of a permanent nature.”

  “And that would concern me because…”

  “I have not the means to support you in the manner to which you are accustomed to living. You would, of course, be welcome to live on one of my estates—”

  Rose laughed. The man actually had the audacity to laugh.

  “I do not see the humor in this situation,” Hawk said.

  “No, I suppose you don’t. You mistake my purpose in being here. I was playing tennis with your delightful sister to keep from getting bored. I did not actually come to visit her. I came to take your wife back to London.”

  The door to the bedchamber opened with a crash, the knob banging into the wall.

  Louisa jumped back from the trunk she’d been packing and stared at her husband. He was fearsome in his fury. It fairly shimmered through the room.

  “Rose says he’s come to take you back to London. Care to explain?” he ground out.

  Louisa swallowed hard. “I’d planned to explain this morning, but you weren’t here when I awoke.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “So I see.”

  “Why is he taking you to London, and why are you packing?”

  She closed the lid on her trunk. “I don’t want you to be cross.”

  “It’s a bit late for that.”

  “Yes, I see that as well.” She wrung her hands. “I haven’t been entirely honest of late.”

  “For God’s sake, Louisa, don’t be an old chest with a rusty lock. This would all go much easier if you would simply state what needs to be stated.”

  At any other time she might have smiled at his using her poor metaphor, but all she felt like doing at this moment was weeping. She took a deep breath. “After I’d sent out invitations to the ball, Mrs. Rose came to visit. It was too late to cancel the ball, but the more I knew I could make it a success, I wanted to make it a success, because I felt so responsible for your present situation, and I thought a successful ball would make it up somehow, a bit at least.”

  “I’ve yet to hear the key turning the lock and have no clue as to what you’re rambling about.”

  “Mrs. Rose told me that if I discovered I was not with child, she would help me acquire an annulment, and would allow Jenny to marry you.”

  She watched his jaw tighten, a muscle in his cheek jump.

  “Does Jenny know?” he asked pointedly.

  “Yes.”

  “So I’m the last to know?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what of your reputation?”

  “Jeremy has offered to marry me and take me to America. My reputation will not follow me there.”

  “And this is what you want?”

  “Yes.” Only because I know it is what you secretly want.

  She thought of the times he’d reminded her that if only she’d not come into the library, his life would be so very different. He would have the funds he needed to repair his estates, the funds he needed to protect Caroline and his mother, the two most important women in his life.

  Each second he glared at her in silence was a slice from her heart.

  “Then go with my blessing,” he finally said, and stormed from the room.

  Louisa dropped down onto the trunk, shaking uncontrollably. Saying yes to his final question had nearly destroyed her. But she was right to leave. She knew that now. It was Jenny he wanted. It had always been Jenny.

  Hawk filled the glass to the brim with brandy, downed it with one long swallow, and filled it again.

  Pragmatic, practical Louisa was right. As always she was damned right. There was little reason for them to remain married. She was not with child; they had done nothing of late to put her at risk of being with child. An annulment would raise fewer eyebrows than a divorce. In America, no one would care about the scandal she’d created here.

  He downed the brandy and poured more.

  He would finally acquire the woman he’d set his sights on originally: Jenny Rose.

  A lucrative settlement would make life easier for them all. Caroline would have many suitors.

  He tossed back the brandy and poured more.

  He could quickly rebuild his estates. He could make life easier for his heir.

  So why in God’s name did he feel so bloody awful? Why did he feel as though his heart had been ripped from his chest? Why did he feel bereft, with a need to weep, a need to howl like a wounded animal?

  He heard the rapid footsteps. He turned with hope beginning to unfold like the petals on a rose. She’d changed her mind.

  But it was his mother who entered the library. “Louisa asked Denby to help cart her trunks to Jeremy Rose’s coach.”

  He turned back to the bottle, refilled his glass, and drank its contents. “We’re having the marriage annulled. She’s leaving.”

  “Is this what you want?”
r />   “It does not matter what I want. Her happiness comes above all else.”

  “And why should her happiness be so damned important?”

  He swung around. “Because I love her above all else!” He shook his head, fighting back the bitter tears. Turning from her, he downed more brandy.

  “Then go after her,” his mother said.

  He glared over her shoulder. “What would you have me do? Hoist her over my shoulder? Lock her in a tower?”

  His mother shook her head. “I would have you not be so proud. I would have you find the courage to go after what you want. I know what it is to live every day regretting that I had far too much pride and too little courage to say yes when Caroline’s father asked me eighteen years ago to marry him. But I was a duchess, my son was a duke, and he was but a gardener.”

  Hawk stared at her, stunned. “Denby is her father?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I let my daughter be born out of wedlock, born in shame, I placed a terrible burden upon my son, because I refused to marry a man whom I feared Society would consider to be beneath me, to be unworthy when it was I who was unworthy. I am faced with that bitter truth every day as his love and loyalty have never waned.”

  He took a step toward her, his greatest fear on the tip of tongue. “Is he my father as well?”

  Her eyes widened with shock. “No, no, your father was the fourth Duke of Hawkhurst. I swear to you. I remained faithful to him until the end.”

  He bowed his head with the weight of doubt lifted from his shoulders.

  He felt her fingers in his hair. “Oh, my dear son, all these years—”

  “I was afraid I was not the true duke. That I was tainted.”

  Tears washed down her face. “I have done so poorly by my children. Forgive me. I beg of you, forgive me.” She touched his cheek. “Do not let her go if you truly love her.”

  Louisa sat in the carriage, staring at the manor house. She was no good with good-byes, hadn’t been since she’d said good-bye to her mother. She could hardly do them without a flood of tears, and so she’d simply left a letter in the duchess’s bedchamber, as well as in Caroline’s.

  “We’ll leave when you’re ready,” Jeremy said.