The Shy Duchess

by Amanda McCabe

  His own body responded, immediately hardening. He wrapped the folds of his robe closer over that rebellious erection. “Emily…”

  “I am ready to do my duty,” she said. “In all things.”

  She laid her arms along her sides, palms flat to the sheets, and closed her eyes. Somehow Nicholas was reminded of Ophelia, pale and perfect, sinking below the waves amid her floating flowers.

  He smiled, but quickly suppressed it. He didn’t want to make her indignant with his amusement again.

  She seemed to sense it anyway. She opened her eyes and frowned up at him. “I know what I have to do as a wife. My mother and—and a friend told me all about it. I’m quite ready.”

  He shuddered to think what her mother and this “friend” had said to her. It made his resolution to not hurt or frighten her even harder.

  He leaned down and gently, softly kissed her lips. Her body was stiff under his, and he was sure he knew now what her mother had advised her—to lie back and think of England. But that was not the way he wanted his marriage to be. Despite his vow to never hurt Emily as he had Valentina, to never force his fairy princess to bear his child, he wanted them to be friends. To form some sort of partnership so they could be content together.

  And, blast it all, he had not been with a woman in much too long! Emily was so beautiful, and she smelled so sweet. His body ached to have her, to feel her heat closing around him and lose himself in the pleasure.

  Slowly, he told himself sternly. Carefully. She was Emily, his wife, not one of the girls at Mrs Larkin’s or an opera dancer he could make his mistress, who understood everything and was sophisticated in the ways of the world.

  He kissed her again, a little deeper, and laid his palms lightly on her shoulders. She trembled under his touch, but he felt her lips part a bit, felt her begin to relax. He slowly slid his caress down her arms, smoothing away her dressing gown.

  The chemise was sleeveless, and her bare skin under his touch was soft and cool. He kissed the corner of her mouth, the curve of her jaw. He lightly touched that soft spot just below her ear with the tip of his tongue. She had seemed to like that before, and he knew she still did when she sighed. A shivering ripple went through her body, and he nipped at that spot before sliding his open mouth along her throat. She tasted of roses and sugar, of sweet femininity.

  In the hollow at its base, her pulse beat frantically just beneath her skin. He swirled his tongue there, tasting the hot life of her. That scent of roses grew stronger, headier around him, intoxicating, and his own desire rose up inside him like an irresistible tide.

  Her arms wound around his shoulders, holding him against her. But he could not have left even if he wanted to. His desire for her had been growing and growing ever since Vauxhall. He had fought to suppress it, but now it would not be denied.

  He kissed the swell of her breast above that lace, tasted the hollow between them. There was a tiny freckle hidden there, pale amber on her white skin, and he licked at it.

  “Nicholas,” she gasped. Her hands curled tight on his shoulders, and her neck arched against the pillows.

  He touched that spot he had just kissed, caressing, testing the weight of her breast on his palm. She was so very soft, so warm—perfect. With one fingertip he traced the edge of her pink aureole. Her nipple puckered tight and hard against the thin muslin. He closed his mouth around it, tasting her deeply at last, rolling her taut nipple over his tongue.

  She moaned. Her hands fell away from his shoulders and twisted in the sheets, her head tossing on the pillow. He doubted she was thinking of England now, and that gave him a deep, primitive feeling of satisfaction. His plan to make her happy seemed to be going rather well.

  And he felt quite happy himself. His body was hard as iron with need for her. He eased the straps of her chemise down, baring her body to his avid gaze. She was not so very pale now. Her skin was flushed a delicate pale pink everywhere, over her full, high breasts, her flat belly.

  She suddenly grabbed his hand before he could draw the fabric over the dark triangle between her thighs. “Y-you’re not supposed to remove my clothes, I think.”

  “Emily, my dear,” he whispered against her breast. “I wish you would not think. Not just at this moment. But you do have a point.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. It is unfair for me to be clothed while you are not.”

  Emily stared at him as he rose up on his knees beside her and reached for the sash of his robe. She squeezed her eyes shut as the velvet loops pulled free.

  Nicholas laughed, and shrugged out of the heavy garment. He tossed it to the floor. “It’s quite all right. I’m not that frightening, I promise.”

  She peeked warily. Then she closed her eyes again. “Not frightening according to whom, exactly?”

  He took her hand and pressed it flat against his chest, right where she could feel the pounding of his heart, the rise of his breath. It was hard to breathe easily with her touch on his bare skin, with her so near him. Curse it all, but he did want her, more than he had ever thought possible. More than he had ever wanted any woman.

  More than he ever wanted to want her.

  “I’m just a man, a human being,” he said. “And I want to make you happy, Emily. I want to give you pleasure, if I can.”

  Her eyes opened, and she stared up at him in raw astonishment. “You want to give me pleasure? But my mother and Sally said—”

  Nicholas swooped down and covered her mouth with his, kissing her with all the passion of his pent-up hunger until she moaned. “Emily,” he muttered, “I want you to forget what your mother and this Sally person told you. Trust me now. Please.”

  Slowly, she nodded, and he kissed her again. He slid his tongue over hers, tasting her deeply. When he felt her body relax beneath his again, he gently slid down her chemise the rest of the way and cast it to the floor with his robe. He caressed her shoulders, her waist, the soft flare of her hips.

  He lowered himself between her thighs, nudging them apart, and softly touched her very core.

  She gasped and tried to pull away, but he refused to stop kissing her, to let her go so easily. He combed his fingertips through the damp curls before easing inside. She was soft, wet—and very tight.

  She made a strange mewing sound deep in her throat as he touched her, as he tried to find that one perfect, sensitive spot. When she cried out against his mouth, her hips arching, he knew he had found it. She felt like hot satin against his skin, and he could smell the delicious musk of her desire. The desire that rose up to meet his.

  “I’m sorry, Emily,” he whispered. “I can’t wait any longer.”

  She nodded. “It’s all right, Nicholas. I’m ready.”

  He reached between their bodies and guided himself carefully into her. It took every ounce of his strength to move slowly, to be careful, to not drive himself forwards and find his pleasure in her body. She was very tight, her virginal body pressed around him, and the heat of her made him groan.

  Beneath him, she squeezed her eyes shut again and clutched at the twisted sheets. She made no noise.

  Nicholas braced his arms to either side of her, holding his weight away from her. Beads of sweat trickled down his bare back as his desire screamed at him to move, to take her!

  Her lips parted, and he barely heard her whispered words over the blood pounding in his ears. “Soon be over,” she said, just as he drove through the thin barrier of her maidenhead. He slid deep inside of her, a hot pleasure greater than any he had ever known washing over him.

  And Emily screamed. She grabbed at his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

  “Oh, sweet God, Emily! I am sorry,” he shouted. He tried to pull away from her, but her nails still held him fast, and her knees were clamped to either side of his hips.

  He had known he had to be careful with her, that she was a delicate lady. He had told himself to go slowly, to not frighten her. And then he forgot all that the minute he touched her, and jumped on her like
a barbarian.

  “Emily, you have to let go of me so I can move away,” he said tightly, through his own cloud of pain. She had a surprisingly strong grip for someone so small. And there was his own, overwhelming sexual need, which would not be pushed away so easily. Not when it was so close to glorious fulfillment.

  She turned her head to one side, and to his horror he saw a tear trickle from the corner of her eye. It glistened there, a tiny diamond on her pale cheek. She bit her lip.

  “Emily, please,” he said, as gently as he could. “You have to let go of me.”

  At first he thought she couldn’t do it. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as if he was all she had to cling to now in the world.

  And he felt the same. As he stared down at her pale face, she was all he could see. She was all he knew.

  Finally, she nodded and her hands slid away to rest at her sides. She seemed to be holding her breath, and she made him think of a delicate bird, wary and poised for flight. Her eyes closed tightly.

  Feeling like a brute, Nicholas eased himself off her and sat on the edge of the bed, his fists braced on his knees as he struggled to calm his raging desire.

  “Oh, Em, I am sorry,” he said. He reached for his robe and pulled it back over his naked body. “I’ll leave you now so you can rest. It’s been a very long day.” And it looked to be a very long night, one he would spend alone with his unfulfilled need for her—and his guilt.

  To his shock, she said, “Nicholas, wait.” He heard her sit up against the pillows, the rustle of the sheets as she drew them around her. “Must you go?”

  She sounded so forlorn he knew he couldn’t leave her. He scooped up her chemise and handed it to her. Only once he heard her draw it over her head and lay still again did he turn to look at her. Her hair was tousled over her shoulders and the blankets she had drawn close gave her the look of a wild, rebellious fairy. She stared down at her lap.

  “I would think you would want me to go as quickly as possible,” he said. “That you wouldn’t want to see me right now.”

  “I suppose it is not the thing for husbands and wives to stay together all night,” she said. “But, well, this room is very large, and—and I just don’t want to be alone in it. Could you stay with me until I fall asleep?”

  Stay with her? That was all he wanted. As he looked at her now, so beautiful and vulnerable, so alone in a situation not of her own making, it was all he wanted. To hold her and comfort her, to keep her safe.

  Only it seemed he was no good at that at all.

  “I’ll stay with you,” he said, “if that’s what you want.”

  She nodded, and slid over to make room for him on the vast bed. He climbed beneath the sheets with her, and carefully put his arm around her shoulders. Much to his surprise, she snuggled close to him and rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Everything is so very strange tonight,” she murmured sleepily. “But things will look better tomorrow, yes? And every day I will find my way clearer.”

  “I think we both will,” he said. He slid his arm around her and held her against him. She was so soft and warm in his embrace, so wonderfully alive. “I seem to have much to learn about being a husband.”

  Emily laughed softly. “And I know nothing about being a wife. Maybe we can learn together, though. Maybe we can be partners of a sort? Learn to trust each other?”

  Nicholas wasn’t sure she could trust him, not if he jumped on her in lust every time he saw her. Something inside him just couldn’t seem to help it, a physical, beastly side that wanted her so fiercely.

  And he remembered her furtive behaviour the day he followed her through the streets to that mysterious house. Would she ever trust him enough to tell him what that was? Could he trust her?

  “That is not an easy task, learning to trust,” he said.

  “No, it certainly isn’t easy.” Emily propped her chin on his shoulder to gaze at him steadily. Her green eyes were so clear and bright, just like those faraway stars. “But it seems we’re stuck with each other now.”

  Nicholas wrapped one of her long golden curls around his finger. The fine, spun-sugar hair clung to him. “How would you suggest we begin this task of trusting?”

  A tiny frown drew a crease between her eyes. “Well— perhaps you could tell me a secret.”

  He laughed in surprise.

  “Yes,” she insisted. “Something no one else knows. Then you will see that I will tell no one. That your confidences are safe with me.”

  “I don’t have a secret.”

  “Not even one?”

  Of course he did have one. A big one. Valentina and his marriage to her. But that was so very large, and buried so deep. Nicholas wasn’t sure he could even say the words aloud after so long keeping them silent.

  Yet Emily watched him steadily, hopefully. She was his wife now, and their future had to be built together.

  Nicholas pushed the pillows behind his back and sat up against them, gathering all his inner strength. Emily slowly sat beside him, her eyes wide and solemn.

  “I do have a secret,” he said, “one I have told no one, not even my siblings. But you are right. We must be partners now, and you should know.”

  Emily nodded. “I am listening, Nicholas.”

  He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “I fear you are not my first wife.”

  “Not…” Her face turned even whiter, but Nicholas saw that she, too, had hidden wells of strength. She did not move away or raise her voice. She curled her hands tightly on the sheet and said, “Are you saying you are already married? That you have a wife hidden away somewhere?”

  “No! I am not the villain of a horrid novel, Emily. My wife died, many years ago.”

  “Oh, I see.” That frown between her eyes deepened as she struggled to decipher his words. “But if you were married to this lady…”

  “Valentina. That was her name.”

  “Valentina—how did your family not know about it? If you loved her enough to marry her…”

  “I did love her, very much. But no one knows about her, not even Stephen. No one, until you.” He took her hand, gently urging her to sit closer to him. He could tell the story better when she was not watching him quite so sadly.

  “Why did you tell no one about her?” she said.

  “It happened when I was in Italy, on my Grand Tour, not long after my father died. Brenner thought I should go then, that the travel and education would be good for me after such a loss, before taking on my full responsibilities,” he answered. “It was so quick. I had never met anyone like Valentina, so very alive and bright and honest! I fell for her, just like that, with one dance, one laugh. She was the daughter of a respectable attorney of the city, and at first they weren’t sure about me and my intentions, a wild young Englishman who seemed crazy to them. But I persuaded her to marry me, to return to England with me as my wife. I thought we could tell my family then, when we arrived home. It didn’t seem the sort of thing to put in a letter, and I knew if they met her they would accept her right away.”

  “I see. And then what happened?”

  Nicholas rubbed his hand over his face, as if he could erase the old memories. They were still there, and yet they seemed faded and distant. It was as if the mere saying of the words, the sharing the memories to the light of day, made them grow further and further away.

  But he was suddenly weary, and couldn’t go on with the rest of the sad tale. Not yet.

  “She died,” he said. “Before we had been married a year. And I returned home to my family. They seemed to realize something had happened while I was gone, but for once they didn’t press me about it. It was too hard for me to speak of her, and as time went on I did not even know how to begin. It seemed easier to keep her hidden in my heart, my own secret. Now I suppose she is yours, too.”

  Emily was silent for a long moment. She stared down at their joined hands as if she was stunned by his tale. He wondered if he had made a mistake, if she would run from him.

&
nbsp; But she gently kissed his cheek and he saw the sheen of tears in her eyes. Everyone who called her icy was so wrong, he thought. So very wrong.

  “Your secret is safe with me, Nicholas,” she said simply. “And I thank you for telling me.”

  Nicholas nodded. He had no more words now, no more emotions. Only a deep, weary peace. “Shall I leave you now? You need to get some sleep.”

  Emily shook her head. “You need rest, too. Stay with me.” She slid down among the rumpled bedclothes, drawing him with her.

  He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. He gently kissed her forehead, and she smiled as she held on to him, already drifting into sleep.

  “Goodnight, wife,” he whispered.

  “Goodnight—husband,” she whispered back. And that word sounded sweeter than he’d ever thought it would again.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The dawn light crept from the window, a thin, pale pink line between the heavy curtains that flowed over Nicholas’s sleeping face. Emily leaned her elbow on the pillow, gazing down at him.

  He looked younger in his sleep, more peaceful, as if the burden of his position was eased when he lost himself in dreams. His bright hair was tousled over his brow, his arm stretched out as he sprawled across the mattress. She lay very still, trying hard not to disturb him in his rest.

  How silly she had been last night! She had known what to expect, thanks to her mother and Sally, and first it wasn’t at all what they said. It was quite—pleasant when he touched her and looked at her naked body with such raw hunger. It made her feel really beautiful for the first time, made her feel full of light and pleasure. Maybe marriage would not be so difficult, after all!

  He had shared his deepest secret with her. Surely that meant something very great. He told her about his first wife, his Italian Valentina, something he had shared with no one else. It was a very sad tale, and she was certain she could not compare with a lost love of that sort. But maybe they were learning to trust now. If only she could tell him her secrets, too.…