by Lavinia Kent
“Not all your time, I trust. You do seem to find time for some other … activities.” Was that a hint of the smile upon her cheek again? Did she have a dimple?
“No, I fear that mostly I have been serious about those activities also.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
The bird chirped again.
Three seconds.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Thirty.
He glanced at the door to the hallway. She had shut it tight behind her, and he knew his servants were too well trained to eavesdrop. “You are not sore from last night? I know you said that you are well, but I cannot help but worry. That was not how a gentleman should treat his wife.”
“But what if the wife liked it, wanted it?” Her gaze dropped from his and she stared down at her hands; her fingers trembled and her hands curled into fists.
His desk was covered in papers, important detailed matters that he could decide when he was ready. “Then I do not know. This is beyond the realm of my experience.”
“I did not know anything was beyond the realm of your experience.” The smile fought to return again.
“Wives are.”
“And am I not what you wanted in a wife?” Her voice quavered slightly, all trace of the smile gone. “I am trying to be what you want.”
He closed his eyes. “I know. And you are. You are more than I ever dreamed, Louisa.”
“Then what is the difficulty?”
How did he answer that? How to say, The problem is I want even more. I want you to give me everything and then some. I want to tie you to my bed. I want your willing obedience. I want you to do what I want when I want. I want you to suck my cock when I ask. I want you to bend over the dining table if that is my desire. I wish to spank your sweet ass until it reddens beneath my hand and the slightest breeze sends you floating on clouds of sensation.
Louisa kept her eyes focused on him, her expression serious as she awaited his answer, the steadiness of her gaze searching for his response.
And he had no words. There was no way to say all the things that he needed to and yet—how could he not?
As if sensing his difficulty, and clearly not sure what to say herself, Louisa rose from the chair, the soft yellow folds of her dress falling about her, and came around the desk. Her gaze moved from his face to his lap. What did she want? He felt himself thicken further as possibilities flooded his mind. The thought of her on her knees before him almost caused him to groan.
A light chuckle escaped her lips. “Forgive me. My moods seem to be bouncing all over the place. I was only looking for a place to sit, some way that we could be closer for this difficult conversation. I can see, however, that your lap might not be the best place for me.”
“I don’t see why not.” He could almost feel her settling upon him, his prick resting in the cleft of her buttocks.
“That is exactly why not. We need to talk.” She perched on the edge of his desk, her legs interlacing with his. It was not the position that he would have chosen, but it did give him a rather fine view of her bosom. If only she were in a low-cut evening gown—or if she’d just bend toward him. How would she react if he just reached forward and pushed her breasts up so that they overhung the top of her gown, the nipples inviting his lips like ripe cherries?
And then she did lean forward—but it was her eyes that held him, not her breasts. “Geoffrey, I know this is not easy. It is not easy for me, either. I do not know exactly how we came to be in this position—I mean I do know, but it does not all make sense. The one thing that I am sure of is that we have something special between us. At least I hope we do.”
He hesitated a moment and then answered, “We do.” She was right. That was the one thing of which he was certain.
“Then I have questions and I am sure you do too.”
“Yes.”
Her slippered foot caressed his booted calf as she swung her legs restlessly. She did not speak.
He did not either.
Why was this so difficult? Perhaps if she looked less the lady he could ask her those questions to which he needed answers. However, even sitting on a desk, legs swinging, she looked like a duchess. It was hard to imagine her at this moment as the woman he’d had against a wall last night. And why did that fact excite him even more?
As she chewed upon her lower lip, he could see her considering. The small white teeth worked at the ripe red flesh, causing him to again picture her slipping down before him, opening that mouth, and …
“I think we must start slow.” Her words interrupted his thoughts.
He did not mind slow; slow was just fine. The lightest touch of tongue to … Only that was not what she meant. “Explain,” he said.
“You ask me one question—a simple one—and I will answer. Then I will ask you an easy one also. We can progress to the more difficult ones.”
That sounded doable. “Why do I go first?”
“I will if you wish, but you always seem to like the lead.”
“You do know me well.” And it seemed that she actually did. He drew in a deep breath. “Tell me about your husband, about Brookingston. I believe I have thought some things that were not correct.”
“About John?”
“Yes, although about Grace’s husband also. It is only when I put the two together that I find myself confused. I had some theories on your untouched state, and they do not fit the man I knew.”
“Theories?”
“That your husband was either ancient or preferred men’s company.”
“John did like men. He had plenty of friends. Oh, that’s not what you mean.” A deep flush rose upon her cheeks. “No, John did not fancy men. At least, I have no reason to think that he did and several to think that he did not.”
He leaned forward. “And yet, your untouched state?”
Her gaze dropped from his and settled on her small hands, which opened and closed tight repeatedly. “I am not sure that counts as an easy question, but I will answer. I would have thought it obvious. His war wounds prevented—that is, they—well, we never—Oh, I don’t know quite how to explain. I don’t understand fully myself, but evidently John could not …”
“I do understand. And yes, I should have realized, or at least considered.”
Her eyes rose again to his, her hands remaining tightly fisted. “Do you know, he didn’t want to marry me when he came back. He asked me to beg off. He would never have shamed me by calling it off himself, and so he tried to get me to. I was hurt, but I was sure it was simply that he did not want to burden me with a crippled husband. But I loved him and did not care.”
“And so you held him to his promise.”
“Yes, I was sure it was the right thing—for both of us.” Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “And even now, I believe that it was. I loved him and he loved me. We might not have had the marriage that I imagined as a girl, but it was still a good one.”
He reached out and took one of her hands, easing it open, massaging the palm with his thumbs. “You are right that he did love you. Anyone who looked at him could see it. He often told me that you were the best of wives.”
“And he the best of husbands.” She attempted a smile, but did not quite manage it.
“So what of Ruby’s?” He did not like to ask, but sensed it would not be any easier later.
“Ruby’s?”
“Madame Rouge’s. Now tell me of Brookingston.”
He heard her swallow. “I do not have the full answer. I learned after about six months of marriage that he was visiting Madame’s.”
He raised a brow in question.
“I had him followed. I wished to know where he went when he left me at night—and in the afternoon. I did not believe he went to his club. And, of course, he did not. I tried to speak to him about it once, but he changed the subject. I tried again and he stomped from the room—not an easy feat for a man with one leg. I did not try again, but I was not ready to give up.
I sent a note to Madame Rouge. She agreed to meet with me, but would tell me nothing except that I should stop asking my husband questions, that there were things he did not wish me to know. She tried to assure me that it had nothing to do with me, that my husband simply had special needs. I left her and never asked him again, but it did cast a pall upon aspects of my marriage.”
“I can only imagine.”
Her fingers clenched his tight. “You know most of the rest. When I decided I wished to remarry, I went to Madame again; I did not know where else to turn. Despite our difficulties I would never have shamed my husband by letting anyone know of his problem, his failure. I wish that you did not know now.”
“But I do.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Did you ever learn more of what his problem was?” It was not his business, but he could not help but ask.
Her eyes dropped to her lap, focused on those clenched fingers. “Madame told me some. She told me that he could not come and that he needed strong sensation, perhaps even pain, in order to feel anything. I did not ask further and she did not tell me. I should not even have told you this much—it was his private business. However, I know that we need honesty between us, and so I have talked of it this one time.”
Brookingston had needed pain in order to feel. Swanston did not know exactly what that meant, but he could guess. It was no wonder the man had gone to Ruby’s. He raised his head and looked at his wife. She was even paler and more worn than when she had first entered the room. “We will not talk of it again, unless you wish. I do thank you for sharing it with me. It helps me to understand.”
“You are welcome.” Her head dropped and she looked exhausted, both by her words and the lack of sleep last evening.
“Do you wish to ask me a question now or should we put it off? Perhaps you should retire to your chamber and rest.” He brought her hand to his lips and laid a soft kiss upon it.
She moved it up to stroke his cheek. “No, I will ask.”
“Yes?”
She sat up straight, her hands slipping from him, although her leg still moved restlessly against his. “Tell me why you do not like your family? I know you care for them—handle their affairs—but I do not believe that you like them. Why not?”
Chapter Twenty-five
Louisa could see the surprise upon his face. That had not been the question he expected. He had probably thought she would ask something about Charles, about Ruby’s—but this question seemed more central to who he was.
His lips tightened, and the edges grew white. “I do not dislike my family.”
Oh, this was going to be more difficult than she had anticipated.
“Then how do you feel about them?”
He did not answer her. Instead he looked away, staring at the portrait of a blond woman over the fireplace. “She resembles Bliss. Your mother?” she asked.
“Yes. She died when my youngest sister was born.”
“I am sorry.” And she truly was. She could not imagine having grown up without her own mother.
He kept his eyes on the portrait. “It did not change my life much. The governesses and tutors raised me. Even before her death my mother was not responsible for my care.”
“I do not believe that.”
“I can assure you it is true.”
Sliding off the desk, she eased toward him until her legs met the front of his chair. “Is it really that simple? Somehow I do not believe that it is.”
“It is as simple as I choose it to be.” He turned to look at her. “I am responsible for my family, including my father. I manage the estates and the finances. I make sure the bills are paid and the servants kept happy. What more do you need to know?”
“You are not telling me everything.”
“I do not know what you want me to say.”
“Tell me about Bliss. I have met her several times, and she seems a lovely woman. I am surprised she does not live here, with you.”
“She chooses to live with my father. ” His tone made it clear he was not happy with the situation, although his expression did not change.
“And why do you not live with you father? The duke’s residence is large enough for a whole circus.”
“Given the size of my family, that is a good thing. And it is not unusual for a young man to maintain his own residence.”
She leaned forward slightly. “Yes, but most of them keep bachelor apartments. You keep a house almost as grand as your father’s. And you had it before our marriage, so don’t pretend that you bought it for the family you planned.”
“It actually is part of the ducal estate, but I pay for its upkeep. I can afford it.”
“I didn’t say you could not.”
“And I did want it for my future family. Surely, you know I am a practical man. I often plan things years ahead. It is the way to be sure one achieves one’s goals.”
She raised a brow in imitation of his earlier gesture. “Yes, I do know you like to plan. But this seems to be taking it to extremes.” She gestured about the room.
“I like my comforts.”
“We are straying from the subject. You stated that many young men do not live in the family home. You did not tell me why you do not. Given that you do manage everything I would have thought you would benefit from being there.”
“I do not get along with my father. Is that what you wish me to say?” It was his turn to lean forward, bringing them eye to eye. “You are wrong, however, that I do not like my father. He is an immensely likable man. We simply do not get along.”
“Why?” She would not back off.
“You simply will not give up. I find him irresponsible. You know about the leasing of the estates that led to our marriage. He is currently obsessed with the raising of llamas. You don’t even know what they are, do you? A large South American animal with fine wool. He is convinced that they will make him a fortune.”
“He told me of them at a ball. They do not sound so bad.”
“Not until he spends thousands of pounds on them and then they all catch a chill and die. You were not around when he tried raising rabbits. He kept them everywhere, including the London house. I shiver even at the memory.”
“What happened?”
“He discovered that he didn’t care for killing them. There were over three hundred of the varmints at their peak, and he regarded each one as a pet. We spent a fortune feeding the things and cleaning up after them.”
Louisa shuddered at the thought. She definitely sympathized with the duke’s not wishing to kill them, but … “At least if he is raising llamas for wool they will not need to be killed.”
“That is true, but did you know that they spit? You would be quite amazed at the distance.”
“You are distracting me again. I can see that your father might not be easy to deal with, but I still sense that your feelings are stronger than that.”
He leaned back, patted his lap. “I do think I might feel more like revealing myself if you were closer.”
She considered. He was probably trying to distract her again, but …
“Sit here.” He patted his lap, but this time spoke it as a command, not a request.
Still, she thought about refusing. Giving in to his orders did not come easily to her, at least not during daylight. With some reluctance she stood and turned, perching on his thigh.
“Closer.”
She turned her head and looked up at him. “Tell me more first.”
“Aah, this is all a bargaining match.”
“I believe, sir, that you began it.”
“So I did.” He placed a hand upon her waist. “When I was a young boy I adored both my parents, thought they were the best parents ever. Most of my friends had parents who never saw them or ordered them about, but I was a Danser and all of life was a celebration. I remember endless games and staying up to all hours of the night—and I cannot have been more than six or seven.” His face softened with reminiscence.
“It sounds won
derful.”
“Mostly it was. The servants did a good enough job of running things, and if the manor was not quite clean and we paid three times what things were worth, what did it matter. We had each other and more than enough money.”
Geoffrey’s face grew solemn. “But sometimes my parents forgot to call us down for dinner—and the servants did not consider it part of their employment. There were nights my siblings and I went hungry. And times when a doctor was not summoned until the very last moment. Often our clothes were two sizes too small and our shoes worn. But then my mother would decide to send for the tailors and the dressmakers and within a fortnight there would be rooms filled with clothes. I had no schooling until I was almost ten. My father never had the time to interview tutors, and my mother didn’t see that another year of freedom would hurt.”
She snuggled back a little, offering comfort for wounds long healed—or perhaps only scabbed over. Her cheek came to rest upon the soft wool of his coat.
Running a hand through her hair, he continued. “There were six of us by then. There’s myself and my brother James, whom you have not met; I bought him a commission and he sails the seas for his majesty. Then there are the three oldest girls: Anne, Bliss, and Dahlia. Bliss you know well and the other two you saw at the wedding. Anne is the oldest after me. She’s married with several children. My brother Robert gads about. I never know when I will see him, or where. I am not always sure how he supports himself, but he has never come to me for funds.”
“And then you have another sister?”
“Yes. Felicity. She is the youngest.”
“The one who …”
“Yes, she never had a chance to know my mother. But back to where I was. There were six of us when my father finally hired a tutor. I resisted at first, but then fell into my studies until they were all I knew. I delighted in the order that they represented. I’d never experienced anything like it. I loved it. I found myself ignoring all else just so that I could bury myself in my books. I didn’t even mind the discipline. It was a wonder to me after the constant festival that had been our home.”