Project Duchess

by Jeffries, Sabrina

  Thorn’s remark came back to him once more. I suspect that Miss Wolfe is more worldly wise than you think.

  Grey should have put it together when the servants were talking about the man’s peccadilloes, but he hadn’t thought the fellow would . . . “Please tell me your uncle Armie didn’t take your innocence.”

  “What? No!” A blush stained her cheeks. “I mean, he did, but not in the way you mean. He just stripped it from me word by filthy word.” She moved to the stove and started filling a plate with stew, as if the action could anchor her in normalcy.

  There was nothing normal about this. Grey’s very blood ran cold at the thought of her enduring whatever her uncle—her uncle, for God’s sake—had dished out. “So he . . . never touched you.”

  Her back went rigid. “Well, of course he touched me. But he always tried to disguise it as . . . perfectly natural. A hard hug that pressed my breasts against him, a ‘friendly’ slap on the behind, a lingering kiss to my cheek so he could get close enough to look down the front of my . . . gowns.”

  “Gowns? So he made a regular practice of such attentions.”

  “Oh yes,” she said in a guilt-ridden voice that infuriated him on her behalf.

  When she fell silent and came over to place a heaping plate of stew opposite hers on the table, then stood there slicing bread to add to his plate, he resisted the urge to pepper her with questions.

  “Tell me everything, sweetheart.”

  When she continued to say nothing, he approached her from behind. It disturbed him that she wouldn’t look at him. She had no reason to be ashamed.

  He curled his hands into fists, wishing her uncle Armie wasn’t dead so Grey could beat him to death. “How old were you when it started?”

  “I don’t know—sixteen? My grandmother was still alive.”

  She’d been only a girl, for God’s sake. Grey could hardly bear to think of it.

  “After his wife, my aunt, died,” she went on, “it was just me and him most of the time. And the servants, of course. Grandpapa was gone, Joshua was posted abroad, Grandmama was consumptive, and Uncle Armie was lord of the manor in every way you might imagine. It made it hard for me to escape him.”

  So the bastard had used his power over her to try forcing her to his will. Grey’s every feeling revolted to think of what she’d suffered, but he kept silent, wanting to give her the freedom to talk about it. It was important to discuss such things. He’d never had that chance during the time his aunt and uncle had tried bending him to their will. He’d felt all alone . . . until Vanessa had grown old enough to listen.

  Even then, he hadn’t told her everything, not wanting to poison her feelings for her parents, since they’d never treated her ill.

  He shook off the memory. This wasn’t about his suffering but Beatrice’s, which he genuinely wanted to understand. He said nothing, but simply laid a comforting hand on her shoulder.

  “It started with him commenting on my clothing—whether it enhanced my breasts, whether it showed my . . . bottom to good effect.” As Grey swallowed his disgust, she left him to roam the kitchen like a caged sparrow seeking a way out of her prison. “Then he began . . . trying to kiss me on the lips, but I mostly managed to avoid that. He was, after all, a good bit older than I, so I was usually able to evade his . . . attentions.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to.”

  “No. But he was my uncle. He had me . . . under his thumb, so to speak.”

  Other questions occurred to him. “Didn’t your grandmother try to put a stop to it?”

  “I didn’t tell her.” She stared down at her hands. “Grandmama already thought me a ‘naughty saucebox,’ so I was afraid she would blame me for what he did.”

  “And that would have been wrong, too,” he said hoarsely.

  Startled, she glanced up at him. “Do you truly think so?”

  Her reaction made him want to weep, and he’d never wept in his life, even when Uncle Eustace had been at his worst. “His behavior was intolerable, sweetheart. And he forced you into hiding it by making you think that knowledge of it would wound his mother, your grandmother.”

  “It would have,” she said with her usual bluntness.

  “Perhaps. But from what the servants told me, his wife had known about his ‘dalliances.’ So your grandmother might already have known, too.”

  She poured claret in a glass and set it by the plate. When he ignored it, she drank some herself. “The maids suffered much the same treatment as I, so she might have seen that. Though he was careful to keep his behavior toward me from being seen by anyone.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” he said softly. “One of the maids told me your uncle wasn’t ‘circumspect’ about his dalliances. And when I remarked that he surely hid them from you, she said, ‘A man like that don’t hide his true character from nobody.’ At the time I thought she meant he was open about his mistresses around you, but now I realize she meant that he . . . showed his true colors with you, as well.”

  Shame suffused her cheeks with scarlet. “Oh, Lord, what the servants must have thought of me!”

  Instantly, he regretted having roused that particular fear in her mind. “They thought, and still think, that you are, and I quote, ‘a fine woman, always considering the needs of others without any reward.’ And I can’t be sure they knew, anyway. The maid didn’t say anything about that in particular.”

  Her throat worked convulsively. “I never encouraged his behavior, you know.”

  “I assumed that you didn’t.”

  She stared down at the wineglass. “Yet you asked the servants about me. And him.”

  “Not about the two of you together, for God’s sake. I had no idea . . . I never dreamed . . .” When he paused, thinking through his next response, she lifted a questing gaze to him.

  He drew in a harsh breath. “After the maid said you were his hostess and he was a philanderer, I had some notion you might have seen things—” Damn, he was digging the hole deeper with every word. “You can’t blame me for wanting to learn more about what makes you who you are,” he finished feebly.

  Her pretty eyebrow shot up. “Is that really why you asked about me? Or was it just to determine how easily you might tempt me into betraying my brother?”

  Holy hell. She always got right to the point, didn’t she? “It’s not as if the servants would ever reveal such a thing to me. They’re loyal to you.”

  Now he fervently wished he’d remembered that before he had come over here half-cocked. Because the scheming seductress he’d conjured up in his fevered imagination—between when he’d spoken to Sheridan and when he’d confronted her—bore no resemblance to the woman the staff at Armitage Hall had described. Or the woman he’d come to know himself.

  Clearly, that woman had been caught in a cruel trap. And he was only making matters worse. “But we were talking about your grandmother and what she knew.”

  “Right. And why I didn’t tell her.”

  “It might have been better if you had. At least then she could have called your uncle out for it.” He wanted to take her in his arms, reassure her. But now he wasn’t sure how she’d regard such an act. “It wasn’t your responsibility to protect him.”

  “Trust me, it was never about protecting him.” She glanced away. “If you’re right and Grandmama did realize what he was up to, then it might not have made a difference if I’d told her, anyway,” she said glumly. “I was almost afraid to find out.”

  He could understand that. And she might be right—it might not have made a difference. But that was neither here nor there. Beatrice should never have been abused in such a fashion in the first place. “Your brother was still gone, I take it.”

  “He didn’t return until six years after my aunt died but shortly before Grandmama’s death.”

  “Did matters improve once your uncle knew you had a protector nearby?”

  “A little,” she said, which told him all he needed to know.

  That her un
cle had continued to be an arse. That the man probably hadn’t considered Wolfe a threat because he was wounded and a mere poor relation.

  “For a year after Joshua’s return,” she went on, “he required a great deal of care. His limp is only the most visible manifestation of his wounds. Beyond his damaged leg, he has scars . . .” She set her glass down. “Anyway, since we were living here and not at the hall, I could often use the excuse that I had to go home to look after Joshua. That helped me avoid Uncle Armie many a time.”

  The fact that she’d had to resort to such an excuse made him want to howl his anger on her behalf. “You never told your brother about what your uncle was doing?”

  Her gaze shot to his. “Of course not. At first, it was because Joshua was struggling to survive, and I didn’t want to compromise that. Then it was because I knew how he would react. Just look how he was with you. How could I risk his confronting our uncle?”

  “Yet you think he might have done so, anyway.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never been sure if Joshua realized what was going on. I mean, if he killed Uncle Armie as a result of finding out what the man was doing, my secretive brother would be unlikely to tell me the truth about it. And if Joshua didn’t kill Uncle Armie . . .” She released a long breath. “Then he’d hate me for suspecting him of such a crime in the first place.”

  “Still . . . You would have been within your rights to seek your brother’s aid.”

  “Yes, but truthfully, by then I was able to handle it.” She kept her gaze averted from him. “I had learned how to keep from being alone with my uncle. I usually claimed I had to be elsewhere, or I threatened to tell Joshua. That worked fairly well. Until . . .”

  When she trailed off and her eyes got a faraway look in them, his stomach churned. “Until?”

  “Well, a year ago, I started hearing that Uncle Armie might be planning to sell the dower house.” She cast Grey a sheepish look. “As you said earlier, I was concerned. When I finally got up the nerve to ask him . . .” Her voice grew haunted. “He told me he wouldn’t sell if . . . I’d agree to be his mistress. He said Joshua and I could live in the dower house as long as we wished, but in exchange I’d have to . . . do as he pleased.”

  The fury rising in Grey burned clear down to his soul. Which was probably why he spoke so unwisely. “If your uncle Armie were still alive, I’d kill him myself for that.”

  The words seemed to startle her. “You don’t blame me?”

  He blinked. “For what?”

  “Attracting his attentions. Perhaps dressing too . . . I don’t know, provocatively? Though I really didn’t think I did.”

  “Of course you didn’t. He was the culprit. He was the one who thought he could make use of you, whether or not you wished it.” It reminded him of his own relations trying to make use of him. He understood all too well what it was like to be little more than a child at the mercy of one’s family.

  “I did try to keep him from touching me, even when he pretended it was innocent affection in front of the servants. And I always ignored the lascivious remarks he hissed under his breath when he passed me in the hall.” She slumped. “Though that only seemed to make him say worse things. He seemed determined to get a rise out of me.”

  Grey tried to swallow past the bile rising in his throat. “Certain men thrive on the challenge of seducing a woman who won’t pay them any mind.” He reached out to caress her cheek, then thought better of it and dropped his hand. “Your uncle wanted to win you, as vile as that sounds. And if he’d done so, he would have discarded you soon enough for the next new attractive female who resisted him.”

  “Attractive?” Her brow furrowed. “I always just figured he chose me because I was close at hand and easy to bully.”

  “Not so easy. Thank God.”

  She glanced away. “He has a string of former mistresses scattered about Sanforth, you know. I’ve always wondered how many of them actually chose the position. He also has a by-blow he never provided for.”

  “That isn’t a surprise, given his tendencies. You were wise to put him off.”

  “Was I?” She shook her head. “When I refused his vile ‘offer,’ it’s possible he resorted to telling Joshua his demands. Because not long after I refused to let him blackmail me into being his mistress, Uncle Armie . . . um . . .”

  “Met his demise?”

  Her wince was answer enough.

  “So you suspect that your brother resorted to murder.”

  “I’d like to think he wouldn’t have. And he said he was in Leicester that night. But . . .”

  “You can’t be sure.”

  She shook her head no. Then she faced him with squared shoulders. “However, I do know for a fact that Joshua didn’t murder Uncle Maurice. Joshua was with me the night your stepfather died. We’d promised Uncle Maurice we would ready the gamekeeper’s accounts for his meeting with the family solicitor the next day. I’m not certain why, but he wanted us to make sure they were up-to-date and there were no errors. So Joshua and I were going over them together.”

  Grey narrowed his gaze on her. “And you spent the whole evening doing that? You were with your brother the entire time?”

  She nodded. “We were still working on it in the wee hours of the morning when a servant came to fetch Uncle Maurice back to the hall. That’s when we learned that he’d headed over here earlier and hadn’t been seen since. We told the footman, and a search was begun immediately.” Tears welled in her eyes. “They found Uncle Maurice washed up on the bank the next morning.”

  Which meant that if Joshua had killed their uncle Armie, it could only have been to stop what the man had tried to force her into.

  As if she’d read his mind, she muttered, “It’s merely Uncle Armie’s death I’m not sure about. Joshua might have . . . it’s possible that he—”

  “To be honest,” Grey said slowly, “I would hope your brother did murder him if the only other choice was seeing you become the man’s mistress. Hell, I’d shake your brother’s hand for it. Your uncle deserved death for what he tried to force upon you.”

  Her gaze swung back to him. “You can say that, even though he was a duke? And related to your half brother?”

  He snorted. “Contrary to popular opinion, there’s no code of ducal honor that we all follow.” His voice hardened. “And if there were, I’m sure your uncle broke it by trying to make you commit incest.”

  The ugly word made her flinch. “Good point.”

  “I make them occasionally,” he quipped, to inject humor into an increasingly difficult discussion.

  At least it brought a smile to her lips. “Yes, you do.”

  “In between my attempts to seduce you. If I’m to be honest, I had no more right than your uncle to—”

  “Do not compare yourself to Uncle Armie. He never gave me a choice. You always did, even when you were suspicious of me and my brother. A lesser man would have used the situation to blackmail me into his bed.” She stepped closer. “You never resorted to such a thing.”

  “I don’t believe in blackmail,” he admitted.

  His uncle Eustace had tried to blackmail him into signing papers, and Grey had refused to be bullied. So he sure as hell wasn’t going to try the same tactics on anyone else. Especially a woman like Beatrice, who’d always been at the mercy of her relations.

  Even early on, he’d sensed they had that in common. And now that he knew they did, it made him desire her even more. Which, given all she’d told him about her situation, was unconscionable.

  He cleared his throat and tried to remind himself of his real purpose here. “Much as I desired you, I promise I would never have resorted to force to get you into my bed.”

  “I know.” A blush suffused her cheeks again. “I never thought of you as pushing your attentions on me. And certainly not in the way my uncle did.”

  He stared hard at her. “All the same—”

  “No!” She pressed a finger to his lips. “
I won’t let you see it as comparable. Until you came along, I regarded marriage as only a way for a woman to find financial security. I thought relations between men and women must surely be dirty and unpleasant. I couldn’t imagine finding enjoyment from a man’s caresses.”

  When she paused, he rasped, “And now?”

  Her beautiful brown eyes shone up at him. “Now I know it’s possible to find pleasure in touching a man, in being with a man. Knowing a man so intimately that—”

  He kissed her. He couldn’t help himself. Having feared that his actions had only added to her fears, it humbled him to discover he’d managed to alleviate them a bit. And when she looped her arms about his neck so she could kiss him back, his pulse thudded hard and fast in his veins.

  She had a mouth like an angel—a seductive angel with a penchant for claret. Yet the taste of it on her tongue wasn’t nearly as heady as the intoxication of kissing her and holding her, knowing that she wanted to be there.

  Which only made it harder for him to resist touching her. Her floor-length wrapper was chaste as a muslin gown—made of starched linen and finished off with frilly ruffles at every collar, cuff, and hem. But when he gave in to the urge to let his hands roam beneath it to her nightdress . . .

  God, but that thin piece of worn cotton shielded nothing. With no corset to hinder him, he could plunder her pert breasts to his heart’s content, reveling in their softness. And the feel of her nipples hardening beneath his fingers through the fabric made him ache to explore more.

  He pulled back. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to take advan—”

  She cut off the words with her lips. That was when he knew he was in trouble. Because randy devil that he was, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her sumptuous mouth again.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Beatrice was in heaven. Dear Lord, but His Grace knew how to kiss. Grey knocked her right back on her heels with the sensuous plunges of his tongue, the sweeping strokes of his hands, and even the heady scent of cologne in his hair. Her body quaked from the surfeit of so many pleasures at once.