Denying The Duke (Regency Romance: Strong Women Find True Love Book 3)

by Virginia Vice

  Her actions were kind, comparatively, he thought in a retrospective mood. She could have come down to face him. She could have stated her opinion strongly and wilfully enough to bend him ‘til he broke. He had broken for her before. But she rather stifle herself than stay a moment longer in his presence. The ghost of their embrace tantalized him from the moment he woke up to the moment he slept. They rose even in his dreams to torture him until he felt sure the proof of his desire would stain the sheets. He could not abide a moment longer in this roof with her right at his reach and completely out of his touch. The irony of this situation didn’t escape him. When they had joined for the first time, she was so beyond his reach that it was something akin to a crime. Now, she was soon to be his by every right on earth, yet he couldn’t dare to touch her.

  He continued on his way, walking past an open door when a single word stopped him.

  "Lord Windon." He turned to see, but even before then he knew who was calling. The only person who would say his name in that tone of voice that was soothing and at the same time stern. "Let us have a word." Amelia gestured into the room. She didn't say the words with scorn. Of anger or disgust. She didn't have to, the calm quiet tone was a call to arms.

  He stepped into the day room and almost lost his breath.

  Amelia stood just inside the room waiting for him. Her hair was left to hang by itself, not in an elaborate coiffure. Her skin, freshly scrubbed, shone against the pale dress. Lips, eyes, cheeks all were dewy with health. They disarmed him, more fool he was.

  Robert sighed. Her maid had made an excuse on accounts of illness. It was clearly a lie. Why he had thought it would not be evaded him.

  "I hear you are leaving," she stated calmly.

  "It would not be proper for me to stay," he returned in the same vein.

  "Without telling me?" Now her anger bled through, causing a slow burn.

  "I left a letter with your father," he offered and the immediate effect of his words hit him. He should learn that she could not be dissuaded from her stance.

  "Lord Windon." He hated the cold impersonal way she said it.

  "Robert," he corrected through clenched teeth. His own anger was rising.

  Amelia subsided and tried again. "You said you would wait for my answer."

  The abrupt change tried him sorely. "That was before the incident in the gamekeeper’s lodge, I took the liberty of signing the betrothal contract."

  "If you fear for my reputation..." She started to launch her attack.

  "It was a concern of mine," he retorted in a cool voice aimed at making her think less of his act, his need.

  "My household would not..." She paused, looked away from him, and continued. "There was no reason to protect me from..." Clearly, she could bring herself to say the words, so unsure, unlike herself.

  It stung, that even in her mind she shied from it. "We could have made a babe," he countered with an edge in his voice.

  Amelia paused at that then started again. "Still, that is no reason to..." Sign the contract? Bind her to him irrevocably?

  "It is reason enough. I will not have any child of mine a bastard," he continued but with an edge of steel.

  "That is all you care about, is it not? Your duty." Gone was the woman shying away and unsure. Gone was her reticence.

  "I will indeed do my duty by my child, as should you," he returned with a vehemence that did not even check her.

  "Life is more than duty!" She declared, indignation bristling in every pore.

  "Of that I am aware." His voice was low. His pain obvious, filling each word to overflowing.

  "Why?" The words were low, so low he almost didn’t catch it. As it was, he had to lean in to catch it. Up close he saw her throat working with the heavy words. He caught her faint lemon scent.

  She quieted, clasping her own hands in a white grip. "Why do you want to marry me?" she asked again, raising her wide, red-rimmed eyes to his own.

  "It is done, Amelia," he turned away from her, unwilling to see the effect of his actions. “The contract is signed and the banns will be announced tomorrow. We wed soon.”

  "What spurred you to consider me a match? You proposed before..." She stopped again, and it hurt him. Her refusal to acknowledge what transpired between them.

  "Our union, Amelia. Say it," he demanded.

  She conceded with a soft sigh, "Our union."

  He savored her brief moment of surrender. "I will have a wife perfectly suited to becoming the next duchess and you will have a husband to take care of you," he explained.

  "I do not need a husband," she bit out, barely restrained.

  He lost his control at the thinly veiled disgust in her voice. "No matter how you rail at this world, see reason. I am not the author of your woes. I share in them too, this slavery to the rules of Society. Let us play our part well and without undue friction. Perhaps someday a world will exist where a female does not need the protection of a husband to live as she pleases, or anybody else for that matter if she doesn’t want it. All I know is that our world isn’t so, and if we rail at it, it still wouldn't stop in its colossal stride to treat our concerns kindly." She was quiet through his diatribe.

  She recovered fast, her return shot deadly. "So, I will play in this farce?"

  "It is no farce. We will be married," he answered in the same vein.

  "In name only!" Her words filled the room, tore every hope out of his chest and steeled him. She turned her head away from him and sighed.

  "Even so, it will be done. Betrothal contracts are binding," he reminded softly and headed for the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was a miserable two weeks. The sun shone disgustingly bright, her mother’s flower gardens bloomed, and the head groom reported that White Comet, her prize filly, was the favorite at the upcoming two-year-old races. And yet nothing penetrated her cocoon. She ate though the food had no taste, walked through the gardens that lacked all color and lay passively in bed staring at her canopy until late in the night.

  And then it was the morning of her wedding. Mary rose her early and laid out her best dress, the pale blue silk with silver lace that she had worn to make her coming out. Amelia was docile as a doll, allowing Mary to curl her hair with hot tongs, pinning it up with pearl-tipped pins. “There, milady. A little more rouge? A bride is expected to blush.” Amelia was startled to see a lovely pale creature in the mirror. Was that hope in her eyes? “Thank you, Mary. You have done a wonderful job.”

  The head gardener gave her a bouquet of sweet-smelling flowers. She clutched them tightly on the steps of the church. The sight of his bright red hair and broad shoulders caused life to course back through her veins. This was her bridegroom. This was her future. His hands were warm and dry as he slipped on her wedding band. The grey despair gave way to golden peace. He looked startled at her broad smile, and then covered it with a quick kiss. They were married.

  They did not have the opportunity to talk, but Amelia was sure that he also felt this strong conviction. She accepted congratulations and felt a little bubble of giddiness at her new name. Lady Windon, Robert’s wife. For the first time she wondered about the new estate where they would live. Did it have a formal garden, or a nature park? Should she move the racing stable there, or perhaps hire a racing master to oversee the operations here? She looked around to quiz her husband about her new home just in time to see his grey morning coat leave the room. She hurried after him.

  "Robert." The word stopped him, but he didn't turn around. “I wondered if you would tell me a bit more about the stables at Windon Park.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.

  He let out a snort. “Of course. They are quite large, but rather antiquated. I have several mares I am quite proud of. You shall have a fine mount when you visit.”

  “Visit?” Her step faltered, “What do you mean?”

  He continued on, walking away from her. “You are welcome anytime, of course.”

  “Are we not going together, tod
ay?”

  “There is no need.”

  Amelia worried her bottom lip. “But what about, the marriage night?”

  “You made it clear that this was not that sort of marriage.” He tried to force the words out evenly. She looked untouchable and sweet in that confection of a dress, but he knew there was fire under the ice.

  "I don’t understand.”

  "Did you think I would break my word?" He turned on her with a roar. She shrank back, and he put his passions back on a much mended leash. "I wish you well, Amelia. This will be an easy marriage for you. Most brides have to leave home, but you can stay here."

  "You are making me the chatelaine of Mossford?”

  "I signed the estate and your dowry funds to you completely, just as I promised," he replied. He turned towards her before the full import of his words hit her. She did not respond to him, so he turned away from her and out the room.

  "Robert." He paused at the door.

  "It is done Amelia, it is done." His voice sounded tired even to his own ears. “The horses have been standing for too long. I must go."

  "Robert." This time he did not stop.

  "Send me word as soon as possible." It was foolish to desire correspondence. He desired to have her give him something, even if it was merely news of her estates and the occasional line about herself.

  "Farewell." There was nothing left to do. Despite their recent bout of vitriol, he knew she sincerely wished him well.

  "See me to my horses." She paused, looking at him. "It is a wifely duty." The words were said without an intention of maligning her, and she took it as such. She nodded once and fell into place beside him. They continued in silence until they reached the wide hall and then down through the doors to the stairs.

  With a handshake given to Lord Rochester, who was vastly improved, he bid him farewell and entered into his vehicle. With a crack of the whip the horses moved, pulling the carriage down the driveway, away from her. He didn’t look back. There was nothing to look at. Only a woman who had persecuted him for loving her. He could finally admit to himself that he loved her now, when it didn’t matter. He had started when she had challenged him for blindly following Society and goaded him into rediscovering his sister’s affection. Then surviving her fiery temper as he attempted to deliver his convoluted compliment. That had been a lesson to him, hard learned but well learned. From that moment he had endeavoured to speak as frankly as possible. With his truest emotion.

  That was one of the reasons he had fallen into temptation with her. When she had asked for his touch and had confessed a desire for him it had thrilled him, too much. He had completely forgotten the rules of Society while in her thrall. He was confident that desire had been genuine on her part. He knew he ached for her.

  But in the morning—the morning she had turned away from him. He was to blame that even now she refused him. She was only resigned to being bound to him by marriage. It was enough to make a man fall to his knees and bemoan his fate. Amelia had flashing green eyes that shone with sincerity yet he couldn’t look at those eyes. The truth was hidden in them and he was not prepared for them yet, maybe never.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Amelia watched the black carriage emblazoned with the ducal coat of arms pick its way down the driveway and she felt a sudden need to cry. She had barely survived one visit of the man. In barely a month she had lost her virginity and become married to him. Both incidents had happened closely, but not in the conventional sequence. Damn him, had it been merely sport to him?

  "It is done then?" Her father’s voice cut through the fog in her mind.

  "What, Papa?" She turned to find him regarding her with a small smile.

  "Your discussion with your husband," he answered with not a little glee.

  "It is done." She nodded.

  "I have a letter for you," he continued.

  "I know of it," she answered.

  "Tell me, is he not a good match?" her father asked with a little concern.

  "He is, Papa."

  "But you are not happy." It was a statement.

  "Happiness is difficult, Papa."

  "You will adjust, I, for one, am in raptures that my daughter will not spend the rest of her life in a foreign land." That drove a surge of guilt through her.

  "Papa..." she started, but he continued.

  “I know it was not your desire, but truly Lord Windon is a kind man who loves you and will bear your eccentricities well."

  "I am not eccentric," she murmured under her breath, loud enough for her father to catch.

  "You are, my darling, but that is one of the things I love about you, poppet," he replied with an indulgent smile.

  "Papa. I love you too." Lord Rochester caught his daughter in a quick, feeble embrace. It was unconventional, as was her life.

  "I must retire now or draw the wrath of my physician." They both shared a laugh at that. The thought of Mister Grimsby, Lord Rochester’s physician who visited daily, in a wrath was impossible. The man was as soft spoken as to plead with a patient instead of giving orders. Still, he was skilled and, most importantly, did not believe in bloodletting.

  Amelia pecked her father as he turned back into the house and she turned towards the gardens. Amelia stroked a fuzzy Lamb’s Ear plant and walked on. The house guests were all gone and the gardener was done with work for today. She anticipated solitude, the better to think with. But still she couldn’t bring herself to quiet contemplation. She forced herself to move and dwell on other subjects. If she allowed herself to think about it, she would cry. A slow sense of loss had grown in her heart at the moment of parting from him, growing with every distance covered by Robert’s carriage back to London and onward to his estates. She had steeled herself to speak with him before he left, but as she watched him go her victory had collapsed into ashes. Everything she had fought to gain was dross. Truly, she had given herself to him in love, or something closely akin. She had resigned herself to a life with no one in it and had foolishly desired a night of passion. She had desired him and he had been willing.

  For the first time since it occurred, Amelia allowed the scene to hurl upon her in the full glory of the memory. Her need to sample lust had quickly morphed to become an act of trust and, if she could admit it to herself, it had been an act of love. But the morning after the act had not gone as she envisioned, and she had sulked like a petulant child.

  Now that she thought about it, it had been naturally an awkward scene. How was one to treat the daughter of the manor when he was a guest in her own home and had only just deflowered her? He had gone ahead to do the honorable thing and marry her. They had discussed the possibilities at the lake, so the matter was not too strongly a shock, but she had even driven herself into a bigger rage. She had thought he was trying to claim her vast holdings, but he had proved her wrong. Yet she could not find it in herself to be civil to him.

  Was it through? Was she suffering from a malady of discontent that spinsters suffered from? Many failed Seasons she had considered herself on the shelf, by polite rules and by choice. Married she still rebelled, even if there was no battle to be won.

  Truth be told, Robert intrigued her more than any man during her stay in London. Finally she could admit to herself that she found no one she would rather wed in all the ton. Why then, was she discontent? Love, her thoughts answered fleetingly, and she almost wept. She loved him, truly, irrevocably, and he knew nothing but honor and duty. The realization brought a dagger bite to her heart. But it did not strike deeper than the thought of the lonely and cold marriage looming before her if she let the arguments stand.

  Like a woman possessed, Amelia headed for the stables. Her dress was unsuitable and she was even wearing house slippers instead of proper riding boots, but she called for her horse. The groom led out the black stallion Lord Windon had ridden. She had made it a gift to him when he was visiting, something she had never done with any of her other horses. Maybe even then she had loved him. And though he didn’t love her,
she couldn’t allow him carry the memory of her screaming like a harridan with him until he deigned to visit her. Now, she was going after him now. They needed another conversation and, she decided as her heart lurched in her chest at the realization, another goodbye.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The horses stepped high, the slap of leather and click of metal competing with the sound of horseshoes on the packed dirt road. It would get better, it had to. Even if it was now a raw ache that threatened to drive him to tears. He could not cry, surely not in the presence of his valet and the groom riding the box. Maybe later. He was wont to measure the situation, check the nuance a million times, but that would not make for a consolation. It wouldn't rid him of the cutting pain that their parting had been. He had known her barely a seenight and she ruled his thoughts completely. Robert turned his black gaze from glaring at the confines of his box to gazing outside to the passing scenery.

  Even that proved to remind him of her large estate, the spring season was turning the country a pale green. The streets were simple but clean, a sure sign that Lord Rochester and the landed gentry took care of their neighbors.

  The occasional cart, a curricle and the frequent riders on horseback passed them on the road. They duly moved aside for the crested carriage. People in the streets paused their chores to watch the grand coach and the outriders pass by. The sun shone around a cloud and the dour morning was suddenly illuminated. With it a smell of lemons suddenly flitted past his nose and he paused. Another deep breath confirmed the scent was gone. The longing it evoked woke in him with a vengeance he had managed to ignore. She would haunt him for life. If he was to live the rest of his days away from her, he would have her know the truth.

  Mayhap she might reconcile herself to their union in time. Women were known to need a period of adjustment. But for the sake of their union, their friendship—though dim now—and all the love he bore her in his heart, he couldn’t continue on without a word of truth. He made a split-second decision. "Turn around." The growl filled the small confines of the carriage.