Under A Duke's Hand

by Annabel Joseph

  “I love you,” he said. “As a Viking and an Englishman.”

  She giggled at his seductive grin. “I love you, too.”

  Yes, love. That was the other part of what she felt, aside from the lust and embarrassment and excitement and all of that.

  “You needn’t untie me yet,” she said as he reached for the ropes. “I mean, if you don’t wish to.”

  His grin widened. “If I had my choice, my greedy wanton, I would never untie you. But we’ve a crowd of friends downstairs who are doubtless worried about your well-being, not to mention my state of mind. And my valet is surely beside himself, that I haven’t called for his help in days.”

  She sat up as he freed her arms. “Does your hair need combing?”

  He turned and gave her a quizzical look as he untied her right ankle. “I imagine it does.”

  “Because I can help you as well as your valet,” she said. “I mean, I am exceedingly good at combing hair. I wouldn’t pull your tangles or anything.”

  He set to work on her left ankle. “I suppose you may comb my hair if you like. If it would please you.”

  She was probably only imagining the color spreading across his cheeks. It was hard to tell with his tawny Viking complexion. He ran a great tub of warm water in his bathing room, and they sat in it together, and she did comb out his hair, all the long, wild glory of it, so different from her tame black locks.

  He had commanded her, pleasured her, confounded her feelings, but in this simple, intimate act she finally began to feel like his wife. Not his duchess...she had always known she was his duchess. Goodness, it was an impossible fact to ignore.

  No, she began to feel like his true wife, treasured and loved.

  “I suppose I have made you more trouble these last few days,” she said regretfully, as they rose from the tub to dry off. “With the gossips and such.”

  He gave her a wry glance. “I expect it’s only the smallest fraction of trouble you shall cause me over our lifetimes. Don’t fret about it. Everything will work out in time.”

  “I’ll do what I can to fix things,” she promised. “I’ll be a perfect, obedient duchess.”

  They were both laughing before she could finish. “I’ve heard that before,” he said. “But I would appreciate your best attempt. You needn’t be perfect.” He took her in his arms and gave her a noisy kiss. “Just love me. And stop hinting to the king that our marriage is forgettable and that you would rather be back in Wales.”

  “I’ll try.”

  He gave her bottom a hearty smack. “Don’t try. Do.”

  Gwen sobered as they crossed into his dressing room. The shredded portrait still drooped in the corner. “What will you do about that? Our painting?”

  “I don’t think it can be saved. Or should be saved.” He stared at it a long moment. “We’ve given one another a second chance. I suppose we’ll give the artist a second chance too, perhaps in the spring, if you don’t mind a bare mantel until then.”

  “But in the spring...” She brushed a hand over her middle. “I might be expecting by then.”

  He winked at her as he pulled on a shirt. “I hope so. Then the following spring we can have a family portrait made, in Wales, in our meadow, to create new memories there. Do you think that would be all right?”

  Sometimes her husband came up with the best ideas. Gwen felt a warmth of happiness spread through her entire body, even to her toes. “I think that sounds wonderful. Maybe we can have a portrait made every year, as our family changes and grows. We can commission portraits until we’re wrinkled and old.”

  “Absolutely. Very wrinkled and very old.”

  Her husband was rapidly disappearing beneath layers of fine clothing, while she remained naked, wrapped in a towel.

  “May I borrow your shirt again,” she asked, “so I can return to my chambers and dress?”

  He tugged away her towel and looked her up and down. Oh, that look...it made her feel hot and lustful all over again.

  “I think I would rather watch you streak naked across the hallway,” he said, pulling her closer to fondle her breasts.

  In the end he didn’t make her do any such thing, although it was nearly teatime before they finally managed to present themselves to their company in the front parlor. The children were there too, playing and crawling about, fresh from their afternoon naps.

  “Look who it is,” said Townsend brightly, as the ladies flocked over to Gwen.

  “How are you, my dear?” asked Josephine.

  “You look so well!” said Aurelia.

  Gwen grinned at them. “I feel completely better.” She reached to clasp her husband’s hand. “Arlington has nursed me back to health.”

  “I bet he has,” snorted Barrymore, who was promptly stifled by Minette.

  “It’s wonderful that Arlington has got you feeling better,” said Minette, smiling between the two of them. “And Gwen, my goodness, your convalescence has suited you. You’ve got a glow.”

  “Indeed she has. We’re overjoyed to see both of you in such fine spirits,” said Warren. “We are all of us happier than you can believe. Won’t you sit and have tea with us?”

  They agreed that they would love to. Gwen turned to look at her husband, keeping hold of his hand. How pleased he looked, and how happy, just like a man in love. It seemed her maiden’s prayers in the meadow were to be answered after all.

  I wish...perhaps...someday he might come to love me, if he’s the sort of duke who’s not too lofty to fall in love.

  As it turned out, he was not too lofty a duke at all.

  Chapter Eighteen: Epilogue

  Six years later

  The afternoon was glorious, the sort of sunny, breezy day that made one want to take off hats, gloves, coats, and bonnets, and simply exist in the green surroundings. Aidan clasped his wife’s hand in his lap. Now and again he turned to look at her, even though it made the artist pull a frown. They’d hired an Italian fellow this spring to paint them out in their garden, which was only appropriate. Their family was growing like flowers.

  Gwen held the youngest, an infant cherub named Louisa Rose, who made his heart clench in paternal adoration each time she cooed or gripped one of his fingers in her little fist. Their dark-haired three-year-old, Gareth, cuddled between him and his wife on the picnicking blanket, content to play with his toy soldiers. Their oldest son squirmed with restlessness on his mama’s other side. He had been made to comb back his mop of gold hair and wear a handsome coat and breeches like a big boy, when he would rather muck about and play.

  The strapping child was formally titled John Daniel Worthington Drake, the Marquess of Wescott, and would one day be the next Duke of Arlington, but for now, he most often answered to Jack.

  “When will they be here?” he asked his mama. “We’ve been sitting here for hours and hours.”

  “Not hours,” said Gwen, patting his hand. “Only a half hour or so. I know it’s a trial, darling, but we want to remember this beautiful day, don’t we? When we all sat together and picnicked by the flowers?”

  “I don’t care about flowers. I would rather George come and play dragon-slayers with me.”

  “That sounds like an apt game for the two of you.” Aidan patted his son to sustain him in these “hours and hours” of filial duty. “Have you heard of St. George and the dragon?”

  “My friend George is not a saint,” said the boy.

  “You can say that again,” murmured Gwen under her breath.

  It was true the Warren children had a tendency to wildness. George, the oldest, was even blonder than Jack and known for relentless activity. His younger sister Ella was a tomboy of the first degree; Aidan suspected the unconventional Josephine encouraged her in this. Ella would doubtless join the boys in their dragon-slaying, while the youngest, Dennis, toddled behind, dragging his favorite blanket.

  “John Daniel,” said Aidan, so his son would know he meant business. “You must sit straight and still beside your mama, or baby Louis
a will fuss. You must set the example for Gareth too. We’ll be done in another quarter hour.”

  “But I don’t like posing for pictures, Papa.”

  “Sometimes you have to do things in life that aren’t very fun. It’s a nuisance, I know, but big boys learn to put up with things. You’ll grow to be a grand duke someday, and people will want to know what you looked like when you were five years old. So you ought to put on your most handsome face and finest manners and sit as still as you can until George comes. It won’t be long now.”

  Jack sighed, but stopped fidgeting. Aidan well remembered the burden of duty at that tender age. He protected Jack from it, to a point, but he would need self-discipline to succeed in his future endeavors, so Aidan occasionally put his foot down.

  “Ba babba babba,” chattered Louisa.

  Gareth giggled. “Mama, is Louisa speaking Welsh?”

  “Not yet,” said Gwen with a smile. “But someday she will learn it, like you and Jack. How else could she speak with her Welsh cousins?”

  Yes, all of them had learned Welsh, although the boys could speak circles around Aidan. When they went to Cairwyn to visit the Lisburne side of the family, there were chattering Welsh children all around, half of them with names impossible to pronounce. The proliferation of cousins astounded Aidan, as Gwen’s seven brothers got an astonishing number of offspring on their wives. Of course, he and his friends had not done so badly. They all had at least three little ones, with the industrious Townsends having already reached four.

  At long last, the artist left for the day, and the other families arrived at Arlington House to the picnic. Jack went running off with George and Ella, along with the Townsend boys, Edward and Will. The Townsends’ oldest, Felicity, sat primly and played with baby Louisa and her own baby sister Belinda. Lady Felicity took her status as the oldest child of the bunch very seriously, and like her well-mannered mother Aurelia, displayed laudable breeding for a child her age.

  Goodness, thought Aidan. That pretty little charmer would make some man a powerful wife someday. Jack, perhaps? It was tempting to match up their children, at least the ones not too closely related. Jack and Felicity would make a likely pair, although the Barrymores’ curly-headed twins might take issue with that. The chattering mini-Minettes, Isabella and Constance, had taken a shine to Jack in the past year and followed him everywhere, so the dragon-slaying party grew to an unwieldy mob right away.

  “Lord Augustine,” said Gwen to Barrymore and Minette’s oldest son. “Aren’t you going to go off chasing dragons too?”

  “Perhaps in a while,” he replied, gravitating toward the dark-haired Felicity. They were both quieter sorts of children, not given to rambunctiousness. They both enjoyed music, and sometimes played duets on the piano when the families got together. If Aidan had to bet on any weddings, he would bet there.

  But who could tell where their hearts would end up? He would never have thought he would find his legacy with a Welsh-hellion fairy queen, who grew more beautiful and compelling to him every year.

  “What a magnificent day,” said Josephine, lounging back on the grass.

  “And Arlington has the most beautiful garden in the spring,” said Aurelia. She turned to her husband. “Why, I remember when you courted me here just before we married. We took a walk about the garden, pretending to be in love.”

  “Yes, as you begged me to break our engagement. You also named me a blackguard, as I recall.”

  The rest of them feigned horror.

  “Such vitriol, Aurelia,” Josephine chided.

  “It hurt my feelings,” said Townsend, ducking as Aurelia tossed a bit of crumpet at him.

  “You had no feelings back then,” his wife teased. “None of you did. You all had to be rescued by good and patient women.”

  “I don’t know who rescued whom,” said Warren. “If not for me, Josephine would have been married to the Earl of Stafford. Her entire inheritance would have gone to financing his collection of obtrusive rings.”

  “Obtrusive is one name for them,” said Barrymore.

  “I won’t argue that I was rescued,” said Josephine, after the laughter died down. “Even if Warren’s methods were somewhat questionable.”

  “If you want questionable methods, look right there,” said Warren, gesturing to Barrymore, whose given name was Method.

  “I can still beat you up,” said Barrymore, rolling his eyes. “Although I won’t, in front of the children.”

  The children took no notice of their parents’ conversation as they ran past the picnic blankets, shouting and brandishing sticks.

  “I don’t doubt they’ve got that dragon on the run,” said Gwen.

  “When shall we call them to eat?” Minette asked.

  Aidan reached for a cake, and handed one to his wife. “I suppose when they’ve slayed an adequate number of dragons, their hunger will get the better of them. It’s a perfect day for playing. We ought to let them run.”

  “How serendipitous, that Arlington’s garden harbors such a vast number of dragons,” said Warren.

  “At least it keeps them busy,” said Josephine. She and Gwen pulled faces at baby Louisa as she began to fuss.

  Aidan ran a hand up and down Gwen’s arm. He loved his friends. They were like family. He’d never been that close to his own family, but now he had Gwen’s prodigious Welsh clan, and of course, all these friends with their warmth and support. He stared at the back of his wife’s neck, wishing he might lick it. Later. Time for that later.

  For now, he enjoyed the food and camaraderie. The children made another pass, yelling and gesticulating with their imaginary swords. “It’s hiding in the big marble cave,” George shouted.

  “Yes, in the big cave,” the curly-headed twins echoed, dogging Jack’s heels. “You must go and kill it for us, Jack.”

  “The big cave?” Minette looked at Arlington. “Have you a marble cave on your property? The wonders of this place never cease.”

  “We don’t have a cave,” said Gwen, laughing. “The only marble thing is—”

  She locked eyes with Aidan. Warren sat up straighter, and Townsend jumped to his feet.

  “Remember, you’re not allowed in the temple,” Aidan shouted to Jack. “Tell the other children not to go in the temple!”

  “Is it locked?” asked Barrymore.

  “Locked or not, if George wants to get in there, he’ll find a way,” said Warren. “My son can be devilishly clever when it comes to mischief.”

  “I’ll go head them off,” said Townsend, hurrying across the clearing.

  Aidan hid a smile as a garish blush spread over his wife’s cheeks.

  “Well?” said Josephine. She studied them with a speculative look. “You must tell us now. What on earth is inside that temple?”

  Barrymore chuckled and Warren burst into laughter. Gwen shook her head and spread her hands. Aidan rescued her by passing over a sandwich.

  “I’ll describe it to you later,” said Warren under his breath. “It’s too delightful to be believed. But not a place for children to go exploring.”

  “No, not a place for children,” Barrymore echoed.

  “Tell us,” begged Minette. “Don’t tease.”

  Barrymore turned and made sure young Felicity and Augustine weren’t listening. “Let’s just say it’s on par with Townsend’s illicit literature collection. Perhaps even better.”

  “Oh, my,” said Josephine. Minette put her hand over her mouth and blushed. Aurelia raised a brow and grinned at Gwen.

  “Have all your gentlemen friends been in there?” Gwen whispered to Aidan.

  He made a helpless gesture of apology. “We threw some wild routs in our younger days. Aurelia was right. We needed rescuing. Some of us more than others, I’m the first to admit.” Before she leaned away, he drew her closer and spoke in her ear. “You know, it’s been a while since we visited the temple. Too long.”

  “I was just thinking that.”

  The children came running back
in a chattering group, corralled by Lord Townsend. Adorable, all of them, with their smudged coats and disheveled curls. They joined the babies, and Felicity and Augustine, and sprawled on the blankets to devour what was left of the afternoon’s repast. Aidan caught his wife’s gaze as she hummed and rocked the baby. Later, he would take her to the temple and have her.

  And she would go willingly, judging by the pleased flush lingering in her cheeks.

  * * * * *

  They set out after dark, when the children were sleeping soundly under their nurse’s watchful eye. Gwen held Aidan’s hand; he carried a lamp with the other. It was so dark in the garden at night. The flame threw shadows that heightened her excitement and nerves.

  They nearly always came here under cover of darkness. Gwen felt freer at night, more capable of surrender, whether she was to be pleasured or hurt. Sometimes she was punished in the temple, generally after one of her “Welsh hellion fits,” as Aidan called them. She didn’t misbehave that often anymore, but when she did, she submitted to whatever consequences her husband deemed necessary. He was always fair, if strict, and she always felt better afterward, as if the tensions between them had been eased.

  But tonight was not going to be about punishment. She had been very, very good of late, an estimable duchess who was finally earning the regard of the ton. She had even merited another audience with the crown, during which she had managed to be absolutely inoffensive, even charming. Aidan marveled about it afterward, but it was easy to be happy and charming when one was in love.

  At last they reached their private temple of iniquity, and Aidan unlocked it with a key they kept hidden in a vase. He gestured her inside with a suggestive smile. Gwen turned about in the marble chamber while he hung the lamp in the corner. “It feels different to be in here, now that I know all your gentlemen friends have been here too.”

  “We didn’t all crowd in together,” he said. “I let them borrow it sometimes. At parties. And other times.” He grinned at her dark look. “There were ladies before you, my darling, but none I remember by name.” He gathered her close and kissed her, and began to work at her gown. “None of them even half so lovely and fascinating as you.”