Awakening the Duchess

by Eva Shepherd

  He was not letting history completely repeat itself. Unlike his father’s marriage to his mother, his bride was under no illusions about the sort of man she had married. He had not deceived his new bride, had never pretended to be someone he wasn’t.

  He looked back at Arabella, who was being hugged by her best friend. Remembering that she was not his would be so much easier if she didn’t look so damn attractive. From the moment he saw her on the stage at the Limelight Theatre he had been entranced by her gentle beauty. Those crystal-blue eyes that sparked with intelligence, that heart-shaped face was undeniably attractive and she had immediately caught his eye. And how could he not be attracted to a woman who was so fiercely independent? She was determined to become a successful actress, to make her own way in the world. She had a father who was fabulously wealthy, who could buy and sell many members of the aristocracy. Yet she wanted nothing from him. She preferred to work in a shabby theatre in a rundown part of London rather than live a life of privilege and idleness. Her single-minded determination was something for which he had immense admiration.

  His mother approached him, beaming with happiness. ‘Oh, darling, that service was so touching.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘And Arabella makes such a beautiful bride.’

  He kissed his mother’s cheek and looked over at his bride. She did indeed look beautiful. The white gown suited her so much. It was a shame she was not a real bride, getting married to the man she loved. It was something she would never now experience and for that Oliver felt a deep sense of guilt. She should be marrying for love, to a man who loved her. She deserved that. She did not deserve this forced marriage. She did not deserve to have him in her life. If he hadn’t burst into her dressing room chased by a group of thugs, her father might not have felt he could blackmail him into marriage. There was no doubt that her father would not have given up until his daughter was married to a titled man, but if she hadn’t been forced to marry him, she might have met a titled man she could love, who could love her. He did indeed have a lot to feel guilty for, a lot to make up to Arabella. And the best way he could do that was to leave her alone, to let her live her life the way she wanted, without his interference.

  Chapter Ten

  Somerfeld Manor had been transformed for the wedding. Even to Oliver’s undiscerning eye he could see that a great deal of effort had gone into making the house festive and inviting. Large bouquets of fragrant flowers decorated the great hall where the wedding breakfast was to be held. And musicians were tuning up in the adjoining ballroom in preparation for the dance that was to take place later that evening.

  Tables had been set out for the large party of guests. Crystal sparkled, silver glistened and the tables were strewn with ivy leaves and scented lilac flowers. The house servants, along with an army of extras recruited for the day, were rushing about, attending to every need of the guests.

  Oliver escorted Arabella to the head of the table, and, when she had seated herself, the wedding party sat down to the accompaniment of shuffling chairs and the sudden eruption of chatter.

  Champagne began to flow immediately and the footmen made sure that glasses were topped up before they had a chance to be emptied. But Oliver took pains to ensure he moderated his drinking. It was essential that he keep himself under complete control. Something which he could tell was not going to be easy to achieve. Not when his new bride was sitting so close to him that he could smell her delightful jasmine perfume. But he knew from past experience that if he wanted to keep his amorous inclinations in check, then imbibing champagne would not help.

  While the rest of the wedding party chatted, laughed, drank and ate, the couple at the head of the table exchanged only a few words as they picked at each successive course. Speeches were made, but Oliver hardly heard a word of what was said. He laughed when others laughed, looked solemn when others talked of the sacred importance of the institute of marriage. He even made a speech of his own, saying all the appropriate things about how beautiful his new bride was and how he would do everything he could to make her happy, all of which was true.

  But it all happened as if he was watching someone else going through the motions of a wedding. One that had little or nothing to do with him. But then, that was exactly what he and his wife were doing, wasn’t it? Going through the motions.

  * * *

  The wedding breakfast finished; he escorted his new wife through to the ballroom.

  ‘It’s almost over, Arabella,’ he whispered in her ear as the band played and he led her out on to the dance floor for their first waltz together as man and wife.

  As he slid his arm round her slim waist she gasped slightly and blushed, as if caught doing something that was forbidden. She placed her hand tentatively on his shoulder, standing well back from him as if she would get burnt if she came too close.

  Oliver smiled. They must look a peculiar pair, a couple just married who were reluctant to even touch each other. He pulled her in closer. Just for appearances’ sake.

  They glided round the dance floor and her rigid posture relaxed as her soft curves moulded into his body. Unable to resist, his arm moved further round her small waist, pulling her still closer, until her soft breasts were touching his chest.

  He registered the touch of her tight nipples against his chest and forced himself to suppress a growl of pleasure. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to feel those lush breasts without that barrier of her clothing. To caress them, to rub his fingers along those hard nipples, to take them in his mouth and nuzzle them until she was screaming out for him.

  It seemed his abstinence from champagne was not working and his amorous intentions were becoming painfully clear to him. He could only hope his new wife did not notice.

  He loosened his grip on her waist and moved back, to minimise the contact he was having with her, so she would not be able to feel the effect she was having on him. He continued to lead her round the floor. How quickly he could forget his vow to himself when he had her in his arms. But it was a vow he had to abide by. He just had to remember she did not want to be in his arms. She had been caught up in things beyond her control. Under normal circumstances she would not even be dancing with a man like him and certainly not married to him.

  She was in an intolerable situation and she needed his reassurance, not his lust.

  Only a complete cad would allow himself to forget that. And he hoped he wasn’t a complete cad.

  He coughed lightly to drive out any lingering inappropriate thoughts, looked down into those soft blue eyes and sent her what he hoped was a comforting smile that was completely free of desire.

  ‘Just remember, Arabella, that tomorrow everything will go back to how it was and we can try to pretend this wedding never happened.’

  She sighed and tried to smile back. ‘Except I’m no longer an actress. I’m just another young society wife. And I’m not even that, not really.’

  He shook his head. ‘You are an actress. And one day you’ll be a great actress. You’re just between jobs. Resting, isn’t that what actors say when they’re not working?’

  She gave a small, resigned smile as he twirled them around one more time.

  ‘And if it’s any consolation, you’re now completely free of your father’s interference. You can do anything you want. As a married woman you won’t need to be chaperoned. You can go anywhere, do anything, see anyone you want.’

  A sudden thought hit him like a thunderbolt and he almost halted on the dance floor. What he had said was true. She would be just like all those married women he had taken as his mistresses. They, too, were women who could do anything, go anywhere and see anyone they wanted.

  Arabella would indeed be free. Free of her father and also free of him. Just like him she could take a lover if she chose. Bile burned up his throat and his muscles suddenly clenched into tight knots at the thought of Arabella with another man.

  Some other man would experience wha
t it was like to make love to her. She would give herself to some other man, a man she actually loved.

  But what right had he to object to such an arrangement? If she wanted to take a lover, who was he to stop her? Well, he was her husband, but he had said he wouldn’t stop her from doing what she wanted and surely that had to extend to her taking a lover.

  It seemed he was a complete cad after all. He could hardly bear the thought of his lovely wife having that amount of freedom. But bear it was exactly what he was going to have to do. He gritted his teeth more tightly. He had promised her freedom, even if that freedom meant she took another man to her bed.

  * * *

  Free. Is that what she was? All Arabella was feeling was confused. But it was good to be in Oliver’s arms again, to have him hold her as he glided her gracefully round the ballroom. She could almost imagine that she really was his bride, that he loved her, wanted her. And her traitorous body was reacting as if that was true. It was as if this was where she belonged and it hadn’t taken long for her to sink back into his arms, to surrender herself to him as he took the lead for their first dance as man and wife.

  But even if her body was being deceived, her mind knew differently.

  He didn’t want her. He didn’t want any woman. Or, rather, he wanted virtually every woman he met, but no woman in particular.

  And he was free as well. Free to pursue any woman he wanted. And from what she had heard from the other actresses at the Limelight, his reputation for pursuing, and catching women was even more notorious than his father’s.

  She had let it slip that this was a marriage of convenience, that Oliver would be her husband in name only. Once the other actresses had heard that, then all attempts to keep the truth from her were extinguished. She had then been regaled with gleeful tales of Oliver’s conquests and his athleticism in bed until her head had reeled with images that should not invade a young woman’s mind. Images that were equally exciting and upsetting.

  Several of the actresses had experienced that athleticism first-hand and Arabella had no doubts that Lady Bufford wasn’t the only woman present at this wedding who had been his lover.

  Yet tonight, would be her wedding night. He had kissed her twice before and she wondered if he would try to kiss her again tonight. Perhaps he would do more than just kiss her. He was her husband now, after all. In law that gave him certain rights. Would he try to exercise those rights tonight?

  Would she finally discover what so many other women had done before her, what it was like to be seduced by Oliver Huntsbury?

  She had little experience of men. Arnold Emerson had been as inexperienced as herself and had never done anything more than kiss her. And those kisses had been somewhat chaste affairs compared to what it had been like to be kissed by Oliver.

  When Oliver had kissed her, it had been as if he wanted to possess her. His fervour had been almost overwhelming, but it had also been exciting and had elicited feelings deep within her that she did not know existed.

  Even now, in this crowded ballroom, she was feeling things she knew she shouldn’t. She had loved the feeling of his body up against hers. Would she feel the touch of his body again tonight? Would he hold her again? Would he try to seduce her by kissing her, caressing her, relieving that demanding need for him that was almost painful.

  She released a soft sigh, moved closer to him and looked up into his eyes. Eyes that weren’t smiling. Eyes that were sparking with fire, burning into her with an intensity that was all consuming. And she wanted to be consumed, to be taken by him, to feel the heat of his passion.

  Her breath coming in quick gasps, she was incapable of breaking free from his gaze. A small, sane part of her mind was telling her she should be wary. But she would not listen to her cautious brain. She loved having him look at her like that. Yes, perhaps he had looked at many other women like that, but tonight he was looking at her. And it felt wonderful.

  Many other women.

  Those three words that said it all hit Arabella like a lightning bolt coming out of a clear blue sky. Many other women.

  Of course he knew how to make a woman feel special, to feel desired, as if she was the only woman in the room. He was an experienced seducer. That would be part of his usual technique.

  And she had naively fallen for it.

  Well, if he thought she would succumb to his charm he was going to be sadly disappointed. Tonight might be their wedding night, but this was a wedding in name only and he was going to find that out loud and clear. She would not be seduced by Oliver Huntsbury.

  The music ended and the band struck up another piece. Arabella quickly released her hold on his shoulder and hand as if she were being scorched by his touch. She needed to get away from this man who made her forget herself so easily.

  ‘Please excuse me, I think I should circulate with our guests.’ Arabella all but ran off the dance floor. She wanted to talk to her friend Rosie. Rosie would be able to guide her out of this fog of confusion that Oliver seemed to wrap around her. But Rosie and her new husband were dancing, holding each other close and looking adoringly into each other’s eyes. She didn’t have the heart to break them up.

  Instead she turned to the nearest person standing on the edge of the dance floor and used all her acting skills to force her lips into a welcoming smile. She had to talk to someone, to distract her mind and body away from treasonous thoughts of Oliver.

  ‘How do you do? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.’

  ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace. I’m Greta Jones,’ the woman said, to Arabella’s surprise. She had called her Your Grace. Then, to her even greater surprise, the woman bobbed a curtsy.

  That’s right, she was now a duchess, of all things, and people would start deferring to her in that manner.

  ‘Please, there’s no need to address me as Your Grace. My name is Arabella van... Oh, no, it’s not—it’s Arabella, Duchess of Somerfeld now. Anyway, I’m still just Arabella.’

  The woman smiled at her. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  Arabella smiled and ignored the woman’s refusal to drop the formality. ‘And how do you know the Huntsbury family?’

  ‘Has the Duke not told you about me?’ she said, her voice hushed as she gazed sideways at Oliver across the room talking to his mother. Arabella braced herself for yet another shock about her new husband. The woman looked too old to be his mistress. She was not much younger than his mother, but with a man like Oliver you never knew.

  ‘Oh, you’re Greta Jones. Yes, of course Oliver has told me all about you. I’m pleased you could make it to the wedding.’

  She did not want the rest of the world thinking that Oliver kept her in the same state of ignorance as his father had kept his mother. This marriage was humiliating enough without having the world laughing at her for being Oliver’s ignorant, gullible wife.

  The woman beamed a delighted smile. ‘I’m so pleased everything is so open between you and Oliver. That man really is a saint.’

  A saint? Was this woman actually talking about her husband? She looked over at him. He had moved on from talking to his mother and was now chatting to a young woman, who was gazing at him wistfully. Arabella was sure it wasn’t his saintliness that was causing her to give him coy, flirtatious looks.

  ‘You’re talking about Oliver, the Duke of Somerfeld?’ Perhaps the woman was mistaken, perhaps there was some other man in the room who could more easily wear the title of saint.

  ‘Oh, yes, such a wonderful man. When he found out that I’d had a child out of wedlock he did everything he could to help us. He bought me a really nice house. He provided me with a regular income and he’s even paying for my Jenny’s education. Oh, yes, the man’s a saint.’

  It wasn’t her definition of a saint. Saints did not usually go around impregnating women. But instead of saying that, Arabella merely kept on smiling and nodding. ‘So,
does he see much of you and Jenny?’

  ‘Oh, yes, he sees her all the time. After all, she is his half-sister.’

  Half-sister?

  Arabella tilted her head, unsure that she had heard correctly. ‘She’s what?’

  ‘Half-sister. Didn’t he tell you about Jenny? Oliver’s father is also Jenny’s father. They’re half-siblings.’ She gave Arabella a sideways glance, her brow furrowed.

  ‘Oh, yes. That Jenny. Of course he did. I was forgetting.’

  The woman gave a little laugh. ‘Well, I suppose it is easy to forget. After all, his father did have a lot of children, so Oliver does have a lot of half-brothers and half-sisters. That’s my Jenny over there, talking to the Duke.’

  Arabella looked back at Oliver. She could now see that the young woman wasn’t so much flirting with her husband as looking at him with affection and admiration. Perhaps she had merely seen what she had expected to see. Perhaps she had judged her husband a bit too harshly.

  She looked back at Greta Jones, who was looking over at Oliver with the same smile of affection. ‘And the Duke has made arrangements for all his father’s children,’ Greta said. ‘The only condition he puts on his money is that we keep it secret from his mother. Oh, yes, he really is a saint. To us and to her.’

  Arabella looked back at Oliver. Perhaps there was a small bit of saintliness hidden inside that sinner after all.

  ‘And you’ve all managed to keep this a secret from Oliver’s mother?’ It was hard to believe when there were so many ex-mistresses, so many children.

  Greta laughed lightly. ‘Oh, yes, we’re all so grateful that we’re happy to abide by that one condition and an ability to keep secrets from women is something else Oliver inherited from his father.’

  All Arabella’s warm feelings towards Oliver instantly evaporated. Greta looked up at her and registered Arabella’s expression and her smile faded. ‘Oh, but now that he’s married that will change, I’m sure he tells you the truth about everything. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ Greta Jones quickly walked away, her face burning with embarrassment.