He had not realised he’d left his room until he found himself in the corridor that led to the nursery. Everything was quiet. The boys were sleeping through most nights, or so the nursery maid told him.
What the hell was he doing here?
He was going to her. To Ruth.
In her he found peace. When she was close by, his turbulent spirits eased and he could think clearly. He became the person he had once been, so long ago he could hardly remember.
With the spirit of one of the most powerful gods inside him, Marcus had lost himself. For some reason she’d brought him back. With Virginie he was all god, but Ruth made him feel more human, Marcus instead of Mars. He stood, breathing deeply, taking in her essence. He was not close enough to find complete ease. Should he risk it and knock on her door?
She would bolt. Not just from her room, but from the house. He could bear this agony if he stood here for just a moment longer…
A door opened. Riveted, he watched the sliver of light glimmering from a single candle. He didn’t need to see her to know it was her. From the minute she had eliminated the barriers between them, he’d known.
Her shocked gasp rang around the space, but she did not scream, nor did she retreat. She stood, the candle casting a golden glow on her face, making her eyes sparkle in the dark. She said nothing. Her hair fell over one shoulder, fastened into one long, neat, plait. He could use that to bind her to him, to hold her in place while he kissed her senseless. She wore a plain dark wool gown, hastily pulled on so her pure white night rail peeped through the join in the middle.
He stayed where he was, ignoring the urge to take the three strides that lay between them. “I told you,” he said.
“You did,” she replied.
He smiled. “Do I not daunt you? Terrify you?”
“No, sir, you do not. I thought I heard something.”
When he noticed she kept her gaze firmly on his face, his smile broadened. It was so like her, to make the situation more bearable. “I will not apologize for appearing before you in this way.”
“Because it is your house and I am your servant?” She took a step then, just one, half the length of one of his. It demonstrated intent. Her chin lifted, a sure sign she was firming her jaw and forcing courage. He would have teased her just to see that telltale movement.
He already gave her more leeway than he usually did to anyone, but his refusal to read her mind, to discover what he wanted to know for himself had become more than a game. The question a day was keeping him going. He looked forward to it. “It occurs to me I have not yet asked you a question today, Ruth. Are you ready?”
Her eyes widened slightly, then she blinked. “Yes, sir.”
“Am I the first naked man you’ve seen?”
To his surprise she gave a sharp bark of laughter before smothering the sound with her free hand. She shook her head before she lowered her hand. “Sir, I’m a country girl. No, you are not. I have seen men work the fields naked, or as good as naked. Men bathing in the stream in summer. I never stopped to look.” She paused, and her eyes danced. “I have never seen a man worth wasting time watching.”
“Indeed.” He enjoyed her joke. “You are indeed a remarkable woman, Ruth. A remarkable virgin?”
“Sir, you go too far! I told you I am a respectable woman, and unmarried. I am not a widow, so I that leaves one thing, does it not?”
He wanted to touch her so badly, but perversely he kept away. What he was doing was like taming a wild creature, luring it to his hand. If he touched her, she would bolt, and he didn’t want that to happen. The magic had hit him full-square, the beast inside him soothed.
More than soothed. If she looked down, she would discover how much. However, she kept her gaze firmly on the top half of his body. He could feel it like a touch. More than anything he wanted her to touch him, but if she did, he would most likely lose his mind.
No, he would not do that. Not with her. That was for spells and magic, and the things that belonged in a different part of his world. Here there was only human comfort and understanding.
“So you are a virgin.” The beast in him, the part of him that belonged to the god stretched out, put protective arms around her. Being the god of war had more than one aspect, and his protective instincts were strong. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to own her. While he knew that was wrong, denying his urges would lead to problems for both of them.
The candle flickered. “Is that so surprising?” she said.
“No. But it is a shame.”
“The world does not run on intimate relations.”
“If it does not, then there would be nobody in it to continue.” He needed to say that, but he did not understand his urge to continue to needle her. Perhaps to make her understand herself more. He saw a great deal of courage and fortitude in Ruth, but he doubted she saw it for herself. He wanted her to become everything she could be.
No more. Abruptly, he stepped back. He had pushed his will to its furthest extent.
“Good night, Miss Carter. I believe I heard a movement from the nursery.”
He walked away, his cock bouncing against his belly with every step. He would do nothing about his erection. It served him right for teasing her.
God in heaven, he wanted her.
Chapter Six
Although she kept her gaze firmly on his face, when the duke turned away Ruth could not resist sweeping one comprehensive glance down his body, over his buttocks and to his feet. The powerful muscles of his back and shoulders moved fluidly as he moved, giving her a mouthwatering view of a man she should not want, but did.
Even more now she’d seen what he offered.
He was teasing her, no more than that. He meant nothing by it. After all, he had warned her. She did not need to go into the main corridor to attend to the babies if they cried in the night.
He had not lied about his state of nakedness, though. He’d behaved as if it was normal to wander around as naked as the day he was born—except he made a much more magnificent figure. He looked like a statue of one of the ancient gods brought to life. She’d seen engravings in books, even seen a few in person on her occasional visits to the great cities of the north, but add warmth and flesh to that graven marble image and it became breathtakingly sensual.
She wanted to touch. If she had, she had no doubt he would have taken advantage of her venture. As it was, taking that step had required all her courage. She must know she could trust him.
Why it was important to her, she wasn’t sure. He seemed to lead her on and then push her away with such regularity he confused her. He enjoyed teasing, that was all.
Goodness, if all men took to parading themselves around naked, there wouldn’t be a virgin left in all the country! She had not lied when she’d said she’d seen naked men before, but only at a distance, and she never lingered. Knowing such sights were not for her, she’d slipped away, and pretended they didn’t affect her. Her breasts felt heavy and her femininity soften and damp, ready for his possession.
Since she was up, she would see to the babies. Peter was waking up. She saw to him, lifted him, fed him and settled him back in his crib, then did the same for Andrew. Just as she was laying him back down, Andrea shuffled in, bleary-eyed. Ruth shooed her back to her room and Andrea smiled and nodded before retreating.
After ensuring the babies were sleeping peacefully once more, Ruth went back to bed.
* * * * *
The duke behaved perfectly the next day, and the day after, keeping his observations to current affairs and household details. He surrounded himself with the kind of shell the aristocracy could use, so there was no approaching him. She still found him fascinating, his opinions intelligent and provocative.
Ruth should be relieved, but she was not. She used the library, chose a book to read and found happiness such as she had never known before, sitting
in a room full of books, knowing nobody would scold her for it.
Lord Lyndhurst did not summon her to dinner. Instead, Ruth ate downstairs with the servants. This was what her life would be like, neither part of the family upstairs nor fully belonging to the servants’ community. She tried to be glad.
On the second night she went to bed and slept, only to sit bolt upright in the darkness a few hours later.
She could smell burning. Had she not snuffed her candle out properly?
No, it wasn’t that. She sat up, throwing back the covers, and grabbed her robe. When she opened her door the smell assaulted her nostrils, tickling them into a sneeze.
Apprehension tightening her throat, Ruth went to the end of the corridor, following her nose rather than her eyes. Down the stairs, she paused, and sensed. Although the sky was lightening into dawn, it cast but a little illumination over the hallway, barely enough for her to see a faint glow in the distance.
Her steps quickened and she ran towards an ominous orange gleam at the far end of the corridor.
A small fire was burning on the floor. She stamped it out. What could have caused it? Sighing out with relief, she was about to turn and head back to her room when another glint caught her eye. Another fire. She beat it out with her dressing gown.
In a house like this any little spark could start a conflagration. She couldn’t risk it. She ran to that one, again small, and extinguished it. Then she saw another. This was like a trail of crumbs, only far more dangerous. Should she rouse the household?
Yes. First she would stamp out what she found, because another teasing shower of sparks was lighting up the floor.
Why had these tiny flickers not increased and spread? Perhaps something to do with the shower of rain just as night fell. She’d barely noticed at the time. Maybe it dampened the wood just enough to inhibit the development of fire.
No, not good enough. That could hardly explain why the tiny fires were there or why they were not increasing. She followed.
The marks were always on the floor, but as she reached them they faded, and she only had sparks to extinguish. She continued until she realised she was standing outside his room, where the smell was strong.
She didn’t knock.
Inside, the conflagration made her gasp. The drapes by the window were on fire, truly aflame. The duke lay on his bed, loosely covered and completely asleep.
The flames roared up the red velvet, sending up tongues of fire. Crying out, she grabbed the water can, relieved to find it half full, and hurled the contents over the flames.
With a yell he awoke, tossing the covers aside even as he roused, heading for her and the mess. “Back!” he cried. “Or you will catch yourself aflame!”
He bundled her towards the door before racing across the room. She followed as a servant burst into the room, bucket of water in hand. Henstall hurled it at the flames, drenching his master and then grabbed another bucket from Linton, one of the footmen, who had come to help.
The curtains tumbled to the floor, and the three men stamped out the flames, trampling the fire into submission.
Smoke rose to choke her, but Ruth stood her ground, ready to help if they needed it.
They did not. The duke leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, gasping for air. His butler tossed a robe over the duke’s shoulders and glanced towards the door, his grey eyes hard and speculative.
Ruth’s robe lay in a crumpled, singed mess on the floor. Now, with the emergency passed, she started to tremble uncontrollably.
The duke straightened and pulled the robe on. “Miss Carter arrived a few minutes before you did. If she had not roused me, I might have perished.”
Henstall raised a brow, obviously not believing his grace. “I see. Well, it is over now. You should return to your room, Miss Carter. Linton and I can see to the mess. Your grace had better sleep in another room tonight.”
The duke glanced out the window. The light had increased, the sun sending a glow over the horizon. Then he turned to her. “I’ll escort Miss Carter back to her chamber, then I’ll find another place to sleep. I might just get up.” He scrubbed his hair. It stood at all angles, disregarded, but he set it into something resembling a lion’s mane. The dawn shot red lights into the dark, gleaming mass. Although he’d belted the robe around his waist, he’d left a V of chest bare. It was dusted with dark hairs, curling intimately over his bronzed skin.
Ruth licked her dry lips and then turned away. “I’ll be fine. I know my way.”
Something heavy landed across her shoulders. “I insist,” he said, then turned to address the two men. “I had an accident with a candle. Left it burning by accident. Miss Carter was attending to the babies and she smelled the smoke.”
Ruth swallowed her shame and let him lead her out of the room. He took her to a room three doors up, just enough to muffle any sound. It was another bedroom, but in this one the bed and window were bare of drapery, and the furniture was covered with close-woven Holland cloth.
The duke swept aside a creamy cover, revealing a long daybed set at the bottom of the great four-poster. “Come and sit down.”
He gave her no chance to argue, pressing her down on to the seat. When he sat next to her and pulled her into his arms, she didn’t resist. She was too weary. “I want you to sleep in,” he said before she had a chance to speak. “I’ll order some food sent up, but you need not trouble yourself to eat it if you don’t wish to. I know how you hate to see waste.” The last sentence was spoken in an amused tone. He was probably recalling her breakfast on the first morning she arrived.
When she tried to pull her away, his hold tightened. She gave up, leaning her head on his shoulder. His wonderfully strong, supportive shoulder. “You should go. They think you and I—that we spent the night together.”
“Henstall will say nothing. I cannot vouch for Linton, though. He must be the footman on duty.” Unable to resist, he stroked back her hair. Her neat plait had partly unravelled, and stray wisps gathered on her brow and cheeks. It felt silky. “I swear I will do my best to preserve your reputation.”
The humour in his voice urged her to protest. “It matters. I won’t be able to get another position if they think I’m a vile seducer.”
He laughed, the sound unnaturally joyful.
Tears in her eyes, she lifted her head and confronted him. “It’s true! Wives don’t like it when their husbands sleep with the staff.”
“Some of them employ staff to distract their husbands.” He grunted. “Enough. I will not have you traduced. Nothing happened, except the small matter of you saving my life. Did you think on that?”
“No. I smelled fire. There were a series of small conflagrations in the corridor leading to your room. They were strange—they went out almost as soon as I stamped on them.”
“You saw them?” He sucked in a breath.
“What do you mean?” Of course she had. What else would he think?
“I mean I do not doubt you for a minute. This house has a reputation for being haunted. A strange phenomenon of spirit fires. I dare say it is all nonsense.”
“They were real. The fire in your room was certainly real.” He had not carried a candle earlier, when he’d been on his nightly perambulations. He had not carried anything.
“Yes, it was. My explanation was probably the true one. I must have left a candle lit or not snuffed it out properly. That would be the reason.”
Then why did she get the feeling he was explaining the matter to himself as well as to her? Why would he try to explain something they had both seen with their own eyes?
Exhaustion swept over her in a great wave. Here in his arms she felt safe, in a way she’d never experienced before, as if she could let everything go and he would catch her. That was nonsense, surely. She would never have anyone to rely on but herself.
“Where will you sleep?”
The daybed, the only piece of furniture uncovered, was upholstered in blue. The fabric was a figured velvet, soft to the touch. “Yes, of course.”
“It’s the duchess’s room. The one the duchess will occupy when I finally choose one, that is.”
Holding her here was sheer cruelty. How could he not be aware of her feelings for him? They were growing alarmingly, and in the wake of the double shocks she’d received tonight, she did not know how much more she could take.
“I’m sure the duchess will like it exceedingly.” The two windows looking out over the gardens were large ones, the drapes open, unusual for a closed room. “The servants should close the curtains.”
“I’m afraid I did that yesterday. I came in here to see where my duchess would sleep, and to see if it is a suitable place for her. I like it, but if she should not like it, then I would change it.”
“You speak as if you have chosen your duchess.”
His shrug moved her head, but not in a disturbing way. “I may have done so. I nearly did in London, but she married someone else.”
“I’m sorry.” She should say that, although her heart rejoiced in a way it had no right to do.
“It was for the best. We would not suit in the long run.”
“Was it the babies?”
“You mean their mother appearing so dramatically?” He grunted. “It had something to do with our separation, but it was for the best. We were not to be, that is all.”
Ruth knew. He was talking of the French duchesse he’d had the affair with.
Her parents of course castigated the duke for his profligate behaviour and waved the newspapers in Rhea’s face before she set out for London to confront him with her presence. How could she do such a thing if she did not trust him?
War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 Page 8