War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5

by Lynne Connolly

  She—plain, practical Ruth—sat with her head on his shoulder and was sitting within the cradle of his arms. What was she thinking? “I knew what you were before I came. At least I thought I did. Now I am confused.”

  He appeared not at all like the man she’d read about, except, of course, for his physical beauty. But she was no fool, for all her inexperience in the area of relations between men and women. If he claimed to be a victim of every woman who crossed his path, she would disbelieve him.

  He sighed. “She was a widow, and her rank was high. Plenty of widows conduct affairs, but not all of them flourished it in society’s face like a dishrag. I was overtaken with passion.” He paused. “That sounds trite, does it not? Better to say she enchanted me, but I did not make any attempt to curtail what we were doing. It was reckless and utterly idiotic. I was as foolish as she. I can only wish her well now she has found someone who cares for her.” He huffed a laugh. “I was incensed at the time. I can only compare our affair to a conflagration not unlike the one tonight. It threatened to destroy us both.”

  Recalled to the present, Ruth once more tried to pull away, but once more he drew her back. “Stay a little while longer. I promise I’ll behave.” He glanced down at her face and smiled. “Mostly.”

  She wouldn’t have stopped his kiss even if he announced it to the world. His lips pressed against hers, demanding she open to him, and like a fool, she did, helpless under his command. Unable to resist, she opened her mouth when he pressed harder, and he surged in. He licked her lips softly, tasting her with a gentle touch, then forged in further, deeper. She opened, drawing him in. He widened his hand, spread it to support her safely, and removed his other, sliding it around her waist. His touch, with only a thin layer of fabric between them, sent sparkling tingles through her whole body. Her toes curled as he groaned into her mouth, the vibrations adding to the mysterious wonder of their kiss. Then he cupped her breast.

  His big hand made nothing of the soft mound, but he caressed her gently, holding her as if she was fashioned from china. All the while he kissed her, his penetration of her mouth turning carnal.

  If anyone had described this to her, Ruth would have recoiled, but the difference between knowing and doing yawned like a vast chasm under her feet. This was like nothing she could ever imagine. She had no answer to it, and no resistance either. Their previous kiss was as naught compared to this.

  She clung. It was all she could do, hang on and see where this took her. Thrills chased each other up and down her spine, each one stronger than the last. Her breath shortened.

  He lifted his mouth, but kept his hand on her breast. Stilled, he watched her. “We should not do this.”

  “No,” she said shakily.

  “But we will. The only person who can stop me is you.”

  He lowered his head, barely touching his lips to hers. This time she came to him, arching her back to increase the intensity of the kiss. She craved more. He obliged, stroking her back while they melded their mouths together. She tasted him as he took her, caressing her breast, tugging gently at her nipple.

  Nobody had touched her there before. Women from a different stratum of society, they would be more accustomed to touching, but her—she didn’t even possess a maid. Thoughts chased each other around her head, none of them making sense. Except the one. She wanted more. She’d do anything if he just carried on.

  Who knew she would crave this so totally? Nothing in her imaginings added up to this.

  He jerked her hard against him, so his—rod?—pressed against her stomach. He moved in a rhythmic motion, grinding against her lower body. She gasped into his mouth as her groin burned, hotter than if her clothes had caught fire.

  Abruptly he pulled back, removed his hands from her body and stood.

  Left in the void, she stared up at him, blinking. Her mouth was plumped from his kisses, her night rail tucked up above her knees. How had that happened?

  Turning around, he dragged the robe from his body and tossed it at her. “Put it on.”

  Swallowing, she stood on shaking legs and thrust her arms through the sleeves. The garment hung on her. She took it off and tossed it back at him. “It’s like wearing a carpet.”

  She felt stupid. How on earth did she imagine she could do this? What was she thinking? That his back view was mouthwatering delectable, she still wanted him, still throbbed for him.

  She stood up and shook back her disordered hair, only half in its plait. “I will not disturb you further.”

  He shrugged back into the robe before he turned around. His hair was even more disordered, probably because she had thrust her hand into the silky mass. His eyes were dark with passion, his body tense. She had never seen any man so beautiful before. His body blocked out the light from the window behind him. The silvery light of dawn streamed around him as if he was some kind of dark god. He looked pagan and uncivilised.

  More desirable than anyone she’d ever seen.

  He pulled the robe across his naked body and did just enough of the hooks and eyes to cover himself from the waist down. “Come. I said I would take you back to your room, and I will.”

  Realisation slammed into her. “Did you do that to my—to Rhea?”

  “Did I do what?”

  “Kiss her until she gave in?”

  “Is that what you think just happened?” Flinging his arms out, he turned and strode around the room, coming to a halt before the door. That meant she couldn’t get out without going around him. “No, I did not.” He gazed at her. Now he was facing the light, she could not mistake his anger, even though remnants of what appeared to be arousal remained in the full lips, the dark eyes. He pushed his face closer to her. “She did it to me.”

  “What?” She jerked back, clutching her gown like the virgin she was. Rhea, her sweet sister? True, Rhea occasionally forgot to control her impulses, but she would not know what she was doing, not properly. She was as pure as Ruth, or she had been.

  “Rhea came to me, not the other way about. I did not push her away. When I had her, she was not a virgin. Is that clear enough for you?” His chest heaved as he breathed deeply, as agitated as she was.

  Instinctively, she trusted him. Her sister was a respectable woman, and God knew their parents worked hard to make them remain so. Even so, they’d had chances and God knew Rhea was a flirt. She could have gone too far.

  The times Ruth was walking the countryside, when she’d caught her sinful glimpses of naked men, the times they spent alone. Nobody could eliminate any possibility, short of locking them up. Her parents only ever did that as punishment, and their chaperonage, while adequate, had not been oppressive.

  Had a fun-loving girl like Rhea gone too far? Just as she, Ruth, had done a few moments ago?

  Wildly, she looked around for something to cover her near-nakedness. She found nothing, except the dusty covers over the furniture. Before she could grab one, his hand shot out and he caught her wrist. “No, they’re not suitable.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Your actions. I don’t need to read your mind to know what you’re thinking.” His eyes dilated slightly, but she had no idea why.

  She laughed, scoffing at his supposition. “As if you could! How would you know what I’m thinking?” She’d spent years hiding her most private thoughts and learning how to show nothing in public. Only then could she bear the humiliation of spending the local assemblies propping up the wall or pretending she did not care.

  “I can see it,” he said softly. His shoulders moved, as if he would step closer, but he straightened again. “I watch you, Ruth. You comment with your eyes, and the way you move.”

  “You watch me because you have nobody else to watch.” That was the plain truth. “I distracted you.”

  From what, though? The disgrace of having children he did not believe were his foisted on him? It became clear why he was
so convinced they were not his. If what he said was true—but how could it be?

  “Rhea rode a lot.” It was well known riding could weaken the evidence of virginity, the small piece of tissue he must break before taking her. Girls gossiped, and even if they rarely invited Ruth into their groups, she could hear them. She learned much that way.

  His upper lip curled in an unmistakable sneer. “That is often used as an excuse. More than a layer of skin marks a woman as a virgin.” He shook his head. “For instance, I know you are.”

  “How?” She bit her lip, wishing she could take it back. She did not want to know.

  “You are tentative when you touch me. You don’t know how to respond.” His eyes creased at the corners, as if he was about to smile, but it did not develop. “I must teach you, which, I should tell you, excites me. That in itself is unusual, because I prefer experienced women. When I had Rhea, I thought she was a serving-wench. She had dressed in a green gown, a plain wool one, much like the one I’ve seen on you.”

  Ruth caught her breath. The gown had belonged to Rhea once, passed to Ruth when Rhea declared it too shabby, just before she announced her pregnancy. How could he know that? It was a plain gown, the type dressmakers would run up to sell as a ready-made garment, easily altered. Except on Rhea, it had reached the floor and it served as a practical ankle-length one for Ruth. The colour had changed, from a rich, forest-green to a sadder colour. It was the same gown.

  “She came to you clandestinely?”

  “She did, when I was staying at the inn, before I ventured forth into local society. I was planning to travel on, but Rhea’s parents prevailed on me to stay. It was then I met her as a daughter of the house, and I realised what I had done. What she had persuaded me into. So I left. I wanted none of that mess. Little did I know the only reason she seduced me was so I could prove a convenient parent to her children. Who she had originally been with, I do not know.”

  Ruth did. His story sounded all too true. The dates worked. She hated even doubting her sister, especially with the man who had just tried to seduce her, but the story sounded like something her lovely, reckless, foolish sister would attempt.

  She lifted her chin. “So you use this as an excuse when you are trying to seduce me?”

  Clasping his hand to his forehead, the duke groaned and turned away, his loose robe flapping around his bare legs. “I did not. What happened was not intended. I merely wished to ensure you were well and calm you before I took you to your room. I wanted to thank my saviour, not seduce her.”

  He sounded sincere. Then, a rake would have the practice. That did not accord with what she’d read about him. When the gossip sheets reported his affair with the Frenchwoman, they remarked on how rare it was for the Duke of Lyndhurst to succumb in such a way, and in public. Every one made a point of blaming her, and while the Tory Englishman’s dislike of everything French was amply recorded, surely they would fall on any juicy gossip had Lyndhurst been a recidivist?

  Her head pulsed with pain. She could not take this in. He could be right, and her sister could have, as was her wont, fallen into trouble. Rhea never thought before she acted, rushed into every adventure with wholehearted enthusiasm. That was how she broke her leg, jumping out of a tree, declaring it was not so far to the ground. The leg healed and their mother opined that she hoped Rhea would learn her lesson. She had not. Her impulsiveness had drawn her into a worse mess, if what the duke said was true.

  She shook her head. “Let me go, if you please.”

  “I will escort you.”

  “No.”

  “Then let me say this. I do not regret what happened in this room tonight. I cannot. Ruth, you are intelligent, charming and a constant delight. I would not have you remain, apart for fear I will fall on you the moment we are together again. I will not, I swear it. Rather than forego your presence, I will bind my hands when you are near. You may tie me to the nearest chair. The fault was mine, all mine, and I will endeavour to ensure it does not recur.”

  He sounded perfectly honest again, but then he would, wouldn’t he? Did he want her, or was he toying with her?

  Stepping aside, he opened the door for her and bowed. “Ma’am. I owe you a deep debt of gratitude. Shall I see you at breakfast?”

  With relief, she shook her head. “I will take my turn feeding the babies today. I arranged it with Andrea earlier. She must sleep some time.”

  He frowned. “A pity that you have to go. I want you to trust me. I take a deal of pleasure in our conversation. If you keep away from me I will have nobody to discuss politics with, or the news from abroad, and I will miss that.”

  “You could go to London and find people to do that.” So why did he not go?

  “I’m waiting for the scandal to blow over.” He grimaced. “Believe it or not, I am not accustomed to being the centre of gossip, and I find I do not care for it. I want to return as an ordinary man.”

  “You are a duke.”

  “Apart from that.” The frown melted into a smile, the expression she found so addictive. “I am just another member of society. I want to go to my club and not hear newspapers rattled at me as people pretend not to notice me. I want to enter a ballroom and not have people stare. Besides, who goes to London in August?”

  His lofty tone fitted him so ill she nearly burst into laughter. The switch from outraged lover to lofty duke was completed so adroitly she could not see when he made the change, only the result. Either way, he did not intimidate her as either personage. Well, not much, although if she must choose, she’d take the lofty duke. She could handle him. All she need do was curtsey and keep her head down.

  “One more thing,” he added as she passed him, holding her breath for fear she would inhale some of the essence she found so irresistible. “When we are on our own, my name is Marcus. It would please me greatly if you would use it. I tire of being ‘your grace’ or ‘sir’ all the time. I’m in danger of forgetting my own first name.”

  Although tempted, she did not give him a saucy response, only dipped into a swift curtsey and said, “As your grace wishes,” so demurely she could not explain the deep, delicious chuckle that followed her up the corridor.

  Chapter Seven

  “The duke said this was for you,” Mrs. Brindlehurst said, handing her a swathe of silk. She had asked Ruth to share a dish of tea with her in the housekeeper’s room.

  Ruth liked it here. The room was comfortably furnished and in the corner stood Mrs. Brindlehurst’s desk, the account books neatly laid on the polished surface. This was both sitting room and office, situated belowstairs, the housekeeper’s counterpart to the butler’s pantry. She would like a room like this for herself one day, modest but comfortable.

  She shook out the fabric. It was the most beautiful robe she had ever seen. Pink, with patterns of flowers, and lined with pure ivory silk, as fine as a sweet pea petal, she admired it in wonder. “I thought it a piece of fabric.”

  “He says it is in thanks for the service you rendered him.” Mrs. Brindlehurst busied herself pouring the tea, giving Ruth a moment of privacy.

  She blinked. “I did nothing I should not,” she said lamely. Although she had come close. He had stopped at a few kisses, although she would have given him much more. It was probably just as well he didn’t know that, but she had wasted some time in imagining what would have happened if he had. “I only extinguished the fire until the others got there.”

  “I know, my dear. Henstall explained it all. Since the nursery wing is directly above his rooms and you were on duty with the infants, you were the first to detect the smell of smoke. He said you used your old robe to extinguish the fire. The duke says this is to replace it.” The housekeeper’s eyes gleamed with speculation, but Ruth would not indulge her with gossip.

  “A candle he did not extinguish properly, he said.”

  “Yes indeed. His grace is not always as careful as h
e should be.”

  What of the mysterious small fires she had put out on her way to his room? They were not caused by candles. What were they? She would ask him, if she ever dared come close to him after what had transpired between them. Since nobody mentioned them, Ruth would not speak of them to anyone else. The house was still standing, and everyone was still alive. Little had been lost, apart from the drapery in the duke’s bedchamber. Except for her old robe, of course, which was comprehensively ruined.

  Thus the garment she was holding in her hands. It appeared new, unlike the clothes she’d taken from the attics. Where would he have got it from? Or did he have it laid by for just such a chance? “I couldn’t accept it,” she said firmly. What would it look like, to accept such a personal gift?

  “Of course you must.” The housekeeper settled in her chair and took a long draught of tea. “It’s a reward. If you don’t want to use it, you may sell it. You’ll get a good price for something that fine. You’ll probably find a hefty bonus in your pay come quarter day too. The duke is a generous man when he puts his mind to it.” She put the dish down in its saucer while Ruth picked up her own reviving brew. “You’ve done me a favour too. This morning he gave orders to engage enough servants to keep this place in reasonable order and set a watch at nights. It means he’ll be living as a duke should. We can open up more rooms, and keep the others in better heart.”

  Ruth was glad to hear that, at least. It meant she would not find it as easy to slip along to the library, or to spend so much private time with the man who was fast becoming an obsession with her. Every time she thought of him last night, casually dressed, as only his family should see him, she found herself dreaming of possibilities she should never entertain. He kissed her because he was glad to be alive. That was all. He waited with her until she calmed, and the kisses were merely an expression of that. Nothing else, and she would be foolish to imagine anything further. Even if she would treasure those moments until her dying day.