Duke of Treason

by Lisa Torquay

  “We will marry,” he lay back on the seat, exposing his tall broad frame, made to unbalance her.

  “And you, a Duke.” She crossed her arms, defensive.

  “In the castle chapel.” His glare branded her.

  “You are supposed to choose-“

  “In three weeks.”

  “…a pedigreed, virgin, young lady.”

  “You can summon a seamstress.”

  “I am.” Did the darned man never relent?

  “From London.”

  “Not.” She continued.

  “To make your dress.”

  “Marrying you!” She concluded.

  At that, his stance acquired a stony quality she recognised so well now. ‘You have my heir there.” He pointed at her middle with his bristle square jaw.

  Last she checked, she did not. She shook her head speechless.

  “We have not been cautious.” He completed.

  She blushed intensely at how incautious they had been. “These things do not happen this quick.” She countered. How many of her friends took months, years to be with child?

  “But it can.” He rebutted.

  “Have you not listened to what I said?” She asked, annoyed.

  “Your arguments are nonsensical.”

  “Say whatever you want.” She came at him. He would marry her because of a possible child? What about the rest?

  ‘I do not care what others say.” He placed the paper on the table.

  “You should. You are a peer of the realm.” She added. “And a war hero at that.”

  He scowled at the answer. “I do not care for being a hero. I served my country, that is all.”

  That he did not show any vanity in the matter caused her admiration. One more thing to add to her jumbled feelings. “The whole of England cares though.” Which put him right in the middle of the public eye.

  “Let them.” His jaw up, he pierced her from under his long lashes. “I am a Duke. I have prerogatives.”

  Why did the damn woman not want to marry him? Romulus wondered as her liquid brown eyes made him hot and uncomfortable. They were… compatible. Very compatible, especially in bed. But out of it, too. They shared interests. They discovered much they could do together, like fencing. She liked the castle and apparently did not have such attachment to town. And when they quarrelled, they set fire to the entire room where they happened to be. An inner smug smile warmed him. It made it much easier to make peace. The headstrong woman would not allow him to win every battle and he looked forward to losing some.

  Not only that, he wanted her to bear his children, too. That was why he did not lift a finger to prevent it. The way they had been… assiduous at it, she would not take long, his certainty ran high.

  “Besides,” he resumed the conversation. “You came to my bed a virgin, did you not?”

  Her colour heightened even more, the most beautiful woman in the entire planet. “This does not count.” Her demure travelling dress and her hair caught in a simple chignon did not disguise her attractiveness.

  “Why not?” That she had been solely his counted. Too much for him to admit even to himself.

  “Because no one knows.” She made a gesture of obviousness.

  “We do.” His brows arched challenging her to counter that.

  She expelled tight air through her tempting lips. “You are insufferable.”

  The inn maid came to say their carriage was ready and waiting.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  An intense joy invaded Annabel at the sight of the castle. She had known she missed it but not to this extent. The towers, the battlements, the hall and, in special, the library.

  That joy did not dim even when the aggravating Duke ordered her things to be taken to the Duchess’s chambers. It must not be news to anyone their… intimacy. The fact did not worry her that much since Romulus demanded complete loyalty from his servants, due to his secret activities.

  It did make her rather restless, she mused hours later, going to the solar at the Duke’s summons. They were not married and occupying those chambers caused something of an embarrassment, for she did not bear the title and she did not want it on his terms. There lay another of their battles, probably. Indulgence in those kinds of altercations did not figure as a way of acting full time. It took up too much energy. A compromise was in order.

  Frustrating to think about how he put the whole thing. She did not want to marry him merely because she might be with child. The means to take care of herself were there if it came to that. It would be extremely thorny to raise a child on her own. She could do it, for sure. Though the mighty Duke would not let her get away with the idea. He would want his heir under his tutelage. There would be no countering him on that. She was not with child she knew. So, this might be perfectly reversed. The decision to go back to her life in London without anyone being the wiser was a possibility.

  A sterile marriage lay in her past, in which she entered half-aware and in deep mourning, a completely fragmented emotional state. Why wish for another mistake? And yes, darn it, she loved the insufferable man! How was she to deny it after everything they had experienced together? The intimacy she experienced with him had been born from her feelings, nothing else. The fire, the emotions, the thoughts that consumed her came from no other source than the fact she loved him profoundly. It daunted her, to tell the truth. To accept marrying him on feeble excuses would be the path to unhappiness.

  After a knock on the door to the solar, she entered. Romulus stood by the window, tall and rigid back to her. At her entrance, he turned, hair unbound, usual black clothes which made him appear even more brooding and irresistible.

  “You wanted to see me.” She closed the door with a calm click.

  “Yes.” He clasped his hands behind him and paced a few steps nearer her. “Please, have a sit.” He motioned to one of the chairs in front his massive desk and sat on his usual one behind it. “We need to talk about your tasks here.” He completed, murky eyes attentive on her from up his elegant long nose.

  “I was wondering about that.” She commented, too affected by his scrutiny.

  “The castle needs a feminine hand.” He entwined his long fingers on the desk.

  “But you have a housekeeper.” That he wanted her to fit in the ‘lady-of-the-manor’ box did not enthusiasm her. She would obviously love to manage the castle. But not like this.

  “I do.” The agreement came in a low, grave voice. “But you will be my Duchess and your touch will be required in this household.”

  The remark ignited restlessness, she stood from her chair, causing him to stand, too. “I have not accepted your one-sided decision to marry you.” She stated, facing him in full. “And I have not changed my mind.”

  His eyes squinted on her, irritated with the disobedience, undoubtedly. “You want me to continue making a dishonest woman of you?”

  Oh, the man could twist everything to his advantage, could he not? “This absolutely is not the point.” She countered.

  “Which is the point, Annabel?” Bracing his legs, he crossed his muscled arms, the vision of a Roman good.

  “The point is I have the right to decide if I want to be a wife again or not.” This time she would not clash with him. Reasoning would be the strategy.

  “You fear marriage, then.” He tilted his square jaw to pierce her from under his lush lashes.

  “Of course, I do not fear marriage!” She responded more hotly than she intended. The man had the power to shorten her temper. “I want the chance to choose.”

  “And what do you choose?” He challenged.

  Yes, that was a good question. She would choose a full marriage, which he did not put on offer. So… “I choose to be your paramour. To carry on as we have been doing.”

  He breathed a derisive laugh. “You are probably the only woman in Europe that would pick that over security.”

  She exhaled frustrated breath. “I do not need security. Charles’ will granted me enough to live on my
own.”

  His expression became stony at the mention of her deceased husband. “His name has no place within these walls.” He determined.

  “He has been part of my life for four years, there is no way I cannot mention him.” She said with finality.

  He nodded in acknowledgement. “So you want to be my paramour.” He resumed.

  What she wanted was to be reciprocated in her feelings for him. “Yes, precisely.” Her chin up, she eyed him with firm intent.

  “What if a child results from our… liaison?” His eyes half-mast went so remote she acquired the impression she was talking to someone else.

  “When and if this happens, we will deal with the situation.” Decidedly, this counted as the right thing to do, she concluded disheartened.

  “Practical, as always.” There was no denying the coldness in the response.

  “It is the best way.” She did not waver. To do so now would bring her more pain.

  His back to her, he walked to the desk. “Let us do it your way.” Sitting down he caught a sheaf papers and began reading, dismissing her.

  Resisting an urge to fidget, she curtsied. “Your Grace.” And left the solar with a heavy feeling in her chest.

  * * *

  That night she lay in the Duchess’ bed, wishing she could use the chambers she used when she first came here. She would be blind if she denied a breach had occurred between Romulus and her. They did not talk the rest of the day and she dined in the hall alone as the butler had informed her he had work to do and took dinner in the solar.

  So, now she lay in this huge, lonely bed lost and confused as to where she stood. The talk in the solar got things blurrier than before, instead of defining the situation. And why did he have to talk about marriage, anyway?

  She heard the connecting door opening. As she turned, his proud figure stood there, the light from his bedroom illuminating him from behind, highlighting the powerful outlines of him. Only breeches, shameless, a warrior of old.

  “Why are you not in my bed?” He asked, grave and dark.

  She sat up, holding the coverlet over her nightgown. Her eyes bulged on him when he closed the door and prowled towards her bed.

  Tilting her chin proudly, she answered. “I am not your mistress to do your bidd-.” She broke off as she followed him with her eager eyes.

  He lifted the coverlet and lay by her side.

  “What are you doing?” She asked, brows pleated.

  “If you think I will spend a single night in a cold bed, you are very mistaken.” He retorted, as he caught her in his arms and accommodated both on the mattress.

  She lay there on his taut shoulder even more confused than before, as he made no move, or caress, or kiss. Nothing.

  He held her closer and in a matter of minutes she registered his regular breath. He had fallen asleep. Darn the man!

  A long time passed until sleep caught her.

  * * *

  Romulus opened his eyes to the faint light of dawn. The strange bed reminded him of the yesterday. He lay there with Annabel snuggled in him and the storm whipping the windows.

  With deep inhales, the perfume of her wild ringlets entered his nostrils. He had been at the top of his anger yesterday when the damned woman refused him for a second time. She insulted him by preferring to remain his paramour. A huff at the bloody word escaped him. He did not want a paramour, he thought derisively. He wanted her firmly planted in his life as his wife, damn it. Could she not understand such a simple thing? Her refusal came as a stab of her sword full on his chest.

  Stirring close to him her body clad in silky nightgown grazed his. Almost mounted on him, her legs entwined with his, her arms held him, her hair all over his chest. This is what he wanted, to wake up by her side every damned day!

  He had wanted her during the night but knew he should give her time, if not space. The later was beyond him.

  But then she tilted her head and smiled at him as if yesterday did never exist. Not resisting, he side-smiled back and tangled his fingers in her hair.

  “It is raining.” She commented with a sleepy voice. Her head came to rest on him again.

  “Quite a lot.” He devolved, his lips strolling over her temple.

  Her hands caressed his torso, warm and appreciative. “Not very promising for the outdoors.”

  “It might not last long.” He said, knowing as active as she was, she always wanted to ride or walk the grounds.

  “I can stay in the library.” Her fingers explored his biceps.

  “Which you like, as far as I can see.” His hand descended along her dainty spine.

  She nodded, her hair spreading even more on him. “Did your father refurbish it, too?”

  “I did it.” He said casually. The refurbishing took place when he came to live here after the war.

  At that, her attention came back to him. “Who suggested the Arthurian-themed stained glass windows?”

  “I gave the architect some hints.” His thumb roamed her cheek.

  And he hunted for the early editions of her favourite books.

  Her liquid eyes wide on him, she continued. “The book of Tristan and Iseult was made by order, as well.”

  “Yes. I contacted an artist skilled in mediaeval illumination.” She saw the book, then. “I thought you would like it.”

  At that, she abruptly sat up, the coverlet uncovering her lacy gown. But…” Her face became a study in bewilderment. “I was not here…” She trailed off uncertain.

  “You were married by all accounts.” His eyes focused on her, trying not to remember the darkest period of his life.

  “Romulus…” Rubbing her face, her brows pleated, seemingly confused.

  “Hm?” Her gaze so intent on him, it caused a physical reaction. A very hot one.

  “You… you did it for me?” She sat on her feet by him, inclining her torso towards his as if attempting to find her footing.

  “Thinking of you, yes.” His arms rested under his head, his broad chest open for her view.

  Her hands covered the lower part of her face. “Why?” It came muffled and incredulous.

  “Can you not guess?” Their eyes merged fast in the morning light.

  “I-I-“ Palms flying to her bosom, the picture of utter overwhelming.

  “I never stopped loving you, Annabel.” This came hoarse. “Don’t you know it?” Besides his chest, his heart lay open at the moment.

  Then her touch captured his bristle jaw, and she was over him, with a such a shaken look on her, her stare stabbing his with undiluted intensity. “No, you darned man, I don’t know it!”

  Moisture leaked down his nose and brows. His warrior-queen crying? “Come here.” With one arm, he tumbled her on bed and pinned her with his body. They became a maze of limbs and heated caresses. “Why on Earth would I want to marry you, hellion?” He murmured, none too steady.

  “For heirs?” Her fingers merged in his sleek hair.

  “No.” One arm locked around her waist. “To imprison you in my castle, with me.”

  She smiled the sweetest in between tears. “You barbarian!”

  “With you I am the most primitive barbarian from the remotest land.” His thumbs wiped her tears.

  Silence befell them as they devoured each other with their eyes for long moments.

  “Romulus Fabien,” she whispered.

  “Hm?” He rumbled, his sensuous lips feathering hers.

  “I love you.” He stopped short. “I do not think I have ever stopped loving you either.”

  The confession shook him to the core. “Annabel.” Was all he could mutter.

  Frozen, he still looked at her.

  She broke the silence in a very Annabel-like way. “Now, come take me, Romulus.” She arched into him. “Before I explode with want.”

  “Passionate hellion!” He rasped before granting her wish, which mirrored his.

  They celebrated their lost and re-found love with their bodies and their souls.

  EPILOGUEr />
  Three years later

  Romulus and Annabel sat in the nursery with their children. Their eldest, Claire, two, played on the floor, attempting her first full sentences. Six-month-old Christian lay in the cot, while his father enticed him with a ball, chubby arms stretched to touch it.

  Those had been idyllic years. The Duke and Duchess of Blackthorne, together with their infants lived in the castle, where Annabel insisted in continuing practising her skills. Not that her husband complained. He took full advantage, joining her when he had the time.

  She had been with child almost a year into their marriage, despite Romulus’ predictions. Christian was the recent addition. Looking at Romulus, Annabel could hardly believe in his transformation from the brooding soldier to proud father. He played and laughed with the children carefree.

  Well, he also played and laughed with her, but that was another thing entirely.

  Occasionally, the family travelled to London to enjoy the season. But she liked most when they visited her parents in their estate. Viscount and Viscountess Wolston dotted on their grand-children.

  Aunt Charlotte visited very often only to spoil her grand-niece and grand-nephew in the worst possible way. Nobody dared call her on it.

  Many new books had come to the library, especially the ones the Duchess intended to read to her young. They abounded in fairy-tales, knights errant and heroic deeds.

  Though Napoleon did not pose a threat anymore, Romulus and his secret group continued to monitor their country to prevent further treason. Annabel’s help was precious for them, because she had revealed to be a cunning strategist. She prided herself in it and never missed the glint of admiration in her husband’s murky eyes.

  They helped put the small ones to bed and left the nursery.

  “Come.” Her husband’s deep voice sounded behind her, as his hand found the small of her back. “I have a surprise for you.” His eyes expressed the worst of bad intentions.

  “A surprise?” She followed anyway. “What are you up to?”

  “Wait and see.” He answered simply while they headed apparently to the armoury.