When the Duke Was Wicked
Page 24
Tearing his mouth from hers, he dragged it along her silken throat. “I love you.”
She smiled, dropping her head back to give him easier access. “I adore you.”
“Then come to me.”
He lifted her up, settled her down, feeling her heat envelop him as she sheathed him. She felt marvelous. So tight, so molten. God, she was like a furnace.
She rocked against him, rode him. Unbashful, unrepentant, unapologetic. She was wildly beautiful when passion caught hold of her. Her blue eyes dazzled, her skin flushed, her hair danced around her like living flames. Red and copper.
His rose. A bud who had unfurled into something rare and precious.
She was his, as he was hers. For whatever time they had. He would relish every moment. He didn’t fear losing her. He feared wasting moments that they could have shared. She would no doubt grow tired of his constant attentions.
He cupped her breast. It barely filled his palm, but it was enough. Gently, he kneaded, his thumb circling the pearl of her nipple. She looked down on him. With his free hand, he cradled the back of her neck and brought her down.
“I love you,” he rasped again before taking her mouth. He should not be this hungry for her again, and yet he was. She stirred something deep inside him that had never been touched. Odd for a man who had loved as deeply as he had to discover that there were depths yet to be explored.
Breaking off the kiss, she pushed herself up, pressing her palms to his chest, leveraging herself, riding him with wild abandon. The pleasure built. Her cries echoed around him, her spine arched, and she threw her head back.
“Gorgeous,” he rasped, just before his orgasm shook him to the core.
She sprawled across him. He draped his arms over her, holding her near, while his heart settled into a normal rhythm, a rhythm that beat for her.
Grace awoke to an empty bed, something she’d not expected. It was still night. The clock on the mantel indicated that it was a bit past two. Reaching out, she touched the rumpled sheets where Lovingdon had lain. They were cool.
Slipping off the mattress, she donned her nightdress, but didn’t bother with the wrap at the foot of the bed. She wanted her husband.
She found him in the library, standing in front of the life-size portrait of his wife. It was no longer above the fireplace but perched in front of it. She didn’t resent it, knowing that Juliette and Margaret had shaped him, would always be part of him. But something inside her twisted. She’d hoped that at least on their wedding night it would be only the two of them in this house, in his bed. It seemed they could not escape the memories or the ghost of his previous life.
Lovingdon glanced over his shoulder. He hadn’t bothered to straighten his hair, mussed from her fingers. She wanted to muss it some more. “Grace?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Come here, sweetheart.”
She hesitated, knowing she was being silly to feel as though she were intruding. This was her home now, their home. She forced herself to move forward. When she was close enough, he took her hand and drew her in against his warm solid body.
“I didn’t expect to find you gone from our bed,” she said quietly.
“I was just saying good-bye to Juliette.”
She looked up at him. His gaze wasn’t on the portrait, but on her.
“When I was unconscious, fevered, in pain, I kept hearing this strong, determined voice urging me to let go, of life I think.”
She nodded. “I wanted you to be happy.”
“But if I let go of life, it meant releasing you, and I could not find the strength to do that. So I let go of Juliette. I am not the man who fell in love with her. Nor am I the man with whom she fell in love.” Turning, he cradled her face. “I am the man who fell in love with you. God knows I didn’t want to love you. I think losing you would kill me—but the thought of not having some days and nights with you because of my own cowardice . . . I could not live with myself if I missed out on a single moment with you.” He kissed her then, gently, sweetly.
She understood what he was telling her. She was right for him, perfect for him. He had changed, and she loved the man he was now. She loved everything about him.
When they broke apart, she could have sworn that the smile on the portrait seemed softer, warmer.
“I’m going to put a portrait of her and Margaret in my study, so I don’t forget them. The rest are going into storage. You are my life now.”
As much as she relished his words, she couldn’t be so selfish. “I don’t want you to forget them.”
“I shan’t forget them; I couldn’t if I tried, but it is time for me to begin anew.” He lifted her into his arms and began carrying her from the room.
“I love you, Lovingdon,” she said against his neck.
“When I’m done with you, in an hour or so, you’re going to love me just a little bit more.”
She laughed. “What have you in mind, my wicked duke?”
He smiled at her, and she realized that she already loved him just a little bit more.
Epilogue
From the Journal of the Duke of Lovingdon
In my lifetime I loved two women. I cannot say which I loved more because I was a very different man when I loved each of them. And I loved each of them differently.
I began adulthood with Juliette.
When my life comes to a close, it shall be with Grace at my side.
She blessed me with an heir, a spare, and a daughter. While I know that a father should not have favorites, I must admit my ginger-haired little girl wrapped herself around my heart the first time she wound her small hand around my finger. Watching Lavinia grow into womanhood was one of the most joyous, yet bittersweet aspects of my life. She resembled Margaret not at all, but there were times when I watched her that I could not help but mourn my first daughter.
Being as strong-willed as her mother, Lavinia did not serve as a substitute for Margaret.
Just as Grace did not serve as a replacement for Juliette.
When she was forty, Grace exhibited signs of another malignancy, and Graves did what needed to be done to ensure that she not yet leave me. She had once asked of me, “Is it not better to hold someone for a short span of time rather than not to have held them at all?”
During the agonizing hours while I waited for him to assure me that she would be well, I came to accept with startling clarity the truth of her words. All the moments we’d shared—I would not have given up a single one of them in order to spare myself the sorrow of losing her.
Holding her for a short time was indeed preferable to never having had the pleasure of holding her at all.
But this time the Fates were kind, and they allowed me to hold awhile longer that which I treasured above all else.
We are up into our years now. I see no signs that we shall be parting anytime soon.
My darling Grace wished only to marry a man who loved her. She met with astonishing success in that regard. For I loved her yesterday, I love her today, and I shall love her for all eternity.
Whether or not the Fates are kind.
Author’s Note
The beauty in writing fiction is the license I have to change facts so they match what is needed for the story.
Public awareness of breast cancer is a recent phenomenon, which is why only Grace’s parents knew of her condition. Unfortunately, the mores of Victorian times made it something of which to be ashamed, but in quiet corners I’m certain Grace encouraged women to pay attention to their bodies.
By this time in history a good many physicians had begun removing lymph nodes when they performed mastectomies. As anyone who has read the Scoundrels of St. James series knows, Dr. William Graves was ahead of his time when it came to caring for his patients. While I didn’t go into the details of his treatment for Grace, rest assured he took all measures known at the time to ensure she lived a long life.
The beauty in writing romance fiction is the license I h
ave to ensure my couples always have their happy ending. Lovingdon and Grace are no exception. They lived long, joy-filled lives.
I enjoyed sharing their story with you and look forward to sharing Drake’s next.
Warmly,
Lorraine
Romances by Lorraine Heath
WHEN THE DUKE WAS WICKED
LORD OF WICKED INTENTIONS
LORD OF TEMPTATION
SHE TEMPTS THE DUKE
WAKING UP WITH THE DUKE
PLEASURES OF A NOTORIOUS GENTLEMAN
PASSIONS OF A WICKED EARL
MIDNIGHT PLEASURES WITH A SCOUNDREL
SURRENDER TO THE DEVIL
BETWEEN THE DEVIL AND DESIRE
IN BED WITH THE DEVIL
JUST WICKED ENOUGH
A DUKE OF HER OWN
PROMISE ME FOREVER
A MATTER OF TEMPTATION
AS AN EARL DESIRES
AN INVITATION TO SEDUCTION
LOVE WITH A SCANDALOUS LORD
TO MARRY AN HEIRESS
THE OUTLAW AND THE LADY
NEVER MARRY A COWBOY
NEVER LOVE A COWBOY
A ROGUE IN TEXAS
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
WHEN THE DUKE WAS WICKED. Copyright © 2014 by Jan Nowasky. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition March 2014 ISBN: 9780062276230
Print Edition ISBN: 9780062276223
FIRST EDITION
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