Loving Lord Ash

by Sally MacKenzie

  And yet . . .

  The duchess had been happily married to her duke for over thirty years, and she’d made countless successful society matches. Roger, though he definitely had some unusual proclivities, was no idiot. If he’d carefully saved the duchess’s leaflets and loaned them to her, he must think Kit’s mother had something useful to say on the matter of love. She certainly knew more about it than Jess did.

  She shifted from foot to foot and glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was early. Kit was likely still at table drinking port with his father and brothers. She would just have a quick peek.

  She picked up the packet, untied the ribbon, and started reading the first page.

  Men are not women dressed in breeches.

  Well, of course they weren’t. Even she knew that.

  They are far more aroused by their senses than we are.

  Hmm. That might be correct. Men certainly did a lot more obvious ogling than women did.

  Thus if you wish to seduce—

  “What are you reading, Jess?”

  “Ack!” Her hands flew up, and the papers sailed off in all directions.

  Kit was standing in the doorway with Fluff.

  “I’m sorry. Did I startle you?”

  She scrambled over the floor, scooping up the errant leaflets. “No, I always scream and throw things when people enter the room.”

  He put the brandy decanter he was carrying on the bureau. “Here, let me help—”

  “No!” She dove to grab a sheet at Kit’s feet before he could pick it up.

  Fluff, having sniffed the paper and found it completely uninteresting, went off to lie in front of the fire.

  Kit scowled at her. “Why don’t you want me to see what you were reading?”

  Had she got them all? She looked around wildly. Yes, she thought she had. “Believe me, you don’t want to see these papers any more than I want to show them to you.”

  He closed the door. “What, are they love notes from the footman?”

  “Er . . .” If he only knew how funny his question was. “Not exactly. That is, yes, Roger gave—or, rather, lent—them to me, but he didn’t write them.” She stuffed them back in her valise and shoved the bag into the wardrobe. “I believe I will go to bed now.”

  Kit was still scowling at her, but there was really nothing more she could say. Roger had been quite right. She definitely could not show those papers to Kit.

  He scowled at the wardrobe for good measure, and then turned back to her. Thank heavens he was too honorable to rummage through her things.

  “I was concerned when I didn’t see you in the drawing room. Mama said you’d gone to bed. Are you not feeling well?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just tired and a bit overwhelmed by your family.” Might as well say precisely what she meant. “By your mother.”

  Kit grimaced. “She, ah, means well.”

  Oddly enough, she was willing to grant him that. The duchess hadn’t been unkind or even high in the instep.

  “Did you know at supper she was hinting that I might be increasing?” She hadn’t meant to tell him that. It had just popped out, probably because she was still in a fluster over his finding her reading Venus’s Love Notes. “I can’t promise I’ll behave if she keeps looking at my stomach.”

  Which of course made him look at her stomach, which wasn’t well shielded since she was wearing only her nightgown.

  Her threadbare nightgown.

  . . . if you wish to seduce . . .

  She did not. Well, at least not tonight. She scampered over to the far side of the bed, climbed in, and pulled the covers up to her chin.

  Kit moved farther into the room and removed his cravat. Her stupid heart beat faster at the sight of his naked neck.

  “I imagine she is just engaging in wishful thinking,” he said. “She assumes we’ve been together all this time.”

  “Yes, but wouldn’t it still be too soon to know such a thing, even if we had . . . that is, even if we’d been . . .” Her face must be red enough to glow. “You know.”

  Kit was staring at her. Surely he was thinking, as she was, about what the exercise of getting a child entailed, though of course his thoughts must be far more detailed, since he’d actually performed the deed.

  “I don’t know.” His cheeks looked rather red as well. “I have no idea how long it takes for, er, signs that one is increasing to appear.”

  She watched him pull his shirt over his head. Oh! Her heart had gone from a quickened beat to pounding, her blood pulsing in her chest and head and locations rather lower down. He hadn’t got his flat belly and muscled arms from sketching building plans.

  She really would love to paint him naked, though she would have to overcome this overwhelming . . . hunger if she wished to get any good work done. At the moment, she wanted to run her hands over his broad chest far more than she wanted to brush paint over a canvas.

  She gripped the coverlet to keep her hands from misbehaving.

  He sat down to remove his shoes and socks. Once that was done, all he’d have left to take off would be his pantaloons and drawers. And then she would see—

  A drenching heat flooded her, pooling in her lower regions.

  No! It was too soon. He still didn’t trust her.

  “What do you want to put on the bed?” she asked, rather too breathlessly.

  He frowned at her, a sock dangling from one hand. “Pardon me?”

  “You know—as a wall? You stay on your side, and I stay on mine?” She had to get this settled so she could blow out her candle and close her eyes or she would see more than her willpower could withstand. She did not want to suffer the humiliation of attacking Kit and having him push her away.

  He looked extremely annoyed. “You can trust me not to take advantage of you.”

  Blast it, he didn’t comprehend the situation at all. But why should he? He didn’t feel this overwhelming attraction. “Perhaps you can’t trust me.”

  His eyes widened in shock.

  Why the hell had she said that? “Don’t worry. Your virtue is safe. Fluff can serve the purpose admirably. Fluff!”

  Fluff’s head came up, and he gave a happy woof before launching himself onto the middle of the bed.

  Venus Valentine, the Duchess of Love, put down her hairbrush and sighed.

  Her duke, propped up in bed, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, turned a page in his book.

  She sighed again, louder.

  “If you wish to say something, Venus, just say it.” Drew glanced up at her over his glasses. “You are not usually one to beat around the bush.”

  “Yes, I know, but in this case I don’t know what I wish to say.”

  It was Drew’s turn to sigh. He closed his book and put it on his nightstand with only a very brief look of longing as he laid his glasses on top of it.

  “I can see I am never going to finish the History of the Peloponnesian War.” He patted the bed beside him. “Come over and tell me what is troubling you.”

  Venus needed no second invitation. “I don’t know why you persist in reading that dusty old tome.” She slid under the covers and under his arm, putting her head on his shoulder and snuggling up against him. Mmm. He and his side of the bed were wonderfully warm. She could feel the tightness in her neck and shoulders begin to loosen.

  “Perhaps because I’m interested in Greek history?” He pulled her closer.

  She put her free hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating slowly, steadily, calmly. “Pshaw. All that fighting happened years ago.”

  His fingers smoothed her nightgown over her hip. “Yes. That is why it is called history.”

  “Very funny. Aren’t you concerned about Ash and Jess?”

  “No. Should I be?”

  She raised her head to look at him. He was not joking. The man was impossible. “Of course you should be. You were extremely concerned just a few months ago.”

  He shrugged. “Yes, but that was before Ash went to Blac
kweith Manor. Now they are together again.”

  “No, they are not.” Drew was usually far more perceptive than this.

  He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised. “Excuse me? They are both here, are they not?”

  “Yes, of course, but they are not together.”

  His brows furrowed. “I fail to see your point. They are in the same bedroom. I assume they are even in the same bed. That is rather together, wouldn’t you say?”

  “No.” Surely Drew realized it was possible for a couple to be physically touching yet have an unbridgeable chasm separating them.

  “Then perhaps you had better explain the matter to my poor male intellect.”

  Venus leaned up on her elbow so she could see him better. “You must have noticed how shocked and dismayed they looked when they saw us come out of the house.”

  “Of course they were shocked and dismayed. They thought they were going to have the place to themselves.” He reached out and pulled her back down next to him. “You are letting too much cold air in under the coverlet.”

  It was warmer down here next to Drew. His body was like a furnace.

  His fingers were beginning to stray where they shouldn’t, at least not yet. She captured them and put them on his chest.

  “No, it wasn’t that. I thought so at first, but after watching them . . .” How to describe that intangible connection, the unspoken communication, that existed between two people in love, and that was so notably missing between Ash and his wife? “They aren’t comfortable together. I don’t think they even like each other.”

  “Oh, I think they do. There was far too much desperation in the air for them to be indifferent.”

  “Hmm.” She laid her head on Drew’s chest to think about that. “Yes, you may be right. But Jess is so tense. I don’t think she cares for me.”

  “She hardly knows you, Venus.” He freed his hand to rub her shoulder in a comforting way. “Ellie is from the gentry; her father was one of my school chums. It was easy for her to become part of our family even before she married Ned. But Jess’s father was our head groom. Far more skilled and appreciated than most servants, but not quite gentry, either.” He smiled. “And Irish. I’m not sure he wanted to be too accepted by us English.”

  “He was rather proud and independent, wasn’t he?”

  “As is Jess.”

  “Yes.” Now that she thought of it, she’d seen both those traits in Jess, even when she was a little girl. “But she played with the boys when she was young. We never made her feel like a servant.”

  “Didn’t we? You never invited her to your parties.”

  “N-no, but that was for her benefit. You know our guests would not have been kind to her. They would have given her the cut direct.”

  “Very likely, but does Jess know that?”

  She lifted her head to frown at him. “She must. She’s not naive.”

  “No, she’s not. But did we ever explain to her that we didn’t feel she was unworthy? She may well have taken the lack of invitations—especially when Ellie was included—as a judgment rather than an attempt to shield her from pain.”

  She’d never considered things in that light, but Drew might well be right. A sick, heavy feeling weighted her chest. She would never have wanted to insult or wound the girl. “But you know it would never have worked.”

  “I know, and I’ll wager Jess knows.” His mouth tightened. “Even better now.”

  That sounded ominous. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that I believe Jess has had a rough time of it these past eight years. From what I can gather, she’s been ostracized by everyone, even the damn curate.”

  “That’s terrible. Why didn’t you do something?”

  Drew’s frown deepened into a scowl. “I gave Blackweith to Ash—it’s his estate and his wife. And . . .” He rubbed her shoulder again. “You know as well as I do that there was something seriously amiss between them even on their wedding day.”

  “Yes.” That had been a horrible time. “Remember how Ash looked when he told us he was marrying Jess? It was during that dreadful house party right after her father died.”

  Drew nodded. “He looked grim. Thank God he found us alone. I wouldn’t have put it past him to have blurted out his plans in the middle of a drawing room full of your damn guests.”

  Yes, Ash had seemed distressed enough—almost wild, really—to have done that. “And then he left to get the special license. He seemed so angry.”

  “I tried to find out what the problem was,” Drew said, clearly reliving the events as she was, “but he wouldn’t say anything.” He stroked her hair. “I even asked the servants, and you know how I hate to do that. I never want the boys thinking we are spying on them.”

  “No, indeed.”

  “No one seemed to know anything . . . except Alfred. But I couldn’t force myself to make him tell me.”

  “What?” She sat up. “You think one of the footmen knew what had caused Ash to go rushing off for a special license, and you didn’t demand he tell you everything?”

  Drew pulled her back down. “No, I didn’t. It felt dishonorable, and, well . . .” Drew’s jaw clenched.

  “Well what?”

  His eyes held worry and pain. “Alfred was angry about the situation. I think Jess had been hurt in some way. . . .”

  Shock hit her like a blow to the stomach. “You think Ash raped her?”

  “N-no.” Drew was scowling again. “I would swear there was no way in hell Ash could do something that heinous, especially as he’d been so close to Jess since childhood, but something was clearly very, very wrong. I thought perhaps in the heat of passion, he’d taken an amorous encounter farther than he’d intended. You know he always held himself to such a high standard. Feeling guilty and trapped at the same time might have explained his anger and sense of desperation.”

  “Yes, I suppose it might have.” She liked that possibility far more than the thought her son could have forced himself on Jess. “Oh, why didn’t she talk to me?”

  “Why would she? You are the duchess and Ash’s mother.”

  “But I’m also a woman. I would have helped her.” Guilt joined her churning feelings. “I should have helped her. I saw she wasn’t happy, that Ash wasn’t happy. I should have insisted on finding out exactly what was going on.”

  Drew shook her gently. “Don’t castigate yourself, Venus. I could have done more, too. But I thought, as you did, that Ash truly cared for Jess and that all would be well.”

  “Oh, I wish I had done something.” Guilt overwhelmed her. Her heart twisted. “If only I’d tried to help, I might have saved them eight years of loneliness and a lifetime without love.”

  Drew cupped her cheek and tilted her face toward his. “That doesn’t sound like the Duchess of Love speaking.”

  “It’s not. It’s just a worried mother.”

  He clucked his tongue. “Don’t despair. I think Ash and Jess do love each other.”

  “And that sounds like what I should be saying.” Venus laughed, though the sound was a bit watery. She sniffed and blotted a few tears with her fingers. “I thought you swore you would never turn into the Duke of Love.”

  Drew grimaced. “Good God! Forget I said anything. They hate and detest each other.” He grinned and kissed the top of her head. “But I think it will be very interesting to see how they survive sharing a room and a bed.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Worry rushed back. “Do you think I should move Jess?”

  “Oh, no. Definitely not.”

  “But if Ash is . . . if he might . . . Do you think he would . . . ?” She couldn’t say the ugly word.

  “No. If he’d been going to do something like that, he would already have done so. They’ve been together quite a number of days now. Jess may be angry and uncomfortable, but I’d swear she’s not afraid of Ash. And did you see the protective way he held her—and how she leaned into him—when they got out of that hired coach and saw us?”

  “Y
es. Yes, I did.” She grinned. Perhaps things were not so bleak after all. “You’re quite right about that.”

  “However, I would advise against hinting any more about grandchildren.”

  She flushed. “Yes, of course. I got a bit carried away at dinner.”

  “And speaking of getting carried away . . .” He traced the rim of her ear. “I would like to get carried away with my wife.”

  “Oh.” Ten minutes ago—even just five minutes ago—she would have sworn she had no interest at all in marital relations, but after thirty-one years, Drew knew exactly where and how to touch her to make her forget everything but him. She sighed with pleasure and let her worries go as she sank into the heat of her duke’s embrace.

  Ash woke up slowly. His head was pounding, and his mouth felt like it was full of sawdust. Blech. He should not have drunk all that brandy last night. He’d brought the decanter up thinking another glass or two might help him sleep, and he’d planned to offer Jess a glass as well, but then she’d run for the bed as if she was afraid he’d ravish her.

  Mmm. She had looked rather ravishing in that nightgown. It was as translucent as the shift she’d worn at the White Stag. In the fire’s glow, he could see all too clearly her delightful curves—her breasts, her waist, her hips, her long, lovely legs, and the darker shadows that were her nipples and the curls at the juncture of her—

  Zeus! His damn cock jumped at the memory, tenting the coverlet.

  He turned quickly on his side, but he needn’t have worried. The bed was empty. Jess must have woken and taken Fluff downstairs for a footman to walk. Ash had been so dead to the world, he hadn’t heard her leave.

  Well, of course he’d been dead to the world. Once Jess—and Fluff—had gone to sleep, he’d donned his banyan and sat up drinking. When he’d finally lain down, he’d tossed and turned, listening to Jess’s soft breathing and Fluff’s snuffling and intermittent moaning—and shoving back against the damn dog when he tried to crowd him out of the bed. The animal was not sleeping with them again.

  He pushed himself to sit. The room spun briefly, but then settled down . . . as did his stomach. No more brandy for him for a while. He’d drunk the whole bloody decanter.