Although Daphne had a maid for most of her life, it was still peculiar, watching as someone else slid stockings down her legs. She bit her tongue to keep from protesting. It would not be good to alienate all the staff of Cheney Fold on her first night. She might be here for quite some time.
The steaming water was heavenly. Daphne lay back, allowing the heat to ease her sore muscles. She glanced at Janice in mild annoyance. Daphne was accustomed to bathing herself. She knew it was customary for a servant to do such things, but she had often felt embarrassed about her body. Darcie had not questioned her on this matter, not once.
Daphne would have to wean the staff of some of their more annoying habits, she decided. Tomorrow. She would begin tomorrow. Accepting it would be a short bath, she sat up and allowed the maid to begin the lather.
A short time later, wrapped in a heated drying sheet, she padded into the bedchamber. She shook her head in bewilderment. It was, by far, the largest bedroom she had ever seen in all of her eighteen years. The floor was laid with thick lavender carpet that her shoes simply sank into. The walls were covered with pale lavender silk. There was a rosewood armoire that matched the rosewood writing desk and the enormous bed.
The bed…well, the bed was another matter altogether. It was as big as a lake, wide and long. A pale purple coverlet, only a shade darker than the lavender walls, was overlaid with fine, intricate lace. Hundreds of plump pillows were nestled against the headboard, covered in pale lace and lavender velvet. Willowy lace draperies were tied back with purple string.
Her eyes trailed to a pair of cheveled glass doors that, she could tell by the light illuminating the room, led onto a balcony. She imagined it would overlook the front gardens.
A chaise longue, upholstered in, what else, lavender brocade was settled against a window. There was, she noticed, a fold of lace over the end of it.
Even as she watched, Janice went over and captured the flimsy lace. When she unfolded it, Daphne realized it was a sheer, translucent nightrail. Surely no proper woman would willingly garb such a thing, she thought, scandalized. It was lavender, like the room, lissome and long. The only thing that held it together were two little bows up over each shoulder, leaving her arms bare and the rest of her body revealed in flowing transparent lace.
“Um…”
“Allow me to help you,” Janice said determinedly.
Gulping, Daphne gave in. It looked better than it felt, she thought unhappily. The lace was scratchy and soft all at once. She glanced down at herself in disgust. Sighing, she resigned herself to giving in, just this once.
Daphne returned to the washroom and cleaned her teeth. Already, her efficient maid had set out clove rinse. Daphne couldn’t help but marvel at her efficiency. It would grow annoying too quickly if the girl knew what she needed before Daphne even did.
Then another thought struck her. Just how many women had James brought here that needed a lady’s maid?
“Your hair?”
Still being bossed around, she thought mulishly, her pre-wedding annoyance returning tenfold. She did not give in to tantrums or temper this time, however. She withstood the torture silently, as a proper duchess surely would.
Sniffing disdainfully, she allowed herself to be soothed and prodded and perfumed until, at last, the efficient Janice thought her ready for bed. It was only after Janice had tucked her between silken sheets and turned down the lamp and finally left her annoyed ladyship alone that Daphne began to wonder what was to happen next.
It was painfully obvious. She was meant to await her lordship’s pleasure, of course.
Daphne snorted.
* * * *
The room was dark when James strode in through his adjoining chamber. He saw the curve of a bare shoulder, the glint of a soft curl, nestled in the center of the bed. Shrugging out of his dressing gown and letting it drop to the floor, he strode eagerly to his awaiting bride.
She was his. All his. He still couldn’t get over it.
He slid behind her, reaching out to touch. Her skin was warm and welcoming beneath a stretch of odd material. He pull the cover back to reveal lace and white-and-gold skin. His stomach tightened. Possessive hands reached around to cup her full breasts.
Daphne stirred enough to send him an exasperated look over her shoulder.
“I’m sleeping here.”
James rolled her onto her back. “Well, I’ll just amuse myself, then.”
Daphne squealed as he suckled a ripe nipple into his mouth, suckling her through the lace. She delved her fingers into his hair, kneading his scalp even as she arched up. It was the most amazing sensation, the scratchy lace abrading her sensitive flesh even as his mouth devoured.
“Oh God,” she moaned.
James drew up to send her a cheeky grin. “I thought you were sleeping,” he reminded her.
“Yes…sleeping. Having a great dream,” she mumbled incoherently.
He found the hem of the slip of material and drew it up to her hips. “What about?”
Daphne arched her hips up so that his bulging erection brushed against the apex of her thighs. “An incubus,” she panted.
“Mmm.” His fingers delved into her moist center until he found her swollen nub. He tweaked it playfully, grinning when she screamed. “What does he do to you?”
Daphne trailed her fingers down his chest, smiling smugly as his breathing grew more shallow. She moved past the thatch of springy hair between his legs, loosely sliding her fingers across his throbbing manhood until she found the heavy sac beneath. She had discovered how sensitive it was earlier in the day. As she lightly scraped her nails across him, he whimpered low in his throat.
“Well, at the moment, he is wasting precious time...,” she teased him, “...on idle conversation.”
“How foolish of him,” James managed faintly.
“Mmm,” she agreed as his hands slipped beneath her buttocks to cup and knead.
“A waste of time,” he growled as he stretched his hands up to her bodice to grip the delicate material, “when he could be pleasuring his woman.”
With one strong tug, he ripped the material clean down the center. Beneath he found beautiful woman. Full and ripe and wanton.
“Who says she is his?” Daphne breathed.
He tossed the material over the edge of the bed. His mouth descended towards her hungrily. Daphne wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with fervor.
When he pulled away, her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed and her eyes hazy. He nodded smugly.
“Well, I guess he’ll have to brand her,” he said roughly.
“Huh?”
His lips curved around the curve of her neck. “The incubus will have to brand any woman foolish enough to claim she is not his,” he reminded her.
That was nice, Daphne thought weakly as his lips teased her into a frenzy. He nibbled at her throat, licked his way down to her breasts. He suckled and fondled her breasts until she was begging him for no more. She writhed beneath him, arching and crying out as his fingers caressed her moist folds.
James kissed his way down her rounded belly, marveling at the soft, sweet flesh. He nibbled there, again and again, fascinated. He loved the way it curved, softened beneath his touch. He rubbed his cheek across it, driving his incubus-loving woman mad. Then he kissed his way down one thigh, all the way to the soft, sensitive inner circle. Nibbling, he shifted until his cheek lightly brushed against her moist curls.
Finally, he made his way there, brushing his knuckles across her again and again until her legs fell apart of their own volition. He could not wait for her reaction to this newest pleasure he intended to introduce to her. Slowly, with infinite care, he drew he dewy folds of skin apart.
She was beautiful, he thought as he saw her. Moist and ready for the tender loving he had planned. He
intended to go slow this time, loving her the way a wife was loved by her husband. He lowered his mouth and licked decadently upward.
Daphne screamed his name in a frenzy of anxiety and wonder.
“Whatever do you think you are doing?” she shrieked.
James lifted his head and said, “Branding my woman.”
With a wicked leer, he lowered his mouth.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Daphne awakened alone during her first morning as Duchess of Cheney. Janice had returned, with a tray laden with delicate dishes that had whetted her appetite. It would be painfully easy to gorge herself on delicious food, she realized. She carefully forced herself only to have dry toast and her customary glass of milk, although it was a difficult challenge.
When Janice opened her armoire, Daphne came to a shocking revelation. Not a single of her own gowns were arranged so carefully in the glossy wood. Oh, no, she did not own any of the bright, jewel-toned gowns displayed. Not a one. She had presumed James would have most of her clothes sent on, considering he had only sent what she would need for the fortnight she had stayed with Chrysanthe’s mother.
As she dressed, she realized that even her unmentionables belonged to someone else. Oddly enough, the fit her well, perfectly in fact, she mused, utterly flummoxed, as she dressed in an emerald-green day gown. Struggling over that peculiarity, she strode downstairs, only for Mrs. Tibbs to meet her with instructions from her husband that she was to have a tour of the place.
Such a place it was. There were enormous portraits, old and expensive, hanging everywhere. Walls decadently covered in bright colors, rooms meticulously decorated. Expensive rarities that would have several acquaintances she had met during her short Season weeping with longing.
At the end of two hours, Daphne had not seen even half of the place. At that point, she had claimed exhaustion, asking where she might find her husband. He was, of course, in his study. Mrs. Tibbs kindly gave her directions.
Of course, Daphne got lost. Who wouldn’t, she thought miserably, in such a mammoth place? It was humiliating, however, when she had to ask a harried footman to point her in the right direction. By the time she knocked on the ornate oak door, she was doubly annoyed.
James opened the door himself, a distracted expression on his face. When he saw that it was his wife interrupting his work, he forced his mind away from his work and struggled to focus on her, a challenge for him as he was not accustomed to such lovely distractions.
“Dearest wife,” he greeted her, drawing her to a comfortable chair. “How are you feeling?”
Daphne blew a stubborn curl out of her eyes and gave him a steely glare. “You know exactly what I’ve been doing, since you commanded it, Your Grace.”
He frowned. “You have leave to call me James, Daphne. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
She was ravenous, and now greatly regretted the fact that she had not eaten a single palatable thing. She thought of her belly, however. Always given to excess fat, she had to be very careful. She knew James would take off with all haste if she began to gain weight again. She had worked hard to become an acceptable weight and she absolutely refused to become the brunt of cruel jests ever again.
“I am not hungry or thirsty, James.”
He lifted a brow at her petulant tone. “Do you like your new home, Daphne?”
“I do not like it at all,” she told him honestly.
His eyes went wide. In his youth, he had been chased by an endless array of debutantes who would have given their eyeteeth to become mistress of the vast estate. His was one of the most handsome, and most productive, estates in all of Britain. It was a point of pride with him. He could not believe that his Daphne could not enjoy it.
“Would you like something larger?” he worried. He would build her something twice as big if she was displeased.
“Bigger?” she snapped, blanching. “Pray, do not jest, James! This is a horrendous monstrosity. Why in heavens did you ever think you needed so much room?” she wanted to know. “I dare say the whole of Lilac Manor would fit in your library alone.”
He ogled her, unable to believe what he was hearing. “You think it is too immense?”
“Yes, James,” Daphne hummed.
To her irritation, he threw back his head and roared with laughter. Daphne crossed her arms across her chest, wrinkling her nose impatiently. Sensing her discord, he wiped the tears from his eyes and met her steely glare.
“Sweetheart, this is the Cheney country seat,” he tried to explain.
“It is ridiculous.”
“I grew up here,” he told her.
She tilted her head, considering. She tried to imagine a chubby little boy toddling around the rooms. It was impossible.
“You did?”
“Yes, of course.” He ran his fingers through his hair. He should not have told her that.
“Did you break anything?”
James laughed, despite the difficult memories. “There is little to be broken in the playroom.”
“Playroom. I presume there is a nursery, as well. Isn’t there?” she accused.
His brows lifted at her offensive tone. She seemed livid. He could not understand why.
“Of course there is,” he affirmed. “Is there something wrong with a nursery?”
“Yes, there is,” Daphne snapped. “I suppose you had a legion of nannies to see to your every whim, too.”
His face blanked. He refused, absolutely refused, to go back to those memories. “There is a nursery, and a playroom, Daphne, and if you desire to make changes, you are certainly within your right. I was considering it myself.”
Her heart lightened. She could make changes?
“What kind of changes were you thinking to make?” she wanted to know. She was curious. James had never indicated what appealed to him.
“I thought one of the parlors would make a good studio for your painting,” James said softly.
She frowned. The only change he wanted was for…her? It was baffling.
Unwilling to test the waters in that territory, she folded her hands in her lap and found another upsetting topic. “James, why didn’t you send my clothing here?”
He sent her a confused look. “I did, sweet.”
“You did not,” Daphne insisted fervently. “While this is pretty,” she said, stroking a finger along the silk, “it is not mine, and that bothers me.”
What bothers me most, she added silently, is that you have had other women here. Enough to keep a closet full in preparation for them.
“Daphne, that is your gown,” James laughed.
“It isn’t. I have never seen it before,” she objected.
“It is part of your trousseau,” he explained patiently.
“My…”
“Trousseau,” he repeated. “What did you think, Daphne, that you were wearing…” He trailed off at the miserable look in her eyes. “You did think it,” he marveled.
She shook her head, refusing to discuss those feelings with him. She was embarrassed to be caught so easily. “When did anyone have time to prepare my trousseau?”
“I sent in the order while you were preparing our wedding. They already had your measurements.”
He must have put it on a rush, she marveled. Staggered, she stared up at him.
James sighed inwardly. He glanced down at the paperwork scattered across his desk, then to the beautiful woman he had married. He wanted to do nothing more than forget the work and introduce her to his home. Indeed, he had risen three hours early so he could spend his afternoon doing just that. A sudden idea hit him.
“Would you care to take lunch with me this afternoon, Daphne?”
She blinked at him. “Luncheon?”
“Yes, in…two hours,” he decided. The rest, he could finish later. Tonigh
t. Tomorrow. A year from now.
Daphne lowered her eyes, effectively veiling the hurt from him. James saw entirely too much for her peace of mind. He wanted to get rid of her. She had seen the pile of paperwork on his desk. So…little had changed since they wed. He had his quiet time in his study, and Daphne had…
Paint. Well, this is what she’d asked for, wasn’t it? She had wanted to have the freedom to do whatever she wanted and be left alone. He was giving her exactly what she wanted, wasn’t he? She had never thought that it would be James who gave her that freedom, though. Indeed, where this man was concerned, she would only be too happy to bound by his side.
“That would be lovely, Your Grace,” she managed over the lump in her throat.
“Wonderful,” he beamed, and meant it. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her. Any part of her. “Why don’t we plan it on the east terrace? It is a lovely day.”
“Of course.” She doubted he would show up at all. “It will be a pleasure. I am sure you are very busy,” she added as she rose.
James watched her go with a painful stitch in his chest. Yes, he was very busy. Hundreds depended upon him for their very survival. Still, he felt like the lowest sort of cad for sending her off.
He wondered why.
Shaking his head over inconsequential matters of heart, he picked up his quill and went back to work.
* * * *
He actually showed up. Daphne could not veil her shock when they sat down on an elegantly appointed table overlooking the grounds.
James tucked his napkin into his lap. “You did not believe I would meet you?”
He sounded furious. Daphne slowly unfolded her own napkin with a great deal more attention than was necessary. “You are a busy man, Your Grace.”
“I gave you leave to call me by my given name,” he snapped.
“I am sorry.”
James closed his eyes and forced himself to count to ten. In Greek. This was not how he wanted to spend their afternoon. Him snapping, and her addressing him in a fearful little quiver of a voice. He intended to charm her and bed her—as many times as possible.
A Kiss to Remember Page 25