His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  “Yes,” Jane answered. “Wouldn’t you agree he has the most remarkable brown eyes?”

  “Well, I suppose so, if you like brown eyes.” This conversation was going nowhere. How to tell Jane she didn’t think Wareham would do?

  “I am, of course, more partial to my Edmund’s light golden brown eyes,” Jane declared. “What color do you like then?”

  “Grey,” Victoria said distractedly. “I mean, blue. Yes, blue. Grey is so unremarkable. So dull.” She waved her hand in front of her, as if to dismiss the thought. To dismiss the vision of a certain pair of grey eyes from her mind.

  With a triumphant look Jane opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her lips as the boisterous group of gentlemen returned to the drawing room.

  The marchioness excused herself as the men dispersed themselves about the room. Victoria didn’t like the determined look she saw in Mr. Stanwick’s eye, so she hurried over to become better acquainted with Lord and Lady Daventry.

  The three of them chatted amiably for some time. The earl was an amusing and refreshing man who spoke whatever thoughts came to his mind. Far from looking embarrassed, his wife seemed delighted by his outspokenness. Victoria warmed to them both quickly.

  When they mentioned that their daughter slept upstairs in the nursery, Victoria’s eyes lit up. “I would love to see her! In fact, I have yet to even look in on the Northfields’ son.”

  Lady Daventry said, “Oh, please do go up and take a peek at them. I checked on Alexandra a few minutes ago. I’m sure Jane wouldn’t mind, were you to visit.”

  Taking Victoria by the arm, Lady Daventry steered her over to Jane, who happened to be in conversation with Taviston, Lady Smitherton and Louisa.

  Taviston’s back stiffened noticeably. He did not, however, look her way at all. Inside, Victoria grinned. She could, conceivably, consider his reluctance to look at her as another point in her favor. Was that four or five now?

  With no hesitation, Lady Daventry interrupted. “Jane, Victoria would like to see the babies.”

  “Oh but of course! I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it earlier.” A look of disappointment came into Jane’s eyes. “Regrettably, I cannot leave my guests right now.”

  “I will accompany you, Miss Forster,” Taviston offered, much too quickly.

  This was no good. Victoria did not want to be alone with him. Speech deserted her and she could only glare at him.

  He stared solemnly back and, without warning, wiggled his right ear.

  Her hand flew to her mouth, but not before a giggle escaped. Lowering her head, she pretended to cough while trying desperately to hold back even more laughter. She would have to give him two points!

  When she finally did look up with moist eyes, everyone gaped at her.

  As Victoria’s coughing died down, Jane began to look uncomfortable. “Right. Well, er—”

  Louisa opened and closed her mouth twice, as if she couldn’t decide whether to speak or not.

  Lady Smitherton finally did. “I should love to join you,” she proposed. “I never pass up a chance to see the little dear ones.”

  “Excellent,” Jane said on a huge exhalation. “Taviston, you know the way. Do enjoy yourselves. We’ll see you soon.” She swept the three of them toward the door with shooing motions.

  LADY SMITHERTON WAVED the two of them ahead. “I am not as young as I used to be. You two go on; I won’t be far behind.”

  Taviston and Victoria both started to protest, but she immediately quieted them. “I do not need assistance in walking, but I will be maintaining a slower pace. I will still be capable of performing my duties,” she said, giving Taviston a speaking glance.

  “Very well,” he said and gestured for Victoria to head down the hallway.

  With reluctance she did so and Taviston fell into step beside her. She glanced back and saw Lady Smitherton following them, about thirty feet behind.

  They didn’t speak at first. Victoria didn’t trust herself to open her mouth, especially when Taviston still seemed to be on edge, despite that astonishing ear wiggle.

  He finally broke the silence. “Trying to land a marquess now, are you?”

  His tone was casual, but she sensed an underlying accusation. It was unfortunate she had no idea what he was talking about. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Jane and Northfield are playing matchmaker for you, aren’t they? I suppose I never realized you had such aspirations for a title as high as marchioness.” Now there was a definite derogatory tone in his voice.

  How did he know about Jane’s matchmaking efforts? Victoria would have preferred to keep such information quiet. She was not at all enamored with his attitude either.

  “I am afraid I do not understand, Your Grace.” She emphasized the sobriquet to annoy him. “The only marquess present is Lord Northfield and he is already married.”

  Taviston snorted. “Ah, but young Lord Wareham is the heir to a marquessate.”

  “I didn’t know. But I hardly see the relevance. Any marriage of mine is no concern of yours, sir.”

  Why couldn’t he have kept his observations to himself? Any polite, well-bred man would have, and he certainly prided himself on being just that. And drat him for looking so good tonight. It befuddled her that she could find a man so annoying and yet want to kiss him until they were both breathless.

  They stopped outside a door on one of the upper floors of the house. This must be the nursery. She tried to steel herself against the physical yearning she still felt for him. Her hands wanted nothing more than to smooth the frown lines from his forehead and jaw. Her brain wanted those same hands to smack the arrogance from his face. And her lips, well, they were once again thinking about exploring every inch of skin on the man.

  Clearing his throat, he admitted, “You are correct. It is none of my business.” After a pause, he continued, “However, I find something odd in your attempting to find a husband in such a calculating way. I would have taken you for a woman who would only marry for love.”

  His words caught Victoria off guard, and him too, judging by the shocked expression on his face.

  Lady Smitherton suddenly appeared beside them. “Here I am. Shall we go in and see those dear children?”

  Victoria smiled at her friend and Taviston opened the door for the two of them. A nursery maid greeted them with a curtsy. She indicated two standing cradles, near the crackling fire in the fireplace, but not so close as to overwhelm the occupants with heat.

  Lady Smitherton was already cooing over the first cradle, so Victoria crossed over to the second and peeked in. Nestled under a blanket was an adorable infant of about three months.

  “Oh, she has her father’s red hair!”

  “You may hold her if you like, miss,” the nursery maid offered quietly.

  Taviston now stood beside her and he steadied the cradle while Victoria reached in to pick up Lady Alexandra Russell. She snuggled the baby in the crook of her arm and couldn’t resist stroking the fine red locks.

  “She is a beauty,” Taviston said in a low voice. He was standing behind her, gazing down at the baby.

  The sleepy baby yawned and Victoria felt her heart leap. If she could find a suitable husband, she could soon have a child of her own to love.

  She turned to Taviston. “Would you like to hold her?”

  “Certainly.”

  His answer startled her. If asked, she probably would have guessed the duke kept his distance from children.

  As she placed the tiny bundle in his arms, her hand brushed his. Heat shot down her arm and spread throughout her body. Her eyes flew up to his face. His gaze turned stormy once more, but he quickly lowered his eyes to the infant in his arms.

  Lady Smitherton approached them, cradling the other baby. “I find myself tired after the climb up here. Would you mind taking young Dominic here, Miss Forster, so I might rest in the rocking chair over there?”

  “Of course, Lady Smitherton,” Victoria replied, taking the baby.

 
Taviston walked over to the window. Victoria joined him. He nodded at the babe on her shoulder. “Have you been formally introduced?”

  She smiled at him. “Why, no.”

  “Miss Victoria Forster, this is Dominic Charles Henry Spencer, Viscount Oakham, but much more importantly, my godson.” She had never seen Taviston look prouder, but she could imagine he would be when his own child was born. A little black-haired angel with lovely, smoky grey eyes.

  Victoria turned her attention to the window, where the rain Mr. Stanwick had predicted assaulted the glass.

  The subject was long past, so she wasn’t sure why she brought it up again, but she felt the need to defend her heart. “Under different circumstances, you would probably be right. I would only marry for love. But my situation warrants an escape, sooner rather than later, so I am willing to toss love aside and settle for respect.” She let out a caustic chuckle. “I am not altogether certain I like what that says about my character, but there you have it.”

  “I understand,” he said quietly.

  She looked over the head of baby Dominic and caught a look of sympathy in Taviston’s eyes. Sympathy and the underlying passion always lurking in the grey depths. No, she most likely only imagined the passion. Wished it to be there, a reflection of what surely filled her eyes. Blasted handsome man.

  Looking back at the window this time she saw their reflection. Taviston didn’t appear to realize she could see him plainly, but the way he looked at her made her breath catch in her throat. It wasn’t only imagined passion. There was a smile hovering around his lips and it almost looked as if he cared. About her. Another illusion.

  “We should let these sleeping babes lie in their own beds and make our way back downstairs,” he said.

  He always chose the oddest moments to be practical. Victoria gave a quiet sigh and returned the blond-haired infant to his cradle. Taviston did the same with Alexandra. They gave each other twin smiles when they had accomplished the feat without waking the little ones.

  The nursery maid nodded to them both as they headed out the door.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Taviston led the way down the hall and the stairs, a newfound calmness replacing his earlier tension. He wasn’t sure if that was because he had been holding tiny Alexandra Russell or because he had been in the presence of Miss Forster. For damn sure he wasn’t going to analyze it any further.

  Miss Forster had looked so comfortable holding the babies. She would no doubt make an admirable mother for the children of some lucky man. Maybe even for Lord Wareham.

  Hell, but his stomach was aching again. He was generally as healthy as could be so this lingering stomach ailment bewildered him.

  As they came down another flight of stairs Taviston glanced at her. She had been silent after admitting she had given up her dream of marrying for love. In one respect he couldn’t blame her, but in another he was a little disappointed she had so easily thrown over her ideals.

  At the bottom of the staircase there hung a cozy picture of a fireside scene in some anonymous cottage. Taviston stopped to stare at it and then felt a slow grin stretch his mouth wide.

  “Are you all right?” Miss Forster inquired.

  He looked down at her with amusement. “I want to show you something. Come along.” He lifted a lamp off a side table and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the hallway, away from the drawing room.

  “Taviston! What are you doing?”

  She protested but he noticed she willingly followed him and didn’t attempt to remove her hand from his. Good, because he wasn’t giving it up. It felt entirely too right to be clutching her small hand in his.

  “I want you to see something,” he repeated. He slowed his steps so she could walk beside him.

  “Might I remind you this isn’t your house?” she said primly.

  “I know that. But it is like a second home to me. Northfield and I split our childhood days equally between my house and his. I could find my way around Northfield House blindfolded.” Taviston glanced down at their joined hands and immediately stilled his wayward thumb, which had somehow started to caress the back of her hand. But he didn’t let go.

  They turned a corner and encountered a darkened hallway.

  “You apparently will have to find your way around in the dark,” Victoria muttered.

  “We have a light,” he countered with some impatience. “Will you trust me?”

  He couldn’t see her very well in the meager light of the lamp, but she gripped his hand a little tighter and said confidently, “Yes.”

  He smiled, to himself mostly, since she probably couldn’t see him either. “You won’t regret this. It is very much worth seeing and I can assure you Northfield would never show it to you.”

  They rounded another corner and entered a hallway briefly lit by a flash of lightning shining through a tall window at the end of the hall. But within seconds the portrait gallery was plunged back into darkness.

  “I apologize for the poor lighting. But come, look.” Taviston gestured to the right side of the hallway.

  As they walked closer, he held the lamp up high to shed as much light as possible on the portraits.

  “These are Northfield’s ancestors. Tell me what you see.” He couldn’t keep his amusement from seeping into his voice.

  “I really don’t see anything unusual about these portraits,” she said as they moved down the hall and he illuminated lord after lord.

  Finally, they stopped in front of a portrait from the eighteenth century. As Victoria studied the picture, Taviston surveyed her profile in the brief burst of lightning that lit the hall again.

  Her face puckered in bewilderment. “It’s a traditional portrait of a titled gentleman, with his horse in the background and hunting dogs lying at his feet.”

  “Exactly. That man is Northfield’s grandfather.” With a tug of her hand, he led her to the end of the hallway, by the window now shaking from the booming thunder disturbing the night.

  “This is Northfield’s great-great grandfather,” he said triumphantly as he raised the lamp to shine on the picture.

  She couldn’t take her eyes off the seventeenth-century portrait. They grew wider and wider until tears formed, and she dissolved in a fit of giggles. Inanely, he found her giggles engaging. Reluctantly releasing her hand, he set the lamp down on a table.

  He stepped behind her, eyed the portrait himself and said, “What do you think?”

  She tried to compose herself, clearing her throat, but a few more giggles slipped out. At last she said, “I have never seen a nobleman painted with his—his cats!”

  It was true. Whereas most members of the nobility were painted with their horses or their hunting hounds, this particular man had himself painted surrounded by four cats of varying colors. One sat beside him on the chair, two at his feet and the fourth sprawled on the back of the chair.

  “Northfield is beyond embarrassed by the picture. But it is his great-great grandfather, and he was Earl of Northfield. So he leaves it hanging, albeit tucked in the corner.”

  “You know that I’m a cat lover, but I can see Northfield’s point of view. Then again, it’s always fun to have an eccentric or two in the family. They provide such interesting stories.”

  She still gazed up at the portrait but Taviston had lost all interest in the silly picture. The spot where her neck met her shoulder entranced him and without a thought, he brushed his fingertips up the sides of her arms. She shivered. He leaned down and pressed his lips fully to the patch of skin on her neck that held him enthralled. Inhaling her sweet lavender scent left him lightheaded.

  He raised his lips to her ear and whispered, “I have wanted to kiss that particular spot all evening. And quite a few others.” As he finished speaking, he gently nibbled her earlobe.

  She took a steadying breath and replied, “I really do not think we should be discussing kissing.”

  Pulling herself out of his very light grasp, she turned around to face him as he question
ed, with more than a little disappointment, “No?”

  “No.” She clasped her hands around his neck, stood on tiptoe and brought her mouth to within an inch of his. “I think we should actually be kissing.”

  Oh bloody hell. He briefly glimpsed the heat in her shimmering blue eyes before he sealed his lips to hers.

  Taviston poured all of his pent-up passion into that kiss, knowing he might never have the chance to taste her lips again. And ah, what sweet lips they were, like heavenly fruit. So soft, so essentially Victoria Forster.

  Sliding his hands down her back, he gently kneaded her rear. She moaned into his mouth and he gripped her tighter, pulling her against his arousal. He was thrilled when she didn’t stiffen in shock and then moaned himself when she rubbed against him.

  She had learned a lot from their last kiss. Brief though it had been, she now employed every move he had made that evening. Deepening the kiss with a tilt of her head, she didn’t hesitate to unseal her lips and allow her tongue to enter into the hot recesses of his mouth.

  He had never been this inflamed before. Harder than a brick. Every nerve in his body alive and alight. Everywhere her body touched his—her hands stroking the nape of his neck, her breasts flattened against his chest, her stomach crushing his erection—he felt pleasure so exquisite he didn’t care if he ever lived to see another day. This, here, now, was enough.

  Some small, rather irritating part of his brain tried to send him two cautions. The first was that he could not possibly satisfy his desire for her with just one kiss, and the second was that even what he was doing now was wrong, wrong, wrong.

  The rest of his mind overpowered the poor little practical part and wanted to know why it then felt so right, right, right. All of this thinking detracted from his experiencing the passion and pleasure of a lifetime, so he tuned it all out and focused all of his efforts on ensuring she too felt the same intense gratification.

  He softened his lips over hers and turned the kiss in a more sensual direction. She sensed the change and willingly followed his lead. He stroked his hands up under her arms and skimmed his thumbs along the sides of her breasts, causing her to bring her hands around to cup his face and then nip at his lower lip. Damnation, but she packed a lot of passion into such a small body.