His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  My God, how that changed things.

  He snuffed out all the candles and then climbed into bed. Snaking an arm around Victoria, he drew her up beside him. Once she settled her head on his chest, he pulled the sheet over the both of them.

  He had never in his life actually slept in a bed with a woman. Leaving immediately afterward allowed him to keep his distance, preventing his paramours from becoming attached to him and then declaring their “love” for him.

  But he couldn’t very well ask Victoria to leave. Well, he could; she had a perfectly comfortable bed in the next room. But in fact, he had no desire to have her go. It was only fitting that the aftereffects of their lovemaking were so different than anything else he had ever experienced because this most certainly was a singular event.

  He rubbed his hand up and down her back and couldn’t resist placing a kiss on the top of her head. She was all the passion he ever could have imagined. And this was only the beginning. He could have a lifetime of the same. Because she was his wife. He settled his arm behind his head. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps making love to a wife was extremely different—better—than such an experience with another.

  He shut his eyes for a moment. What an absurd thought. If such was the case, no man would ever be unfaithful to his wife. Still, this night had been glorious. Before, with others, he had merely been satisfying a physical necessity. But with Victoria... They had shared a piece of themselves with each other. He not only felt physically sated, but mentally replete as well.

  Thank God she had not been harmed by those kidnappers. Even so, he would make them pay for what they had done to his bride. Beginning tomorrow...

  With only the dying fire to illuminate the room he couldn’t see much of her. Her silky breath wafted across his chest though and her left hand lay splayed upon his ribcage. He pulled his arm from beneath his head and covered her hand. The warm metal of her ring touched his palm. He traced the circle of gold and gems with his finger.

  He hesitated but then answered her earlier question in a hushed voice. “I chose the ring because the emeralds reminded me of your vibrancy and vitality, and the diamonds of your clarity and beauty.”

  Victoria lifted her head and propped her chin on his chest. Her blue eyes flickered once, then her lashes swept down and she again rested her cheek against his chest hair. On a whisper the words “thank you” escaped from her lips. Taviston tightened his arm around her and then settled in to sleep.

  Marriage wasn’t so difficult after all. As he drifted off, he thought his wife might have whispered something else, but he couldn’t make out the words.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Weak sunlight struggled to penetrate the curtains. Victoria stretched and the sheet slid down, exposing her breasts to the cool air.

  Flashing her eyes open, she snatched the sheet back up to her chin.

  She was naked.

  Sitting up slowly, she surveyed the room, finding no one present, not even Taviston. She smoothed her hand across the mattress to where he had lain. No heat remained there, indicating he must have risen a while ago.

  The sun escaped briefly from a cloud and displayed a shimmer of white on the dark coverlet. Clasping the sheet to her chest she reached down and retrieved a snowy white dressing gown.

  “Thank you, dear husband,” she said aloud to the empty room, vowing then and there to no longer grumble about Taviston’s thoughtfulness.

  It was the day after her wedding. The day after her wedding night. Her lips curved upward, and she sank back onto the bed. After the splendor of last night, she had high hopes for the day, or rather, the rest of their married lives. She had never felt closer to another human being. Taviston might not love her, but he treated her so well she could not really complain.

  Within an hour she had bathed and donned a simple yellow dress. A maid had thoughtfully brought up toast and tea, so Victoria felt ready to face her first day as a married lady.

  As she stepped out into the hallway, she realized she had no idea what time it was or even where she was in the house. Most of Taviston’s relatives had stayed the night after the dinner party, so she really should find her new female family members and become better acquainted.

  Luckily, a footman walked around the corner.

  Victoria felt silly asking how to get downstairs, so she started with the least idiotic question. “Pardon me, but do you know the time?”

  “Twelve o’clock, Your Grace.”

  She stared right through the servant. He had called her “Your Grace.” She was a duchess. Somehow that fact had escaped her yesterday.

  A duchess.

  She nodded her head decisively. She could do it. Dragging in a deep breath, she lifted her chin and opened her mouth to ask the footman her second question.

  But he was gone. He must have taken her nod for a dismissal.

  No matter. As a duchess, surely she could find her way downstairs. She set off down the hall with confidence, and promptly became lost in a section of the house she had never seen before. Victoria roamed around, admiring the handsome furniture and stunning paintings that lined the hall, marveling that she lived here now—in a house one could get lost in.

  Further along, a door stood ajar and as she approached, the sound of voices drifted out. Perhaps someone could direct her back to the main part of the house. Even better, perhaps it was Taviston.

  She first recognized Peyton’s pleasing tone but her intention to announce herself died on her lips as her brother-in-law’s words reached her ears.

  “What will you do with your unsuitable duchess now? If you find her domestic and social skills lacking you can’t possibly allow Mother to turn the household over to Victoria.”

  Though Taviston’s deep, sensual voice sent a shiver down her spine, she could not decipher his reply. He must have been standing much further across the room.

  Unsuitable? Lacking?

  “Oh really?” Peyton said now.

  She still couldn’t hear her husband’s response, but she was distracted anyway by a slow, dull throbbing in her heart. It seemed Taviston’s outward kindness toward her was not at all a true reflection of his feelings.

  His low-pitched voice rumbled on for some time and Victoria sank against the wall. Scandalous, unsuitable, incapable—he couldn’t think much less of her. The tiny hope she had embraced that she might someday gain his love disappeared into—

  Her crushing thoughts were interrupted by Peyton’s voice. “A few days ago, you were certain she couldn’t even host a simple dinner party or a—”

  Taviston must have cut Peyton off. Tears threatened to surface in her eyes, but she had had years of practice in suppressing them. Enough of this. Shoving away from the wall, she strode down the hall, turned left and then stopped. What was she to do? She had been prepared to suffer, living with the man she loved, but she had never imagined he thought so poorly of her.

  “Victoria!” Peyton hailed her from behind.

  Fie. Inhaling deeply, she faced him. “Good afternoon, Peyton. Could you direct me to my bedchamber? I seem to have lost my way.”

  “Of course.” He offered her his arm then spoke again. “Victoria, did you marry Taviston just because he’s a duke?”

  Her gaze snapped up to his face. The question itself surprised her, as did the grave tone in which her usually carefree brother-in-law had delivered it.

  She said stiffly, unsure of the tenor of the conversation, “I married your brother for numerous reasons.”

  “That isn’t a denial.”

  Wrenching her hand away she increased her speed, despite having no idea where she was.

  Peyton easily caught up to her. “I’m sorry if that was harsh. I only want to know the truth. I believe you have the potential to hurt my brother. I won’t stand by and watch that happen.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible,” she muttered.

  “Of course it is. He has feelings.” His voice hardened considerably in defense of Taviston.

 
His vehemence drew a measure of admiration from her. Peyton clearly cared for his brother. Unfortunately, the irony of the entire matter stunned her. Here she was, with a heart shriveled by Taviston’s words and yet his brother warned her against hurting him.

  She lashed out. “I’m sure I do not know what you are speaking of, Lord Peyton. What goes on between your brother and me is no concern of yours. I would thank you very much to stay out of our marriage. You may rest assured; I have no intention of wounding Taviston.”

  Emotionally anyway. She did have an overpowering urge to slap both her new husband and his brother. Peyton’s face immediately softened at her chilly manner, but she turned and ran down the hall, ignoring the pleading call of her name.

  With a sense of direction, she didn’t know she possessed she found her way back to her bedchamber. A new plan for her married life popped into her head, fully formed. She would quit London and go to Taviston Hall. Taviston could resume his old life, without worrying about her ruining his social status and she could suffer in private. Perhaps steel herself to one day live under the same roof as her husband, unwitting keeper of her heart. She knew she couldn’t stay away forever, but right now she deemed it necessary.

  She resolved to pack up her things and leave as soon as possible.

  TAVISTON SLIPPED HIS watch out of his waistcoat pocket as he headed for the privacy of his study. Half past noon. He had yet to see his new wife today but that didn’t concern him overly much. She had to be exhausted after yesterday—and last night. He couldn’t stop a smile. Married life suited him very well indeed. He had fought all morning to concentrate on the kidnapping instead of what he planned for tonight.

  Victoria’s kidnapping troubled him. Someone, and it most certainly wasn’t Frank or Spade, had put much effort into taking her. The motive could not have been money. Otherwise, those two buffoons would not have contemplated abandoning her or killing her. Taviston shuddered at the idea.

  Entering his study, he strode to his desk. Early that morning he had dispersed men to find out as much as they could about Frank, Spade, the carriage, anything. His coachman had validated Victoria’s theory. The man had arrived at No. 6 Somerset Street at precisely nine o’clock and been told by the Brownes’ butler that Victoria had just left. The coachman had assumed there had been some confusion regarding her transportation and had returned the carriage to the stables.

  Now Taviston intended to wait in the quiet comfort of his study for reports from his investigators. He had already spent time today with his visiting relatives, most of whom he hadn’t seen since Christmas. Indeed, some of his relatives must have driven at breakneck speed in order to arrive in time for the wedding. Apparently, the family was much relieved to finally see him settled and they were downright giddy that he had made a “love match.” No one had been told the truth, which left him feeling uneasily guilty in their presence.

  But everyone seemed to approve of Victoria. She had certainly impressed Taviston yesterday with her dignified behavior during the long hours after the wedding. He admired her all the more after learning of her ordeal. She had an inner strength that would carry her through many a difficult situation.

  His thoughts drifted to the night before. The magnificence of his wife’s curves. Her soft velvety skin. Her glorious breasts. And—

  A quiet knock sounded on the door. He glared at it. Would he never be able to daydream in peace?

  “Come in.”

  Halston led one of the investigators into the room and Taviston spent the next thirty minutes taking notes on all the man had to report. Finally left alone, he tried to focus his attention on the information he had just received, but his thoughts kept wandering back to his wife.

  Earlier, Peyton had been uncharacteristically confrontational, asking Taviston how Victoria could possibly succeed their mother as Duchess of Taviston. But now that Taviston knew Victoria better, he had no doubt she would successfully step into her new role. She had all it would take.

  Victoria was independent—they had met while she had been walking her cat, alone, at midnight. She was intelligent and eager to learn—their intellectual conversations proved that. She was courageous and inventive—as evidenced by the kidnapping and escape yesterday.

  Taviston leaned on his desk, lost in deep thought. A shadowy musing slithered into his brain, but it disappeared before he could turn his thoughts from Victoria’s virtues. She was compassionate, witty, outspoken, loyal, without pretension.

  With a jerk, he sat up straight. That slippery thought of a moment ago formed into a damning conclusion.

  He loved her. He loved Victoria.

  He staggered out of his chair feeling slightly nauseous.

  He was in love with his wife. How the devil had that happened? He had spent so much time trying to find the ideal duchess that Victoria had been able to sneak right into his heart, catching him unaware. She might be everything he never wanted in a wife, but she was perfect for him. She made him laugh, and more importantly, kept him from being too serious.

  Looking back over the last month, he granted that the signs were all there, at least in hindsight. At Northfield’s dinner party he had been terribly jealous. Even now he could not forget the heartache and despair he had suffered when Victoria had at first refused to marry him.

  What to do now? Find her, of course. What more could he need, then to be with the one he loved? He was halfway to the door when a knock resonated.

  Halston entered, accompanied by another investigator. This could not wait.

  Taviston spent the next hour and fifteen minutes caged inside his study. He usually considered the room a sanctuary, but not today. The rest of his men, four in all, arrived with reports of their activities, one after the other. He was, of course, extremely intrigued with all the information the men relayed—especially the fact that Victoria’s maid had not ridden in the carriage with her.

  But more than anything he wanted to go to Victoria. He had no idea whether or not he would tell her about his feelings. He couldn’t contemplate how this would all play out, but he wanted to be by her side. Now. Or rather, seventy-five minutes ago.

  He tidied up the sheets of paper he had taken notes on and laid them in a desk drawer. As he closed the drawer another knock resounded on the thick door. He stared at it malevolently. Would he never get out of there?

  Checking a growl of frustration, he rose to greet his mother. He had held out a small hope it might have been Victoria. The more fool he.

  After exchanging brief pleasantries mother and son sat. Taviston eyed her across the expanse of his desk with impatience.

  “What do you need, Mother?” he asked, more curtly than he meant to.

  “You don’t look well, Taviston,” she replied with concern, not answering his question at all.

  “I am fine. What is it you need to speak to me about?” He had drained his supply of patience completely in the last hour.

  “I wouldn’t think a newly married man would be so irascible one day after his wedding,” she said amiably, clearly unperturbed by her eldest son’s manner.

  Good God, he loved his mother dearly, but he didn’t care for her company right this moment. He sat back, crossed his arms tightly over his chest and leveled a glare at her.

  “It is past two o’clock and this married man has yet to see his wife this day. I have somewhere else I would like to be, so if you could kindly tell me what you need, I would be most appreciative.” He admitted to himself his tone was a little harsh, but again his mother didn’t seem to notice.

  “I apologize for keeping you. I have decided to accompany Harriet back to Hampshire this afternoon. I haven’t seen my grandchildren in too many months.”

  Once again Taviston’s thoughts had drifted to Victoria—specifically her beauty, both inside and out—and he hadn’t comprehended anything his mother had said. Something about his sister and a hamper. A picnic perhaps?

  “Dearest.” The word was affectionate, her tone not nearly so. “Your sist
er has invited me to visit her in Hampshire and I believe I will stay a few weeks.”

  Ah, that made more sense. “You, the Duchess of Taviston, are going to leave London in the midst of the Season?”

  She smiled. “I am now the dowager duchess, my darling, but yes, I am. You and your duchess need some time to yourselves. Since you have postponed your wedding trip until later in the summer, this seems a perfect solution.”

  “Very well.” They both rose and exchanged a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Do be careful traveling.”

  “Do not worry about me. Enjoy your private time with Victoria.” She paused then added, “I believe she will make you a fine wife indeed.”

  “Yes, she will.”

  His mother blinked repeatedly, surprised at his affirmation, but she didn’t comment. She did, however, leave with a smile on her face.

  Finally.

  Taviston straightened his waistcoat and tugged on his coat sleeves, making sure his appearance was worthy of the woman he loved. Before he could take one step toward the door another fist met the solid wood in a firm rap.

  He suppressed an outraged roar with difficulty and threw open the door himself. Halston stood on the other side.

  “What?” Taviston said rudely.

  “Your Grace, I think you should follow me. There is something you need to see.”

  Halston’s quiet, firm tone had Taviston putting aside his argument. Besides, if he went, he would actually escape his study, which was a step in the right direction.

  “Lead on, Halston.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Goose-flesh dotted his skin as Halston led him to the door of his wife’s bedchamber. What was this all about? Taviston ignored the question as he realized he was now exactly where he wished to be—if his wife was inside the room.

  Halston rapped solidly on the door and then drifted backwards down the hall, a surprisingly glum expression on his face. Victoria’s soft voice bade him to enter. A foolish grin spread his lips wide and in that instant, he decided to share his newly discovered knowledge with his wife, consequences be damned. With any luck she would then willingly allow him to show her just how much he loved her.