His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  Victoria smiled, but it faded as Taviston reached past her to replace the gloves on the mantel and blatantly trailed his fingers down her neck and her bare arm.

  She greatly feared her heart showed on her sleeve. Oh, to have every moment of her marriage be as intimate and precious as this. His eyes overflowed with affection and the color grey had never seemed so warm.

  Slowly desire took over in the grey pools. Victoria could have easily jumped in. However, in self-preservation, she looked away and then returned to the desk and began writing. Her physical attraction to Taviston overwhelmed her. Passion, however, was not the central issue in their marriage. Love and respect were, though she doubted he knew it.

  Although... He was kind and generous. She couldn’t deny that. “Thank you for offering Timothy employment.”

  He, too, had taken his seat again. He smiled softly. “It was nothing.”

  It was something.

  Oh, how she wished she could see into the future. This whole marriage situation left her on edge and the entertaining business threatened to push her right over. If only she could know how long her pain would last and how deeply it would cut. If only Taviston loved her as well. If only...

  In utter silence they finished the invitations. Victoria gathered them up to take to Halston for delivery. Her unnaturally cheerful husband saw her to the door with a smile. Blast him.

  She escaped to her room, knowing she needed to change for dinner and prepare to spend yet more time with her husband. After ringing the bell for the maid, she searched for Arthur, but he was nowhere to be found. When she rose from looking under the bed, it was to see Molly grinning at her from the dressing room door.

  “Shall I curl your hair tonight, miss? Er, Your Grace?” Molly hastily dipped into a curtsy.

  “Oh, Molly!” Victoria rushed over and took the girl’s hands in hers. “I’m so glad to see you. Are you also now employed by the duke?”

  “I am! He sent Mr. Halston hisself to inquire for me and Timothy. I’m ever so happy to be here, especially as I’ve been promoted to lady’s maid. For a duchess. Can you believe it, miss? Oh bother, Your Grace.”

  “I want no one else for my lady’s maid, that’s for certain. And please, do not worry about the ‘Your Grace’ business. It’s just me, Molly.”

  Molly shook her head. “Oh no, ma’am. The duke hisself greeted me and Timothy and told us we must treat you as the duchess you are.”

  He did, did he? Once again her stomach warmed at his newfound thoughtfulness. Could he possibly befuddle her more? Victoria shoved her blasted husband firmly out of her mind. “Yes, Molly, please curl my hair.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  With just four days to go until the dinner party, Victoria should have been more vigilant about her time.

  Alas, when Taviston asked her to take an after-dinner stroll with him and Arthur, she found herself unable to refuse. They walked around Mayfair in companionable conversation, discussing the onward progression of spring, Arthur’s habit of chasing leaves, the horrifying assassination of the prime minister and the political maneuvering to find a successor, and much more.

  Then at breakfast the next morning she’d been weak-willed, unable to tell her in-good-spirits husband she didn’t have time for a ride in the park. She’d half-heartedly tried to beg off but then Taviston challenged her to a race. Her competitive nature had won out. They had raced—at a dignified trot of course—down Rotten Row. She’d been so impressed with herself for staying atop the horse, she hadn’t even cared that Taviston bested her. He’d had nothing but good things to say about her horsemanship.

  The fresh air and the laughter they’d shared had been good for her. Until she remembered how angry she was with him. It was getting harder and harder to sustain her ill-will towards him. Once they returned home, she threw herself into more planning and organizing. When evening came, she escaped for a night out at the opera with Jane.

  Now she was returned to Taviston House and determined to avoid her omnipresent duke. She made it to her room and breathed a sigh of relief as Molly helped her dress for bed. When she walked out of the dressing room, a flash of pink on the green coverlet snagged her attention. Warily she crossed to the bed. A perfect pink rose lay there, accompanied by a note.

  My dearest Victoria,

  Please accept this rose with my heartfelt apologies. I am so sorry for my regrettable and hurtful words the day after our wedding. While they may have expressed my initial feelings, I have not spent a minute of our marriage thinking you will make anything but a wonderful and gracious duchess. Furthermore, I am confident your dinner party will be a night to remember. I look forward to it with enthusiasm.

  Your contrite husband,

  Taviston

  By the time she finished reading the note, unwanted teardrops dotted the soft cotton paper. He sounded so sincere. Could she risk entrusting her heart to him? Could she survive an outright rejection from the one she loved? Dare she open herself and endeavor to find out his true feelings?

  Not tonight. She hadn’t the wherewithal after a long day. She sighed and reread the note, then crossed to the small writing desk in the corner. Opening the drawer, she made to shove it out of sight, but her sketch of Taviston caught her eye. She pulled out her sketchbook, intent on hiding the illicit drawing away but her artist’s eye gave it a critical review. For barely glimpsing the man au natural, she hadn’t done a terrible job of rendering his body. Having since explored him in the flesh, however, she could certainly make improvements and refinements.

  Oh, to have him pose for her. Would she have him stretch out on that enormous bed of his? Or would she have him recreate that masculine, feet-spread-wide stance? Would he be aroused by her artistic scrutiny? Her body flushed at the thought. Knowing him carnally as she now did, could she even attempt to draw him without succumbing to her own desire? Not likely, considering her breathing was erratic from just imagining him naked in front her. She trailed a finger across his chest, remembering how hard those muscles were. Her core tightened as her gaze slid to his shaft.

  A sharp knock on the connecting door startled Victoria into a flurry of action. She jumped up, knocking over the chair while trying to shove the sketch into the book and then force the whole thing back into the desk drawer. She righted the chair and then flew to the bed, scrambling under the covers before blurting out, “Yes?”

  Taviston poked his head in while Arthur sauntered through the opening. “I wanted to wish you a good night. I hope you enjoyed your evening with Jane.”

  She mustered a convincing smile even as her heart beat wildly. “Yes, thank you, I did.”

  “Well then,” he said, “I hope you sleep well.”

  “Good night,” she replied with relief, but his attention had been stolen by a scratching noise.

  Victoria looked on in paralyzing panic as Taviston came around the door and lowered himself to his haunches beside the desk chair. Beside Arthur, that wretch, who half-stood on a piece of paper, pawing it desperately as if it were dirt.

  “What have you got there, Your Majesty?” Taviston lifted the heavy vellum and Victoria watched in horrified fascination as his eyebrows climbed ever higher.

  Slowly, she slid further beneath the covers. Whether it was the naked sketch of him or one of the other more innocuous drawings, this wasn’t going to end well for her. Just as she was about to pull the coverlet over her face, he raised his head. His grey eyes were molten.

  “Did you— Did you draw this? Me?”

  She nodded, seeing no way around the truth. But just because he knew the truth about that one sketch, didn’t mean he needed to know about the others. Or about Mr. Ripley and Hither and Yon. She needed to distract him from asking further questions.

  Tossing back the coverlet, she advanced on her husband.

  TAVISTON WATCHED EVERY step his wife took as she crossed to him. The sketch of him—naked beneath his dressing gown just as he was now—was of no interest to him when she looked at him li
ke that. She stopped a mere foot from him and let her eyes travel the length of him. Hot blood rushed to one particular part of his body, which she must have noticed given the flush of red dotting her cheeks.

  Her nightgown was the usual white cotton affair that draped her breasts and flowed outward from there, concealing the rest of her body. That fact did nothing to dampen his desire. He loved her. He wanted her.

  He should walk away from her. He knew he should. With the desperation of men everywhere, he made a bargain with himself. He wouldn’t touch her unless she made the first move. If she didn’t, he would retreat into his own room and stay there.

  Lifting his heavy lids, he met her blue gaze, where the fires of desire burned brightly. Hell and damnation. She took a step closer and easily slipped the paper out of his hand, tossing it toward the desk.

  “I think I need to make a further study of the subject,” she said in low voice, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. Her hands swept inside his dressing robe, seared a trail around his waist, and when they reached his back, pulled him closer. Her lips parted, inviting him to taste her.

  Still, he resisted, though the effort made his entire body ache. She had to want this. Had to want him.

  “Charles.” She rose up on her tiptoes, bringing those luscious lips ever nearer. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

  In a flash he captured her mouth while sinking his hands into the silky strands of her hair. He devoured her soft, pink lips and to his utter relief and satisfaction she returned the favor.

  Incapable of anything but sensation, Taviston spun the two of them around until his backside hit the desk. Something crashed to the floor with a thud, but he ignored it. He collapsed against the wooden desk, pulling Victoria in between his legs.

  She settled herself against him and poured herself into the most passionate kiss Taviston had ever received. He gave back all of himself, hoping against hope she would realize as much. He didn’t always do well with words but perhaps here, in the most intimate moment of their marriage, she would understand his heart.

  Unexpectedly she withdrew her lips from his. Not daring to look at her face, Taviston continued to rain his kisses down her cheek and around to one of the minute little ears he so cherished. He flicked his tongue over the lower part of her lobe, and she shivered against him, setting his nerves humming.

  After lavishing such attention on her ear that he could hear her labored breathing, he released it and skimmed his mouth down her neck and shoulder, nipping her creamy skin along the way. Hearing what might have been a moan, he relaxed the arm that encircled her, and she fell back an inch or two.

  He untied the bow securing the neckline of her nightgown and pulled it down to reveal her breast. Her breath hitched as she sucked in air. He licked and tweaked her nipple with his tongue and teeth until she thrashed against his cock.

  Neither of them had said a word in a while. He longed to whisper something of his feelings but feared using his voice would bring Victoria back to her senses.

  Then abruptly, she pushed away from him. Taviston stifled a groan until she hoisted the hem of her gown, drew it over head, and discarded it without a care. She was everything he could have wanted.

  Leaning forward, she touched her now red lips to his. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but it was enough to distract him from her true intent. Every muscle in his body tensed to the point of breaking when her palm skidded across the top of his shaft.

  Victoria continued to stroke his mouth while her hand became bolder and bolder. As she ran her thumb down the sensitive underside, Taviston thought his tense muscles might snap in half. He grasped her shoulders with his hands and eased her back. A moonbeam from the nearby window lit her face. Satisfaction, but no smile, reigned there. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her hand reaching for him once again. He snaked his hand out and captured hers. Victoria raised her eyebrows and instantly Taviston remembered how, on their wedding night, he had promised that next time she could touch him as much she liked.

  This was next time.

  With only the smallest amount of reluctance he released her hand and it returned immediately to his cock. He braced himself against the desk, enduring the painful pleasure of her exploration. Still playing upon her face, the moonlight showcased first her open curiosity and then her increasing desire. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth and the blue of her eyes deepened into dark, steamy pools of midnight.

  A moment before Taviston thought all might be lost, Victoria loosened her grip. With abandon she pulled him across the room. Stopping beside the bed she raised her hands to his shoulders. In one fluid motion she stripped his dressing robe off him. Victoria eased herself back onto the mattress; Taviston followed.

  As he gloried in running his hands over every bare inch of his wife’s skin, a very small corner of his brain distanced itself from the sensual assault on the rest of his body and begged him to stop. While Victoria willingly participated right now, she would regret her actions later. Of a certainty. Passion and physical pleasure were not the paths to take to her heart and would undoubtedly spoil any progress he had made thus far.

  But he couldn’t stop.

  Not when she returned the favor and rubbed her hands over his fiery flesh. And not when she kissed and nibbled his lips and jaw. Especially not when she moaned with satisfaction as his finger slid into her wet core.

  They lay facing each other, but the moonlight that had bathed her in beauty earlier did not reach the bed so he could not see the expression on her face. Soon enough though, he knew she was ready as her murmured moans became more insistent.

  Taviston turned her gently until she lay on her stomach. She lifted her head in puzzlement momentarily, until he swept aside her hair and placed hot kisses on her neck. She relaxed and he moved over her swiftly, entering her tight, sweet passage from behind.

  As fierce pleasure pricked his flesh, Taviston began to slide back and forth. He buried his head next to Victoria’s and gauged her pleasure by her every gasp. Teeth clenched, he kept the rhythm slow and steady, deliberately delaying both of their climaxes. Gradually he increased his pace and Victoria’s breaths escalated into short pants. As she reached the summit of her pleasure, he let himself go and climbed the last few feet with her.

  After planting one more kiss on her cheek, he settled back onto his side, pulling Victoria in front of him. Retrieving the mussed bedclothes, he covered the two of them.

  As his eyes drifted closed that pesky little fragment of his brain cried out in disgust, what have you done?

  TRAPPED BENEATH A FALLEN tree trunk, Victoria struggled to free herself. Finally, she gave up in frustration and snuggled deeper into the warm and comfortable bed of leaves beneath her.

  Her eyes snapped open. Since when were leaves warm and comfortable? She glanced down and realized that the “trunk” was covered with fine black hair. Her gaze traveled up to the well-defined shoulder which connected the heavy log to her husband’s sleeping form. He lay on his stomach, head turned away from her, with the aforementioned arm lying across her midsection.

  A dawning horror moistened her eyes, but she blinked quickly, drying them. Easing out from under Taviston’s arm, she retrieved her nightgown from the floor and slipped it on. As she tiptoed to the dressing room door to perform her morning ablutions, she made the mistake of glancing at his face. So peaceful. So worry-free. Irrationally, she placed a feathery kiss on his forehead and then escaped.

  When she came back into the room, Taviston was no longer sleeping. He wasn’t even in bed. He stood next to the desk, slowly flipping through her sketch book. Victoria silently ran through every curse word she knew.

  Her husband blew out a breath. She had no idea if it was one of frustration, humiliation, anger. He slid his gaze to her. His expression was blank, with no hint of what he was feeling.

  “You drew this.” He raised the drawing of the two of them gazing at each other with all that false love in their eyes. “You drew the sketches for Hither and
Yon.” It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t reply. She did not look away from him though. “I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t submit the nude one.”

  She had to respond to that. “I would never.”

  He nodded, though it didn’t seem to signify anything. Methodically, he placed all the sketches back into the book and straightened it on the blotter. Then he looked at her again. “You are quite talented.”

  She thought he might say more. Surely he would blast her for selling her sketches to a scandal rag, for bringing shame to him and the dukedom and the family name. She waited for him to say more, so she said nothing.

  Instead, he simply exited through the connecting door into his own chamber. The latch caught softly and then she was alone.

  Victoria went about her day in a stupor. Her annoyance with herself caused her to rip some linen and break a teacup. Did Taviston’s annoyance with her outweigh her own? It rightly should, but then she was irritated with herself twofold. Why had she succumbed to her uncontrollable urges? Had she no dignity? Certainly, she needed to provide Taviston with an heir, but did she have to enjoy her duty quite so much? Why did it require so little effort to convince her heart, at those intimate times, that he loved her? In the bold light of day, she knew there was no hope for it. Not after he’d discovered the sketches.

  She successfully avoided Taviston for the entire day, greatly assisted by his absence from the house. Only two more days until the dinner party. Then surely he would not stop her from running off to Taviston Hall.

  Chapter Thirty

  “Your Grace.”

  Victoria did not look up from the flowers she was arranging. “Yes, Halston?”

  “His Grace requests that you accompany him on an appointment. The carriage waits.”

  She stifled a huff of displeasure. She had so much to do for the party tonight. Didn’t Taviston understand that she didn’t have time to accompany him anywhere?