She Tempts the Duke

by Lorraine Heath

  “I suppose we can use all the luck we can get,” he said.

  She heard clapping, glanced over her shoulder, and saw the servants standing around giving applause. “I hadn’t considered we had an audience.”

  “One that should be working.”

  “You’re a romantic.”

  He shook his head. “No, but for you, I wish I was.”

  Tears burned her eyes, but she pushed them back as he stepped over the threshold. She was hit by the stale muskiness of someplace hardly ever used. Heavy shadows hovered. Sebastian set her feet on the stone floor and she felt colder than she had outside. He moved to a table and lit the candles in a candelabra. He held it aloft and the flickering flames chased back the darkness.

  As she followed him into a front parlor, she heard the servants coming inside. Some no doubt would be carting in their trunks while others would see to unpacking them. But their duties did not interest her now. Rather it was her husband who occupied her attention as he strode through the room, dragging away the white cloths that covered the furniture, stirring up clouds of dust.

  She sneezed. He glanced back at her. She smiled. “Apologies.”

  “No, I am to blame. I should have sent the servants ahead of time to see to matters, but I hadn’t considered I’d arrive with a wife.”

  “But this way, it’s rather like exploring, isn’t it? We’ll discover everything together.”

  “Such an optimist you are.”

  “I find no joy in being a pessimist.” Walking through the room, she began tugging off her gloves. “At least he covered the furniture before he left. There seem to be bare spots on the wall.” Rectangles of wallpaper that had yet to fade where something had protected them from the sun.

  “As in London he removed all portraits of my father, myself, and my brothers. Oddly any portraits of my mother alone remained.”

  Turning, she studied him as he continued to yank off cloths with one hand, holding the candelabra high, uncovering treasures: sofas, plush chairs, small tables. “Why would he keep those on display but eliminate the others?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’ll ever understand how his mind works. Not certain I want to.”

  “It is curious, though,” she mused, glancing around, before sneezing again.

  “Damnation.”

  “What?” She spun around. White sheets were still draped over half the furnishings in the room, but he was no longer tending to them. “Did you find something?”

  “Yes, I discovered you have an inconsiderate lout for a husband. I was so anxious to reintroduce you to Pembrook that I didn’t consider that you’re no doubt damp and chilled from standing in the rain. Come, I sent the servants around to start fires. Your room should be warm by now. Cook is preparing dinner. It will be light fare, limited to what we brought from London, until she can get to the market.”

  He extended his arm, and she crossed over to him. “I’m not really that hungry anyway.”

  He led her into the massive foyer where stairs on either side curved around to the landing on the next floor. As they ascended the steps, the light illuminated their path and the many portraits of all the dukes who had come before. But even here, some portraits were obviously missing.

  At the top of the stairs, he guided her toward the left, past a closed door—

  “My bedchamber,” he said quietly as though she’d asked.

  —and to a room beside it. He opened the door and she skirted around him. He must have sent several of the servants here first because nothing remained covered. A pleasant sitting area was arranged in front of the fireplace where a fire burned lazily. Lamps flickered on two tables. The drawn-back draperies revealed that night had fallen. The windows were ajar only enough to allow in the rain-scented air.

  “Would you like a bath before dinner?” he asked.

  “That would be lovely, yes.”

  “I’ll have the servants see to it.”

  “Do the bellpulls work?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She crossed over to the bed and gave hers a yank. “I suppose we’ll find out if Colleen comes up.”

  “Do you remember where the dining hall is to be found?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “I’ll meet you there in an hour.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Mary sank onto the bed and wondered what the night might bring.

  Their dinner was—as every dinner they’d shared since they’d wed—a rather quiet affair. It seemed to Sebastian that he’d never mastered the art of conversation. He was, however, very skilled at ordering servants about. He was pleased that they’d been able to ready the main rooms quickly. More needed to be done: polishing, dusting, scrubbing, but at least they were uncovered and revealed the potential of what they might be.

  Following dinner, as he and Mary strolled through them, he wanted her to feel for Pembrook what he did. To appreciate its magnificence, its history, its heritage. Because now it belonged to her as much as it did to him. It would pass down to their firstborn son.

  Her laughter had once echoed through these hallways when she came to visit. A good many excellent hiding places had awaited her then. But she had been a child, without appreciation for what she scampered through. With her hand resting on his arm, he escorted her along the hallways and through the rooms. It was not a drafty old castle.

  His father had remodeled it. The inside was as grand as the finest manor in England. For two years carpenters had worked to turn great halls into several rooms. Forty bedchambers, four libraries, several galleries, and a good number of sitting rooms. It remained a maze, but hardly cold. They stepped into one of two grand salons.

  “I’d forgotten how lovely it all was,” she said.

  “I’m surprised you noticed. You were too busy striving to find a place to hide.”

  She laughed softly, a musical sound filled with memories. “I was very good at hiding from you. You seldom found me.”

  “Do not count on that happening now. You won’t escape me easily.” He’d meant to keep it light, to tease her, but it had come out harsh and stern.

  “Would I want to?”

  He glanced over at her. A mistake. Strong Mary appeared vulnerable, and he realized that his delaying their joining had given her cause for doubt, might even be responsible for this sudden awkwardness he sensed between them. But he wanted their first time together as true husband and wife to be here. At his estate. He walked these hallways because of her bravery. It was appropriate that they come together here.

  “I hope not,” he finally answered.

  Chapter 23

  He’d put it off for as long as he could—the bedding of his wife.

  Sebastian tossed back another glass of whiskey. For courage. God, but he wasn’t afraid of her. Rather he feared that she would be repelled if she saw what rose above her, if she opened her eyes—

  He would take her in the dark. Complete darkness. With the canopied drapes drawn tightly around the bed. They could both pretend then that he was as devilishly handsome as Tristan.

  She’d seen him before, of course, had even looked upon him kindly. But it would be far different when coupling with the beast, knowing it was his hands upon her. He was loath to admit now that all his previous partners had been beauties, that he’d never given the plain girls a glance. He suspected ladies fancied being with handsome gents just as men fantasized about being with beautiful women.

  How he would like to see her in the light. Perhaps he would wake early, when dawn filtered into the room. She would be gorgeous. Of that he had no doubt. Yet she was burdened with him as a husband.

  He should have made Tristan marry her. What did it matter which brother did? They all owed her. But only marriage to him would make her a duchess. Didn’t she at least deserve the title and all the prestige that came with it?

  He glanced over at the bundle resting on the table beside his chair, near the bottle of whiskey. Reaching out, he stroked the silke
n ribbon, smiling slightly as it wrapped around his finger. For as long as he could remember it had never remained straight. It had curled, just like Mary’s hair. Tonight he might have silk ribbons to untie.

  He pushed aside thoughts of the girl who had given him the ribbon. In the bedchamber beside his a woman waited. From the moment he’d first set eyes on her again, he’d tried to think of her as the scrawny, all-limbs girl who had raced over the fields of wildflowers with him. But she was far removed from that. She tempted him as no other woman ever had.

  It wasn’t fair to her that scandal had forced them into marriage, but he had promised her she’d not regret taking him as her husband.

  It was time he made good on that promise.

  Mary sat on the blue velvet chair near the window with her feet perched on the cushion and her toes curled around the edge. Her satin nightgown was drawn down over her legs, creating a tent over her limbs. Pressing her chin to her knees, she decided she was going to remove every damned clock from every damned room. She was already weary of the ticking serving as her only company.

  Sebastian hadn’t said good night when he escorted her to the door. He hadn’t said anything at all. He simply opened it, and when she walked through, he drew it closed. But she had sensed the tension radiating through him during dinner and later when he’d walked her through many of the rooms. The residence was so large that she felt swallowed up inside it. It required a bold master, and Sebastian certainly seemed at home here. It also required a strong mistress, but she wasn’t certain if she was up to the task. How could she manage this household if she couldn’t manage her marriage?

  Why did he touch her so infrequently? Where was the passion that had seared them in the garden?

  She heard the click of a door opening and nearly shot up out of the chair. Instead she took a deep breath to calm her clamoring heart and watched as her husband prowled into the room. He glanced at the bed, seemed surprised by its appearance, and then his gaze found her.

  He didn’t appear happy, but he did seem relieved. Perhaps he thought she’d run off.

  He’d removed his cravat, jacket, and waistcoat. A few buttons on his shirt were loosened. He wore the patch. She’d wondered if he would. It made her feel as though he were hiding from her. His large feet were bare, revealing his crooked toes. She’d first seen them when they decided to cross a small babbling brook as children. The sight of them reassured her. Something about him hadn’t changed.

  “Why are you smiling?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Your toes. They’re as funny looking now as they were when you were a boy. I didn’t think you were going to come.” The words had all run together, and she realized she was nervous. She shouldn’t be. This was Sebastian, after all.

  His progress into the room ended at the bed and he leaned against the post. She wondered if her words, pushed out while she still had the courage to say them, had halted his progress.

  “Would you rather I hadn’t?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I’m your wife. You’re my husband. I want to be your wife.” Could she sound any more idiotic?

  He glanced down at his bent toes, wiggled them, then his gaze met and held hers. “I assume … you’re chaste.”

  She nodded, swallowed, her mouth suddenly wretchedly dry.

  He plowed a hand through his hair. “I’ve never—”

  “Oh dear Lord. You’re a virgin, too? I was hoping you’d have some experience. I haven’t a clue where to begin. All Aunt Sophie advised me to do was drink two glasses of brandy.”

  A corner of his mouth twitched. Was it possible that here, at least, she would see his smile? She tilted her head, peered up at him. “Are you trying to smile? I’m not a virgin at smiling. I could teach you to do that.”

  She saw a flash of white that quickly disappeared.

  “I’m not a virgin at all,” he said. “I was going to explain that I’ve never taken an inexperienced woman to my bed. I understand that the first time can be painful. I wish it weren’t so. I never want to hurt you, Mary.”

  She slid out of the chair and padded over to him. Reaching up, she cupped his face between her hands and turned it until she could see all of it. “Then share more than your profile with me.”

  She watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed. He placed his hand over hers, the one resting against his scars, turned it over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. She felt the heat from his mouth coating her skin with dew. She wondered how much of her might receive the same treatment.

  “Perhaps in time,” he said quietly, “but not tonight.”

  She thought about reminding him that she’d seen his scars, more than once, but she knew that he could excuse those moments as weakness when he’d been unable to prevent her from assisting him. Tonight they would share an intimacy that he no doubt thought would be marred if he revealed his true self. Or perhaps it was simply masculine pride. Whatever it was, she would forgive it. They would have many more nights together, and she would eventually gain what she wanted from him.

  She touched her fingers to his mouth. “I want to see a real smile.” She laid them against his throat. “And hear you laugh again.”

  “You don’t ask for much.”

  “No, I don’t. Not really.”

  “You’ve always been so feisty,” he said. “I tell myself you’d have not been happy with Fitzwilliam. That perhaps what happened was for the best.”

  “Do you know I have not given him a moment’s thought, not since he strode out of my father’s residence? I regret that I may have caused him hurt or embarrassment. But I do not regret that he was not the man waiting for me at the altar. You must believe that, Sebastian. We can’t spend our lives wondering, ‘what if?’ We must simply make the best of what we have.”

  “And did you have two glasses of brandy?”

  She laughed lightly. “Three. But that was some time ago. I fear the effects have worn off. I’m not feeling quite as warm as I was.”

  “You shall be soon enough.” He cupped her jaw and tilted her face up to receive his kiss.

  It was nothing at all like the kiss they shared in the garden. It lacked desperation. But it didn’t lack passion. It was a nibbling, a slow exploration. His tongue waltzed with hers. She slid her hands up over his shoulders, into his hair, holding him near. His low feral groan vibrated through his chest, resounded against hers and she pressed herself closer.

  She’d spoken honestly. She’d not given Fitzwilliam a thought since he walked out on her, but she thought of him now and realized she would not have been comfortable with him at a moment such as this. She would have feared his judging her actions. With Sebastian she experienced no fear of judgment.

  He had always liked who she was. She’d never had to pretend with him. She could touch where she pleased, knowing he would not find fault. She could thrust her tongue into his mouth, and welcome his taking the kiss deeper. For his sake, she schooled her fingers not to seek out the scars, not to trace them, not to do anything to make him self-conscious about them.

  Never separating his mouth from hers, he lifted her into his arms, carried her the short distance to the bed and laid her down, only then breaking off the kiss. He pressed one to her forehead, her chin. Then he leaned back, studying her as though he thought to memorize every line and curve, every slope and valley.

  “You’re going to douse the light, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.”

  Sadness touched his features. “For tonight. A woman’s first time … ugliness should not be a part of it.”

  Tears clogged her throat, tears she refused to allow to rise to the surface. She could argue that he was not ugly, that she found everything about him beautiful, but she knew he was not of a mind to listen. It would build a strain between them, would dampen the joy they should find at this moment.

  Lifting her hand, she cupped his unmarred side. “I’ll leave tonight to your superior experience, b
ut rest assured I’m a fast learner and some night you will have to leave it to mine.”

  “We shall see.”

  He moved away and she watched as he prowled through the room dousing the lamps. Almost desperately she memorized what she could see of him: the long limbs, the broad shoulders, the strong back. She wished he walked about without clothing, but that would come in time as well. What a wanton miss she was.

  Only one lamp still cast its glow. The one beside the bed. Before going to it, he released the ties holding back the curtains that surrounded the bed as though he had no wish for even a star to peer through the window and gaze on them. One by one the heavy velvety curtains flowed together until only one remained tied back.

  He approached the last lamp, the last sash. She wondered which he would see to first. She thought of whispering, “No,” when he leaned over the lamp.

  He took one last lingering look at her and blew it out.

  Sebastian released the last sash, felt the air stir as the curtain fell into place. Even without the lamps providing light he could see shadows. He knew it was ludicrous to crave complete darkness for their first coming together, but he wanted to give her the illusion of having in her bed a man who was perfect in features if not perfect in heart.

  He tossed aside his shirt and shed his trousers. He wanted tonight to be good for her. She tempted him to be better than he was. At least here, between the sheets, he could ensure that she was glad she married him. Finding the part in the curtains was more difficult than he’d expected but eventually he found it and slipped between them onto the bed. It dipped with his weight. He inhaled her scent, trapped within the cocoon he’d created, relishing the fragrance filling his nostrils.

  “I thought perhaps you’d run off,” she whispered.

  He supposed the darkness required soft voices, murmurings. “Silly goose.”

  “I’m not silly.”