Why Dukes Say I Do

by Manda Collins

  “I didn’t realize Lord Archer was aware of what had happened,” Trevor said thoughtfully. “He has seemed to be quite reliable in our correspondence over Ormonde estate business.”

  Isabella frowned. “You have been in correspondence with Lord Archer?” she demanded. “For how long? And why didn’t you tell me earlier? That might have gone a long way toward appeasing the dowager!”

  Trevor had the good grace to look abashed. “I have handled much of the estate business at Ormonde House since my cousin’s death.” He thrust a hand through his russet hair, revealing his agitation. “You know me well enough by now to know that I could not allow the people of the ducal estate to suffer because I do not wish to bow to my grandmother’s wishes. I knew Lord Archer’s brother at university and he always seemed to be a levelheaded fellow. So I allowed Archer to guide me. He likely did most of the work for my cousin in any case.”

  Isabella shook her head, dumbfounded. “I should have known it,” she said finally. “It did seem rather out of character for someone as conscientious as you to abandon the estate just because you were unhappy with the dowager.”

  “So,” Trevor continued, once more taking her hand in his. “If you have allowed Lord Archer in on your secret, I suppose that means you trust him?”

  “Implicitly,” Isabella said. “Which is why I do not think he can have anything to do with the threats against me. If it comes to it, I should think it more likely that the dowager was behind the plot than I would believe it of Lord Archer.”

  “But what motive would she have for frightening you?” Trevor extended his long legs before him in the cramped interior of the carriage. “If she truly wished to frighten you, wouldn’t she keep you in London so that she could watch the results of her handiwork?”

  “She was devastated by Gervase’s loss,” Isabella said, thinking back to the days just after the duke’s death. There had been some speculation that the dowager would go into a decline. Of course that had come from her own maid, who was loyal to a fault and given to dramatics. “Even so, I believe you are right. If she blamed Gervase’s death on me, which she may well do, she would have kept me close to her so that she could see me suffering through her torments. She would hardly send me into the country where it would be more difficult to manage her little surprises.”

  “Whoever it is,” Trevor said, “they must have either followed you to Yorkshire or traveled with you. Have you noticed anyone who seems familiar lurking around? A servant who takes too much interest in you, perhaps? Or a face on the streets of York who looked like someone you’d seen before?”

  Isabella shook her head. “No,” she said with a weary sigh. “I’ve racked my brain trying to think of who it might have been that sent the letters or the snuffbox or ruined my painting, but I can think of no one. I trust all of the servants who came with me from London and I haven’t seen anyone in our trips to York or out and about in the village who looked familiar.”

  To her dismay, she felt tears well in her eyes again. For someone who prided herself on her self-possession, Isabella was losing control of her emotions with disturbing frequency. She turned her head so that Trevor wouldn’t see, but he missed nothing.

  “There now,” he said, gathering her up as if she weighed nothing and pulling her into his lap. “I know you’re frustrated with this business. I am, too, if you want to know the truth. In fact, I might burst into tears at any minute. I can be quite the watering pot actually. You are in for a long and tearful marriage with me, I’m afraid.”

  She laughed at this absurdity, even as he took his handkerchief from her hand and dabbed at her eyes. They both grinned at each other like fools until something changed between them. He kissed the end of her nose. And said, his voice barely a whisper, “Let me share your burdens, Isabella. My shoulders are broad. I can carry them.”

  She might have resisted, but confronted with this man who seemed willing and able to give her shelter, she found she no longer wanted to. Slanting her head, she leaned forward and took his mouth in a sure, strong kiss. Saying with her body everything she was unwilling to say with her voice.

  To her awe, she felt him tremble against her for just the barest moment before he slipped his arms around her and kissed her back. Perhaps he was not so laconic about this match as he pretended. His easygoing manner was, she realized, just as much of a disguise as her own iciness. Donned to protect the tender soul beneath.

  He allowed her to take the lead in the kiss, opening his lips only when she licked softly at the seam between them. Surprised and excited by the novelty of being the one to do the pursuing, she tentatively stroked her tongue into his mouth. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the way that he held himself back. She knew with certainty that he was giving her this power. And it overwhelmed her as no degree of seduction on his part could have.

  Breathing in his scent of sandalwood mixed with something innately Trevor, she unleashed her own burgeoning passion and kissed him with all the pent-up desire she’d felt since that first night on the roadside in Nettledean. Clumsily she tugged off her other glove and stroked her hands over his chest, frustrated by the clothes that prevented her from feeling his bare skin.

  He must have sensed her annoyance, because he pulled off his own glove and unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat, all the while allowing her to take the lead at their joined mouths. Taking her hand, he guided it to his side, slipping it beneath his opened coat and waistcoat. She felt the warmth of his skin through the fine lawn of his shirt but was distracted by the feel of his erection straining against her bottom.

  Gathering her skirts in her other hand, before he could protest she came up on one knee and lifted the other to straddle his lap. “There,” she said against his mouth. “That’s much better.”

  With one hand she stroked him through his breeches, from base to tip. It was something her husband had demanded of her from the time they were first wed, but she knew instinctively that Trevor was allowing her to do this. There was no demanding hand covering hers, telling her how to stroke him. Only a hand at her breast, stroking her in tandem with her own hand on him, robbing her of breath even as she felt him gasp against her mouth.

  “Sweeting,” he whispered, “this is lovely, but…”—he paused as she stilled her hand and squeezed lightly—“god in heaven, we have to stop or I will forget myself.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” Isabella asked, against his mouth. “I want to see you forget yourself, Trevor. I am not the only one who needs to lose control.”

  He gripped her hand and removed it from his erection, regret shining in his eyes. “That may be true,” he said, kissing her wrist lightly and lifting her hand to rest on his shoulder. “But I choose not to do so in a carriage on the road to Gretna. There will be time enough for you to test me tonight.”

  Isabella sighed. “I suppose you are right. It would not be seemly for the Duke of Ormonde to take his wife in a carriage.”

  Trevor laughed. “It has nothing to do with seemliness or the dukedom.” His eyes darkened as he kissed her lightly. “I simply know that once I get started discovering every inch of your body”—he pulled back and stroked his thumb over her lower lip—“I will not want any interruptions.”

  At the predatory look in his eyes Isabella felt herself give an involuntary shiver. Perhaps her betrothed was not so easygoing as she had at first thought.

  Fifteen

  When they arrived in the village of Gretna they set out at once to the nearest blacksmith, where they were married in a brief ceremony that was a far cry from the pomp and circumstance that had accompanied Isabella’s first marriage. Instead she stood up with Trevor before the anvil priest with a nosegay of violets and calmly recited her vows. Trevor’s kiss was brief and not nearly as passionate as the one they’d shared the night before, and she could not decide whether she felt relief or disappointment.

  “I’ve had the driver arrange rooms for us at the local inn,” he told her as they stepped out into the drizzle
of the afternoon. “I hope that is agreeable to you. It is rather late to head back to Nettlefield, and after your lost wheel on the way up from London I did not think you would wish to travel at night.”

  She shuddered at the memory of the accident. “You are quite right,” she said. “I thank you for considering it. I would much rather travel during the day.”

  He offered her his arm and they made their way to the inn. Once there, he left her to rest in their room while he went to see to the horses.

  When she reached their room, however, she realized that one of her cases was missing. As it contained her jewelry box, Isabella was perturbed to find it had not reached her room.

  “I’ll go down and see what’s become of it, my lady,” Sanders, her maid, said as she picked up Isabella’s slippers. The maid had arrived in a separate coach with Trevor’s valet earlier in the day.

  But restless and not really wishing to nap, Isabella waved her off. “It’s no matter, Sanders,” she said. “I’ll go down and see to it. I wish to find out if the duke has requested a private dining parlor at any rate.”

  So it was that Isabella found herself hurrying down the stairs in search of Trevor or their driver or both. As she neared the first-floor landing, however, a rather short man brushed past her.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady,” the man said, bowing slightly. Then, as if only now looking at her fully, he paused. “Oh, Lady Wharton,” he said, a calculating gleam in his eye. “What a delightful surprise.”

  Realizing that she was looking at Sir Sidney Phillips, she cringed inwardly. If she and Trevor wished to keep their marriage a secret, then she would need to think quickly.

  “Sir Sidney,” she said, adopting her most chilly aristocratic pose. “If you will just excuse me.” She continued past him down the stairs.

  “But Lady Wharton,” he protested, following after her. “I hope we will be able to chat. You are the last person I thought to encounter here in the wilds of Scotland, after all. Whatever can you being doing here?”

  Isabella shut her eyes in frustration. If she told him to mind his own affairs, he would know at once that she had some sort of secret to keep. Then again, if she engaged him in mindless conversation he would do his utmost to winkle the truth from her anyway.

  Before she could reply, however, she spied Trevor striding toward the stairs.

  She raised her brows to warn him from coming closer, but her new husband was apparently unable to read eyebrow messages.

  “Hello, my dear,” he said, stepping closer and taking her arm proprietarily, “I thought you were resting.”

  “I was,” she said though clenched teeth, “but I chanced upon Sir Sidney here.”

  As if he’d just noticed the little man who stood before them, gazing back and forth between them like a mongrel spying a juicy bone, Trevor turned to Sir Sidney in surprise. “Ah, I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said with a slight bow. “Ormonde at your service.”

  At his words Sir Sidney’s eyes widened. “Lady Wharton,” he gushed, “I had no idea you were acquainted with the duke.”

  Trevor laughed. “I should say we’re acquainted,” he said, pulling Isabella closer to his side. “Lady Wharton has just done me the honor of becoming my wife.”

  Sir Sidney’s mouth opened and closed, not unlike a hungry trout, Isabella thought nastily. Finally he recovered his powers of speech. “Your wife? My goodness me,” he said, his eyes glowing with glee at being privy to such a prime bit of gossip. “May I offer you both my heartfelt felicitations, Your Graces.”

  His eyes twinkling, Trevor leaned forward to the other man, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell anyone you saw us, old man.” To Isabella’s shock, he actually winked. “We don’t want word to get out just yet. We haven’t told my grandmother yet, don’t ye know?”

  Though he could not possibly mean to keep his promise, Sir Sidney nodded. “Of course, of course. Think nothing of it. I perfectly understand family obligations and the like,” he said. “And the course of true love and all that … what?”

  “Precisely,” Trevor said, smiling beatifically at the other man. “Now, my dear, shall we retire to our chambers? I fear that my wife is quite fatigued after our trip here. You’ll excuse us, won’t you, dear boy?”

  Silent, Isabella allowed herself to be escorted up to her chamber, where Trevor dismissed her maid at once.

  Once Sanders was gone, Isabella turned to him, frustrated despite their earlier amity. “Why on earth did you tell Sir Sidney about our marriage?” she demanded. “He is one of the worst gossips I know. I would not be at all surprised if he weren’t composing a letter for the post to London right this minute.”

  “I am not a fool, Isabella,” Trevor told her patiently. “I am well aware of what Sir Sidney will do. And I told him for precisely that reason.”

  “Why?” she asked, her frustration rising. She knew that Trevor was well-intentioned, but she had spent years in London battling the Sir Sidney Phillipses of the world and she was annoyed that her new husband hadn’t bothered to consult her on the matter. “I know the dowager will likely have heard of our engagement from someone who attended the Palmers’ ball, but I had hoped to keep the news of our marriage to ourselves. At least for the time being.”

  But Trevor was clearly not as overset about this as she was. Turning to the sideboard where a decanter of brandy had been thoughtfully provided by their host, Trevor poured both himself and Isabella a drink. “I know that’s what we discussed, but I think this will suit our plans just as well.”

  He turned and handed her a glass, which she took and sipped. The brandy burned a path down her throat, warming her.

  “It is a tactical maneuver,” he said, propping himself up against the sideboard. “I want whoever it is that is trying to terrify you to know that you are under my protection now. That you are no longer dealing with his schemes on your own.”

  “It’s not that I do not appreciate your protection,” she began; then catching his skeptical gaze, she shrugged. “Perhaps I do not appreciate it as I should, but I do appreciate it. I simply do not like the notion that I will be seen as hiding behind your coronet.”

  “Why the devil not?” Trevor demanded. “I am sure plenty of people will suggest that I am hiding behind your skirts to escape my grandmother’s ire.”

  “Surely not,” Isabella said with a gasp; then she realized that he was perfectly right. People would assume that he’d married her as a way of getting back at the dowager. Perhaps even to beat her to the punch when it came to choosing a wife. “I suppose you are right,” she admitted.

  “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander,” Trevor said, raising his glass to her. “And as I said before, we are partners in this. I will offer you my shoulders for part of your burden and you will offer me yours—slim though your shoulders may be—for part of mine.”

  “What if this person strikes out at both of us?” she asked. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might need to fear for Trevor’s safety, but the thought now sent a stab of fear through her. She would not be able to stand it if he was harmed simply because of his proximity to her.

  He seemed to realize what she was thinking and crossed to touch her cheek. “We will deal with the consequences no matter what happens,” he said to her, his eyes serious. “Whatever the blackguard tries, we’ll deal with it together.”

  Isabella gave a brisk nod, still worried about what might happen to him as a result of their union, though she supposed it was too late to worry about such a thing now. After all, they were well and truly married now.

  “I’ve asked the innkeeper to serve supper up here,” Trevor said, taking the seat opposite and stretching his legs out before him. “I hope you don’t mind. Though I suppose we could go down and search out your friend Sir Sidney as a dinner companion if you wish it.”

  His eyes lit with mischief and she couldn’t suppress a laugh, grateful for the gentle teasing. “I assure you that I am quite content to have dinner
alone without our gossiping friend. I find that I’m quite famished and do not wish for my appetite to give rise to untoward gossip.”

  Realizing how those words might be construed, she felt a blush rise. But if Trevor noticed he didn’t say anything.

  Excusing himself to change out of his travel dirt, he left her alone to do the same. Isabella felt a frisson of excitement at the thought of what might happen between them once dinner was over. It had been a long time since she’d been to bed with a man. And she guessed that Trevor would be as energetic and thoughtful in bed as he was out of it.

  She gave a shiver at the thought and gave herself over to her maid to ensure that she was as ready as she could be for whatever might happen between her and Trevor tonight.

  * * *

  Trevor couldn’t stop watching her.

  It was hardly odd, given that she was the only other person in the room. And he was conversing with her. But a small part of his brain was watching her as she talked. Cataloging every contour, every curve. Reveling in the knowledge that the woman sitting opposite him was his wife.

  His wife. He hadn’t even known her last week, and now he was tied to her for the rest of their natural lives. It was insane.

  But even as he listened to her recount a funny story about the antics of a clown at Astley’s Amphitheatre when she was a child, his body was aware of her. Wondering what it would feel like when all those delicious curves were uncovered and pressed against him.

  He felt like a beast, but there it was. He was looking forward to bedding his wife.

  “Your Grace,” she said, interrupting his thoughts, “is there something amiss?”