"Shouldn't we announce our news?" he asked.
"Not yet." There was a breathless quality to her voice, as if she held something back. "Dinner is a better time. The entire family will be together."
"Very well." He lifted her hand to his lips. "Then, we'll discuss a wedding date. You won't keep me waiting longer than necessary, will you, darling?"
She shook her head, smoothed back her hair and left the study.
Devereaux stared at the closed door. The once comfortable room seemed dark and gloomy. Picking up the letter, he settled back in his chair. It was difficult to concentrate. An unsettled feeling, as if something were not quite finished, came over him.
* * *
"What is it, child?" Leonie set down her pruning shears, her lovely voice reflecting concern.
Tess was acting most unlike herself. Her flushed face and the rapid rise and fall of her chest indicated a state of agitation totally unlike the calm serenity with which she normally faced the world.
"Please, Your Grace," she clasped her hands tightly before her. "There is something I wish to ask you."
"Of course, dear."
"I think you should be seated."
Leonie's eyes narrowed. She removed her gloves and obediently moved toward the bench near the door of the conservatory. Tess followed and sat down beside her.
"James has asked me to marry him."
"I see." Leonie's mouth was very severe. "And what was your answer?"
Tess spoke in a low steady voice. "I said yes."
The duchess felt as though a very large and heavy boot had kicked her in the stomach. It was one thing to harbor suspicions, it was another to have them confirmed without a doubt.
"Then there is nothing more to say," she replied.
"He has told me a marriage between us is possible. Is that so?"
There was a moment's silence as the duchess considered Tess. Her mouth softened. The girl was lovely and honest and proud. If she were English and of noble blood, the match would be cause for great celebration.
"If you truly care for my son," Leonie said gently, "you will not marry him."
"I see."
Leonie forced herself to ignore the hurt in Tess's eyes. "No, I don't think you do. If James were anyone other than he is, the marriage would have my complete approval. If I had a second son, there is no one I would rather have for my daughter-in-law than you."
"Say no more, Your Grace." Tess moved as if to stand up. Leonie's hand detained her.
"James is not like other men," she explained. "He's certainly not perfect. But, he has a sense of purpose that is entirely missing in most wealthy young men of his generation." She searched for words. "The wildness, the drinking, the utter boredom that characterizes our nobility isn't necessary for James. He has it in him to become a very powerful force in the country. He needs a wife from his own order, one who agrees with his political convictions." She squeezed her hand. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"
Tess stared at the blue fire in Leonie Devereaux's eyes and thought what a terrible waste it was that a woman could not run for political office.
"You needn't worry, ma'am. I shall not marry him."
The look on her face caused Leonie to avert her eyes. "I'm terribly sorry, my dear."
"So am I," Tess replied softly.
* * *
Her meeting with James was even more difficult. She found him on the way to the stables. Following him into the empty tack room, Tess came directly to the point.
"I made a mistake. I can't marry you. I'm sorry."
"You damn well are going to marry me!" The grooves in his cheeks were stark and forbidding, as if they had been carved from stone.
Tess lifted a trembling hand to her temple. "Must we prolong this pain? Can't you see I'm not the proper wife for a British politician?"
"What is the proper wife for a politician?" Like knife blades, his words sliced through her argument.
The pearl-like skin tightened across her cheekbones. She clenched her hands into tight fists.
"Someone who knows about your way of life. Someone who was born to be regal and dignified and spends her days holding teas and her nights giving parties. Someone who can speak to servants and heads of state without embarrassing you." Her voice carried a sharp, bitter quality. "Someone who can single-handedly run your disgustingly massive estates, give you sons to carry on your precious line, and most important of all, someone who can live up to your mother."
Devereaux stared at her, fascinated. The tight rein, with which she held her emotions in check, had broken at last. She was furiously, splendidly angry. His lips twitched.
"Then I'm destined to remain a bachelor."
"Why?"
"The paragon you described doesn't exist. If you won't have me, I won't marry at all."
"Nonsense."
"I mean it, Tess."
The anger drained from her. "I can't marry you, James."
His heart ached at the hopelessness in her words. He ran his hand through his hair. Never before had he come up against a force he could not move. He tried once more.
"Tell me you don't love me."
Her face was too pale. "I don't love you," she repeated automatically.
His grin pierced her heart. "You'll have to do better than that."
She lost her temper and turned her back on him. "I don't have to do anything at all. Go away and leave me alone."
"Tess." His voice was low, caressing. "Do you think love goes away because one denies that it exists?"
"I don't love you." She refused to look at him.
"Yes, you do," he said gently. "One day I'll make you admit it."
Without another word he walked out of the room leaving her alone. Tess was utterly miserable. She never dreamed he would give up so easily.
Snow crunched under Devereaux's boots as he walked back to the castle. His mouth was grim. Under no circumstances would he allow Tess to have her way in this. Her sense of morality was completely American and he intended to use it to his advantage.
When James Devereaux wanted something he inevitably got it and he wanted Tess Bradford with a passion that consumed his waking hours and left his sleep haunted with dreams of pale gold hair and water-clear eyes. She was almost within his grasp and this time he would ensure that she wouldn't slip through his fingers.
The evening began as usual. The family gathered for dinner and later retired to the drawing room where Georgiana played the piano. Lady Langley kept up a light, easy flow of conversation and, at nine o'clock, the tea tray was brought in. Lizzie yawned and was sent up to bed while Tess and Judith played an uninspired game of chess.
James was pleasant and charming, as if his marriage proposals were refused every day, Tess thought bitterly. How dare he act as if everything were normal? She recklessly moved her rook into a new position.
"Check." Judith clapped her hands in delight. "I'm actually going to win this time."
James stifled a grin. He took a perverse pleasure in watching Tess's composure crumble. Despite the troubled eyes and pale cheeks, she looked magnificent. The gown of cream Italian silk brought out the slender elegance of her figure and the golden highlights in her hair. Pearl combs pulled the shining mass away from her face allowing it to fall in a silken curtain to her waist.
At ten o'clock, Tess could stand it no longer. Complaining of fatigue she went up to bed. Rosie brushed out her hair and helped her into a cotton nightgown. Blowing out the candle she wished her mistress good-night and closed the door behind her.
Tess was still lying sleepless at one o'clock, when the door opened and James walked in. Moonlight streamed in from the window, illuminating his head. His hair was so black it shone blue in the shadowy darkness. It was his face that frightened her. There was a look of determination, so intense on the tight-lipped features, that she knew nothing could stop him from his purpose.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice breathless.
He walked over to
the bed and sat down, his eyes taking in the sloping shoulders and delicate lines of her breasts above the nightdress. Reaching out he traced a path down the milk-white curve.
She shivered. Her skin burned where he touched her.
"You've become my obsession," he said, softly drinking in the beauty of her still, watchful face. "Since the first moment I saw you, I have been unable to get you out of my mind. For five months I've behaved like a cloistered monk. While you were married to another man I could do nothing else and still live with my conscience," he continued. "But now, I've grown weary of playing the gentleman." His hand reached out to touch the smooth column of her throat. "I'm a man, Tess." His voice was huskier than usual and his eyes glittered as he threaded the fingers of his other hand through her hair. "I told you that once before. Tonight I'll prove it."
Fascinated, unable to deny the force of his will, she watched the deliberate, unhurried descent of his mouth as he bent his head to her throat. Whimpering in protest, she stiffened as his lips touched her skin. He deepened his kiss and the protest changed to something else. Her body melted against him and she gave herself up to the exquisite pleasure of his mouth on hers and the feel of his hands as they caressed her face and shoulders.
Fumbling with the buttons of her nightdress, he moved the thin material aside, baring her to the waist. Sucking in his breath, he stared down at the perfection of high, proud breasts, their rosy peaks, taut with desire.
Shrugging out of his shirt and trousers, he fumbled with the strap of his wooden leg, unbuckling the clasp and stripping away the leather that attached it to his body. He lay down beside her, reaching out to pull her beneath him. Instinctively, she arched her back and his control broke. Parting her lips he drove his tongue deep into her mouth, desperately seeking the response he'd dreamed of for such an endless length of days and weeks.
She cried out deep in her throat, answering the demand of his mouth with a need as great as his own. Consciousness slipped away. The smooth sheets, the frosty air, the shadowed room bathed in moonlight disappeared, leaving only strong arms holding her in a grip of steel. The delicious tension mounted and she knew, once more, the heart stopping pleasure of his words, muffled against her throat. Shivering with passion, she met his lips in a kiss so deep and long that, she was forced to break away, gasping for air.
His mouth moved down, finding the pulse point where her neck and shoulder met. Moving still lower, his hand cupped a swollen breast. Tracing the nipple with the edge of his tongue he took the peak in his mouth and suckled deeply.
Tess moaned and raked his back. Waves of pleasure consumed her. His muscles rippled as her hands moved down the whipcord strength of his back and hips. He was satin and steel, fire and raging tide. She couldn't get enough of his slick, hot flesh and searching mouth. The unfamiliar hardness of the weight between her legs both frightened and fascinated her. Moving up the inside of her calf, his hand caressed the smooth skin of her thighs. She stiffened and pushed against him.
It was several moments before he felt it. Such was the flame of his own desire that her fear was complete before he realized it was even there. Frowning he lifted his head. Her eyes were wide and dark with terror.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
She shook her head wordlessly.
"Tess," his voice was very gentle. "I know fear when I see it. Won't you trust me?"
Her words were so low he had to bend his head to hear them.
"I've never done this before."
His breathing altered. A piercing joy stabbed his heart. Smoothing the hair away from her damp forehead, he kissed her nose. "Why not?"
She bit her lip. "The morning of the wedding, we heard that Adam Bradford was very ill and probably wouldn't last the night. Because everything was all arranged we decided to go ahead with the ceremony. Daniel left immediately after."
James stroked her throat and the sensitive skin below her breasts with gentle exploring fingers.
She blushed, grateful for the darkness. "There wasn't time for anything else."
His mouth took hers in a kiss so intimate it shook her to the core. She wove trembling fingers through his hair, holding him against her. His lips touched her throat. His words were a whisper of air.
"I'll be very careful."
Closing her eyes, Tess was conscious of the large lean body pressed against hers. She heard the reassurance in his voice and the warmth of his hand exploring her hips and breasts, occasionally dipping down to caress the lower part of her belly. The familiar magic of his nearness wove its spell and the fear receded.
He was a skilled lover. Deliberately, he set out, for the first time, to woo a woman he loved. He went very slowly, very gently until he felt her tension disappear.
Tess willed herself to relax. She never dreamed a man could make her feel this way. The incredible ache returned and she moved against his hand as it slipped between her legs. His fingers dipped into her moist heat and she jumped in surprise. "No." The indignant whisper burst from her.
A hoarse muffled laugh escaped his lips. He shifted upward and kissed her mouth with raw, dizzying hunger. "Yes," he murmured moving back and forth against her lips. His fingers tangled themselves in the silky triangle between her legs until he could feel the tension flow out of her thighs. She moved against him, her hips arching against his hand. He moved on top of her and his control broke.
"Tess," he murmured against her throat, "this may hurt you." Parting her legs with his knee, he entered her.
A sharp burning pain replaced the tension. She struggled against him. He held her in a vise-like grip, murmuring words of comfort until the pain receded.
Perspiration beaded his brow. She was warm and sweet and tasted of honey. Afraid of hurting her, he throbbed with the effort of holding back. She shifted beneath him and he lost all sense of time and place. Groaning, he thrust deeply inside her, again and again, until the raging need of five long months was sated at last. Collapsing on top of her, he buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes.
Chapter 15
Propping himself up on one elbow, Devereaux looked down at the sleeping woman beside him. Curled on one side, she slept like a child, the golden-tipped lashes resting on her cheek. He reached out to push the weight of her hair from her face, his eyes resting on the exquisite line of her chin and throat.
He was unusually moved by the sight of her, so small and vulnerable, her smooth golden skin very pale against the darker hue of his chest. He had never stayed the entire night with a woman once the physical encounter was past, but this time he had no desire to leave. This odd feeling of tenderness was unfamiliar to him. His arms tightened possessively around her.
She stirred and opened her eyes.
He kissed her forehead. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," she lied. Resting her head against his chest, she listened to the firm steady beating of his heart.
"You will marry me?"
"Yes." Her voice sounded strained. "I'll marry you."
His lips brushed against her temple. "You'll never be happy without me, you know."
"I know."
He frowned. "Tell me you love me."
Tess sat up, holding the comforter in front of her. "Surely, you can't doubt me now."
The careful, guarded look was in his eyes. "Is it so difficult to admit?" he asked, trying without success, to mask his hurt.
Her grave expression faded, replaced by a look of tender amusement. Could the arrogant, self-confident Duke of Langley harbor the same insecurities as any ordinary man?
Tess leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders. The comforter slid to her waist. Touching the tip of her tongue to his lips, she explored the still, firm mouth. Gaining courage, she nibbled at the sensitive contours forcing his lips apart. Her tongue tentatively touched the rough edge of his.
Devereaux held his breath, afraid to move, afraid she would stop. Rigid with the effort of maintaining his control, the sweet torment of her breasts brushing against his ch
est was almost more than he could bear. His hands clenched.
Moving down from his mouth, Tess trailed moist kisses across his shoulders and the flat ropy muscles of his chest and stomach. He tasted like salt. She felt tremors, powerful yet controlled, wherever her mouth met the heated skin. Her fingers, cool and caressing, played across his flat belly, moving in gently circular motions until, by accident, she brushed against the hardness between his legs.
White heat consumed him. The raging flames seared his flesh and fired his blood, wiping all conscious thought from his mind. Instinctively, he sought relief in the cool fragrant softness of the woman in his arms. Pulling her beneath him, he thrust into her tight warmth, crushing her lips with his mouth. He made no attempt to caress her, holding her still with arms of steel.
Trembling, she arched up against him. A delicious warmth spread through her and she moved to his rhythm.
"My God, Tess," he groaned.
The warmth became an ache. Moving urgently against him, she wrapped her legs around his. Nothing mattered any longer, nothing but the sweat-drenched skin, the weight of his muscled body covering hers and the incredible pressure that started deep inside the very center of her being, threatening to explode and devour her.
Lifting her against him, he bent his head to her breast. Tess gasped and cried out, drowning in the power of her first climax.
His fingers bruised her shoulders. Shuddering, he drove still deeper, until at last, with a hoarse cry, he found his own release.
Devereaux awoke in the darkness of early dawn to find Tess staring at him. The grey eyes were wide and very serious as they searched his face.
"You don't look at all like yourself when you sleep," she said at last.
"How do I look?"
She considered the question carefully before answering. "Younger, I think, and more vulnerable. Probably the way you must have looked when you were a child and hadn't taken the weight of the world on your shoulders."
His mouth quirked. "I'm flattered, but aren't you exaggerating a bit?"
"I want to see you, James, all of you."
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