“Not by me, at any rate.”
He gave her a slight shake. “Not by any one. But now . . . a few minutes ago, when I saw how pleased your father was at the duke’s announcement, I realized I might lose you. That’s when I suddenly knew. Oh, Davie, please believe me, darling. I love you. Sometime in these last few weeks I’ve gone from feeling you were an excellent choice for a wife, to feeling I can’t live without you. Do you hear me? I love you!”
“No, you don’t,” Davida gasped, her eyes meeting and being held by his cobalt gaze. “You’re just saying it because you feel honorbound to marry me.”
“I love you with all my heart. I don’t want anyone else, and I won’t let anyone else have you. Look, I’ll prove it.” He bent his head and kissed her, a gentle but searing kiss that went straight to her heart. Feeling her näive but eager response, he whispered against her lips, “And I think you love me, too.”
“Oh, Monty, that’s not fair.”
He drew his head back, still holding her snugly in his arms. “Why not, my love?”
“Because I can’t think straight when you kiss me like that.”
In response, he kissed her again, more insistently, his lips moving restlessly, demandingly over hers.
Davida felt her knees go weak. It seemed her bones were turning to liquid. She swayed against Pelham and opened her lips to his teasing tongue. With gentle expertise he stroked and tantalized her until she felt that she had been set afire.
Pelham broke off with a groan. They were both breathing heavily. “Your fudsy old duke can’t make you feel like this, Davida. And Elspeth never could make me feel the way I do when I kiss you.”
“That . . . that’s not love, though, is it? It’s lust. Oh, please don’t.” Davida moaned, trying to pull away. He held her close, dropping kisses along her cheek, down her jawline, along her slender neck. Unable to resist him any longer, Davida turned her head to give him access to her lips, pressing against him wantonly.
“I love you, Davie. I love you and I want you, and in three days’ time I’m going to have you.”
She groaned softly and lifted her face for another kiss. “Ah, yes, Monty. Yes!”
For a long time they stood thus, letting their love for each other take them to dizzying heights of excitement. At last Pelham had to call a halt. “Sweetheart, we’ve got to stop, or we’ll scandalize the elegant Duke of Harwood by consummating our marriage right here on his carpet.”
A little unsteadily, Davida stepped back and looked at her beloved’s face. His eyes were almost black with desire. She shook her head to clear it and walked away a few steps. Then suddenly she thought, I’ve let him do it again, I’ve let him get around me with kisses. She turned back and launched herself at him, pummeling him angrily.
“You! You are the lecher. Kissing me, then Elspeth, then me! You had better not still be wearing the willow for her after kissing me like that! You know I love you, so you think you can get around me by seducing me!”
He dodged her blows, laughing, as he tried to catch her hands. “Only you, sweetheart. I want only you, love only you.”
“That had better be the truth, after all the trouble I’ve gone to, jilting you and proposing to a duke, no less, so you could have a free choice. You’d better choose me because you really want me instead of her, or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She jerked free and flailed at him again.
“You’ll beat me to a bloody pulp, it seems. And I would deserve it.” He captured her hands and twisted them behind her. “Have you been taking lessons from Gentleman Jackson, my jealous little termagant?”
“I will if I need to. I’m not going to be a complacent wife, Monty. If you marry me, don’t expect to chase after Elspeth or any other woman.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” His face was bright with amusement and admiration.”
“No fancy pieces!”
“No.”
“No muslin company.”
“No, no, no.” He kissed her again. “I won’t want anyone but you.” He released her hands, and they crept up to curve around his neck.
She relaxed and leaned against him, looking up at him adoringly. “Truly?”
“Truly! Word of honor. I love you, Davie.”
“Oh, Monty, I love you so. I was miserable when I thought I had to give you up.”
“Hmmm. It begins to look as if I’ve lost a fiancée.”
The two lovers turned to see the Duke of Harwood and Sir Charles standing in the doorway.
Pelham put a protective arm about Davida. “You may wish us happy, Your Grace.” There was a certain wariness in his look as he faced the older man.
“Indeed, I do wish you happy.” Sternly, Harwood continued, “If you can’t be happy with the love of a good-natured, affectionate girl like Davida, you are a young fool.”
“I assure you, Your Grace, I am no fool.”
“No, you don’t look to be one, unfortunately for me. Well, then, congratulations. Davida, I take it you are satisfied with your choice of bridegrooms?”
Davida looked worriedly at the duke. She had never been able to guess his true feelings. Had she hurt him or was he relieved to be free of the necessity of marrying her?
“Yes, Your Grace. I am very satisfied, but I am sorry . . . that is, I’m afraid I put you to a great deal of bother.”
“Do not refine too much upon it.” He took her hand, and she thought she saw a flash of regret in his eyes before he schooled himself. He bowed over her hand but did not touch her fingertips. Then he stepped back, a crooked smile on his face.
“Actually, Davie, you’ve done me a great favor. You’ve jarred me out of my self-imposed isolation. Since Eleanor died five years ago, I’ve not let myself think of marrying again, but now you’ve put me in the mood for it, I think I’ll go to London next season and look over the field.”
Davida smiled her approval. “I’m sure Sarah will be happy to hear that, Your Grace.”
Slowly, almost fearfully, the young couple turned to her father. “Papa?” Davida took a step toward him.
He drew her into his arms for a vigorous hug. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“Yes, Papa. You aren’t disappointed I won’t be a duchess, are you?”
“I’ve been a foolish old man, Davida. Just be happy and I’ll be content.”
Pelham pulled his fiancée back against his side, a possessive hand at her waist. “It will be my privilege to make Davida happy, sir.” He murmured for her ear alone, “And my pleasure.”
Pink-cheeked, Davida smiled up at him. Then, boldly, she turned so she could whisper in his ear, “Mine, too!”
Epilogue
“What did the post bring, dearest?” Lord Pelham slipped up behind his wife and nuzzled her neck, his arms wrapped around her waist.
“I put your mail on your desk. I have a letter from Sarah to both of us.”
“How is she?”
“Well, I suppose. I was surprised to learn she is in London for the season. She and Gregory Allensby have apparently quarreled. She’s seeing that handsome equerry, Lord Meade. And her father is pursuing Lady Cornwall, who swore she’d never marry again.”
“Indeed, that does sound fascinating.”
“She wants to know when we are coming to town. she says it is sadly flat without us, with all in mourning for Princess Charlotte.”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t this season. What about our little pledge of affection?” He allowed his hand to stray past her waist, curving over the slightly rounded contours of her body. “The future Baron Pelham must be born at Pelham Manor, you know.”
“Only for a month? We have plenty of time, really.”
“Hmmm. Perhaps for a month or so, if it would please you. There are some matters coming before the House of Lords that I’d like to have a say in.”
Davida smiled and turned her head to kiss him on the cheek. In a hesitant voice she announced, “She . . . she mentions Lady Elspeth.”
“What of her?” Pelham’s voice was
sharp with annoyance. He thought his wife still believed he had feelings for Elspeth, and it was so far from the truth as to be a source of aggravation.
“She wed Lord Whitham privately a week ago.”
“Poor Whit.”
“Monty!” Davida laughed over her shoulder at him.
“I mean it, Davie. He’s a poor sot. It seems to me that after we’ve been blissfully married for almost a year, you wouldn’t still get that shadowed, sad look on your face whenever Elspeth is mentioned.” His aggrieved tone and unhappy look touched her deeply.
She turned into his arms, hushing him with a kiss. No longer the kiss of a näive girl, it soon had them both breathless. She pulled back first and caressed the slight cleft in his chin lovingly with her forefinger as she whispered, “I do believe you. Truly, Monty, I do. But I so hope she’ll be happy. You see, I feel guilty because I have you, and she doesn’t.”
“Is that why you always look so uncomfortable when she is under discussion?”
She smiled and leaned against him, nodding her head. “I’m always so glad that Elspeth jilted you, you see.”
“And I am always so glad I was jilted.” The hunger in his deep cobalt gaze had the power to make her pulse race. A little embarrassed by the turn her thoughts were taking, she moved away from him, lifting the letter to continue reading from it.
“And I’m glad you jilted me, too.”
That brought her up short. “You are?” Davida wrinkled her nose in puzzlement.
“Yes, for if you hadn’t run off like that, there is no telling how long it would have taken for me to realize how much I love you, or how much longer after that it would have taken to convince you of the fact. I believe our marriage got off to a much better start because of your escapade, dangerous though it was.”
She smiled. “I’d never thought of it that way, but I believe you are right.”
“And now you are trying to jilt me again.”
“Wh . . . what?”
“Come, now, little wife. You’ve been married long enough to know that that kiss, ah, raised certain expectations, and yet you are trying to drift off with that letter as if you plan to answer it forthwith.”
She fluttered her eyelashes for an instant, coquettishly. “I can’t think what you are hinting at, my lord.”
Pelham’s strong hands closed around her upper arms, and he drew her to him. “Look at me, Lady Pelham,” he commanded.
When she raised now-serious sunlit blue eyes to him, he demanded, “Come upstairs with me, Davida.”
“At this time of day?” Davida’s tone pretended astonishment, but she nestled into her husband’s embrace and received his ardent kiss. Then she whispered something in his ear which made him smile, and they walked up the stairs arm in arm.
Keep reading for a special excerpt from another Regency Romance
by June Calvin
THE DUKE’S DESIRE
Available November 2012 from InterMix
An unfamiliar sound caused Justin Stanton, the fourth Duke of Harwood, to look up from his struggles with the estate books. Unrestrained weeping expressive of the deepest feminine grief echoed across the vast tile and marble entryway of Harwood Court. The duke sprang up, realizing that his usually cheerful daughter, Sarah, was the source of the distressing sounds. He could hear her sobs as she raced across the entryway, past the library, where he was barricaded by his bookkeeping.
His long stride carried him to the door before she had mounted half a dozen steps up the massive central staircase. “Sarah? What is it?”
Sarah whirled around and reversed directions, a blur of golden curls and frothy pink muslin. “Oh, Papa, Papa, I shall die. I shall simply die.” She flung herself into his open arms, weeping uncontrollably.
Harwood looked over her head into the sympathetic eyes of Timmons, his elderly butler. He gave a nod, which Timmons easily interpreted, and swung Sarah up in his arms as the old retainer opened the door to the front drawing room.
“Now, Sarah, can you tell me . . .” he began, depositing her on a sofa. “No, obviously you can’t.” He studied her features, usually so prettily arranged in a dimple-punctuated smile. Her chin was trembling and tears drenched her cheeks. She was attempting to speak over her sobs, with distressing results. Harwood crossed to a large cabinet. He turned the key, already in the lock, and extracted a decanter of brandy and one glass.
“Drink this.” He put the glass to her lips. “Sip it—that’s it—slowly.”
In spite of his cautions, Sarah almost choked on the fiery liquor. He persisted until she had downed a sizeable dose.
The brandy calmed her, or numbed her. Her sobs gradually faded away into her father’s lapels. His large comforting hand rubbed and patted her back while she regained control of herself.
“Now let me hear it, Sarah, for I may be imagining even worse than you have to tell me.” He lifted her chin and looked into the grey eyes so like his own.
“Y-yes, Papa. It is quickly told. I drove out with Gregory this morning . . .”
Harwood’s mouth firmed. “And?” His voice was ominous.
“He sent word that he must speak to me. I thought . . . I thought . . .” Her chin began to wobble again. “. . . he was going to propose at last. But he didn’t. He explained to me why he couldn’t, why he doesn’t want to . . . oh, Papa, he’s going to marry Amanda Greenwood.”
The duke drew his daughter into the circle of his arms again. He wasn’t surprised. He’d long suspected Allensby wasn’t as eager for their union as Sarah. Though his heart bled for his daughter, he couldn’t help but feel a certain relief. Allensby was a very ordinary young squire, with little to recommend him in terms of intellect or prospects. He was also burdened with a mother and three young sisters and an estate that was little more than a farm.
The duke had insisted Sarah go to London for the season before allowing her to be betrothed to her childhood friend. He had hoped she would find some more worthy suitor. When she’d come home a month ago still determined to wed Gregory, Harwood had bowed to what seemed to be the inevitable. “Allensby is a great fool to pass up such a bride,” he whispered into Sarah’s golden curls.
“Oh, Papa, he said he wasn’t worthy of me. He claims that is why . . . but he can’t love me, or he wouldn’t let our difference in rank matter, would he?”
“Not everyone would agree with you. Some might say it is a sign of his unselfish love.”
“Well!” Sarah sat up, her tears drying in a flash of indignation. “I don’t think it’s unselfish; I think it’s foolish. But anyway, he lied. Gregory could never fool me when he was lying. He always looks every which way. He was just trying to let me down kindly, I’m sure.”
Justin studied her bright hair and lovely features. Sarah was petite and pleasantly rounded. She was blessed with perfect skin, thick-lashed grey eyes, a short, slightly, retroussé nose, and a rosebud mouth. Her frequent smiles brought enchanting dimples into play.
“Surely that young fool couldn’t prefer Amanda Greenwood to you!”
“Oh, Papa, you are biased. She is tall and . . . and sturdy.” Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “He said that she knew how to be a farmer’s wife and wouldn’t pine for a place in the fashionable world, as I would. But I wouldn’t! Not if he loved me. I wouldn’t!” She sought the comfort of her father’s shirtfront again.
“No, of course you wouldn’t. I never saw a young girl less affected by the fashionable monde.”
“Indeed, I missed the country terribly. My season would have been unbearable if Davida hadn’t been there with me! I know I would be a good wife to him.”
“I wonder if I should speak to him. Perhaps he thinks I wouldn’t approve the match?”
“No.” Sarah let out a long, hopeless sigh. “He spoke as if it was all settled between them. In fact, I got the impression that while I was in London—”
She stopped abruptly and was silent so long her father pushed her away and looked at her face. It was beet red.
Sarah stood up, too, catching her father’s arm in her small hands. “No, Papa, you mustn’t. He was trying to find a way to tell me. I can see that now.”
Despondently, she worried the ruffles on the front of her sprigged muslin. “I shall just stay here and keep house for you. I’ve no wish to marry, after all. Why, I am just now getting the rose garden and the succession houses the way I want them.”
Harwood put out a hand and smoothed back the golden curls that tumbled over her cheeks. “That will make an excellent project to occupy you this fall and winter. By next spring when I go to London, you’ll be feeling much more—”
“No!” Sarah bounced away. “I won’t go. I won’t ever go through a second season, stared at and measured like a beast offered for sale at the county fair. I never would have endured this last one if I hadn’t thought I had someone who loved me, truly loved me, to marry when it was all over.”
The duke nodded sympathetically, but his mind was racing. Somehow he had to prevent his daughter from burying herself in the country. “I quite understand how you feel. And of course you must do as seems best for you. But you will help me, won’t you? As I explained to you after my five-minute betrothal to Davida, I am weary of my widowed state. I plan to go to London to seek a bride; surely you’ll go with me and lend me your assistance?”
Sarah tilted her face up, perplexed. She had never quite believed that her father had wanted to marry her best friend. Surely he had just been acting out of kindness when it seemed Davida needed a way out of an unfortunate betrothal. “But Papa, if I am not to marry, I will be here to keep house and be your hostess. Why should you marry?”
Mastering the impulse to laugh at her naïveté, the duke slid his arm around his daughter. “There is a bit more involved in marriage than that, my dear.”
Once again Sarah turned beet red. “But you are forty!”
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