Heir to the Duke (The Duke's Sons #1)

by Jane Ashford

  On that thought, Violet appeared in the doorway. She had changed into a gown he had never seen before. He knew this because it was so unlike her usual pale raiment. Its sweep of deep rose silk whispered and clung along the length of her body. Its neckline dipped in a way that insisted he notice the soft curves of her bosom. Her cheeks had more color; her gray eyes sparkled. Altogether, she was more alluring and vibrant than the young woman he thought he knew so well. More and more interesting, he thought. “Would you care for champagne?”

  “Oh, yes, please.”

  He opened the bottle and filled a slender crystal goblet. Smiling at him, she drank it down and held it out for more. He’d never seen her indulge in more than one glass of wine, and he wondered if she was bolstering her courage. “A bit of chicken?” he offered, to reassure her that she would not be hurried. “Or strawberries?” He found his gaze following the tantalizing line of her bodice, and forced it upward.

  “Strawberries,” replied Violet. She walked over to the table and dropped three of the tiny fruits, one by one, into her glass. “People do that, don’t they? Put strawberries in champagne?” She tilted the goblet, caught one of the berries with the tip of her tongue, and ate it.

  Momentarily, Nathaniel was transfixed. “I…believe they do.”

  “Do you want some?” She picked up another strawberry and held it out like a challenge.

  Nathaniel moved two steps closer, grasped her extended wrist, and took the fruit with his lips. He saw as well as heard Violet’s indrawn breath. The dip of that neckline made it thoroughly visible. For one hopeful moment, he thought it was going to slip and reveal more of what he so wished to see. But of course it didn’t. They made gowns that way, somehow. So that they teased. Once again, he pulled his eyes away. Noting a tiny tremor in her hand, he let go.

  “Do you…do you want another?” she breathed.

  Meeting her wide gaze, he nodded. Violet picked up a strawberry and fed it to him. As the sweet taste burst in his mouth, he took one and offered it. Violet’s lips parted. He ran the berry slowly along her lower lip, leaving a crimson trail of juice, before popping it into her mouth. Violet didn’t move. He bent nearer. When she showed no signs of withdrawing, he leaned in and licked the stain away.

  She shivered. And then she set her champagne down with a sharp click, made a kind of lunge, and crushed her lips to his. Nathaniel’s arms slid automatically around her as they swayed with her onslaught. He pulled her close even as he eased the kiss into something softer and slower. His new wife’s inexpert enthusiasm made him want to smile, even as desire spiked in him at the feel of her under his hands. He let the kiss go on. And on.

  “Oh,” said Violet when they parted at last. “Oh, that was nothing like when we kissed before.”

  There had shared a very few decorous embraces, when they could snatch a moment away from her chaperones. “It’s helpful not to feel that your grandmother is just around the corner waiting to pounce,” Nathaniel pointed out.

  “Yes.” Violet laughed. It sounded a little wild. She laced her arms around his neck. “She can’t do that anymore. Ever. Will you kiss me again?”

  “With pleasure, Lady Hightower.” And he did. This time he let his hand drift up to that tantalizing bodice. And when her breath caught, he pushed the small sleeve of her gown down her shoulder in order to touch her more directly.

  “Keep doing that,” she demanded when the kiss at last melted away.

  “This?” As his fingertips teased, his body strained with arousal.

  “Yes!”

  “I’d be delighted to do so. But we should go upstairs before we…make a spectacle of ourselves before the servants.” He drew her toward the door of the room.

  Violet blinked, her gray eyes going from blurred and dreamy to sharply aware. “Upstairs. Yes. I’ll go. You can come in ten minutes.”

  “Ten…?” No part of Nathaniel wanted to wait even three.

  “I have a plan.”

  “A…plan?”

  “Ten minutes,” Violet repeated, and rushed out. Nathaniel was left startled, perplexed, and almost too taut with desire to acknowledge a thread of amusement. But he obeyed his bride’s commands, and waited.

  When he entered her bedchamber at the appointed time, he discovered Violet standing in the center of the room, illuminated by three large branches of candles. She wore a nightdress of whisper-thin gauze. The candlelight shone right through it. It fastened with ribbons at the shoulders in the same shade of deep blue. His fingers itched to untie those bows.

  “I bought it secretly,” she said.

  He thought her voice trembled just slightly. He reminded himself to go slowly, even though desire was beating in him like a hammer on an anvil.

  “Most of my bride clothes are dreadful, because Grandmamma insisted. Like all those…those sacks of ruffles she’s made me wear.”

  Nathaniel’s mind grappled with the phrase “sacks of ruffles” and came up blank.

  “But I managed to get a few things.” Violet took hold of the ends of the ribbons and pulled. The bows unraveled. The nightgown slithered softly to the floor. “I saw you naked this morning,” Violet said. “Turn about, fair play.”

  Nathaniel scarcely heard. He was dimly aware that he had gasped. He’d thought of Violet as suitable and intelligent and perfectly pleasant to look at. How could he have failed to notice that she had a glorious body? The curve of breast that her dress had revealed was only the beginning. She also possessed a narrow waist, a beautiful flare of hip, long, lovely legs.

  “You look as if someone had hit you over the head,” she said. Violet hid a quaver of nerves. Nathaniel’s eyes looked as if they might burst into flame. The astonishing sensations she’d experienced downstairs receded a bit as inner voices scolded her for being inexcusably brazen. She looked down. “Isn’t it…? Aren’t I…?”

  “You are exquisite,” her new husband said.

  She let out her breath. This was most satisfactory. She reminded herself that she had prepared for this moment. What she’d had to go through just to get the nightgown! “I’ve heard the first time is likely to be…difficult.” Indeed, two of her married friends had seemed to relish sharing harrowing tales of their wedding nights. “I…I expect to benefit from your expertise.”

  Nathaniel blinked. Some of the—slightly intimidating—fire went out of his gaze. “My expertise?”

  “You’ve had plenty of time to learn all about it,” Violet pointed out. “And society positively…encourages you to do so.”

  “It?”

  Was he smiling? Was she making a fool of herself? Marianne had said the best thing was to keep quiet and endure what was soon over, but Jane had sworn there could be much more. And when Nathaniel had touched her downstairs, Violet had realized she must be right. “You know what I mean,” she said.

  “Because of my expertise.”

  Part of Violet wanted to snatch up the nightgown and shield her nakedness. But another stubborn part made her stand taller and say, “Yes. And if you are laughing at me, I swear I will—”

  “I am not laughing at you.”

  “Prove it!”

  “How can I do that? I fear you must take my word.”

  His voice was like warm honey. It made her knees feel wobbly. “You can… You can take off your clothes too,” she heard herself say.

  “A capital idea,” Nathaniel replied, already pulling his coat from his wide shoulders.

  Violet watched as he threw the garment over an armchair. His neckcloth followed, revealing the strong column of his throat. He sat briefly to pull off his boots, then rose and began to unbutton his shirt. “Perhaps you would like to help me with these?”

  “What?” Violet’s mouth felt dry. She swallowed.

  “Buttons. Pesky things.” He beckoned.

  Feeling as if a taut string was pulling her, Violet moved toward him. When she was close, he caught one of her hands and placed it on…a button.

  Briefly, she fumbled. Then she
used both hands to undo it, and the next, and so on down his chest. Nathaniel’s breath caught when her fingers brushed the hard muscles of his stomach. So she did it again, experimentally, as she pushed the shirt off. He grasped her upper arms and pulled her into another amazing kiss. Her bare skin burned against his.

  And then he let her go. Violet stared up at him, bereft. But he paused only to skim out of the rest of his clothes, pick her up, and lay her on the large four-poster bed. “Alas, no wolf skin,” he murmured in her ear as he joined her.

  Violet was surprised by a gurgle of laughter. She was also aware of a—rather large—change in his body from what she’d seen this morning. “Is it time?”

  Nathaniel smiled down at her. Heat simmered in his blue eyes again, but also, she thought, great kindness. How odd. “Time for me to demonstrate my ‘expertise,’” he replied, and set his lips and fingers roving over her. They teased and caressed and coaxed until Violet thought she would drown in the shivers of sensation coursing through her. And then his attention centered in the tightest, most insistent spot, and she did. She was swept away entirely on a breaking wave of pleasure.

  “So, you see how it can be,” he murmured as he held her through it. “But now, I fear I cannot wait any longer.”

  There was some pain, but Violet didn’t care. She’d seen how it could—would—be.

  Three

  Violet woke up the mistress of her own household.

  She didn’t think of it right away. She opened her eyes as usual, alone as usual, and stretched in the snowy, lavender-scented linens, blinked at the golden swath of morning sunshine. Where was her nightgown? Oh. She wriggled as memories of last night surfaced, in body and mind, and wondered dreamily where Nathaniel was right now.

  And then the entirety of the change hit. She was Lady Hightower, in charge of this house and several others. The routines of the day were hers to order. No one would be frowning at her for sleeping past a certain hour, criticizing her every move, nagging at her over strict notions of propriety. Or, if they did, she could ignore them, contradict them even. She could have whims and crochets. Or…perhaps she was too young for crochets. But she could certainly consult her own tastes and desires and make her own decisions.

  The bedroom door opened, and Renshaw bustled in, setting down a jar of hot water and throwing back curtains. “Are you still abed, my lady? Do you mean to sleep the day away?”

  And all in an instant, Violet’s mood darkened.

  Renshaw picked up her gauze nightdress from the floor and held it out. Morning light filtered through the delicate blue fabric. “Where did this come from?” she asked in scandalized tones.

  In a moment’s cowardice, Violet thought of saying that Nathaniel had given it to her.

  “Disgusting.” Renshaw crumpled the delicate garment into a ball. It looked so fragile in her square hands. “Only an abandoned hussy would wear a wisp like this.” The lines of disapproval in her face were only too familiar.

  But seeing the lovely gauze crushed galvanized Violet. “Don’t do that,” she said.

  “It’s going straight into the rubbish bin,” Renshaw continued, showing no sign of having heard her. “Before any of the servants here see it. Why, their tongues would be wagging from here to Berkeley Square.”

  Violet started to sit up, recalled that she was naked, and ducked back under the coverlet. “No, it isn’t! It’s beautiful.”

  Renshaw fixed her with the stern gaze that had intimidated Violet since she was fifteen, when her grandmother had assigned her a personal maid of nearly forty—one thoroughly in tune with Grandmamma’s outlook on life. “It most certainly will, my lady. We will not have this sort of scandalous garment in the house. What will his lordship think?”

  He’d seemed to think it was perfectly delightful last night, Violet almost said. But she noticed that Renshaw was laying out one of her old dresses. “I don’t want to wear that one,” she said.

  Renshaw ignored her preference, as she had every objection Violet had ever made. Shaking out the mass of pale pink ruffles, she merely replied, “This is very suitable for a day in the country.”

  If you meant to spend it sitting in a parlor with an embroidery hoop, Violet thought. Fading into the wallpaper and looking quite colorless. Which she did not! She would not! But despite her inner vehemence, futility descended on Violet like a smothering blanket. She’d long ago given up arguing with Renshaw. Whenever she did, the case was submitted to her grandmother, who always agreed with the maid. Violet’s mother was never any help at all, and of course her father took no part in decisions about gowns or the proper pursuits of girlhood. And so it was no use even trying…

  She clenched her fists under the sheets. That era was over. She was the mistress of the house now. There was no higher authority. Violet threw back the bed linens and stood up, stark naked.

  Renshaw’s tight, downturned mouth fell open. “My lady!”

  “I will wear the green walking dress.” The pale color was not much better than the pink, but at least it had fewer ruffles. Violet had been able to sneak only one vivid silk gown into the orders for her bride clothes. As soon as possible, she meant to replace her entire wardrobe.

  It was difficult to carry off nakedness in the face of such simmering disapproval. Though she wanted to rush, Violet made herself walk slowly over to the wardrobe. She took her dressing gown from a hook and slipped it on like armor. “The green,” she repeated, and held Renshaw’s outraged gaze, pretending she was staring down a yapping pug. Finally, rigid with outrage, the maid turned to fetch her choice.

  It was a tiny victory. And it left Violet roiling with emotion as she went downstairs. The staff’s eagerness to provide her with a fresh pot of tea and hot toast was somewhat consoling. She told herself to be patient. Changing one’s life took a bit of time.

  “What would you like to do today?” Nathaniel asked Violet half an hour later, when he found her in the breakfast room. He’d thought she might be self-conscious after last night, and indeed she did not exhibit her customary cool composure. She looked more like herself, however, in a pale green dress that gave little hint of the enticing body he’d been so delighted to discover.

  “I would like to have fun!” she exclaimed.

  Nathaniel blinked in surprise. Fun was not actually a word he associated with Violet. She’d always seemed so serious. Indeed, it was not one that entered into very many of his busy days. His brother Robert had once accused him of having no idea how to have fun, which was nonsense, of course.

  What would Violet consider fun, he wondered? He was about to ask her when he noticed movement in the branches outside the window. “There’s a good wind. We might go for a sail on the lake. Do you like sailing?”

  Violet looked at the swaying trees, then back at him. “I’ve never been.”

  “Oh, you must try it then.” Sailing was definitely fun. Nathaniel loved the breeze in his face, the skim of the boat over the water.

  “Well…all right.” Her hands fluttered in the ruffles of her gown.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t get wet. The boat and I are old friends.” He smiled at her.

  She’d be delighted to get this dress wet, Violet thought. To ruin it entirely, in fact. Could she somehow manage to rip it to shreds on a boat? Or perhaps lake water left indelible stains. There was a thought. Could she find activities in the next two weeks that would destroy all her hated old gowns? Berry picking. Berries left stains, and thorns could wreak havoc on muslin and cambric. But no, it was too early in the year for berries.

  “You should fetch a bonnet,” Nathaniel said.

  She didn’t want to go upstairs and engage in another battle of wills with Renshaw. No doubt her maid would disapprove of sailing. Right now, she would disapprove of anything Violet wished to do. “Are you going to wear a hat?”

  “Well, no…”

  “Then I shan’t either.”

  “Your hair will be blown about. And it will be cool out on the—”


  “I don’t care!”

  For some reason, she said it as if she was ready to defend her position to the last ditch, so Nathaniel merely offered an arm. He wondered what could have caused this militant mood? She seemed a different person from the sweet experimenter of last night. But then, that enthusiastic wife had been quite unlike the Violet he’d thought he knew. Clearly marriage offered a host of new perspectives on character.

  He looked down at Violet, who seemed to have drifted off into some distant realm of thought—one that gave quite a stern set to her mouth. No, there was no hint of the sultry creature in the gauze nightgown. But then, they’d been alone. Now, they walked through a landscape peopled by the curious eyes of various servants. She was, quite sensibly, presenting a dignified facade. Perhaps, like him, she often felt like an actor on the stage. Not merely Nathaniel, but The Duke’s Eldest Son, The Heir, The Hope for the Future. He nodded to himself. Of course the impeccably reared Violet would not expose private feelings in public any more than he would.

  He led her out the back way, so that he could snag a worn shooting jacket from the row of hooks by the rear entrance to the house. With it folded over his free arm, he escorted her across the lawn and down to the lake.

  It was lovely June day, mild and sunny with a few clouds floating in the blue sky. The gardens were splashed with red and yellow blooms, and the scent of flowers rode the freshening breeze. Birds called from the trees. The landscape offered everything he loved about the country.

  On the dock where his small boat was tied, Nathaniel took Violet’s hand. “Step toward the center,” he told her. “And sit in the bow—the front.” She did as he said, making a small sound when the boat rocked under her feet. When she was settled, Nathaniel handed her the shooting jacket. “It can be much cooler out on the water.” Then he stepped aboard himself.