There was much that she did not understand about the Duke of St Aldric. But she was sure of one thing: he had been lonely here. Likely, he still was. A person with many true friends did not need to be as polite and guarded as he had become. At supper tonight, Evelyn had needed to remind him that he had any family at all. If this was how he behaved with those nearest and dearest to him, she doubted that anyone in England was acquainted with the real Michael Poole hiding behind the saintly title.
He had no one and neither did she.
If Madeline understood anything, it was loneliness. And tonight she did not want to be alone. Though they were joined in matrimony, they were separated by class, by circumstance and by the width of this enormous house. Perhaps they were too different to be one in spirit. But there was another, very physical way to ease the pain of isolation.
She had meant to keep apart from St Aldric, fearing him and her uncontrollable response to him in Dover. But why? She was no longer some shy governess protecting what was left of her reputation. She had survived ruin not just once but twice. And while chastity might be sensible for a spinster, in a married woman it was unnatural.
She could remember the way the duke had looked at her this morning when he had surprised her in the salon. He had wanted her. And her body had responded. The feeling was still there, and building in her. Her breasts were tender with it. Her body throbbed. Her mind was alert to the presence of him, lying alone somewhere on the other side of the house.
Lightning flashed again, with thunder following close upon it. It gave her a brief view of gold tassels and silk draperies, etched in sharp relief before the darkness came again. It was a crime to find such ugliness in a house that should be so beautiful. And judging by Sam’s description, the duke’s room was no better.
Perhaps St Aldric had told the truth when he said he had changed for the better. He seemed a different man from the one she had met in the inn. But he was different from the one she had married in London, as well. His quick wit and false smile failed him here. He was unhappy. He was vulnerable. And she was no longer afraid of him.
She pulled her nightgown over her head and dropped it, ignored her sensible robe and pulled the sheet from her bed, wrapping it around her body to keep away the chill.
Then she took the winding way through her suite to the main hall and the door at the end of it. A few more steps and she was standing at the door to his wing. It would not be locked, she was sure. He’d had enough of locked doors. She was right. The knob turned without resistance, and the hinges were as silent as the nursery door.
Beyond it, the hall was dark but for a pair of sconces at the end. It was a relief, for she was sure she did not want to see the details. It was enough to know that the rugs muffled her footsteps and the mirrors on the walls showed her the golden glow of candlelight on her own flesh. She reached out to trace her fingers along the wall and touched not paper, but velvet. Thick fabric curtains deadened sound and concealed God knew what sins. There was a heaviness in the air, as well. Incense? Tobacco? Or was it opium? It made her feel light-headed. Perhaps that was just nerves.
Unlike her own wing, there was a door at the very end of this hall. It was the logical place for the master’s room. Her hand paused on that doorknob for a moment, then turned it and pushed the door open. She went through, closing it behind her, and was plunged into immediate darkness.
But she did not need sight to know that she had found him. While the hall might smell of sin, this room smelled of him. Cologne and musk, brandy and tobacco. She had noticed it earlier as they’d stood together in the nursery. There it had been reassuring. Now her body gave an answering shudder as it sensed he was near.
The fire had died in the grate, but another flash of lightning showed her the figure on the bed. He was lying on his back, a hand across his eyes. The sheet that should have covered him was tossed aside, revealing his naked body to her for the first time. The light was gone again. But she did not need it to remember what she had seen. The strong limbs, the broad shoulders and chest tapering to a narrow waist and the powerful manhood that would wake to her touch.
She surrendered to her desire and climbed into his bed.
He woke with a start and tried to sit up.
She pushed him back down with a hand on the middle of his bare chest and he relaxed as he recognised her, waiting for her to speak. ‘You said I could have what I wanted,’ she said. ‘And tonight, I want this.’ Then she reached between his legs and stroked him once, from root to tip.
The body that had been sleeping came instantly alive and she felt another answering shudder inside of her as she coaxed him to full erection.
For a moment, he seemed too shocked to move. Then his hand closed over hers, stroking once with it before pulling it away to twine his fingers with hers. He pulled her forward onto his body so that she could lie atop him, chest to breast and leg over leg.
And when their lips met, she knew she had been right in coming here. The kiss was gentle, but only for a moment. Then it dissolved into a thing of mutual hunger, open mouthed and desperate. Had she forgotten so much? Or had she never been kissed like this? His lips were sweet and she could not get enough of them. His tongue delved deep and then swirled against her lips before he withdrew to suck and bite his way down her neck to her breast.
Nothing had ever felt this good. They had barely begun and she could already feel the first tremors of orgasm. But before she was finished, she wanted to touch every inch of him and feel him moving inside her.
She pulled away from him and he moaned at the loss, reaching for her to bring her close again. She laughed and batted his hands away, then dipped her fingers in the moisture pooling between her own legs and spread it on him. And then she rose up on her knees and teased herself with the tip of him, spreading herself, working him against the little nub there for a moment before sliding down to sheathe him with her body.
There was another bolt of lightning and she saw him smile. Perhaps it was the stark-white light that seemed to change his features, but the look on his face was different from his drawing room expression. He was staring up at her with pure, unguarded joy. Even if it only lasted for a moment, she was lying with the man and not the title. Her body responded with a shudder of delight.
The storm broke as they moved together, accompanied by the rumble of thunder. Flashes of brilliant white light gave her brief glimpses of his arched throat and his hands reaching for her, just before they settled between her legs. His fingers spanned the crease at the top of her thighs and his thumbs joined to rub circles against her.
As his tempo increased, her control slipped and she leaned forward, grasped his biceps and thrust against him, faster and faster, crying out as she felt him spend himself inside of her, letting it carry her over the edge.
She collapsed against him, exhausted. He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair and brushing the loose strands of it together with his hands. Neither of them spoke and she was glad of it. She did not want to explain to him why she was with him. She was not sure she had an answer for it. She only knew that it been good. The storm was passing. She was at peace now and he was beginning to doze, so she kissed him one last time upon the forehead and fumbled for the sheet. She wrapped it around her body and crept back down the hall to her own room and bed.
* * *
What had just happened?
Michael lay flat on the mattress just as she had left him, trying to analyse the situation. He was cold. His bed sheet was missing. It was proof that what he’d experienced was not just some erotic dream.
When he stumbled across the room to stoke the fire, he found the sheet she had been wearing when she’d come to him. It smelled of perfume and musk. He gathered it to his face and inhaled deeply before taking it back to bed.
The day had been full of unexpected events. The arrival of the Hastingses had given him th
e chance to explain some of the more embarrassing family history to Sam. His brother had taken the news as he took all surprises, with the calm measured response of a physician. It had put Michael at ease.
And then to find Madeline wearing that gown... Common sense should have made him insist that she cover herself in the presence of guests. Instead, his mouth had watered at the sight of her. Her breasts were full, ripe and barely covered. He had wanted nothing more in that moment than to send the guests away, lean her back on the chaise and bury his face in them. He had not wanted to acknowledge an attraction for her, but it was there. And it was growing stronger.
Had she known what his response would be? Did she come to him because she felt something, as well? Or was this meant as some new torture?
Perhaps he had married a succubus. She had taken something from him, and it was more than just a bed sheet. It felt as though some substantial part of him had gone missing after the brief exchange between them. If the soul had been a corporeal thing, something that he could lay hands upon and test for soundness, he’d have done it now. Had she stolen it?
He thought not. He was lighter, but in no way incomplete. He felt drained, but giddy. If he looked into the mirror, he would likely be smiling. If she was trying to hurt him, then she truly did not understand men. It had been the excitement of an anonymous encounter that had got him into this situation. And he had thought those days were behind him.
It had never occurred to him that one might find such bliss with one’s own wife. They might not find common ground in daylight, but the occasional erotic encounter in the night would be most welcome. Sam had hinted that some women, when with child, were taken with hysteria that might manifest in this way. He had said that there was no real harm in it. But the advantages were obvious. The only disadvantage Michael could imagine was the chance that, once the child was born, this desire would be a distant memory to her and they would be strangers for the full four-and-twenty hours of the day.
He sobered suddenly. If his life had gone just a hair differently, if he had not taken sick, or at least remained sober in Dover, he might have found a companion for both days and nights.
Then he set the thought aside. He knew little of marriage and even less of love. He had seen successful examples of neither, other than through Sam and Evelyn. But he did understand physical satisfaction, and he had achieved that tonight. He closed his eyes, laid his cheek against the perfumed sheet and slept.
Chapter Eleven
Maddie awoke the next morning with a strange contentment. The bed, which had seemed large and intimidating the night before, was warm and cosy, even though it was empty. It was still too quiet, of course. She wished that the duke occupied a room in this wing so that she might hear the sounds of another human being waking nearby. There should be servants talking, doors opening and closing and perhaps a laugh or a cough.
She buried her face in the sheet she had taken from his room, catching a whiff of his scent. She was not alone. When she had set out on her adventure the previous night, she’d given no thought to what the morrow might bring. But what was she to do now?
Peg was laying out the same dress she’d chosen yesterday, still hoping that Maddie would agree to it. And part of her did. Today, if the duke came to her wing and saw her in it, things might be quite different.
But Sam and Evelyn might arrive again and embarrass her. She waved the gown away and requested something with a higher neck, but without the prudish modesty of the one she’d changed to yesterday. She had not thought herself vain, but she spent an unusual amount of time admiring it in the mirror before declaring it suitable. She wanted to be sure that the colour flattered her and that the bodice showed enough of her blossoming body to attract, but not so much as to give offence.
Only then did she allow Peg to begin upon her hair. In the past, a centre part and a few pins had been enough. But today, she wondered whether curls might not be needed to add softness around her face.
Was she stalling? Or did she seriously want to look her best before meeting the man whose bed she had shared last night?
* * *
Either way, Maddie’s heart was pounding by the time she walked down to the breakfast room and came face-to-face with the duke.
He smiled as she entered the room, but he always did, even when he was not glad to see her. It was not last night’s smile. This was the same sort that he gave to Evelyn. Not exactly insincere, but common. ‘Eggs?’ he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he took the dish and filled her plate, then pushed the sauce dish in her direction, as well.
‘Thank you.’ Her response was as empty as his offer. Did he have nothing to say other than to offer her food?
‘You’re most welcome.’ Was that a hint of a real smile she saw on his face? But it was gone, replaced by the same detached look he often used when speaking to her. Perhaps he remained guarded because they would be denied privacy.
‘Will we be seeing Doctor and Mrs Hastings for breakfast this morning?’
The duke shook his head. ‘Eve sent a message stating that they would be visiting patients in the area and would not arrive until supper, if then.’
‘They are very dedicated to their work,’ Maddie said, thinking that perhaps it might have been better that they not be so. Their devotion to medicine meant she would be alone with the duke.
‘Indeed they are. That was quite a storm we had last evening,’ he added. It was another benign comment.
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ she lied.
‘It has been some time since I’ve visited here,’ he added. ‘But I do not remember the weather being so volatile.’
If he was referring to her behaviour in bed, he could at least say so directly. She did not wish to be hinted at or handled. She had rather liked the man last night who had been both figuratively and literally naked with her.
But that man was gone and the Duke of St Aldric had returned, bringing all of his empty courtesy with him.
‘That is probably because you spent so much time in the nursery,’ she snapped. ‘I expect the view was quite different from there.’
It was wrong of her to strike in so vulnerable a spot. But it was very effective. At the mention of the nursery, his smile disappeared, replaced by something much more like a grimace. ‘I did not take you to that wing so you could admire the view,’ he said. ‘I had hoped you would use your expertise as a former governess to suggest improvements to it. Now that you have had a few hours to think about it, what are your recommendations?’
So he wanted her expertise as a governess, did he? If that was all he wanted, then it was all he would have from her in the future. She looked him squarely in the eye, using the expression she saved for naughty children. ‘You wish me to do what I can to make this place less grim for your heir? Then I will open the door to the hall, but nail the cabinet shut with your little toy people inside, until such a time as the child is old enough to understand the responsibilities he is to inherit. And then I will purchase some normal playthings.’
Apparently he had been hoping that she might suggest a cheery paint colour or a new rug. The bluntness of her actual recommendation wiped all expression from the duke’s face.
Before he could speak, she continued, ‘You asked for my help. I gave it. While you might understand the care and cutting of each blade of grass in your little kingdom, the land I am used to ruling is much smaller. I know of children and the proper care of them. And I tell you that your perfectly preserved miniatures are not a toy so much as a source of terror.’
‘They are necessary to teach the value of the holdings,’ the duke said firmly.
‘But keeping them spotless and unbroken for generations is unnatural,’ she said. ‘No one can go from birth to death without a little damage. It is nothing to fear. Children often learn from mistakes. If they are never allowed to make them, they have
problems later in life.’
‘I have made mistakes,’ he said. ‘You know I have, for you never tire of pointing them out.’ He rose and threw his napkin onto the table. Then he departed the room with a slam of the door.
That was not what I meant.
For once, she had not intended to call him to task over Dover. Her concern was for the future, not the past, and the very real fear that their child might be tasked with the same impossible mission of maintaining his father’s sainthood.
St Aldric was not infallible, any more than she. And after last night, she much preferred the real man to the facade. She might even be able to make a future with him, if she ever saw him again after this morning’s argument.
* * *
When she had finished her breakfast, she’d almost worked up the nerve to go to him to try to explain. But by then he had sequestered himself in the study with Upton, the estate manager, and a line of tenants was forming in the front hall, readying themselves for a long-delayed audience with the duke.
At some point, she might have to face the crowd, as well. They would want to meet the duchess and to gawk at her as though she was the bear caged in the Tower of London. With this marriage, she had become a curiosity to be displayed for the masses.
But she could not manage it today. Not when she could still remember the rows of tiny people locked away in the nursery and worry that she might meet someone who had a passing resemblance to one of them. The thought gave her chills.
She turned away from the study and the front of the house to the French doors leading into the back gardens. If the London town house had been impressive, Aldric House was magnificent and the grounds around it were a reflection of that perfection. Walkways of crushed white stone and boxwood hedges separated the rose garden from the kitchen garden. Last night’s rain was drying on the grass and the air was full of the smells of summer.
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