Michael’s heart sank. If his wife wished to destroy the morning, she had been given the chance. She had but to take the thing and announce that it was nowhere near the quality on Bond Street. That while he might admire the St Aldric crest, he must see that the griffons were not quite equal, the monogram not quite centred. The cloth was not nearly fine enough for a lady’s delicate skin. While it would be embarrassing for him, it would be crushing for the girl and humiliating for the Bakers, who had done nothing to deserve her enmity.
It was too late to order her away. One sly comment and the good feeling of the morning would be gone, the day ruined. It would be the sort of visit he’d feared and no amount of tumbling in the bed sheets would make him forgive her. He waited in silence for the inevitable.
‘It is...’ She reached for it. ‘Is...’ He could see her shoulders begin to shake, probably from derisive laughter. ‘Oh, I am so sorry.’ She crushed it to her face and stifled a wail. The linen was growing damp with her tears and the words seeping around the edges of it were barely coherent. ‘So beautiful...touched...do not deserve...thank you...’
Mr Baker took a step back from the desk, obviously alarmed, but Mrs Baker shot a glance to her daughter and nudged the girl to a curtsey. ‘You’re welcome, your Grace. You honour us. We work in wool, as well. There is a fleece in our shop right now that could be made up into a wee blanket, soft as a cloud, just right for a babe’s cheek.’
Madeline’s watery eyes appeared over the top of the linen, soft and brown as a doe’s despite the tears, and she gave the slightest nod.
Mrs Baker nudged her daughter again. The girl’s mouth was as round as an egg as she dipped to curtsey a second time. Then the mother gave a triumphant smile at having happened on the best piece of gossip in the holding. She had not only given the first gift to the new duchess, she had found the real reason that his Grace had returned to the country after so long.
* * *
Maddie withdrew as soon as she was able to master her tears, and hurried to her room. But the garish decor made her feel worse and not better. Her cupboards were full of silk gowns and muslins in more colours than she could name. There was more here than she could need in a lifetime. And all of them were pulling tight across the bodice as her body expanded. They would not fit, even if she could find an excuse to wear them. Now they were hanging in this horrible bedroom, which was itself a mockery of extravagance. The dovecote was full of lovebirds. The pasture housed that pathetic nag that she had forced on St Aldric. None of it brought her any satisfaction.
She had thought St Aldric distant and insincere, but he had done everything he could to help her. The people who worked the land around them adored him. He knew them by name and watched over each and every one of them as though they were his own family.
Though they had never seen her before, they welcomed her with joy and with gifts, never suspecting that she came to them ready to do mischief at each turn.
She had been trying to make an enemy of her husband while telling herself that she had made a husband of an enemy. Soon she would bring an innocent baby into this horrible house and she had no idea how to go on.
The tears were coming again. This time she did not try to stop them. She felt small and alone. So she turned and fled the duchess’s suite for a room where she could truly feel at home.
* * *
Some time later, the duke sauntered by the open door of the governess bedroom, as though trying to pretend that there was any excuse for his presence in the nursery wing other than searching for her. He hesitated on the doorstep, making no move to come closer to her. ‘Forgive my asking, Madeline—but are you well? In the office just now, you were rather overset.’
She sobbed aloud again and held out a hand to him. Then she dropped it, not wanting to involve him in this pathetic display of emotion.
‘Do you wish to return to your own room? I doubt this one has been aired.’
She shook her head.
‘Do you wish me to summon your maid? Or Evelyn, perhaps?’ He turned, ready to go.
‘No!’ She was not sure what she wanted, but it was not to be prodded with tea and company. The tears were coming faster now as the enormity of the changes in her life caught up with her. She was pregnant. And she had married a stranger. What had she been thinking? Had she seriously been planning to spend the rest of her life in anger? As a governess, she had been quite clear with the children she’d taught on the importance of living up to responsibility and not wasting time in petty squabbling. But who was to teach that to her?
And what to do with her new title, her new position and the obligations that came with it? And the fact that, last night, she had climbed into his bed and demanded to have her way with him?
‘Oh, hell.’ Apparently even a saint lost patience when confronted with illogical displays of emotion. But just as she was convinced that he was about to storm off and leave her to her tantrum, he came into the room and sat on the bed beside her. Then he put his arms around her and kissed her. His mouth sealed hers, trapping the escaping sob in her throat while his tongue stroked gently over hers.
For a moment, she was still unsure of what she wanted. Then she gave up and let him kiss her. It was nice, at least, until it became difficult to breathe through her stuffed nose. She pulled her mouth free, leaned into his body, put her face into his coat and wept.
She felt him stiffen. Did he despise her? She had been awful to him. And all along he had been trying to make amends. The thought made her weep all the harder.
A rational voice at the back of her head informed her that such thoughts were the madness of a pregnant woman. She’d had a logical reason to be angry. It did not make her horrible. But the same rational voice reminded her that it was her choice as well to decide that enough was enough, to forgive and to declare the matter closed.
She heard St Aldric sigh again. Exasperated, frustrated and ever so slightly affectionate. ‘There, there.’ His other hand came around her waist and he patted her on the back. ‘It will be all right. Tell me what you need. Whatever it is. I will make it so.’ And there was the sigh again, as though he was silently wondering if it was even possible to make her happy. ‘What do you require of me? How can I help?’
It was so very him to say such a thing. He was thinking of her first, now that he’d found her in need. Had she ever seen him selfish in his desires? In Dover, of course. But last night, he had definitely been a generous lover.
‘I saw the horse,’ she whispered. ‘And the birds.’ She sobbed again. But this time she put her arms around his waist, clinging to him.
He sighed again, thoroughly confused, and hugged her in return, leaning back onto the bed, holding her to his side. He lay there awkwardly, his shoes upon the floor. She drew her legs up onto the mattress and curled against him, comforted.
He released her for a moment, fumbled in his coat to produce a handkerchief and offered it to her.
‘Thank you,’ she managed, ‘but I have a handkerchief.’ She held up the sodden lump that had been the carefully made gift.
He pressed his own linen into her hand and waited while she blew her nose in a most unladylike fashion.
‘Better?’ he asked. She could not see his face, but when she wiped her eyes and looked up, she saw he was smiling. It was not the tight, frustrated smile of vexation that she was used to. He was bemused.
‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘I am sorry...to be so emotional,’ she finished, still not sure that she wanted to apologise for anything at all.
‘Sam assures me that such spells are common amongst increasing women,’ he offered. ‘You have nothing to fear from them.’
‘Do you consult him in all matters pertaining to me?’ she said, her tone drying along with her eyes.
‘He is my brother,’ St Aldric said, as though the explanation were a simple one. ‘He assures me
that his wife is more knowledgeable on the subject. But I go to him, since he has known of us from the first. He is also a physician.’ There was a slight pause. ‘And even if Evelyn is the authority, it would be deuced awkward to consult her on such a personal matter.’
‘Because you were once betrothed?’
‘Because she would torment me unrelentingly,’ he said. ‘And because she is female. For a gentleman to express curiosity about such things would be unnatural. Especially about such things as the previous evening.’
She gasped.
‘Do not worry,’ he said. ‘I did not discuss the specifics. But I have ascertained that fluctuations in the humours, both pleasant and unpleasant, and an increase in certain appetites, strange cravings and preferences, can be blamed upon the fact that you are increasing. You will not be held responsible by me or anyone else.’
‘Last night...’ she said, not sure how to enter that into the conversation.
‘Was an increase in appetite. I will not upbraid you with it. Nor will I mention it again,’ he said, once again the most diplomatic of men.
‘Then you did not like it?’
His head was resting again her hair and she could feel him laughing as his lips rubbed gently against the curls. ‘Quite the contrary. It was incredible. But I will have no expectations that it will be repeated. I mean to make no demands on you, just as I promised from the first.’
‘I see.’
‘However, should you wish to do it again, use me as you wish. I will humour you, because you are with child.’ There was no artifice in the grin on his face.
The tears had stopped. And now she was laughing. ‘How gracious of you.’
‘As always, I am your humble servant.’ But parts of her humble servant were pressed close to her and feeling somewhat less than humble. She squirmed against him, arranging herself so that she might be closer. It was wrong. It was the middle of the day and she was still in her walking dress. He had interrupted what he was doing to come and find her. For all she knew, half the village of Aldricshire was still in the receiving room, waiting for him to return.
‘Madeline?’ His voice was quiet enough, but she had never been so close to him that the sound of her own name vibrated against her skin.
‘Hmm?’ she said, putting an ear to his chest so that she might feel his next words as well as listen to them.
‘I think, unless you want me to humour you immediately, that we should probably leave this bedchamber.’
‘Because it has not been aired?’ She made no move to let go of him. Instead, she rolled onto her side and adjusted her hips so that his growing erection was well placed between her legs.
‘With each passing moment it becomes more difficult to go.’
‘Harder, you mean?’ She pressed her legs together, trying to trap him between her thighs.
‘You are teasing me.’ He did not seem annoyed by it. He was merely acknowledging the truth.
‘And you are a very busy man,’ she reminded him. ‘You would have to be very quick about it, so as not to disrupt your schedule.’ She cupped him from behind and squeezed.
He gave a single groan of frustration. Then his hand was on his breeches, tugging so hard she heard a button pop and the fabric tear. His mouth covered hers and his kisses were rough and hungry. His tongue filled her mouth as she bit and sucked in response. He was yanking up her skirt, leaving her uncovered, spreading her with a stroke of his fingers before sinking one of them deep inside her. ‘Is this what you want, witch?’
It was delicious, this feeling glowing in her again as she clenched her muscles around it. But it was not enough. ‘More,’ she whispered. ‘More.’
He withdrew his hand and entered her, hard and fast, his lips pressed to her ear. ‘Minx.’ He thrust hard as he whispered, ‘Temptress.’ He thrust again. ‘You are driving me to madness.’ And he was driving into her, relentless in his frustration, eager for satisfaction.
He was not the only one going mad. She was panting as she grabbed his cravat and yanked at the knot, opening his shirt so that she could ring his neck in kisses and then in bites. It was fast and wicked, and she could not seem to get enough of him. Her breasts were straining against the confinement of her stays. Her body was wet for him, and his size, the movement, his hands tearing at her hair, pulling her leg until her knee rested against his waist, so that he could go deeper, deeper....
She cried out as she broke, going limp against him, but he continued, his final thrusts stoking the fire in her to a low, hot glow. Then he stiffened and relaxed in her arms.
She drifted back to earth to face what had just happened.
His head lifted from where it had been nestling against her covered breasts. He was smiling. ‘You look quite shocked, Madeline. Please do not tell me I misunderstood your intentions.’
Misunderstood the feeling of her hands on his bottom? What had made her do that, in broad daylight, when she’d been crying only moments before? ‘No. You did not misunderstand. I am just surprised that I have such intentions. They come upon me rather suddenly, you see.’
‘Then I am glad I did not miss them,’ he said. He moved his hand from beneath her and rubbed idly at a muscle on his neck.
She looked at the spot he had touched. So he was not perfect, then. He had a blemish. A single scar, or rather a group of them. Three parallel lines running a few inches at the side of his throat. By day, his valet must use some skill to see that they were hidden by the cravat, lest they spoil the perfection that was St Aldric.
‘What did you do there?’ she said, curious at this single sign of vulnerability.
‘This?’ He smiled. ‘I should think you would know the answer to that better than I.’
‘I?’ She leaned back, surprised.
He snatched her hand from his chest. The shock of it curled her fingers involuntarily into a claw. He dragged the tips of them lightly along the skin of his neck.
Each one marked the path of a scar.
‘That night,’ he said softly, ‘when you realised what had happened, you scratched me. That was the moment I knew I’d made a mistake. When I awoke the next morning, the blood had dried on my shoulder. I should have taken better care. It is funny how quickly such a minor thing can go septic.’
‘You were ill?’ she said, surprised again.
‘Hardly. A little redness. A week’s bother, more or less. But they did not heal smoothly, as they should. Hence the scars.’ The affected shoulder gave a small shrug. ‘I did not deserve to leave that place without some mark of it. Now when I look in the mirror, knowing that the scars are there, just hidden by my linen, prevents further excesses.’
She had marked him. She felt an unnatural grief for having spoilt something so beautiful. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.
He pressed her hand to his throat, covering it with his own. ‘You have no reason to be. I am sorry for not being the man you wished for.’
But perhaps you are.
Wasn’t this man what she had actually always wanted? Not because he was a duke, for she had never in her wildest dreams thought to want that. She had wanted someone to lie beside her, to share laughter, to make her feel safe and part of his life and family.
Someone to love.
His fingers covering hers were warm, gentle. Gentle man. That was what he was. They stayed just like that for several minutes, his body still rested in hers. But the place where their hands rested on his throat was a much more intimate joining. She could feel the pulse beneath her fingers. Each swallow. Each sigh. Slowly, she felt her own breathing, her own heartbeat, falling into synchronicity with his.
She had been so angry for so long. Not without reason, but it was so tiring to hold that anger. It had been like gripping an animal, always struggling to escape. If she loosed it, it might turn with fang and claw and devour her. But
to hold it meant scratches, small, septic.
She closed her eyes and let it go.
Chapter Thirteen
It had been his first summer in Aldricshire in nearly five years. Although he still did not like the house, Michael had to admit that he had forgotten many of the pleasant advantages of spending the Season here. He smiled at the retreating back of the two last tenants, who, though they were not leaving as friends, had at least accepted his opinion on the boundary between their fields and would abide by it. Upton had set aside the heavy book of maps and was gathering up the ledger and the rent money.
The people here were happy. The land was prosperous and he enjoyed his long walks through it. His wife was healthy. There was a rosy glow about her that reminded him of the blooms in the garden: lush, sweet and intoxicating. If the servants thought it odd that he spent most nights with her in a small bedroom in the nursery wing, they said nothing to indicate the fact. Even the sanest man was allowed an eccentricity now and then. This would be his.
He could blame it on her, if he wished. It was simply the irregular mind of a pregnant woman and former governess nesting in a familiar place. She might even agree with him to save him embarrassment.
But it had been his idea. The mattress was better than the one in his room, possibly because of its more innocent past. The space was small and comfortable. There were no bad dreams in it. He slept each night like a babe, his arms wrapped around Madeline in the place where they had first made their peace.
Michael walked back to his study, shaking his head, still not sure what it was that had convinced her of his good intentions. Had it been something he’d said or done? If so, he’d have done it earlier. She had fallen to weeping and muttered something about horses and birds. Suddenly, the trouble had been over and she had been his.
She had always been desirable. He could not deny that he had admired her, even at the start. But he had concluded that his feelings towards her were no different from what he felt whenever he saw an attractive female. She was comely, therefore he wanted her. When she’d come to him that first time? A man would have to be a fool to refuse.
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