"With pleasure," Alexander snarled, his too-handsome face twisted in a ferocious scowl. Hands on hips, he squared his shoulders as he glared at Richard. "I've wanted a chance at you for weeks now. But Leah wanted you. She wants you, still, though God knows you do not deserve that precious gift"
No doubt the boy was right, but that mattered not. She was his wife, and he'd be damned if he let another man touch her. "And you believe you stand a chance against me?"
"I may be a few years younger than you, but let me reassure you, my lord Duke. I know my way around a brace of dueling pistols, and I am eager for the deed"
Richard couldn't believe he was planning to shoot a young man, murder a young man, barely twenty-two. A vision of Leah's anguished face, her expressive eyes glistening with unshed tears rose up to haunt him. Her tortured voice echoed through his mind. If you harm one hair on his golden head...
How would he ever tell her he'd murdered her best friend?
He rubbed his hands over his face. "She will never forgive me"'
"Nor me," Alexander said, the torchlight playing over the hard angles of his clenched jaw. "But I will take that chance. She deserves better than you"
"No doubt you are right, but she is mine."
Alexander's lips curled in a vicious sneer. "She is a possession to you. Nothing more. You drag her around Town, then throw her to the vultures and let them feast on her flesh!"
Richard narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean? If anyone has so much as spoken an unkind word to her, they will answer to me!"
"Unkind word? That is rich. Truly rich. Would that be the case, she could defend herself, but the fancy have much more subtle ways to inflict their wounds."
"What do you mean?" Richard ground out through his teeth.
"They never say anything to her. They look right at herand right through her. She doesn't exist. Oh, they wait for you to turn your back, of course. They cannot be honest in their campaign against her."
The cut direct. Richard should have known. She hadn't wanted to come here tonight, but she wouldn't tell him why. She didn't want him to know how unhappy she was. The cold taste of self-loathing burned like bitter bile in his throat.
"And of course," Alexander was saying, his voice scathing, his words more lethal than any dueling pistol with their cold precision. "When all else fails, there are always the rumors. But rumors only work if you follow her onto the terrace so she overhears your lies."
Richard swore viciously. He walked to the balustrade, dug his knuckles into the stone. "What are these rumors?"
"Hmm, there is the one about her buying you with her money. No, you don't like that one? Let's try this one. She was pregnant and her father dragged you to the altar with a gun. But that might not damage her reputation enough, so let's say she is having an affair with me. And if that doesn't hurt her enough, let us inform her that her husband keeps a ladybird. Oh, but that is just not bad enough, so let's add the juicy tidbit that the husband and slut plot together against her."
"Enough!" Richard said, holding up his hand. How could he have been so blind not to have seen? So stupid, not to have guessed? He knew only too well the cruelty of the ton. Tension clawed at his gut, tightened his fists, clenched his teeth. No one would hurt her again. "Who is responsible for these lies?"
"This last tableau was played out by Lady Montague and her friends, Lady Elliot, Lady Richmond and Lady Cunningham. Of course, they heard it from their lords."
"Lady Cunningham?" Richard could almost understand the malice of the other three, but not Abby Cunningham.
"I will admit, Lady Cunningham was the only one to rise to Leah's defense" Alexander's voice lost its biting edge. He sucked in a deep breath, then pushed it out in an audible gust. "You care about her, don't you?"
In the ballroom, the musicians struck up a lively country dance. Richard shifted his gaze to the flambeaux lighting the garden path, the glimmering gold flickering in the darkness reminding him of Leah's eyes, fury glistening with tears. "It seems I owe you an apology. You have been a good friend to my wife while I have been blind-"
"Don't wait too long to tell her you love her," Alexander said, the bleakness in his voice as cold as gale winds raging across the Cornish coast. "I made that mistake, and I shall regret it for the rest of my life."
Richard met the boy's gaze and saw a reflection of his own lost youth, his own lost innocence. Prescott was struggling to understand why the woman he loved had married another. Through no fault of his own, the boy was suffering.
Any anger or jealousy Richard had felt paled beneath a sudden, unwanted sympathy. He held out his hand. "For Leah's sake, I would beg your pardon and ask for your friendship."
Alexander stared at Richard's outstretched hand for a long, tense moment. Then he sighed, his shoulders sagged. He looked like a man utterly beaten, but his grip was firm and strong as he grasped Richard's hand. "What will you do about this?"
"I have a few ideas. Care to lend your support?"
"Absolutely." Alexander grinned, then winced and grabbed his chin. "You know, for a duke, you have a powerful punch"
Richard rubbed his cheek. "So does the duchess"
Alex laughed, though the shadows never left his eyes. "I have never seen her quite so angry. I would not be surprised if she threw a few more at you when you return home"
"Neither would I," Richard said with a grin. But his amusement quickly died, replaced by shame as he remembered his reckless words and the outrage that had flashed in her tearstained eyes. He needed to find her, but first, he needed to seek his revenge.
The two men entered the ballroom. With Alexander by his side, Richard schooled his features into a controlled mask of indifference, pushed a cold clarity into his gaze that belied the brutal fury pulsing through his veins.
At his approach, Margaret stepped forward, her lips curved in her most seductive smile. "Your Grace," she murmured.
Richard walked up to her, so close, his pumps touched her satin slippers. He held her gaze long enough for all around them to realize he was staring into her eyes, then he turned his back to her without saying a word.
Everyone around them gasped, then an eerie silence swept over the room as if four hundred people drew a single breath and held it, straining to hear Richard's next words.
He ignored them all and raised Abby Cunningham's hand to his lips. His smile was warm and familiar, as was the gleam in his eyes. "As always, Lady Cunningham, the pleasure of your company was the one bright spot in an otherwise dreadful evening."
With a slight lift of her brows and a nod of her head, she returned his smile. "Your Grace. And my compliments to your lovely wife."
He turned to the men. "My lords Elliot, Richmond, I am forced to withdraw my support from your proposed steamship manufactory." His voice was calm, his words clipped.
"What?" Lord Richmond blustered, his jowly cheeks flapping. "Without your support, there won't be a manufactory."
"Surely you realize steam-powered engines are the future of shipping," Lord Elliot said, clutching his chest, pulling at his cravat as if it were choking off his breath. "The Savannah proved that two years ago when she crossed the Atlantic in twenty-nine days. Think, St. Austin! This is the chance of a lifetime!"
"Yes, it is," Richard said, the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls. "More's the pity. Nevertheless, I cannot align myself with two spineless toads who cannot control their wives or their wagging tongues. Now, if you will excuse me, my dear friend Prescott and I have more enjoyable entertainments to attend."
"What did he mean by that, Alice?" Lord Elliot hissed. "If you have caused trouble for me with the duke .. ."
Richard smiled as he walked away. He'd let them suffer through their present misery for a few days. Then he would graciously offer to reconsider his decision, provided the men brought their wives to heel and offered very loud, very public support for Leah's position in society.
For the benefit of the gossipmongers, Richard laughed and joked with Presc
ott as he stalked toward the door. Anyone observing the two men would have no doubt that they were boon companions and any rumors of an assignation between the boy and Leah would be denied.
How could it be true if Richard befriended him?
His smile died as he reached the pavement. Leah had taken the carriage, so he sent a footman to hire a hack. He paced beneath the street lamps as he waited, all the while haunted by Prescott's anguished words and his probing questions.
Do you love her?
Leah stomped across her room to the connecting door. She grabbed the key and gave it a vicious twist.
Of all the nerve! To accuse her of dallying with another man when all along he was the one who kept a mistress on the side.
Pain gripped her chest until she could scarce draw breath. Each tick of the mantel clock marked the tortuous beat of her heart. She collapsed against the wall, crushed the heels of her hands against her eyes, but she couldn't stop the vision of Richard clutching Margaret in his arms, his mouth devouring hers in a passionate kiss.
Now she understood the haunted look in Richard's eyes following her injury and every time she'd questioned him about how she had fallen. He had feared discovery, feared she would remember his fondling and kissing another woman.
Oh, God. Her skin grew cold, even as fury burned in her belly. She raised a shaking hand to her lips, felt his mouth upon hers as surely as if he were kissing her now, the sultry sweep of his tongue as he tasted and teased her, the crush of his hands upon her breasts. The physical side of marriage was so special, so intimate, so personal!
How could he give to another what should only be hers?
As if her thoughts weren't painful enough, her mind's eye tortured her with images of Margaret in bed with Richard, stroking her hands over his naked body, clinging to his powerful hips, swallowing his groan as he shuddered his release.
Never had she imagined he would be unfaithful to her. She had never even considered it. How could she have been so stupid? So naive? She had thought he was beginning to care for her, but she was wrong. She was no more to him than a body in the night!
Well, she would see about that. She was his wife. He was hers. And she was not going to share him with anyone.
His chamber door crashed open and she jumped. Her heart pounded as she listened to his footsteps stomp across his room.
The handle on the connecting door jiggled. Then he pounded on the wood. "Leah, I want to talk to you"
She did not reply. She thought perhaps she should wait until morning when she might be calmer, slightly more rational.
Or perhaps he was right. Perhaps it was better to face his treachery now while she had anger to sustain her.
She twisted the key, ripped open the door, then paced to the far wall, putting the length of the room between them. She couldn't bear the thought of his hands upon her, not after they had touched another. But he would not let her retreat. He strode toward her, sleek as a panther stalking his prey.
When she turned to run, he wrapped his arms around her waist. She opened her mouth to argue, but he shifted her into his left arm, covered her lips with his right hand.
"I know what you heard at the Elliots' tonight," he said, his voice tender and low, his thumb stroking over her cheek, his eyes as impenetrable as the midnight sky. "And I am heartily sorry. I have been stupid. Blind in my arrogance. I thought simply because you are my wife, you would receive the respect you deserve. I should have known better. Polite society. The word is a joke. But I've put a stop to the rumors"
She breathed his scent of jasmine and amber and a stabbing pain sliced through her gut. Did Margaret enjoy the scent of his cologne as much as Leah did? Did he kiss her hair and stroke her skin, whisper seductive words in her ear?
"I know the truth," she said, her voice quivering. "I know about you and Lady Montague"
"Leah, I cannot change the past"
Her weakness made her furious. Desperate to escape, she clawed at his hands. "I saw you together. The night of my injury. I saw you. Holding her. Kissing her!"
"It is not what you think." He turned her in his embrace, forced her to meet his gaze. "Leah, I understand your anger, but you are wrong. Margaret is not my mistress."
"I saw you together, at Lady Cunningham's ball."
She wanted him to deny it. Oh God, how she wanted him to deny it. But she saw the truth in his eyes. She shoved her hands against his shoulders, but he would not let her go.
No, he tightened his grip, smoothed his hands over her back.
"It is not what you think," he whispered against her ear, his breath feathering over her neck. "Margaret is not my mistress, but not for lack of trying. She lured me onto the terrace by pretending dizziness. I have seen her faint any number of times. I had no way of knowing she was not truly ill, not until she kissed me"
Leah tried to laugh, but a sob caught in her throat. "You expect me to believe that Banbury tale?"
"Why not? It is the truth. I cannot deny she once shared my bed" He cradled her cheeks in his palms. His smile was so tender, his gaze so intense, she could almost believe him. "But I've not had any other women, not since the day we wed. What need have I of another, when all that I want is here in my arms?"
She leaned into his hand, forced a smile to her lips even though she felt as if she were dying inside.
"And when you tire of me, my lord?" she whispered through her tears. "Will another grace your bed, then?"
"Oh, Leah, I shall never tire of you"
Chapter Twenty
Leah wanted to believe him, but she was afraid.
"Part your lips for me, darling," he murmured against her mouth, his fingers fanning through her hair, sifting her tangle of curls over her shoulders and down her back.
She could almost believe he cared for her when he was with her like this. When he moved his mouth over her lips, fiercely, boldly, savagely demanding a response, his hands shaking as he stripped off her frock. When he shrugged out of his clothing, his dark eyes meeting hers, his sultry, dark eyes that glimmered with some deep, nameless emotion, she could almost believe ...
"I will not share you," she said, pushing him toward the bed, pushing him onto his back. Straddling his hips, she framed his face, his beard-roughened j aw scraping her hands. "I throw your own words back at you. You are my husband, I am your wife, and even if you never come to love me, I will not share you."
"I am yours, Leah, and I surrender willingly."
His voice, low and raspy with need, lit a tingling ache in her belly, a yearning deep within her womb.
He wrapped his arms around her back, but she was having none of that. For weeks she had longed to explore his body, but had never dared, too afraid he would think her wanton and lewd. Not tonight. Tonight, he was hers to do with as she pleased. Tonight, she would learn the secrets only this man could share.
She grabbed his hands, pushed them high over his head. "Hold on to the bedstead. And do not move"
"I do not think I can survive such sweet torture," he groaned but he gripped the heavy oak panel, tight cords of muscle and tendon stretching from shoulder to wrist.
She flicked her tongue along the parted seam of his lips, tasted his sigh, as she explored the sultry depths of his mouth with shocking boldness. Her fingernails scraping over his shoulders brought forth a low chuckle from deep within his chest, a dark, earthy rumble that sent a delicious shiver down her skin. She moved her mouth over his throat, along his jaw, her breasts rubbing against his chest, the soft scrape ripening her nipples into hard, aching peaks.
"I love the way you taste," she murmured against the curve of his neck, then gasped at her wanton words. She felt his laugh against her skin, hot, bold, an intimate, sensual caress, a shiver rippling down her neck. Never had she felt so alive.
So powerful. She loved the feel of his skin. The burning heat of his flesh. The muscles that flexed and tightened beneath her fingertips. She feathered her knuckles down his sides, smiled against his stomach as his abdomen cl
enched.
He was all rigid, hard planes and burgeoning muscle, hot skin tightening with need. The room was in shadows, the only light sweeping in from the moon and the waning fire in the hearth. Mingling red and silvery light played over his strong, chiseled jaw, the broad sweep of his chest.
Good Lord, what a beautiful man.
Her need was growing, her skin burning, her thighs aching, and deep between her legs, a hot, sultry need to feel him inside her. Slowly, she traced a path ever downward until she wrapped her hand around his straining sex.
His body jerked, in shock or pleasure, Leah did not know until he moaned. She trailed her mouth along the same path, wanting to know him, every part of him, wanting to give him some measure of the same pleasure he always gave her.
"No-don't," he groaned, but she ignored his words and took the tip of his swollen flesh in her mouth.
His protests died in a gasp as he speared his fingers through her hair. She savored his response, his salty-sweet taste, his musky male essence that invaded her senses, swept away fear. This man was her husband and she loved him so much she thought she might weep. She was awkward and clumsy and a little bit shy, but he didn't seem to notice.
"Leah, Leah .. ." He writhed upon the bed. With a shattered groan, he grabbed her arms and dragged her across his chest. She gasped in surprise, then in pleasure as he raised her up and slid himself between her thighs.
What power she felt, riding astride him, setting the rhythm, the pace, the angle that drew urgent moans from his throat and built gathering pleasure within her passage, the hot, slick slide of skin upon skin. Leaning forward ever so slowly, her legs shaking, she threw back her head.
He surged up, hands coming round her back, gripping her hair, his mouth latching onto her breasts, suckling one aching nipple, then the other, each bold thrust of his tongue pulsing through her belly, each upward thrust of his sex touching her womb, until she was quivering, aching, shattering around him.
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