by Amy Atwell
She looked over at him. He lay with a hand flung over his head, his eyes closed, his face blank of emotion.
Derek felt his pulse returning to normal. He’d never dreamed lovemaking could be so fulfilling yet leave him incomplete. But, even as he reached for Johanna, eager to gather her close, she rolled away from him. Before she could rise, he snared her arm. “Where are you going?”
“My room?” she said, unsure.
Cold water couldn’t have doused his ardor any faster. Immediately his guard went up. Clearly, Johanna had enjoyed her initiation to lovemaking but now that her wifely duty was fulfilled, she was eager to escape his bed. This was the price he paid, free access to the charms of her body while she reserved her heart for another.
She cleared her throat. “I know husbands and wives keep separate bedrooms. I didn’t know what you would want.”
“It’s our wedding night. Stay with me tonight.” With care, he plucked petals from her hair while her luminous eyes reflected flickering candles. He bent to kiss her nose, her mouth, to trail kisses down her throat. He knew he could lose himself in her—perhaps, if he carried her over the horizon of passion, that haunted look would leave her face.
“Derek, what are you doing?” Johanna asked. Her body was already turning fluid and supple from his caresses.
“You said you wanted to please me. It would please me very much to do this more than once tonight.” He stopped any further questions with a searing kiss.
~
Johanna found her first week as a wife filled with the unexpected. Despite what she’d heard about husbands and wives keeping separate beds, Derek made clear his preference to have her sleep with him in the large master chamber. This wasn’t a hardship—except they rarely slept. During their passion, Johanna would lose herself entirely and hold him with all the love she felt in her heart. Afterward, she longed to broach with words what their lovemaking implied, but Derek never gave her reason to believe that he loved her. Afraid that she would drive him away by committing too much, she said naught.
Derek had never imagined marrying a woman could make him feel so complete. Yet the guilty knowledge that he didn’t deserve her gnawed upon him. During their passion, he would see what looked like love shining in Johanna’s eyes, but afterward, when they lay spent and sated, he couldn’t escape the knowledge that she should have married a worthier man. To ward off the fruitless thoughts, he made love to her endlessly until she fell into exhausted slumber, and he could do the same.
The end of the week found Lord and Lady Ambersley and their household returned to Grosvenor Square for the final weeks of the Season. Harry had delivered the wedding announcement to The Times upon his earlier return, and it appeared the day before they arrived. This opened a floodgate, and a fleet of invitations awaited them. Wishing to stem any rumors resulting from their sudden marriage, Derek responded favorably to nearly all of them.
Johanna obediently directed Nancy to turn out the wardrobe Aunt Bess had sent from Portman Square. Apparently her prayers that she be finished with this round of gaiety were not to be answered. How she wished they might have stayed at Ambersley, where she might have continued to chip away at Derek’s reserve. All she needed was time and patience to win his love.
Their first night out as man and wife, she encountered the gossip that Derek had feigned leaving London so he could steal her away from the Brindle residence. Throughout the supper party, Johanna held her counsel and left the truth unspoken. Despite the speculative looks and whispers, she smiled and assured all who asked she couldn’t be happier.
But her heart grew heavy as she sipped her wine and watched Derek. Seated across from her chair, his gaze rested on Charis Sumner halfway down the table. Reminded of the other women he’d pursued, Johanna wondered how long it would be before he visited his mistress. Men loved their mistresses more than their wives, she recalled him telling her long ago.
When the dancing began, Derek escorted Johanna to the floor for the first waltz. Though their steps matched in perfect accord, she couldn’t help but feel they were on display.
“I commend you on turning the rumor mill in our favor,” she said.
He frowned slightly, his jaw tight. “That wasn’t me. Worthing must have set the rumors in motion as soon as he returned to London.”
“He kept his own name completely out of it?”
This made Derek’s lip pull back into a half smile. “St. John has always avoided scandal.”
“So the ton believes we’re in love?” She lifted her eyes to his, and her breath caught to find him studying her with a smoldering intensity. Belatedly, she realized this was the first time the word ’love’ had been spoken between them.
He turned his head to scan the crowded ballroom. “Only the naïve,” he said. “Wealth seeks power. Power seeks wealth. As far as Society is concerned, it’s the most natural thing for you and I to wed—especially so suddenly and secretly. After all, you’re my ward.”
Johanna tried to blend this cold rationale with the man who made love to her tirelessly, who brought her to the brink of heaven and back. She considered the other married couples around them. Did they commit their bodies with such abandon in private while maintaining such a public façade of detachment? With a sigh she silently acknowledged she still had much to learn about Society and its ways.
At the next rout they attended, Johanna renewed her acquaintance with the Honorable Reed Barlow. Mr. Barlow, the younger son of an earl, was tall and fair, a prince of a man. A bit of a dandy, he knew all the courtesies, and danced with a natural athleticism that made even the same old steps of the quadrille take on a new zeal. His conversation would never rival Harry’s, but if Johanna did not stray far from the weather or the doings of members of the ton, Mr. Barlow seemed able to hold his own.
As they danced a waltz, Johanna was amazed to hear Mr. Barlow murmur in the vicinity of her ear. “Hair like a raven’s wing, and a gleam of sapphire in her eye.” He left it at that, and Johanna, perplexed, sought what had given his normally staid mind a poetical bent. Across the room she spied Olivia, and when she glanced back at Mr. Barlow, there was no mistaking the look of longing on his face.
“Do you know Lady Olivia, Mr. Barlow?” she asked.
Immediately his attention snapped back to her. “We’ve been introduced a few times,” he said. He then went on to relate each of the meetings at great length. Johanna was only saved from his monologue by the end of the dance. Taking pity on the smitten young man, she led him to Olivia and suggested they stand up for the next dance together. Olivia blushed prettily, and agreed that since her sister—for so she referred to Johanna now—thought him a suitable partner, she would be happy to join him. He offered his hand to Olivia gallantly, and Johanna watched the two match steps perfectly while they maintained an animated conversation.
Olivia cornered her later in the ladies’ retiring room. “Thank you, Johanna,” she said with a kiss on the cheek before she whisked off again.
Mr. Barlow requested another dance, and Johanna agreed. At least he wouldn’t step on her toes during a waltz as two of her other partners had that night. She breezed along in his arms, his steps always easy to follow. She gave herself over to the strains of cheery violins and tried to imagine she was dancing with Derek.
“I wanted to beg your assistance, Lady Ambersley,” Mr. Barlow said. This was the first time he’d started a conversation while they danced. “Olivia tells me you’re her friend, and I appreciate you giving us the opportunity to dance together tonight. You see, Olivia and I are in love!”
Johanna barely managed to suppress her mirth at his declaration. Two more ill-fitting people she could scarce imagine. Seeing his serious expression, she nodded gravely. “I see.”
“Lady Vaughan has warned me off in no uncertain terms. She feels my prospects aren’t adequate to ensure Olivia’s happiness.”
“And what does Livvie think?"
“She’s an angel. She swears if I join the Army, she’ll b
ecome a camp follower. I don’t think camp life would be good for her, so I’ve given up the notion of the Army as a career. I thought of the Navy, but she cannot go to sea with me.” He paused as if he needed to piece together his next thought. “I’ve no desire to see her risk her life, you know.”
Johanna nodded agreement with his noble care for his beloved.
“I thought about becoming a vicar, but I would have had to have studied much harder at school, I’m afraid. Besides, Olivia told me she wants to live in London, and there’s not much chance of finding an opening in the city. So, I informed Lady Vaughan I plan to support my wife through my poetry. I’ve written quite a lot of it, so as soon as it starts selling, there should be plenty of money.”
“And Livvie approves of this plan?”
“Whole-heartedly,” Mr. Barlow responded. “She says she fancies being the wife of a famous poet.”
“No doubt she fancies it,” replied Johanna. Any irony was lost on Mr. Barlow. “Lady Vaughan didn’t approve of your plans, I take it.”
He shook his fair head. “No. She forbids me to see Olivia any longer. I cannot take her for a stroll, or escort her in to supper, and I shouldn’t dance with her, except that tonight you partnered us up. I was hoping you’d deliver our correspondence back and forth. I should much rather trust you than my servants, and Olivia says her maid tells her mother everything.” He flushed like an embarrassed cherub. “I thought, since you flaunted convention to have your love, you might help. Would that be asking too much?"
Despite that her love hadn’t turned out so well, Johanna contemplated his request. She was certain this flame of love would burn itself out, and all the more quickly if Olivia had constant contact with Mr. Barlow. Johanna had no compunction about meddling with Lady Vaughan’s directives. Certainly, Lady Vaughan had meddled in Johanna’s life enough to deserve a little recompense.
“Mr. Barlow, your story has touched my heart, and I’d like nothing better than to see Livvie happily situated. Tell me what I may do.” Johanna smiled her first carefree smile in days.
Derek stepped from the card room into the candlelit ballroom and watched Johanna waltzing in the arms of the tall and handsome Reed Barlow. There was no mistaking the happy gleam in her eye or the soft smile on her lips. Mr. Barlow, his face flushed, talked passionately. The pair of them didn’t seem to notice anyone else existed in the room. Jealousy bit into him sharply, but what could he expect? She deserved admiration—even adoration. If he couldn’t bestow those upon her, should he deny her seeking them from others?
No. Not within reason.
Chapter 20
London, August 1815
Derek made love to her that night, and she welcomed the heat of him against her, inside her, as he ravaged her with sweet savage kisses and pillaging hands. His greedy lovemaking bore a desperation Johanna had never experienced before, and she responded to him with equal passion. Here was freedom from thought, mindless escape from words, nothing but sensations cascading through both their bodies.
As he stroked her to a quivering response with the tips of his fingers, she whispered his name on a shuddering sigh. Slowly, he bent down to kiss her in that most intimate of places.
Johanna’s eyes flew open when she felt his lips move across her. “Derek, what are you—oh!” She gasped as his tongue invaded where his fingers had so recently driven her to spasms. The heat of his mouth unnerved her, and she spiraled in a dizzy ecstasy.
He kept her hovering at that peak while he held his own needs in check, watching the play of wonder and emotions upon her face. Her purrs and gasps punctuated his own enjoyment and gave him a feeling of limitless power. She stroked his shoulders and finally clutched his sinewed arms as her body rode the convulsive wave he brought her.
She opened slumberous, sated eyes, while her breasts rose and fell with her deep quickened breaths. She smiled upon him, and Derek tucked her satisfaction close. He’d come to treasure this intimacy between them. Here, there were no trappings of titles or money. Here, they were a man and a woman, and as such, he felt worthy of her. But would this always be enough for her?
On the verge of entering her, Derek was overcome by a vision of Johanna with another man, giving herself with this same passion. His fingers bit into her hips as he thrust into her, determined to destroy the image. He expected her to pull away from his punishing strokes, but her hips rose to meet his increasing tempo. “Look at me,” he demanded hoarsely. Her eyes met his and held while he pushed them both over the brink of passion’s oblivion.
Afterward, she welcomed his weight, the trusting surrender that allowed him to lie atop her, sweating and spent while she ran her hands lightly over his back. Surely, after what they’d just shared, she need not fear opening her heart.
“I love you,” she whispered into the silence.
“Don’t,” he answered. He didn’t move, but his eyes were now open. Her words struck him like arrows, piercing him with searing heat and bittersweet pain. He was a bastard and a cheat, a man who had taken her virginity by promising her Ambersley when he knew he couldn’t guarantee it to her. She’d been forced to give up a worthy man and marry against her will. He didn’t deserve her love, nor could he sully her by returning it.
Tears stung her eyes. “Do you doubt my heart?”
“I doubt your experience.” He rolled on his side. “Johanna, I know you still believe love is the natural mate to marriage, but passion—not love—prompts you to say those words.” He watched the glow fade from her eyes.
“Do you not believe in love at all then?”
Unable to resist, he traced his finger along her soft throat. “If I speak words of love, will that please you?”
Johanna sensed his reticence. “Not if you don’t mean them with all your heart.”
“And you love me unequivocally?” He smiled ruefully. “What if I were not a duke?”
She pursed her lips, knowing he referred to his bastard birth. While she longed to reassure him, he didn’t know Lady Vaughan had spilled his secret. Johanna desperately wanted Derek to tell her himself—if he could admit his secret to her, it would mean he truly trusted her. She wanted his trust as much as his love. “I’ve always loved you, Derek. I will love you no matter what happens.”
He frowned, for her actions before they wed belied these protestations. “I fear I don’t deserve you.” Lying back, he folded his arms beneath his head. “Get some sleep, Johanna.”
She lay on her side and watched him surreptitiously. She longed to reach out and touch his face, but the moonlight silhouetted the harsh relief of his features. He’d withdrawn into troubled silence, and she feared by broaching it, she would lose what small ground she’d gained. She doubted he understood his own capacity to love, and she’d never be able to convince him—not until she’d won his trust.
Long after his wife slipped into slumber, Derek lay awake and contemplated her words. She’d kindled a hope within him that perhaps, were he worthy enough, he might one day win her undivided love. To make her happy, he’d face down his family and keep Ambersley forever. He’d made her a duchess and he would give her free rein with her fortune. Yet he couldn’t help but fear how she’d react when she learned the truth behind his birth. For the first time, he became conscious that he guarded a secret identity that made Johanna’s charade as the gardener’s son pale in comparison. The irony weighed heavily upon him.
~
Johanna awoke late the next morning, still distracted by her thoughts, which turned more turbulent when she learned Derek had gone out. He’d been so silent and preoccupied the previous night. Had she pushed him away by talking of love? Had he gone to his mistress?
Uneasy, she set out with Nancy for the Coatsworths, hoping Harry might be able to alleviate her doubts.
The house in Portman Square was in disarray, but Aunt Bess smiled upon seeing her. “Johanna, have you come to say farewell?”
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
“Yes, for the Season has
worn me to the bone. Harry returns with me to Bath, though I’ve told him to stay. It’s high time he started shopping for a bride of his own.”
“No bride for me,” Harry said as he entered the drawing room. “I’ve got quite enough trouble looking after you, Mother.”
“And here I thought I looked after you, dear,” she said sweetly.
“Not that I’ll admit to it in public.” He bussed his mother’s cheek. “Taft has questions about covering the furniture and whether you want the chandelier stored for the winter.”
“Heavens, is he that far along with packing? Excuse me, Johanna.” Aunt Bess retreated, a tiny general in a mobcap.
Harry seated them both on the divan and took Johanna’s hand. “Is something amiss?”
“Not exactly.” She squeezed his fingers and released her hand to smooth her skirt while she summoned her courage. “May I speak with you on a private matter?”