He's a Duke, But I Love Him

by Ellie St. Clair

  True, his life had changed. He did have to think of her, worry over her thoughts and feelings, but it was more than a fair exchange for what he received in return. He could only hope he could win back her love.

  He tucked the letter into the pocket of his jacket, and strode to the door with resolve. He all but ran out the door to his carriage, providing his driver with the address of the Duke and Duchess of Carrington.

  25

  Olivia slowly packed the few belongings she had brought with her to Isabella’s. She knew she should have immediately returned to Alastair's home — her home — but rather than say the wrong thing as she usually did, she wanted to take the time to plan an explanation and an apology that Alastair would have no choice but to forgive. Her bag packed, she began pacing the room as she gathered her thoughts, before she sat down at the writing desk and scratched out a few notes on the piece of paper before her.

  As she struggled to think of the words, she heard a noise at the door, and she bid the maid to enter. “The Duke of Breckenridge here to see you, my lady,” came Molly’s soft whisper, and Olivia nodded, her hands suddenly clammy with perspiration. He was here. He had finally come, just when she thought perhaps he truly wanted nothing to do with her.

  She took the stairs slowly, her heart beating wildly in her chest at the anticipation of seeing Alastair. She had to explain all to him, before he told her he wanted nothing more to do with her. She took a deep breath as she paused outside the drawing room door, reviewing all that she wanted to say. She pushed open the door slowly, and there he was, rising from the sofa to greet her.

  Oh, but he was so handsome. Her heart burst just looking at him, the sweep of his golden-touched hair, his strong, aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Her eyes scanned his broad shoulders, the biceps and forearms hidden by his jacket that she knew were strong and sure. How she longed to run to him and feel his arms around her again. But first, she must explain all.

  She took a step toward him. “Alastair,” she said, as he murmured, “Olivia,” in the same moment. She managed a slight smile as he tilted his head and said, “Please, allow me to begin? I have some things to say to you which I should have said long ago.”

  She hesitated, wanting so badly to speak, but he looked more vulnerable and earnest than she had ever seen him before, and she nodded her acquiescence.

  “You asked many times about my affairs and I repeatedly brushed off your questions and your interest. I apologize for that. I received a letter from the man we spoke about, Mr. P.J. Scott from The Financial Register. Allow me to read pieces of it to you.”

  “That is really not necessary --”

  “But I insist,” he said as he cleared his throat.

  Your Grace,

  I should like to start by saying that I hope my advice has been of help to you. You may wonder —

  “And indeed, wonder I did,” he interjected, looking up before continuing.

  — why I chose to privately correspond with you regarding my answers to your questions of investments, and what I felt were the most appropriate and financially responsible selections.

  While you do not know me beyond my column, you may be surprised to learn that I know much of you. You are a man of character, a man who sees beyond the typical role placed upon those in society, and allows them the freedom to be who they desire. You have received a reputation for your past, I know, and perhaps one that is warranted.

  However, unlike other dandies —

  “I should certainly hope that I am not considered a dandy.” No, that was not what she had meant.

  — who are most concerned with appearance above all else, I know your intent. You wished to restore your family name, and you have worked hard to do so, albeit you did so by wisely choosing whom to ask for advice.

  This will be our last correspondence. Due to my own circumstances, it is unlikely I shall continue with The Financial Register, —

  “What a shame.”

  — and I will no longer be available to issue you any further consultation.

  I wish you the best in the future. Follow your intuition. It shall guide you in the appropriate direction.

  Yours truly,

  P.J. Scott

  “It is unfortunate Mr. Scott will no longer be providing his advice,” Alastair said upon finishing the letter. “He truly has a talent and intelligence that should be shared with the world.”

  “That seems to be true,” said Olivia with a nod. “However, sometimes the circumstances of one’s life prevent one from following his — or her — passions.”

  “It should not be so, though, should it?” he asked, looking up at her. “Anyway, I have written a letter back to Mr. Scott, and I should like to read it to you.”

  “Please do not feel it necessary,” she said. “I know that —”

  “You shall want to hear this, I believe. Would you care to sit?”

  Olivia walked further into the room, and slowly sunk down before him onto the sofa he had previously occupied.

  Alastair began to speak, although Olivia noted he did not refer to any paper in front of him, but rather stared at her, the ocean of his green eyes boring into hers.

  “Dear Mr. Scott,” he said. “I have enjoyed our correspondence over the past few months. You have been invaluable to me, and I have come to realize just how much so. You offered me advice with no intention other than to assist me, and I brushed much of it aside, as I did not fully realize just how worthwhile, how intelligent, how incredibly remarkable you are. We had fun together, that is for certain. Underlying the adventure of the exciting times we shared, however, I now understand there is a much deeper emotion that remains in my heart.

  “The financial solvency of my estate is no longer of the greatest importance to me. Nor are the accumulated debts, many of which you have single handedly managed to absolve me of, with not only your sound advice, but your proficiency at the card table.”

  Olivia’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped as he spoke. He knew. He knew she was P.J. Scott. And yet he did not seem to care. In fact it seemed … he admired her for her work.

  “Olivia,” he said, dropping to his knees in front of her, his heady scent of sandalwood that she so missed engulfing her as he took her hands in his. “Your absence has left a hole in my home, my bed, and my soul. I took you for granted, saw you as a responsibility in my life. I knew I had come to care for you, but I did not realize the depth of my feelings for you. I love you, Olivia Finchley, with all of my heart. I am such an idiot to have not come to the realization sooner, and I must apologize as to whatever I did to push you away from me. Perhaps it was simply acting the fool that I was, but I vow to you those days are gone. Please come home with me, be my wife, and my partner in all things.”

  Tears formed in her eyes and, for once, Olivia cared naught that she may cry as she sunk down off the sofa to her knees beside him on the floor, her skirts billowing out around them.

  “Oh Alastair,” she said, finally breaking her silence. “Do you truly mean it?”

  “I do, with all of my heart,” he said. “I can think of no better partner through life than a woman who would prefer to be in breeches at a card table than drinking tea in the finest dress.”

  She laughed. “I love you too, Alastair. I believe I have from the moment you caught me at Lady Atwood’s in disguise and said not a word to anyone else. But you must know, you have nothing to apologize for. It is I who was a fool. I allowed a silly twit of a female to manipulate my emotions to believe you to be a man you no longer are. I promise to never allow another to come between us again, but to trust you and come to you first with all my concerns. If you can forgive me once I explain all to you, then I would love nothing more than return to you as the wife you deserve.”

  “There is nothing to forgive,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. It irked him that she would doubt him, yes, but his relief at having her return to him overcame any other emotion that remained. “The past is behind us now. Come home and l
et us start a future together.”

  She nodded against his head, and his lips found hers, locking onto them with a frenzied passion as all of their pent-up emotions, all of the love they felt for one another came bursting through. Alastair’s lips roved over hers again and again, his tongue strong and insistent, and Olivia began to desire him with a wanting unmatched by any she had previously felt. She broke away from his kiss and whispered in his ear. “Alastair,” she breathed. “Take me home.”

  He was in full agreement, and with hardly a farewell to the grinning Isabella who met them in the foyer, they were in his carriage with her prepared bags, rushing home.

  The short carriage ride seemed interminably long, though it gave Olivia the opportunity to tell Alastair, in detail, how she had come to her misunderstanding of the situation at the Duchess of Stowe’s ball. Alastair was silent, and Olivia tapped her foot nervously, fearing all was lost at her doubt of his faithfulness.

  “I am sorry, Alastair,” she said. “If nothing else,” she cracked a smile, “I should have known you smarter than to repeat your lesson of ruining another young woman of the ton.”

  “Although,” he said, relieving her fear with the mischievous grin she so loved, the one that showcased the deep dimples of his cheeks, “it seemed to work out for me rather well the last time.”

  She laughed in relief as he pulled her to him, kissing her cheeks, her neck, and her lips as he whispered to her words of love that soon became rather naughty, turning her cheeks pink as she squirmed in his lap.

  Their return home could not come soon enough, though Olivia heard Alastair’s groan in her ear as Anne accosted them the moment they walked in the door.

  “Olivia, you have returned!” she said, as she came swooping down the hall, not quite running under her mother’s stern eye, but walking at as fast a clip as she could manage. “Oh, but I am ever so glad. I was so worried that Alastair had done something unforgivable.”

  Seeing the look he sent her way, she tilted her head. “Oh, come Alastair, you know you are not exactly a saint. I am so happy Olivia has forgiven you.”

  “It was not like that at all, actually,” said Olivia, increasing the girl’s curiosity. “But I am glad to be home.”

  “Olivia,” Alastair’s mother came sweeping down the staircase, smiles wreathing her face. “I am so pleased you have returned. How does your friend fare? Is she feeling well?”

  “She is fine, thank you,” responded Olivia, though she was rather confused at the dowager duchess’s question. Had she known Isabella was with child? How could she have? Alastair took her arm and captured her attention before she could say anything further.

  Alastair cleared his throat. “The dinner hour is approaching. I believe Olivia shall unpack her travel bags and we will join you shortly.”

  Olivia’s maid, who had traveled home with them from Isabella’s seated on the top of the carriage with the driver, trailed them up the stairs, with the footman accompanying them with Olivia’s bags. He deposited them in her chamber, and Molly stepped into the room to begin unpacking. Alastair stopped the woman with his charming smile.

  “Would you mind returning in an hour to help the Duchess with her bags?” he said. “I must speak with her alone first.”

  The maid nodded and exited the room, leaving the two of them finally, blessedly alone together.

  Olivia sent Alastair a wicked grin.

  “And what, pray tell, have you to speak to me about for the next hour?”

  He sauntered towards her.

  “I believe I have said all I needed to,” he murmured, his voice husky. “I do, however, have plans to show you just how much I love you.”

  She gave out a shriek as he came and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder before depositing her on the bed. He stood in front of her, shucking off his shirt, and, despite the number of times she had seen his body before, she stared in wonderment at the finely muscled chest and abdomen of the man that was fully and completely hers.

  He leaned down, and she practically purred as he began kissing her neck, his lips following fingers that slowly began inching down the bodice of her dress. It was pure wonder, and she closed her eyes to enjoy.

  26

  He twitched inside his still-laced breeches as he longed to have her there and then, but he forced himself to take his time, and provide both of them the enjoyment they so deserved after a tortuous time apart.

  He kissed her, hard, as his fingers found the back of her dress and began to undo the laces keeping her covered. Once he felt the open back, he pushed himself up from her, and deftly slipped her white muslin dress off her shoulders, easing it down her body and throwing it off the bed, where it came to rest in a white cloud on the floor. He then took one slim ankle in his hands, undoing her stockings from her garter, and slowly inching them down her leg, trailing his fingers in a path as he bared the soft skin of her calves. Tackling her petticoats next, he began to become impatient, practically ripping them off. Thanking the heavens she wore no drawers today, he undid her stays, and finally found the body he sought as he rid her of her chemise.

  When she was free of the garments after what seemed like hours, he gave her a wolfish grin. “You were amazed by a man who preferred his woman wearing breeches,” he said. “I can tell you, it’s a hell of a lot easier to pull off your breeches and linen shirt than this array of frillery.”

  She laughed as well, until she noted the very serious, very determined look that came over his face. His eyes roved over her body, from the blonde hair piled on her head down the soft alabaster skin of her torso. He took in the swell of her generous breasts, the small waist, and the curves of her hips. His gaze traveled all the way down to the tips of her toes, before rising to meet her eyes once again. They were heavy with a passion that matched his own, fueling the flame within him.

  “You are exquisite,” he breathed. “I am a lucky, lucky man.”

  “I will ensure you do not forget it, darling,” she said with a grin, then, no longer content with simply lying there waiting for him, she sat up and reached out, first teasing her fingers along his lower stomach, then finally untying his laces and freeing him as she looked up into his eyes.

  They had shared a bed as husband and wife many times over the weeks they had been married, but nothing could compare to the desire he now felt for her. It was as if he needed to physically show her the love he felt for her, the love he now recognized.

  She lightly ran her fingers over his manhood, and he groaned, leaning over and placing his hands behind her on the bed as she grasped him with longer strokes. He knew he would not last long if she continued, and he wanted to make this time different. Reaching up, he took her hands and interlaced her fingers with his own, stretching them out behind her head. He boosted her up on the bed and let his eyes rove down to the swell of her breasts yet again, the pink tips straining up towards him. Still holding her wrists with one hand, his other reached down to tweak her nipple, while his lips found the other side, tasting her with the velvet of his tongue.

  She moaned, and he moved reflexively into her, but he stilled himself for the moment, despite the way her hips rolled up toward him instinctively. He let go of her hands as he suckled her other breast between his lips, and her fingers came down to grasp his head as she pitched her body up toward him, practically coming off the bed. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside her, as he knew she would be soft, wet, waiting for him. But instead, he reached up to cup both breasts as he slid his lips down her stomach, trailing kisses down her smooth abdomen, circling her navel with his tongue.

  He reached her mound, and he found the bud of her center with his thumb, circling it for a moment until replacing it with his tongue. She gasped as he licked at her, tasting the sweetness of her. She whimpered, and he slid a finger inside her silky wet folds. His circling tongue turned more persistent, and she dug her fingers hard into his shoulders. She cried out then, clutching him with her hands and pulling him tightly towards he
r. His vision seemed to blur as the wanting for her overcame all else, and he rose above her, taking in the red glow of her cheeks and the sheen of her eyes. She lifted up towards him, inviting him in.

  He could no longer resist, and as his fingers dug into her backside he sheathed himself inside of her heat. She cried out, and he slid in and out with abandon. She matched him stroke for stroke, and he enjoyed nothing more than seeing the pleasure cross her face, her eyes closed in ecstasy.

  “Olivia,” he panted, burying his head in her shoulder. “Oh Olivia, how I love you.”

  And with that, he exploded into her, crying out himself as she clutched at him.

  Finally, when they both could manage to speak again, she rested her head on the glow of his chest, and whispered softly, “I love you too, Alastair.”

  An hour had never passed so swiftly. Alastair had made love to her many times before, but never like this. He had always ensured her enjoyment, her release, but today it was as if he could not get enough of her. Even as they lay together in the afterglow of their lovemaking, he continued to run his hands over her, kneading tension from her shoulders, running his fingers through the long tresses of her hair. It seemed but minutes later when Olivia heard a scratch at the door. “Duchess? Are you ready for me?” came the call.