by Eva Devon
As the music ended, he clasped her hand tighter waiting for another song to begin. She didn’t resist. If they didn’t speak, the moment would never stop. She could be in his arms, held by him, touched by him, and never have to ask a single thing. They could just enjoy each other as once they had done in Scotland.
She longed to rest her head against his shoulder and then it occurred to her that she could. This was the Earl of Albany’s infamous Devil’s Dance, not a ton ball. Allowing herself a small sigh of contentment, Imogen leaned forward and rested her cheek against the perfect silk over his hard muscle. He smelled delicious. Some spice she didn’t know and pure man.
“I’ve missed you,” he said softly.
She swallowed. How did she reply? Truthfully. She’d never been one to hide behind pretty banter. “I’ve missed you too.”
“Even if I’ve acted the arse?”
“In truth, your nature seems to be half arse,” she said. “Don’t tell anyone I said it, but it’s part of your charm. . . Except for when your acting the complete grump.”
He laughed softly. “Or whisking you into a coach.”
She tilted her head back and stared at him, not sure what to make of his strange behavior. “Or that.”
He winced. “Terribly bad maneuver. Can you forgive me?”
She eyed him carefully. “I seem to have to forgive you great deal.”
“I’m a slow learner.”
She laughed. Was he actually making fun of himself? But she couldn’t allow herself to be taken in. He was only with her now for duty, surely. “Why are you here?”
He leaned down and whispered against her ear, “Because I want you.”
Her smile dimmed. She should have known it. Carefully, she began to pull away from him. She should have stomped on him. This was going to be far too painful. She turned her face away, twisting her hands in his grip, determined now to get away from him and her own foolishness.
“Wait, Imogen. I’m not finished.” He pulled her tight to his frame, spinning them in a slow circle about the floor. “I love you.”
She stumbled as her fury fizzled into confusion and tripped right over his feet.
He caught her then escorted her off the floor, sweeping her into one of the darkened hallways designed for lovers.
She couldn’t catch her breath and despite the orchestra, the only thing she could hear was her pounding heart. He loved her?
When they’d slipped into a dark nook, curtained off from the rest of the hall, he took her into his arms, cupping her chin. “I’ve never said this to you. I’ve never had the courage. I’ve told you I want you and I do. But Imogen, I love you. I love you to the point of pain.”
Tears stung her eyes. Again! When had she turned into such a watering pot? She’d dreamt of those words coming from his lips. Now that she was hearing them she had no idea how to react except to say what was in her heart. “I love you too.”
A sigh of relief escaped him and he tilted back her head, stealing a kiss from her lips. “I never want to let you go. Never,” he growled.”
“Then don’t!”
He wove his hand into her hair tilted her head back and took her mouth in a searing kiss. She melted beneath him. It was impossible not to give into the power of his desire and her own. She’d missed him so much. It only seemed natural to hold onto him, to open to him.
Duncan slid his hands over her bodice, then cupped her breasts through her tight bodice.
She moaned and pulled at his coat.
But he didn’t have the patience.
Instead, he worked her skirts up to her hips, stroking her stockinged thighs.
“I never want you in another man’s arms,” he said, lowering to his knees. He traced his fingers over the v of her thighs then slipped his fingers into her wet heat.
She gasped. “Never.”
“You’re mine.”
She bit her lower lip and nodded.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“I’m yours,” she replied, her voice a breathy wisp of need.
With that he pushed her thighs apart kissed the sweet place between her legs.
Her muscles nearly gave way and he held her up, placing her hands on his shoulders.
He was relentless as he teased her. Each breath came faster and faster, her gaze fluttered shut and she could barely believe this wasn’t a dream.
With each flick of his tongue she was tossed higher and higher toward release. Abruptly, he stopped and walked her back toward the damask covered wall. He lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. She was stunned by how effortless the motion was for him and then he was freeing his cock form his breeches.
With one firm move, he thrust home. A cry of pleasure ripped from her throat. Their joining was almost too much, too perfect. She’d longed for this and now she felt claimed. She rocked her hips and he pounded into her, but as he did, he gazed in her eyes.
Her heart skipped a beat, for she could have sworn she saw worship there.
He slipped his hand between them and stroked her most sensitive spot. She could no longer think but only feel. Her body shook as wave after wave of pleasure cascaded threw her. Duncan let out a wild, masculine noise as he came inside her.
She held onto him for dear life, afraid if she did let go that he would disappear. His breathing slowed and he leaned down, resting his forehead against hers.
“I love you, Imogen. I love you.”
She smiled and stroked the side of his face. “And I you.”
“Promise me, you’ll never leave me again?”
She found her eyes wet with tears and she nearly laughed. It was time to embrace this easy to tears and love side of her. “I promise.”
She wouldn’t. She needed him. There was something about Duncan that made her feel whole and he in turn needed her.
He slipped her down from the wall and her legs shook.
A soft laugh passed her lips. She felt drunk. In all her life she’d never felt so wonderful. Still, she had to ask. “Why now, Duncan?”
He hesitated, a sort of hardness glinting in his eyes. “Because I’m not my father.”
“I don’t understand,” she said simply.
Duncan nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard rumors.”
“Yes,” she admitted. “He was a bit of wastrel?”
A dry laughed boomed out of him. “He was a cad. He broke my mother’s heart and he died a pathetic man in a room by himself ranting and raving and cursing us all.”
Imogen wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry.”
He didn’t respond to her embrace, but simply kept talking as if he’d opened some flood gate that had been closed for far too many years. “He had women. Many, many women. He drank and gambled and took chances with his life. Finally, his luck ran out and he slept with the wrong woman. It killed him.”
“An angry husband?” she asked, having a suspicion of what had killed his father already but needing the clarification.
He gave a tight shake of his head. “Not a duel.”
She didn’t need to ask further. Almost certainly, his father had caught the French Disease. It wasn’t necessary to make Duncan say it and she’d heard how horrendous a death that was. Why, she knew there was the Lock Asylum, it’s entire purpose being to look after those gone mad and rotten from the sickness.
“Your mother?” she asked gently.
“He didn’t pass it to her, thank god.” His voice became hoarse. “She died of a broken heart, I think. The doctors said it was a weakness of the heart, but I truly believe it was sadness. She’d never thought her life would end like that, the pity of all society. When father came home, she never went back to London. I think she was afraid to face the ton and their knowing looks.”
Duncan slowly lifted his arms and pulled her to him. His voice broke, “At the end. . . He wouldn’t even let me near him. He screamed and screamed and threw things at me as I stood helpless in the doorway.”
Imogen held Duncan with all the t
enderness she could muster. How she wished she could take the hurt away. “How terrible for you.”
Duncan drew in a deep breath. “We were never close, but I had hoped for just one kind word at the end. His mind had gone, you see. We were never able to say goodbye.”
Everything made sense now. Of course Duncan ruled himself with an iron fist. The fear of slipping down the path of debauchery that his father had done would have been terrifying. It was also clear why he hadn’t wished to marry her. She danced to close to the flame of sin. It stunned her that he’d even come to the Earl of Albany’s scandalous abode. “Duncan, why are you here? It must be very painful. Surely, such an event reminds you of your father’s behavior”
He tensed. “Do you know what’s painful?”
She waited, wondering what could possibly be harder than the recollection of his father’s dark end.
“Losing you,” he said. “Because of my own stupidity and fear.”
Imogen bit her lower lip, not even trying to stop the tears from slipping down her cheeks. Finally, she drew in a breath. “Duncan, I might not make you happy. What if you change your mind? I’m not like a girl you’d marry in the first flush of her season. I haven’t been for years. I did that once. I was the wife who did as she was told by her husband. I can’t do that again.”
“I don’t want you to. I was an utter fool to say those things. I need you, Imogen. Not some miss that will bow to my moods when I try to slip back into my crusty old ways. I came to this place to show you that I love you just the way you are. I have no wish to change you. If you wish to dance at the Devil’s Dance, I will be here with you. If you wish to stay at home by the fire, I will sit beside you. I beg you to call me a grump when needed, to tell me when I scowl. You see, I need you to teach me how to enjoy life again. The only happiness I have known, since being a child, is with you.”
Hope bloomed in her at that moment. It was more than hope in all truth. This was what she had been waiting for since she first collided with him. She knew that now. It would be a chance. Duncan might be stuck in his ways but she could see how deeply he meant what he said from the fervor in his gaze. Wasn’t all life a risk? Could she deny herself a chance at love and happiness just because she was afraid that Duncan might revert to his old ways? No. She couldn’t. She deserved a chance at love. He did too.
Duncan stepped away and took her hands in his. Slowly, he lowered himself to one knee. “Marry me. Be my duchess?”
“What kind of duchess?” she couldn’t help asking. She had make sure he understood that she could never go back to being a woman who didn’t speak.
“Your kind of duchess, Imogen. One that is free and fills all that surround her with happiness.”
“Then yes!” she pulled him back to his feet and stood on her tip toes. “Kiss me, Duncan then let’s go home.”
Chapter 22
By home, Imogen later confided to Duncan that she had meant Scotland, but on the coach ride away from the Earl of Albany’s she’d realized they couldn’t fly off to the border. There was too much in London that held her at present.
Duncan stretched on her bed, smiling. He hated his London residence. There were by far too many ill favored memories. Here, in Imogen’s room? He could stay for days. There was something remarkably soothing about the soft blue tones, the cool cream stuccoed walls and the light frescoed ceiling. Everything about it seemed to suggest a woman who was content in this life. Now, she was his. Well, almost. He was going to march her down the aisle as soon as possible. He wasn’t taking any chances.
A marriage in Scotland would have been ideal, but he had every intention of purchasing a special license in a few hours time.
He rolled over and drank in her soft scent still on the pillows. He was going to wake up and be surrounded by that fragrance until the day he died and he couldn’t imagine something better.
Still, he wished she hadn’t had to get up to perform some mysterious duty. It had been his intent to make love to her again and again as dawn slipped over the window sill. He’d wasted far too much time those two months he’d let her go.
What a fool he’d been. The relief he felt was remarkable. It had never occurred to him how tightly he’d wound himself. How his perversion of duty had been a thing which caused him pain and prevented his happiness. All he’d tried to do in the pursuit of his duty was achieve a pain filled life for himself and his sister.
Moderation. Moderation was the key. Imogen enjoyed herself but she’d never harmed anyone.
No, it had been he who had done the harm because he’d swung to far in the opposite direction of his father’s perversions.
He took a deep breath, grateful that he no longer had to live like that.
The high, demanding cry of an infant punctured his reverie.
Duncan’s ears perked. He knew the Duchess of Darkwell was here with her babe. Of course there would be a baby crying. He pulled the blankets tighter. He wouldn’t be welcome in the nursery. So, he’d have to stay.
The cry continued, growing even angrier.
Duncan glanced at the door.
He liked babies.
He had since the moment his sister had come into this world bawling her little head off.
It had been some time since he’d been around one, but they were such funny little creatures and frankly the distressed cry struck a chord of anxiety deep within him. There was nothing for it. Duncan swung his legs over the side of the bed, hauled his clothes on and headed towards the wailing.
He approached what had to be the nursery door and inched the door open. Kathryn holding her baby in her arms, Cordelia bouncing hers, and Imogen all stood in their night gowns and robes, shushing lovingly but desperately.
Cordelia’s baby was in a full fuss.
He looked around for signs of a wet nurse. The ladies were alone.
He cleared his throat.
Kathryn gasped, Cordelia didn’t even look, and Imogen beamed at him.
“If either of the husbands finds you in here,” Imogen said brightly, “You might be singing an octave higher come morning.
Duncan rolled his eyes. “I’ll take my chances.” He took a step forward and looked to the swaddled babe in Cordelia’s arms. “May I?”
Cordy, who was holding the baby a bit tightly, looked completely out of her depth as she stared down at her child. “I don’t know why she won’t stop crying.”
“You’ve no maid?” he asked.
Cordelia’s brow furrowed. “I wished to try to look after her myself. I didn’t realize I would be so bad at it.”
“Och, Cordelia,” he said. “You’re a fine mother but you just don’t know a few thing yet.”
“And you do?” she challenged, her lip trembling.
Now, Duncan did know a few things about women who had just given birth. He could still remember the way his mother had been up and down after Ros had been born. He knew the fierce emotion rolling off the young duchess was absolutely normal given she’d just brought a child into the world. “When my sister was a wee thing like that she had the worst wind.”
Cordelia blinked. “Wind?”
“Yes,” he said and held out his arms again. “May I?”
Cordelia stared at her baby again, but then she nodded. Very gently, she passed the still loudly fussing baby.
Duncan took the slight weight in his hands and immediate felt his heart slam in his chest. The wee thing was absolutely beautiful in her fuss, all red with her little face screwed up, doing what all babies did. Still, the little one was suffering and Duncan swayed, he lifted her, placed her on his big shoulder then patted. After three good pats she let out wind from both ends and immediately stopped crying.
The three women stared at him as if he had grown a second head.
“I was very fond of my little sister,” he said defensively. Truth be known, his little sister had been one of the only joyous events of his childhood. He’d spent hours in the nursery studying her delicate infant’s face. He’d also insi
sted on bouncing her around and changing her cloths. It had earned him a rage filled discussion with his father about what dukes did and what dukes didn’t do.
Duncan was never going to worry about his father again. And as he stared at the baby in his arms, then glanced up to Imogen, he knew that the future was unfolding before him and it had never looked more beautiful.
*
Imogen couldn’t believe what a turn her life had taken in a just a few hours. This afternoon she’d faced a life alone, circling through parties, and having missed out on love. Now, at dawn, everything had changed.
The Duke of Blackburn was gazing down at Cordelia’s infant as if he’d already fallen in love. He was gurgling strange words in a deep yet musical tone. This was what he would be like as a father. He wouldn’t be distant. He wouldn’t see the baby for five minutes once a day and send it back the nursery. Duncan Hamish Fergus would love his child and give it all the affection that he so clearly had never had.
Kathryn winked at her.
Cordelia went over to the two and was asking for suggestions about how to assist her daughter to which Duncan replied in the same musical tones, as if he was still cooing at the baby.
His accent had deepened considerably in his happiness.
That’s what it had to be. He was free of the prison of his past, and happy, and so was she. It was impossible to imagine how life could get any better. . . Except. . . Perhaps, the sure knowledge that one day she’d hold her own babe in her arms. She smiled at Duncan as he rocked the baby as if he wasn’t a giant of a man holding a tiny little thing just born into the world. There was time. All she had to do was wait.
*
Duncan came down Imogen’s stairs and strolled into breakfast.
Two pairs of very English gazes stared.
“Good god, you’ve achieved coitus,” Hunt declared.
Duncan snorted as he headed towards the food set out in silver servers. “No thanks to you, Your Grace.”
Darkwell shifted uncomfortably on the beautifully carved walnut chair. “Do forgive us, old man. We did truly think we were assisting you. We like Imogen and want her to be happy.”