“You must have been distraught. I’m sorry for your loss.”
The sincerity in his tone made her speak. “Father was a wonderful, loving parent, and I am grateful that God gifted me with him for as long as he did.”
Blackwood threw the stone in his hand and it skipped across the water’s surface four times. She turned to look at him then and was surprised to see some unfathomable emotion—pain? Regret?—in his eyes.
“You must have fond memories of your parents,” she said. “You had mentioned that Wyndmoor Manor reminded you of your family.”
“I never knew my mother. She was a parlor maid who caught the eye of my father, the old duke, when she was in service to the family. She died when I was born. I grew up believing I was illegitimate, and I was never officially acknowledged by my father,” he said coolly. “I have a half brother who, until weeks ago, believed he was the heir and treated me with as much brotherly love as one does a stray dog, and a grandmother who is a rigid dowager duchess whose only redeeming quality was to pay for my boarding school as a boy and my education at Eton years later.”
He plucked another stone from the ground. His fingers, long and tapered, caressed the smooth surface.
She was as stunned by his speech as the light bitterness in his tone. She had not expected such a story from him. He appeared so confident, so sure of his rightful place in the world.
One question plagued her: If he was illegitimate, then how on earth could he have inherited a dukedom?
As if reading her thoughts, he said, “It turned out that I was not the illegitimate son but the proper heir all along. Too bad I spent a lifetime ostracized by my family as the bastard.”
A frisson of pity rose in her breast. Bella didn’t know why she felt sorry for him. James Devlin was now a duke, with great wealth and power at his fingertips. Yet he had never known a mother’s love or a father’s loyalty. Bella’s father had loved her unconditionally and it was those treasured memories that had allowed her to survive the horrors of her marriage.
She didn’t want to know more about James Devlin, truly she didn’t. She did not want him to become a person to her, rather than a demanding, spoiled aristocrat. But the truth was, he wasn’t spoiled and had known true hardship. There was an air of isolation about him that tugged at the core of compassion inside her.
He was rejected, just like me. Only I was betrayed by a brutish, selfish husband, and he was betrayed by his family.
“How did you become a barrister?” she found herself asking.
“I could not fathom a life of begging for every shilling as the illegitimate offspring in order to survive. After Eton I attended Oxford, where I met students who desired to enter one of the four Inns of Court and find willing pupilmasters. I was accepted into Lincoln’s Inn. After I became a barrister, I joined the chambers of my colleagues whom you met today. I was quite successful and had no need to ever request anything from my family again.”
Never had she suspected he was a self-made man. She assumed all of the nobility were handed a fortune and never had to toil a day in their lives.
“Why do you insist on reclaiming Wyndmoor Manor? If you have no fond feelings for your family, then why on earth would you seek to reclaim the country estate?” Bella asked.
“It was the only place the old duke treated me as his son. I know the land like the back of my hand. I feel at home here. Can you say the same?”
She looked at the stream, the twin swans, and the peacefulness of the landscape. “Yes, I feel safe here.”
They sat in silence, observing the view; then he rose to his feet and offered her his hand.
She placed her hand in his and felt the warmth of his fingers as they wrapped around hers. Slowly he pulled her to her feet.
A wan shaft of sun struck his hair and it gleamed like ebony. His strong features held a certain sensuality that she now realized was not entirely arrogance, but pride.
Nervous beneath his steady gaze, she lowered her eyes to the stone he still held in his hand. “How do you manage to throw the stones so far?”
He looked surprised, then laughed. “It’s simple. You need to find a flat stone, preferably one with a smooth surface.”
He reached down and plucked another stone from the bank, then showed her how to hold it. Standing behind her, he held her arm and imitated the proper throwing motion. She felt a tremor as the front of his body grazed the back of hers.
He leaned down until his mouth was close to her ear. “You try now. Throw the stone.”
Her flesh prickled at the nearness of his touch, and she raised her arm to throw. The stone bounced off the water’s surface once before sinking. “Yours bounced four times!”
“It takes practice. I used to come here as a boy, skipping stones for hours.”
She made several more attempts, succeeding in bouncing the stone twice. “I don’t believe I shall ever be able to compete with you.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they may be incorrectly interpreted to imply their property battle ahead.
He turned her by the shoulders, and she was suddenly looking into his indigo eyes.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” she said softly.
His gaze searched hers before dropping to her lips. “I know.”
“I should head back.”
His eyes darkened, and he reached out to cup the side of her face with his hand. “No,” he said softly. “Not yet, Bella.”
Whatever rational thought she had flew from her mind as his head slowly lowered. Then his mouth covered hers in a kiss as tender and light as a summer breeze. For several heartbeats he simply shared her breath. Then his lips brushed hers, back and forth, and he traced her full bottom lip with the sweep of his tongue. Her response was shameless, instant and total. A wild surge of pleasure spiraled through her.
Her lips parted of their own accord, and his tongue slid into her mouth. His kiss was skilled and seductive, coaxing and encouraging her response. Tentative at first, she met his tongue with her own, and her heart fluttered wildly in her breast. Then his kiss changed, became more demanding. He turned her head to one side as he plundered her mouth, sending fire through every nerve in her body.
Never had she been kissed like this by a man. Her experience was limited to Roger, and he had been demanding and hurtful. His affections had been a brutal performance of dominance. He had never been concerned for her pleasure, only her capitulation. She had learned early on to tamp down her defiance, or he would prolong his torment.
But James. He didn’t touch her with anything but his lips and the hand cradling her face. She was free to step away should she wish to. Only she did not.
For the first time in her life, she felt true lust. It was a heady emotion, a dangerous weapon in this battle of wills. A small warning voice cried out in the back of her mind that if she allowed him to treat her like a common dalliance she would lose whatever footing she had at Wyndmoor Manor. Yet, this rising passion could not be denied. How could a kiss be this potent, trigger such primitive yearnings?
Leaning forward an inch, she brushed against the harness of his chest, felt the warmth of his body, and inhaled the alluring scent of his cologne, sandalwood and cloves.
A groan rumbled from deep in his throat. His lifted his head, his dark eyebrows slanted in a frown, and looked down at her.
“I hadn’t expected that,” he said.
“The kiss?”
“No, your response.”
Enthralled by the gleam of desire she saw in his eyes, she tried to still the wild pounding of her heart. “It was a mistake.”
He laughed hoarsely. “Living together is a mistake, but neither of us is inclined to change our minds, are we?”
She shook her head.
He sighed, then reached for his jacket. “Shall we go back, then?”
He waited for her to pick up her discarded wildflowers, and they headed back to the house in silence.
Bella’s brain was in tumult as she hurried to keep pa
ce with his long stride. What had come over her? Not only had she allowed him the liberty of a kiss, she had enjoyed it. The Duke of Blackwood was a complex man, and the fervent passion she had experienced in his arms alternately thrilled and frightened her. This attraction, this lust was entirely new—a first for Bella—exciting, yes, but also utterly dangerous.
He stopped to help her over a fallen log, and his fingers grasped hers. Their eyes locked, their breathing came in unison, and the tingling in the pit of her stomach was quick to return. She must avoid being alone with him in the days to come, but how could she accomplish such a task when they shared a residence?
She was still contemplating the question when they approached the stables, and a boy with bright red hair and a gap-toothed smile waved and called out for Blackwood.
“Coates mentioned the lad is your stable boy,” Bella said.
“Bobby may only be twelve years old, but he’s quick, intelligent and exceptional with the horses. He keeps an immaculate stable, and he will care for your mare as well as my horses. Anything you require in the stables, you have only to ask.”
“I shall keep that in mind, Your Grace.”
He stopped and looked down at her. “It’s James, remember?” he said, with a grin.
Her heart gave a little lurch.
He bowed. “The boy needs to speak with me. Until another time?”
She bobbed a quick curtsy and fled to the house.
James watched as Bella hurried into the house. He should be pleased that his plans were falling into place. But he hadn’t counted on the sweetness of Bella’s lips, her evocative response to his touch. And when she had capitulated to her desires and kissed him back, his heartbeat had skyrocketed and his arousal had been swift. He’d wanted to get closer to her, crush her lush curves against him, and discover if her auburn hair smelled like the vibrant wildflowers that she had picked.
He had ended the kiss only to find that when she raised her lids, she gazed up at him in wonder, like an innocent, inexperienced girl who longed to have him reveal the mysteries of sex. But how could that be? She had been married for seven years. Either she was a consummate actress or ... or what?
He shook his head at his folly. Perhaps the problem lay with him. How long had it been since his last conquest?
Over the past months his docket at Lincoln’s Inn had been taxing, and then the dowager duchess had resurfaced in his life. Since then James had been consumed with the news of his unexpected inheritance. And no matter how much he had told himself his father’s rejection had meant little to him as a man, the old duke’s passing had left a permanent sorrow and heaviness in James’s chest.
It was entirely reasonable to assume his ardent response toward Bella Sinclair was due to the recent pressure in his life and the fact that he had gone too long without female companionship. Unlike his colleague Brent Stone, James was not accustomed to even short stints of celibacy.
As for his telling speech by the stream, he hadn’t meant to reveal his entire family history—only that he had inherited the dukedom. But the sadness in Bella’s eyes when she spoke of her father’s passing had made him want to speak of his own parent. The irony was not lost on him. He had always been adept at getting a witness to confess on the stand, not the other way around.
There had to be a solution to this dilemma. He would win—he didn’t doubt himself—yet he found himself thinking of her. Reeves would eventually be found, and if the thief had spent all their money, then James would offer to pay Bella from his own pockets. If only she would accept the money and quit the place, then he never need be tempted by her again.
It was a good solid plan. She was merely a woman, no different from the countless other females whom he had entertained. He had a clear sense of himself and understood his current fascination with Bella Sinclair was due entirely to the fact that she was an irresistible challenge on two fronts—to bed her and to win against her in their battle over property ownership. He must maintain his focus, and not let the widow, no matter how alluring she was, distract him from his goal.
Chapter 8
“The duke requested you join him downstairs for the evening meal.”
Bella sat at a mahogany writing table in the corner of her bedchamber. Her notebook was open before her, the page blank. Whatever aspirations she’d had for writing had vanished for the day. She turned to see Harriet standing in the doorway, a look of expectation on the older woman’s face.
“Kindly give the duke my apologies and tell the new cook, Mrs. O’Brien, to prepare a dinner tray to be brought to my bedchamber,” Bella said.
Bella was tired from today’s events, and sitting across the table from Blackwood was the last thing she desired. Besieged by confusing emotions, she sought the comforting solitude of her room.
“He’ll want to hear it from you,” Harriet said.
Bella sighed. “I’ll write a note and have it delivered to him then.”
Harriet stepped into the room and shut the door. “You must meet him on equal footing, Bella. It is your house and you should dine downstairs rather than cloister yourself in your bedchamber.”
Bella raised her hand and stood. “Not tonight, Harriet. I spent enough time in his presence this afternoon.”
Harriet sat on the window seat and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit, Bella.”
Bella sighed and sat beside the elder woman. Harriet’s wizened eyes traveled Bella’s face as if looking for something amiss. “Tell me what happened.”
Bella bit her bottom lip, then blurted out, “He kissed me.”
Harriet’s face brightened. “Indeed. How was it?”
How was it? It was a kiss Bella wouldn’t easily forget. Just thinking of his lips brushing hers was enough to make the blood rush through her veins.
His first day here and she had fallen victim to his charm, had actually kissed him back. She had been overcome by the beauty of the landscape, the comforting warmth of the sun, and the virile man stretched out on the bank beside her. She had been entranced by the bitter sadness of his face—however brief the flicker of emotion—when he had mentioned his family’s abandonment. And when his arms had wrapped around her as he had demonstrated how to skip a stone, she had been foolishly swept away by an awakening yearning.
He was a skilled kisser, and no doubt a skilled lover. She couldn’t help but wonder—what would it be like to bed the duke? Her experience was limited to Roger, and based on James’s kiss alone she suspected the experience would be vastly different.
But Blackwood’s motives were questionable. He was devastatingly attractive and unscrupulous enough to take any woman. Combined with his title, she suspected females would be attracted to him in droves. Bella was nothing more than his opponent.
So why kiss her?
Harriet frowned, her eyes level under drawn brows. “Did the duke hurt you?”
Hurt her? Heavens, no.
James hadn’t even held her as he kissed her. It had been marvelous, gentle, and thrilling, and the degree to which she had responded stunned her. She could never admit, even to Harriet, that it had been he who had broken their kiss.
“No, he did not hurt me,” Bella said. “Yet he is trying to manipulate me. He wants me gone from Wyndmoor Manor.”
“You may be right. But how was the kiss?”
Harriet could be as tenacious as a terrier when she sought information.
“It was pleasant,” Bella answered.
Harriet eyed her as she had when Bella had stolen a sweet from the pantry. “You feared he’d be like Roger? You shouldn’t. Roger was nothing but a sick bastard, he was.”
Bella’s gut clenched just thinking of her deceased husband’s sexual attentions. Roger had only approached her after he had drunk no less than four tankards of ale. He had been mean without alcohol, but combined with spirits he was downright cruel.
It was then that he’d demand his marital rights. He’d douse the fireplace, insist she disrobe before him and stand still in the center
of their bedchamber. She’d often tremble from the cold and dread, knowing what was to follow. As a young bride, she had been horrified to discover that he needed to inflict pain and fear in order to stimulate himself.
Bella was prideful by nature, and she had glared up at Roger in hatred. Often his frustration and ire would take control, and he would wrench her arm, push her to the floor before him, and strike her. After the first months of their marriage, he was unable to perform sexually, and he’d viciously berate her, repeatedly ranting that she was inadequate as a woman and not worthy to be his wife. She had prayed his visits to her bedchamber would stop, but to no avail. Her only consolation was he’d not been able to bed her.
She’d soon heard of whispers from the servants that Roger had whores enter through the kitchen door. Rumors abounded that the women were skilled at dominating Roger, inflicting pain upon him. That he’d paid to be whipped with his own riding crop.
Bella had been shocked, for Roger had always seemed to thrive on enforcing his power over her, whether by isolating her on the estate grounds or coming to her bedchamber. If only she had known of his sick deviancy, she would have gladly offered to whip him for free.
Harriet reached out and took Bella’s hands in hers. “What I’m saying, luv, is that there is nothing wrong with you as a woman. I always worried your husband’s sickness and belittling had wounded you more than any physical abuse. Despite the circumstances that brought the duke here, I’m glad he kissed you. A little attention from a handsome man like Blackwood proves my point. Not all men are like Roger.”
“What about our fight over the manor?” Bella said.
“One kiss doesn’t mean you’re handing it over to him,” Harriet said.
Bella kept her features deceptively composed. “I do not trust him.” I do not trust myself with him, she thought. Any more attention from James could put her future plans at perilous risk.
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