The Reluctant Duchess

by Sharon Cullen

  Good Lord.

  She cried out and arched her back. She was pinned, her legs still off the bed, Ross’s body pressing them down. She couldn’t move, and that made everything so much better.

  His tongue swirled and stroked and sucked, and Sara could do nothing but ride out the waves of glorious pleasure that lapped at her. Until it broke over her and she cried out, her body convulsing beneath Ross as the wave of sensation engulfed her, until stars danced before her clenched eyes.

  She drifted back down, her body relaxed, so sated that she knew she would not be able to move for an entire week or more.

  Ross moved up her body and lay down beside her.

  She turned to smile at him, then frowned when she realized she was nearly naked and he was fully clothed, still in his boots, even. “What about you?” she asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Surely there is some pleasure I can give you. I’m fully aware that we didn’t complete the…” She searched for an appropriate word. Ross had touched her, licked her, in places no one else had ever touched; surely she could say it. “Act.”

  Ross chuckled. “No, we didn’t complete the act, nor will we.”

  “But why?”

  “Because I would never do that to you.”

  Her frown deepened. “I’ve been led to believe that it only hurts for a moment, and then it can possibly feel good.”

  Ross groaned and threw his forearm over his eyes. “You undo me, Sara.” He peeked at her from under his arm. “When we complete the act, as you so eloquently put it, I will make certain that any pain will be overcome by extreme pleasure.”

  “Oh.” She really had no words for that, and although just a moment ago she’d felt as if she could not move for a week, she now knew she wanted to bring him as much joy.

  She reached between his legs and softly stroked his manhood through his trousers. Ross sucked in a breath and his eyes darkened.

  “You don’t need to do this,” he said.

  “Yes, I do.”

  With her fingers she felt the outline of him, the breadth and width and length. All impressive. Ross groaned, emboldening her to explore more. She pressed her palm in to him, gently at first, then exerting more pressure. He moaned and his hips came up, pushing into her hand.

  She undid the buttons of his trousers and freed his manhood. It was long and red and swollen, almost angry-looking. Gingerly, she touched it and was surprised to discover that it was hot to the touch—and extremely sensitive. It actually jumped. She pulled back in shock. Ross took her hand and put it back, showing her how to rub until she set up a rhythm that he seemed to enjoy.

  She pulled her gaze from his manhood and found herself mesmerized by his expression. His eyes had closed and his face was pinched in concentration. He was moaning as his hips met her hand in each downward motion.

  His eyes flew open and his gaze clashed with hers. His hips moved faster. “I’m going to…” Then he cried out and warm fluid shot from the tip of his manhood. Automatically, Sara stopped rubbing him, but his hand covering hers forced a few more strokes as fluid shot out in jerky streams.

  Eventually, it stopped and Ross collapsed back on the bed with a hoarse sigh.

  “Did I shock you?” He cracked an eye open to look at her.

  “Some. I was more fascinated.”

  He chuckled. Sara slid off the bed, surprised to find that her legs could barely hold her up. What she had just done to Ross had made her want more of what he had done to her. She managed to make it across her room to wet a washcloth. Gently, she wiped up the fluid as he watched her closely.

  “You continue to surprise me,” he said.

  “Why is that?” She tossed the washcloth on the floor with a mental note to remember to pick it up before Jenny came in the morning.

  “You just do.” He buttoned his fly, then scooted up in the bed and patted the spot beside him.

  Sara lay next to him, her head on his shoulder, listening to him breathe. She felt complete, whole, sated. Happy.

  They must have dozed, for she jerked and woke to find that the first light of dawn was infiltrating her room. She didn’t want this to end but at the same time felt a frisson of alarm that they could be caught.

  Ross kissed the top of her head and climbed out of bed, leaving her cold and wishing they could stay that way for a few more hours. But today was the day when she was to move out of Rossmoyne House. That thought brought her back to reality with a very painful thud.

  She scooted off the bed and grabbed the blanket from the floor. She wrapped it around her, shivering in the cold morning.

  “Have you thought about our conversation?” he asked, facing her once again from across the bed.

  “Conversation?” Her mind went blank. After all they had done to each other, she could not recall what conversation he was referring to.

  “Are you going to make me say it?” he asked with a tilt to his lips.

  “Say what?” She truly was befuddled, and it was her traitorous body’s fault. And Ross’s fault for being so delectable. His hair fell over one eye, mussed from everything they had done. His collar was gone and his shirt was open enough to reveal the strong column of his throat. She remembered the way he kissed her throat and what it had made her feel, and she wondered whether it would make him feel the same way if she kissed him right there. Right where his shirt opened up.

  “I think we should marry.”

  His words dropped between them like something tossed from the sky. She would not have been more surprised if something had fallen out of the sky, crashed through the roof, and landed at her feet.

  “Are you jesting?” she whispered.

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

  “Then you have fallen and bumped your head, and we need to call for a doctor to take a look at you.”

  He let out a frustrated growl. “I can assure you I have not fallen and bumped my head, and no one will be calling any doctor.”

  All of her anxiety, all of her fears, returned full force. This was not just Ross standing on the other side of her bed. This was not just Ross, to whom she had made love—without actually doing the act. This was the Duke of Rossmoyne, an important political figure. A powerful man who needed an equally powerful wife. Or at least a wife who wasn’t terrified of being out in society.

  “I didn’t think this would be so difficult,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. That hand had touched her in intimate places. Private places. It had skimmed her breasts and touched her legs and…

  “You can’t seriously want to marry me,” she said, dragging her attention back to the present.

  “I would not have asked if I weren’t serious.”

  “You didn’t precisely ask. You declared that you thought we should marry. There’s a world of difference between thinking we should marry and wanting to marry.”

  “Truly? We’re discussing semantics? I am in your bedchamber—after having sneaked down the hall in fear that I would get caught in my own home, I might add. I practically made love to you, and you are picking apart my words?”

  “I’m sorry, but I want to be completely sure this is what you mean. Because if you just think we should, well then, that’s completely different.”

  His look of intense frustration softened, and to her horror and joy, he rounded the bed and walked toward her. She tightened her hold on the blanket, but she knew it was no real barrier against him. All he had to do was touch her once and she would relinquish her hold on the feeble shield.

  “I can see now I’ve gone about this all wrong. Will you marry me, Sara?”

  He stood before her and she had to look up at him, her heart in her throat, the words she wanted to say choking her so she could not say them.

  “You’re killing me with your silence,” he whispered, and there was not a little unease in his tone.

  “Because I cannot speak.”

  “And why can’t you speak?” He was so close that he could easily touc
h her. She felt her body sway toward him, a silent invitation for his touch.

  “Because I’m frightened.”

  “Of what?”

  “You.”

  He drew back and frowned. “Me? Certainly you know I would never hurt you.”

  “I know you would never mean to hurt me.”

  His frown deepened, became fierce. “What do you mean?”

  “We are forced together due to circumstances beyond our control. Once I leave, I fear you will see the error of your ways. I’m not duchess material, Ross. I’m not what you need.”

  “You are everything I need, and when you leave, I will miss you desperately and count the hours until I can see you again.”

  She smiled at the beautiful words, but they didn’t ease her fear that he would one day realize his terrible mistake. She was not Meredith. She was not made to be a duchess.

  Because she could resist no longer, she touched his cheek. His skin was warm and prickly with the day’s worth of beard that shadowed his jawline. In the darkness of her bedroom, with him standing in front of her, she finally admitted to herself her fierce love for him. Somewhere, sometime in their days together, she had fallen in love with him.

  “You don’t know your own worth, Sara.”

  She wanted to believe him. She desperately wanted to believe him, but a part of her held back. To her he had always been the star of society, the person everyone else wanted to be, and she would always be plain, quiet Sara.

  “We don’t match,” she said in an attempt to get him to understand. “You are light and I am shadows.”

  His eyes narrowed in surprising anger. “I wish you thought better of yourself.”

  “I know exactly who I am. You seem to forget who you are.”

  “I know who I am.” He stepped away, clearly disappointed in her. “And I thought you knew who I was. I guess I was wrong. You see what you want to see, what others see.” He took another step back and she wanted to cry out at the loss. He was pulling away from her, already realizing the mistake he’d made, just like she’d known he would.

  He backed all the way to the door, where he stared at her for the longest time. Sara felt so cold her teeth were chattering. Tears clogged her throat. Her stomach churned and her knees trembled.

  She couldn’t tear her gaze from his, from the hurt and anger that shone from his beautiful amber eyes. I’m sorry, she wanted to shout, but held her tongue. He might think now that they were suited, but he would realize how wrong he was in a few months or, if she were lucky, a few years. When he wanted to go to balls and host parties to push his political ideas, she could not be the shining presence he needed on his arm.

  It was far better that he realize it now than in a few years, when her heart was fully engaged. It would kill her to live half a life with him knowing she was a disappointment.

  He opened the door and hesitated as if waiting for her to say something. When she didn’t, he nodded to her. “Goodbye, Sara.”

  She swallowed, tears swimming in her eyes. She couldn’t even say goodbye.

  He closed the door behind him and she cried out, stifling the sound by bunching the blanket against her mouth. She blinked and the tears, let loose, raced down her cheeks.

  This is for the best.

  If that were the case, then why did it hurt so much?

  Chapter 30

  Sara sat in her room at her parents’ townhouse and stared forlornly out the window. It had been nearly a week since she had seen Ross.

  I know who I am. And I thought you knew who I was. I guess I was wrong. You see what you want to see, what others see.

  She still believed she was not good enough for a duke. Even though his words rang in her ears and made her feel guilty enough to cry. He didn’t understand. He didn’t know that all those people out there saw him only as the Duke of Rossmoyne, and they would always question why such a powerful man was with such a mouse of a woman.

  She hadn’t heard from Ross except for one short note that read: Stay watchful. Don’t go anywhere without James. It was signed Rossmoyne. Not even Ross.

  Though it had hurt, she was pleased that he was still thinking of her safety.

  She pressed her forehead against the glass and blinked away her tears. So many tears. She was tired of shedding them. Tired of her dripping nose and red eyes. And her mother was disgusted with them. When had her mother become so jaded and, well, mean?

  Just another change that Meredith’s death had wrought.

  Sara closed her eyes and held herself perfectly still. Sometimes it hurt to move. The only time she ever roused herself was when the morning papers came and she devoured the gossip sections for news of Ross. There never was any. There hadn’t been since he withdrew from society after Meredith’s death.

  Had he returned to India?

  No, she knew in her heart he wouldn’t do that, because the letter writer was still out there. Although she had not received another letter. Maybe he had moved on. Or something dreadful had happened to him and he was incapacitated, maybe even dead. She fervently hoped that something dreadful had happened to him. It was what he deserved for ruining her life.

  Oh, and wasn’t that dramatic?

  She despised dramatics. It was all Meredith thrived on, and Sara had never been one for drama. Yet she could not deny that her life had changed irrevocably when Meredith died. All of their lives had, and none for the good.

  She pushed those thoughts away. They were nothing new and nothing she could change.

  It was time to return to Hadley Springs, where life was constant, if a little boring. She needed boring now. Craved it. With the added benefit that she would get away from her mother, who was constantly coaxing Sara to go calling with her. The thought of sitting in endless drawing rooms, drinking barrels of tea, and chitchatting with people she didn’t know was torturous.

  She’d tried to talk to her mother about her plans to build a school to educate the homeless children of London. Lady Grandview had listened halfheartedly, then told Sara she needed to get married and have babies.

  It hurt Sara’s heart that her mother didn’t take her seriously. It reminded her of the children in the rookery and the look of desperation and fear on their faces. It only reaffirmed her conviction that it was her calling to save them. She could be just as obstinate as her mother, and in this she would win.

  On that thought her mother entered her bedroom, disregarding the closed door. Sara refused to look at her.

  Carolina sighed in obvious exasperation. “You’re crying again. Why are you crying again?”

  Because my heart is torn in two.

  “Lord Newport is downstairs. He would like to take you for a ride through Hyde Park, and I have agreed to let you go.”

  Sara looked at her mother, dumbfounded. “You have agreed? Don’t you think you should have asked me first?”

  “No.” Carolina stepped to the wardrobe and inspected Sara’s gowns. “Because you would have said no, just as you have said no to every other outing I have proposed. Honestly, Sara, you need to stop this inappropriate infatuation with Rossmoyne and move on.”

  Sara gaped at her mother. “Inapp— Do you think that is what is wrong with me?” Could her mother be so blind? Did she believe so little of Sara that she thought it was a one-sided infatuation? That Ross could not possibly like her?

  Carolina lowered the lavender gown she’d been inspecting. “Well, of course. You stayed with Rossmoyne. You found yourself with a silly schoolgirl crush, and you’re devastated that he didn’t return your feelings. He’s a powerful duke.” Carolina shook her head and put the gown back in the wardrobe. “Whatever possessed you to buy lavender? That is not your color at all.”

  Sara blinked. She could not really be outraged by her mother’s statement. After all, it was the same thing she had told Ross when he’d asked her to marry him.

  “Meredith is dead, Mother.” It was the first time in Sara’s memory that anyone had said those words. They’d tiptoed around them,
used different euphemisms, but no one had been this blunt. Maybe it was time.

  Carolina lowered a yellow gown and glared at Sara. “That is inappropriate, Sara.”

  “How is it inappropriate to tell the truth? You keep comparing me to Meredith, but Meredith is dead, and whatever she did, whoever she was, it didn’t get her anywhere, did it?”

  Carolina stormed toward her. Sara had never seen her mother so furious. She slapped Sara across the cheek, the crack of flesh meeting flesh resounding through the room. They stared at each other for long moments, her mother’s chest rising and falling, tears in her eyes.

  “Don’t ever say that again,” she whispered fiercely.

  “Say what? That Meredith is dead or that I’m not Meredith?”

  “I know you’re not Meredith. Meredith was one of a kind.”

  “And I’m not?” Though the words hurt, they weren’t surprising. Sara had learned long ago that she wasn’t as good as Meredith in her mother’s eyes. But she was just as good, even better, in Ross’s eyes.

  “Stop being dramatic, Sara.” Carolina shook out the yellow gown, refusing to look at Sara. “I’ve neglected you for far too long. It’s past time you wed.”

  “I know you never loved me as much as you loved Meredith. She was your only child, and I was just an…” Orphan. She was an orphan. Was that why she was so pulled to the orphans in the nethersken? As the only child of a marquess, she wouldn’t have ended up in the rookery, but under different circumstances she might have. Did she relate to the children on that level?

  “I loved you like my own,” Carolina said.

  “But I still wasn’t Meredith.”

  Carolina shook her head. “I never knew what to do with you. You were such an odd child. Too quiet. Too shy. But Meredith and her father loved you.” She said that as if it were enough that Sara was loved by those two and not the woman she called Mother.

  There was no more to say. Sara felt strangely numb.

  “So you think I’m not good enough for Ross?”

  Carolina lifted an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  Carolina’s features were pinched. Clearly, she didn’t want to speak about this, but for once Sara wasn’t going to back down. “Rossmoyne was meant for Meredith…” Carolina looked away. “Catching a duke was a great coup. One Meredith was prepared for.” She waved her hand in the air. “It was meant to be.”