“I suspect it’s rather unpleasant at first.”
“Which would make the end result all the more miraculous.”
“You like wine.”
“Mmm. And whisky.” She laughed lightly. “Almost everything I serve.”
“I’ve never known a woman who drinks anything other than wine.”
Closing her eyes, she fell into a memory. “When my brothers started drinking, they invited me to join them. I developed a taste for things. I can tell the difference between the good stuff and the rot. You won’t find the rot in my place.”
The bed shifted and she figured he was rolling over. If she weren’t so weary, she might have looked over her shoulder again to see if his feet were stacked upon each other. Instead she welcomed the lethargy.
“Gillie?”
“Hmm?”
“Don’t go to sleep.”
“I . . . won’t.”
“Keep talking.”
She shook her head as much as she was able without moving it from the pillow. “No other dreams. Just vineyards.”
Quiet eased in around them, and she wondered if she should ask him about his dreams. But then he was a duke. He had the money, means, and power to make all of his dreams a reality. What could he possibly wish for that he didn’t have? Other than a bride who didn’t leave him standing at the altar.
“Gillie?” His voice was low, tender. “Do you know nothing at all about your parents?”
He’d asked her before but maybe he doubted the veracity of her answer, thinking she hadn’t known him well enough at the time to be honest in answering his impertinent question. They knew each other a bit better now. Perhaps if the room hadn’t been quite so dark, or if she couldn’t feel the warmth from his body or wasn’t aware of the weight of him on the other side of the bed—
If she hadn’t been able to smell his tart citrusy fragrance that reminded her of bergamot and lemons. If he hadn’t kissed her, if she hadn’t taken a blow to the head, she might not have divulged her secret fantasy, one she’d never shared with anyone, not even her brothers.
“When I was younger, a child really, I would imagine that my mother was a princess. She fell in love with someone considered beneath her. I don’t know. A palace guard or the village blacksmith perhaps. She was naughty with him, got into a bit of a bother. They wouldn’t allow her to marry him, of course, even though he loved her, too. They wouldn’t let her keep me because she was so very important and was supposed to make a proper marriage, and I was evidence of her sins. So they left me on a doorstep.”
The bed again dipped as his arm came around her, and she found herself spooned within the curve of his body. “You’re important, too,” he said quietly, near her ear.
She stayed still and quiet, taking pleasure from his nearness, surprised by how natural it seemed to be held by him. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her back. So lovely, so calming. Tomorrow night she would miss this, miss him.
She’d always thought it better not to know exactly what one’s life lacked. But now she was grateful she wouldn’t go to her grave having never been held by a man.
Chapter 16
He awoke with her lovely backside pressed up against his hard cock, his arm around her narrow waist, her hand over his where it rested just below her ribs. Sometime during the night she moved her head from her pillow to the crook of his other arm and it was now as dead as a doornail. He cursed it for being so inconsiderate as to prevent him from feeling even an inch of her.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, hadn’t intended for her to fall asleep, but a stillness had settled between them after she’d told him of her musings when she was a child. She imagined herself to be royalty. She was certainly regal in her bearing. As well as possessing strength, courage, and determination. He hadn’t known what to say at that moment and so he’d held her, the words he’d finally muttered inadequate to express how she affected him. There was an innocence to her that belied her rough upbringing. Yet at the same time there was a worldliness to her that indicated she had a far deeper understanding of human nature than he.
To leave her on a doorstep. How could anyone be so cruel? He was well aware the law didn’t favor those born out of wedlock. He’d heard and read horror tales regarding how some had been disposed of. She’d beaten the odds and survived. Although he suspected she wouldn’t survive much longer if she continued to leap at men.
Her feet were entangled with his, her skirt had hiked up past her knees, and there was that lovely long calf calling out to him to be kissed. He’d like to trail his mouth over it. No, not just it but every inch of her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.
Her breathing, a soft hushing that warmed his heart, filtered through the room. He wanted to awaken to the sound again, only with her naked in his arms. He imagined the joy to be had in taking her to the vineyards in France—after a stop in Paris. She might not have use for a ball gown but she certainly deserved one. He thought of buying her gloves and stockings and every bit of feminine undergarment he could think of. He didn’t want her wrapping her breasts as though ashamed of them, of being a woman.
But purchasing anything for her was out of the question as was the possibility of again waking up with her in his arms. Even if her mother was a princess, he couldn’t offer her marriage. She’d never be accepted by his family, his friends, his peers. For all of her boldness, there was a shyness to her that would no doubt make life in his world unbearable.
Still he found himself studying the slender nape of her neck, unobstructed by long strands of hair. He could see the delicate cords, the gentle slope. In spite of his best intentions, he leaned in and pressed a kiss there. She sighed and his irreverent cock grew all the harder. “Gillie, you need to wake up now, princess.”
With a soft moan, she somehow managed to stretch without stretching at all, her body undulating against his in such a provocative manner he very nearly groaned with frustration and aching needs. Slipping his arm out from beneath her head, he rolled over, swinging his legs off the bed and sitting up, clenching the hand that still had feeling in it and welcoming the painful spikes in the other as blood rushed back into it.
“I fell asleep,” she mumbled on a yawn and he imagined her stretching again.
“It was near enough to dawn I felt you were safe.”
“Why did you call me princess?”
He glanced back over his shoulder. Her hair, outside of the bandage that had been wrapped around her head to protect her wound, stuck up at odd spiky angles. He found it adorable. “If your mother was a princess, then so are you.”
She slammed her eyes closed. “Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not.” He’d been deeply touched by her story. “I can see you as a princess.”
Opening her eyes, she rolled them. “I can’t believe I told you that story. My senses must have been truly jumbled.”
“I’m glad you did. It never occurred to me how difficult it might be not to know from whence you came.”
“It doesn’t really matter. Not since I grew older. I have Mum. For all the love she showers on me, she might as well have given birth to me. Shall I make us some porridge?”
She obviously didn’t want to discuss it any longer. “Not for me. I should be off.” Reaching down, he grabbed his boots, tugged them on. Standing, he rolled down his sleeves and began the process of making himself once again presentable for going out in the world, knotting his neck cloth, slipping on his waistcoat, shrugging on his jacket. He was desperately in need of a shave, but he knew from his earlier time here she didn’t have a razor.
“I appreciate that you stayed and looked after me.”
“It was my pleasure.” He headed out, aware of her hopping off the bed and her bare feet pattering across the floor as she followed him. He opened the front door.
“I suppose we’re even now,” she said quietly.
He turned back to find her standing near enough to touch, her fingers intertwined in f
ront of her, and he wondered if she’d had to shackle them to keep from reaching for him. He wasn’t as gallant as all that. Taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger, he leaned in and kissed her, a short but sweet meeting of the lips.
“Not even close, princess.”
With that, he hurried down the stairs and into the mews where he found his coach waiting, his coachman and tiger standing ever alert near the horses.
“Sorry for the delay in my parting, Maxwell,” he said to the driver as he neared.
“Not to worry, Your Grace.”
“Do hope you didn’t spend the night standing out here.”
“No, sir. We took turns catching a few winks inside the carriage.”
“Still it was inconsiderate of me.” He should have sent them home and had them return this morning. On the other hand, he paid them well enough they expected the occasional inconvenience. As he clambered into the vehicle, he told them where he wished to stop before returning to Coventry House.
Not long after, with all his noble bearing on display, he walked into the nearest constabulary building and up to the desk where two men in uniform waited, choosing the one who looked to be the youngest, least experienced, and most easily impressed. “Was a Charlie McFarley brought in here last night?”
The constable nodded. “He was.”
“I’d like to have a private word with him.”
“Are you his solicitor?”
“No.” He withdrew a card from his pocket and extended it. “I’m the Duke of Thornley, cousin to the queen.” A very, very distant relation that came about through a series of marriages, not bloodline, but he wasn’t opposed to adding weight to his title when warranted.
The man who had been standing straight as a board went even straighter, paled considerably, and nodded with such force it was a wonder his head didn’t go flying off. “Certainly, Your Grace, I can arrange for you to have a word with him in the chief inspector’s office.”
“Not necessary to go to such bother. A quick visit in his cell should suffice. It won’t take me but a minute.”
“As you wish, sir. If you’ll follow me.” He grabbed a ring of keys and led the way down one corridor, a set of stairs, and then another corridor, only this one contained a series of iron doors. He opened one at the end.
“I’d like you to stay on this side of the door in the hallway until I knock,” Thorne instructed him in a manner that indicated it was not a request but an order.
“Certainly, Your Grace.”
He gave an appreciative smile. “Good man.”
He walked in and closed the door. Charlie McFarley sat on a rather uncomfortable-looking wooden bench that no doubt also served as the bed. The fellow slowly came to his feet, his fists clenched, his eyes narrowed. His effort to look intimidating lost some of its edge due to his misaligned jaw. “Who ye?” he mumbled.
“The gent you robbed the other night outside the Mermaid and Unicorn.”
Rolling his eyes, he attempted a sneer that simply looked ridiculous since his mouth wasn’t working properly. “The watch is gone,” was torturously muttered, the words barely recognizable.
“I don’t care about the watch.” With a quick step forward, he plowed his balled fist into the bastard’s gut—hard.
With a grunt, gasping for breath, Charlie McFarley dropped to his knees. Thorne crouched, grabbed him by his filthy long hair, and jerked his head back until he could hold the man’s gaze. “Last night you bruised Miss Trewlove. If you or any of your cronies ever lay so much as a finger on her again, I shall see you hanged. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
Charlie McFarley nodded as much as he was able with the vise-like grip Thorne had on him. Thorne tossed him aside like the rubbish he was.
Turning for the door, he needed only two steps to bang on it. It opened and he marched out, feeling a great deal of satisfaction. He couldn’t protect Gillie from all the unpleasantness of life, but he intended to do what he could.
Sometime later he strode into his residence, and his stomach immediately rumbled. It was early enough that breakfast was still being served, so he headed for the breakfast dining room, having failed to take into account it was late enough that his mother would be there.
“You stink of her,” she spat, wrinkling her nose in disgust, rendering her judgment as was her preferred manner for welcoming the day.
“Her?” he asked mildly as he went over to the sideboard and began filling his plate with an assortment of offerings.
“The woman in whose bed you spent the night.”
He realized she was correct, as he could smell the faintest hint of Gillie in his clothes. “I daresay, you have bloodhound in your bloodlines. I shall instruct my valet not to launder my clothing then so I may inhale her sweet fragrance whenever I like.”
“You’re disgusting.”
He took his place at the table. “Good morning to you as well, Mother.”
“I could always smell the stench of the women with whom your father slept. You’re just like him.”
That his father had not honored his vows was one of the things that had most disappointed him about his sire, but he saw nothing to be gained in harping on the previous duke’s shortcomings, even if those indiscretions had led to the duke’s illness and eventual madness. For a time, he’d made all their lives a living hell. “It’s been nearly a dozen years since his passing. Surely by now, you should try to move past his transgressions.”
“Never.” Taking a sip of her tea, she glared at him over the rim of her delicate bone china cup, the slightest tremble visible. “Has there been any luck locating the girl?”
“I assume you’re referring to Lavinia. No. However, I had a recent letter from her indicating she ran off in order to be with someone else.” Not her precise words, but he didn’t feel a need to share the details. “Therefore, we will not marry.”
Her eyes slammed closed, her jaw tightened. She looked to be on the verge of erupting. Had she been a volcano, he had little doubt the earth would be obliterated. Finally she opened her eyes. “Have you spoken with Collinsworth regarding this debacle?”
“I have.”
“And what reparations is he prepared to make?”
Wishing he’d had the good sense to have a tray of food delivered to his bedchamber, he arched a brow at her. “Reparations?”
“Yes. The girl broke the betrothal. You are within your rights to sue.”
“He’s an old friend. I’m not going to sue.”
“She has already made a laughingstock of you by leaving you standing at the church. If you don’t take some action, the peerage will lose all respect for you.”
While he had to admit it had been at once embarrassing and humbling to be left at the altar, it was preferable to taking to wife someone who would be forever longing to be in the arms of another. “I’ll survive.”
“You really should not have gone with her. I’d heard rumors . . .” She let her voice trail off suggestively.
He wasn’t going to take the bait. He’d never been much in favor of gossip, perhaps because so much of it had surrounded him growing up. His father’s unfaithfulness was always fodder for the blatherers. “It’s over and done. I see little point in dissecting it. Although I suppose I should place an announcement in the Times—”
“Absolutely not. Gossip will run rampant as it is.”
“Which is the reason an announcement is in order—so we control the facts.”
“Will you state you were thrown over? I should think not. It must be carefully worded so it is understood the decision to end things was yours.”
He sighed. “Who will believe that when I was the one waiting so patiently at the altar?”
“You announced the girl became ill. Upon further reflection, you decided it would not do at all to marry someone with such a weak constitution who so easily fell sick at the most inopportune moment.”
He laughed darkly. “I’m not going to disparage Lavinia. Besides, I doubt there
is a woman in all of England who does not fall ill at one point or another.”
“Don’t announce it. I shall handle getting the news out discreetly. To ensure people understand you are well and truly done with the girl, I shall host a ball as soon as possible so you may select another woman to become your wife. I suggest you go with someone a bit younger, someone who will appreciate the honor you bestow upon her.”
He almost asked the butler to bring him some whisky for his coffee. “Mother, I am in no hurry to marry. Lavinia’s age coupled with Collinsworth’s concerns over it prompted me to ask for her hand earlier in the summer. But there is no reason now to rush into anything.”
“There is reason aplenty. We must get this matter behind us, else it will be all that is talked about next Season, in a most unflattering way, with speculation rife regarding why the girl felt a need to run away from you, if she discovered you are like your father. He has left you a disgusting legacy. You have an obligation to marry and provide an heir before you succumb to his disease.”
He sighed heavily. “I’m not going to become ill like Father.”
“You live the life of a monk then?”
“I will not discuss this.”
She slapped her hand on the table. “The best way to move past this embarrassing episode in your life quickly is to take a wife before year’s end. So people are talking about your marriage rather than conjecturing what is wrong with you.”
He didn’t think it would be as bad as all that, but he would welcome some peace at the table. “The Season is over. I suspect the day after my botched wedding, any families who had remained behind to attend followed the example set by those who had already headed to their country estates and departed the city as quickly as possible.”
“They will return to London for my ball, especially as the girls’ mothers will be desperate to land their daughters a duke.”
“I really think this can wait until next Season.”
When a Duke Loves a Woman Page 18