When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

“You’d be wonderful, but I think we both deserve to marry for love.”

  “Not in my future, Gil. Even if I’d been born on the right side of the blanket, I’d have still not been wanted, still would have been brought to Mum’s door. There’s no denying that.”

  She shook her head. “People are idiots. No matter what this babe looks like—”

  “You’re with child?” Roger asked.

  With a low growl, she swung around and glared at him. “Keep the news to yourself.”

  “Why didn’t you bloody well say? You shouldn’t be standing.” Reaching over the counter, he grabbed a stool, hefted it up and over, and set it down. “Sit.”

  She didn’t usually take orders, but her legs were beginning to ache, so she settled down on the stool. It would be nice to sit in between pouring drinks.

  “Was it that toff? If your brothers and I were to have a word with him—”

  “No,” she stated sharply. “I’m on my own in this.”

  He grinned sadly. “No, you’re not, Gil.”

  “He’s right there,” Beast and Aiden said at the same time and she wondered when Aiden had wandered over.

  “It’ll all work out,” Aiden told her.

  “That’s what Mum said.”

  “She usually knows.”

  “But you need to tell him, Gil,” Beast said. “It’s not fair to him not to know.”

  She nodded. “I know. I will tell him. After the babe is born, after he’s married.” After she’d sold the tavern and moved to a cottage in the country. After she could prove she expected nothing from him.

  While the rain pattered the panes, Thorne sat at the desk in his library and looked over the offers he’d received in writing from a dozen fathers. During the six weeks since the ball, viscounts, earls, marquesses, and dukes had met with him or written to him in order to discuss the possibility of his marrying one of their daughters. Every daughter came with a parcel of land—some large, some small—because everyone knew the Dukes of Thornley coveted land. Fathers had even brought their daughters who had yet to have their coming out, so he could get a preview of next year’s offerings, in the hopes he might make a preemptive proposal and save them the bother of a Season.

  It was a dismally depressing way to select a wife. He certainly wouldn’t use this method for his daughter, should he ever have one. The gent was going to have to woo her, spoil her, love her, and prove he would treat her with the utmost care. And if his daughter wanted to marry an untitled gent, by God, he’d make that happen as well.

  As for himself, he had a duty to honor and a vow to keep.

  All the women he was considering were poised, graceful, and beautiful. Each was a lady fit for a duke, and yet each seemed wrong.

  He reminded himself that he came from a long line of dukes who did not marry for love. These ladies brought with them property that would expand his holdings, the holdings he would pass down to the next duke, his son. Each brought a pure bloodline their children would inherit. Each brought good breeding that would make him proud as they hosted affairs, visited with royalty, made their mark on Great Britain.

  Each was rather dainty. Would any of them have the gumption to haul him upstairs if wounded, to harangue him into fighting to survive? Would any look into the faces of the poor and offer them help? Would any crouch before them and offer them kindness?

  His entire life he’d been instructed, tutored, and educated on the sort of woman he would marry, the echelon of Society from which she would be heralded. There were the sort of women men wed and the sort they bedded. Regardless of how a man might feel about them, they were relegated to a certain role in his life.

  He reached for the nearby tumbler and took a sip of his whisky, remembering when he had savored the flavor in a small tavern where life moved about him with smiles and laughter—both of which were now remarkably absent. They’d never existed in this house. There had never been any evidence of love or caring. There had been naught but accusations, anger, and arguments.

  He was now spared his mother’s constant finding fault with him because he had moved her into the dower house. He’d thought he’d welcome the peace brought by her absence. Instead he found he missed her for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps because it was too damned quiet now, so quiet he heard the ticking of the clock on the mantel, the crackle of the fire, the occasional rumble of the thunder, and the tap-tap-tap on glass.

  Removing his watch from his waistcoat pocket, he rubbed his thumb over the engraving. A dozen times—no, two dozen, three—he’d nearly gone to the Mermaid, nearly gone to her. But she didn’t want his world of balls and dinners and musicales. She had no interest in fancy gowns and glittering jewelry and beribboned hats. He often thought of her in the purple ball gown, but more often he envisioned her in her simple shirts and petticoat-less skirts, the way she strode with purpose and determination through her tavern, through life. A practical woman who opened her heart to friend and stranger alike, with a streak of whimsy to her, who created fairy tales about her origins and believed in mythical creatures and recognized how great a loss it was when another was on the verge of being extinguished.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  He’d heard about a zoo in Europe that was striving to breed a pair of quaggas, and he’d sent them funds to assist in their efforts because he’d thought it would please her to learn that the beast would carry on, would not die away. That there would be no last time of gazing on one. Because last times were hard, even when one knew it was the last time.

  Not a day went by that he didn’t want to gaze on her again, to converse with her, to watch her moving about with purpose but still managing to find the time to place a comforting hand there and offering a kind word elsewhere. To watch her putting tokens in grubby hands and receiving smiles in return. She created smiles, basked in them. He didn’t think he’d smiled once since he left her, knew he’d not laughed.

  “Make me proud,” his father had said. The Dukes of Thornley stood above all others because they increased their legacy and holdings by marrying women for land. What rotten bargainers they were, the lot of them.

  Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap.

  He glanced over at the glass door. Lightning flashed, outlining the wraith who stood there. Good God! Tucking the timepiece away, he leapt to his feet, rushed over, and jerked open the door. “Lavinia?”

  The boom of thunder, another flash of lightning. Taking her arm, he dragged her inside and shut out the rain. “Lavinia.” He’d given up hope of ever seeing her again, in spite of the handbills he’d paid Robin to spread about.

  Unbuttoning her pelisse, she removed it. “Apologies but I’m dripping on your carpet.”

  He took it from her and tossed it onto a nearby chair. He didn’t care about the dampness or the wet. “Get by the fire. Shall I send for tea?”

  She offered him a small smile, and he wondered if she’d always appeared so sad and he’d merely overlooked it. “A bit of brandy, if you please.”

  As he poured, she wandered over to the fireplace, lowered herself into a chair, and rubbed her arms. The frock she wore was plain and frayed, and he would have wagered it came from a mission. He hated the thought of her scrounging among others’ discards, but couldn’t help but be impressed that Gillie had the right of it. But then of course she had. She understood people far better than he ever would. She understood motivation, fear, and longing.

  He handed the snifter to her, watched as she brought it up, inhaled the aroma, and took a small sip. “Why didn’t you come in through the front door?” he asked, as he sat in the chair opposite hers.

  “I wanted to be certain my brother wasn’t about to haul me home. I got your missive.”

  Missive? “Ah, the handbill.”

  “Yes. Clever of you.”

  “It wasn’t my idea—and it was weeks ago, so I thought it had been fruitless.”

  “I spent a lot of time debating whether or not to come. Then I decided you were kind in your efforts and I wanted to reassure y
ou, in person, that I am well. My letters were the coward’s way. You deserved to be told everything in person.”

  He settled back in the chair, placed his elbow on its arm and his chin in his palm. “In your letter, you mentioned you were in love with someone. Have you married him?”

  She shook her head. “Oh no. But he takes up all of my heart and there would have been none to give to you. Also . . .” Her voice trailed off as her attention went to the fire.

  He waited in silence, not prodding, not prying. Gillie had taught him that sometimes mere presence was enough and patience was kindness.

  She took another sip of brandy, licked her lips. His body did not tighten, nothing called to him to take possession of that mouth. Since leaving Gillie, in spite of all the ladies paraded before him, he’d been as chaste as a monk. He’d begun to think she’d cast some spell over him, and never again would the sight of a woman arouse him.

  “There are sins in my past, Thorne.” Somber and solemn, she looked at him. “They are not to be forgiven.”

  He wanted to ask what they were but he wasn’t certain he had any right to know.

  “I could not bring myself to stand in that church before you and God and pretend purity. And I couldn’t marry you knowing I couldn’t give you the love you deserved from a wife. What would have been between us would have been awkward and cold, through no fault of your own. Guilt would have made me a wretched wife, and you are worthy of so much better. My mother gave no credence to my mounting concerns and doubts. I assumed, perhaps unfairly, that Collinsworth would side with her, so I did not confide in him. Instead, at the first opportunity presented to me, I ran. I do not expect you to forgive me—”

  “I do forgive you,” he said quietly.

  Tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you for that.”

  “How are you managing?”

  “Quite well actually.”

  “Collinsworth has hired men to search for you.”

  Another sad smile. “I doubt they will ever think to look where I am.”

  “Will you not tell me?”

  She shook her head, sighed. “So now you will marry another?”

  He chuckled low, darkly. “Indeed. As a matter of fact, I’ve been looking over the candidates. Perhaps you’d like to help me choose your replacement.”

  “Choose someone with whom you cannot live without, for if you do not, you will discover that you cannot live at all.”

  Chapter 26

  She was relatively confident the door had been opened a hundred times that day, that night, so she wasn’t certain why she was drawn to the present opening of it, what had prompted her to glance over when she hadn’t before. Perhaps it was because she’d always been able to sense the force of him when he strode in. He stopped just inside the doorway, removed his hat, and studied her as she stood behind the bar, holding his gaze, not looking away.

  He was devilishly handsome in a dark blue jacket, gray waistcoat, and pristine white shirt and cravat with the tiniest pin holding it in place. It was just so damned good to see him. She’d missed him so much. But she had to give nothing away, nothing at all. She’d not burden him with things that couldn’t be changed.

  Finally, he strode across the room until he was standing in front of her. “Hello, princess.”

  “Thorne.” Why did her breath choose that moment to leave her? “You look well.”

  “Looks can be deceiving. I’m actually quite miserable. Lavinia came to see me. I think she is even more miserable than I.”

  “So will the two of you become betrothed again?”

  “No. I decided I didn’t quite like the legacy my ancestors had left to me of not marrying for love.”

  Without taking her gaze from him, she reached for the stool, drew it against her backside and sat because it wouldn’t do if her knees suddenly turned to jam. His Guinness eyes revealed so much, too much, everything he’d ever felt for her, everything he ever would.

  “I love you, Gillie. I was daft enough not to know that’s what I felt for you because I’ve never loved or known love before you. I think of you every minute of every hour—convinced it’s only lust and desire. But I’m not always thinking about kissing you or touching you. I see things I want to share with you: a rare blossom, a phrase in a book I’m reading, an article in the newspaper. I hear things—the song of a bird, a lecture, an interesting bit of conversation—and I want you there experiencing them with me. I have had a dozen ladies brought before me and watched as they walk, so straight, so proper, that I can almost see the invisible book balancing on their heads. So calm, so reserved, so deuced boring. Almost absent of life. And I thought I can’t, I can’t marry any of them, not when I yearn to be with another, not when the only joy I’ve ever known isn’t standing beside me. Slowly, little by little, you captured my heart, made it yours. It will never belong to anyone else. Marry me, Gillie.”

  She would not be marrying only a man, she would be marrying a duke, someone with responsibilities to England. She had caught a glimpse of his life, of the history that had led to his being who he was. It was overwhelming and so much grander than her small piece of London. She would overhear ladies discussing her and men would make advances toward her. Slowly, she shook her head.

  “I know you worry about your tavern, losing it to your husband, but we can place it in a trust before we marry so it remains yours.”

  Once that had been her worry, but no more. She trusted him with her tavern. “It’s not that. It’s that I don’t fancy your world.”

  “Then we’ll live in yours. We’ll find a small residence somewhere nearby. You won’t have to live at Coventry House.”

  “You are a duke. You belong there. You have responsibilities—”

  “I can still see to them. I won’t give up my responsibilities or my duties, but my life can be here with you, if you’ll have me.” Placing his hands on the counter, he vaulted over it until he was standing beside her. In her surprise, she shoved back the stool until she was again standing. “Gillie, I—”

  His gaze lowered to the slight roundness in her belly. It wasn’t much but he was familiar with every inch of her, and she knew he could tell her body had changed. Slowly he lifted his gaze to hers, and she could see the hurt and disappointment reflected in his dark eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because your life was elsewhere and at some point you were destined to marry another.”

  “Ah, Gillie.”

  “I’m keeping it. I’m selling the tavern because once people know, they’ll shun me.” And that would be by the end of the night because people were standing around listening. “But I have money saved—”

  “You’re not selling the tavern.” He cradled her cheek. “Do you love me?”

  Why did this man so often make her eyes sting? “With all my heart.”

  “Then marry me.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “You told me how scared you were before you opened the tavern and I know you’re scared now, scared you’ll fail, but, Gillie, I swear to you that I would not ask you to become my duchess if I did not think you’d be the finest one England has ever known.”

  “I still don’t know which fork to use.”

  Leaning back, he smiled tenderly. “Sweetheart, you’ll be a duchess. You can use any damned one you want and people will love you for being eccentric. Marry me.”

  How could she not? He was correct. What did utensils matter when she would have him? “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

  He lifted her up and swung her around within the narrow confines of the bar, and then amid a round of cheers, he kissed her thoroughly.

  No one seemed surprised when she handed the reins to the tavern to her head barman and followed Thorne out into the night. He wanted to take her someplace special, someplace elegant and worthy of her, but he also wanted her comfortable and at ease, so he escorted her into her flat. Once there, with the door closed, he dropped to his knees and pressed a kiss to her belly. “I’m so sorry, Gillie. I thought I was being ever so cauti
ous.”

  Even though he knew abstinence was the only method that guaranteed the outcome he’d been seeking, he’d been too weak to abstain because he’d wanted her so desperately.

  She buried her fingers into his hair. “I was incredibly happy when I realized I was carrying your child, Thorne.”

  He lifted his gaze to hers. “Your life would have been remarkably hard.”

  “But also wonderfully joyous. Your babe, inside me, then in my arms. I want this child.” She lowered her fingers, held his face between her hands. “I want you.”

  “No more than I want you. God, Gillie, I have missed you.” He pushed himself to his feet and took her mouth with all the longing that had haunted him for six weeks now, with all the fervor that had simmered whenever he thought of her, whenever he was tempted to go to her, whenever he forced himself to stay where he was.

  How had he ever thought he could live without the taste of her, the fragrance of her, the sound of her sighs, the feel of her in his arms?

  Drawing away from the kiss, she gave him a sultry smile before reaching down, taking his hand, and leading him into her bedchamber. Stopping beside the bed, she faced him and very slowly began unbuttoning her shirt.

  He wanted to help her and yet he sensed that for tonight, it was important she set the pace, determine the direction. This brave, strong woman who would have endured being ostracized in order to bring his child into the world, to have kept it at her side, to have given it a home. When her clothes were a pile on the floor, he could have sworn a blush swept up over her from her toes to her hairline.

  “My body has changed somewhat.”

  Her breasts were larger, her belly slightly more round.

  “Yet all that I love about you remains the same,” he said.

  “Oh, Thorne.”

  She was in his arms before he took his next breath, as though she might have doubted his earlier declaration, as though she feared his offer was not genuine. He loved this woman, every aspect of her, and he would spend the remainder of his life proving that to her. For all her boldness, there was still a part of her that believed she deserved being left on a doorstep; buried deep within her was a little girl who wanted to believe she was a princess.