The Ugly Duchess

by Eloisa James

  That was one thing she remembered quite clearly from their bed play together. When he was aroused, his breath came fast and his chest heaved. His eyes had been bright like fire, and his fingers had trembled. She glanced down. He was soaping her left wrist with hands as steady as they could be. A little sigh escaped her.

  That was life.

  If she’d learned anything since the day her life fell apart, it was that her life didn’t fall apart. One can survive a missing husband, and a dead mother, and being known throughout the British Isles as ugly. It was all survivable.

  Difficult and demoralizing, but endurable.

  “Your leg, please,” James said. His voice still sounded painfully hoarse, but she wasn’t going to mention it again.

  Amélie never touched her below the waist, but Theo straightened one leg and put her ankle in his hand anyway. After all, her legs were her best feature: slender, with lovely round kneecaps and delicately curved ankles. It was a stupid thing to hold onto, but when one doesn’t have much to celebrate in the way of physical attributes, ankles matter.

  James began soaping one rather slowly. He’d told her once that she had beautiful ankles.

  “I like my ankles,” she said, wanting him to notice again. He drew a finger down the sole of her foot and made her squeal. It was very playful.

  Theo had to swallow hard, because this wouldn’t have been so silly years ago.

  “It’s hot in here,” James said. He wiped his face with his forearm. He did look rather red.

  “I can do the rest,” Theo said, pulling her foot from his hand. “You’ve proved your point, James. I can see it.”

  “See what?”

  “That you’re not attracted to me. So just give me the soap.”

  She reached out for it, but he held it away from her. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

  “I most certainly am,” she snapped. She’d taken it about as seriously as she could without bursting into a howl of aggrieved femininity.

  James rolled his eyes. “If I don’t wash all of you, Theo, you will always have questions in your mind. I want us to remain married.” He reached out with a soapy hand and caught her chin. “Our children will probably be informed precisely the time at which they are allowed to wet their diapers, but I still want you to be their mother.”

  She could feel a crooked smile on her mouth. “Oh. Thank you.” He had used twice as much soap as Amélie, and bubbles slid down her chest as she bent toward him.

  They both looked down at the same moment. Bubbles were flowing down the slope of Theo’s breasts.

  “Yes, well,” James said, and then he moved around behind her and she heard a stifled noise, almost a groan.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m not used to kneeling on a tiled floor,” he confessed, and she heard a thread of amusement in his voice again. “I would be a terrible grumbler if I were a lady’s maid.”

  “Amélie doesn’t clamber around my tub on her knees,” Theo said. “So what—” She broke off. James’s hands made a slow slide over her shoulders and down her front. His touch lit a fire in her stomach, even before he touched her breasts.

  “I don’t think that is necessary,” she said, catching her breath on a gasp. He had a breast in each hand now.

  “Breasts are just breasts,” he said. “Of course, your breasts . . .” His voice trailed off.

  Her nipples looked like pale rosebuds peeking through his brown fingers. She thought they looked quite nice. Then he slowly rubbed a thumb across each one, and it felt so amazing that she sucked in her breath and forgot to wonder about whether or not James was aroused, because she was. In fact, her head fell back against his arm, eyes closed, because he was doing something with his thumbs that had nothing to do with cleanliness.

  It was as if lightning jolted through her, electrifying parts that hadn’t been touched for seven years. Even the private place between her legs suddenly tingled, as if to tell her that it was still there.

  The moment she realized that, her hands clapped over his. “What are you doing?”

  “You said I’m not attracted to you, Daisy.” His lips brushed her ear. “You’re wrong. I’ve always been driven mad by your breasts, and you know it.” At the moment she could only think about what a simple touch of his lips had done to her. “Don’t you remember?” he murmured, kissing her ear again.

  “Yes,” she said weakly. “At the dining room table.”

  “I used to sit there and dream about touching you like this,” he said, his voice like a caress. “I would watch you talking and think about how beautiful and intelligent you were, but to be honest, my eyes just kept going back to your breasts. There were times when I thought I might lose control, right there in the dining room.”

  Theo kept her hands over his, but she did lean back against him again. “Surely not.”

  His laugh was ragged, but somehow just as sensual as it had been. Perhaps even more so. “I promise you that was the case. I was capable of fantasizing about you through four courses. After the dessert, I would hobble from the room.” Under her hands, his thumbs moved gently across her nipples again.

  Her toes were curling, and she was having trouble remembering her name, let alone what James looked like as a hungry youngster on the other side of the table from her.

  “Are you saying that you might have trouble straightening up?” she said, finally managing to come up with some sort of sentence. She seemed to be losing strength in her limbs, which would explain why her hands fell away from his, letting him play with her breasts all he wanted.

  There was a moment of silence, and then he said, “I told you I’m in control these days, Daisy. But you have to let me prove it to you.”

  She was starting to feel feverish, and even though she knew it was muddled thinking, she let herself pretend that what he was saying made sense. “Prove it how?” she whispered.

  One of James’s hands skated across her stomach on a film of soap, slipped under the water, drifted between her legs, the place where she felt open and vulnerable and soft. “Like this.” His voice had slipped from ragged to guttural. The very sound of it made her feel like a smoldering log, about to burst into flame.

  “May I touch you?” James asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, but did something intimate with his fingers. Her answer was lost in a gasp.

  “Just so I can prove my self-control,” he added.

  She could have pointed out that she wasn’t demented. That she knew an excuse when she heard it. But her mind had turned black and ravenous, and the groan in her chest turned to a little sob. She pushed against his fingers, thinking, Harder, there, please, there! And as if he could hear her, one broad finger pressed down sharply, and another did something else, invaded her in just the right way.

  Just like that, Theo broke, with a little shriek and a shock to her body that made her arch up and half out of the water. She only dimly heard soapy water splashing onto the floor, because everything in her was focused on the hot ripples spreading through her body.

  Then James’s fingers slipped away and he pulled her a bit more firmly back against his arm. While she was still reeling, he leaned down and whispered in her ear, “If Amélie performs that service for you, I’m dismissing her tomorrow.”

  A giggle broke from Theo’s lips. “Don’t be absurd.” Her body was limp, and she felt swollen and hot between her legs.

  “In fact, no one can touch you like that but me,” he added, and now his voice sounded not casual, but hotly possessive. Before she could answer, he rose to his feet, bent over, and scooped her into his arms.

  It felt different now that they were both naked. His skin burned against hers.

  “I must be heavy,” she murmured, stealing a glance up at his face. Against all common sense, she wanted to see arousal there.

  She saw none.

  Rather than answer, he set her on her feet and rubbed her briskly with a towel. Even the touch of the rough fabric gave her a wanton pulse of pl
easure.

  James’s jaw seemed taut, but then he looked at her and smiled. She reached out and took her wrapper off the hook, pulling it around herself and knotting it tightly.

  Tossing the towel aside, James picked her up again, as if she couldn’t walk to her own bed.

  “Don’t smile at me anymore,” she said tiredly, turning her face to his chest and closing her eyes. “I learned my lesson.”

  “Lesson?” He sounded puzzled.

  “You’re in no danger to succumbing to lust. I understand.” It wasn’t overly painful to acknowledge it aloud.

  He dropped her on the bed and frowned at her. “That’s what you want.”

  She rolled off, coming to her feet, and flapped her hand at him. “It’s not important. I need you to help me make the bed. I cannot rest in a bed with rumpled sheets, and of course, the top sheet isn’t even here any longer.”

  He blinked at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “We have to remake the bed,” she said painstakingly. “I would ring for a maid, but you sent them away.”

  “Right. If you’ll excuse me, I have something to do.” Theo’s eyes dropped and she saw that he had a hand cupped over his privates, as if he was in pain. He brushed past her and into the bathroom without another word. That wasn’t very polite.

  She had no idea how to make the bed, but surely she was capable of it. She pulled all the remaining bedding off, and then made certain that the bottom sheet hung off all sides by precisely the same amount: she judged four and a half inches, though of course it was hard to tell without a way to measure it.

  She tucked the sheet in at the head of the bed. That was rather awkward, as she had to reach toward the middle of the bed. She could hear water running into the bathtub again, which was distracting, but it didn’t bother her much. James’s “personal” service, for lack of a better word, had left her feeling quite happy.

  She moved around to the side and managed to get the sheet tucked in precisely the correct amount.

  She had just started the other side when the door opened again. She was bent over the bed, trying to make sure that the sheet didn’t form wrinkles as she tucked.

  “Oh good,” she said, looking over her shoulder. James’s tool was down, the way she had thought it was supposed to be. With a mental shrug, she said, “Will you please help me? This is impossible to do on one’s own. I can’t imagine how the housemaids manage it.” She moved to the foot of the bed and bent over again, trying to smooth the sheets so there were no wrinkles.

  There was a funny noise, like a deep groan, but when she looked back at James he was obediently walking toward her. His tool was straight up in the air again. So he was telling the truth about that being his normal state.

  She kept thinking about it all the time that they worked on the bed, making sure the top sheet was smooth before they replaced the rest of the bedding.

  Every once in a while she would steal a glance at James. She felt terribly self-conscious wearing a wrapper with no drawers and no chemise, but he seemed unmoved.

  When the bed was finished, she slipped between the sheets, still wearing her wrapper because she couldn’t bear the idea of being naked in front of him again.

  He stood beside the bed, that irritating smile on his face. “Are you hungry? I’ll have Maydrop send up a hamper with one of the footmen. I think if we eat here, it will be easier for him, given the lack of kitchen staff.”

  “I never eat in bed.” But she was ravenous.

  The amusement on his face vanished. “You will tonight. You’re not to even think about leaving that bed. I’m not touching those damned sheets again.” Annoyingly, he seemed to be showing more emotion over the bed than anything else. Such as the almost naked woman lying between the sheets.

  The emotions in Theo’s chest were so turbulent that she didn’t even frown at his blasphemy and the set of his jaw. There was a naked man in her room. Staring at her belligerently over his folded arms.

  She started that train of thought over. There was a naked pirate in her room, and she wasn’t frightened by him in the least. What’s more, she let her eyes drift over his scarred, muscled body and didn’t shy away from the fact that the sight of him made her own body feel needy. For some reason, every scar sent a little thrill to her toes. She glanced at his scandalous tattoo. It made her feel a melting rush of desire.

  James—make that Jack Hawk—was glaring at her as if she were no more than a pirate’s captive. Theo found that a little smile was curling her lips at the thought. She had been a prisoner, of a sort. Not to James, but to her own fear.

  She ran over that old memory of the library again, testing it with the detachment of seven years. It was embarrassing. But all of a sudden, she remembered the utter beauty of James’s young, lean body. The way he had thrown back his head in utter bliss. The groans that broke from his lips when she caressed him.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  Her husband was a pirate. But he was also a man who had loved her deeply. Who had pleasured her, and then happily succumbed to her seduction.

  “Well, what?” she asked, unable to remember what he was talking about. Her mind was reeling. For a moment, she remembered the pain of being called ugly, and then it melted away like soap washing down a drain. She had told herself a hundred times that she could be humiliated only if she allowed it: now she needed to believe it.

  The same was true for intimacy . . . for marriage. She had been a prisoner, but not to a pirate. She had been trapped by her own fear. In fact, she’d been something of a coward.

  Without a second thought, Theo shrugged off her wrapper, taking her time since the sheet slipped below her breasts in the process.

  James watched her, his face impassive, but she thought she caught a glimpse of something deep in those blue eyes: shock, perhaps, and a touch of hopefulness.

  She handed the wrapper to him with her sweetest smile. “You wouldn’t mind hanging this up, would you? Since there’s no one else here to do it for me?”

  The sound he made might have been a growl. It made Theo feel a little better, even more so when he took one look at her sitting up in bed with the sheet barely covering her nipples, and then stalked out of the room.

  “Put on some clothes,” she called. “I don’t want you to horrify Maydrop with all those scars.”

  The only answer was a soft thump as the door pulled firmly shut. She instantly hopped out of bed and brushed her teeth. Then she combed out her hair.

  When she heard footsteps walking up the stairs, she got back into her bed, dismissing the unease she felt about crawling into a rumpled bed. Who would have thought that making a bed was so much work? James entered with a hamper and set it on her dressing table. Then he grabbed the bottle of wine and took a swig straight out of the bottle.

  Theo would have liked a drink, but she could hardly say so now.

  He poured her a glass straight from the same bottle. “I couldn’t,” she said politely.

  “It’s been a hell of a day,” James said, pushing the glass into her hand. Then he narrowed his eyes. “You’re saying no because I drank from the bottle, aren’t you?”

  “We all have different standards of hygiene,” she said, sounding prim even to her own ears.

  “Are you afraid of my mouth? Of my spit?”

  “It’s just—”

  He leaned over, fast, put a hand behind her neck, and pulled her toward him. Theo closed her eyes reflexively when his mouth met hers. But the kiss wasn’t what interested him: his tongue thrust into her mouth, warm and wet and aggressive.

  She couldn’t summon any interest in the lesson he was doling out about spit and wine bottles. She wanted him to look at her with eyes that glittered, the way they used to, years ago, so she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She was chasing the promise of his tongue, the way it reminded her whole body of deep pleasure.

  A while later, she took a deep, shuddering breath. James straightened, seemingly reluctantly, and
turned away. His back was to her, so she savored the curve of his buttocks and the thick muscled weight of his thigh. And the fact that he was shaking slightly.

  By the time he turned around again, he clearly had himself in check.

  “Well,” he said genially, “how about a piece of chicken?”

  Theo eyed the wine bottle and thought about how satisfying it would be to knock him on the side of the head with it and chase away that maddeningly amiable expression. Instead, she did something that was as foreign to her character as throwing a ruby overboard would be to a pirate.

  She reached over, grabbed the bottle, and brought it to her mouth. The wine was wonderful. It tasted of peaches and summer and the sharp smell of crushed flowers.

  It was probably the best wine she’d ever had in her life. She had lost her grip on the sheet during their kiss, and when she lay back, she felt her breasts slip free. She didn’t bother to pull the sheet back up. Instead, she lolled against the pillows and took another swallow of the ambrosial wine. With her eyes closed.

  For once, she didn’t have to watch her guests, waiting to see if the vintage would be pleasurably received. She didn’t have to analyze the flavor to ascertain whether it agreed with the course before them.

  Instead, she drank for no other reason than delight. The cold wine slid down her throat as if it had been pressed from fallen stars.

  Thirty

  James had experienced pain, of course, but he couldn’t remember ever being in as much agony as he was at this moment. Theo was lolling back against a mound of pillows, her gorgeous, pink-tipped breasts beckoning to him like the finest sweetmeats heaven could offer, and he had to stay on his side of the bed. He had to.

  This was a siege, a long-term battle. He made himself think about how long it had taken to put on those damned sheets; his desire cooled an infinitesimal amount. Though, of course, his cock-stand was going nowhere, and his balls would probably fall off by tomorrow morning.