“Meet me later, in the gardens,” he whispered, so only I could hear.
I should have been outraged by such a proposition. It is notsomething that a lady should agree to, and I am sure my peers will think me incredibly dishonorable for entertaining such a sordid idea. But the duke’s voice did not allow for hesitation, and I admit I was beyond curious at this point. I gave him the slightest of nods, at which point he began to talk with other guests, leaving me shocked,excited and leaving me broiling with feeling.
*****
The word “later” being somewhat ambiguous, the first task handed to me was trying to work out what time, exactly, Francis wanted me to arrive at the gardens. There was no way to know for definite, so, wishing not to appear over keen, but also wishing not to miss him entirely, I waited until the sun had reached its noonday peek and began to descend for two hours before casually mentioning to Charlotte that I wished to stroll the gardens. She was taken up with the jollity of the fayre, and I bid her stay and enjoy herself. Thanking me, she freed me and allowed me to walk unescorted to the gardens.
I knew what I was doing was wrong and socially unacceptable, and yet I couldn’t forget this man. It is no way for a woman to behave, it is true, and yet I couldn’t just walk away and pretend that I had never seen him. I felt as though there was an affinity between us; I felt as though his ice-blue eyes saw past whatever element it was that men seemed to find so repugnant in me. Other men, after talking to me for a few minutes, would often make some excuse and flee to some quieter girl. Perhaps this had something to do with my habit of reading “unwomanly” literature, or my penchant for walking alone on the grounds around my father’s home. Whatever it was, I have been called intimidating by men, and now I take that as a compliment.
I did not think it likely, however, that I would intimidate the duke. He had a fine, muscular build, and his jacket and breeches were tight to accentuate his form. His face was strong and kind, with a solidity that was only heightened by his ice-blue eyes. He had the overall appearance of a wind-besieged mountain range, wild and dangerous and strong. I was more than intrigued. I was enthralled.
The main festivities having begun at the fayre, the garden was empty apart from one or two wanderers who presently made their way to the far end and disappeared in a sea of blues and reds and pinks and purples. I sat in a shadowed corner, fanning myself, partly because of the heat, and partly as a mummery to anyone who wished to spy upon me. How could they object to a lady taking a break from the heat? Looking around anxiously, I thought I caught sight of the duke many times only to be disappointed. Flowers that drooped and flowers that stood proud at every disturbance, had me craning my neck to see the duke, who was, I was sure, the man who had caused them to rustle. But there must have been some critters in there, for he was not there.
After ten minutes, I was about to leave. Color had risen in my cheeks and I felt distinctly ill, like someone had just fed me some nasty toxin. Perhaps the duke was toying with me, I thought, and perhaps he had told the partygoers that he has tricked me into waiting for him in the garden. If that is the case, I will be ruined and so will father. There will be no coming back from this. “How could I be so foolish?” I whispered fiercely. “How could I be such a fool? There will be consequences for this! Brutal consequences! All hell will be unleashed! Father will never be able to show his face again! Ah, what have I done?”
I almost began to weep, which further heightened my anxiety. I hate to weep, hate to appear like those heroines in popular fiction who are rendered incapacitated by tears. Somehow, I managed to hold the tears away, to firm myself up, and was about to stand and make a swift exit from the grounds when there was yet another rustling amongst the rainbow-colored flowers. Despite myself, I turned, and saw the duke walking confidently toward me.
My heart gave a skip, leap, and jump within my chest. I forced myself to retake my seat, lest it appear that I was eager to see him, which I was, but which would be silly to show him. He looked around and, upon seeing me, smiled and strolled over to the bench on which I sat.
“My lady,” he said. “May I sit?”
“Of course,” I said.
He sat closer to me than was strictly proper, with his thigh touching mine. I had never been so close to a man, and especially not so close to a man which provoked such feelings within me. He shifted his leg, with the express purpose, I believe, of rubbing my thigh with his. I blushed but I did not move away. The sensation was warm and pleasant, and it was not outwardly ignoble. To any spectator, we were just two people sitting upon a bench.
“I have seen you, in London,” the duke said.
I had to bite my lip to stop from screaming.
He observed me for a moment, and then went on: “It was a while back. I was in town for some boring business or another. You were with your maidservant, the woman who accompanied you today, I believe. I cannot say precisely why I was so taken with you the first moment I saw you, Miss Archer, except that you have a face not at all rose- or doll-like. You have the face of a strong woman who is not at all confined by the archaic ideas of our ancestors. I believe that a countenance can tell much. Furthermore, I believe that yours speaks of a spark of intellect usually quashed in a woman. Am I correct? Do you read, Miss Archer?”
I wished to take a moment to recompose myself, but the idea of fleeing this meeting was unacceptable to me. Here was a man who not only recognized that I was unlike my peers, but seemed to respect it! This was a strange development in my own perception of the human condition, as I long ago had concluded that all men, at heart, would rather see a woman dashed upon the rocks who read any kind of serious book. And yet here was the duke, asking me if I read books, and with a hint of pride in his tone!
“I have taught myself Greek and Latin and read the few classics father has managed to procure for me. I also read the natural arts and history. These are all unwomanly subjects and if you were to tell on me, I would be absolutely ruined.”
“I will not tell on you,” the duke said, and turned to me. He looked down from my face to my neck, and then further down, in the most dishonorable way. His eyes romped over my body, but I did not stop him. Then they returned to my face. “You are a beautiful woman, in both mind and appearance. My lady, I wish to hold your hand.”
“Here?” I said, uneasily. If somebody spied us holding hands, we would be more or less engaged, unless an outrage was to be caused.
“Here,” the duke said carelessly. “I wish to feel your hand in mine.”
He held his hand out. I looked at it for a few moments, heart thundering now in my chest. I knew it was wrong and yet I wanted very badly to have my hand in his. “I will hold your hand,” she said. “But we must be sure to retract them quickly if somebody ventures into the garden.”
He nodded and then took my hand in his, placing both hands upon my thigh. This was the zenith of improper behavior. I was aware of that then and I am aware of it now. Yet I was disinclined to take my hand away because the warmth and the closeness were intoxicating. We said nothing for a few minutes, just sat there and shared each other’s warmth, and then he turned and faced me with ice-blue eyes that seemed to look into me. To say that they looked into my soul would sound melodramatic. However, that is what it felt like at the time.
He smiled, and his strongly made face opened to me. “I have sought this for a long time,” he said.
“What is that, Duke?”
“Somebody with whom I could sit and hold hands and not have it be a cataclysmic event. Somehow I knew when I saw you in London that you were not like other women. It was in the way you carried yourself. You walked through the city, not like a star-struck woman, but almost like a man.” He winced. “That sounds monstrous, doesn’t it? I do not mean to call you manly. I merely mean to say that you, as far as I can tell, have shunned much of the extraneous womanliness that encumbers so many.”
I knew I could take offense if I wished, but I also knew exactly what he meant. Almost involuntarily,
I squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I knew what you meant,” I said. “You do not need to worry.”
He smiled at me again. “I want to see you again, after today,” he said. “We must contrive a reason for you to stay. I have guest quarters where you and your maidservant may abide for a time, if you wish.”
This idea was glorious to me. I could stay within his proximity. I could be with him for a longer time. The obstacle was Father. He was under the impression that I could be back on the morrow. “I would have to send word to Father,” I said.
“I could do that,” the duke said. “If I were to contrive some party or gathering. Yes, that is what I will do. I will throw a grand party five days from now. If I write to your father personally, I do not see how he can object. I am, after all, a duke.” He said this with none of the condescension or social pretentiousness which is so common in this sphere. He merely spoke the truth. “I would send the missive by messenger,” he went on. “Your father would learn immediately, and so any social missteps would be alleviated. If he wishes for your return, of course you must go. But I do not think he will. What is your answer, Sarah? Please, say yes!”
He gazed into my eyes imploringly. I nearly reached out to touch his face, but I restrained myself. All around us life was happening, and yet I felt utterly disconnected from it all. Life was not happening out there; it was happening here.
“I will stay,” I said. I hastened to add: “But you must write to Father this instant. Make it clear that it is for the party, and stress the social benefits.”
“I shall,” the duke said, releasing my hand. “I shall write to him this instant. Will you come with me, Sarah? I will go to my study, and there are books there that I think might interest you.”
At the mention of books I stood as though by rote. “I will come,” I said, as naturally and unexcitedly as I was able.
The duke nodded and began to walk. After a moment I followed, not so close as to cause murmur, but not so distant as to be strictly proper.
*****
The main body of the guests still being occupied with the festivities, the library was a private meeting place for the duke and me. He led me into a chamber a Greek philosopher would be happy to stand in for a time. It was not so much the architecture of the room that provoked a profound response within me, but the character of the room. Everywhere one looked, books lay upon the shelves, hundreds and hundreds of them. I have never seen so many books in my life. I felt my mind turning, as though twisting around in a foolish attempt to see all the books at once.
The Duke walked before me, and then turned and smiled. “It is acceptable?” he said.
“It is—” I could not form words that would properly explain the glory of this room. Only a low light filtered in through slatted windows at the top, dusty with the age of books. It was every romantic dream I had ever envisioned in my youth. So rarely do we humble creatures get to really live our dreams.
The duke laughed softly and walked through the library as carelessly as if such grandeur were the norm for him, and I reflected, it must be. After a breathless moment, I followed him to a large, oak desk and chair, upon which he sat and began to write a letter. He wrote it quickly, and then handed it to me to read. It was simple and plain and undeniable. He, a duke, wished to keep the Archer daughter here for a time. It was a great honor. I knew right away that Father would agree. I handed the letter back to him and he nodded and sealed it within an envelope.
“I will send it this very day,” he said. “We will not have a reply until tomorrow, but I am sure you will stay until then?”
“Yes,” I said, far too quickly. I was finding it harder and harder to hide my eagerness.
He rose from the desk and offered me his arm. Looking around to ensure that we were not being observed, I took his arm. He led me around the library, allowing me to look more closely at some of the more interesting tomes. There were the missing volumes of Homer’s Odyssey. Upon seeing my excitement at holding these volumes, he pushed them into my hands. “They are yours,” he said.
“You cannot mean it,” I whispered, staring down at the books.
“I do,” the duke said. “It is worth it to see a woman who gets excited about books. Most women would rather be out there, at the fayre, but I see you are made of different material. I expect that your design has been a hindrance to you for most of your life.”
“It has.”
“That is a great dishonor to Man,” the duke said vehemently. “I would say you are the kind of woman whom a man needs to treasure, but that would be unworthy; I do not think you are any kind at all. I think you are simply Sarah Archer, a beautiful anomaly.”
I had never been flattered so endlessly. The effect it had upon me was jarring. I felt my mouth falling open like a village idiot’s, and yet I was powerless to stop it. I was in awe of this man and his words. I placed the books on the shelf, lest I drop them, and stood still for a few moments. Soon he put his hands on my shoulders, gripping them firmly, and turned me toward him.
“I wish to kiss you, Sarah,” he said.
Men are not as honorable as they would have us believe, and I had had this offer thrust before me many times before, with the full knowledge that it would be my downfall if the man was a rascal. For that reason, and the reason that I had never felt an overwhelming inclination to succumb, I had never kissed a man before.
“You wish…”
“To kiss you,” the Duke said firmly. “Will you allow me?”
I stood on the edge of a cliff, the wind whipping at me. One way there was ecstasy, the other was oblivion. What if I succumbed to this man and he was rascal? What if I was one duped woman in a line of duped women? I looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of duplicity, but all attempts to read him were lost in the solid ice-blue of the deep pools of his irises.
Then I tossed intellect aside, a rare thing for me, and consulted my heart. The consultation did not last long. I wanted this, I realized.
“It must not last long,” I said hurriedly, “lest somebody come in and find us.”
“Yes, my lady,” the duke – Francis – said.
He touched my cheek with his hand, and then leaned forward and placed his lips upon mine. I had been afraid that I would not know what to do, but it felt as natural as walking. Our lips brushed as though they were old companions, and his tongue snaked into my mouth. This was most scandalous, and yet I opened my mouth in return and allowed our tongues to dance.
We kissed for longer than was agreed upon, and would have kissed for longer had there not been the clapping of shoes behind us. We both turned swiftly just in time to see Charlotte enter.
“Miss, I feared something had happened to you!” the poor girl exclaimed.
“The duke was just showing me his books, Charlotte,” I said. “You did not have to worry.”
“Yes, Miss,” Charlotte said. “Would you like to come outside now?”
The duke stepped forward. “We shall all go outside and join in on the fun.”
The girl’s face lit up like a fire at that. Then she clapped out of the room. The duke turned and stared into my eyes. “One more,” he said.
I nodded.
Our lips, our tongues, even our teeth, all of them mashed together in a dance of unearthly pleasure.
*****
It had been three nights from the date of the fayre. I lay awake around three in the morning, thinking over the previous three days. Apart from a short stroll around the grounds on the second day, upon which event Charlotte was also present, the duke and I had not spent any time together since the first day. This was mainly due to exterior events in London, which I will not bore the reader by delving into now. But late on the evening upon which I lay awake, waiting, the business in London had concluded and the duke’s advisors had left the castle.
And so our romance could resume.
For the sake of our closeness, the duke had arranged for Charlotte to have her own room down the hallway. This was agreeable to
me, because it made nights like tonight much easier. The duke was to visit me tonight. We were to spend some time alone together. My nerves were aching with anticipation at this point, and I had already decided that if he didn’t arrive tonight, I would return home. There is only so much a woman can take, exterior factors or not.
I watched the moon make its passage across my bedroom wall, the shadows of trees dancing in the pale blue hue. I had been reading the books the duke had gifted me until early in the morning, but now I was eager to recommence my affections with the duke. It is unwomanly to say so, but if he had walked in right then and kissed me without permission, I would not have objected.
I must make my state of mind clear, as a defense of sorts, because already the men among you are judging me, calling me unwomanly, perhaps even witchy. For the longest time Father had been trying to get me to marry, as was proper, and I do not blame him for it. If I could only attach myself to a prosperous family, I might elevate the Archers out of the rut they had been stuck in for generations. But my father was too soft-hearted to push with too much insistence, and I was allowed, for the most part, to form my own character.
I chose the character of a book-dweller, spending most of my early adulthood among books, neglecting my “social obligations.” And whilst Father did not hinder me, neither did he approve. So at the point of meeting the duke, I was afloat in a sea of unrecognition. I desperately wanted somebody to recognize me for what I was, not for who I was supposed to be.
And then came the duke. His words in the library, his beautiful words which I shall always remember, resounded in me, multiplying each day and increasing in force. The duke, I was sure, recognized me. And there was something else. There was a bodily reaction, also; my body called out for him, and the taste of his lips on mine was still fresh.
The Duke of Ice Page 16