Designs on a Duke: The Bluestocking Scandals Book 1

by St. Clair, Ellie

  “I’m glad,” Rebecca said with a true smile now. “You are a good judge of character, Valentine, and while I know this might not have been the life you imagined, you will do a fine job of it.”

  “I’ll keep fighting for it, anyway — that, you can be sure of,” he promised. “I will also fight for you.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said, her brow furrowed in confusion. “You already have me.”

  “I mean that I will fight for you to be able to continue to do what you love,” he said and her eyes widened. “In all honesty, as a woman without formal training, you will likely never receive the commissions your father did. But I will make sure all know that you are the genius behind our own designs and I will solidly support you in whatever way I can.”

  Rebecca cupped his cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said, her smile turning from sad to one that showed her perfect, even teeth. “I do appreciate it.”

  “Care to show me how much?

  27

  Rebecca had seen that wide, wicked grin on Valentine’s face before.

  She knew exactly what it meant.

  And she loved it.

  “I would be happy to show you,” she said, matching his grin with one of her own. “Though I should hardly think that a boxing ring would be the place to do so, although I can see how that might fulfill some sort of wild fantasy of yours.”

  He leaned back and laughed.

  “You have no idea,” he said, trailing a finger down her cheek, “but, as it happens, there is a stairwell in this wing of the house that we could use without notice.” He cocked his head to the side. “Besides the odd servant who might be about, so we will just have to be careful, my future duchess.”

  “That seems so strange to hear.”

  “Now you know how I have felt for so long.”

  He slid his hands down her arms to her elbows until he captured her waist with them, drawing her closer toward him until they were standing flush against one another.

  “I cannot tell you how much I’ve missed you,” he said, resting his forehead against hers. “I saw you everywhere I looked in this house.”

  “That's what you get for falling in love with the architect,” she smiled against his lips. She could feel his answering smile just moments before his lips came down upon hers, seizing her with more possessiveness than he ever had before. Rebecca understood it, for the same sense coursed through her. Every time they had been together before, there was a finality to it, as though it might be the last time they would ever be together.

  But now — now, everything had changed.

  She slid one hand around the back of his head, holding him close as they explored, tasted, and promised one another of all that was to come. Valentine bent and tucked one arm underneath her knees, picking her up without breaking contact. Finally, he ended the kiss, though Rebecca was aware it was only for a moment as he strode over and opened the door of the boxing room. He looked quickly back and forth in front of them, and, seeing no one about, had her up the stairs and down the corridor to his chamber so fast she hardly had time to be concerned about who might see them.

  All worry fled, however, when he closed the door behind them, leaving the two of them alone in his room.

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been in here,” she said, inching back toward the bed.

  “We’ve come a long way since the first time we met,” he acknowledged, and she nodded slowly as her fingers came to the buttons of his shirt, for he wore no jacket and waistcoat. She liked that he refused to succumb to all that was expected of him and his station.

  “When I saw you without your shirt on, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you,” she said, unable to meet his gaze as her cheeks warmed.

  “Oh, and now you can?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

  “It’s not that,” she said, baring his chest. “It’s only that now I know you so much better. When I close my eyes I can see your skin, know where your scars are located, and where the muscles meet one another. My fingers remember the planes of your chest, the ridges of your abdomen.”

  “I must say, I do enjoy your hands upon me more than any other,” he said as he began to pull the pins out of her hair, and she stiffened at the thought of him with another woman. “Although most of the hands on my body these days are the knuckles of those who are attempting to beat me senseless.”

  Rebecca wasn’t sure if his explanation was much better than imagining that of another woman, but it made much more sense now.

  “Then there is you,” he said, turning her around, his fingers coming to the buttons that crept up the back of her dress as his lips dusted her neck. “I do not think there is another women’s body in all of the world that is as perfect as yours.”

  “Oh, stop,” she said, beginning to step away but he held her back firmly in place.

  “It is the truth,” he said, his breath on her neck and shoulder causing her to shiver, which he misinterpreted.

  “Are you cold?”

  “Not at all,” she said, leaning back against him so that they were skin-to-skin. “In fact, I cannot remember the last time I’ve been so warm.”

  His hands skimmed up her back and over her shoulders to her neck.

  “As tense as ever,” he murmured, digging his thumbs into her tight muscles, the relief and pleasure at the pressure nearly bringing her to her knees as she groaned.

  “Your turn,” she said, turning around, but he shook his head.

  “That was not exactly what I had in mind for myself,” he said, to which she raised an eyebrow.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  He took steps toward her, forcing her to back up herself until her legs hit the edge of the bed.

  Rebecca looked above her.

  “The detailing of the headboard and the posts of this bed is exquisite,” she remarked, running her fingers over the etching. “When do you suppose it was—”

  “Rebecca.”

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps we can discuss the history of my bed at a later time. At the moment there are far more urgent requirements for the bed that do not include the engravings.”

  “Ah— yes. That’s right. Silly me.”

  “Do you think,” he leaned down over top of her, “I could attempt to distract you, for just a moment, from your endless study?”

  “You may try,’” she said a smile coming to her lips. “Though I’m not sure what else could be as titillating as rosewood carvings.”

  “So you have continued to study them, haven’t you?” Valentine asked, looking heavenward. “Lord, help me. My bride finds my bed more interesting than the man who would attempt to join her in it.”

  Rebecca laughed as she reached out and pulled him down toward her.

  “You are the most aggravating man.”

  “Better get used to it,” he said with a laugh, “for you are stuck with me now.”

  She kissed him firmly in response.

  They tumbled down onto the bed together. When Valentine gathered her into his arms, Rebecca had never before felt so complete. She could allow herself to rely on someone else, to share her worries and her fears, to take on her burdens and lift up her dreams.

  She trailed her fingers over his defined shoulder, his powerful biceps muscle, taking in all of him that was both fascinatingly beautiful and also spoke to who he was and what he loved to do. She might never understand it, but she loved him for pursuing what was true to him.

  He caught her fingers, kissing each one of them in turn before taking one in his mouth and then slowly releasing it. Rebecca’s breath caught, and suddenly all of the humor between them fled.

  “I think I can convince you that I’m worth it,” he said, his voice husky.

  “I have known your worth since the moment I met you,” she said, taking his face in her hands and looking at him intently. “Don’t you forget it.”

  Their mouths fused together as they held onto one another with the passion tha
t had quickly overtaken them. Their joining was not slow or careful, but it was full of all the love flowing between them.

  Valentine’s hands, the large and rough hands of a fighter, turned soft and gentle as they roved over Rebecca’s body before finding their place at her center near where they joined together, where he caressed her until she was nearly screaming with urgency to find her release.

  “Valentine,” she groaned as he pumped into her, moments before her world exploded into pieces around her. Valentine soon followed, staying with her until they had both found their satisfaction.

  He lifted the blanket from his bed and covered her, wrapping it tightly around her before pulling her in close, his chest on her back.

  “You always smell like roses,” he murmured, his nose in the back of her head, and she laughed.

  “Rosewater,” she explained. “I use it in my bath.”

  “Then my new life goal shall ensure that all of our houses will be well stocked with the stuff.”

  She laughed but then become much more subdued.

  “Oh, Valentine, your mother is going to hate me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you,” he said, knowing his words sounded trite, but they were the truth. “I know it is difficult to tell sometimes, but she acts out of love. She thinks it is in my best interests — and her own — to do what she believes is right. It may take some convincing, but she will see in time that this is what is best for all of us. For me to be happy.”

  “Valentine?”

  “My goodness,” Rebecca said as his mother’s voice flowed down the hallway. “Your mother certainly has a sixth sense.”

  Val chuckled. “We’ll let her wander for a bit.”

  “My father…” Rebecca began, unsure of just what to say to Valentine.

  “He will live with us, of course,” Valentine said, nodding against the back of her head.

  “I cannot leave him,” Rebecca said, appreciating his words. “But you do know that others may find him mad? Instead of marrying a woman to raise your recognition, you might be marrying one who will bring it down. And Valentine…”

  She paused. She had never put her fear into words. It had seemed too selfish to worry about after all that her father had gone through, but if Valentine was prepared to spend his life with her, then he must understand.

  “What if, someday… I succumb to whatever is afflicting him?”

  Valentine pulled her close. “Then I will be right beside you, helping you along just as you are doing for him. But do not think of it, Rebecca. Whatever comes our way, we’ll deal with it, together, one day at a time.”

  She smiled, tension falling from her as she snuggled back in his arms. For the first time in as long as she could remember, all seemed right in her world.

  Even when, a few hours later, she gathered all of her courage and knocked on the door of the drawing room, where Mrs. St. Vincent sat within.

  “Enter,” came her voice, and Rebecca stepped forward through the door, her heart in her throat.

  “Mrs. St. Vincent,” she said. “I am glad to find you alone.”

  Valentine’s mother eyed her with a stare but said nothing. Unnerved but determined, Rebecca asked if she could sit, to which Mrs. St. Vincent gave a terse nod.

  “Valentine told me that he has informed you of our intentions to marry,” she began. She had hidden with Jemima in her laboratory, watching with fascination as her friend mixed chemicals and studied slides underneath a microscope. Rebecca had no idea what she was doing, but it was intriguing to watch her.

  “He has,” Mrs. St. Vincent said with a nod.

  “I—” Rebecca began, but Mrs. St. Vincent held up a hand.

  “I must first apologize,” Mrs. St. Vincent said, shocking Rebecca into silence. “I said many harsh things to you. I cannot say that I didn't mean some of what I said, but perhaps I went about it in the wrong way. I know I may seem mean and petty, but I truly do always simply want what is best for my children. I had thought for Valentine, that would mean a woman who could guide him around this new world we find ourselves thrust into. But it seems I might have been wrong about that. For when he told me about the two of you, I have quite honestly never seen such happiness on his face before, and that warms a mother’s heart.”

  She looked at Rebecca with some question in her eyes.

  “You do know he has no money? You will be receiving a title but nothing more.”

  “I understand, Mrs. St. Vincent,” she said, biting back a smile at the woman’s continued defense of her son. “The title means nothing to me, though I will do all I can to best represent the Wyndham title and St. Vincent name. I apologize for deceiving you as well, and I thank you for not sharing my own family’s secret.”

  “Well, I am glad now that I didn’t,” she said, before looking off into the distance. “This has been both an interesting and yet difficult transition to navigate, Miss Lambert, and I feel that I have done a rather poor job of it. I suppose now it will be new to us all, and the best way forward will be as a united front.”

  “I completely agree,” Rebecca said with a small smile.

  “Forgive me?” Mrs. St. Vincent asked, though she maintained her rigid spine and raised chin. Rebecca knew just how difficult it likely was for her to ask such a thing, which made her appreciate the request all the more.

  “Of course,” she said, rising to leave. “Oh, there is one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I know you would prefer that Valentine give up pugilism as much as I would. But it is part of who he is and we cannot change it. So instead, I think we both must embrace it.”

  Mrs. St. Vincent stiffened even more so for a moment, before finally relenting. “You know what happened as a result of it?”

  “I do. But the fault lies with those who perpetrated such an act, does it not? Since the man is no longer with us, I think there is no longer any blame to spread.”

  Mrs. St. Vincent didn’t seem to entirely agree with Rebecca but, at the very least, she seemed to consider her words. “Very well. I may not like it, but I will hold my tongue.”

  “Thank you,” Rebecca said and, her heart much fuller, took her leave.

  Valentine was waiting outside the door.

  “Too nervous to join us?” Rebecca asked, arching an eyebrow when she saw him.

  “I just thought perhaps you two ladies would appreciate a moment alone.”

  She punched him in the arm, but he didn’t even flinch.

  “That is how you punch?”

  “I’m sorry I am not as highly expert as you.”

  “Let me show you some proper technique,” he said, sweeping his arm out with a flourish. “Right this way. As it so happens, the most wonderful architect I have ever met has built me the most beautiful boxing ring right in my own home…”

  Rebecca laughed and followed her soon-to-be-husband down the corridor for her very first boxing lesson.

  It was one she would never forget.

  Epilogue

  “Stunning.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “Classically unique.”

  “Such an intriguing blend of style.”

  Rebecca blushed with pleasure each time one of their guests complimented Wyndham House. They were holding their first ball since both the completion of the renovations had been accomplished and she had become the Duchess of Wyndham.

  She was terrified on all accounts, but Valentine kept one arm wrapped possessively around her.

  Guests flowed in, from earls and marquesses to the boys — now men — Valentine had been raised with in Hungerford. It was an interesting array of people, but it spoke to who Valentine was and the role he had accepted for himself as both the Duke of Wyndham and as Valentine St. Vincent.

  “Thank you,” he would say to each compliment. “But I must tell you that it is all due to the creativity and ingenuity of my wife. The daughter of Albert Lambert, she has learned from his style and expertise and added her own touch. I cannot wait to see wha
t she does with Stonehall.”

  Some seemed skeptical, others judgmental, but still others congratulated Rebecca on a job well done.

  A few men even complimented Valentine on his latest showing at Jackson’s.

  “You have much to teach us all!” Lord Epsom said with a chuckle after he and his wife arrived, and Valentine simply nodded gracefully.

  “Rebecca!”

  She turned with a smile to see that Freddie had arrived, and soon enough the two of them found a moment with Jemima and Celeste. The four of them had developed a regular time for tea each week. It was freeing, to have the opportunity to speak openly about what each of them held a passion for. Rebecca might never fully understand the worlds they each inhabited, but she did her best to follow along.

  “Your lottery has been on the tongues of many of the ton, Rebecca,” Freddie said.

  “Not always in the most positive of lights, I imagine,” Rebecca said dryly, and Freddie smiled.

  “Some say the idea is ingenious and your father is being hailed as a mastermind once again. Others are not entirely pleased about the prospects of just who might move into Mayfair.”

  “The houses will be given to their prize winners tomorrow,” Rebecca said. “It is quite exciting to know that they will finally be lived in. My father’s debts are cleared and his good name restored. I am thankful, and of course grateful to Valentine, and to you, Jemima,” she said with a smile for her sister-in-law.

  “It was your idea,” Jemima said. “I simply helped it along.”

  “Well, I am very glad you did,” Rebecca said, but they were soon interrupted by a young lord who arrived to claim Celeste for a dance. She looked back over her shoulder with regret, but they simply laughed and waved her on.

  Valentine was the next to arrive, holding out his hand to Rebecca.

  “But we’ve danced twice already,” she said, looking over to her friends for confirmation. “That would be scandalous, would it not?”