The Brooding Duke of Danforth

by Christine Merrill

  ‘What do you want with me?’ she asked. Perhaps it was the shape of the room that made her voice sound so desperate for his attention. She cleared her throat and tried again. ‘What did you wish to talk about?’

  ‘Your lie?’ he said, with an inclination of his head to remind her that he had already told her. When she opened her mouth for a second, more fervent apology, he cut her off. ‘I wished for you to know that it does not matter to me in the slightest what story you told. You needed to say something to explain the scene in the hall. I am more than content to take the blame for the incident, if it spares your reputation and the position of the silly girl that caused the problem in the first place.’

  ‘But now people will think you are an inebriate,’ she reminded him.

  ‘For a week or so, perhaps,’ he allowed. ‘They will watch me closely and sniff discreetly at my breath and my clothing. And then they will remember that I am, on the whole, a temperate man and they will lose interest and go bother someone else.’

  His response was so different from the way her father might have reacted that, at first, she could hardly be sure she had heard it correctly.

  He must have noticed her confusion, for he added, ‘You look surprised.’

  ‘I was prepared for a much more volatile response,’ she admitted.

  ‘Would my shouting at you have helped in any way?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she admitted.

  He nodded, as if that settled the matter. ‘It is not my way to make you march through the halls in a hair shirt, weeping and beating your breast in penance for the way you have treated me, in the past or present.’

  He was speaking of the wedding again. ‘I should not have left you in the church with no explanation,’ she admitted.

  ‘Then why did you?’ he asked. There was no malice in his voice, only a gentle curiosity. ‘I can understand why you did not want to marry me. I admit that I did not give you time to consider my proposal or reason to accept. But why did you not simply tell me that you needed more time to consider my offer?’

  It was a painfully logical question. But as the date had approached, she had not been so clear-headed as the Duke had been. ‘I was angry,’ she whispered, for her anger was the easiest emotion to explain.

  ‘At me?’ he said, as oblivious as ever.

  ‘The week before the wedding, I went with my mother to Bond Street, to have the final fitting for my wedding gown.’

  ‘I saw you in the window of the shop. You were standing in the light from the street, trying to choose a trim.’ His smile of remembrance was fond and a little proud as if her appearance and behaviour had somehow reflected upon him. It was further proof that he did not understand the problem at all.

  ‘You were not alone,’ she reminded him, still amazed that he did not see what was wrong. ‘Lady Beverly was there, as well.’

  ‘We were shopping together,’ he admitted.

  ‘You were laughing,’ she said. ‘At me.’

  ‘Not at you.’ He seemed surprised that she would even think such a thing.

  ‘How was I to know?’ she said, frustrated. ‘You were staring directly at me, laughing and talking.’

  ‘We were,’ he agreed cautiously. ‘I was pointing you out to Lenore. You seemed busy. I did not know you were aware of us.’

  Not aware? When she had returned home, the embarrassment of that near meeting had left her retching into the chamber pot and unable to take a meal for the rest of the day. ‘I pretended not to notice because it would not have been proper to acknowledge you,’ she said, exasperated.

  ‘Why ever not?’ he said, still confused.

  ‘Because you are not supposed to introduce your wife to your mistress,’ she snapped. ‘You are not supposed to flaunt your lover in my... I mean, in your wife’s face. You certainly aren’t supposed to bring her to house parties and then sneak upstairs to be with her...’ Now that she had started, she could not seem to stop talking. The rage that she had felt since the day she’d seen them watching her on Bond Street came pouring out, leaving her embarrassingly close to tears.

  ‘As I told you before, that was a ruse to make it possible for us to be together, unsuspected.’

  ‘You did not tell me that until after,’ she snapped. ‘You abandoned me in the sitting room, where everyone was gossiping about the pair of you.’

  ‘I suspect so,’ he said. ‘But since I never listen to gossip, it does not bother me.’

  ‘But it bothers me to have to hear it. I can tell that they are wondering what I think of it and pitying me for being engaged to a man who would treat me with so little regard. And the minute I left, I am sure that those remaining in the room discussed the matter aloud and at length.’ The chill she had felt in the sitting room was returning. She felt alone and vulnerable, fully clothed and yet exposed.

  But as usual, the Duke appeared to be unmoved. He waited patiently until her words stopped, leaving only the sound of her ragged breathing in the quiet of the room. Then he stepped forward, taking her cold hand and stroking the back of it with his thumb as if trying to calm her. ‘You needn’t worry,’ he said, at last. ‘None of what they say about us is true, because she is not my mistress.’

  Though she was still close to tears, she laughed, for it was the most ridiculous excuse he could have given for his behaviour. ‘So she told me. But everyone knows that the two of you are intimate.’ Her throat closed again, as she thought of the way Lenore had caressed him and the smile full of promise she had given him before she had left the room.

  ‘Then what everyone knows is wrong,’ he said. ‘We are well aware of what people think. But I have never claimed a romantic relationship with her. It is just as well that people do not dare to ask me about it.’ He smiled. ‘I have never had to lie. This evening, she employed a trick that we have often used when we wish privacy. There are people downstairs right now discussing what they assume I am doing. But they will never guess the truth.’

  Instead, they thought something far worse. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’ she said.

  ‘If everyone thinks I am with her, your honour is safe. No one will be thinking about you,’ he said. ‘No one, except me, of course.’ His smile grew much warmer and she felt her reservations begin to melt.

  ‘Your former paramour is encouraging you to be alone with me,’ she said, shaking her head to clear her mind of the romantic fog developing in it.

  ‘My friend,’ he corrected. ‘You needn’t be concerned about her jealousy because she feels none.’

  ‘I do not care about her feelings,’ Abby said, tugging her hand from his grasp. ‘Just as I was on the day of our wedding, I am more concerned with what will happen to me when you grow bored with the novelty of having a wife and return to her.’

  ‘You still do not understand,’ he said, reaching for her again. ‘She is not my lover now, she was not my lover in the past and she will not be my lover in the future.’

  ‘Not ever?’ she asked.

  ‘Never,’ he said. His voice had gone flat again and his smile had returned to its former, bland politeness. But when she looked more closely, she could see the slight crease of his brow and the drawn brows that passed for anger in the emotionless Duke of Danforth.

  ‘Everyone knows about you,’ she said.

  ‘Truth is not defined by what everyone knows,’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘Truth is normally defined by facts. The facts are that you and Lady Beverly have been virtually inseparable since her husband’s death. When you are seen together, you keep an intimate distance from each other, whispering and sharing jokes. You laugh and talk freely, just as you did that day on Bond Street. And though you meant to spend the rest of your life with me, you did not bother to tell me this alleged truth until now. What do you have to prove the innocence of your relationship, against the preponderance of evidence?’

  ‘O
nly my word,’ he said, in a voice filled with warning.

  ‘Men are quick to evoke that when they speak to each other,’ she said. ‘But it seldom keeps them from lying to women.’

  ‘Then the first thing you must know about me is that I would not use that phrase lightly to a man or a woman. You have my word that I have never lain with Lenore.’ And this time, his voice was undeniably sincere and his face held no trace of a smile.

  ‘There has never been anything between you?’ she said, eyes narrowed.

  He paused. There was a world of meaning in that brief silence.

  ‘And now I know what your word is good for,’ she said, turning to go.

  ‘I proposed to her. Once. I was seventeen at the time. She refused. It is fortunate that she did for it would have been a horrible mistake for us to marry. We truly do not suit. But none of this is common knowledge and has been a secret between the two of us since the day it happened.’

  This was even more puzzling. A youthful mistake was the sort of detail that many people might omit from a story without technically lying. But it had been enough to make Danforth hesitate when she’d questioned him. It was also more information than she had expected him to share about any part of his life, before or after they were married. ‘If what you say is true...’ She held up a hand to keep him from interrupting. ‘Then what is the reason for secrecy? Why have you cultivated this illusion for nearly a decade? Why not simply tell people the truth?’

  Now he hesitated, as if the easiest answer was the lie that he refused to tell. At last he said, ‘My reason is my friendship for Lenore. And her reason is something I cannot share with you, since the facts were given to me in confidence. If she chooses to release me, then I will tell you all. But until that time, I swear on my honour that when I offered for you, you had no rival for my attention, nor would there have been one after we had married.’

  This time, when he reached for her, he took both hands. His grip was gentle, open so she might pull free if she wished. He held just the tips of her fingers, cupped in his, thumbs resting lightly on top. ‘I am sorry that our behaviour this evening upset you and that you had to suffer the scrutiny of the other guests because of it. But tonight, I wanted to be alone with you.’

  ‘Then here I am,’ she said. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘I want to know you better.’ He smiled and his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly. ‘And I want you to know me. That will take time.’

  He was raising hopes in her, just as it had in the hall when he’d been kneeling at her feet. Then she remembered that, even if she was not his mistress, Lady Beverly was just down the hall, eager to hear the results of this meeting. Her mother was here, too, and she had already seen too much disappointment on their account. ‘Perhaps, when we are back in London...’

  He tugged on her hands, pulling her forward. His arms were circling her and his lips were close to her ear. ‘Why must we wait?’ Then, he kissed her. It was different from the last kiss, which had been passionate, but rushed. Tonight, he took his time, tasting first the top lip, then, the bottom, holding them gently between his and stroking them with his tongue. Then he pressed his open mouth to hers and she felt him smile.

  If she yielded tonight, she would not be able to claim that she had acted foolishly, in the heat of the moment. He was giving her time to remember the dozen reasons why she should push him away and run back to her room. But though she might wish for a better time, a better place, what if this opportunity never came again?

  Hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around his waist and touched the tip of her tongue to his. Last night, the feeling had come upon her in a rush and had passed just as suddenly. But tonight, it was a slow-growing surety. First, she wanted him to kiss her. Then she wanted as much as he wanted to take from her.

  He was teasing her, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth, gone almost as soon as it arrived. His hands moved on her back, fingers spread, sliding upwards to reach the skin above her gown. Then his tongue moved with more urgency, as she felt him undoing the hooks of her bodice and the silk slipping down her arms, leaving her shoulders bare.

  He pulled away with a sigh and rained kisses down her jaw, down her throat, burying his face at the base of her neck to inhale her cologne before kissing the top of her shoulder. ‘You smell of springtime,’ he whispered.

  And he smelled of spice and sin. There was nothing innocent about the fragrance that enveloped her. It made her legs tremble, eager to spread. One of his hands had moved to her breast, pushing down her stays and cupping it through the light fabric of her chemise. His fingers circled her nipple, then pinched, making her gasp.

  ‘May I kiss you here?’ he said, giving another little tug. ‘Or would you prefer that we wait until we are back in London?’

  ‘Villain,’ she whispered.

  ‘If that is what you think, I shall behave accordingly,’ he said and his mouth closed on her breast.

  The sensation was exquisite, hot and cold at the same time as his head moved from one to the other. Then he stopped to look up at her. ‘What do you think of my villainy now?’ he asked, brushing her nipples with his fingertips.

  A curious sensation had taken the place of the nervous tension she’d felt in the sitting room. She still wanted to shiver, but the feelings came from inside her skin, not on it. ‘This is not proper,’ she said, when she could manage to form words.

  ‘This is a trifle compared to what I want from you,’ he said, pausing to nibble on her collarbone. ‘And what I would have taken had I been given the chance in London.’

  ‘Taken?’ she said, shocked.

  ‘I had no right to kiss you, until we were properly wed,’ he said, staring down at her breasts in fascination. ‘But I wanted so much more. If it were up to me, I’d have pulled you from the dance floor on the first night and laid you bare until I had looked my fill.’

  ‘That would have been wrong,’ she whispered, shocked at how right it sounded.

  ‘Then I suppose it would have been wrong if I’d leaned you against the mantelpiece in your parents’ parlour and taken you hard, the minute I’d put my ring on your finger,’ he said.

  ‘You would not have done so,’ she said, trying to remember the stiff and proper gentleman who had barely looked at her when he’d proposed.

  He was toying with her breasts again, one in each hand as he murmured against her throat. ‘I would have. Until you screamed with pleasure. And then I’d have dragged you back to my own bed for the three weeks until the wedding.’

  The strange feelings inside her were growing stronger, centring deep within her. ‘Why would I stay in bed for so long?’ she said, trying to catch her breath.

  ‘Because between sleeping, I would be on you, under you and in you,’ he said. ‘You would be too weak from pleasure to stand. I would be doing unspeakable things to you and you would beg me for more.’ Then his head dropped again and he nipped her breast.

  At the touch of his teeth, the nerves in her body hummed like violin strings. As the bite became a kiss, they tightened, vibrating, thrumming and throbbing, the feeling growing and joining until they combined in a chord, shaking her to the core, leaving her panting, wet and willing.

  His hands moved to her bottom, giving a lazy squeeze as his mouth released her nipple and he looked into her eyes. His smile widened. ‘Did you peak?’ he said, searching her face. ‘From a few kisses and the sound of my voice?’ He seemed to have found whatever he was searching for, for he spoke his next words in an awed whisper. ‘I believe you did.’

  She looked away, embarrassed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ At least, she was not sure she did. But she suspected that it had something to do with the way she felt as he’d kissed her. But if it was something that was only supposed to occur during the marital act, it was possible that she had done something wrong.

  He touched her chin with a fingerti
p, forcing her to look into his eyes. ‘If the bedding in this room weren’t so dusty, I would teach you right now.’

  The suggestion brought another wave of delight, as if the very centre of her longed for him to take her. But she would be a fool to give herself with no guarantee of a future. ‘You should not say such things,’ she said, tugging her gown back up, trying and failing to make herself respectable.

  He adjusted the bodice, then spun her around and did up the hooks. ‘You are right. Even with a woman as delightfully responsive as you, it is much more pleasant to act than to talk.’

  Compliments. She should be enjoying them. But even though her body cried out for the lessons he was offering, she knew that she needed more than pretty words before she did more. She had already learned the folly of pledging herself to a man she did not understand. It would be an even greater mistake to allow him liberties without such a pledge. ‘We should not act, either,’ she said. ‘I think we have done far too much already.’

  ‘You are probably right,’ he said, whispering into her ear. Then he sighed and gave her a gentle kiss on the back of the neck before turning her to face him again. ‘You should return to your room now. Unaccompanied, of course. There are limits to the gullibility of any party, and we must not be seen together after they think we have retired.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said faintly. He knew far more about such things than she did. Young ladies were not supposed to have liaisons any more than they were supposed to associate with the mistresses of their husbands. But everyone in England knew that Danforth’s love life existed on the brink of indiscretion. He did as he pleased and did not let the consequences concern him. If she stayed with him, she would have to live there with him.

  He kissed her again, lightly, on the surprised ‘O’ of her mouth. Then, he stepped past her and opened the door, looking both ways to make sure there were no observers other than the black-and-white terrier who had waited for her. ‘Until tomorrow, my dear Abigail.’

  She nodded and stepped into the hall to follow the terrier back to her room.