But then he’d had bits of ham at the ready for Henry and now this sofa. He continued to confuse and perplex her, and it did nothing to soothe her nerves.
She brushed out her hair and plaited it but once it was finished regretted it. Perhaps she should wear her hair loose. Would he care for it loose? It was so frizzy and wild, so unlike the beautiful golden coils she saw on the debutantes this season. He’d likely find it repulsive if she wore it down. She tied it off and stood, no longer wishing to see her reflection.
The bedchamber was spacious, and she drifted over to the draped windows to peer outside. Night had fallen with earnest, and she could just make out the shape of a passing carriage below. They weren’t overly far from Ravenwood, and she wondered what her sisters were doing. She would have been already abed at this hour, Henry asleep on his sofa, snoring while she forced her eyes to remain open to read just a little longer.
Her gaze drifted to the table beside the opulent bed to find it bare. Her books were in her carpetbag, which she’d brought herself and asked Lucy not to unpack. She’d placed her most recent watercolors within it and didn’t want them misplaced.
While she studied the empty table though, her eyes found the candle her maid had left burning there. She shifted her attention to the rest of the room. Lanterns were lit, scattered here and there, and the room was lit as though it were daylight.
She peered down at herself, at the snowy folds of her plain white gown and how gloriously it displayed her lack of womanly attributes. She looked about as appealing as a fence post. One by one she extinguished the lanterns about the room so only the candle beside her bed remained lit. That would do nicely. He couldn’t find her repulsive if he couldn’t see her.
The connecting door drew her attention, but all remained silent on the other side. She wondered where he was or what he was about, but she pushed the thoughts aside quickly. It needn’t matter. What Ashbourne did was of little concern to her. She was only here as his wife, and she would do her duty in that regard. She wouldn’t plague him with any of her attentions.
Her feet grew cold in the night air, and she slipped between the covers of the bed, propping herself against the headrest. Was this where maidenly brides usually awaited their husbands? Was she to stand somewhere else perhaps? Would he startle Henry when he entered, and would he find the situation vexing enough to leave without so much as touching her?
She swallowed, hard.
She’d forgotten about the rest of it. She was so consumed with whether or not he would even show, her mind had let slip the very real fact that tonight the Duke of Ashbourne would touch her. Intimately. Knowingly.
She closed her eyes, shutting out the image of Ashbourne’s hands on her body. He would find every knobby joint, every flat surface. What would that be like to him? She wasn’t so naive as to believe he had been celibate as a bachelor, and she wasn’t so hopeful as to believe he would be faithful to her now. She understood exactly what she lacked, and she would never wish to deny him the carnal pleasure of a truly enticing woman.
A knock sounded on the connecting door so squarely and sharp it might as well have been a pistol firing at dawn. She straightened, coming away from the pillows with a gasp of air.
“Come in.” Her voice hardly shook, and she was glad of at least that.
The door opened slowly, and she squared her shoulders. Belatedly, she thought to take off her spectacles, and before he could get the door fully open, she pulled them from her face. The connecting door became slightly blurred, but she could still make out the shape of him entering.
He wore a dressing gown, but even from this distance without her lenses, she could see he still wore trousers and a shirt beneath it. Her heart did an odd thing in her chest, and the familiar pain of longing blossomed. She had to stay focused. The point of all of this was to make her a mother, to give her a child to love and nurture.
“Good evening, mate,” Ashbourne said, and it was a moment for her to realize he spoke to Henry. He bent over the sofa where Henry had lifted his head. The dog sniffed, and she realized Ashbourne had brought a morsel with him. Rather clever of him. Henry accepted the bit and promptly returned his head to his pillow with a deep snore.
Then Ashbourne turned and his attention was fully directed at her.
He was close enough now that she could see his face, and what she saw there had her throat closing.
His lips were slightly parted, his eyes wide as he studied her. She clutched the bed covers to her chest, but it did little to hide her. She was exposed, vulnerable, and he had the power to slay her.
Which he did when he said, “You mustn’t do this if you’re not ready.”
She swallowed the hurt, forcing her voice to work. “You need not worry for my sake, Your Grace. I can extinguish the light if that should make it easier for you.”
Before he could say anything, she leaned over and blew out the last candle. The room dipped into darkness, but a streak of moonlight still spilled across the carpeted floor where the drapes just barely didn’t meet. She could see him, illuminated by the wash of light, and his features had hardened now in the darkness. Determination set his jaw, and she steeled herself against feeling.
Without another word for she could not muster a single one, she lay back, tucking herself carefully under the covers and stared at the ceiling. She heard rustling, and she realized he undressed in the darkness somewhere before her. She wondered what he looked like and closed her eyes tightly. She shouldn’t have such thoughts. They would only cause her more pain.
The bed dipped before she expected it to, and her stomach roiled. She hadn’t eaten since the wedding breakfast, and she regretted it now. Perhaps some tea and toast would have been better to settle her nerves. The protection of the bed covers lifted slightly as he must have slipped between them, and she swallowed hard.
She forced her eyes open when he made no move to touch her. “Do not hesitate, Your Grace. I understand the mechanics of the process. I’m not afraid.”
She could hear him swallow. “Eliza, I think—”
He didn’t finish the sentence though. He made a noise somewhere between a groan and growl, and finally he moved. He came atop her with a gracefulness she didn’t expect. Her legs parted for him, and he settled between them. There was no fumbling, no searching in the dark. He lifted the hem of her nightgown as if he were used to such matters.
Tears sprang to her eyes, and she forced them closed. She wouldn’t think of what that meant. She wouldn’t think of how many women he had lain atop. She wouldn’t think how she would never have been one of them had he not wed her.
“There is often some pain the first time, but I am told it gets better.”
She nodded, still unable to open her eyes.
He grunted, and she couldn’t help but hear the note of frustration in it. With a surge of panic, she wondered if she were making this worse. Was there something she was supposed to do? Could she do something to make it better?
Her eyes flew opened, and she realized just how close he was. Even in the darkness, she could see him so clearly. The hard planes of his forehead and cheeks, the cleft in his chin. He was so utterly beautiful, and she was so utterly inadequate. The tears pushed against her eyes, and she distracted herself by raising her hands to grip his shoulders.
Too late she realized he was unclothed, and her hands touched bare skin. He was hot beneath her fingertips. Hot and so very strong, she pulled her hands away as if burned.
This time when he groaned, he whispered her name like an oath. “Eliza.”
“I’m so very sorry,” she rushed to apologize. “I’m sorry. I’m trying not to make this worse for you than it is. I swear it.”
His eyes met hers for the first time, and she wanted nothing more than to look away. She couldn’t though, no matter how she tried. Something pulsed between them, an unseen force holding them together, suspended in that moment in time.
“Make it worse?” His voice was strained, and she cringed.<
br />
“Yes, I’m so sorry. If you tell me what it is I’m doing wrong, I promise to try to do better.”
“Do better?” This was even more strained.
“Yes, of course. Perhaps it would help if I—” She adjusted her hips, pressing upright until again too late she realized if he were atop her, their intimate…bits would be aligned. Something hard pressed into the softness of her thigh, and a startled cry flew to her lips.
Her eyes locked on his, and the strain she saw there was unbearable.
“I’m so sorry.” She whispered it now, and there was nothing she could do to disguise the tears in her voice.
“Eliza.” The way he said her name was like a warm bath, soothing and comforting, but then he bent, placing his elbows on the mattress on either side of her as he cupped her head within the palms of his large hands. Heat surged through her, and something else, something strong and precious.
For just a moment, she felt wanted.
The way he cradled her, the way he refused to let go of her gaze, the way he spoke her name as if it were the only thing he could say.
When she thought it was too much to bear, he bent his head and kissed her. It was just a brush of his lips to hers, the movement soft and alluring. Her head tried to come up off the pillow, following the fleeting taste of him, but his hands held her in place.
Desire spiraled through her.
It was so unexpected, she gasped against his lips. He groaned and shifted, deepening the kiss as she’d wanted him to do. Her hands came back up, and this time she was ready for the heat that seared her skin. She gripped him, pulling him closer. She wanted to feel him, all of him, pressed against her.
Now he groaned her name against her lips. “Eliza.”
It wasn’t enough. Her body reacted instinctively, her hips pressing up off the mattress, her thighs spreading and lifting, wrapping her body around his eyes.
“God, no.” He ripped his mouth from hers, and the rejection pierced the fleeting bubble of desire that had gripped her.
No.
Pain lanced through her, sharp and lethal. She couldn’t control the tears any longer, and they slipped from the sides of her eyes, disappearing into her hair before they could be seen. She blinked, trying to clear her eyes as she sucked in a steadying breath. She lay perfectly still, her hands once more flat on the mattress, her legs stiff and straight. If she could sink any farther into the mattress, she would.
He pressed his forehead to hers, his breath ragged. “Eliza.”
This time she said nothing. She couldn’t even summon the words to apologize again.
He shifted, coming up on one arm as he moved his other between them. His hardness pressed into her now, and she flinched involuntarily.
“Are you all right?” he whispered.
She could only nod, wishing this humiliation would end.
He pressed into her, and her body stretched, not uncomfortably so as she seemed to understand how to accommodate him. She thought he was fully seated inside of her, and the tension eased from her shoulders the smallest degrees until he asked, “Are you ready for me to push forward?”
She didn’t know what he meant, so she only nodded.
He pushed the last bit into her, and she felt a sharp stab of pain. It quickly ebbed, and she bit her lower lip to keep from making any noise. Surely now it would soon be over.
He began to move inside of her, and she tried very hard to keep still. She couldn’t upset him anymore or he may never do this again, and she would never have her baby. She closed her eyes, praying for a miracle. Perhaps tonight would be enough. He moved faster, the mattress dipping, her head bending awkwardly against the pillows, and then with a final groan, he stilled. She felt a slight dampness between her legs, but in all truth, she couldn’t tell if anything had happened.
Had he been successful? If she were to beget an heir tonight, she would never need to suffer such embarrassment again, and he would never suffer her touch.
He rolled off of her. Surreptitiously, she moved her hands against her exposed thighs, feeling the place where he had just been. Her fingertips found the dampness she had felt, and it was sticky against her skin, but other than that there was nothing to suggest anything had happened at all. She closed her eyes, fervently sending a prayer of hope into the darkness.
It was several minutes before he rolled from the bed without a word, gathered his garments, and slipped through the connecting door. She lay still until she was sure he would not return before slipping from the bed and padding across the carpet. She quietly approached the connecting door and ever so carefully turned the lock. Only when she was assured of her privacy did she let the tears come.
* * *
Sebastian was only able to sneak up on him at the Devonshire ball three nights after his disastrous wedding night because Dax had taken to surviving by existing in a sort of catatonic state.
In the hollow recesses of his mind, he heard the turn of the bolt ringing in the darkness as his wife locked him out of her bedchamber.
God, he was a right ass.
He’d mucked up the entire thing. He knew from the moment he’d stepped into her bedchamber and seen she’d removed those damned spectacles he was lost. Her face glowed in the candlelight, and he’d wanted nothing more than to cup her face in his hands and press a kiss to her lips. Only when he’d finally gotten the chance, he’d been so damn hard he couldn’t withstand the torment her reaction to his kiss had caused.
And he said the absolutely worst thing he could have said.
He’d told her no.
She had wrapped herself around him, pressed herself against him, and he’d lost all control. He felt himself slipping, and he said the first thing that had come to his mind because he didn’t want it to end, and he was so close to the edge after that first, brief kiss.
He hadn’t seen her other than at meals in the three days since. She kept to her rooms, coming out only to exercise Henry in the gardens. He tiptoed around his own home, worried he might upset her. He took any excuse to leave the house, rushing out when his solicitor dropped him a note about some investing affairs that required his attention. He’d even attended a lecture on the proper rotation of legumes when sowing crop fields. He didn’t even harvest legumes on his estates.
It needn’t matter. He simply could not bear the silence. At every meal, she drifted into the room, took her place at the table and bid him a greeting appropriate to the time of day. She was not sullen or downcast. Far worse, she was properly dignified. Sitting primly in her chair, back straight, shoulders square, and answered every question he posed to her with grace. Only her answers lacked the wit he had come to expect—no, cherish—and often they were monosyllabic.
He wanted the Eliza he had met on the ballroom floor. The one who demanded the truth from him. The one who had made his heart squeeze and his stomach churn. This Eliza was a mere ghost of the woman he had married.
It shouldn’t have concerned him. He hadn’t planned to enjoy the company of his bride. It wasn’t part of his plan after all. He shouldn’t be worried about her. He shouldn’t miss her sharp comments and bold honesty.
And he didn’t.
He ached for it.
If he knew how to fix it, how to undo the damage he had done, he would do it. But he didn’t know how to tell her how much he desired her, how much he enjoyed touching her, how much he savored the taste of her.
He couldn’t tell her because he was afraid of admitting it to himself.
“I understand congratulations are in order.”
He started at Sebastian’s voice but recovered to turn a scowl on his best friend.
“Come out of your cave, have you?”
Sebastian had the decency to appear sheepish. “Duty requires my attention and all that.”
“Duty? Is that your excuse for not attending your friend’s wedding?”
Sebastian had sent his regrets when Dax had informed him of his impending nuptials, and not for the first time, did he
wonder what had happened to Sebastian when his father died. Even now in the glowing light of a packed ballroom, shadows found their way to Sebastian’s face, speckling the surface in secrets and doubts.
His friend only gave that sheepish smile again. “Something like that.” He gestured to the room around them. “Where is the bride in question?”
Dax followed the gesture, but it was useless. The room was overfull, and bodies were pressed in like sheep going to the shearing.
“She was absconded by her sisters as soon as we were announced.”
He was glad of it, honestly. Perhaps her sisters would bolster her, help to soothe some of the pain he had caused.
“Ah, yes, I had heard rumors of the Darby sisters. I understand they are a formidable bunch.”
Dax turned a wary eye on Sebastian. “That was rather mild for you.”
“Would you rather I call your relations harpies?” Sebastian returned his stare.
“I suppose not.”
His friend inclined his head. “Very well. I do try to maintain some level of decorum. At least when it comes to friends.”
Dax doubted Sebastian had many friends left, not after the way he had secluded himself. Still, it was a worthy gesture.
“So how is the married life, old friend?”
Dax’s chest tightened at his friend’s innocent question. He must have hesitated too long because Sebastian made a noise of sympathy.
“I take it my advice has too soundly found its mark.”
Dax frowned, refusing to meet Sebastian’s gaze. “Something like that.”
Sebastian gave a soft laugh that was more attributed to cynicism than humor. “I’m sorry for that. Although I can’t say it’s entirely bad. I would think it would be better to be wed to someone with whom one can converse than with someone with the intelligence of a doorknob.”
Dax considered this, but it did nothing to unwind the trepidation that turned his stomach.
“I think I may have made a blunder.” Even admitting it had a lightness spreading through him.
The Duke and the Wallflower Page 7