A Duke for Miss Townsbridge (The Townsbridges, #4)

by Barnes, Sophie

  “What’s going on?” Athena asked.

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  Athena narrowed her gaze on Sarah. “In case you’ve forgotten, my bedchamber window overlooks the street. So does Mama and Papa’s, by the way, so you’d better hope neither of them saw you strolling along with a half-naked duke or they’ll both be planning your wedding post haste.”

  “He wasn’t half naked,” Sarah hissed. When Athena merely raised her brows Sarah muttered a curse and said, “Come along then. I’ll tell you what happened while I change.”

  While Anna helped her put on a more practical gown cut from courser brown cotton, Sarah related the events that had recently taken place.

  Athena scrunched her nose as if in thought, then asked, “Have you fallen in love with him?”

  “I believe so. Yes.” Sarah sighed. “It was never my intention to do so and yet it happened anyway.”

  “Do you think he loves you in return?” Athena asked.

  “I have no idea.” Sarah met her sister’s gaze. “He enjoys my company, that much I know.”

  “Well then, you’ll just have to work a bit harder at winning his heart.” Athena hopped off the bed and crossed the floor to Sarah’s dresser. Opening the box of trimmings on top, she pulled out a length of turquoise blue ribbon. “Here. You need something to brighten that drab gown you’ve chosen to wear. Even if you’re off to clip flowers in the garden or take care of that rabbit of yours out in the mews, you can do so in style.”

  “Actually,” Sarah said while Anna helped fasten the ribbon around her abdomen, “I’m going to call on Brunswick.”

  “So then,” Athena said, staring at her as if she were mad, “your intention is to make a bad impression? I thought you were hoping to win his affection, which is something you’re not very likely to do wearing that.”

  “Athena. I am going alone, through the back garden entrance. This gown is meant to act as a sort of precaution in case someone happens to see me. Hopefully, if they do, they’ll just think I’m a maid.”

  “Oh. I see. And I always thought I was the daring one. Do you suppose Mama and Papa realize you’ve got a rebellious streak?”

  “Probably not.” Sarah shot her sister a look. “You won’t say anything to them, will you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Good. Brunswick obviously needs my help and–”

  “You’d like to kiss him better, dear sister?”

  Sarah grabbed a small pillow and tossed it at her sister, who dodged the missile with ease. “I do intend to marry him, you know.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “I mean it, Athena.”

  “Yes, so you’ve just said.” Athena moved to the door, turned and puckered her lips before exiting the room with a laugh when Sarah threatened to hurl one of her slippers at her head.

  While her sister meant well and Sarah knew she was only doing what she did best, which was to alleviate tension by adding levity to the situation, Sarah couldn’t participate. Not when she knew Matthew had a serious issue that had to be dealt with. Whatever Athena suggested, she was going over there in order to offer support and to make sure he was all right, because she cared. To suggest it was anything else - an assignation of sorts - was appalling.

  “Forget the ribbon,” Sarah told Anna. “I won’t be needing it.”

  “Are you sure, miss? It does add a nice splash of color.”

  “Thank you, but if I am to pass as a maid, a turquoise ribbon is hardly going to help.”

  “Then you should wear a cap instead. If you truly wish to disguise yourself.”

  Sarah agreed and ten minutes later she was walking toward the back of the garden. Anna had promised to do her best to cover her absence in case her parents inquired about her, but since it was late afternoon and Sarah usually rested in her bedchamber at this hour, she didn’t think she’d be missed. At least she hoped she wouldn’t be.

  Reaching the green wooden gate leading out into the back alley beyond, Sarah paused. Her heart thumped wildly with agitation while her stomach twisted until she felt slightly queasy. The idea of pretending to be a maid had seemed simple enough upstairs in her bedchamber when she’d been getting ready. Now, faced with the real possibility of encountering one of the grooms as they entered or exited the nearby mews, she wasn’t so sure it would work.

  They knew her by sight, after all. She’d been coming there every day for the last week to care for the rabbit after her mother had banished it from the house.

  Swallowing, Sarah glanced over her shoulder toward the safety of her home. She could still go back, get changed, and move on with her day without much risk of being found out. But then what about Matthew? Tightening her grip on the basket she’d brought along, she opened the gate and exited her garden. If the incident he’d suffered earlier wasn’t addressed immediately, chances were he’d find a way to avoid discussing it altogether. And she knew she had to make him open up about it if he was to stand a chance of recovering from the pain he’d suffered so long ago, and she was to truly understand him.

  Inhaling deeply, she stepped forward and moved briskly past the mews while keeping her face carefully turned to one side, away from any grooms who might be working.

  Terrified of being spotted, she reached for the gate leading into the Brunswick garden, pulled it open, and slipped through as quickly as she could. Thankfully, the butler had done as she’d asked. She blew out a breath and took a moment to get her bearings. A narrow walkway wound around the folly Brunswick had built. Following it, Sarah circumvented the structure and spotted him almost immediately. He’d shucked his jacket and waistcoat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, allowing a rather inappropriate view of bunched muscles straining in response to the massive stone slab he hefted into place.

  Mouth dry, Sarah watched in speechless dismay - gawking at him, some might say - while he made sure the stone was secured. He stepped back and stretched. Good lord. She had the strangest urge to reach out and run her hands over his torso, to feel the strength she could see in his movements.

  He turned before she was ready. “Miss Townsbridge.”

  “How are you feeling?” she asked while trying not to think too much of the fact that he’d just caught her staring.

  “Fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He frowned at her. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Perhaps because you were getting strangled by your cravat a short while ago?”

  He turned away with a snort and picked up another massive rock. “Happens on occasion. I’ve never enjoyed tying fabric around my neck, but apparently it is considered vulgar not to do so.” Puffing out a breath of exertion, he set the stone on top of the other he’d placed. “Fashion is the most nonsensical thing in the world. Damned if I’ll ever understand it.”

  “I quite agree.”

  “You do?” He gave her a sharp look over his shoulder.

  “Yes. But it’s not why I’m here.” Stiffening her resolve, she said, “I want to discuss the reason behind your reaction this afternoon.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss besides the obvious.”

  “And that would be?”

  “As you’ve already noted, my cravat is a dangerous contraption.” He glanced toward the sky. “Perhaps I should file a complaint against the man who invented it.”

  Sarah sighed while he went back to his work. “While I generally enjoy a bit of levity, this is serious, Matthew. Whenever something reminds you of the loss you once–”

  Without a word, he walked away like she’d seen him do several times before. Gripping her basket harder, she marched through the folly’s archway so she could block his path when he came from the other direction. “You’re running away again. Matthew, I understand the extent of your pain, but I cannot bear watching you deal with it like this.”

  His mouth began twisting into a snarl, but rather than push back and fight her, he turned away once more. Determined not to give up, Sarah ra
ced around to the other side of the folly, arriving just in time to cut him off again.

  He drew to a halt, his body tensing as if he wished he could toss her aside and storm off. Sarah watched his fists clench and his eyes spark with contained fury. “Who do you think you are, Sarah, coming here and making demands?”

  “I am the woman who plans on becoming your wife. But only,” she told him pointedly, “if you’re willing to let me into your life.”

  “Sarah,” he hedged while his shoulders slumped a notch. “I’m not sure you–”

  “Listen to me.” Now that she finally had his attention, she needed to keep it. Maintaining a firm tone, she added, “I grew up in a home filled with love and laughter, with parents who treated each other respectfully and who taught me the value of communication. Matthew, I know you’ve suffered tremendous loss, and based on what I’ve witnessed, you continue to do so.”

  “If you came here hoping I’d open up, I’m afraid I must disappoint you.” He shifted as if prepared to move past her.

  She reached out and grabbed his arm. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

  “No.” He shook his head and turned away. “Some things are best forgotten.”

  “What was your mother like?” Sarah asked without remorse while dogging his every move. “Did she read stories for you when you were a boy? What about your father? I’m sure he must have shown you how to ride or perhaps how to whittle? And what did your siblings–”

  He rounded on her, forcing her back a step with his dark glare. “Stop it!”

  “No.”

  A large hand curled around her upper arm with bruising force. Pulling her sideways, he pushed her up against the folly’s wall and pinned her there while his body seemed to tremble with unleashed rage. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me - what you’re forcing me to face.”

  “I know you’ve been trying to bury your grief most of your life without dealing properly with it.”

  “Grief? Is that what you think this is?” Leaning in, he made a low growl. “There are demons that nip at my shadow and keep me from sleep. They’re ugly and all too eager to drag me down into the pit of despair where they want me to live. That’s what I’m fighting, Sarah - the memory of my parents and older brothers setting off for Oxford without me because I was too young to join them. Of them not heeding my warning about the weather because they knew better. I was ten years old. Ten! And yet I was forced to see them after the accident, forced to inhale the sweet smell of honeysuckle strung up to mask the stench of death. Because as my grandparents said, I needed to face reality. Can you imagine what that was like? Dear God, my sister’s forehead had a deep gash that the undertaker had not been able to hide while my mother...”

  He dropped his gaze while breathing hard, as if fighting for inner control. Sarah held herself perfectly still while absorbing the horror of what he described.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “No one should have to endure that. Least of all a child.”

  IT FELT AS THOUGH SHE’D forced open a box he’d struggled so damn hard to keep shut for almost two decades. Part of him hated her for it. The other was doing its best to shove the memories back inside as quickly as possible so he could lock them up.

  Shaking with anger and pain, he raised his gaze to hers. There was an almost perverse appreciation to be found in the apprehension he saw in her eyes. She knew she’d pushed him further than she should have, so while it might be wrong to take advantage - to use her as the distraction he needed - he also felt she owed him.

  Perhaps this wasn’t how it should have been. It probably wasn’t the best way in which to secure her hand in marriage. There certainly wasn’t an ounce of romance involved, just a need to block out the past in the most basic way he knew how. So he didn’t ask for permission, didn’t think of what the potential consequence might be for his intention to make her his wife. He just acted on instinct and claimed her mouth with his own in a kiss meant to punish her for what she’d done while helping him take back control.

  A gasp was her first response, no doubt due to shock.

  She was a gently bred woman after all and he was taking liberties in a way no well-mannered gentleman would think of doing. It was reprehensible really. He knew he was being a bastard. Especially since he felt no regret. Instead, all he felt was her softness, inviting him closer and driving a need he’d not even realized he had.

  It was more than a need to vanquish the unwelcome thoughts she’d stirred to life. It was a need for contact, a need to feel something besides the soul-crushing pain. It was a need to bask in the sweetness and beauty she offered - a need to be held.

  His hand settled briefly against her waist before sliding over her hip. Fingers splayed, he tested each pliable curve while pushing for more - for a deeper kiss with less space between them - an intimate taste of her mouth. He kissed her as if he were dying and she were his only salvation. Unstoppable, he drank from her like a man who’d just crossed the desert to find a fresh spring. Mindless, his hands gripped her closer, tighter. They moved over her, exploring her body until...

  Until he realized something that almost brought him to his knees.

  She was kissing him back.

  She was kissing him back while clutching at him as if he were her lifeline. Her fingers dug deep into his shoulder and raked through his hair with a wild abandon so thoroughly thrilling he nearly lost his mind. And then she made a small sound - a mewl of pleasure so damn provocative it undid every reason he’d had for the kiss to begin with, and turned it into a primal display of want.

  Never in his life had he been so bloody affected by a woman. Somehow, the quietly reserved miss he’d picked because he’d been sure she would wield no power over him was tempting him with dastardly ideas of taking her upstairs right now to his bedroom and stripping her naked. Better yet, he could save the trip and have her right here up against the stone wall. Lord knew he was ready and if the tilt of her hips and the desperate whimpers she kept making were any indication, so was she.

  It wouldn’t take much. He just had to lift up her skirts and undo his placket. She had said she’d be his wife, so what did it matter if they allowed themselves to get carried away before the wedding? Surely the pleasure he gave her would only serve as extra incentive to wed?

  Kissing his way along the length of her neck, he tugged on her sleeve so he could press hot, searing kisses upon her shoulder. Moving lower, he dragged down the edge of her bodice and bent his head for a taste of her sweetest perfection.

  “Matthew.”

  Her voice was a sensual whisper, enough to spur him on even if she hadn’t been clutching him, demanding he give her more. So he did, even as her hands found their way inside his shirt, the heat of her palms almost searing his skin as they moved across the expanse of his back. A groan rumbled through him. No turning back now. He grasped at her skirt, bunching the fabric and pulling it upward, his need for her so overwhelming it had to be tamed in the only possible way.

  She didn’t resist, but rather moaned with unfeigned longing the moment his hand grasped her naked thigh. “Please. I just...I...”

  “Shh... It’s all right, Sarah.” He moved his hand higher. “I know what you need.”

  “God, Matthew.” He raised his head and her eyes met his, so open, so honest, so achingly pure. “I love you.”

  Every muscle contracted. He froze. With her skirt almost all the way up to her waist and one hand splayed across her bare bottom, he stood, unable to move. It was the strangest most awful thing he’d ever experienced - like having a fully functioning mind imprisoned inside a paralyzed body. Every nerve ending he possessed clamored for him to make a decision. He had to act, and to do so he had to fight the instinct that told him to run. Because if he did, she would know he couldn’t accept or return such affection, and once she knew, he was fairly certain he’d lose her.

  So he forced himself to remain in place, not to act with haste but to simply breathe while recovering fro
m the splintering shock of her declaration. Slowly, so as not to cause her alarm, he removed his hand and let her skirt fall back into place. Leaning in for good measure, he placed a soothing kiss against the base of her neck while adjusting her bodice.

  “Please, Sarah,” he murmured, hoping and praying he didn’t sound nearly as terrified as he felt, “you must forgive me for being so bold. I fear I forgot myself and my manners.”

  She answered with a shy smile. “It’s quite all right. As I recall, I didn’t exactly try to talk you out of it.”

  “No. You did not.” He forced a wry grin - one he hoped would mask the panic he had to endure with every beat of his heart. “I never imagined you would be so enthusiastic, and before you get the wrong idea, I should tell you I’m very pleased to discover this passionate side of you. It bodes well for our wedding night.”

  “And for our marriage as a whole, I should think.”

  Unable to be completely dishonest, he made a noncommittal sound and took a step back. He needed space - a great deal of it - but he also had to stop her from getting suspicious, so he set about tucking his shirt in and putting himself back to rights. “We should probably start making the necessary arrangements. If you agree, I will call on your father tomorrow to formally ask for your hand.”

  She beamed at him with such unabashed pleasure, he wanted to punch himself straight in the face. Christ, she deserved better than what he could offer, but the idea of letting her go, of breaking things off and choosing another to mother his children, was utterly unthinkable. He could imagine no better woman for the job than Sarah. She was ideal and by God, he wanted her to be his, however selfish that was.

  “If we start making plans now, we ought to be married by the end of October.”

  He leaned in and kissed her. “Sounds perfect to me.”

  A lovely blush colored her cheeks. “I almost forgot. This is for you.”

  Matthew dropped his gaze to the basket she held toward him. Taking it from her, he pulled back the white cloth covering to find a collection of bread rolls along with a jar of jam.