Duke Ever After (Dukes' Club Book 5) (14 page)

Chapter 13

Rosamund eyed herself in her dressing mirror. The light yellow silk gown did wonders for her hair and complexion and it was so cheerful she thought she might make herself ill. Still, she was going to go downstairs in a moment, break her fast, and then go for a long walk. And she wanted all of London to see her as bright, happy, and unbothered by the night’s events.

But she was bothered. Extremely so.

Quite frankly, she’d never thought to see Aston in such an encounter. Perhaps, she’d see him across the ballroom. Perhaps they would speak at a supper. Perhaps, one day they’d dance. But he’d made it clear when he’d left her to be Tony’s friend over Christmas that they were not to be intimate.

It had left her completely furious and completely flummoxed that he had behaved so brazenly as if he had rights to make comment on her in any way.

He was acting like a jealous lover, someone who owned her, when, in fact, he was entirely the opposite.

She’d slept little because of it. In fact, she’d gone over their conversation again and again, coming up with more blistering points with each re-imagination of the whole horrifying scenario.

Her bedroom door popped open and Gemma darted in, a swirl of ruffles and russet curls bouncing.

Rosamund usually would have loved such an entrance, but at the moment, she was a bit off company and she had the decided feeling that Gemma likely had
news
.

Gemma was beaming. Positively beaming.

“You’ve done it,” Gemma gushed.

Being in no mood for mystery, Rosamund tsked. “Och, what have I done?”

“You’ve become the most glorious jewel of the
ton
. Rosamund, I’m not sure anything can touch you!” Gemma declared. “Mother’s friends and many the mama have been sending notes of support for you over en masse. We’ve already had calls at this shocking hour. Can you imagine!

Gemma’s eyes widened and she gave a wicked grin, “Gentlemen are sending bouquets declaring they shall call upon you this afternoon.”

It couldn’t be possible. Rosamund couldn’t find a reply as she stood stock still. Was she still dreaming?

Finally, she managed to point out, “But a duke suggested I was disreputable!”

“After you told him to go the devil,” Gemma countered. “
After
you made it clear that you wouldn’t dance with him because it could hurt your reputation. Everyone is saying that you must be virtuous, indeed, to not dance with a man as black as Aston, no matter how powerful he is! You stood up to him, don’t you see?”

She gaped at her friend, completely astonished. In many ways, she’d been waiting for condemnation to drop on her and she’d been girding her proverbial loins to face that censure without shirking. Now, she was to understand that not only was she not condemned, she was being celebrated?

It seemed mad. Were all English mad? Was the
ton
completely populated by mad people? It certainly seemed possible at this moment.

“I think I need to sit down,” Rosamund said and clutched the chair before her dressing table.

“Oh, do. If you are overcome, it’s the best thing. . . Or chocolate. Would you care for some chocolate?”

“No, thank you,” she said as she lowered herself to the damask-covered cushion and propped an elbow on her dressing table.

Completely nonplussed, Gemma continued, “It’s being said that the Duke of Aston left the ball so quickly last night with my brother, Charles, because he was so terribly ashamed of his own behavior. Can you imagine?”

“Aston feeling ashamed?” she replied. The room seemed to spin as she took it all in. “No. I don’t think I can.”

“Well, I am.”

The voice from the window elicited a gasp of delight from Gemma.

Rosamund, on the other hand, immediately got up, strode to said window and was very tempted to shove the man crouching in it straight to the bushes below.

“What are you doing?” she hissed at him.

Amazingly, he looked completely at ease on the sill. It was like he was completely accustomed to crouching thusly. “I’ve come to apologize,” he said.

His voice was a delicious caress and she almost hated him for it.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re in my window.”

“Yes.”

She narrowed her eyes further. “On the second floor.”

“Yes.”

“You opened it from the outside.”

“Yes.”

“Are you mad?” she asked with as much patience as she could muster at the moment.

“Y-“ he began.

She whipped up a hand and stopped him before he could say
yes
again. Her head was beginning to ache and her heart was beating again in a most distressing manner.

Was there anyone simultaneously more infuriating and fascinating than he? Really, she should have just given him a solid shove and ended the misery of many a lady.

“How romantic,” sighed Gemma.

“It is not!” Rosamund bellowed with unladylike irritation. Instead of pushing as tempted, Rosamund did the opposite. She grabbed Aston’s lapel and tugged him inward.

He slipped a little and his beautiful whisky eyes widened with alarm.

For a moment, a terrifying feeling that she’d facilitated his death swept over her but then he was easily bounding into her room.

“You’re far too skilled at that,” she accused.

He hesitated then admitted, “I have had practice.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she bemoaned. “And how did you know which room was mine?”

“That also takes practice but it was largely deduction and simple skills like looking through the glass and listening.”

“My goodness!” Gemma exclaimed. “How many lady’s rooms have you visited?”

“A few,” he said with no visible pride and yet no visible shame, either.

“Well,” Rosamund huffed, folding her arms just under her bosom. “I’ve no desire to have you in mine. So, just turn around and—“

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said steadily.

Her words trailed off and it took her a moment to reply. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said again, his voice deep and rough and without a hint of his usual mockery.

“Should I go?” Lady Gemma asked.

“No!” Rosamund said.

“Yes,” replied Aston.

Gemma clapped her hands together then began to back towards the door. “You have all the fun, Rosamund. This is too delicious for words.”

Rosamund wanted to grab onto her friend and hold her there, but she refused to let Aston see that the idea of being alone with him was disconcerting to her.

As Lady Gemma turned the door knob, she whispered, “I should lock it if I were you. Servants, you know. And be quiet.”

Be quiet
? What the devil was that supposed to mean?

Well, she supposed she could take Gemma’s words innocently, and, yes, it was essential that servants not deduce she had a man in her room. From the glint in her friend’s eyes, Gemma was clearly hoping for more than apologizing in this room.

As soon as the door snicked shut, Rosamund could scarily draw breath.

The air suddenly felt thick and hot and every part of her felt alarmingly alive.

They were alone. Utterly alone.

Her still unmade bed was but a few feet away.

He towered in the center of the room, like some rugged, repentant god in his long coat and slightly too long hair. His eyes? My God, his eyes. They searched over her body then paused on her face and they stared.

She met that gaze, a gaze which dared to meet hers even after what he’d done.

Heat blossomed in her chest then traveled the length and breadth of her body. She hated that he could do that to her. With one look.

Oh, but the power of that look!

Truth be told, there was something about him. Something wild. Something tortured that only she could see beneath his outrageous facade and, at this moment, she felt it full force. It was like standing at the edge of a cliff just as a gale force wind came in.

One felt about to take flight, come rack, come ruin and she was tempted to throw out her arms and allow herself to be taken by the storm.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

“I had to come,” he answered simply.

His lack of flowery protestation only deepened the power of his words.

“Why?” She hated the surprised note in her voice, as if she’d resigned herself to being almost insignificant in his eyes. Except, she knew she wasn’t. If she was, he wouldn’t be here now.

“It was made clear to me that I had behaved appallingly.”

Ah. So there it was. And it wasn’t particularly flattering. “I see,” she sighed. “So, you didn’t realize this on your own? I do not need an apology that has been guilted from you.”

His eyes darkened and the lines about his mouth tightened as if he were holding very fast to something. “I do not understand what it is you do to me.”

“Now, it is I that don’t understand.” She didn’t. Truly. If she affected him so, how could he behave as he had? It made no sense. He made no sense. Not really. Just when she thought she understood him, he seemed to slip away from her, as ephemeral as smoke.

“You bring out a streak in me I had no idea existed.” His mouth tightened with frustration. “A proper one.”

“It’s the one thing I never wished from you,” she said, hating the unfairness of it. “A proper streak.”

“Don’t I know it. But you do it all the same.” His eyes smoldered, like banked coals. “I want you, Rosamund. I want you with a passion that I can scarcely give credit to. It’s without sense. In fact, when I saw you last night in Basingstoke’s arms, I nigh went mad. I wanted to storm across the floor, rip you out of his arms, drag you into the hall and make you mine.”

“How can that be?” she protested. “You pushed me away. You could have had me before and you pushed me away.”

“And I’ll continue to do so.”

“Why?” she demanded. Frankly, if he had dragged her into the hall last night, she doubted she would have denied him. He was too tempting. He represented something unknown, something she hungered for beyond all compare.  

“Because you’re too good for the likes of me.”

She heard the words but they were utter nonsense. “You’re a duke. Who else could be more suited?”

Pain tensed his features. An old, dark pain. “Appearances can be deceiving. I’m not worthy to touch the hem of your gown.”

“You’ve tasted my lips. The hem of my gown seems rather innocent in comparison.”

“And it was glorious, but that’s all I can do. All I can taste. No more. It’s done between us but I would not leave you without apologizing for nearly ruining you in my own madness last night. What I said. . . How I behaved. . . ”

“It was unwarranted,” she agreed without pause. “Though I wanted to be scandalous, with you, I have yet to do anything that would warrant—“

“You needn’t justify yourself to me. I wish your happiness. Whatever path that it is. Whether it’s marriage—“

“I don’t wish to marry. You know that.”

At last, he smiled. A larger than life, breath-stealing Aston smile. “I do. I wish everyone else would listen to you as I have done.”

Yes. He did listen to her. He didn’t always do as she wished, but he listened. Just as she realized this fact, something hit her.

“You’re saying goodbye to me,” she said flatly. “That’s what this truly is. A farewell.”

“I’m apologizing and yes. I think I must.”

She shook her head, protesting the horridness of what he was saying. She had to make one last attempt. “Why can’t we be friends?”

“You know why.”

“Because of how I feel when you walk into a room and look at me with that stare.” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. Whatever powerful thing was between them was unacceptable to the Duke of Aston.

“Exactly yes,” he confirmed. “Because what you describe? That is how I feel, too, when I see you.”

“It’s like being consumed.”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t we give in?” she asked passionately.

“
These violent delights have violent ends,

And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,

Which, as they kiss, consume.
”

“
Romeo and Juliet
?” she replied. “You surprise me.”

“I shouldn’t.” He gave a sad smile. “You know all too well that I’m well-versed in the great passions and frankly, Ros. . . I think we’d be the undoing of each other. So great is what we feel when in each other’s presence. You make me lose control.”

“That is such a bad thing?”

“It’s an unforgivable thing.”

“But you’re known for your wildness,” she pointed out. “Your bombastic nature.”

“That’s what society sees, yes. But what do you see?”

She looked at him long and hard, hating the truth of what she saw. “I think you are the most false and controlled person I have ever met.”

Aston bowed deeply with a twirl of his strong hand. “Then you are wiser than the whole world, my lady. For you have seen the truth. I am naught but one walking, preening lie. I shall not allow you to be touched by my deceits.”

“It is too late,” she said softly.

Regret shadowed his striking face. “Then the sooner I extricate myself, the better.”

She bit her lip before replying that it seemed he could not. That he had tried once before to send her away from him, but here he was, in her room, protesting again that they could not be together. She wanted to insist that they were, in fact, magnets. No matter how far they were pulled from each other, when given opportunity, they would rush back together.

Instead, she nodded. What else could she do? Beg? No. She would never beg. She knew she had value and she would not stoop to begging. “I will understand but there is one thing that I wish before you bid me adieu.”

“Not adieu Ros, farewell. And be careful. Conditions and ultimatums always have hidden effects.”

Undeterred, she lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. “I wish you to kiss me. One last time. I want to remember. When I can never quite feel the fire of our kiss in any other kiss that I have in the future, I wish to be able to draw ours close. Can you do that for me? If you can, then I accept your apology and your departure from my life.”