My Dark Duke (20 page)

Silence reigned. He cursed himself inwardly again. After this, he would be lucky if she even allowed him within ten feet of her. He had given up hope of her answering him when she spoke.

‘Perhaps. But you are not laying a finger on me ever again.' Her tone was sullen.

‘All right,' he replied agreeably. He knew he was fortunate that she was even speaking to him. ‘I will get you a warm compress and a cup of tea, shall I?'

There was the tiniest nod and he hid his relief. There was hope for him yet.

Some time later, after he had cleaned her and applied a number of warm compresses, his bride was sitting up in bed sipping a cup of very sweet tea. He had helped her into one of his clean shirts, which was voluminous on her slight frame. It was disappointing that her body was now completely shielded from his gaze, but he knew that it was important that she feel as secure as possible after what had happened. James was extraordinarily relieved to see some colour back in her cheeks, despite the fact that she was still refusing to meet his eyes. He himself was feeling much refreshed after wolfing down a small plate of ham and cheese along with a bracing measure of brandy. When he noticed that Alethea had finished her tea, he walked over to the bed.

‘Feeling any better?' She nodded and he took the teacup from her, placing it on the nightstand. The duke extinguished the candles about the room and walked back to the bed, then removed the robe he had donned for the sake of modesty – hers, not his. After getting under the covers, he waited patiently as she slowly slid down until she was lying next to him.

James pulled the covers over them, then slipped an arm around his duchess's waist. He ignored the tensing of her body, and after a while, she slowly relaxed into him. The smell of jasmine enfolded him and, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he felt whole, as if everything in the universe was as it should be. He was on the cusp of sleep when he heard her softly modulated voice.

‘I do not yet know if I will forgive you, but I shall consider it,' Alethea said magnanimously, waking him.

‘My gratitude knows no bounds,' he replied as sincerely as he could for a man who had just become aware of his wife's deliciously soft bottom being pressed to his also now very much awake and enthusiastic male member. Cease and desist, he mentally commanded the rogue appendage. To no avail. Fortunately, his spouse failed to notice his condition. Either that, or she was choosing to ignore it.

‘However, you are still not laying a finger on me,' she concluded in a tone of finality.

That would make begetting an heir somewhat problematic, he thought, the statement teetering on the very tip of his tongue. But as he was far from being an idiot, as well as possessing a healthy sense of self-preservation, he replied in a mild tone, ‘Yes, sweetheart.'

With that, both parties soon fell into slumber.

Our Hero Makes Amends

Alethea stirred, wondering what it was that had woken her from sleep. She stretched slowly, luxuriating in the feel of the thick, soft sheets wrapped about her and the downy mattress under her weight. The stretch stopped abruptly when her left foot met something warm and hard and hairy. She frowned, eyes still closed, as she explored the alien object with her toes. Yes, it was as she thought. She was not alone. Memory was starting to flood back when she heard his voice.

‘Good morning.' Speak of the devil.

She cracked one eye open a slit. Beelzebub, otherwise known to one and all as the fifth Duke of Trent, regarded her with an indulgent expression from the pillow next to her.

‘I have asked for a bath to be drawn for you. It should help with the soreness.' His murmured conversation with the servants or the door closing must have been what had stirred her from slumber. Her eyes widened as he took one of her hands and brought it to his lips for a kiss. ‘Words cannot express how truly sorry I am for hurting you last night.' His dark gaze was compelling and she could do nothing except stare into his eyes. Alethea did not doubt the sincerity of his words. His remorse was obvious. ‘No doubt you now fear the next time we are intimate, but I promise you that it will happen only when you say so. Not a moment before.'

Alethea frowned. ‘I believe I told you that you were not to ever touch me again.'

He winced. ‘Yes, I know, but it occurs to me that I will need to sire an heir at some stage.' His voice grew gentle. ‘I know the pain was not insignificant, but you didn't find it all distasteful, did you?'

She wanted to say yes, but the memory of the pleasure that had suffused her entire being from his sensual caresses prevented her from doing so. She shook her head reluctantly.

‘I am very glad to hear it,' he answered softly.

The duchess glared at her husband. ‘I suppose you enjoyed yourself immensely,' she muttered resentfully. It was so unfair that men never suffered.

‘I would answer in the affirmative, but I am afraid that you might kick me in my manly parts.' There was a teasing glint in his eyes and she pressed her lips together, attempting to hold on to her annoyance. It was rather difficult, though, when her husband was lying on his side before her, hair casually rumpled and looking more boyish than she would ever have imagined her stern and forbidding duke could look. She was suddenly overcome with the most intense urge to lean over and kiss him.

Fortunately, she just managed to stop herself. It would not do to give the appearance of being overcome by her attraction to her husband. There was the matter of her pride, after all. Especially with the words she had uttered to him still very much at the forefront of her mind. She was afraid, though, that he was able to see right through her, because there was now a merry light dancing in his eyes and his smile was just a trifle too self-satisfied. Bothersome man. Thankfully he was not given the opportunity to say anything because at that moment there was a knock on the door.

James winked at her as if she were a common trollop (she knew because she had seen her brother Marcus do exactly that) and called out. ‘Enter.'

Mrs Tilford came in. ‘I beg your pardon, Your Grace, we have the hot water you requested for Her Grace's bath, as well as your breakfast trays.'

‘Thank you.'

Alethea sank under the covers as Mrs Tilford walked towards the screen at the far corner of the room near the fireplace. A long line of footmen followed her, each careful to keep his eyes on his task and not let them stray toward the canopied bed where the duchess lay. The first two footmen carried a deep, claw-footed bathtub while the rest carried two buckets of steaming water each. The last two footmen bore large silver trays upon which sat teapots, teacups, bread and condiments. The bathtub was laid down and then quickly filled. The footmen made their way out, with the housekeeper last.

‘Mrs Tilford,' called out the duke. ‘Please ask Martha to come up. Her Grace requires assistance.'

‘Yes, Your Grace.'

Alethea was greatly relieved at his request. What had been embarrassing by candlelight was made a thousand times worse in the harsh light of day. Once they were alone, James got out of the bed, and she quickly averted her eyes, shocked at his lack of modesty. Still, the image of the sculpted musculature of his back, calves – and what lay in between – lingered in her mind and, unbidden, the memory of her hands clutching his strong shoulders as he made love to her flashed before her. Swallowing a startled gasp at the unexpected rush of heat that shot through her, she inwardly cursed her fair skin when he spoke.

‘Would you like some tea before your bath?' He looked up at her, quirking an eyebrow at what she imagined were her red cheeks. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Yes, of course,' she answered as evenly as she could, sitting up so that she could hide her discomfiture from his intent gaze. Thank goodness he was now covered in a robe. She wondered where it had come from. Perhaps he had brought it with him the previous evening and she had not noticed. She couldn't help noticing now, though, that the dark maroon velvet accentuated his good looks and brought out the warmth in his brown eyes. She mentally chastised herself.
For heaven's sake, Alethea, take a hold of yourself.
Have you forgotten what happened last night?

‘Here you are.' Her all-too-handsome husband, against whom she seemed to have no defences, handed her a porcelain cup and saucer. ‘I only added a half teaspoon of sugar; would you like more?'

‘Oh no, thank you, I don't usually take sugar in my tea.' Alethea gratefully took a sip of the steaming liquid. Its delicate floral fragrance took her by surprise. ‘This is lovely. Is it a special blend?'

James was silent as he looked at her. ‘Yes,' he finally replied. ‘It was my mother's favourite. I thought you might like it.' His voice was uncharacteristically subdued and she felt a pang in her heart at the shadows in his eyes. The physical pain he had caused her the night before suddenly seemed trivial in the face of the pain which he still felt keenly upon the loss of his parent.

‘Thank you,' she said softly. ‘I like it very much indeed.'

‘Good.' They stared at each other for a while before he spoke again. ‘This was her bedchamber, you know.' The duke glanced round. ‘Her favourite colour was rose, so that was the colour of much of the room. There is also a small salon downstairs that is still furnished in that shade. It was somewhere where she spent much of her time.' He looked back at her, expression inscrutable. ‘Of course, if you wish to change the decor, just say so and I will make the arrangements.'

‘I'm sure it is a perfectly lovely room as it is.' And even if it wasn't, Alethea was determined not to change a thing. She was certain that he did not wish to have the room that must remind him of his mother altered in any way. It was enough that he had had her bedchamber refurbished.

‘As you wish.' James inclined his head and she felt warmth blossom in her chest at the grateful look he had been unable to hide for just a brief moment. ‘I thought that after your bath, if you are feeling well enough, I could show you the stables.'

‘I'd like that very much.' Their gazes met and held for a long length of time.

A knock sounded at the door before it opened and Martha bustled in without looking up then turned to close the door, speaking as she did so. ‘I'm so sorry, pet, I was just instructing the maid about a stain on your – oh!' She stopped short, curtsying hurriedly. ‘I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I didn't realise you were still here.'

‘No apologies required, Martha. I was merely keeping Her Grace company until you arrived. I will leave you to it, then. Is one half hour sufficient time for you to breakfast and finish your toilette?' As he spoke, he walked towards the adjoining door to the right.

‘Yes, of course.'

Alethea watched as he nodded and, with a last look at her, disappeared through the door.

‘My lady, I mean, Your Grace, gracious me, this Your Grace business will need some getting used to, let me help you into the bath.' Martha came over to the bed and drew back the covers.

Alethea swung her legs gingerly off the bed then tentatively stood up. She was surprised to find that she could move about quite easily and that the awful pain she was expecting as a result of her wedding night had faded to a dull, tolerable ache. In fact, she had endured worse as a result of her sometimes more than enthusiastic horse-riding.

Martha's loud gasp made Alethea jump. ‘Oh, my poor wee babe! What has the duke done to you?'

‘What are you talking about?' Confused, she looked down at where her maid was staring. There on the finely woven white sheets was a liberal sprinkling of blood. No wonder it had hurt like the devil. Even so, now that she was looking back at the night from the light of a new day, she thought perhaps she had overreacted. She was feeling nowhere near as horrible as she'd thought she would. In truth, she was feeling a little embarrassed at the way she had carried on. On her wedding night, of all times!

‘I'm fine, truly.' She walked over to the steaming bath and drew the shirt over her head. After a short pause, her companion quickly came over and held her hand, steadying her as she stepped into the bath.

Alethea sighed with pleasure as the hot water covered her body. Martha harrumphed disbelievingly as she was pinning up her charge's hair, causing the younger woman to look up at her. ‘What is it? I am well, Martha, I promise.' Martha appeared unconvinced, so she went on. ‘There was some pain, yes, but His Grace took great care with me.' And he had, at least until
that
moment. The memory of his gentle and attentive touch, which had led to the most intense pleasure she had ever known, caused a blush to rise to her cheeks. She laid her head back against the rim of the bathtub to avoid her maid's raised eyebrows.

‘Oh? He did, did he?' replied Martha's teasing voice. Alethea refused to look at the other woman, but Martha was undeterred. ‘Well, the rumours do abound that His Grace has had a number of female companions. Fortunately for you, it seems.'

‘Martha!' Alethea tried to sound outraged at her maid's saucy statement, but it was only a half-hearted attempt. In truth, she had to admit that she was far from disappointed by her new husband's expertise. Though she would rather not think of how he came about his skills. The thought of his past conquests and his mistresses was sobering. Perhaps he still had a current mistress. Was he one of these men who had a mistress despite being newly married? She closed her eyes, cursing herself for not asking him. Her heart shrank at the thought of him visiting the dark-haired woman she had seen. She wallowed in self-pity for a while, before suddenly coming to her senses. No, this was something she would absolutely not stand for and she was going to tell him so. She was going to lay down the law. And if he didn't like it, well, he would just have to put up with a very unhappy wife who would make his life very uncomfortable indeed.

Her fiery determination carried her through the remainder of her bath, one slice of marmalade toast, a cup of tea and being dressed. She marched up to the adjoining door, determined to inform the duke of her very strong feelings on the matter of matrimonial fidelity. Alethea knocked smartly on the adjoining door and when the familiar voice told her to enter, she did, shoulders braced as if to do battle.

James was standing next to his bed, his valet next to him, brushing the shoulders and back of his dove-grey coat. ‘Alethea.' He looked surprised at the sight of her.

Really, who else would be entering his bedchamber from the adjoining door if it wasn't her?
she thought irritably. She marched right up to him and looked directly into his face. ‘Your Grace, there was something which I failed to discuss with you before our wedding, and it is this: I do not wish for you to maintain a mistress. You vowed before God and my family that you would be a faithful husband, and I expect you to keep your vow, as I will do mine. So, if you are still in such an arrangement, I would respectfully request that you end it at once.' Her words echoed in the vast bedchamber. Alethea only just managed to suppress a wince. She had sounded much more imperious than she had intended.

The duke blinked, seemingly caught off-guard. As the seconds ticked by, Alethea's determination slowly wilted, and a sick feeling formed in her stomach. To her husband's credit, he did not explode at her, as any other man would quite likely have done. ‘Rocheford, would you excuse us, please?' he said in a mild voice, betraying nothing of what he was feeling.

At the reminder of his valet's presence, Alethea blushed furiously. Wonderful; the servants would no doubt be having a laugh at her expense very shortly. She really was a noodle-brain. Did she think that she was going to be able to dictate to her husband, a duke no less, about how he was to conduct his personal affairs?

Rocheford, who had not bothered to hide his interest in their conversation, looked disappointed, but quickly exited his employer's bedchamber.

James held her gaze, looking intently at her. ‘I beg your pardon, madam wife. Am I mistaken or did you just inform me that I was not to maintain a mistress?'

Unable to read the expression in his dark eyes, Alethea gulped quietly. ‘Y-yes, that is what I said,' she replied hesitantly. Oh dear, he was furious. He must be.

He regarded her silently for a long moment, long enough that her nerves were stretched tighter than the strings in a pianoforte. ‘And what would your response be if I were to tell you that I never had any intention of keeping a mistress?'

Alethea stared at him. ‘You . . . you hadn't?'

‘I fully intend to abide by my vows, as I expect you to abide by yours.' A grim look entered his eyes, and she knew of what he must have been thinking.