The Duke Diaries (20 page)

He couldn’t wait another moment. He had to have her in his arms. Skin-to-skin, breathing together the same air, and gazing into each other’s eyes as if there was no one else in this world.

And finally he was covering her, but he was struck stock-still when a truth hit him: she was someone he had been missing his entire life.

Her hands stroked his back and caressed his derriere until he thought he would go mad. No lady’s touch had ever affected him like this.

He could not hold himself in check to take the time necessary to bring her slowly to the peak of pleasure and then methodically push her over the edge to fly in relentless waves of a release.

“Are you ready?” He could barely breathe; the need to have her was too great.

Her legs parted beneath his and he shifted so she could bend and raise her knees. He gripped one of her thighs and moved it higher still.

Heavy with a primal desire to possess her, he flexed his hips, now cradled between her thighs. When the tip of his sex touched hers, a sensation seared his mind with white hot intensity.

“Why is it like this?” He bit out the words as his body took over his mind. He pushed himself into the depths of her being, each time driving her higher on the bed.

Her hands were still caressing his flesh, and she had found the sensitive dimples at the base of his back. When he looked down at her face, he found a woman flushed with passion. She was already on the brink of ecstasy.

He eased his upper body weight onto her breasts and cupped her bottom with his hands.

Tilting her a fraction of an inch higher, he drove into her in one long thrust, filling her fully. Her breath caught and then she turned her head and shouted into the pillow.

And then shouted again.

He covered her lips with his own and flexed his hips again. Slowly.

She was lost in a whirlpool of pleasure; her muffled cries echoed in his ears, driving him to near madness.

She could not seem to stop, and he would not let her. While he had thought he would explode as soon as he entered her, the opposite happened.

Each time he reached the end of the tightrope to release, he had only to look at the passion in her face, and that sight brought him back under control—to a level of intimacy that left him perpetually hanging on the precipice.

Verity suddenly clenched him closer to her, and all chance of halting the unraveling of his desire was gone.

He could not move.

He did not want to leave her.

And so he released his seed into Verity’s body, choosing a true future for the first time in his life.

V
erity was lost in a stark wild world of vivid sensations and overwhelming emotions coursing through her veins. But each time she felt herself getting lost in the tangle of sensibilities, she refocused on his green unblinking eyes.

When Rory shifted above her and gripped her with his powerful hands, she’d lost all sense of time and space. A sensation, not to be denied, gathered force and her flesh suddenly constricted.

His breathing became harsh, his rhythm uneven as he swelled inside her. Every muscle in his body hardened and he shook from the effort to possess her.

And for one thrilling moment she felt truly desired. He had become a wild animal; out of control instead of the practiced seducer.

When he shouted her name, and stilled inside of her, her heart sang with joy. She knew what it meant.

Immediately.

He might have gotten her with child.

She should have been worried but could not suppress the sheer joy flooding her spirit.

It was odd how when one faced a mountain of impossible mistakes of irreversible consequences, all of it could fade away for a few moments by just the idea of the smallest possibility of nurturing the child of the man she loved. It brought her a joy she had never imagined.

Oh, but it would not happen.

While Rory had suggested he could save her, deep inside, she had not a prayer of a chance.

When his breathing evened, he carefully rearranged her in his arms as if she were made of fine porcelain.

He gently kissed her. “You yell,” he murmured, his voice like hot whiskey on a cold night.

“So do you,” she whispered back.

“I do not.”

“You do. You yelled like a
girl
.” She laughed at the expression on his face. “This is what you meant when you said we’d fight with the gloves off, right?”

He gazed at her with reverence she didn’t deserve. “Not exactly. This is when I admit that I’m not sure I’m done having my wicked way with you,” he murmured, and bent his head to kiss her again. He stayed there to nibble her lips. “I’m too heavy,” he finally suggested.

She steadied his hips. “No, you’re not. I like you here.”

“The feeling is entirely mutual.”

Verity could not get her fill of gazing at him. It felt like she was part of a living, breathing dream.

Until he spoke.

“I’m going to withdraw from you now.” He disengaged himself, fell on his back and drew her with him, into his arms, her head resting on his hard shoulder.

“Verity,” he said, gazing at the ceiling as she studied his even profile. “Listen to me. I am your betrothed, whether you think it temporary or not. For me it is real and true.”

She opened her mouth to interrupt but then closed it again.

“Look, you told me once we were great friends. And I told you that was even more important than love. Do you remember?”

She nodded mutely.

“All right, then. As your friend, I am asking you to trust the truth of what I say.” He paused. “You are a good person.”

She bit her lower lip.

“And as your friend, I am going to help you make this right.”

“I’m not asking you—”

“You’re right, you’re not. This is my own decision.”

“But—”

“No, it’s still my turn,” he said.

“Your turn has been infernally long.”

“Well, according to you, you should be grateful that I even agree to allow turns.”

“True, but—”

He brought a finger to her lips. And she stilled.

“It’s very simple, I—” His voice gave out.

He tried again, but again nothing came out.

She held her breath.

“Verity . . . I need you.”

She exhaled, and murmured softly, “You don’t need anybo—”

He finally turned his head to look at her. “You are not listening, my love.”

She gazed at him mutely.

“Good. Now then. It’s like this.” He muttered an oath. “The thing is, I don’t
want
you.”

It was like getting the wind knocked out of her when she had once fallen awkwardly from a horse. She simply could not breathe.

“No,” he continued, “hear me out,” he insisted, passion rising in his voice. “Verity, I’m not a man who has ever
needed
anyone. I might have
wanted
women in the past, but I never
needed
one. Do you understand the difference?”

She refused to allow the hot prick of tears to take hold.

“I need you,” he repeated. “You are part of me now and I am part of you.”

Chapter 16

A
silence had taken hold after his simple, yet powerful words that made her heart sing despite the darkness that lay ahead. She had stopped the words by kissing him without pause.

His breathing had evened and she knew he finally slept. She would not follow him to sweet oblivion. She wanted to make a careful impression in her mind of every detail of these moments.

For the first time in over a decade, or maybe ever in her life, she felt lucky. Blessed, even.

She pondered what he had told her. The poor, deluded, wildly wonderful man of her dreams thought he knew her. He seemed to have overlooked the massive streak of stubbornness that ran in her blue-blooded veins. Only her brother bested her in the universal Fitzroy trait.

And because she was willful to the core, and knew he might very well attempt to sacrifice himself to save her, she had to beat him to it. But first she had to try to protect her family’s name if she could, and she also wanted to ensure Amelia’s safety if Sussex had not managed it.

Yes, sleep would have to come later. Much later.

He had tried to pamper her with words that were half truth and half fiction. He could not fix the problems she had made, and he did not have the power he suggested. Prinny listened to no one, especially members of the royal entourage at this particular moment.

Someone was going to have to go up in flames to end this grand disaster. And Verity was certain that full and complete honesty was the only answer.

R
ory woke with a start and a feeling that something vastly important was missing.

He turned his head abruptly only to find her gone. Since when had he stopped sleeping like the cat that he was—one eye open all night?

He went still and listened. Only the wind rushing through a tree’s creaking branches beyond the open window made a sound. He glanced toward her door and gaped.

It was open.

He was starkers and she had left the door open?

What was she thinking? Had she not enough worries on her dish to add yet another round of whispers among the servants of Boxwood this time?

Something on the Aubusson carpet near the fire grate caught the edge of his vision.

A note. He squinted. Lord, he was going to have to get spectacles soon.

And then he remembered. Verity’s list of sins.

He grabbed his breeches, which had fallen to the floor, and tugged them on. Next, he pulled his shirt over his head, and hastily fashioned some sort of knot after winding his neckcloth into position. He gathered his stockings and boots in one hand, snatched the note from the floor, and stopped at the door.

He peeked out like a regular thief in the night, instead of with the practiced moves of a seasoned spy. Looking both ways, he quickly sprinted down the hall to the east corridor, past the spot where the cheeky maid had accepted his kiss. He continued through the south’s narrow passage filled with all sorts of odd artifacts, such as a gigantic foot in marble beside what appeared to be African tribal headdresses on the walls.

So this is where his beloved gathered inspiration for her bonnets.

He stumbled over a bronze serpent and fell into a gloomy chamber he remembered from his youth as being the Oak Room.

Picking himself up, he hopped on one foot as he rolled his stocking onto the other foot and calf and then switched to accomplish the same on the other side. He was finally wiggling into his second boot when he heard the scratch of match to flint.

Rory turned his head to find . . . James Fitzroy, the infamous Duke of Candover, sitting on a padded leather chair, one leg crossed over the other, not a hair out of place, his eyes narrowed to slits as he puffed on a cheroot.

For a few moments the face of the man Rory had once considered a brother was obscured by a cloud of smoke.

“Still writing, I see.” James coolly glanced toward Verity’s note, which Rory held in his hand. “One would have thought you would quit by now.”

“I could say the same to you regarding that filthy thing between your fingers.” Rory stood his ground. It was the only way.

The silence grew deafening. Now he knew where Verity had learned that silent way of hers. James was far better at it than she.

He finally strode to where her brother reclined and stood a few inches from his knees.

James inhaled from the cheroot, examined the butt before tossing it in the grate, and then slowly stood up. Then, as slowly, he exhaled the pungent smoke in Rory’s face.

Rory didn’t bat an eye.

“There is only one reason I’m not tossing your rutting arse in after that cheroot,” James grit out. “Shall I tell you what it is, or would you prefer not to know?”

“I can see you want to tell me, and I’m happy to oblige.”

“I don’t know what sort of hold you have on the Prince Regent, but when I sort it out, you can be sure you won’t live to see another day. Are we clear?”

“That’s a threat, not a reason.”

“The Prince Regent informed me, upon my return from Kress’s nightmarish house party, that I was not to touch you.”

“And you’re willing to abide by our ruler’s commands? Good to know.”

“Well, unlike some of his subjects, I understand the notion of
loyalty
. You’ve never understood any part of the concept.”

They were beak-to-beak, and neither flinched.

Rory’s sense of smell had always been keen, and the scent of his old friend’s shaving soap reached his nostrils. His gut clenched.

He took one step back.

James chuckled without an ounce of hilarity.

“How much longer?” Rory asked.

“Will I tolerate your presence?”

“No,” Rory replied. “Until you realize you are still pining for someone who did not exist.”

Rory could see the muscle of James’s jaw tighten.

In one swift motion James grabbed Rory’s ill-fashioned neckcloth and twisted it. “If you think I will ever let you have my sister, you are out of your murdering mind. Prinny be damned.”

“Catharine never loved you,” Rory ground out, despite his limited air supply. He refused to stop James.

James twisted the neckcloth an inch more.

“She didn’t love me either,” Rory rasped.

James’s eyes narrowed.

“But most of all,” he whispered, “she didn’t love
herself
.”

All at once Verity’s brother released him, his face ghostly pale.

“James . . .” He gathered his thoughts. “I told you I accepted full responsibility for her death. I didn’t ask for your pardon then and I never will. I don’t have the right.”

At least James was listening. It was a start.

“The only thing I can do is tell you the truth,” Rory continued. “She was a wild and beautiful creature whose only passion came from the chase. It was a game. She dabbled in securing a gentleman’s love and devotion, and then when she had it, she became disinterested. But the moment a man began to walk away, she’d resume the chase. Yet I understood it, and I understood why.”

He waited.

“Don’t you remember her parents?”

“What about them?”

Rory shook his head. “The earl was old enough to be her grandfather.”

“A respected gentleman in every way,” James insisted.

“A respected, rich aristocrat who marries a beautiful destitute lady nearly forty years his junior is a lecherous bastard in my book,” Rory continued, “and it creates a mother who teaches her daughters the art of marrying up since security is all.”

James crossed his arms over his chest and glanced down at the floor. “When did you begin with her?” His voice was so tense Rory had to lean down to hear him.

“That’s not important.”

James quickly glared at him. “Of course it is, you ass. She was engaged to me. And you were one of only two men I considered—” James stopped.

Well, the insults were less biting, but sadly he knew he had to risk the small gain. Only the painful truth would cure his friend. “I fell for her charms when she was fifteen.”

A log broke in the massive fireplace, sending sparks in every direction.

James Fitzroy, the premier duke in England, sagged. “Before me,” he ground out.

Rory nodded. “A bit.”

“Two years is a lifetime when you’re that age,” Candover said, regaining his posture. “Why in bloody hell didn’t you tell me?”

“What did it matter? She was dead.”

“No, you idiot. Why didn’t you tell me you were in love with her?”

“Because we were juveniles masquerading as men.”

“You might be an idiot, Rory, but you were never juvenile. That state was reserved for your parents. You were the only adult in that former crumbling wreck of a manor.”

“How soon one forgets your extraordinary talent with compliments.” Rory scratched the back of his neck.

The silence in the room was killing him. He knew James so well. Candover was mulling it all over in that mulish nob of his. His pigheadedness was legendary. It was second only to his generosity of spirit.

It was why Rory had always admired him, always wished he was like him when they were young. They were opposites on the first trait, while Rory had always wished to be able to match James’s other attribute.

James’s face finally relaxed. “This still doesn’t mean I’ll let you have my sister.”

Well, it was a start, thought Rory. He might have dodged death by dagger, but life without Verity was little better. “Understood,” said the master of diplomacy and deceit.

James paused, then suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples with one hand. “No you don’t.”

Again the silence. Well, Rory thought, it was better than the lists that took forever and a day to read. He shoved that damn thing of hers into his pocket.

“Look,” James began, “I won’t have her hurt.”

“On that we agree.”

“She is different from the rest of us—my other sisters and I.”

“I figured that out already.”

“She might be petite but her compassionate spirit is stronger than the rest of us combined. And her heart is always in the right place. She refuses to see the bad in anyone—even if it is to her detriment. She knows right from wrong to the nth degree and never shies away from admitting mistakes. And she’ll do anything to avoid giving pain to another person. And finally, unlike the rest of the scientific and algebraic Fitzroys, she is the most creatively imaginative person I know. I only wish she would harness her talent and put it to use.”

“Um, you might want to reconsider that last wish.”

James raised his brows.

“And I would describe her creative imagination as more of a desire to bare the truth at any cost—in an original and amusing fashion—except to the unknowing victims under observation.” Rory kept his smile in check. “But that part about doing something to her detriment is spot on.”

Candover furrowed his brow in anger. “Sounds rather insulting, put that way.”

“Absolutely not.”

Others, who did not know them, would never guess that the layers of frost between them were melting a fraction of a degree with each passing minute.

Rory took a chance. “Jay?” It was the name he had always used in their youth.

The other man didn’t answer.

“I love her,” Rory said quietly.

He had never seen the unflappable Duke of Candover startled. This was a first. James was not silent—he was speechless, a vastly different state.

“And I will promise to protect her, cherish her, and guard her with my life.” It might just come down to that, the way things were looking.

Her brother still appeared dazed.

So Rory kept talking, but lowered his voice. “I know about the fortune-hunting tooth-drawer’s son. And she does not know but I have already taken steps to find the bastard and extract justice.”

James cut in. “Don’t bother. He’s already dead.”

Rory started. “I see. Well then. I can only give you my word that I will always love her, protect her, and cherish her until—”

“You know I’m not a minister, right?” James’s rare smile appeared for but a moment. “And she has to be present for it to count.”

He ignored him. “Jay, I will never bruise her heart.”

“
That
is my fear,” Candover admitted slowly. “She might be strong, but she has a weakness. When she gives her heart, she does it unreservedly. And if that person dies, a part of her is lost.”

“I know someone just like her,” Rory murmured, looking directly at his lost friend found, who had eyes just like hers.

“She just—” James exhaled slowly. “—never fully regained her happiness after our mother died a decade ago.”

When she had been seventeen
. He thought he might be ill. A sudden certainty engulfed Rory’s gut. “During the summer?”

James nodded once. “The June solstice.”

God
. It was the day after Verity had lost her innocence in the maze. And most likely her mother had guessed but her brother did not know.
And would never know if he had anything to say about it.

It would kill James if he knew her innocence had been taken by that blackguard
.

“Well,” Rory continued evenly, “you know I cannot promise not to die. But I can promise to never again drink that bloody frog firewater Kress provided that god-awful night, and I won’t swim with swans in the Serpentine again—by the by, wasn’t Norwich chased by one of those white buggers?”