A Duke for the Road Page 15

  He frowned. “I thought we already were.”

  “You did leave me wondering,” she said, the first hint of doubt deepening her voice. “I’m not sure I should forgive you, truly.”

  He winced. “Forgive me for being so abrupt. . . so—”

  “Unkind.”

  “Unkind, yes.” He drew in a long breath. “I was very angry with myself.”

  “And me?” she asked, tilting her head back.

  “How could I be angry with you?” he asked, astonished she could think such a thing.

  “You’re not?”

  He shook his head. “You are everything I could ever want. And it was I who made the decision to make love to you in that coach. It is I who is lacking, not you.”

  She eyed him carefully. “For a duke, you have a tremendous amount of criticism for yourself.”

  “Being a duke does not make a man good,” he felt compelled to point out.

  “No, it doesn’t,” she agreed. “But you are.”

  The value of arguing with her was greatly diminished under the desire to kiss her. Besides, he had a feeling that arguing with Harry would be largely pointless if her opinion was fixed. So, he stroked his knuckles gently over her cheekbones then cupped her chin. “Will you share my bed?”

  “Happily. You make me feel things I never knew could be.”

  “As you do me.”

  “Truly?” she asked, her eyes widening with surprise. “Even with all your experience?”

  He groaned then laughed. “Oh, Harry, you are going to surprise me every day, aren’t you?”

  “I should hope so,” she teased. “One mustn’t become predictable, you know.”

  He grinned. “I do have experience, but I am in earnest when I tell you that you have evoked something in me I did not know was there. Of course, I find your body to be exquisite, but it is your soul, your heart, your mind which pulls me. Not just your beauty.”

  She blushed.

  “You make me feel at ease Harry, and that is something I never expected to feel again.”

  “I’m glad,” she whispered. “Now, kiss me.”

  And he did.

  Chapter 23

  The relief coursing through Harry’s body was so sweet, she surrendered to his kiss immediately. She did not know why she’d been so worried. Rob was. . . well, he was Rob. And they had always got on. Why should now be any different?

  Surely that exchange in the coach had been an oddity. The darkness she had seen in him had been temporary. Yes. She needn’t be afraid of that. Not when the feel of his arms about her was so perfect. So warm.

  His kiss began as a gentle teasing but, after a few moments, it became a firebrand and she opened her mouth to him, desperate for more.

  He slipped his hands into her hair and pulled the pins, allowing them to fall onto her cloak one by one. When her locks tumbled about her shoulders, he groaned with pleasure and wound his hands about her tresses.

  She slid a hand into his coat and leaned back. “I wish. . . I wish—”

  “Yes?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble.

  “To see you.”

  His eyes sparked with desire and he nodded. Taking a step back, the fire illuminated him as ever so slowly, he slipped off his black coat. It fell to meet her cloak. His fingers then worked the buttons of his cream-colored waistcoat and he shrugged it off, a deliciously male movement.

  And then, he locked gazes with her, fairly fanning a wild fire of need in her as he reached into his breeches, pulled out his linen shirt then whipped it over his head.

  She gasped at the sight of his beautiful chest. The hard planes, sinew, and muscle were so sculpted she could scarce believe they were living, breathing flesh and not stone.

  Then he deftly undid the buttons of his breeches and, in a trice, he had them and his boots and stockings off. His ability to disrobe so efficiently, so pointedly, was most inspiring.

  All the while, his gaze never left her face and he reached out, taking her hand. “Touch me, if you please.”

  She studied him first, enthralled by his hard, long legs, the way his waist nipped in and. . . his sex.

  She bit her lower lip, amazed at it. She’d seen the male anatomy, of course, as a child but she had never seen a naked man and this? This was glorious stuff.

  Carefully, she reached out and tentatively touched his hard length.

  He let out a groan and she pulled her hand back quickly.

  “Don’t cease,” he said in turn.

  Emboldened by his request, she touched him again, teasing her fingers over him, exploring. As he grew harder, she marveled at the way he changed.

  The male sex was most curious.

  “I want you, Harriet.”

  “Then have me,” she whispered. “I am yours now, after all.”

  “Mine,” he growled. “All mine.”

  Swiftly, he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Easily, he worked the lacings at the back of her gown and helped her slip out of it. Within moments, he pulled her stays free and she knelt on the coverlet in nothing but her stockings and chemise, her hair tumbling down her back.

  He mounted the bed and crawled towards her. He clasped her to him them, arching her back, pausing over her mouth before he seized it in a wild kiss.

  Her breath came in starts as he teased her again and again. Her body turned liquid with heat and need under his touch and she scarcely realized he’d laid her back on the bed. When he slid her chemise up her thighs, she parted her legs instinctively. Wanting him. But he did not do as she expected. Oh no.

  He stroked his hands down her rib cage then over her hips, and along her inner thighs.

  She felt utterly exposed and suddenly nervous.

  His gaze fixed on her most intimate place. “Beautiful, he growled. So damned beautiful.”

  And then he kissed her. In a place she’d never imagined possible. The shock and pleasure of it coursed through her and she arched up off the bed.

  He held her hips whilst he kissed, and circled his tongue over her. The wild pleasure of it drove her mad as he pushed her farther and farther along pleasure’s road. Just when she thought she was about to shatter, he leaned upward and braced himself over her.

  His sex rested at her opening and she linked her thighs behind him, somehow knowing she had this power, the power to pull him closer.

  And he thrust into her wet heat.

  This time, there was no pain. Only perfection as he stroked deep inside.

  She tossed her head on the pillow as she strived for the highest pinnacle and his body thrust in deep, rhythmic movements which tossed her ever higher until all she could do was hold him.

  He took her mouth in one last, searing kiss and her world exploded into stars. As she spiraled into indescribable bliss, she felt him pull from her. He cried out and spilled his seed upon her stomach.

  Her breath slowed and she studied him. His pleasure seemed to have a hint of pain, as if he had not been able to let go as she had done.

  As she realized what he’d done, she knew then that he had been utterly serious. For they were married, and he had no intention of departing from what he had told her in the coach.

  A wave of sadness swept over her as she laid there, staring up at the man who she was undoubtedly coming to love. Her heart ached for him. What had happened to him that he should be so driven? She did not know but, somehow, she would find out.

  The first days of their marriage passed with remarkable ease. Harry made a vow to herself not to push or question Rob just now. She had time to find out what had hurt him so deeply. And he spent a good many hours in her company as they began the work of fixing the Blackstone Dukedom.

  Harry was no fool. She included her mother-in-law in many of the decisions and the repair to the townhouse and the best way to go about restoring the estates. Besides, her mother-in-law knew the workings of it all better than anyone. So, to Harry’s utter delight, she had made a new ally and friend.

  For Rob’s mother seem
ed most happy with Harry’s approach to their family.

  Unlike many ladies of the ton, Harry far preferred life en famille. She didn’t understand the idea of bothering with precedence when in intimate company. Nor did she care for the idea of lording it over her new family that she was now the mistress of the house.

  After all, Rob’s mother had devoted her whole life to the Blackstone Dukedom. It seemed the height of cruelty to rout her. No, they would work together.

  And the sight seemed to please Rob to no end.

  She and Mary were getting along splendidly, too. They’d found they both loved novels, and a hint of gossip.

  Eglantine had now visited several times and the three young women had become fast friends, discussing the news-sheets and who would be the best guests for Harriet’s first party as the Duchess of Blackstone.

  Her first party was essential. It would set the tone for what sort of duchess she would be. And she had every intention of being a duchess who guided society into a love of freedom, equality for all, and a love the arts.

  And it had seemed as if Rob supported that.

  But as the days passed, as the walls had been hung with beautiful green damask, and the rooms filled with Adams and Chippendale furniture, he had begun to spend most of his time in the city and Parliament.

  He left early and returned late, exhausted by his work for the government.

  She admired him for it. He had taken up the most difficult of causes, fighting for those crushed underneath their country’s immense power.

  Still, she missed seeing him.

  They made love every day. It was the one time when they could come together. When the world slipped away and they could simply be together.

  And after, when he had cleaned himself, as had become their nightly ritual, and the slightly hollow feeling deepened in her heart, he held her in his arms as though nothing could ever separate them.

  Until dawn. And then he was gone again.

  It was a far cry from when they had first come to his house and had such a touching exchange. Where had that man gone, she wondered.

  For it seemed that with every day of their marriage, Rob slipped away a little more. And she did not understand it.

  In fact, she could barely stand it.

  Oh, he sent her flowers, left her notes, made certain she had everything she might want. But the deep friendship she had hoped for, the continuation of that which had given her hope and happiness was fading and fading fast. And she could not make sense of it.

  Her hope that her marriage would be a successful one was wavering for she almost never saw her husband. It was strange for she had never expected a marriage with a friend to be so. . . well, unfriendly.

  He was never unkind. He was simply absent.

  And as the days slipped into weeks, she had begun to notice that her mother-in-law had begun to pale. Lines of worry formed about her mouth.

  Mary grew more silent.

  The entire house settled into the air of a newly made museum.

  For all the beautiful ornaments that now bedecked the place, there was little laughter and, now, little conversation.

  She dreaded visits from her family. For she knew her mother would sense that something was amiss. But how could she explain it, if she herself did not understand?

  So it was that she found herself sitting up late into the evening, sipping a glass of wine, waiting for her husband to return from meetings at Parliament.

  She had a room of her own now. Much to her surprise and disappointment, she’d begun to occupy it.

  Truthfully, given how ardent Rob had been the first days of their marriage and how wonderful it had been to sleep by his side, it had not occurred to her that he would encourage her to furnish the duchess’ room. He had.

  So, she had made it as beautiful and welcoming as she could with the soft yellow silk walls that reflected the summer sunshine and filled the room with light.

  Now, she lounged upon the settee, her blue silk gown draped over her legs, for she would not disrobe until he’d come. She’d discovered he quite liked taking her garments off himself and the intimacy they shared was when they were the closest. How she loved it and longed for it to stretch into their days.

  She waited to hear the sound of him entering his room. Tonight, she would not wait for him to knock. Oh no, tonight it was she who would seek him out.

  She had acted the part of the good wife long enough. Now, it was time to act the part of friend. For a friend would never allow such behavior to go unmentioned.

  The deep flavor of the claret washed over her tongue and she studied the color in the cut crystal goblet, feeling so very different than she had but a few months ago.

  A few months ago, she’d felt as if all things were possible. Even when she’d married Rob, she’d had such hopes. She’d never guessed that the darkness she’d seen him in that night would grow, not diminish.

  Was she somehow wanting, despite what he claimed? For it seemed that it was their marriage that had triggered this strange behavior in him. Well, she would wait no longer to find out.

  She’d tried patience and patience had been rewarded with a growing distance. She would not live her life like this, barely knowing her husband. Not when she cared for him so very much. In fact, she’d been certain she was falling in love with him. But now? That love had slowed as fear, an emotion she was unfamiliar with, had begun to cool her heart. It was terrible for she knew he cared for her, too.

  But she would not be shunted aside. A half-life was not acceptable to her. And she feared that it was his intent to remain a kind but distant husband. And that, she could not have.

  The minutes passed by with agonizing slowness and she glanced to the ticking gold clock on the mantel above her banked fire.

  The waiting had become unbearable and over long. Harry stood and crossed to the bell pull. She’d never been one to let life go idly by and she was deuced if she was going to start now.

  After mere minutes, Stevenson opened the door, his face a mask of surprise. “Are you well, Your Grace?”

  “No. I am concerned about His Grace. Did he let you know when he would return?”

  Stevenson gave a slight shake of his head.

  She placed her wine glass upon the mantel. “I see. Then we must send word to Parliament.”

  A strange look crossed the butler’s face which was nearly imperceptible.

  “He’s not at Parliament, is he?” she asked quietly.

  The pained expression that creased Stevenson’s brow was most distressing. She loathed making him uncomfortable but she had little choice for she was never going to be the sort of wife who was not involved in her husband’s affairs. Not while she had breath in her body.

  “Do you know where he is?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “Where?” she demanded quietly.

  “Your Grace, I’m sure His Grace would not—”

  “Where?” she asked again.

  A muted bleat of alarm emitted from Stevenson’s lips.

  “I know this is difficult for you,” she soothed, determined. “But I am concerned for him and how can I be a good wife to him if he never sees me, Stevenson?”

  “I had hoped, Your Grace, that you might change him.”

  “Does he need changing?” she asked gently.

  Stevenson looked away. “It is not for me to say.”

  “But you are concerned for him, too?” she urged.

  “He has never been the same since his father died. Never,” Stevenson whispered. “He was so carefree once. So good and kind-hearted.”

  “I recall.”

  His mouth pressed into a tight line then he said quickly, “I cannot speak ill of the dead, but I will help you. If you go down now, Your Grace, I shall tell the coachman to take you where you need to go.”

  “And what will I find?” she whispered.

  “A man who is afraid that the past. . . is prologue.”

  Chapter 24

  Harriet cl
amped her hands together, chin up, resolute. She’d never been the sort to sit about waiting. It was beyond her usual sense of reason that she’d allowed herself to do it for as long as she recently had. Goodness, what time she had wasted in these last weeks since her marriage. . . waiting. Waiting accomplished little. No. Action was the thing. Or so she tried to convince herself as the coach rolled down Fleet Street and stopped before a narrow close.

  She eyed the path between the towering old buildings and wondered if she was being either very brave or very foolish. Perhaps both. But one thing she did know, she wasn’t about to allow her marriage to devolve into the vague niceties of most marriages she knew. The sort of marriage her mother had warned her about.

  Not with Rob. Not when they’d been such friends. She wasn’t about to let marriage separate them. Still, given the lateness of the hour, she was exceedingly glad she’d brought Henry, a particularly brawny footman, to escort her on her journey.

  Poor Stevenson had fairly twitched as he’d given her an exclusive address on a small scrap of parchment. The writing had been quite shaky as if he couldn’t believe he was doing it. He’d all but wrung his hands as she’d ordered the coach but, even so, she’d seen the admiration in his eyes as she refused to give up on his master.

  Giving up was something she’d never do either. It simply wasn’t in her nature. And she was glad of it.

  The lacquered coach door swung open and Henry extended his gloved hand.

  With a fortifying sigh, she took it, stepped down onto the folding coach step then onto the rain slicked, black cobbles. She glanced about the old street, one of the only streets in London to survive the Great Fire and started down the narrow way Stevenson had described.

  Henry led the way by just a step, his blond hair gleaming by the light of the lantern he carried. That single lantern beat back the darkness of a London city night. There was not a lamp in sight.

  She swung her gaze left to right, taking in the tall, shadowed, ancient buildings as she looked for her destination. With every step, her heart leapt in her throat, a most distressing feeling. For she felt as if her decision were forcing something to a head. But really, sometimes, things needed to be forced lest they simply molder away.