Four Nights With the Duke (18 page)

She leaned back against Jafeer, pushing the subject of Vander out of her mind.

Perhaps the count jilted Flora because he was an inveterate inebriate, along Chuffy’s lines? But there seemed to be so much pain behind Chuffy’s drinking . . . she couldn’t manage it if Frederic was in that sort of emotional state.

Novels weren’t like real life.

The darkest problems were like syphilis and lice. She couldn’t touch them, not in the pages of her books.

DRAFT: W
EDDING

Having grown up in an orphanage, Flora’s knowledge of the marital state is near to non-existent. The image of a gentleman on his knees knocked together in her head with a vision of herself in a silk gown, being served by
a liveried butler
footmen in livery.

Flora had long dreamed of a man in an exquisite coat who would sit beside her, vowing eternal adoration.

She had never imagined this . . . this agony.

With trembling fingers she unwrapped the screw of paper the priest handed her, his face riddled with compassion.

(“Riddled” sounds as if he has pox, which no man of the cloth should have.)

With trembling fingers, she opened the sheet of paper. The words danced before her eyes.
Black dots swam before her eyes.

Frederic had changed his mind.

V
ander stared at the dining room door as it closed behind his wife, and felt a leaden sense of guilt settle in his gut. For a moment, before Mia smiled insincerely and bade them goodnight, he had seen misery in her eyes.

Misery.

He had done that.

“You’re a horse’s ass,” Chuffy confirmed. He had taken up his fork again and spoke through a mouthful of beef. “I know she blackmailed you and all the rest of it, but your bed is made, lad. What are you going to do, spend your whole marriage sniping at her? She doesn’t even fight back. It’s hardly a fair fight.”

Mia hadn’t fought back. A wooden look had slid over her face that he didn’t like. Not at all.

“I’ll have to give you some lessons in how to deal with women,” Chuffy said, waving his fork. “God knows, your mama was unusual, which is probably why you don’t understand ’em.”

“Unusual?” Vander said, bristling. “I don’t think she was unusual.”

Chuffy frowned at him. “What’s your meaning?”

“She was unfaithful to your brother,” Vander said. “She took a lover and cuckolded him in plain sight of all society. There’s nothing unusual about that.”

Chuffy put his fork down. “That’s taking the ugliest possible look at it.”

“What other way is there?” Bitterness swelled in Vander’s heart. “I watched her, Chuffy. I saw my mother swan around ballrooms on that man’s arm. He would stay for months, sitting in my father’s place
at the table. Even when I was still in the nursery, I knew it was wrong.”

Whenever his father was to be released from the private asylum, Lord Carrington would vanish back to his own estate. Vander had never spoken to his father about what happened during his confinements.

If the duke had known that every time he fell too deeply into melancholia to bathe himself, after he was banished to the asylum again, Lord Carrington would stride back into the house, a shock of golden-gilt hair waving above his forehead . . . It would have been terrible.

So Vander had unwillingly become a party to deceiving his father. A party to adultery.

“It was complicated,” Chuffy said, interrupting his thoughts. “I suppose we should have discussed this earlier.”

“There’s nothing to discuss,” Vander stated.

Chuffy rose and went to the sideboard, retrieved the bottle of wine, and poured it into the glass he’d carried with him.

“You’re supposed to summon Gaunt to pour,” Vander snapped.

“Are you really going to try to turn your house into a ducal establishment?” Chuffy asked. “Bit late for that.”

That was true. Vander liked to work in the stables all day. He didn’t care to change for the evening meal, though he’d done it today. He had married a woman who dressed like an elderly housekeeper. His uncle was drunk most of the time.

“I suppose not.”

“I loved my brother,” Chuffy said, leaning back against the sideboard and sipping his wine. “When we were young, he was like a god to me: always telling
stories, getting into trouble and talking his way out, dragging me along even though I was much younger.”

Vander nodded. “Thank you for that.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me—”

Chuffy cut him off. “I will not.”

Vander instantly froze. Before this damned marriage, no one—ever—told him what to do. He was not only a duke; he had made thousands of pounds training, racing, and betting on his horses. He commanded, rather than the other way around.

“Nephew,” Chuffy said.

“Of course,” he said, sitting down again. “I apologize. I’m at your service.” He could do this. He hated more than anything to discuss his parents, but he owed this courtesy to his uncle.

“Your father’s illness came on when he was fifteen, though we didn’t understand it at the time,” Chuffy said, rolling his glass between his hands. “He started staying up all night, telling mad stories that would go on for days. At first, I stayed up with him. But I couldn’t . . .” He was silent for a moment. “I couldn’t keep up with him. He would take a horse and ride all night long. When we were in the house in Wales during the summer, he would dive from cliffs and swim back around to the village. You know how long a swim that is, lad.”

“He could easily have died,” Vander said, frowning. “He must have been mad already. Of course, he was mad.”

“Yes.” Chuffy took a gulp of wine and started turning, turning his glass again. “He began to grow angry, flaring up between one word and the next. It wasn’t him, not really. He was never like that as a boy. He was always at my shoulder, defending me.”

Vander nodded. “He lost his temper with you?”

“At first, I thought it was my fault,” Chuffy said. “That if I could somehow be a better brother, more quiet, more helpful . . . he wouldn’t grow enraged. But he always did. The anger, the blows, would come out of nowhere.”

Vander stood again. He didn’t know what to do or what to say. He wasn’t the sort of man who knew how to console another.

Damn it, a tear was sliding down his uncle’s cheek. “I was relieved when he married and moved out of the house,” Chuffy whispered. “My own brother.”

“Anyone would understand,” Vander said, moving around the table to put a hand on his shoulder. “My father was out of his mind. Cracked.”

“He turned from me to your mother,” Chuffy said, his watery eyes meeting Vander’s.

Vander suddenly went cold all over.

“I was so grateful for my release . . . but it just meant that he turned that anger against her. Didn’t you ever wonder why you never had a sibling? Or why your mother never conceived a child with Lord Carrington, since they were together more than twenty years?”

Vander’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like where this conversation was heading.

“After you were born, she couldn’t have any more children, because your father—my brother—took that away from her.” Chuffy’s voice was low, tortured.

Vander turned away instinctively, stumbling as he did.

“With his fists,” Chuffy added, taking a deep gulp of wine.

Vander’s gut convulsed and, unable to help himself, he threw up on the floor.

“Hell,” Chuffy muttered. “I shouldn’t have told you.” He grabbed a cloth from the sideboard and tossed it over the vomit.

“I should have known.” Vander took a glass of water from the table. “How could I not have seen it?”

“He didn’t mean it,” his uncle said urgently. “It wasn’t his fault, lad. The madness would take over . . .”

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” Vander put down the empty glass and strode to the door. In the corridor, he paused and said, “Gaunt, I was sick on the floor. Please convey my apologies to whomever cleans it up.”

“The fish soup!” the butler exclaimed.

“No, no, the soup was excellent.”

Chuffy followed him to his study, clutching the bottle of claret in his hand. “You always had that trick of throwing up at bad news,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Vander frowned. He had no particular memories of vomiting.

“You were a bellwether for my brother’s madness,” his uncle said. “When the mania came on, I knew you would lose your meal. I think it saved your life a time or two.”

“Surely not,” Vander said, his voice rasping.

“Everyone tried to protect you, of course, but you were small, and children are terribly fragile, aren’t they? My brother insisted on going into the nursery, no matter how many footmen were stationed at the door. Mind you, he didn’t mean it. He had delusions, you see. Sometimes he thought it was his duty to kill you.”

Vander searched his memory. “I remember he once mistook me for a burglar . . .”

“That’s what we told you.” Chuffy’s voice was so sad that Vander could hear the tears. “Yet he loved you, and your mother, and me as well.”

Vander cleared his throat. “That’s not enough.” He met Chuffy’s eyes. “He may have loved us, but he didn’t protect us. He didn’t make certain that we were safe. Quite the opposite, it seems.”

The corner of Chuffy’s mouth twitched. Regret and shame were battling in his uncle’s face.

“I’m glad you told me,” Vander added.

That was a lie.

Chuffy nodded and upended the bottle.

“I’ll be in the stables,” Vander said, and escaped past him into the entry, then out the front door into the shadowy darkness.

NOTES
ON
F
REDERIC’S
R
EPENTANCE

         
~ day after Frederic cruelly leaves Flora at the altar, his deceitful friend breaks down and confesses that Flora had never kissed him. It had all been a lie.

         
~ Frederic realizes All Too Late the plight that his terrible jealousy has led him to. Loss of the Woman of his Heart, etc.

         
~ Rushes to her house, only to discover it repossessed by Mr. Mortimer’s solicitor, and a new (formerly impoverished) maiden established there.

         
~ Horrified, he realizes that Flora’s clothes and jewels were delivered to his house before the wedding.

         
~ She has naught but the gown she had worn for the ceremony.

         
~ Agony of Repentance. Ha!

         
~ In a frenzy, Frederic vows to give up his fortune/horses/servants until such time as he recovers his Beloved. Sets out on foot, following stories of a Divinely Beautiful woman in tattered wedding dress, begging for bread.

V
ander headed down to the one place in his world where everything made sense, only to be met on the way by Mulberry. A moment later he was running down the path toward the stable. What in the hell was Mia doing, going near that horse again?

He’d made a mistake in buying Jafeer. The animal had clearly been part of a herd, and some horses never recovered after being separated from their family. It was rare, but it happened.

He pushed open the door and ran toward Jafeer’s stall. He didn’t see Mia, and his imagination presented him with an image of his wife crumpled under the horse’s hooves. The double flip his heart took startled him, but there she was.

His duchess was curled up against the shoulder of the most unpredictable stallion that his stables had ever housed. She was fast asleep, as was Jafeer, looking more peaceful than he had since his arrival in England.

In the wan light of a single lamp, Mia’s skin against her dark-colored gown was as white as porcelain but warmer, silkier. Golden hair had fallen all around her shoulders, curling like the wood shavings the grooms shoveled into horses’ stalls.

She probably wouldn’t like that idea, but it was true. Shavings were gold and amber and even buttercup yellow, and her hair had all those colors as well.

But what really caught him was how small she was. Curled up like that, her brave, independent
eyes closed, she looked fragile. Which made a rush of protectiveness go through him like a streak of lightning.

“Mia,” he whispered. He had to get her out of the stall. She didn’t stir, so he walked in quietly, bent down, and collected her into his arms.

She weighed about as much as a chicken. Maybe a newborn foal. And she felt good in his arms. She must be exhausted, because she didn’t wake. Her cheek fell against his chest and she nestled in as if he’d been carrying her around for years.

He backed out of the stall and carefully maneuvered the gate shut with his knee, quietly enough that neither horse nor lady woke. Then he set off toward the house.

Granted, he knew nothing about flowers, but he was reasonably certain that she smelled like honeysuckle. Honeysuckle with a dash of vanilla.

Halfway up the house, she stirred, and her brows drew together as if, in her dream, she was scolding him. Her eyes flew open and she gasped, “What are you doing?”

“Carrying you back to the house,” Vander said. His hands tightened around the soft, fragrant bundle in his arms.

He didn’t want to think about Chuffy’s revelations. He’d rather think about the fact that for the first time in his life, he had someone who was
his
and his alone, inadvertently or not.

Mia.

“Please put me down immediately,” his wife said. Her body had gone tense, which wasn’t as nice as when she had cuddled into his arms.

“I enjoy carrying you,” he told her.

“I’d rather walk.”

“I neglected to carry you over the threshold yesterday,” he told her, enjoying the stern tone in her voice, “so I might as well do it now.”

She attempted to twist free. “I’m not a toy, Duke.”

Her jaw set. Damn, but she had the prettiest face he’d ever seen. It wasn’t angular and stern the way some women’s were. At the same time, he could see strength in every contour.

“I don’t understand why you are acting this way,” she said in a chilly voice.

“Carrying you?”

They were coming up to the wall of the house now. It had been constructed of blocks hewn by some distant ancestor (or, more likely, his serfs); just looking at the stonework was calming.

His father and mother were gone, and with them, all the pain and turmoil of their lives. He was married to the pocket Venus he had in his arms, and someday they would have babies, one of whom would be his heir.

Given the way Mia calmed Jafeer, their children would have the same tingle in their hands and bones that he had: a tingle that told him a particular yearling would race to win, whereas another colt was innately indolent and would do better pulling a dog cart.

He pushed open the swinging door to the deserted kitchens and walked in, belatedly realizing that Mia was still talking and that her voice was rising. “I’ll put you down as soon as we are upstairs,” he told her. For the first time in days, Vander felt happy.

He liked Mia’s softness, her curves, her perfume . . . everything about her. He backed through the door to his bedchamber, which fortunately was empty.

Mia was getting red in the face and thrashing
about, so he finally put her down. She whipped around, hands on her hips.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, manhandling me like that?” she demanded.

Vander grinned. “Carrying my wife up the stairs.” He moved nearer to her, wondering how a disheveled woman wearing a grain sack with a ruffled neck could make his entire body taut with lust. “I think we should pretend this is our wedding night.”

She backed away. “Our marriage will remain unconsummated until
I
beg for one of my allotted nights, don’t you remember?
You
decreed that. And you made me sign a contract to that effect.”

“I’ve decided to break the contract,” he said, entirely at ease with the decision. He had Mia, and he was going to keep her. That asinine rule about four nights had to go.

“That is not in your purview. I am not requesting a night. In fact, I will
never
beg for a night with you.” She darted to the door leading to their shared bathing chamber. “If you’ll excuse me.” She tugged on it in vain.

Vander strolled over. “It must be hooked from the inside.”

“That’s absurd!”

“So is the idea of keeping your husband out of the chamber when you’re in the bath.” If he hadn’t already had an erection, he would at the thought of Mia’s creamy skin slick with water.

She apparently decided there was no point to further discussion, because she headed for the door to the corridor.

Vander caught her by the waist and spun her about until their bodies were aligned. Instantly she stilled, her eyes caught by his. A deep certainty swelled in his chest, even as his body throbbed with desire. It was a
certainty that felt as right as spring rain, as momentous as when the first horse he trained won a race.

They were married, and Mia was his, and that was significant. It wasn’t just a matter of papers and negotiation.

There was something about it. Chuffy’s song tumbled through his head:
Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty . . . Youth’s a stuff will not endure
.

Vander brought his mouth down to hers, and it was just like the last time they kissed: passion flared so high and fast that it felt tangible. Actually, it was tangible, in the hard length that pressed against her softness.

His mouth demanded . . . hers opened. Threaded into the rough, sensual joy of it was his hunger and desire.

His hands slid down her back and pulled her closer. He was shaking with lust, but he had enough sense to realize that Mia was no longer trying to escape, or caviling about those four nights. She was kissing him back, her tongue curling around his in a way that sent fire through his blood.

Voluptuous curves melted against his body. His hands slid further down her body and he hoisted her up, swinging around until her back was against the wall, supporting her weight so he could ravage her mouth without bending his head.

She made a soft sound. He felt like a madman, overwhelmed by desire. Her eyes opened . . . they were heavy-lidded, sensual, desirous. A shudder went through him.

“Will you please request one of those nights?” he whispered. Before she could answer, he bent his head to kiss her neck. He wanted to lick her all over, drive her to writhe under him, make her gasp and call his name.

The thought of her open lips as cries broke from her throat drove him an inch further toward insanity. “Every time I touch you, I feel like a madman,” he muttered. Had there ever been such a beautiful pair of eyes? They were the color of green water. They made a man imagine that her eyes saw things no one else did.

“Did you really stop writing poetry?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, the first word she’d uttered since they began kissing. Her husky voice ignited his body and he took her mouth again, silently commanding her to ask for him. To ask for his services. To demand that he service her . . .

However she wanted to put it.

He would do anything, especially when her fingers curled in his hair and she pressed close to him. He would throw her on the bed and devour her, and the hell with promises and contracts, four nights or three hundred nights. Three hundred and sixty nights might not be enough.

“God, I want you.” The words jumped from his mouth, as brutal and simple a sentence as a dockworker might say to a streetwalker.

“I think it would be better—” Mia said, with a gasp, stopping because he took her mouth before she could finish. Her sentence wasn’t going in the right direction.

Without allowing her to speak, he pivoted, walked to his bed, and laid her there, his heavy body following hers.

It occurred to him that for the first time, he wasn’t entirely sure that he could wait for a woman’s permission. Shocked, he reared back and rolled to the side.

“Mia,” he murmured, putting a finger on her
plump lips. Should he demand a night? Hell, she was his wife. She was—

“All right,” she whispered, pink coming up in her cheeks. “If you . . . if you really want to.”

Vander stared at her with incredulity. “‘If I really want to?’” His cock was against her leg, so he rolled forward slightly. “Does that feel as if I’m of two minds on the issue?”

Mia blinked and looked down at his breeches. They were strained over an erection so ferocious that his smalls had given up the fight and slipped down. Which was damned uncomfortable, by the way.

There was one question he should ask, though he already knew the answer. Mia’s response to him spoke for itself. She had surely slept with that imbecile of a fiancé.

“Have you ever been with a man?” he asked, schooling his tone to be neutral.

He knew instantly that he’d made a mistake. “I haven’t had that opportunity,” she replied, her voice stilted. Before he could stop her, she sat up and slid toward the edge of the bed. “This has been remarkably educational, Your Grace, but I think we shouldn’t . . . shouldn’t overtax our ability to spend time in the same room.”

He sat up and caught her waist just as she got to her feet. “Stay with me.”

“I would prefer not to.”

“I had to ask that question.”

She turned her head and looked at him. “Why? Because I am a blackmailer, you think I am generous with my favors?”

“No! It had nothing to do with that. A man treats a woman differently if she has experience, that’s all. Many a couple anticipates their vows.”

Mia’s lips tightened. “Edward and I did not,” she stated.

The feeling sweeping Vander’s chest was primitive and uncivilized . . . powerful. “I’m glad,” he said, before he could catch the words.

“If you will forgive me, Your Grace, I’d like to retire to my chamber. I think that clearer minds should prevail.”

“No.” He tightened his fingers, holding her in place. “We must talk, Mia. We can’t keep snapping things at each other. We’re married now. We share responsibility for Charlie.”

“You have no responsibility for Charlie,” she said instantly.

“Yes, I have,” he said. “There are few people who could meet Charlie and not be both charmed by him and happy to take responsibility for him. You know that.”

Her mouth wobbled. “You think so? Really?”

“All the same, you’ve been coddling him. He needs to leave the house, get on a horse, figure out how to carry himself around other boys.”