Never Desire a Duke (One Scandalous Season) (18 page)

“Truly, Claxton, there is no need to say such things. I’ve agreed to remain in the marriage, and yes, to have a child, and we shall do what needs to be done—” She blushed and primly averted her gaze. “In a straightforward fashion. However many times it must be done, and hope for the best.”

He sank back against the cushion, his expression mulish. “How utterly romantic.”

“Don’t you see? That’s what I’m saying. While I had such a nice time this afternoon—” The memory of what had taken place in the kitchen between them even now made her cheeks go hot. “—and I’m glad we can enjoy each other’s company, I don’t require romance or wooing, or even kissing.” It was that degree of intimacy that terrified her. That took away her ability to reason. “A parody of falling in love, just because we happen to be married. Indeed, I don’t want it.”

“That’s what you think this is between us?” He pointed to the narrow space between them. “Even before we lost the baby, a parody?”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about before.” She’d lost a baby before, and she’d lost Claxton. She couldn’t exist in a constant state of fear that she’d lose them all over again. She needed distance. Security. That was the only way she could have peace. “Let’s leave all that ugliness behind. I’m talking about now. And please don’t misconstrue my words. They aren’t intended to in any way offend.”

“You just want the baby, don’t you?” he said, his voice thick with anger.

“I’ve been very clear about wanting another baby.”

“But you don’t want me.”

Sophia’s mouth fell open. What did he want her to say? That she loved him? So that he could kiss her and make her body burn with desire…only to tell her he’d always feel fondly toward her?

She couldn’t expose herself that way. She didn’t want to hurt again. Never that deeply.

No, she couldn’t bear it.

At last, she answered, “I don’t want to confine you.”

“Or yourself, I don’t think,” Claxton muttered.

Sophia exclaimed, cheeks hot, “Don’t be cruel.”

“It is you who is being cruel,” he retorted, standing from the chair with such force the wooden legs rocked off the carpet. He strode away—then returned, making a circle around the space where she sat. He rubbed a hand over the lower half of his face for a brief moment, concealing his scowl. “Denying what happened between us today. Yesterday. And then asking me to conceive a child without passion. God, I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

“It must be possible.” She kept her tone light and her expression placid, though inside her heart pounded like a drum. “People in our situation, of our station, do it all the time.”

“So really what you’re proposing is an informal separation. Isn’t that it, Sophia? Once we have a child, we’ll go our separate ways, even if it’s just to opposite ends of the house? Without any true obligations to one other. Only to the child?”

“You make it sound so cold when really I’ve agreed to everything you want.”

His eyes widened, and he answered with a derisive curl of his upper lip. “You’re correct, I think. The sooner we get started, the sooner we’ll be done with this unpleasant business of procreating.” He bowed, his dark head low, and with a courtly bend of his arm, said, “Your Grace, I would request your company in my bed tonight for the purpose of attempting to conceive my required heir.”

“Now you’re being hurtful. You can’t be serious.”

Only moments ago, she shared her intention to remain in their marriage. Now, at the first sign of difficulty, he was already striking out to hurt her and pushing her away.

“I apologize.” He stood, his dramatic air falling away. “I don’t have a secretary presently in residence, or I’d submit my proposal for your approval in writing—” His voice rose to a thunderous volume. “And have it delivered by official courier under the duchy’s wax seal.”

“Have some respect for my concerns,” Sophia cried. “I’ve agreed to remain in our marriage, but that does not mean I’m prepared to jump straight into your bed.”

“Ah, it would be
your
bed, as I don’t have one.” The dark slash of his brow arched upward. He took several steps toward her, leering. “Though the settee certainly has its allure.”

Sophia answered quickly, contriving to look composed. “No, actually, I made up a bed for you this morning in the room where I found your boyhood things. You can sleep there tonight. Very nice linens and several blankets and even a bed warmer. I know you’ll be comfortable,” she babbled, attempting a return to normal conversation. To ease the intensity she saw in his eyes. “Doesn’t that sound comfortable?”

He stared at her, his body tense, his eyes hard.

“Don’t shut me out,” he said, his expression suddenly desolate. “Sophia, I don’t understand why you are doing this. What are you afraid of?”

“And I don’t understand why you’re so unhappy,” she said. “You’ve won. Why don’t you see that? There will be no separation, and we’ll have a child. I just need a bit more time to grow accustomed to the idea.”

“The idea of what?”

“The idea of
you
.”

“You’ve had seventeen months,” he said quietly.

“No, Claxton, I’ve had three days.”

I
t’s that damn list, isn’t it?” Claxton hissed through gritted teeth. “I told you once I wrote out the names, you would despise me.”

“I don’t despise you,” she said. “I don’t even dislike you.”

“Once a rake, always a rake. That’s it, isn’t it?” With a jerk of his head, Claxton’s chin rose a notch higher. “I’m soiled goods. Ruined. Too dirty from past exploits to share your snowy-white bed—”

“Claxton.”
Her eyes widened, the acidity of his words like a blow.

Suddenly, he was there beside her.

“Don’t pretend to be shocked when it is exactly how you feel,” he said roughly, pulling her to her feet and into his arms. “What is it that you want? A promise that I’ll always be faithful?” He tilted his face in mock affection and brushed his fingertips along her cheek.

“Don’t be cruel,” she warned, the intensity of his ridicule stealing her breath.

“Then I’ll say the words. Lots of men do.” He pulled her close, hands gripping her hips. He ground himself against her, making her unavoidably aware of his manhood, which he wielded like a weapon between them. “One look and I knew, Sophia Bevington, you were the only woman for me. I’ll never leave you, dearest. I’ll never so much as think of another woman for as long as I live—”

“That’s not what I meant,” she cried. Cheeks flaming, she broke away, removing herself from the anger in his touch. A few more steps placed the settee between them. He was trying to provoke her, but she wouldn’t lose control of her emotions and strike back with the same bitterness—though he very much deserved a set down. She wanted a child just that much.

“Then tell me what you did mean,” he demanded.

“That I don’t expect you to change. We are who we are, Claxton, made up of hurts and memories and disappointments and desires. We can’t help what we’ve become, you and I. We can only own up to our faults and accordingly make smarter decisions and move forward.”

“How very mature of you.” Claxton’s lips curled, his compliment clearly not a compliment at all.

Stung, she blurted, “Don’t belittle me for being
mature
enough not to demand from you a promise you could likely never keep.”

He laughed, an empty sound that filled the darkness.

“The awful thing is, Sophia, that maybe you speak the truth.” He turned from her suddenly. His head falling back, he stared at the ceiling, legs spread into a wide stance. If she didn’t believe in him—if she saw no honor in him—what hope was there for any sort of a future together? Hopelessness flooded his veins like ice. “God, yes, the truth. Any other man in his right mind would have stayed, but like a coward, I left you. I left you, and for that you will never forgive me. Even if you did forgive me, you’ll never forget.”

His shoulders heaved, but he did not turn back in her direction, still requiring that bit of privacy in which to compose himself.

After a long moment, she said, “So please stop getting angry with me when I am only trying to be realistic. We will endeavor to have this child, and once the task is accomplished, we will both be free to continue on with our lives as we wish.”

Now he did turn—a smooth pivot on the heel of his Hessian.

“But we will remain married,” Claxton confirmed in a low voice. The light from the fire painted the gentle curves of her face. “There will be no separation even then.”

“That is my hope,” she said. “Many couples remain married but lead completely satisfying separate lives. I could name five such pairings right now if I had to. I’m certain you could as well.”

He could, indeed, but that didn’t mean he liked her tidy little plan. He didn’t like it at all. If they had a child and went on to pursue separate lives, she might take a lover. His mood turned decidedly sour at the thought. Worse yet, her lover might seek to become some sort of friend or mentor to
his
child. A child that was part him and part Sophia, theirs alone. Such scenarios occurred all the time in their landed society, but no, he would not stand for it. Possessive rage took to simmering in his blood. He would be the only father his child knew from the first day of its life and each day forward.

He would remain by Sophia’s side, whether she wished him there or not.

He scowled. “What about another child? Wouldn’t we want two? Or three?”

Or four? Or six? Or eight? If he kept her pregnant, would that be enough to bind her to him?

She blinked rapidly, and her lips formed a thin line.

“Speaking of three, where is the third quest?” she asked quietly. “Let’s read it so we know what is in store for us tomorrow.”

So she was finished and ready to change the subject. What if he wasn’t ready? He was still trying to figure out what had changed between them this afternoon and transformed her from a warm and delightful woman who welcomed his kisses into someone cold and distant who forbade his touch.

“I liked the other Sophia better,” he growled.

“What other Sophia?”

“The one who dumped salt into my bowl and absconded with my cakes. The one who rode on a village boy’s sled with me. The one who isn’t afraid.”

“That was child’s play.” Her brow gathered. “The matter of my heart is not. Please don’t kiss me again.”

He grabbed his coat, and scowling like the devil, he delved into its pocket for the envelope, which he promptly dropped into her lap. Sinking back into the cushions, he sulked. “You read it.”

She looked at him overly long, but in the end she opened the envelope and the note inside.

“Sir Thomas has a bee up his nose.” She blinked. “That’s all it says. Sir Thomas has a bee up his nose. Do you even know what that means?”

He barely heard the words, for the dark cloud crowding the inside of his head.

“Yes.” He stood, going to the table, where he lifted the bottle of claret, but tilting it to its side, found it disappointingly empty. “It means we are going to church tomorrow.”

“Very well, then.” She stood, retrieving her redingote and folding it over her arm. “I will see you in the morning.”

He rested his elbow on the mantel and rubbed his jaw, growling, “I suppose.”

“You needn’t be so surly about my simple request for time.” She stopped at the foot of the stairs, her hand on the newel post. “Your life will go on exactly as before, unchanged. For me, everything will be different. You don’t have anything to be afraid of. I do.”

Oh, but she was wrong. She terrified him each time he looked into her eyes. Miss Sophia Bevington was the only thing he’d ever really wanted, and he feared that while he’d won this battle, he would never win her heart.

“Go, then.” He waved his hand dismissively.

She fled up the stairs, abandoning him for the third night. At least he had a bed. Unfortunately, all this talk of heirs and boundaries had him wound tight. He would never be able to sleep.

An hour later, he hauled the third steaming bucket up the stairs. If he couldn’t convince Sophia to spend the night with him, at least he would provoke her envy by preparing a nice hot bath. Without closing the door, he dumped the bucket into the hip tub, ensuring she heard the crash of water against the metal.

No doubt she stood with her ear pressed to the door at this very moment, coveting the luxury only he would enjoy just as soon as he could get his clothes off.

He closed the door rather loudly and stripped naked. Sinking into the water, he eased back, relaxing into the delicious heat.

There, as steam bathed his chest, shoulders, and face, he fumed, wishing
she
was there naked across his lap, her golden skin slippery and wet. For nearly a year, such fantasies had tormented him, although in reality he’d never enjoyed her in such a manner. In those early months of their marriage, he’d taken immeasurable pleasure in their lovemaking, but the nightly act had always occurred in the very respectable paradise of their marriage bed. She’d been so young and inexperienced. He had thought to take things slowly, assuming there would be plenty of time later to teach her other pleasures and to explore more daring settings.

For nearly a year he had been a dedicated onanist. Only in the vivid imagination of his mind, in the silent privacy of his rooms in Vienna or Töplitz, had he taken her against a wall as she cried out his name or thrust into her from behind as she bent over a chair, her long hair tumbling to the floor.

The idea of not pulling out of Sophia, his beautiful wife, at the moment of completion had become a constant fantasy in his mind. That she had now agreed to intimacies but
held him at a distance
made the anticipation all the more torturous. When he’d told her he was half out of his mind for wanting her, he had not been exaggerating.

With his hand clamped on his cock, he held a vision of her riding him in the bath, her glistening breasts bouncing in his face. Candlelight bathed her skin, and she smiled as she leaned down to kiss him, long and hard on the mouth, with no trace of doubt or mistrust on her lips.

Vane
, his imaginary temptress whispered against the skin of his throat and down his chest, until with a sudden cry she arched back, bearing down with her hips so forcefully her movement sent water splashing to the floor.

With a groan, Vane closed his eyes and reclined his head, rhythmically sliding and squeezing his hand along his rigid length until he exploded, her name an agonized whisper on his lips.

Sophia paced in her dressing gown and slippers, unable to bear Claxton’s cruel taunt any longer. The parading of the buckets. The sloshing of all that delicious hot water.
Bah!
She could practically feel its luxurious heat from here behind her very
cold
door, standing on her
frigid
floor in her
chilled
bedchamber.

That he would wield such an extravagance as a means of torment, to make her pay for displeasing him, proved what an insensitive lout he was. She intended to confront him and tell him exactly what she thought of his cruel games. Only she had to wait until he was finished with his infernal bath.

But no…just then she heard his footsteps in the corridor, stealthy ones, as if he were trying to sneak down the hall, outside of her hearing. Lucky for her the floorboards of the old house told tales.

Throwing open the door, she leaped out.

“Did you forget the soap?” she loudly accused.

Claxton barreled into her.

Only it wasn’t Claxton.

Another man stared down at her, his eyes wide and his face pallid beneath a mountainous winter cap. A scarf covered his mouth and chin. Sophia shrieked.

The man plowed past and bumped her shoulder. Sophia went sprawling. He uttered some indeterminable exclamation and turned back toward her. Fearing violence, Sophia cowered against the wall.

“No, please,” she begged.

Claxton’s door flew open. “What is it? Another creature in your room?”

When he saw her, his query stopped short. His eyes fixed on the man, now a shadow in the darkness at the end of the corridor.

“Who are you?” he growled, his expression instantly murderous.

The man ran for the stairs, his boots pounding out each step.

“Stop there,” Claxton roared.

But the man didn’t stop.

Claxton lunged into the hall to crouch beside Sophia, unconcerned, it appeared, that he was almost completely naked, with just a towel across the waist, clutched at his hip. His thigh, dusted in glossy dark hair, covered the most intimate part of him.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Just a bump as he went past,” she answered, dazed.

“Go in your room and lock the door.” He helped her up. “There may be others.”

From downstairs, there came the sound of a door slamming open in its frame.

Claxton lunged down the hall, a blur of long limbs and corded muscle. Sophia stared after him, the magnificent sight of him making her almost forget the intruder. Seconds later, her husband, the naked savage, returned.

“Damn it. I need clothes.” He disappeared into his room. A moment later he barreled past her again, pulling on his coat.
“Lock your door.”

Sophia glimpsed a flintlock fastened to his side.

She did as he ordered, retreating into her room and locking the door, doing her best to remain calm, praying the man did not have a weapon or wish them harm. After what seemed an eternity, Claxton knocked, announcing himself.

Fresh snow encrusted his hat, shoulders, and boots. Exertion flushed his cheeks.

“He ran straight for the forest. I followed his tracks for some time, but did not wish to be drawn too far from you and the house. If only I’d not taken the time to dress.”

“You had no choice. You couldn’t go off naked into the snow.”

He took another deep breath and flashed a grin. Again, almost instantly, his expression returned to serious. “Was the man someone you recognized?”

“His face was covered with a scarf, but from what I did see, I don’t recall ever seeing him before. Not at the village inn or elsewhere.” She bit her bottom lip. “He was carrying something in his arms, but I didn’t see what it was.”

He scowled. “Doubtless he thieved something.”

“What if that’s how my window came to be open last night? That man coming or going?” The idea that an unknown intruder had been in the house, possibly while they slept, left her completely discomposed and no small amount terrified. What if the man returned? What if he was a murderer?

He nodded. “It’s winter. He may be a pauper simply looking for shelter in the storm, in a house known to have long been empty. I did not undertake to inspect the premises after our arrival.” Claxton glanced upward toward the floor above them. “He could have been here all along, and we did not know it. I shall go down to the village in the morning to report the matter to the watchman, though I’m not certain what good it will do.”

“Could he have gotten inside through the priest hole downstairs?”

“No one knows about that passage but my brother and the Kettles and now you.” He shook his head. “No one. My brother and I were sworn to secrecy over its existence, and the Kettles would never tell.”