She Tempts the Duke (26 page)

He stilled, looked down on her.

“We had the sunlight this morning,” she reminded him.

He cradled her face, bent down, and kissed her forehead. “Tonight I need the dark, Mary.”

It was such a heartfelt plea. How could she deny it? He’d watched her bathe, teased her, and dried her. Anticipation had been building. She knew now was not the time to argue, not the time to try to convince him again that she was not put off by his scars. She pressed on his chest, pushing him back until she could sit up. Studying his face, she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss, before turning away and closing the draperies on her side of the bed.

She stayed as she was, waiting while she felt him leave the bed. The other draperies closed until she was encased in darkness. A sprig of light, the bed dipping, darkness again.

Turning back, she found him with unerring accuracy. She ran her hand up his chest, his throat, his jaw, his cheek until she felt the patch. He snatched her wrist.

“Let me remove it,” she whispered softly. “You have the dark. You don’t need this. If I’m completely bare, so should you be.”

His fingers loosened their grasp. Ever so slowly she moved the eyepatch away. Before he could stop her, she pressed a kiss to the scarred flesh, not even certain he would be able to feel it.

“Mary,” he rasped.

“I’m yours,” she whispered.

Rolling her over, he proceeded to keep his promise. With hands, mouth, tongue he tormented her until she was certain steam rose from her flesh. She was ready for him long before he slid into her with a sureness that caused her to smile.

He was a masterful lover. She greedily felt for what she could not see: his muscles bunching with his efforts, his slick body moving in and out of hers, his tightened jaw, his damp hair. Pleasure spiraled through her as his grunts echoed around her.

When the cataclysm came, it hit them both at the same time. She held him close as his hot seed poured into her. His breathing harsh and heavy, he eased off her and brought her up against his side.

There she fell into a contented sleep.

Chapter 27

T
he days ambled along, each bringing a wealth of discoveries. Mary began to understand her husband’s true devotion to Pembrook. He began each morning with a leisurely ride over his domain. She often joined him. He spoke with the tenants. He assessed the possibilities for future income. He noted areas where improvements were needed.

He was much more comfortable here than in London.

He’d even been relaxed when they’d visited her father. But more important, Sebastian had managed to put the earl at ease. Before they left, her father took her aside to inform her that she’d married a good man.

Of that, she had no doubt.

Mary stood in the garden, taking delight in the new gardener’s efforts. Her father had been more than willing to let the young man go. He had also offered her half a dozen other servants, children to his longtime staff members who he’d simply never found the heart to relieve of their positions. But he had no need of them. She found a good deal of work for them to do here.

From her place near the hedgerow, she could see the stables, could see Sebastian talking with the head stableman and pointing out various horses. The recent arrivals—Tristan’s gift—had come thundering in this morning. Sebastian had removed his jacket earlier and rolled up his sleeves to inspect each animal. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. She’d give him that. She couldn’t recall her father ever taking so much interest in the managing of his estate. He had overseers. They gave him reports. But Sebastian spoke with all the servants, issued orders, listened to their ideas. He wanted Pembrook returned to its former glory.

Not nearly as many tenants still worked the land but they provided the estate with a comfortable income. His other estates fared much better. Unlike Fitzwilliam, he did not need her dowry.

In spite of the tragic history that surrounded this place, he was at home here. She enjoyed watching him striding over his property. It was her true purpose in being outside when the gardener was perfectly capable of determining which type of flower should be planted in which spot. Sebastian loved Pembrook with all that he was, devoted himself to it. She tried not to resent that he wasn’t as devoted to her. She truly had no cause for complaint.

He came to her every night. Usually he stayed with her until dawn. But some nights he was restless and would return to his bedchamber so as not to disturb her. Her assurances that she was not bothered did not sway him to stay. On those nights she would hear him call out. She wanted desperately to go to him, but she knew he wouldn’t welcome her witnessing his nightmares.

“Your Grace.”

She turned and smiled at the butler. “Thomas.”

“The post has arrived. You and the duke each received a letter. I thought they might be important.”

She took the envelopes he offered. He had already slit them open, but she didn’t question if he’d read them. She knew he wouldn’t dream of encroaching on his lord’s and lady’s privacy. “Thank you.”

He glanced toward the stables. “It is good that His Grace is home.”

“Yes, it is.”

“If I may be of further service regarding the letters, let me know.”

He strode back toward the manor. Mary smiled as she saw the letter addressed to her was from Alicia. She slid the paper from the envelope and began to read.

My dearest cousin,

I hope my letter finds you well and extremely happy in your marriage. I have a bit of news. Lord Fitzwilliam has asked for my hand in marriage. I have said yes.

I know this must come as a surprise to you, but I rather fancied him for some time and thought you the luckiest of girls to have snared him. I cannot tell you how happy I am since he began to court me. He has written me lovely poetry and sends flowers every morning. He has even managed to sneak in several kisses. He is quite talented in that regard.

Forgive me for carrying on so, but I am so happy that I wish to share it. I am terribly sorry for the scandal that forced your parting ways, and you must believe that I took no role in the spreading of the awful gossip. I took no glee from your troubles, but I must confess that I was delighted when he was placed back on the marriage mart. I have prayed every day since that I would be forgiven for taking joy in your calamity.

I hope you will be happy for me, dearest Mary. I have always fancied boiled eggs. I wish you only the best and hope you are very happy with your Christmas pudding.

My love always,

Your cousin Alicia

By the by, Mama sends you her love.

I
t was the stableman, Johnson, squinting at the distance that had Sebastian turning. Mary was trudging toward him. He despised his limited vision. If she’d been approaching from the other side, he’d have seen her. But now having seen her, he knew something was amiss.

“Finish up here,” he ordered. He was grateful for his long legs that ate up the distance between them. As he neared, she smiled at him but something about it was off.

“Walk with me,” he said.

Mary fell into step beside him.

“Are you pleased with the gardener?” he asked.

“Yes. We shall have an abundance of color come spring. We were discussing possibly building a greenhouse so we could have flowers in residence all year.”

“If it would please you, we shall do it.”

“Do you not even wish to know the cost first?”

“I can fault my uncle with many things, but he was not a spendthrift.”

“Then why kill those in line for the title?”

“Prestige, power. Maybe even love. Men do horrendous acts for all sorts of reasons.”

They walked along in silence for several moments before he dared to ask, “What’s troubling you?”

“Why would you think something is troubling me?”

“Mary, I know your moods.” He put only the smallest bit of impatience and chiding in his tone.

She sighed, continued walking while the tall grass rustled against her skirts. “I received a letter from Alicia. Fitzwilliam asked for her hand in marriage and she agreed.”

“This troubles you?”

She stopped but kept her gaze focused on the hills. He stepped in front of her, forced her to raise her eyes to his.

While his gut churned and he wasn’t certain he wanted to know the answer, he asked, “Are you regretting that you’re not married to him?”

A look of surprise crossed over her features and she released a light laugh. “Oh, no. That thought had never occurred to me. No, it’s Alicia I’m worried for. I feel as though she’s acquired a hand-me-down beau. She deserved to be the first person that someone asked to marry.”

“By that reckoning I suppose you’re a hand-me-down.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh, dear Lord, I hadn’t even considered that. Sebastian, do you doubt that I want to be your wife?”

“Should I?”

“No. Just because someone else asked first and I said yes, doesn’t mean that when you asked I wanted to say no.”

“Perhaps it’s the same with your cousin. She had a choice—if she didn’t fancy him.”

Which was more than you had,
he thought. If Mary hadn’t agreed to marry him, what sort of life would she have had?

She gave a brisk nod. “You’ve made a very keen observation there. It’s quite possible that he has a care for her. She said he sneaks in kisses and that he’s rather good at it.”

“Sneaking or kissing?”

She laughed. He so loved her laughter and he’d heard so little of it since his return.

“I’m not sure. The kissing I suppose. I don’t really know, because he never kissed me.”

“Never?” What sort of jackanapes was he?

“No. Even when he had the opportunity, when we were alone—”

“When were you alone?” Dear God, was that jealousy he was experiencing? No, of course not. She was with Fitzwilliam. Now she was with him. He had no cause for jealousy.

“I went to see him, to question him about the awful rumors. Come to think of it, he was in his library and he appeared rather pensive. I wonder if he was beginning to have doubts about our marriage then.” Her eyes widened. “Her dowry is not as large as mine and he told Father he wanted a large dowry. Do you suppose he welcomed the excuse to break it off? The cad!”

He heard a strange sound echoing around him, and realized it was him, laughing. With a smile as bright as the sun, she pressed her hand to his throat.

“I feared I’d never hear that sound again.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“Don’t you dare weep.”

She swiped at them. “I just . . . I’ve missed it so much. What did I say to make you laugh? I’ll say it again.”

“You want your cousin to mean something to him and when you think perhaps she does, you consider him a scapegrace.”

“I can’t have it both ways, can I?”

“I wouldn’t think so.”

“I want her to be happy.”

He cradled her face. “Are you, Mary?”

Instead of answering, she rose up on her toes and kissed him. He snaked an arm around her and drew her closer.

He remembered Rafe’s question: would he cheat to lose or cheat to win?

Did she kiss him because she was happy or to distract him from the answer that she wasn’t?

When she drew back she gave him a soft smile, then her eyes widened. “I forgot. You received a letter as well.”

She handed it over to him. He removed the paper from the envelope and read it.

Sebastian,

Bad news I’m afraid. Upon my return to London, I discovered Rafe had been attacked by three ruffians near your residence. He is recovering nicely from a bullet he took to the leg. I discovered that our brother is a nasty bit of work. He apparently dispensed with two of the fellows rather quickly and coerced the other into describing the man who had hired them before sending that fellow to hell as well. If he isn’t Uncle, he’s his twin.

Due to his injuries, Rafe was unable to confront Uncle straightaway. I immediately saw to the task. Unfortunately Uncle has secreted away from the boarding house. Rafe’s man who was keeping watch did not see him leave after Uncle returned from a pub one night deep into his cups. Or so the watchman thought. He did see an old woman depart with a satchel later that night. But when I questioned the young woman who runs the house, she informed me that no elderly people—save Uncle—resided there.

I know your first inclination will be to come to London straightaway, but rest assured Rafe is well on his way to recovery. You can accomplish nothing here. See to your duties at Pembrook. I will continue to search for Uncle until I can find his trail.

Watch your back, Brother.

—Tristan

Sebastian crumpled the letter. “Damnation!”

“What is it?” she asked, clutching his arm, worry marring her features.

“Uncle tried to have Rafe killed. I’ve been wasting the day away admiring horseflesh when I should be searching for some evidence of what Uncle put into play all those years ago. I must redouble my efforts. Focus on proving him guilty of killing Father, of intending to kill us.”

Damn it! He had failed to protect Rafe once more. He was almost to the house when he realized that Mary hadn’t followed him. “Saunders!”

The man looked down at him from a parapet. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“My wife is not to be left alone on these grounds. Find her. Escort her to the residence.”

He pushed through the door and headed to his study. Nothing was more important now than destroying his uncle. The man was determined not to give up. He was about to discover that his nephew could be equally determined.

Chapter 28

T
hat night, after Sebastian made love to Mary, he was restless, tossing and turning, and with a kiss on her brow he told her he would sleep in his room so as not to disturb her. She didn’t like seeing him leave. He’d been unusually quiet during dinner, and she suspected it had something to do with his worry over Rafe. While he hadn’t said anything, she knew he felt guilty about his brother getting hurt.

There had been an almost desperation to their lovemaking as though he were striving to escape something, just like that night in the garden when he had told her that he wanted to forget—and then delivered a blistering kiss that
she
would never forget.

She didn’t like the emptiness of the bed without him there. She considered joining him in his bedchamber, but it was obvious he wanted to be alone. So rather than do what she wanted, she did what she thought he needed: she remained where she was and drifted off to sleep.

M
ary awoke to the arrival of hell. At least it sounded as though it had descended upon them. She could hear the thunder crashing around her. She scrambled out of bed and flew to the window. But gazing out, she could see no lightning streaking across the velvety black sky. But she did see light spilling out from the small window at the top of the northeast tower. The prisoners’ tower. She could see shadows wavering before the light. She almost thought she could feel the building trembling.

Rushing across her room, she grabbed her wrap from the foot of the bed as she passed it, drew it around her shoulders, and hurried through the door that took her directly into Sebastian’s bedchamber. A solitary lamp burned and revealed his empty disheveled bed. It looked as though he’d done battle there.

After grabbing the lamp, she scampered out of the room and down the stairs. As she raced past the clock in the entry hallway, it began to strike midnight. She’d never realized how haunting the sound was as it echoed through the hallways. With one hand, she clutched her wrap more tightly about her as though it could protect her from what she would find.

She was not frightened for herself, but for Sebastian. She could only pray that he had the strength to destroy the demons he faced. Holding the lamp as steady as possible, she skittered across the courtyard, ignoring the painful pricking of her feet. She had been a silly chit not to have slipped on her shoes, but then only one thought consumed her: doing whatever she could to ease his pain.

The heavy wooden door leading into the tower creaked and moaned. After all these years, it still managed to send a chill of dread through her, just as it had that long-ago night when she had clutched a key so tightly in her hand that she’d broken skin. Going up the narrow winding stairs, her hand on the wall, she could feel the vibrations that came after each thunderclap.

At the top, standing ajar, was the door into which she’d once inserted a key into a lock. She had set the lads free. Or that had been her intent, but she feared that Sebastian was still trapped within those walls. She edged cautiously toward the opening and peered inside.

It was as sparsely furnished now as it had been then. A small table. Two tiny stools. And there was her husband, sledgehammer in hand, wielding it with a powerful force, slamming it into the wall. He was shirtless, his skin glistening with the sweat of his labors.

His damp hair flapped against his neck and face with his efforts. She could only see the side of his face, but it was view enough to see that it was contorted with his rage. Everything within her urged her to retreat, to leave him to his madness.

But she could no more leave him within the prison of his rage than she could have left him confined within these walls all those years ago. He had been her childhood friend, and perhaps had she been nearer to being a woman, he would have been more then.

He was more now.

She hated the way the intervening years had changed them all. Had made him angry and bitter. He frightened her now. The girl she had been had not hesitated to risk everything in order to take what she knew was the right action. Now she wavered, and in doing so, she left him in torment.

Swallowing hard, shoving her own fears aside, knowing he could lash out at her, she took a step forward. “Sebastian?”

He brought the hammer back, then forward with enough force that stone flew again—only this time he broke through the wall. A small hole, but a hole nonetheless. Dragging in great draughts of air, he stared at his accomplishment, the hammer immobile at his side. He lifted it back up—

“Sebastian?”

He swung around. His skin glistened with the sweat of his labors. She could see tiny gashes where flying rock had struck him. But it was the torment in his face that terrified her. So much pain, as though a thousand daggers were being driven into his heart. A heart she desperately wanted to reach. But he held her at bay. The only time she felt a ray of hope that love could exist between them was when they were in bed together. There her imagination would take flight. She imagined so much: joy, laughter, smiles aplenty. She imagined greeting the day with gladness instead of loneliness.

“Return to your bed, Mary.”

“Let me help you.”

His laughter echoed around them. A bitter laughter that slammed into her as though he’d used the sledgehammer. “No one can help me.”

Turning away from her, he arced the hammer in a powerful swing and struck the edge of the opening he’d created. Two stones catapulted into the night. Another swing. Another brick. Again and again he swung. Little by little the opening grew larger. His efforts dampened the waist of his trousers, dampened his hair. His skin grew so slick that she wondered how he could still hold the massive tool.

Backing up, she sat on the tiny stool, felt it wobble beneath her weight. She set the lamp on the table. Tears stung her eyes. He was in agony, fighting demons, and she didn’t know how to help him. She only knew that she couldn’t leave. But there was danger in approaching him. He was like a madman and if he struck her with that hammer, she had no doubt that she would die. Here in this sparse and lonely tower where three boys had waited for death.

Over the years, she had tried not to think about what it must have been like for them. It was too painful to bear. How frightened they must have been. How alone they must have felt. How betrayed. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop herself from crying out to him, from distracting him. What damage he might do to himself if he didn’t remain focused on his task.

The opening grew. His swings slowed, became less powerful. He stopped, dropped the hammer to the floor, bent his head back, and released a guttural howl that echoed around them and tore through her heart.

He fell to his knees.

She rushed over and dropped down beside him. His hands were curled in his lap, but she could see that his palms were ravaged and bloody. “Oh, Sebastian. My dear, dear Sebastian.”

She tore a strip of muslin from her nightdress and began to wrap it around one of his hands.

“It started here,” he said, breathing heavily. “I thought if I could tear it down, the nightmares might stop.”

She cradled his cheek. “It must have been so frightening to be here, to be waiting, to not know—”

“I damned well knew. I forbid Tristan and Rafe to eat the food that was brought. I thought it would be poisoned. Rafe whined about how hungry he was, how thirsty, how cold. He was so young, so . . . weak. I knew eventually Uncle would send someone for us. Whoever it was would be kind to us. Would pretend to be our friend. Then he would take us out into the woods and kill us. I knew that’s what would happen. I had a plan to attack him, but then you came.”

She combed her fingers through his damp curls. “You escaped.”

He shook his head. “I left Rafe at a workhouse. I can still hear him crying for me not to leave him. But that was why I had to. Because he wasn’t strong enough. Tristan said not a word to me as we traveled to the docks. He said not a word when I sold him. I sold him, Mary, as though he were a bauble that I no longer favored.”

She wanted him to stop. She didn’t want to hear all this.

“He didn’t say anything as I walked away, and in some ways that was so much harder than leaving Rafe crying for me to return.”

“You had no choice,” she assured him.

“Don’t you think I know that? Every night when I sleep, I hear Rafe’s cries and Tristan’s silence and I am condemned by both. I just want the nightmares to stop. I want peace. I thought once I reclaimed Pembrook that I would have it. But there is no peace to be had. Not as long as Uncle breathes. I should have killed him when we were in London, only it would have made me as rancid as he.”

She wrapped her arms around him, hugged him tightly, rocked him back and forth. “You could never be like your uncle. Tristan and Rafe understand why you had to do what you did. You just need to forgive yourself.”

He shook his head.

“I know it’s hard, but if you don’t, you’re going to become more bitter and angry until you are like him. Then he will have won.” She held his face between her hands, forced him to meet her gaze. “I won’t allow that to happen.”

With his knuckles he touched her cheek. She could smell the coppery scent of blood that coated his palms.

“You’ve always been so strong, Mary.”

“Not really. I just give a good imitation.”

“I’m so glad you’re here.”

He leaned in and kissed her. It was a tentative kiss, a soft kiss. It lacked heat or fire, because he knew as she did that this was not a place for them to come together. This was a place that destroyed lives, and even their coming together would not be powerful enough to tear it down. No, it required the sledgehammer he’d been using, and laborers. He couldn’t do the task alone.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered.

With that he rose to his feet, pulled her up, and escorted her away from his hell.

S
ebastian sank into the copper tub filled with hot water. It burned where the stone had cut into him, soothed where it had not. His muscles already ached from his efforts. He suspected they would be stiff and sore in the morning. He couldn’t think of a time when he’d ever worked so hard, had put so much effort into any single task. Ah, but the reward . . .

When he knocked out enough stone so the moonlight could peer in, he’d never felt more victorious. He would tear down the tower. Every inch of it. The area would be converted into a courtyard where the moon and stars could always hold back the shadows. He would be freer then, but not completely. Not until he made his uncle’s life more miserable, not until he found some proof of Lord David’s crimes would he be content. He would find what he was looking for if it killed him.

He shouldn’t linger here but it felt marvelous to simply soak. His baths were usually quick, while Mary seemed to take forever. Perhaps she had the right of it.

In spite of the late hour, she had awakened two footmen and had them heat the water and haul it to his bedchamber. He couldn’t blame her for wanting the filth washed from him before he bedded her. He was covered in a thick layer of sweat and dust. He stank. That she had wrapped herself around him to kiss him astounded him.

She had the footmen place the screen from her room on one side of the tub. He never bothered with a screen, had thought modesty prompted her to use one, but she had insisted it would keep the fire’s warmth contained, would hold the chill from his body. He couldn’t deny that it created a cozy haven.

She had promised to come in to bathe him. He was growing weary of waiting. With his head resting back against the lip of the tub, he watched the shadows play across the ceiling and wondered what was keeping her. He despised that she’d seen the madness engulfing him, but he couldn’t deny that he’d been glad to discover her standing there like an avenging angel. He’d have hammered at that wall all night if not for her bringing some sense back to him. She was always there in his darkest hour.

When his quest for retribution was completed, he would make everything up to her. He would take her on a wedding journey. He would purchase her a book of poetry. He would pluck flowers from the garden. He groaned. He was not a man who enticed a woman with poetry and flowers. She knew that about him. No, he would continue to use his kisses to sway her.

He wanted to kiss her now, to join his body to hers. So where the deuce was she? Maybe she’d fallen asleep. If so, he’d awaken her. Gently, raining kisses all over her. He’d begin with her toes and nibble his way up. But first he had to wash.

He shoved himself up—

“Hold still.”

His wife’s order came from the other side of the screen. He rolled his eye upward, toward the ceiling, toward the frolicking shadows. Damnation. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough to know you don’t sing when you bathe. Now don’t move. I’m almost finished, and then I shall keep my promise to wash you.”

“What are you doing?”

“It’s a secret.”

“I don’t like secrets.”

“Neither do I, but that doesn’t stop you from keeping them from me.”

“I don’t keep secrets from you.”

“How often do you awaken from nightmares?”

He gritted his teeth.

“Every night?” she asked quietly.

“Often enough. Tell me what you’re doing or I shall climb out and ravish you.”

“I want you to ravish me, but not just yet.”

“What are you doing?” he asked again, with a bit more force behind the words.

“As I hate needlework, I recently took up the hobby of silhouetting. I rather enjoy it and all I need is a shadow.”

He thought of how he’d watched her shadow movements and realized now that her insistence on his using the screen had nothing to do with keeping him warm. “You’re creating a silhouette of me?”

“Yes. I want to show you what I see when I look at you.”

“I know what you see.”

“I don’t think you do.”

“I insist that you stop.” He came up out of the water.

“I don’t ask for much, Sebastian. Allow me to have this.”

She didn’t ask for
anything,
damn her. At least nothing of consequence. He dropped back into the water with such force that some of it splashed over the side. He glared at the fire, because he needed to show something his displeasure.