The Duke's Quandary (17 page)

She clenched the sleeves of his banyan, the silky material bunching in her fists. Every thought in her head fled as heat pooled in her stomach and shot to her face, stopping along the way to set her heart pumping. She parted her lips, inviting further exploration from his brandy-flavored tongue.

She couldn’t get close enough, knew there was something that would bring them closer, that would make her a part of him. Need for more, for what it was her body craved, made her frantic as the heat continued to build until she thought she would burst into flames. “Drake.”

His large hands cupped her face and held it gently as he moved away from her lips and scattered tiny kisses over her eyelids, nose, cheeks, jaw, then along her neck. “Yes, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t know. It feels so good, but I also ache.” She moved her head to one side to give him greater access, which he took with eagerness, edging her nightgown off her shoulder with his mouth.

“You will feel much better, soon. I promise you.” He eased her bodice down to her elbows, freeing her breasts to his eyes. His hands gently covered the mounds, kneading softly. “My God, you’re beautiful,” he groaned.

Her head fell back at his words and the sensation of his palms chafing her nipples, hardening them, caused her to thrust farther into his hands. Frustrated at not being able to touch him with the gown wedging her arms to her side, she whispered, “Please, I want to feel you, too.”

…

Her softly spoken words almost unhinged him. How could an untried innocent make him burn this way? Not being able to keep his hands off her had gotten them into trouble already. The scent of roses from her bath, the softness of her body against his, and the taste of her lips, threatened his ability to introduce his wife to the marriage bed without embarrassing himself. He needed to get himself under control, and both of them into the nearby bed.

“And you shall feel me, my sweets.” He swept her, weightless, into his arms and headed toward the bed.

He slid her body down his and took her mouth in a possessive kiss, surprising himself with the savage intensity of his reaction. Shaky hands tugged at the sleeves of her nightgown, sliding the soft material past her curves to pool at her feet. Her brown and copper curls fell in disarray over her shoulders, tumbling down her back. His gut clenched at her ivory skin, smooth, creamy, and aching for his touch.

Her green eyes, now a passion-deepened jade, fixed on his face, a slow siren’s smile teasing her lips. She skimmed her delicate hands up his chest, under the flaps of his banyan, and pushed it off his shoulders. Sucking in a deep breath, she ran her palms over his chest, sifting the crisp hairs between her fingers.

Torn between letting her explore him at her leisure, and the need to delay things a bit, he cupped her hands in his, kissing her fingertips. “Sweetheart, this will be over before it’s started if we don’t slow down.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come.” He took her hand and moved to the bed, easing her back, his body leaning over her. His hands ran over her body, tweaking hardened nipples, then gliding over her belly to the curls that covered her mons. He edged her legs apart, and groaned at the wetness to her entrance.

“Why do you not remove your robe?” Her raspy voice whispered in his ear.

“I don’t want to alarm you. The sight of a man’s fully erect member can be daunting to an untried miss.”

She shook her head. “Nonetheless, I am your wife, and I want to see you.”

Amazement swept over him once more. Although shy in public, it was apparent his new wife had no such reticence in private, with him. Her enthusiasm fed his excitement further. If it wasn’t inappropriate to thank one’s mother for describing the delights of the marriage bed to one’s wife, he would do so in the morning.

He stood and removed his banyan, watching her carefully. Penelope’s eyes grew large, and quickly her gaze jumped to his face as she backed up. Some of her eagerness had waned. Before she could retreat further, he climbed onto the bed and lay alongside her. He gathered her to him and took her in a searing kiss.

His hands wandered her body, along her spine to her plush derriere, where he kneaded, emitting a groan from her. Soon she was once again kissing him back, running her warm palms over his body. Gently, he took her hand, and led it to his erection. Tentatively, she touched him.

“Oh, my. It is so hard, so large.” Then she squeezed slightly and he sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Did that hurt?”

“Yes. No, I mean, no it didn’t hurt. Exactly.” Moving his lips over her neck, chest, and then latching onto one hardened nipple, he suckled, swirling his tongue over the pearl. His fingertips edged downward past the curls to her opening, circling, dipping into the liquid heat. He caressed the distended bud, and she shifted, thrashing her legs, whimpering. God, he needed to take her now.

Blood pounded through his veins, blocking out everything except the sound of their panting and the murmured words of encouragement he offered her. He nudged her legs farther apart with his knee and moved his body over her, burying his face against the scented skin of her neck. “This may hurt at first, my love, but I will try to make it as quick as possible.”

She nodded her acknowledgement as he entered her, sliding his way into her heat until he hit the barrier. His demanding lips caressed hers as he shoved forward, swallowing her cry of surprise. He kept still for a moment, his jaw tight as he maintained control.

Eventually, he felt her body relax and he moved slightly. He gazed down at her, and moved his thumb over the small tear leaking from her eye. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I hate having to hurt you.”

“It’s fine,” she murmured. Then she cupped the back of his head to drag his lips to hers.

His body took over, moving in a rhythm so familiar, yet so different with this woman beneath him. All other women faded into nothingness as he stared at her sweet face flushed with passion, her eyes half closed. His wife.

Sweat beaded his forehead as he tried to hold back. Soon it became impossible as her sweet murmurs captivated him, spurring him forward until he threw his head back and emptied himself into her.

Shaken to the core, he collapsed alongside her, pulling her moist body to his. Never before, even with the most skilled courtesans, had he found it so difficult to control himself. His shy, retiring wife had turned him into someone he didn’t recognize.

After a few minutes to catch his breath, he turned to her. “I’m sorry you didn’t reach your fulfillment.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Sweetheart, this was wonderful. For me. Next time I’ll make sure you enjoy it as much as I did.”

“But I did enjoy it. Do you mean it can be better?”

“Oh yes, my love. Absolutely.”

“Goodness.”

“Indeed.”

Chapter Twenty

Penelope rolled to her side and cringed at the pain between her legs.

“Are you sore, sweetheart?”

She opened her eyes to stare directly into Drake’s.

Her husband.

In her bed.

Where he’d been all night.

More than once he’d woken her up to make love. Not that he would actually wake her up, but would begin kissing the nape of her neck, or fondling her breasts. And he had certainly been correct. There was more to this marriage bed business than she’d experienced the first time.

Just the thought of how she’d pulled him close as wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, brought flutters to her stomach again and a blush to her face.

Drake’s chuckle told her he knew what her thoughts were. “I will instruct Maguire to prepare a warm bath for you. It will help soothe the soreness.”

Penelope covered her eyes and groaned.

“What?” He pulled her hands down. “Certainly you’re not embarrassed?”

Next she pulled the covers over her head.

“All right. I’m leaving now. I’ll ask Maguire to attend you.”

The bed dipped as he rose. His padded footsteps headed to the door joining his bedchamber. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

She nodded to the sound of his laughter as the door between their rooms closed. She eased the covers down, and peeked over the top. He was gone. She threw her head back onto the pillow, staring at the canopy. And broke into a smile.

After a very soothing bath, and Maguire fussing with her, a slight knock on the door caught Penelope’s attention as she fastened an earbob.

“Come in.”

Drake entered, bathed and dressed in beige pantaloons, a deep blue coat, with a snowy white cravat around his neck, and highly polished Hessians. “I’ve come to escort you to breakfast, Your Grace.”

She clasped her hands to her chest. “Oh, my. That sounds so strange. I doubt I will ever get used to it.”

He held out his arm and she moved to stand beside him. “But pleasantly strange, one hopes.”

The rainy day made for a dim breakfast room, even with the drapes the footmen had opened on the floor-to-ceiling windows. Drake held out Penelope’s chair as his mother entered the room.

“Good morning, children. Such a pleasant day, is it not?”

Drake circled the table and pulled out the dowager duchess’s chair. “Certainly not a pleasant weather day.”

She shook her head. “Perhaps not. But my son was married yesterday, to a wonderful young lady, and I am most pleased.” She grinned at Penelope, which brought a new blush to the young woman’s face.

“When are you leaving for your wedding trip?”

Drake slid into his seat and placed his serviette on his lap. “Since the Season is so close to ending, I decided to forego a trip. We shall take a honeymoon once we have returned to the country.”

The dowager duchess frowned. “Why would you do that? A wedding trip is a wonderful way for husband and wife to come to know each other better. Your father and I spent two wonderful weeks in Bath after our wedding.”

“My wife needs to learn her place, her duties. She needs to grasp the things most young ladies have already mastered. Watercolors, piano, French. You will, hopefully, guide her so she understands how to conduct herself as a duchess.”

“I speak French.” Penelope set her cup of tea down and placed her hands in her lap, eyes downcast. Even after the intimacies they’d shared last night, he still didn’t trust her to not make a fool of herself, or him. Precisely what she’d warned him about.

The duchess glanced at Penelope and smiled brightly. “We can continue this discussion later. Now I have some shocking
ton
gossip that Maguire picked up from one of the Sirey maids.”

“Indeed. And what ‘shocking news’ can the Sirey household produce? Perhaps Lady Daphne is not pleased with her latest ball gown?” Abigail entered the room, a smirk on her face. She nodded to the others at the table and took her place.

“This is a serious matter. It seems Lady Sirey found a note this morning from Lady Daphne that she has eloped with Lord Shaffer. They’re headed to Gretna Green.”

Drake’s fork clattered as it landed on his plate. “Do not say the young lady did something so foolish?”

“Yes, she did. From what Maguire learned, the note indicated the girl may be with child.”

Abigail’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no.”

Drake paled and wiped a bit of sweat from his upper lip. He darted a quick peek at Penelope, and studied her for a minute.

“I wish Lady Daphne and Lord Shaffer well.” Penelope patted her lips. “She was gracious to me at Mme. Babineau’s even when her mother was a bit trying.”

Drake cleared his throat, apparently surprised at Penelope’s sympathetic comments about someone he knew must have caused her pain at one time or another. “Well, yes. I wish them happy also. But I imagine Lady Sirey is not taking this well.”

“Maguire says the woman has taken to her bed behind locked doors and will speak to no one.”

“Who is behind locked doors?” Marion glided in and settled next to Abigail. The last few days she had joined the family for meals, much to their joy.

Abigail related the story of Lady Daphne to her sister while Penelope pondered Drake’s comments about the dowager duchess needing to help her. Of course, she wanted all the help she could get, but it appeared her new husband thought it was worth foregoing a honeymoon just so she could “learn her place.”

…

“No, dear. You must always sit as if you had an iron rod sewn into your gown.” The dowager duchess looked fondly at Penelope. She had been trying so hard, but all the little things young ladies of the
ton
learned from the cradle had been missing in her upbringing and she had difficulty with the finer points of the
haute ton.
The dowager told Penelope she was fine just the way she was, but it seemed as though Drake wanted her made over into something else.

“Why are you sitting there with a book on your head?” Drake entered the dowager’s sitting room, dressed for a ride.

“It is to make sure I sit up correctly.” As Penelope spoke, the book slid down her face and landed on her lap. Before she could grab it, the book bounced against the edge of her tea cup, sending it flying across the table, spewing liquid over her, the dowager, and the carpet.

“The devil take it,” she mumbled.

The dowager jumped from her seat, grabbing a serviette to wipe the front of her gown.

Drake frowned as he righted the cup. “My dear, whatever situation occurs, you must never avail yourself of strong language.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Why don’t you have Maguire help you into your riding habit and we will take a ride together.”

A sympathetic smile on her face, the dowager said, “Hurry along, dear. I think a ride is just the thing. You need to get out of this stuffy room.”

“Thank you.” She hurried away, knocking her knee on the low table.

“Penelope, walk slower and you won’t be forever crashing into things.” The impatience in Drake’s voice was apparent.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And stop calling me Your Grace.”

“Yes. . .sir.”

…

Drake shook his head and slumped into the chair alongside the fireplace. “I don’t understand why she has to hurry everywhere. It’s no wonder she’s always having these accidents.”

“And, my dear son, I don’t understand why you feel the need to make the girl into something she is not.”

“Not true. I just want her to conduct herself in a duchess-like manner. As we move about in Society, she will be judged, and I don’t want her to be seen as wanting.”

“With your support, no one would judge her. And she’s hardly from the lower classes. As she becomes more comfortable, she will pick up on the things she needs to know. She’s an intelligent woman, you know.”

“Of course, I know.” He stood, straightening his jacket. “I prefer not to discuss this. My wife does not appear to be unhappy, so I fail to see the harm in raising her expectations of what she can do.”

“I only ask that you be a bit more patient with her.”

A brisk nod was all Drake could muster in response.

…

Penelope sealed the letter addressed to the Linnean Society with wax, and rang for Maguire. Sadness descended and her heart thumped as she waited for the woman’s arrival. Despite Drake’s insistence that she give up her science, she had to at least send one final report on the few items she’d worked on since her arrival in Town. Her husband would never know, and she could have her last contribution to the field she loved so much.

She rose and walked to the window, staring out at the gloomy day. Much like she was feeling. Her life had changed so much since she had arrived in Town.

No longer overwhelmed with the
ton
, she nevertheless longed for the peace and quiet of the country. During their ride yesterday, Drake had informed her that once Parliament recessed they would return to Manchester Manor where, after a short honeymoon trip, they would remain until the next session.

She’d quickly voiced her enthusiasm for returning to the country, and he seemed pleased. Too bad she didn’t seem to please him in most other ways. Except for their nights together. If what he murmured to her during their lovemaking was true, he didn’t find her lacking in that area, at all. Heat rose to her face as she recalled last night’s activities.

He’d also taken to staying with her in her bed for the entire night, which she understood was not a common practice among the Quality. Waking up to his hands on intimate parts of her body was new and exciting.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Maguire’s arrival. “You need something, Your Grace?”

“Yes, please. Will you take this letter to the post office to mail? Here is money to pay for the postage.” She held out the letter and coins.

“His Grace can frank your letter, so there is no need to pay.”

She crossed her fingers behind her back. “This is a surprise for my husband, so I don’t want him to know about it.” She attempted a smile. “You will keep this a secret?”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Maguire reached for the letter and coins. “I will do it right away.”

“Thank you.”

She really hated lying to the maid and doing something behind her husband’s back, but she needed this one last report sent off before she stopped her contributions entirely. She sighed and returned to stare out at the soft rain falling against the leaves of the tree outside her window. The water pooled and dripped onto the grass. Almost as if the sky cried for her.

…

A week later, Drake poured himself a brandy as he waited in the library for Penelope to join him. He was escorting her and his mother to the theater.

“I had hoped Marion would join us this evening, but she doesn’t feel up to it. She is still feeling her way back into Society.” The dowager duchess entered the room in a swirl of purple. The modestly cut bodice of her gown displayed her amethyst necklace quite nicely. A purple toque covered her hair, with a saucy ostrich plume swaying gracefully as she walked.

“Marion has come a long way. I am sure she will soon be joining us in various excursions.”

“At least she is now accepting guests along with us during our ‘at home’ hours.”

“How is Penelope handling that particular activity?”

“Very well. She is friendly, gracious, and the ladies of the
ton
are becoming enchanted with her.”

“Excellent. She may come up to snuff yet.”

His mother’s eyes flashed. “Dear, I wish you would stop concerning yourself with how your wife comports herself.”

Taken aback by the vehemence in her voice, he stiffened. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“I’m referring to this obsession you seem to have about the charming young woman you married, who has given you no reason whatsoever to shame you.”

“And I wish to keep it so.”

“What do you wish to keep so?” Penelope asked as she entered the room.

Drake’s breath caught at her appearance. Her peach muslin gown brought out the creaminess of her skin and the softness of her green eyes behind the gold spectacles. His mouth dried as desire swept over him. His hands itched to whisk her away, up to the bedroom, and spend the night examining every bit of that silky skin.

Penelope looked down at herself. “Is something amiss?”

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Nothing at all, my dear. You look beautiful.”

The sight of her blush tightened his groin further. If he didn’t get them out the door immediately, he just might act on his thoughts. He extended his arms to the ladies. “Shall we?”

…

Tying her bonnet securely under her chin, Penelope was about to leave the house the next morning for her daily stroll when Maguire handed her a missive. “Your Grace, there is a letter for you.”

“Oh, thank you.” She reached out and took the paper from the maid’s hand.

Maguire grinned. “I thought you would want this one right away. It is from the people you sent a letter to last week.”

“Oh, goodness. Has His Grace seen this?”

“No. I removed it before I set the rest of the mail on his desk.” She gave her a slight wink.

Anxious to read what the Society thought of her report, Penelope changed her mind about her walk and hurried back upstairs, the precious dispatch clutched to her chest.

Behind closed doors, her shaky hands tore at the message. She moved to the window for better lighting and smoothed the paper out. Then her eyes grew wide with horror as she read.

London, England

June 11, 1814

My Dear Mr. L. D. Farnsworth,

I am writing on behalf of the Linnean Society of London, England.

We are most impressed with your recent report with regard to your latest findings. Once again, you have proven to the Society that you are a dedicated scientist who has contributed to the study of botany in many ways.

Therefore, it is with great pleasure that I inform you the Awards Committee of The Linnean Society has named you as Scientific Contributor of the Year. A dinner in your honor will be held beginning at eight o’clock pm on Friday, the twenty-second day of July, in the Year of Our Lord, Eighteen Hundred and Fourteen.