The Reluctant Duchess (21 page)

Eventually, it stopped and Ross collapsed back on the bed with a hoarse sigh.

“Did I shock you?” He cracked an eye open to look at her.

“Some. I was more fascinated.”

He chuckled. Sara slid off the bed, surprised to find that her legs could barely hold her up. What she had just done to Ross had made her want more of what he had done to her. She managed to make it across her room to wet a washcloth. Gently, she wiped up the fluid as he watched her closely.

“You continue to surprise me,” he said.

“Why is that?” She tossed the washcloth on the floor with a mental note to remember to pick it up before Jenny came in the morning.

“You just do.” He buttoned his fly, then scooted up in the bed and patted the spot beside him.

Sara lay next to him, her head on his shoulder, listening to him breathe. She felt complete, whole, sated. Happy.

They must have dozed, for she jerked and woke to find that the first light of dawn was infiltrating her room. She didn't want this to end but at the same time felt a frisson of alarm that they could be caught.

Ross kissed the top of her head and climbed out of bed, leaving her cold and wishing they could stay that way for a few more hours. But today was the day when she was to move out of Rossmoyne House. That thought brought her back to reality with a very painful thud.

She scooted off the bed and grabbed the blanket from the floor. She wrapped it around her, shivering in the cold morning.

“Have you thought about our conversation?” he asked, facing her once again from across the bed.

“Conversation?” Her mind went blank. After all they had done to each other, she could not recall what conversation he was referring to.

“Are you going to make me say it?” he asked with a tilt to his lips.

“Say what?” She truly was befuddled, and it was her traitorous body's fault. And Ross's fault for being so delectable. His hair fell over one eye, mussed from everything they had done. His collar was gone and his shirt was open enough to reveal the strong column of his throat. She remembered the way he kissed her throat and what it had made her feel, and she wondered whether it would make him feel the same way if she kissed him right there. Right where his shirt opened up.

“I think we should marry.”

His words dropped between them like something tossed from the sky. She would not have been more surprised if something had fallen out of the sky, crashed through the roof, and landed at her feet.

“Are you jesting?” she whispered.

“I've never been more serious in my life.”

“Then you have fallen and bumped your head, and we need to call for a doctor to take a look at you.”

He let out a frustrated growl. “I can assure you I have not fallen and bumped my head, and no one will be calling any doctor.”

All of her anxiety, all of her fears, returned full force. This was not just Ross standing on the other side of her bed. This was not just Ross, to whom she had made love—without actually doing the act. This was the Duke of Rossmoyne, an important political figure. A powerful man who needed an equally powerful wife. Or at least a wife who wasn't terrified of being out in society.

“I didn't think this would be so difficult,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. That hand had touched her in intimate places. Private places. It had skimmed her breasts and touched her legs and…

“You can't seriously want to marry me,” she said, dragging her attention back to the present.

“I would not have asked if I weren't serious.”

“You didn't precisely ask. You declared that you thought we
should
marry. There's a world of difference between thinking we
should
marry and
wanting
to marry.”

“Truly? We're discussing semantics? I am in your bedchamber—after having sneaked down the hall in fear that I would get caught in my own home, I might add. I practically made love to you, and you are picking apart my words?”

“I'm sorry, but I want to be completely sure this is what you mean. Because if you just
think
we should, well then, that's completely different.”

His look of intense frustration softened, and to her horror and joy, he rounded the bed and walked toward her. She tightened her hold on the blanket, but she knew it was no real barrier against him. All he had to do was touch her once and she would relinquish her hold on the feeble shield.

“I can see now I've gone about this all wrong. Will you marry me, Sara?”

He stood before her and she had to look up at him, her heart in her throat, the words she wanted to say choking her so she could not say them.

“You're killing me with your silence,” he whispered, and there was not a little unease in his tone.

“Because I cannot speak.”

“And why can't you speak?” He was so close that he could easily touch her. She felt her body sway toward him, a silent invitation for his touch.

“Because I'm frightened.”

“Of what?”

“You.”

He drew back and frowned. “Me? Certainly you know I would never hurt you.”

“I know you would never mean to hurt me.”

His frown deepened, became fierce. “What do you mean?”

“We are forced together due to circumstances beyond our control. Once I leave, I fear you will see the error of your ways. I'm not duchess material, Ross. I'm not what you need.”

“You are everything I need, and when you leave, I will miss you desperately and count the hours until I can see you again.”

She smiled at the beautiful words, but they didn't ease her fear that he would one day realize his terrible mistake. She was not Meredith. She was not made to be a duchess.

Because she could resist no longer, she touched his cheek. His skin was warm and prickly with the day's worth of beard that shadowed his jawline. In the darkness of her bedroom, with him standing in front of her, she finally admitted to herself her fierce love for him. Somewhere, sometime in their days together, she had fallen in love with him.

“You don't know your own worth, Sara.”

She wanted to believe him. She desperately wanted to believe him, but a part of her held back. To her he had always been the star of society, the person everyone else wanted to be, and she would always be plain, quiet Sara.

“We don't match,” she said in an attempt to get him to understand. “You are light and I am shadows.”

His eyes narrowed in surprising anger. “I wish you thought better of yourself.”

“I know exactly who I am. You seem to forget who you are.”

“I know who I am.” He stepped away, clearly disappointed in her. “And I thought you knew who I was. I guess I was wrong. You see what you want to see, what others see.” He took another step back and she wanted to cry out at the loss. He was pulling away from her, already realizing the mistake he'd made, just like she'd known he would.

He backed all the way to the door, where he stared at her for the longest time. Sara felt so cold her teeth were chattering. Tears clogged her throat. Her stomach churned and her knees trembled.

She couldn't tear her gaze from his, from the hurt and anger that shone from his beautiful amber eyes.
I'm sorry
, she wanted to shout, but held her tongue. He might think now that they were suited, but he would realize how wrong he was in a few months or, if she were lucky, a few years. When he wanted to go to balls and host parties to push his political ideas, she could not be the shining presence he needed on his arm.

It was far better that he realize it now than in a few years, when her heart was fully engaged. It would kill her to live half a life with him knowing she was a disappointment.

He opened the door and hesitated as if waiting for her to say something. When she didn't, he nodded to her. “Goodbye, Sara.”

She swallowed, tears swimming in her eyes. She couldn't even say goodbye.

He closed the door behind him and she cried out, stifling the sound by bunching the blanket against her mouth. She blinked and the tears, let loose, raced down her cheeks.

This is for the best.

If that were the case, then why did it hurt so much?

Sara sat in her room at her parents' townhouse and stared forlornly out the window. It had been nearly a week since she had seen Ross.

I know who I am. And I thought you knew who I was. I guess I was wrong. You see what you want to see, what others see.

She still believed she was not good enough for a duke. Even though his words rang in her ears and made her feel guilty enough to cry. He didn't understand. He didn't know that all those people out there saw him only as the Duke of Rossmoyne, and they would always question why such a powerful man was with such a mouse of a woman.

She hadn't heard from Ross except for one short note that read: Stay watchful. Don't go anywhere without James. It was signed
Rossmoyne
. Not even Ross.

Though it had hurt, she was pleased that he was still thinking of her safety.

She pressed her forehead against the glass and blinked away her tears. So many tears. She was tired of shedding them. Tired of her dripping nose and red eyes. And her mother was disgusted with them. When had her mother become so jaded and, well, mean?

Just another change that Meredith's death had wrought.

Sara closed her eyes and held herself perfectly still. Sometimes it hurt to move. The only time she ever roused herself was when the morning papers came and she devoured the gossip sections for news of Ross. There never was any. There hadn't been since he withdrew from society after Meredith's death.

Had he returned to India?

No, she knew in her heart he wouldn't do that, because the letter writer was still out there. Although she had not received another letter. Maybe he had moved on. Or something dreadful had happened to him and he was incapacitated, maybe even dead. She fervently hoped that something dreadful had happened to him. It was what he deserved for ruining her life.

Oh, and wasn't that dramatic?

She despised dramatics. It was all Meredith thrived on, and Sara had never been one for drama. Yet she could not deny that her life had changed irrevocably when Meredith died. All of their lives had, and none for the good.

She pushed those thoughts away. They were nothing new and nothing she could change.

It was time to return to Hadley Springs, where life was constant, if a little boring. She needed boring now. Craved it. With the added benefit that she would get away from her mother, who was constantly coaxing Sara to go calling with her. The thought of sitting in endless drawing rooms, drinking barrels of tea, and chitchatting with people she didn't know was torturous.

She'd tried to talk to her mother about her plans to build a school to educate the homeless children of London. Lady Grandview had listened halfheartedly, then told Sara she needed to get married and have babies.

It hurt Sara's heart that her mother didn't take her seriously. It reminded her of the children in the rookery and the look of desperation and fear on their faces. It only reaffirmed her conviction that it was her calling to save them. She could be just as obstinate as her mother, and in this she would win.

On that thought her mother entered her bedroom, disregarding the closed door. Sara refused to look at her.

Carolina sighed in obvious exasperation. “You're crying again. Why are you crying again?”

Because my heart is torn in two.

“Lord Newport is downstairs. He would like to take you for a ride through Hyde Park, and I have agreed to let you go.”

Sara looked at her mother, dumbfounded. “You have agreed? Don't you think you should have asked me first?”

“No.” Carolina stepped to the wardrobe and inspected Sara's gowns. “Because you would have said no, just as you have said no to every other outing I have proposed. Honestly, Sara, you need to stop this inappropriate infatuation with Rossmoyne and move on.”

Sara gaped at her mother. “Inapp— Do you think that is what is wrong with me?” Could her mother be so blind? Did she believe so little of Sara that she thought it was a one-sided infatuation? That Ross could not possibly
like
her?

Carolina lowered the lavender gown she'd been inspecting. “Well, of course. You stayed with Rossmoyne. You found yourself with a silly schoolgirl crush, and you're devastated that he didn't return your feelings. He's a powerful duke.” Carolina shook her head and put the gown back in the wardrobe. “Whatever possessed you to buy lavender? That is not your color at all.”

Sara blinked. She could not really be outraged by her mother's statement. After all, it was the same thing she had told Ross when he'd asked her to marry him.

“Meredith is dead, Mother.” It was the first time in Sara's memory that anyone had said those words. They'd tiptoed around them, used different euphemisms, but no one had been this blunt. Maybe it was time.

Carolina lowered a yellow gown and glared at Sara. “That is inappropriate, Sara.”

“How is it inappropriate to tell the truth? You keep comparing me to Meredith, but Meredith is dead, and whatever she did, whoever she was, it didn't get her anywhere, did it?”

Carolina stormed toward her. Sara had never seen her mother so furious. She slapped Sara across the cheek, the crack of flesh meeting flesh resounding through the room. They stared at each other for long moments, her mother's chest rising and falling, tears in her eyes.

“Don't
ever
say that again,” she whispered fiercely.

“Say what? That Meredith is dead or that I'm not Meredith?”

“I know you're not Meredith. Meredith was one of a kind.”

“And I'm not?” Though the words hurt, they weren't surprising. Sara had learned long ago that she wasn't as good as Meredith in her mother's eyes. But she was just as good, even better, in Ross's eyes.

“Stop being dramatic, Sara.” Carolina shook out the yellow gown, refusing to look at Sara. “I've neglected you for far too long. It's past time you wed.”

“I know you never loved me as much as you loved Meredith. She was your only child, and I was just an…” Orphan. She was an orphan. Was that why she was so pulled to the orphans in the nethersken? As the only child of a marquess, she wouldn't have ended up in the rookery, but under different circumstances she might have. Did she relate to the children on that level?

“I loved you like my own,” Carolina said.

“But I still wasn't Meredith.”

Carolina shook her head. “I never knew what to do with you. You were such an odd child. Too quiet. Too shy. But Meredith and her father loved you.” She said that as if it were enough that Sara was loved by those two and not the woman she called Mother.

There was no more to say. Sara felt strangely numb.

“So you think I'm not good enough for Ross?”

Carolina lifted an eyebrow. “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Carolina's features were pinched. Clearly, she didn't want to speak about this, but for once Sara wasn't going to back down. “Rossmoyne was meant for Meredith…” Carolina looked away. “Catching a duke was a great coup. One Meredith was prepared for.” She waved her hand in the air. “It was meant to be.”

Her mother wasn't making any sense, and Sara's mind was reeling. Of course there were matchmaking mamas throughout society. Far more than one was comfortable with. Sara had never seen this side of her mother; she'd had no idea that Meredith's betrothal was not as…spontaneous as most were led to believe. Did Ross know? But of course he did. How did one not know something like this?

“Wear this,” Carolina said, tossing a dark blue gown on the bed. “Lord Newport is waiting.”

Sara shelved her concerns and questions. She needed time to think before she said anything else. “I'm not going riding with Lord Newport,” she said instead.

“Of course you are. I refuse to allow you to wallow in this room any longer. And you're not returning to Hadley Springs. We are going to find you a husband.”

“No, we are not finding me a husband. I am using my dowry to purchase a home for the orphan children, and I am going to educate them so they have a better life.”

Carolina made a sound of disgust. “Not that again. You are full of impossible dreams lately, aren't you? You are the daughter—the
only
daughter—of a marquess. You have excellent bloodlines. We will find someone to marry you. Lord Newport will inherit an earldom. Not a large one, but he will do for now.”

He will do for now?
What did that mean?

“Will you orchestrate my betrothal like you did Meredith's?”

Carolina ignored her and motioned to the gown on the bed. “Put this on. I will send Jenny up to do something with your hair.” She flapped her hand toward Sara's head.

Your hair is beautiful.
Ross's voice filled her mind, giving Sara the confidence she was sorely lacking at the moment. There was at least one person in England who thought her hair was beautiful.

Jenny had her ready in no time. Her hair was twisted into a simple knot at the back of her head that looked quite elegant, to Sara's way of thinking.

Sara's mother chose Jenny to be her companion. For the first time in days, the sun was shining, although it was a little late in the day for a ride.

“Where is James?” Sara asked when she and Lord Newport were ready to leave. “He usually accompanies me.”

“I got rid of him.”

“Got rid of him?” Sara looked at her mother blankly. James had been a constant presence in her life for two years. Her father had insisted on it, and while Sara had been unsure at first, she had come to like James. Besides, she needed him. The letter writer had not been found yet.

“He served no purpose other than to assuage your father's unfounded fears. Your chaperone should be a maid, not a big, burly footman.”

“Mother. You have no idea what you've done. I can't possibly…”

Carolina's lips thinned and she cut a look toward Lord Newport, who was calmly waiting for Sara. “Not now,” her mother hissed. She literally pushed Sara toward Lord Newport. “You two have a wonderful visit.”

Sara left the house with a concerned backward look at her mother and climbed into the open barouche. Lord Newport sat beside her and Jenny sat opposite.

“I'm so pleased you were able to go riding with me,” Lord Newport said.

Sara smiled at him, even though she was still thinking of James. Where had he gone? How horrible of her mother to dismiss him like that. He'd been a faithful servant for two years, shadowing Sara wherever she went. He deserved far more than a sacking. She hoped her mother at least had paid him handsomely and given him a good letter of recommendation, although Sara doubted it. For Carolina servants were dispensable; she thought nothing of them possibly having families to support.

“It's a beautiful day to go riding,” Sara said. What an inane thing to say, but nothing else popped into her head. If she were with Ross, they would have debated one thing or another or possibly argued over something in good fun. She never had to search for something to say with Ross. There seemed to be an endless supply of topics to choose from.

The barouche took them through Hyde Park, which was practically deserted. Most people chose to drive in the early morning or early afternoon. Sara was glad there was no one about because she didn't have to converse with anyone. And she would not run into Ross.

Good Lord, did all of her thoughts have to circle back to Ross? She needed to stop that.

“Will you be attending the Forsythe ball tonight?” Lord Newport asked.

“No. I'm afraid not.”

“How disappointing. I had hoped to secure a dance with you.”

“I don't actually enjoy balls,” she admitted.

Newport's face registered true shock, as if he could not fathom someone not enjoying balls. “Say it isn't so,” he declared in quite the dramatic way. “Meredith loved balls and such.”

“I am not Meredith,” she said tightly.

“Of course not. Forgive me, I didn't mean to say you were.” He appeared genuine in his remorse, and her anger abated.

“A lot of people are shocked to learn that.”

“So what do you do if you don't go to balls?” He seemed truly perplexed that there were things one did other than attend balls.

“I read. I tend to my father and his house.”

“Ah.”

He didn't understand. Not like Ross understood.
Oh, for heaven's sake, Sara. You can't keep comparing everyone to Ross for the rest of your life. That's just as bad as people comparing you to Meredith.

The carriage exited Hyde Park and entered Mayfair. Green grass and tall trees gave way to large mansions where some of the wealthiest lived. Sara, however, looked away from Mayfair to her right at St. James. Just one block away was Rossmoyne House. She felt a physical pull toward Ross's home. Was he there? Had he been thinking of her as she'd been thinking of him?

She could not get out of her mind the look on his face when he'd said goodbye to her. It was a mixture of desolation and steely determination, and she had known with a sinking heart that his goodbye had been final.

She yanked her gaze away from the direction of St. James because it hurt too much. They passed through Mayfair, bypassed Soho, and entered Covent Garden. They were far from Hyde Park, and an uneasy feeling settled in Sara's stomach. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“I thought it would be fun to stroll through the market at Covent Garden.”

“I don't think—”

“Don't be silly. Everyone likes Covent Garden.”

“I didn't say I didn't like Covent Garden,” she snapped, irritated by his flippant attitude. “I just don't think this is appropriate. You told my mother we were going riding.”

“And we are.” His smile did nothing to alleviate her unease. “There is nothing wrong with taking a detour.”

There was everything wrong with taking a detour, but Sara could not say why, so she remained quiet. Truly, there was nothing wrong with walking through Covent Garden with Lord Newport. Besides, Jenny would be with them.