The Third Duke's the Charm (13 page)

“I . . . see.”

“We are going to be married so soon it isn’t anything to worry over, my sweet.” With some reluctance, he eased free of her body, and retrieved his handkerchief. There was a streak of blood on her smooth thigh, and he wiped it away along with his discharge. “And now our wedding night won’t be filled with maidenly trepidation.”

“I suppose that is true.” She started to straighten her remaining clothing, her face slightly averted.

A little embarrassment was probably natural, he thought, and with solicitude and efficiency, he helped, adjusting her chemise over her thighs, and tugging her bodice back and up before he tied the bow over her breasts. “I hate to point out how long I’ve kept you, but we should think about heading back to London. Your father approves of our marriage, but I don’t want to test his indulgence.”

Vivian sat up, delectably in disarray, and reached for her gown just as he found his breeches. He almost hesitated, wanting to tumble her back again on the blanket, the urge strong enough that it startled him. Her hair streamed enticingly over her shoulders, and if he had more time . . .

But soon, they would. He imagined long, passionate evenings, and slow, wicked mornings.

She said in an extremely composed voice for a newly deflowered maiden, “You are going to have to help me dress.”

He did so, fastening buttons, and even gathering her hair into a coil at her nape and pinning it properly, not wanting to comment on his particular skill in restoring a woman’s coiffure. If she noticed, she didn’t say so, but instead demurely thanked him and allowed him to hand her back into his equipage.

There was no denying she’d been very reckless this afternoon, giving him her innocence.

It wasn’t as if he’d been prudent either in taking it. Moreover, he’d had every
intention
of taking it, which made him much more culpable, but it was startling to realize he felt more satisfied than he had in years.

Maybe even the oh-so-sophisticated, jaded, and experienced Marquess of Stockton liked being in love.

Chapter Thirteen

The clock was very loud, and considering she’d lived at the vicarage her entire life, it was interesting to realize she’d never noticed it before. Louisa looked at her mother, transferred her gaze to her older sister, and then rose. “I suppose I never realized how shallow your interpretation of Christian charity is.”

“You married the son of a duke,” Lavinia said acerbically, “so I doubt you need our charity either way.”

“Mother?”

“You should never have defied your father.” The murmur was low and her mother’s fingers moved, the needle flashing as she mended a shirt.

Why had she even bothered to come? Her father had coldly told her she was a fool, her mother didn’t defend her, and her sister was openly jealous.

In comparison, even though he was more than a little intimidating, the Duke of Sanford was positively congenial.

It seemed the best course to take her leave.

Charles, who waited outside the cottage, practically pacing, took one look at her face and immediately reached for her. “I’m sorry, love.”

She melted into his arms for a long moment, pressed her face against his jacket, and then stiffened her spine. “I am starting to wonder,” she said with only a slight hiccup, “if you are the only person in the world who has ever really loved me. It makes me quite jealous, you know, for all along you’ve been convinced your brother and your father—and for that matter, even Miss Lacrosse—would forgive you anything.”

“They would.” He wiped away a tear she didn’t even know she’d shed with his thumb. “And that is exactly how we’ll raise our children. Not without rules, but with unconditional love. Do we have a bargain?”

She nodded, her throat tight over the tenderness in his eyes. No matter what her family might think, she knew she’d made not just the right choice, but the
only
choice when she’d married him. “We do.”

He led her to his horse and helped her into the saddle, then swung up behind her, his arms comfortably around her. As she wasn’t much of a rider, she’d declined her own mount, intending to walk even though it was several miles from the estate to the vicarage, but Charles had insisted on accompanying her, and now she was grateful he had. It was insulting that her father refused to have her husband in the house, but then again, Charles had obviously expected that sort of rude reception.

“Lucien is in London.” He guided the horse down the path to the village road. “And so is Vivian, of course. She is never very happy there. I am quite sure she would love some company, and their wedding is not far off. I would love to show you the city, and a visit to the dressmaker is in order. We could depart this afternoon.”

Her stomach tightened nervously at the thought, but this was the world she’d married into, and as it appeared she had irrevocably left behind the world she’d come from, she had better get used to it. “Whatever you wish.”

“Said like a dutiful wife.” His tone was amused. “However, keep in mind that what I wish is your happiness.”

London, fashionable society, and all it represented was inevitable. Louisa knew it, and perhaps it would be helpful to have Vivian Lacrosse there to aid her transition into this new life. It was ironic to think she felt she knew the woman Charles was supposed to marry before their elopement, but she did. Even though their acquaintance was only of the most casual kind, one small introduction just before they so impetuously left for Scotland, he’d talked about her enough.

“She won’t mind?”

“If she would, what are the chances she would urge us to elope?” The observation was droll. “I have no idea what has precipitated my brother’s urge to suddenly contemplate marriage, but I
do
know Viv bears you no ill will.”

“Because of your friendship.”

“What else is there in this world but the friends you make and the family you value?”

That was a very Charles-like statement. One of the aspects of his personality she loved was how he viewed the world in a straightforward way, with humor and little rancor. And even today, when her family did their best to shun him, he had some resentment on her behalf, but none for how
he’d
been treated.

Louisa turned and ran a fingertip along his jaw. In the sunlight his eyes were very blue. “I think I am very privileged to know you.”

His grin was a mischievous twitch. He caught her hand and kissed her palm. “That sentiment is reciprocated.”

“Do I really have to go to a modiste?”

“Yes.” His grin widened. “You wouldn’t want to hurt my father’s consequence.”

“God forbid.”

“And you will be delectable in pale blue silk, ribbons in your hair . . . though I admit I like you best in nothing at all.”

“Charles!”

“It’s true.” He tightened his arm around her waist in a gentle squeeze. Not much, but just enough so she felt it. “So what say you, my love, shall we depart as soon as we can ready ourselves?”

“You are avoiding your father.” It was a statement, not a question.

“He’s avoiding me, but it will pass. To the contrary, Lucien
will
talk to me and it seems to me maybe we need to have that conversation.”

She’d always thought the marquess sounded dauntingly unapproachable, but Charles certainly seemed to wish to see his older brother. “I have no objection.” Apprehensions yes, but true objection, no.

In a way, she thought philosophically, lifting her face to the breeze, her father had set her free. She no longer was so worried about pleasing him. It couldn’t actually be done, and upon realizing that, her life had changed.

“You’re sure?” Charles kissed the top of her head.

“I am,” she assured him, leaning back into his embrace. “If you are with me, how bad can it be?”

“Lou, please, it isn’t the countryside, but if it were bad I wouldn’t take you there.”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

He was going to anyway, she knew it. He teased her, “Have I ever mentioned I adore delightful country lassies?”

“Have I mentioned I am partial to rakish gentlemen who lure country lassies into dubious situations?”

“How many do you know?” His voice lost a little of its carefree tone.

“Well,” she paused and pretended to consider it, “you might be the only one, but I am very partial to you indeed, so it follows that my preferences might be in that direction.”

“Only me,” he said succinctly but with underlying steel. “Only me, because you are about to meet a great many gentlemen, rakish or not, and I have a feeling that you will make quite an impression.”

***

He was possessive, and it was a new experience. His wife was beautiful, giving, and at the moment, grieving. Charles couldn’t say he hated her father. The man didn’t deserve that level of emotion, but he now had no respect for him, and that said enough.

* * *

They had packed and left with swift efficiency.

London would be different, and more than that, he hoped it would take her mind off it all.

Still, he bled for her.

“There’s a small inn ahead. We’ll stop there tonight.”

Louisa looked at him, tearing her gaze from the window at the passing scenery. “That sounds lovely.”

“We seem to be spending a great deal of our marriage so far in carriages and small inns.” He smiled ruefully.

“I don’t mind in the least.”

“And I am grateful for your patience.”

“My life has become quite a bit more interesting since I met you.”

“I don’t remember that I
had
a life before you.”

She laughed, which had been his goal. “I think, my lord, we mutually admire one another.”

“I intend to
admire
you thoroughly once we are alone in our room.” He suggestively lifted his brows and grinned.

“Charles!”

She still blushed, which he found charming.

“Ah, the sound of wifely reproof. We’ve been married that long already, I see.”

“Are you ever serious?” Her lips twitched.

“I certainly was when I vowed before God to cherish you the rest of my life.” He said the words softly and slowly. “So the answer is yes.”

It was still warm enough that the window panel was rolled up and the setting sun lit her pale hair with gold fire. She wore it simply, tied back with a ribbon, and her skin was fresh and flawless. But it was her inner beauty that struck him the most, and it had been from that first moment when he’d glanced up and saw her standing there with a small, amused smile on her lovely face as he indulged in a ridiculous game with some street urchins in the village.

They pulled off the road and into the yard of the inn before she could reply, his instructions to their driver specific. He alighted, lifted Louisa out and set her down with a theatrical flourish, and then offered his arm. “I could use a glass of claret and some food. Shall we?”

They ate in the private parlor instead of the main taproom, with the innkeeper hovering enough Charles finally dismissed him with a cordial thanks. The roast beef was tender and covered in gravy, and while it might not be the ducal mansion, it was certainly adequate and Louisa seemed to relax after a glass of wine and a good meal.

“You do realize you will not have to do anything you don’t wish.”

She gazed at him as if startled.

“In London,” he clarified. “I forget sometimes that you aren’t accustomed to it all. Promise that you will talk to me.”

“I will, but also please tell me you will inform me if I fall short or am gauche in some way. I am not nervous on my behalf, but on yours.”

He laughed. “My sweet, you have no idea how gauche even the most elite members of society can be. It is fashionable to be unfashionable, if that makes any sense at all. It would simply make you an Original.”

Across the flickering candles on the table, she looked mystified. “What?”

“I know it sounds to be a contradiction in terms, but Vivian has made it a rarified art form. She is so eclectic that it made her popular to a certain extent. She considered herself a dismal failure in the eyes of society, but it was more that most of the
ton
could not understand why she wasn’t enjoying herself at all those ball and soirees. There were still interested suitors despite that she refused to dance, has never been a flirt, and prefers intellectual pursuits to gossip. Her mother certainly never understood it. I can’t imagine the staggering impact her engagement to my brother has made on the beau monde.”

“What about
our
marriage?”

He had just asked her to be honest with him, so he could do no less. “It will be discussed for a day or two and then everyone will forget it for some new scandal. No one holds the full focus of society for long.”

“You are so unconcerned.”

“Because it doesn’t matter, my love.”

She rose then, graceful and feminine, her smile somehow both arch and shy. “When you are finished with your wine, join me upstairs. I will be waiting.”

He understood her need for distraction and was more than willing to provide it. He’d politely risen but sank back into his chair as she left the room, sipping his wine to give her a few minutes of privacy, glancing impatiently at the small antique clock on the mantel.

And when he did enter their room he found his lovely wife already in bed, deliciously nude, her loose hair like silk against the plain linens.

He couldn’t shed his clothes fast enough, tossing garments without regard to wherever they might land: floor, chair, it didn’t matter. Louisa was laughing when he joined her, and the sound of it stirred his very soul.

“Tell me how much you love me,” he coaxed, her body soft and yielding in his arms, arousal like a white-hot flame. “And I will make it quite worth it.”

“I have to quantify it?” Her eyes were luminous and she touched his hair, slim fingers ruffling the strands. “Hmm. I will try. More than that first gloriously sunny spring day after a cold, dreary winter.”

“Not a bad effort,” he responded, nibbling on her earlobe. “Quite poetic.”

“More than the stars and the moon.”

His mouth teased her neck and his hand cupped her breast. “Go on.”

“More than a cup of tea with an éclair.”

“I would hope so.” He took a taut nipple into his mouth and suckled lightly.

Her sigh was gratifying. “You are making it difficult for me to think.”

“How about now?” His hand slipped between her thighs and found welcome, wet warmth there.

“Yes.”

The breathless response was in communion with his need, his cock pulsing with the rhythm of his heart. Charles shifted between her legs, cognizant that every time he made love to her she was more and more aware of herself of a woman, less inhibited, and when he entered her she lifted her hips with eagerness to accommodate his penetration.

The bottom of her foot brushed his calf, and that caress was almost more sensually pleasing than the way her inner muscles tightened around his erection. “Charles.”

How much life could change, he thought, in blissful erotic enjoyment, moving slowly, each withdrawal and inward glide tantalizing, his eyes half closed, his breathing quickened.

More than the stars and the moon
 . . .

Later, when they lay together in the drifting aftermath, he thought how
he
would not be able to put his emotions into words. So in essence, his question had been entirely unfair. But love wasn’t fair.

At all.