Duchess by Mistake (9 page)

A footman poured wine into their glasses as another footman came from the kitchen to spoon clear turtle soup into their bowls. While Philip was consuming his soup, she took the opportunity to peer at him.

What power he emanated! There was an air about him that bespoke authority, and his very solidness in stature and personality commanded respect from male and female alike.

The fire at his back danced in his dark hair as her gaze pored over his nearly black eyes, strong jaw line, and handsome face. She came to realize that even were he not a duke, he could have had any woman in the kingdom.

Why me?

She should be flattered, but she was not. Everything about their so-called courtship had happened so rapidly, she felt as if she'd been tossed into a cyclone. Would she ever feel normal again?

For most of the dinner, they ate in silence. After the sweetmeats were eaten, he placed his hand on hers and spoke in a gentle voice. "I thought you and I could sit before the fire in the library and enjoy a glass of Madeira before going to bed."

Anything that would delay the bed business held vast appeal. She nodded.

He had selected the library for two reasons. First, it was his favorite room at Glenmont, and secondly, on a blustery night like this, it was the warmest chamber in this chilly house. That was the trouble with all this bloody marble: when it was cold outside, it was cold inside.

As he strolled into the chamber and began to pour the Madeira, Elizabeth stood statue-still in the room's doorway.

Was something the matter? He spun around to peer at her just as a smile lifted her fair face, and a sparkle glittered in her eyes. "It's a wonderful library! I had expected something massive--like the rest of Glenmont--but this is a most comforting chamber."

Her comments oddly satisfied him. She obviously shared his good opinion of the Glenmont library. "I thought it clever of my grandfather to run the books vertically rather than horizontally to keep the chamber's intimacy." Despite that a second story of fine, leather-bound books in dark wood bookcases soared to lofty heights, the library managed to retain its coziness. The square room owed its intimacy to the red-hued Turkey carpets and the fireplaces on each of the four walls, all of them ablaze tonight.

"Won't you sit at the sofa?" he asked. A pair of blue velvet sofas faced each other in front of the room's largest fireplace.

A moment later he set the two full glasses on the table in front of her and came to sit at  her left, offering her the glass of Madeira. They sat there sipping in silence for a moment, both watching the fire blaze as winds howled outside. Could anything be better than being here on a cold night with this fine woman who was now his wife?

He had damn near lost his breath when he had strolled into her bedchamber earlier and saw her standing there, the rich red velvet accentuating the milky white of her delicate shoulders and the sweet swell of her breasts. Her pale blonde hair had been swept up, but a few loose strands escaped.

It was the carelessness of those few delicate strands that almost undid him. How he wanted to touch them, to loosen her silken hair, to loosen the scarlet dress until it pooled on the carpet beneath her feet. He had tried not to even glance at the bed for fear of acting on his seductive thoughts.

Now, as they sat in the library, the silence between them was like the glare of an unwelcome guest. Sadly, conversation was hindered by their lack of familiarity. What did he
really
know about her? Of course he knew things like her age and lineage. He knew that she possessed a kind heart. He now knew she shared his good opinion of his favorite room. "Tell me," he finally managed, "are you fond of dancing?" Was that the best he could do?

"Only slightly more than Lydia. Why do you ask? Surely, you're not planning an assembly here?"

He laughed. How ridiculous she must think him. "No, these next few days will be devoted to two activities and only those two activities."

She raised a brow. "And they are?"

"First, I desire to get to know you better."

She offered him a sweet smile. "And second?"

"I'm going to finish reading that blasted tax bill. I have a great deal to learn."

"I wonder how many members of the House of Lords are taking their duties as seriously as you? Do you think others are slaving over the lengthy bill?"

He shrugged. "My father never did."

"Nor did mine."

He refrained from speaking ill of the man who was her father. It was best to avoid mention of the disagreeable man. Finding something complimentary to say about him was impossible. Philip thanked God the man's offspring did not take after him.

Tender-hearted Elizabeth was as unlike her father as white to black. And Haverstock, too, was as honorable a man as there was.

"Since you desire to take this time to further our acquaintance," she said, "I think it was most kind of your unmarried sisters to leave Glenmont to us."

"Indeed it was. I knew if they were here, you'd ignore me."

Her eyes widened. "So you asked them to go to London?"

He chuckled. "I was teasing you. My sisters are clever enough to understand that a honeymoon calls for privacy."

The fire once more held her attention. Was she embarrassed to think of their impending intimacy? A pity he could not offer her assurances, but he was incapable of speaking of intimacies even to a Cyprian. Some things just weren't discussed.

He watched as she brought the glass to her lips and sipped. Soon, he would possess those lips.

"I will own," she said, still gazing at the fireplace, "that it seems terribly unnatural to be alone with a man. I keep looking over my shoulder for a chaperon."

"You must start thinking of me as your husband. Then our being together will seem completely natural." He hoped.

She took another sip as her head dipped in assent.

He'd encouraged her to drink the Madeira. It should serve to relax her--perhaps even encourage her to be more amorous. He finished his own drink, and a moment later rose and refilled both their glasses.

As she sipped at the second glass, he could almost see the tension uncoil from her. A smile began to play upon her lips, and her eyes met his with increasing regularity and with more warmth. "Was it difficult for you to leave the Contessa Savatini?"

He stiffened. "You are never to speak of . . . of women I am supposed to have bedded." He gave her an icy stare. "One cannot believe everything one hears."

"I'm sorry. I thought you wished for you and me to become better acquainted."

"The subject you initiated is taboo."

Her lashes lowered, and she was silent for a moment. "It shan't be repeated," she said apologetically.

He chastised himself for spoiling the mood. She was mellowing, and he'd gone and spoken to her with no more tenderness than he'd speak to a dishonest servant. He pressed her slim hand between both of his. "Forgive me, dearest. It may have sounded like I was angry with you, but I assure you, I am not."

She nervously sipped at the Madeira, then began to giggle.

"Pray, what amuses you so?" he asked.

"Your ineptitude in initiating conversation.
Do you enjoy dancing?
" she mimicked.

His hopes were dashed. She
did
notice the stupidity of his question. He could not avoid adding his hearty laugh to her melodious giggle.

"Now it is my turn," she finally said, meeting his gaze with laughing eyes. "Allow me to make an elucidating inquiry about you. Tell me, your grace, do you prefer the index finger or the ring finger?" The serious look she directed at him belied her levity.

"Oh, definitely the ring finger."

"But can you point with it?"

"A most serious consideration, to be sure." He lowered his brows in mock thought.

She began stabbing him--most inelegantly--with her finger which wore the Aldridge ruby he'd placed there that morning.

His deep laugh bellowed. "Not bloody well, I see."

"You're not 'posed to say bloody in the presence of a lady. 'Tis bloody indecent."

Once again, she had him laughing. By Jove, if a man had to be shackled, he could do much worse. There was something utterly satisfying about being married to one who made you laugh.

The wine had relaxed her enough to allow her to say things she would never say were she perfectly sober. He fancied this fanciful bride of his.

Especially when she used the word
indecent
. For being indecent with her was exactly what he wished most. Being with this woman not only made him laugh, but the very scent of her fragrant rose water, the melodious trill of her laughter, the delicacy of her graceful neck, the milkiness of her bare shoulders--all of these things had come to intoxicate him.

Whether she knew it or not, Elizabeth was unexpectedly sensuous.

His throat went dry, and he was unable to peel his gaze away from her seductive loveliness. He moved closer, so close that their thighs touched, so close that the softness of her breast brushed against his upper arm. "But, my love," he murmured huskily, "I am indecent."

In the seconds when their eyes locked, hers went from sparkling to darkly smoldering.

He drew closer. His breath grew short. His head lowered until his mouth hungrily captured hers. When he drew her into his arms, he was nearly devastated by the whimpering noise she made, by the feel of her arms encircling him, and by the thorough manner in which she returned his ardor. Her mouth opened needily for his wet, swirling kiss.

When at last he pulled away, their sultry gazes locked, then his gaze traveled to the heavy rise and fall of her chest, the enticing tops of her creamy breasts, and he was suddenly compelled to taste them. His head dipped to the bodice of her dress, his open mouth suckling at her.

Her breath shuddered, but she did not demand that he stop. She gave a satisfied moan that nearly unhinged him. She wanted this as much as he! Somehow he managed to free one breast and draw its rosy nipple into his mouth. The inhale and exhale of her whimpering breath--along with the pleasure of tasting her--nearly drove him mad.

In a lifetime of vagrant passions, he'd never experienced anything like this. For this woman was
his
. His wife. An element of purity pervaded everything that occurred between their two bodies.

As satisfied as he was holding her, he wanted more. Were she completely foxed, he would not have been able to consummate this marriage. But since the wine had merely rendered her . . . compliant, he thought perhaps this was the perfect time to complete their union.

Once again their hungry gazes locked as his hand cupped her breast. He spoke in a husky voice. "Will my duchess come to bed now?"

Desire burned in her smoky eyes when she nodded.

When she awakened the next morning—exactly one full day after taking her marital vows—Philip stood beside her bed, a large silver tray in his hand. Though he was unshaven, he was fully dressed.

Unlike her. To her very great surprise, she realized she was thankful it was her husband, and not her maid, who witnessed her nakedness (even though most of said nakedness lay beneath the bed coverings). After everything that occurred between her and Philip on their wedding night, her maidenly modesty had vanished with the same finality as her chaperons.

Her pulse sped up as she gazed upon him. Even were he not a duke, he would have conveyed power with his towering physical presence. This dark knight she had married exuded masculinity from his black hair to the dark line of stubble on his square jaw, and along the sinewy muscles of his body.  And what a magnificent body it was!

He spoke with levity and not without a devilish glint in his eye. "I took the liberty of getting the tray from your maid."

She scooted away from the bed's edge so he could place the tray there. "I am ever so grateful. I would have died of mortification had Fanny seen me like this." Clutching the sheet over her breasts, she added, "Now, my dear husband, I beg that you find my night shift. It must be tangled in the sheets."

His caressing gaze then traveled to the floor. "No, my love. It's actually here on the carpet." He stooped to pick it up, then handed it to her. "Shall you need assistance?" His brow quirked, his mischievous smile returned.

"I can manage quite well on my own, thank you." She did not fancy him staring at her breasts under the light of day. Night was quite another matter.

"Good because I cannot guarantee my proper conduct." His lazy gaze traveled from her face downward.

Her universe was confusingly skewed this morning. Everything that she had once deemed
improper
now seemed proper. Because their union had been sanctified by a sacrament. Yet in the light of day she was having a great deal of difficulty owning her wanton behavior of the night before. Dear lord, would Philip think her brazen?

She flicked a furtive glance at him, and the tenderness she saw on his face indicated he was pleased with her.

It suddenly occurred to Elizabeth that such intimacies as they had partaken of the previous night could also be performed in the daytime. The very memory of those intimacies sent her heartbeat racing, sent a molten heat to her core.

It was as if she looked at him with new eyes. He was no longer the powerful Duke of Aldridge over whom maidens swooned and men cowered. This gentle lover was her husband. She would never know the feel of any other man's hands on her body for she belonged to him. And he to her.

No longer could she call him Aldridge, or even your grace. He was now simply
Philip
. The name on her lips sounded like a lover's whisper. And perhaps that's what it was.

She may not have entered into this marriage as a woman in love. She may not possess his love. But she was now his in every way. Until death.

She took the soft chambray shift and eyed him. "Oblige me by turning your back whilst I slip this on."

He chuckled, but did as she requested, moving to her tall casements and beginning to draw open the draperies to reveal a gray day that was not overly dreary. Then he came to sit on the side of her bed. "How long before you'll be ready to ride?"