War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5 (10 page)

His big hand made nothing of the soft mound, but he caressed her gently, holding her as if she was fashioned from china. All the while he kissed her, his penetration of her mouth turning carnal.

If anyone had described this to her, Ruth would have recoiled, but the difference between knowing and doing yawned like a vast chasm under her feet. This was like nothing she could ever imagine. She had no answer to it, and no resistance either. Their previous kiss was as naught compared to this.

She clung. It was all she could do, hang on and see where this took her. Thrills chased each other up and down her spine, each one stronger than the last. Her breath shortened.

He lifted his mouth, but kept his hand on her breast. Stilled, he watched her. “We should not do this.”

“No,” she said shakily.

“But we will. The only person who can stop me is you.”

He lowered his head, barely touching his lips to hers. This time she came to him, arching her back to increase the intensity of the kiss. She craved more. He obliged, stroking her back while they melded their mouths together. She tasted him as he took her, caressing her breast, tugging gently at her nipple.

Nobody had touched her there before. Women from a different stratum of society, they would be more accustomed to touching, but her—she didn’t even possess a maid. Thoughts chased each other around her head, none of them making sense. Except the one. She wanted more. She’d do anything if he just carried on.

Who knew she would crave this so totally? Nothing in her imaginings added up to this.

He jerked her hard against him, so his—rod?—pressed against her stomach. He moved in a rhythmic motion, grinding against her lower body. She gasped into his mouth as her groin burned, hotter than if her clothes had caught fire.

Abruptly he pulled back, removed his hands from her body and stood.

Left in the void, she stared up at him, blinking. Her mouth was plumped from his kisses, her night rail tucked up above her knees. How had that happened?

Turning around, he dragged the robe from his body and tossed it at her. “Put it on.”

Swallowing, she stood on shaking legs and thrust her arms through the sleeves. The garment hung on her. She took it off and tossed it back at him. “It’s like wearing a carpet.”

She felt stupid. How on earth did she imagine she could do this? What was she thinking? That his back view was mouthwatering delectable, she still wanted him, still throbbed for him.

She stood up and shook back her disordered hair, only half in its plait. “I will not disturb you further.”

He shrugged back into the robe before he turned around. His hair was even more disordered, probably because she had thrust her hand into the silky mass. His eyes were dark with passion, his body tense. She had never seen any man so beautiful before. His body blocked out the light from the window behind him. The silvery light of dawn streamed around him as if he was some kind of dark god. He looked pagan and uncivilised.

More desirable than anyone she’d ever seen.

He pulled the robe across his naked body and did just enough of the hooks and eyes to cover himself from the waist down. “Come. I said I would take you back to your room, and I will.”

Realisation slammed into her. “Did you do that to my—to Rhea?”

“Did I do what?”

“Kiss her until she gave in?”

“Is that what you think just happened?” Flinging his arms out, he turned and strode around the room, coming to a halt before the door. That meant she couldn’t get out without going around him. “No, I did not.” He gazed at her. Now he was facing the light, she could not mistake his anger, even though remnants of what appeared to be arousal remained in the full lips, the dark eyes. He pushed his face closer to her. “She did it to me.”

“What?” She jerked back, clutching her gown like the virgin she was. Rhea, her sweet sister? True, Rhea occasionally forgot to control her impulses, but she would not know what she was doing, not properly. She was as pure as Ruth, or she had been.

“Rhea came to me, not the other way about. I did not push her away. When I had her, she was not a virgin. Is that clear enough for you?” His chest heaved as he breathed deeply, as agitated as she was.

Instinctively, she trusted him. Her sister was a respectable woman, and God knew their parents worked hard to make them remain so. Even so, they’d had chances and God knew Rhea was a flirt. She could have gone too far.

The times Ruth was walking the countryside, when she’d caught her sinful glimpses of naked men, the times they spent alone. Nobody could eliminate any possibility, short of locking them up. Her parents only ever did that as punishment, and their chaperonage, while adequate, had not been oppressive.

Had a fun-loving girl like Rhea gone too far? Just as she, Ruth, had done a few moments ago?

Wildly, she looked around for something to cover her near-nakedness. She found nothing, except the dusty covers over the furniture. Before she could grab one, his hand shot out and he caught her wrist. “No, they’re not suitable.”

“How did you know?”

“Your actions. I don’t need to read your mind to know what you’re thinking.” His eyes dilated slightly, but she had no idea why.

She laughed, scoffing at his supposition. “As if you could! How would you know what I’m thinking?” She’d spent years hiding her most private thoughts and learning how to show nothing in public. Only then could she bear the humiliation of spending the local assemblies propping up the wall or pretending she did not care.

“I can see it,” he said softly. His shoulders moved, as if he would step closer, but he straightened again. “I watch you, Ruth. You comment with your eyes, and the way you move.”

“You watch me because you have nobody else to watch.” That was the plain truth. “I distracted you.”

From what, though? The disgrace of having children he did not believe were his foisted on him? It became clear why he was so convinced they were not his. If what he said was true—but how could it be?

“Rhea rode a lot.” It was well known riding could weaken the evidence of virginity, the small piece of tissue he must break before taking her. Girls gossiped, and even if they rarely invited Ruth into their groups, she could hear them. She learned much that way.

His upper lip curled in an unmistakable sneer. “That is often used as an excuse. More than a layer of skin marks a woman as a virgin.” He shook his head. “For instance, I know you are.”

“How?” She bit her lip, wishing she could take it back. She did not want to know.

“You are tentative when you touch me. You don’t know how to respond.” His eyes creased at the corners, as if he was about to smile, but it did not develop. “I must teach you, which, I should tell you, excites me. That in itself is unusual, because I prefer experienced women. When I had Rhea, I thought she was a serving-wench. She had dressed in a green gown, a plain wool one, much like the one I’ve seen on you.”

Ruth caught her breath. The gown had belonged to Rhea once, passed to Ruth when Rhea declared it too shabby, just before she announced her pregnancy. How could he know that? It was a plain gown, the type dressmakers would run up to sell as a ready-made garment, easily altered. Except on Rhea, it had reached the floor and it served as a practical ankle-length one for Ruth. The colour had changed, from a rich, forest-green to a sadder colour. It was the same gown.

“She came to you clandestinely?”

“She did, when I was staying at the inn, before I ventured forth into local society. I was planning to travel on, but Rhea’s parents prevailed on me to stay. It was then I met her as a daughter of the house, and I realised what I had done. What she had persuaded me into. So I left. I wanted none of that mess. Little did I know the only reason she seduced me was so I could prove a convenient parent to her children. Who she had originally been with, I do not know.”

Ruth did. His story sounded all too true. The dates worked. She hated even doubting her sister, especially with the man who had just tried to seduce her, but the story sounded like something her lovely, reckless, foolish sister would attempt.

She lifted her chin. “So you use this as an excuse when you are trying to seduce me?”

Clasping his hand to his forehead, the duke groaned and turned away, his loose robe flapping around his bare legs. “I did not. What happened was not intended. I merely wished to ensure you were well and calm you before I took you to your room. I wanted to thank my saviour, not seduce her.”

He sounded sincere. Then, a rake would have the practice. That did not accord with what she’d read about him. When the gossip sheets reported his affair with the Frenchwoman, they remarked on how rare it was for the Duke of Lyndhurst to succumb in such a way, and in public. Every one made a point of blaming her, and while the Tory Englishman’s dislike of everything French was amply recorded, surely they would fall on any juicy gossip had Lyndhurst been a recidivist?

Her head pulsed with pain. She could not take this in. He could be right, and her sister could have, as was her wont, fallen into trouble. Rhea never thought before she acted, rushed into every adventure with wholehearted enthusiasm. That was how she broke her leg, jumping out of a tree, declaring it was not so far to the ground. The leg healed and their mother opined that she hoped Rhea would learn her lesson. She had not. Her impulsiveness had drawn her into a worse mess, if what the duke said was true.

She shook her head. “Let me go, if you please.”

“I will escort you.”

“No.”

“Then let me say this. I do not regret what happened in this room tonight. I cannot. Ruth, you are intelligent, charming and a constant delight. I would not have you remain, apart for fear I will fall on you the moment we are together again. I will not, I swear it. Rather than forego your presence, I will bind my hands when you are near. You may tie me to the nearest chair. The fault was mine, all mine, and I will endeavour to ensure it does not recur.”

He sounded perfectly honest again, but then he would, wouldn’t he? Did he want her, or was he toying with her?

Stepping aside, he opened the door for her and bowed. “Ma’am. I owe you a deep debt of gratitude. Shall I see you at breakfast?”

With relief, she shook her head. “I will take my turn feeding the babies today. I arranged it with Andrea earlier. She must sleep some time.”

He frowned. “A pity that you have to go. I want you to trust me. I take a deal of pleasure in our conversation. If you keep away from me I will have nobody to discuss politics with, or the news from abroad, and I will miss that.”

“You could go to London and find people to do that.” So why did he not go?

“I’m waiting for the scandal to blow over.” He grimaced. “Believe it or not, I am not accustomed to being the centre of gossip, and I find I do not care for it. I want to return as an ordinary man.”

“You are a duke.”

“Apart from that.” The frown melted into a smile, the expression she found so addictive. “I am just another member of society. I want to go to my club and not hear newspapers rattled at me as people pretend not to notice me. I want to enter a ballroom and not have people stare. Besides, who goes to London in August?”

His lofty tone fitted him so ill she nearly burst into laughter. The switch from outraged lover to lofty duke was completed so adroitly she could not see when he made the change, only the result. Either way, he did not intimidate her as either personage. Well, not much, although if she must choose, she’d take the lofty duke. She could handle him. All she need do was curtsey and keep her head down.

“One more thing,” he added as she passed him, holding her breath for fear she would inhale some of the essence she found so irresistible. “When we are on our own, my name is Marcus. It would please me greatly if you would use it. I tire of being ‘your grace’ or ‘sir’ all the time. I’m in danger of forgetting my own first name.”

Although tempted, she did not give him a saucy response, only dipped into a swift curtsey and said, “As your grace wishes,” so demurely she could not explain the deep, delicious chuckle that followed her up the corridor.

Chapter Seven

“The duke said this was for you,” Mrs. Brindlehurst said, handing her a swathe of silk. She had asked Ruth to share a dish of tea with her in the housekeeper’s room.

Ruth liked it here. The room was comfortably furnished and in the corner stood Mrs. Brindlehurst’s desk, the account books neatly laid on the polished surface. This was both sitting room and office, situated belowstairs, the housekeeper’s counterpart to the butler’s pantry. She would like a room like this for herself one day, modest but comfortable.

She shook out the fabric. It was the most beautiful robe she had ever seen. Pink, with patterns of flowers, and lined with pure ivory silk, as fine as a sweet pea petal, she admired it in wonder. “I thought it a piece of fabric.”

“He says it is in thanks for the service you rendered him.” Mrs. Brindlehurst busied herself pouring the tea, giving Ruth a moment of privacy.

She blinked. “I did nothing I should not,” she said lamely. Although she had come close. He had stopped at a few kisses, although she would have given him much more. It was probably just as well he didn’t know that, but she had wasted some time in imagining what would have happened if he had. “I only extinguished the fire until the others got there.”

“I know, my dear. Henstall explained it all. Since the nursery wing is directly above his rooms and you were on duty with the infants, you were the first to detect the smell of smoke. He said you used your old robe to extinguish the fire. The duke says this is to replace it.” The housekeeper’s eyes gleamed with speculation, but Ruth would not indulge her with gossip.

“A candle he did not extinguish properly, he said.”

“Yes indeed. His grace is not always as careful as he should be.”

What of the mysterious small fires she had put out on her way to his room? They were not caused by candles. What were they? She would ask him, if she ever dared come close to him after what had transpired between them. Since nobody mentioned them, Ruth would not speak of them to anyone else. The house was still standing, and everyone was still alive. Little had been lost, apart from the drapery in the duke’s bedchamber. Except for her old robe, of course, which was comprehensively ruined.

Thus the garment she was holding in her hands. It appeared new, unlike the clothes she’d taken from the attics. Where would he have got it from? Or did he have it laid by for just such a chance? “I couldn’t accept it,” she said firmly. What would it look like, to accept such a personal gift?

“Of course you must.” The housekeeper settled in her chair and took a long draught of tea. “It’s a reward. If you don’t want to use it, you may sell it. You’ll get a good price for something that fine. You’ll probably find a hefty bonus in your pay come quarter day too. The duke is a generous man when he puts his mind to it.” She put the dish down in its saucer while Ruth picked up her own reviving brew. “You’ve done me a favour too. This morning he gave orders to engage enough servants to keep this place in reasonable order and set a watch at nights. It means he’ll be living as a duke should. We can open up more rooms, and keep the others in better heart.”

Ruth was glad to hear that, at least. It meant she would not find it as easy to slip along to the library, or to spend so much private time with the man who was fast becoming an obsession with her. Every time she thought of him last night, casually dressed, as only his family should see him, she found herself dreaming of possibilities she should never entertain. He kissed her because he was glad to be alive. That was all. He waited with her until she calmed, and the kisses were merely an expression of that. Nothing else, and she would be foolish to imagine anything further. Even if she would treasure those moments until her dying day.

“Then I should get about my duties. He has a maid coming from London for the nursery. He may not want me much past the time she arrives.” She finished her tea, and got to her feet, smoothing the robe over her arm. “I would prefer to complete the nursery arrangements before I leave.”

She did not stop stroking the silk all the way to her room. That night, she changed at the earliest opportunity so she could try it on.

* * * * *

Although Ruth was tempted to ignore the duke’s requests and avoid the library, the lure of the books proved too much. When she entered the next day, hoping she would be alone, he stood and bowed to her. “Good afternoon, Ruth,” he said, a glint in his eyes.

“Good afternoon, s—Marcus,” she said, greatly daring. “Thank you so much for your gift. I should not accept something so fine.”

“It was only right I replaced the one you ruined in my service. Let me hear no more of the matter.” He resumed his seat behind the big desk, his movements brisk. His attitude gave her the chance to accept his gift as a mere replacement, and in all truth, it would hurt her to give it back.

She took her time finding a book, but eventually selected a novel she had not read and retreated to the window seat at the far corner of the room. After half an hour when the words danced before her eyes and she could not take in a word of what she read, she returned the book to the shelf and left.

The duke made accepting his dictates easy. Over breakfast the next day he asked her for news of the nursery and then discussed the affairs of the day with her, not trying to come any closer than he should. That afternoon she had the library to herself.

Ruth found slipping into the room for the occasional half hour easy, and she got into the habit of going there after dinner for an hour, if she was not on duty with the twins. The boys were settling to their routine, now that she imposed one, and they seemed much more content for it. Babies liked their days organised, knowing when to expect meals, when to settle for sleep, and so on. Their ease spread to the rooms allotted as the nursery wing, and over the next two weeks the house settled into an easy mood.

Except for one change. After the night when he’d nearly burned to death, Marcus employed more servants. Now the house possessed more like its full contingent, thirty people, who spent their days opening up the rooms that had been closed and cleaning them. He chose to inhabit the duchess’s room while his own was refurbished as, he informed her gravely, he had taken a fancy to it.

Ruth had not replied, pretending to be engrossed in her book.

She liked him. She glanced up at him from time to time, but never caught him looking at her. If she followed her instincts she would trust him completely, but there remained the possibility he was lying. She had not stopped thinking about her sister, at least, when she was not thinking about him and how glorious his body felt against hers. Only twice, and it would have to be enough to last her a lifetime, because she would not do it again.

She wanted to stay with the babies, but the duke was increasingly difficult to resist. If he chose not to pursue the undeniable attraction between them, that would make her life easier. If a great deal emptier.

Not that he showed any inclination to repeat his actions. The first time, in the nursery, she strongly suspected he’d been teasing. The second was probably the result of shock, after he was nearly burned in his bed.

He never explained the smaller fires that had led her to him. She remembered them vividly, but lacked the courage to ask. If he didn’t know, then that would be a question wasted. Instead she asked him about his opinions, so she could get to know him better.

He looked up, pen in hand. “I lock my bedroom doors at night. It causes my valet a lot of inconvenience, so I furnished him with a key. I did not lock my door merely to vex him. You know why, don’t you?”

He’d done it again, voiced what she was thinking. “So you don’t wander at night?”

He smiled and her treacherous heart missed a beat. “Just so.”

How could she ever forget the sight of him naked? She would try, that was all. Eventually the memory would fade. It had to, because he would not repeat it, and she did not want him to.

Had he said that to bring the memory back to her? She wouldn’t put it past him. He was a devil, a tease, but try though she might, she did not sense any true malice in him. He was abrupt and unconventional, that was true, but not wicked. Not the man Rhea had painted him. She’d said he was an evil seducer who took advantage of her, and Ruth had believed her.

Either way, she was a fool. If she believed Rhea, then Marcus had fooled her. If she believed Marcus, her sister was a designing seductress.

Someone scratched at the door and entered on Marcus’s impatient, “Come!”

One of the new footmen held a silver salver. Probably one of the visitors Marcus usually refused to see. The neighbours were trying to draw him in, but apart from perfunctory acknowledgements, Marcus preferred to keep himself away from them. In an unguarded moment, Ruth had accused him of not trusting himself not to seduce one of the unsuspecting maidens. Having begun her courses that day, she was out of sorts and sour. He only laughed and agreed with her. “Because I am a vile seducer who cannot look at a woman without wanting her.”

They’d laughed, but Ruth hurt. Their relationship had become what she always said she wanted—a friendship, as much as an employer could befriend his employee. Then why did she continue to miss his touch, the way he treated her like she was something precious? She had not wanted that, would consider any further behaviour an insult. Wouldn’t she?

Of course she would.

Marcus picked up the piece of pasteboard on the tray and studied it, frowning. “The devil! What is he doing here?” he demanded, and rose, leaving the room without glancing in her direction.

The footman lingered, though. “It won’t do you any good,” he said to her. “You can’t get a man like him. Molly’s better looking than you are.” He grinned. “The scullery maid is prettier than you, and she’s rounder in the heel.”

That would be because he’d asked Ruth to accompany him on a walk when they were both off-duty and she rejected his advances. Ruth did not desire to fraternise with the servants to that extent. No, that was wrong. She did not desire to fraternise with
anyone
, not after the duke had spoiled her for any other man. A governess should keep herself apart, but since she was in the position of nursery maid at the moment, she was probably fair game.

The servants spoke guardedly around her. When she ventured downstairs to take her meals in the upper servant’s hall, they spoke about the world outside, and the work they were doing in the house, and it was because Ruth was there. They would not gossip about Marcus in her presence. He made it known she was a distant relative, and that set her apart too, even though families like his had many branches, not all of them as successful as this one. A closer relative would not prove a good employee.

When he left, he sucked the air out of the room. Even though the sultry summer was wending slowly towards the more temperate autumn, she felt the heat in this room. The sun poured through the uncovered windows in the afternoons, even though Mrs. Brindlehurst complained about it. “There’s nothing like the sun for fading wood and fabric,” she’d complained to Ruth at one point. “If you can persuade his grace to close at least some of the curtains, that would be a help.”

Ruth didn’t even try. She would not ask anything of him.

Closing her book, she walked to the bookshelf and replaced it. She was reading one of the old histories she’d found, but the book must be of some value, so she preferred to leave it here. She regulated her reading by only coming here to do it, even though Marcus bade her to borrow whatever she wished, but she feared she would sit up too late reading the trove of novels that occupied one shelf, so much she would abandon her duties or be too tired to accomplish them properly. On the table lay her folder, a pair of pasteboards bound together with ribbon that held her accounts and plans for the nursery. The boys were growing up, and provision must be made for them. Even if she were no longer here.

Because one thing had become plain to her. She would not stay here and watch Marcus marry, and sire children of his own. Not if she continued in this state of limbo, wanting him and yet aware she could not have him.

Should
not. Her sister had him first, she could never forget that. But the Marcus she knew now was not at all the one she had come here to find, the one who had seduced and abandoned Rhea. It was as if he was a different person entirely.

Torn by her undeniable attraction to him, her mind a quandary, she returned to the one task she could do without a qualm. Attend to the babies. Whoever their father was—and Marcus had cast considerable believable doubt on his parentage of them—she was still their aunt.

Ruth went back upstairs and smiled sweetly at Andrea.

* * * * *

The duke sent a note, summoning her to appear at dinner that evening.

Perhaps she should demand to know exactly where she stood in the household. Would that help her find a place? If she did that, seeking a place as a governess would not be easy later. She had gone around and around the subject in her head, and was no nearer finding a solution.

That night, she dressed somewhat defiantly in the green gown, although it was more suited to a day gown than an evening gown, and went down to the drawing room. Folding her hands together in front of her stomach in a defensive gesture, she held her breath and stepped through the door when the footman opened it for her. He gave her a wink. She ignored him.

Head high, she sailed in and fixed her attention on an empty chair near the fireplace. Then she lifted her gaze and froze.

Facing her was a dandy in all his glory. He wore a coat of delicate cream, with waistcoat and breeches in the same colour, the waistcoat heavily embroidered with silks and brilliants. His linen was impeccable, a speck would not dare to touch its glory. The lace was so fine she wasn’t sure how it remained together. Jewels glittered on his fingers and at his throat.

She stood dumbfounded, as he swept her a low bow. When he straightened with a graceful sweep, he was smiling, though gently. Was he actually wearing face paint? No, though his features were so fine they gave that impression. His light grey eyes met hers. “As you can see, ma’am, we are alone, so we must introduce ourselves. I’m the Comte d’Argento, a friend of the duke’s. You are?”