Secrets of the Marriage Bed Page 2

  ‘Your Grace?’ Her voice echoed around the grand space of polished oak panelling and marble flooring. The ducal town house was more like a palace than a home. A cold place, full of stiff formality.

  His shoulders tensed as he turned to face her. In this light, the slightly cruel cast of his thin lips gave his golden good looks an aura of decadence. A devil disguised as an angel.

  Yet every time she saw him, his cold beauty made her heart skip a beat.

  One blond eyebrow arched in question, his grey eyes silvery in the light of the huge chandelier above the staircase.

  Her blood heated as the realisation struck her anew. This glorious apparition was her husband.

  The footman retreated to his place beside the door.

  Servants were everywhere and that was part of the reason she had such difficulty approaching him about anything. The lack of privacy drove her to distraction. She was terrified of making a fool of herself in front of his people. Likely they already scorned her for her ignorance with regard to running such a grand household. Thank the heavens they did not know exactly where he had found her or they might refuse to serve her at all.

  ‘I wonder if I might have a word with you, Your Grace?’ She barely managed the words, in the light of his obvious impatience.

  ‘If you must?’ As always his voice sounded icily polite. And bored.

  ‘In private?’ she whispered, with a quick glance at the footman.

  With a huff of breath, he gestured for the man to take his redingote and followed her back into the drawing room. He closed the door.

  She twisted her hands together, her courage deserting her in the face of his wintery gaze. A golden David as cold as the marble from which the statue had been carved.

  His expression changed to one of concern as she hesitated. ‘What has happened?’

  She took a quick breath. ‘If I have offended in some way, I wish you would tell me.’ Oh, she sounded so weak, so tentative, but her first husband had found her very existence offensive. Ultimately she’d been afraid to address him, unless he spoke first, but at least then, she had known why he found her lacking.

  Alistair’s eyes widened for a second, then a bored expression fell over his face like a shield. ‘You mistake, madam. I am not in the least offended.’

  She gritted her teeth at his indifference. ‘Can we not at least be friends?’

  He recoiled. ‘You are my wife.’

  One could not be friends with a wife? And why did he look so grim? She grasped the back of the nearest chair to stop herself from beating her fists on that wide impervious chest in frustration. How did one ask why a husband never came to one’s bed without looking like some sort of strumpet?

  But was that not what she was? After all, he’d bid for her at a bordello while she’d stood on a pedestal practically naked. Her stomach roiled at the recollection. Clearly, there really was no way to keep one’s dignity after such a display. Likely every man he knew had also seen her that night, though as far as she was aware, none had recognised her, since she had taken the precaution of wearing a mask. And little else. She repressed a shudder of shame.

  Still, he had known all this before they’d wed.

  Anger trickled up from her belly. Her chest ached with a slow burn. ‘Why do you never come to my chamber?’ There, she had said it. Announced the desires that haunted her nights.

  His expression shuttered, but not before she saw a flash of what she thought might be anger. ‘I am in no rush to saddle myself with a parcel of brats.’

  Inwardly, she flinched. Should she tell him there was likely no hope of her ever having children, or did she continue to hide behind what little was left of her dignity? And an even smaller shred of hope.

  And besides, what would it hurt to try? It wasn’t as if he could beget an heir with anyone else.

  Perhaps he was now regretting his chivalry. Regretting it so much he disdained to have a child of hers inherit his title? Much as that thought hurt, it also rang true. The Duke was a proud man. Proud of his name and his title. She met his gaze and lifted her chin, unwilling to show how much the possibility hurt.

  When she made no reply his mouth hardened to a cruel line. ‘Was there anything else you required of me?’

  Crushed by his coldness, his deliberate scorn, she looked down and shook her head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Then if you will pardon me, I am late.’ He hesitated for a second, then turned and left.

  Pardon him? If she could have picked him up, she would have thrown him out of a window to be rid of him. She also wanted to cry. Her knuckles whitened, her grip painfully tight on the chair back.

  Finally, she let out a long breath. She needed to think with her head, instead of feeling with her heart. She wasn’t a fool. Something had sparked between them that first night. A very heated something. That was the reason she had dared marry him in the first place. The hope that the attraction they both felt could lead to more.

  She was not going to give up that hope. Not without a fight. She’d had one dreadful marriage, she would not have another. She would not permit this man to destroy what was left of her spirit.

  She wanted a proper husband and, should a miracle occur, a proper family. It wasn’t so much to ask.

  Either they found a way to resolve what was coming between them, or... Well, she must, that was all. There had to be something she could do to rekindle the spark.

  * * *

  The next morning, Alistair stopped short in the doorway of the breakfast room. Never had he seen his wife up and about this early in the morning, nor had he seen her looking more delectable. Dressed in a riding habit of royal blue with black frogging closing the front, she perused the sideboard. The high ruffled shirt rising from the collar framed her beautiful face. A mischievous smile played about her lips and sparkled in her eyes as she glanced his way.

  ‘Good morning, Your Grace.’ She added a scoop of scrambled eggs to her plate.

  Devil take it, he hated conversation before he’d had his first cup of tea. Why couldn’t she take a tray in her room like any other self-respecting noblewoman? Although come to think of it, none of the women he’d been around in the morning were at all self-respecting, or he would not have been there.

  ‘Good morning.’ At least that was what he intended to say. It came out sounding more like a grunt.

  She took her place at the table adjacent to his normal seat. He marched across to the sideboard, loaded up his usual poached eggs and steak and set his plate down. He glanced at the newspaper which had been carefully ironed, folded and set beside his fork so he could glance at the headlines.

  He gritted his teeth. Not today. One did not read at the table when one had female company. Even he remembered that from his youthful lessons in manners. His nursemaid, Digger, would be proud of him.

  Maybe.

  ‘Tea?’ she asked.

  He preferred to pour his own. ‘Thank you.’

  She fixed two cups, added cream and sugar to one and passed it across. He took a sip. Perfect. Exactly how he liked it. How had she known? His temper improved leaps and bounds with each mouthful.

  ‘I see you plan on riding out?’ Hah! A whole sentence and perfectly polite.

  ‘I do. Your stable master, Mr Litton, introduced me to Bella earlier in the week and since it is such a fine morning, I thought to put her through her paces.’

  He hadn’t known she liked to ride. He should have asked. ‘Hmmph.’

  ‘My riding out does not meet with your approval?’

  Blast the woman, did she have to ask him questions? He took another sip of tea. For some stupid reason the morning seemed altogether brighter than it had when he arose from his bed.

  ‘I will ride with you. I always ride first thing in the morning.’ As she probably knew quite well. ‘There is no
reason why we should ride out separately.’ No reason at all, except his confrères might think he had run mad. For years he’d mocked any man so smitten as to ride with ladies at so early an hour. Too dull by half. Yet he had a duty, did he not? To make sure she could handle Bella, as well as see to her safety? A mere groom would not take nearly enough care.

  She raised a brow and looked at him speculatively over the rim of her teacup before taking a sip. She gave a little grimace of distaste.

  ‘Something wrong with the tea?’

  ‘Oolong is not a favourite with me.’

  ‘Tell the kitchen.’

  ‘I will.’ She put her cup down and glanced down at his untouched food. ‘I will be ready in say...half an hour.’ With him or without him being implied. On that note, she daintily consumed the remaining food on her plate and left the room.

  After skimming the political headlines, checking on the arrival of a ship in which he had an interest while he demolished his breakfast, he headed out to the stables. Litton had both horses saddled and was saddling his own. Of Her Grace there was as yet no sign. He was a couple of minutes early and he hoped she would not keep him waiting too long.

  He gave Bella’s tack a thorough inspection, before turning his attention to his own horse. Not that he expected his staff to do anything but an excellent job. ‘Her Grace will not be needing you today, Litton.’

  The man’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Bella’s not been out under a lady’s saddle for months, Your Grace. She’ll need a close eye.’

  A warning if ever Alistair heard one. It seemed Litton had decided to add his wife to the list of people he cared about. Up to now the list had only had one name on it. His own.

  ‘I’ll take care,’ Alistair said.

  Litton’s glance flickered over Alistair’s shoulder, warning him that their topic of conversation had arrived.

  Alistair turned to greet her. Her hat was a version of the one he wore, a black beaver, the crown not quite so tall, and adorned with a scrap of net and a peacock-feather cockade. Very stylish. Hopefully it wasn’t only for show and she rode just as well as she looked.

  Julia had patted her mount’s neck, checked the girth and adjusted the stirrup with a confident hand before signalling her readiness to mount.

  He bent, lacing his fingers together. She adjusted her habit, raising it a fraction, presenting him with a view of a beautifully cut riding boot and a smidgeon of pretty calf. His breath caught in his throat as he recalled the last time he’d had his hands on that calf. How silken her skin had been. How responsive her body to his touch. Once more his body hardened and he bit back a curse at the discomfort. She stepped into his palms and he boosted her into the saddle.

  Bella, who up to that moment had been a perfect lady, shifted uneasily.

  Alistair’s heart gave a thump. He reached for the bridle, then snatched his hand back as Julia expertly brought the animal under control. She patted Bella’s neck. ‘Easy, girl. You know me. We have had several conversations these past few days.’ The mare settled under her soothing hand and quiet words.

  That. He wanted that, her hands on him, soothing, stroking, gentling and perhaps even—He cut the thought off.

  Self-disgust at this rare lack of restraint rose in his throat. He forced it down where it belonged—with the shame of his past. He reached for Thor’s reins, while she continued to pat Bella’s neck.

  He quelled his body’s unruly response with effort and forced his mind to the task at hand. It seemed his wife was an accomplished horsewoman. What else about her did he not know?

  And why would he care?

  He swung up on to his horse and they moved off. Outside in the square, Alistair brought Thor up alongside Bella. ‘We’ll go by way of Park Lane. It should be reasonably quiet at this time of the morning. Stay close.’

  ‘Lay on, MacDuff.’

  He’d like to lay on her. The thought crept into his mind unbidden.

  Damnation. More adolescent nonsense he could do without. More visions of temptation. He shifted in the saddle.

  Chapter Two

  While her husband might not have been thrilled at having her along on his morning ride, at least he had accepted her presence with a modicum of graciousness. She’d half expected him to refuse to allow her to go at all. Her first husband had refused her anything that might give her pleasure. In his eyes, she hadn’t deserved it.

  The day was perfect for riding. A slight breeze, a few puffy clouds and not too much heat. With years having passed since she’d been on horseback, she intended to make the most of every moment.

  ‘What do you think of Bella?’ the Duke asked and, to her surprise, he seemed genuinely interested in her answer.

  ‘Lovely mouth. Beautifully responsive. A perfect lady.’

  He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like I meant the horse. Surely not? She glanced over at him and his expression remained a blank slate. Unless that really was a fleeting twinkle warming his eyes. Was it possible?

  ‘I beg your pardon, I did not quite hear what you said.’

  His lips twisted. ‘I’m glad. She’s not been getting out much recently.’

  Was he glad she hadn’t heard what he said? Or glad that she liked her mount? Not wanting to risk spoiling the accord between them, she decided to let the matter drop.

  His horse, Thor, was a huge black gelding with four white feet. A big horse for a big man, whereas Bella was definitely a lady’s mount. For which lady? She tried to ignore the pang to her heart at the thought of the kind of ladies who must have ridden this horse with him in the past, for there was no mistaking that the animal seemed used to riding alongside Thor.

  ‘Are Bella and Thor always kept in town, or do they go with you to the country?’

  ‘It depends where I go.’

  Hardly forthcoming. She knew he had several country houses scattered around England and visited them once each year in strict rotation, according the housekeeper. Julia had questioned the woman closely the morning after her wedding. At the time, she’d supposed he would want his wife to entertain his friends and arrange his household. It had quickly come to her attention that he did not welcome her meddling in his bachelor arrangements.

  Apart from their wedding ball, attended by every member of the ton, not once had he entertained in any formal way and his only forays from the house were to his man of business, his club and his morning ride. The last, the only activity where a wife might be welcome.

  They passed through the gate into the park and the noise from the streets faded until one might imagine they were deep in the heart of the countryside. Julia took a deep breath. ‘What a beautiful morning to be sure.’

  He frowned and looked around at the trees and the glitter of the Serpentine as if he had never seen it before. ‘Hmmph.’

  ‘I agree,’ she said.

  He raised a brow questioningly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  ‘I agree with your sentiment. While it is a good day, the weather being unusually bright and fine, it is too bad there is nowhere to give the horses a really good run.’ Oh, dear, the widening of his eyes said she had let her tendency for sarcasm run away with her. Something she had learned never to do with her previous husband. A couple of good hard slaps had cured the habit. Apparently, she had started to forget his lessons.

  Having planned this morning as a way for her to get to know him better, to try to rekindle some of the liking he had shown her, even if he no longer felt passion, she had probably ruined it all by speaking out of turn.

  Men did not appreciate being teased about their foibles, Dunstan’s being a marked lack of conversation. At least it was where she was concerned. Perhaps he was a veritable gabble-monger amongst his friends. She pretended nothing was amiss and fixed her gaze straight ahead down the length of Rotten Row.
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  Bella tossed her head as if asking for permission to do more than a sedate walk. In the distance a group of riders were cantering.

  She clenched her jaw to stop herself from asking if they too could pick up their pace.

  ‘Let us see how she is at the trot, shall we?’ Alistair said.

  When she glanced at him she was sure she saw a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, as if he was trying not to smile. Perhaps he had not been annoyed by her teasing after all.

  Quite likely fearsome dukes weren’t accustomed to teasing. It might do him good.

  The horses moved easily into the trot and she was aware of her husband watching her with a critical eye. A comforting thought. This was the first time she had ridden Bella. She was glad he wanted to assure himself that she knew what she was doing.

  He moved into an easy canter. Bella responded to the request to do likewise and they rode side by side. At the end of the Row, they drew to a halt. He glanced over at her. There was something in his expression she couldn’t quite fathom.

  ‘You have a good seat.’

  A compliment? Her spirits lifted. She arched a brow. ‘You already knew that.’ The naughty innuendo tripped off her tongue before she could catch it.

  His eyes widened. And, as sudden as a bolt of lightning, a crack of laughter broke free from him. Delight lit up those grey eyes, turning them a sparkling silver. ‘Race you back.’

  Her heart somersaulted in her chest at the sight of the tempting curve to his lips. She remembered the feel of kissing those lips. Then they had wed and he’d thrown up his barricade. For some mad reason she had the urge to kiss him again. Right now. Very shocking. While it certainly wouldn’t do for a married couple to be showing any signs of affection in public, she was absolutely ready to take up his challenge of a race. ‘Why not?’ She turned Bella around.

  ‘Go!’ she said. Bella responded without hesitation. She let the little mare have her head, aware all the time of the thunder of the larger horse behind them, catching up, and then they were neck and neck.