Redemption of the Duke (23 page)

She arched and stretched, and the blanket fell down to her waist. He stared at her
breasts as if he’d never seen a woman before. She rose up on her elbow, her dark hair
falling about her shoulders, her smile languid and knowing, even as she slid her hand
beneath the sheets until she felt the rigid length of him.

He inhaled sharply. “Faith,” he said on a groan.

And then she rose up and straddled him, sliding along his cock with the warm wet depths
of herself. Before he could do more than gasp, he was inside her, and she sat back
on his hips until he was fully sheathed.

“My God,” he said hoarsely, then reached up and took her breasts in his hands.

She sat still for an achingly long time, eyes half closed as she enjoyed his caresses.
He could feel the spasms inside her when she reacted to each touch, and he thought
he’d go mad staying so still. As if reading his mind—or perhaps his cock—she began
to move, strong thighs lifting her up and down, breasts bouncing into his palms. He
sat up to take one breast deep into his mouth, and she moaned and held him to her.
They strained into each other, gasping, aching, and when he felt her come, he arched
up inside her and gave her everything he had.

It was her turn to roll to the side and collapse, and they looked at each other, wearing
silly grins.

“Words . . . fail me,” he said long minutes later, still breathing heavily.

Her grin turned wicked, her hair wild from their exertions. My God, he could have
taken her again, she so roused every part of him.

And then she covered her red face with her hand. “How am I supposed to face your family
like this? No wonder people take wedding trips, just so everyone can become used to
the changed circumstances.”

“Should I whisk you away?”

She dropped her hand, and her smile faded. “No, I wasn’t suggesting that. I should
be here.”

“Whatever you want.”

“Will it always be so easy?” she teased. “Or perhaps this morning was a good example
of why you’re trying to keep me happy.”

“I have more plans to keep you happy. But today, let’s just stay here and be together.
We’ll have all our meals sent up.”

“No! That would be so . . . obvious.”

“So?”

She winced even as she looked intrigued. “Are you certain?”

“I’m certain.”

So that’s what they did. And when they finally emerged from their apartments, they
spent a few days doing things together: horseback riding along Rotten Row in Hyde
Park, to reacquaint Faith with horses after years without them; walks in the conservatory
on rainy days, and they even had a picnic there, which Frances joined, giggling the
whole time at the novelty of it all.

At last they emerged back into Society together, first attending the opera in the
Rothford box. Faith told him it was like letting everyone ogle them all at once, and
getting it out of the way. Privately, he thought his anonymous blackguard needed to
see that none of his threats mattered.

At intermission they hosted many visitors, and he found himself separated from her,
but still watching.

Shenstone made an appearance, which surprised him, smiling his way through the dozen
guests, and then that smile fading when his gaze met Adam’s.

“Rothford,” he said, still in that measured tone so unlike him. “You seem besotted
with your bride.”

“I am. Marriage is a happy state. Perhaps someday you’ll try it.”

And somehow that was the wrong thing to say, for his brows lowered in a frown, and
he soon made his excuses. Adam sighed—when would he figure out how to repair his relationship
with his old friend? Or if he even should, considering Shenstone was under suspicion
for being the anonymous blackguard just by his behavior alone. And perhaps that was
a mistake. Would someone hiding his identity be so openly antagonistic? That actually
gave him a brief moment of hope.

That night, alone in their suite, he watched Faith brush out her hair after her lady’s
maid left. This simple, peaceful moment always brought him a quiet joy at the end
of the day.

“Adam, did you see Lady Emmeline and Lord Shenstone together tonight? It is . . .
a strange friendship. She seems so unhappy about losing the dream of marrying you—even
despondent, according to Sophia. I cannot decide if Lord Shenstone is trying to cheer
her up or—I hate to say it—take advantage of her weakened state to benefit his own
interests.”

Adam sighed. “He’s never been one to abuse an innocent. But lately, I don’t feel like
I know what he’s thinking anymore.”

Faith paused, eyes downcast, her manner far too hesitant.

“What is it?” he asked. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“Do you think Lady Emmeline would sink so low that she might try to become your mistress?
She seems focused on you.”

Adam blinked at her. “You cannot be serious.”

“I know something of desperation,” she reminded him.

“But she is not desperate the same way you were, sweetheart.”

But the forlorn expression wouldn’t leave her face, as if Emmeline’s plight were her
own.

“She will forget about me,” Adam said, coming to stand behind her and resting his
hands on her shoulders. “She has a fortune, beauty, and the beginnings of a caring
nature.”

He said the last as a joke, but Faith didn’t laugh, only continued to look troubled.

“Put this out of your mind, Faith. I want you to be happy. You’re my duchess now.
I did my best to
make
you happy, and I think I was right.”

She met his eyes again and frowned. “Why did you emphasize
making
me happy?”

He paused for only the briefest moment. “I don’t understand what you mean. I wanted
you to be happy as my bride.”

Her frown grew somber and suspicious. “Adam, what is the ‘right thing’ you’re happy
we did? We were found alone together, kissing. Is that?”

“I know it started out precariously, but I always knew we suited, and that our marriage
would be good. Are we not happy?”

And now her mouth fell open before she whispered. “Did you—did you deliberately compromise
me, Adam? Is that how you made me happy?”

Chapter 22

F
aith’s unease blossomed into a cold sensation of fear as she looked into Adam’s eyes
through the mirror. She was almost afraid to turn around, afraid to see that the mirror
wasn’t distorting what she saw with her own eyes. He clenched his jaw, and it was
like the clean thrust of a knife through her ribs.

“Oh Adam, what did you do?” she whispered hoarsely.

He’d asked her to marry him, over and over again, and she’d refused every proposal.
Had he taken the matter into his own hands?

“Did you know your family’s exact schedule that night?” she demanded.

When he still said nothing, she jumped up to face him, but put distance between them,
because if he touched her, she might scream. Every dream of happiness, of feeling
respected and cherished, was slowly burning into ashes.

“Then I’ll go to Sophia and find out!”

“No, there is no need.”

He spoke impassively, but there was a light of righteousness in his eyes.

“Then answer my question!” Her voice sounded shrill, but she didn’t care.

“I knew they would be coming in—not all of them. I thought only Sophia and Aunt Theodosia,
who could be trusted.”

“You—you deliberately humiliated me,” she whispered, hand to her throat as the lump
there grew and grew, demanding to be cried out with angry, painful tears.

“I didn’t want you to feel that way. I knew we’d be embarrassed, but don’t you see?
We need each other, we want each other. I wanted you as my duchess and no other.”

“You wanted to save me from my sins,” she said bitterly.

“I want to protect you, to keep you safe and happy and give you children!”

She saw the incomprehension and frustration on his face, which only made her angrier.

“No—you wanted to save
yourself
from your sins,” she countered. “This is about your guilt, and your need to be in
control. You had all the power over me. Do you know how I blamed myself for besmirching
your honorable reputation? How I thought my own unseemly lust forced you into this
marriage?”

“That’s not true, none of it!”

“I cried myself to sleep, thinking I was every kind of sinner my mother called me—”

“Faith, no.” His eyes went somber and sad. “I wanted to make things better for both
of us.”

“You can tell yourself you were trying to help me, but it wasn’t
about
me—it was about you and the guilt you cannot let go of.” She gave a harsh laugh.
“And to think I hoped we could someday actually love each other.”

“I want that,” he said with urgency.

“This can’t be love, Adam. You want me like a possession, something you have to have
for yourself. You’re
smothering
me! You’ve taken away my freedoms from the beginning—my God, you tricked me into
renouncing my first position, and I forgave you, thinking you’d learned your lesson.
I forgave you for the mistakes that led to my brother’s death. I was such a fool.”

Wildly, she headed for the door, then realized she was in her own room. She turned
and pointed to the far door. “I need you to leave.”

“Faith—”

“I can’t talk anymore. Please go.”

“I will, but we will be finishing this discussion in the morning.”

When he left, she started packing without even giving it another thought. She couldn’t
stay there in a loveless marriage where her husband had no problem manipulating her.

There was a knock on her door.

Frowning, she said, “Who is it?”

“Ellen, ma’am. His Grace sent for me, said you might have need of me.”

And he was right, though he probably didn’t know what for. “Come in.”

Ellen came to a stop on seeing the clothes spread out all over the bed. “Your Grace?”

“I’m leaving, Ellen. For good.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

Faith stared at her. “But . . . I don’t even know where I’m going. You don’t need
to—”

“You believed in me, ma’am. That’s all I care about. Now move aside and let me fetch
your satchel.”

For endless minutes, Faith had been trying not to cry, and now this girl’s kindness
had her eyes stinging. “Thank you, Ellen,” she said, her voice choked.

“Let me do this, while you go speak with Lady Duncan.”

Faith almost protested, not wanting anyone to stop her, but she owed an explanation.
“You’re right. I’ll be back.”

At the countess’s door, she knocked softly, wondering if the elderly woman was still
awake. When she heard her respond, she opened the door to find the room ablaze with
lights, the lady seated at her writing table, turban on her head, wrapped in a voluminous
dressing gown.

“Faith, what a pleasant surprise!”

“Good evening, Lady—Aunt Theodosia.”

As she came into the light, Aunt Theodosia’s smile faded. “What is it, dear?”

The first tears fell down her cheek. “I have to leave,” she said in a broken voice.
“I can’t stay here with him anymore.”

Aunt Theodosia reached for her hand and pulled her to the chair nearest her own. “You’ve
been so happy! You’re both radiant together. I never imagined seeing Adam so at peace.”

“I—I do not want to speak ill of your nephew, my lady. Suffice it to say that he lied
to me about something gravely important. I can’t be with a man who doesn’t respect
me.”

“Surely you can discuss it calmly.”

She shook her head, the tears continuing to drip from her cheeks to her bodice.

Aunt Theodosia handed her a handkerchief. “I insist you tell me or, harsh as it is,
I shall not permit you to go. And if you’re going, you’ll need my help, for where
else will you stay?”

Faith started to cry, and the whole tale about the compromise spilled out.

Aunt Theodosia put her arms around her for a fierce hug. “There, there, dear. I totally
understand how you’re feeling. And though you don’t want to hear it, I understand
my nephew’s thinking as well, foolish as it is. He loves you, and is desperate to
hold on to you and keep you safe.”

“That’s not love, Aunt. And even if he believes it
is
love, he hasn’t learned one thing from it. He humiliated me, more than once, and
I won’t stand for that. I’ll go to a hotel if I have to, although I imagine that would
cause talk.”

“It would,” Aunt Theodosia said with a sigh. “Could you not just move back to your
old room while you work this out?”

“And stare at the duchess’s smirking face every day? Let Adam believe I’ll just accept
whatever he does? No.”

“Then you should go to Mrs. Evans’s. You remember her from the women’s rights meetings?”

“I do.”

“She thought you a diligent worker and a gifted writer. And she’d do anything for
me, of course.”

“Will she mind if Ellen goes with me?”

“Of course not. But she does retire early. I believe you should wait until morning.”

Faith bit her lip. “I’m afraid he might make a scene trying to keep me here. He always
thinks he knows best,” she added bitterly.

“I will make sure he does not. If you leave at dawn, Mrs. Evans will certainly be
awake. And she will be discreet.”

“Thank you. If you need me before then, I will be in my old room.”

Aunt Theodosia sighed, her wrinkled face drooping in sorrow. “I’m so sorry, dear.
But promise me you will not refuse to see him, that you will give your marriage the
chance to recover.”

She hesitated. “I might need time to get over this terrible grief. How can I talk
to him if I’m doing nothing but crying?”

“You must truly love him.”

Faith felt the stark pain of that. “What does it matter? My love is not returned.”

Sleeping in her old bedroom, she tossed and turned through the night. At dawn, she
and Ellen flagged down a hackney, and then Rothford Court was behind her. It was for
the best, even though her heart thought otherwise.

A
dam wasn’t even dressed when he heard a knock. His spirit lightened until he realized
it wouldn’t be Faith, because it came from the outer door.

“Come in,” he said, tightening the belt on his dressing gown.

Aunt Theodosia stood there, hands on her hips. “You great big fool, she’s left.”

He blinked. “I know she returned to her old room, but—”

“No,
left.
She’s out front, looking for a hackney.”

“What? Did you know sooner?” He ran for the bellpull and gave it a yank.

“Last night. Don’t worry, I know where she’s going, but she left even earlier than
I imagined.”

“She needs a man with her.”

“You can send one to Mrs. Evans’s town house.”

He grimaced. “That old bat? She’ll fill Faith’s head full of nonsense.”

Aunt Theodosia puffed out her bosom. “The nonsense that both Faith and I believe in?
No wonder she left you!”

“What did she say to you?”

“Everything—that you manipulated her ruin.”

“That is a terrible way to put it.”

“But it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

He sighed, hands on his hips.

“You made an awful mistake,” she said gently, sadly.

“I see that now. I’ll fix things.”

“I don’t know if you can.”

He froze on the way to his dressing room, then said over his shoulder, “Don’t say
that, Aunt.”

His valet arrived, and Adam requested Hales to attend him. He wished Aunt Theodosia
would leave and take her condemning stare with her, but he wouldn’t throw her out.
He walked into his dressing room and started to change. Hales was there before he’d
done more than put on trousers, so he sent the young man to stand outside Mrs. Evans’s
residence and watch over Faith.

He felt sick with worry, despondent that he’d made so many thoughtless mistakes, assuming
he knew best. What the hell did he know—he couldn’t even find one persistent blackguard.

Faith’s rejection stung him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He’d grown up with rejection,
had brothers who ganged up against him, so one would have thought he’d be immune to
it. He was not going to let this happen. He and Faith belonged together.

He wasn’t certain how any of this had happened. He’d worked hard to help Faith without
being that impulsive man again, that man who jumped into an idea without enough thought.
He’d taken deliberate steps to protect her from the blackguard, had gotten her away
from terrible employers. And then he’d realized he was falling in love with her. He’d
spent days trying to get her to marry him, before succumbing to a last-resort solution.

And they were happy—
he’d
been happier than he’d ever been in his whole life.

He emerged from his dressing room to find his aunt calmly seated, both hands resting
on her cane.

“I still can’t believe you let her go alone,” he grumbled.

“She’s not alone—Ellen is with her.”

He rounded on his aunt. “You know I’ve been suspicious of that girl. And I received
another note threatening to call my duchess a whore in front of all of London.”

He expected the old girl to flinch, but she only narrowed her eyes.

And then he remembered. “Wait. Faith told Ellen she was keeping her on permanently,
even before I received the final note. Ellen was relieved and happy, or so I’ve been
told.”

“Then she wouldn’t have written such a terrible letter, Adam. I can’t believe it of
her—this person hasn’t even asked for money, which could be the only motive for a
poor girl like her.”

He nodded, but inside, everything that had happened was finally sinking in. He’d driven
Faith away without telling her she might be in danger, all because he’d wanted to
keep her in a happy little cocoon of innocence. He hadn’t been able to protect her
innocence from her brother’s death, and now he hadn’t been able to protect
her.
He’d driven her away, when all he’d wanted was to be married to her, to be happy.

Was compromising her truly all about him, as she’d accused?

But he couldn’t name and reflect on his sins, not now. Her protection was all that
mattered.

“Aunt Theodosia, it’s time to confront the suspects once and for all. Since I can’t
get proof—I can only judge them in person.”

“Perhaps you should inform Faith at last.”

That went against everything inside him. “I can’t cause her any more pain than I already
have. Let me first make this last attempt.”

She nodded, her expression skeptical.

“Tell the family whatever you think best about Faith.”

“I think it’s best to be somewhat honest.”

“Fine,” he said coolly.

S
henstone wouldn’t agree to meet with him that day unless he fenced, so, gritting his
teeth, Adam stood in the entrance hall and put on his gloves midmorning, ready to
go confront his old friend. So far he’d avoided his mother and everyone else, so he
didn’t have any idea who knew what about his marriage.

“But why did she leave?”

Adam froze upon hearing the plaintive voice of his ten-year-old niece. She was in
the family drawing room, the door partially ajar.

“Faith is upset.”