The Third Duke's the Charm (23 page)

Chapter Twe
nty-four

It was nice that she no longer felt a need to conceal her fatigue in the afternoon. Vivian had avoided telling her parents the truth about her pregnancy, but now that it was done, at least she didn’t need to hide it.

So when the knock came on her door, she was dozing, indulging her body’s need for rest as it nurtured her child.

“My lady?” The knock came again, more urgently.

“What is it?” She woke more fully, half sitting up.

“You have a visitor.”

Charles, no doubt. He had stopped by every single day since she’d arrived in London. “I will be down in a moment.”

“I think you should hurry.”

Her first thought was that something had happened to the duke. There wasn’t much of a question that it was inevitable and it filled her with a poignant sorrow. Rising, she briefly checked her hair, which was in its usual disarray. Tucking in the stray strands, she straightened her gown and went downstairs, prepared for the worst.

It took two heartbeats to realize the tall man standing across the drawing room with his back to her was
not
Charles. Yes, he had the same slightly wavy hair and his build was similar, but he was a bit taller and . . .

Lucien
?

No.

Was it possible?

Both her parents sat without speaking, the tension in the air palpable.

He turned then, as if he sensed her entrance, or maybe he’d heard her light gasp.

“Vivian.”

It was possible she was still dreaming. Lost in a world in which she conjured him coming to her . . .

But those vivid blue eyes were unmistakable, as was the way he moved, both predatory and graceful across the length of the room, and despite their audience suddenly his mouth was on hers, hot and hungry, and his arms pulled her so close she lost her breath.

Not at all a dream. Her hands followed the contours of his shoulders as they kissed, the solid feel of muscle and bone a reassurance, and when he lifted his head she was both laughing and crying, his fingertips gathering her tears, his smile indulgent. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in her ear. “It wasn’t my choice to be gone so long, but you have my abject apology.”

This had better
not
be a dream, she thought. “What happened? Where have you been?”

It was interesting that she didn’t really care so much about the answer, not with his embrace holding her close. Lucien brushed his mouth across her temple. “It’s not quite clear to me, to tell the truth. I promise to explain everything later.”

He still looked gloriously handsome, she thought, drawing back, but there was evidence of a serious injury to his face, not to mention he was visibly leaner than before.

Something drastic had occurred; however, he was
alive
.

Breathlessly she said, “I don’t care. You’re here. Lucien, you’re
here
!”

“Charles said you are just back from Kent. Tell me about my father.”

She touched his cheek, tracing that vivid red line as if they were the only two people in the room. “His cough is worse.”

“There’s no way to deal with this easily . . . I have business affairs to tend to and letters to write, but I have to go there. Can we leave tomorrow?”

Together? As long as they were together. At the moment, she never wanted to let him out of her sight again. “I was planning on returning anyway,” she said frankly. “This trip to London was simply . . . necessary. We could go this afternoon.”

She’d come to tell her parents about the baby and that was done. She wished to tell
him
now, but it was obviously not the best time. For either of them. He was just back from whatever misadventure had taken him away and she had not prepared herself for the revelation, because she’d never thought she would have the chance.

Surely, she wondered, there should be a private moment of joy when a woman informs a man she going to bear his child?

“Not before you marry my daughter.” Her mother stood, resolute, her voice crisp. “As soon as possible, Lord Stockton. I insist.”

“I assure you my absence was not intentional and I intended to do so all along,” he said, his hold loosening. Vivian saw his face tighten. “But it seems expedient I see my father first.”

Her mother turned and whispered furiously, “Edwin.”

“I will go with them.” Vivian was grateful to see her father rise and adjust his cravat. “I agree with you, my dear,
and
I agree with Lucien. He needs to see his father and he needs to marry Vivian. Shall I see to both? I’ll send word as soon as possible.”

For a man more comfortable around plants than people, he could be quite useful Vivian decided then and there.

“I hardly think—” Her mother began to object.

“You cannot be ready in less than a day.” Her father’s voice was firm. “We’ll depart immediately. Vivian already had planned on returning, so her maid has everything sorted and in her trunks and I doubt the marquess requires much in the way of preparation.”

She and her father had not always seen eye to eye, but at that moment, she adored him. “That sounds perfect.”

Her husband-to-be seemed to catch the undercurrent even if he didn’t have the information to completely understand it, shooting her a swift inquiring glance. “I did intend to depart as soon as possible. Not knowing where my father might be, I came to London first because it was easier to get transportation here.”

Charles, who had uncomfortably sat in a chair by the unlit fireplace, murmured, “I know Louisa would appreciate Vivian’s return. Father terrifies her. She knows nothing about plants, which says it all.”

“I promised her I would bring you back with me.” Vivian smiled apologetically but without any real regret. “She needs to see you. I realize you have been handling everything, but surely your factor can deal with business matters for a few days as Lucien has returned and I’m sure has questions. Come with us.”

Her mother’s lips went white as she compressed her mouth.

It was obvious that the friendship between her and Charles’s wife scandalized her mother as much as everything else that had happened. But, Vivian decided philosophically as she detached herself from Lucien’s embrace, it was finally truly
her
life. And Lucien’s return ensured that because if there was one thing she would ever take a gamble on, it was that he would allow her to live it as she wished.

The buoyancy of her joy was immeasurable.

This was love. This was euphoria, and there was no doubt it wasn’t going to be perfection because he was strong willed and she was hardly a compliant young maiden; still, she knew they would compromise, which made her a very lucky woman indeed.

“Your father and I wander around the greenhouse and tend to his special experiments,” she said with compassion for Lucien’s worry over his ailing parent. She was worried about the duke also. Her revelation could wait. “He has used his work to assuage his worry over you, but I completely agree he needs to know you are whole and well as soon as possible. I’ll be down in a few moments.”

“I’ll explain what happened on the journey.” He smiled.

More lighthearted than she had been in months, she left the room and almost ran up the stairs.

***

There was no way possible he could leave town in good conscience without sending word to Northfield but he could not wait around for a response. He penned a brief note:

Does the name Artemis mean anything to you? If so, you might want to beware. He could be in England.

More later,

Stockton

The note written, Lucien wasn’t concerned at the moment over the circumstances that had taken him out of England in the first place. He’d talk to Northfield upon his return to London, but for now, his own affairs were pressing.

The need for the immediate journey was not ideal, but his father’s health was in question. Yet he wasn’t a fool, or he didn’t wish to think so, and he could swear there was another element to the quiet in the carriage. In the aftermath of the whirl to leave, his three companions had all fallen remarkably silent.

“Is there something I don’t know?” He would never have been so blunt, but the course of recent events had taught him that life might just be a bit shorter than a person imagined.

Sir Edwin inhaled deeply and Charles deliberately did not meet his eye.

Telling, that.

Lucien gazed at Vivian, at a loss for a moment, and then the world moved into a crystalline sphere in which clarity melded with his psyche and maybe he even understood that whatever it was it didn’t involve his unwilling absence or his precipitous return, but something else entirely. “Tell me,” he asked harshly. “Is my father already dead?”

“No. No.” She shook her head quickly, her eyes widening. “I promise you that when I saw him last he wasn’t himself but he was well enough that I expect your arrival will cause a celebration.”

“She’s telling you the truth, Luce.” Charles backed up her statement staunchly, but then again, he would. “I would be honest with you, too. There’s been no word of that nature.”

That was a relief, but didn’t explain how the tension seemed to build, not diminish.

“Then?” He looked pointedly at his fiancée.

She obviously hedged. “Then . . . what?”

Lucien couldn’t help but take in her radiant beauty, including the downward flutter of her lashes as she glanced away. Her tawny traveling costume complimented the ivory of her skin. She looked well, but also . . . nervous.

“Vivian? Something is wrong and if it isn’t my father, what is it?”

“Can we discuss it later?”

“If I understood the question, then perhaps I could intelligently answer that. Discuss what?”

It wasn’t her blush, or how uncomfortable Charles looked at the moment, but her father’s expression that told the tale. There was more than evident accusation in the cast of his expression, and disapproval in his eyes.

It couldn’t be his disappearance because it was clear that hadn’t been choice and . . .

The light dawned.

Usually, he was a careful man.

He hadn’t been. Not with her. Not that singular afternoon, not when he was sure he would marry her in a few days . . .

Blood and thunder
.

Whatever he’d expected on his return home,
this
wasn’t it.

Yet, he was happier to be home than ever.

“Is it true?” He would reach for her, but in the current company, it seemed imprudent.

Thank goodness she wasn’t some simpering idiotic debutante, for she merely nodded. “Yes.”

Just that one time.
He did the simple equation in his mind and realized she was far enough along that the pregnancy was no doubt confirmed.

What did a man say at this moment in his life? He was not an expert on pregnant ladies, but no wonder she’d been asleep in the middle of the afternoon when he’d arrived. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. Hungry. Tearful sometimes.” The rosy color in her cheeks was endearing. “At the moment joyful beyond measure to have you returned to me.”

“I almost died making sure I would,” he said frankly, a myriad of emotions making it impossible to analyze his exact reaction to the realization he was going to be a father. “No wonder your mother wanted us to marry at once. We will,” he added before anyone else could speak, his voice holding a razor edge. “I intended that all along, child or no.”

“I am glad to hear it,” her father said coolly, “for I have assured my wife of that all through this interesting interlude of unexpected elopements, engagements, and disappearances, not to mention my daughter’s current condition. May I say that while not all of it goes as anticipated, plants have a much more predictable life cycle?”

It was the perfect analogy for Vivian, who laughed. “What about the azaleas last year?”

“That was an ill-fated choice of soil,” Sir Edwin admitted, relaxing back against the squabs. “I thought the more acidic content might make for brighter blooms.”

“Or the bees entirely not interested in pollination.”

“It seemed to be so. I find that interesting.”

Vivian nodded. “So did I. The duke and I discussed it at length. The experiment had value certainly, but what if we used a different kind of fertilizer?”

“I have thought of that, naturally, but what kind?”

Lucien exchanged a glance with his brother. “This discussion, based on previous experience, will go on for some time, won’t it?”

“I suspect so,” Charles conceded, his long legs crossed at the ankle. “You need to form an interest in bulbs, seeds, and pods. Not to mention grubs, and other disgusting insects.”

“I do have an interest, though in a practical sense. Will my child be a farmer?”

“There are worse things to be.” Vivian regarded him with both amusement and a moving intensity in her green eyes.

“Indeed.” He looked back, his smile softening. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I certainly had the same fear.”

“I missed you.”

Had they not been in a moving carriage with others, he would have gladly demonstrated how much.

C
hapter Twenty-five

Louisa sat on the bed in her dressing gown, her pale loose hair in a silken fall down her back. Charles suspected she had no idea quite how beautiful she was, and he was especially struck after not seeing her for a few weeks.

Thirteen days exactly. His last fleeting trip to Kent had been entirely too short.

She folded her hands. “I need to speak with you.”

He already understood why as he sat down to tug off a boot. “Lucien’s return will make all the difference. That I am grateful to have him back safe aside, I won’t have to spend all my time in London now. You know I found preparing to be the future duke not at all to my liking. He will be much better at it than I ever would, and I gladly acknowledge it and eschew the responsibility.”

His shirt flew to the floor and she let out an outraged laugh as he abruptly tumbled her to her back. “Charles . . . stop for a moment, please.”

As he nibbled at her ear his hand crept up under her nightdress. Her thigh was delightfully warm and smooth. “Give me one good reason why I should. Didn’t you miss me?”

She kissed him, tugging his head down, in his mind neatly answering his question. His arousal throbbed, and she was soft and beautiful and willing beneath him . . .

“Don’t eschew all responsibility yet. I think we’ve conceived a child.”

The words registered and his hand stilled on her breast. “What?”

“I can’t be sure as of now.” His lovely wife gazed into his eyes, her expression tinged with embarrassment. “But I haven’t had . . . well . . .”

“Your courses are late.” He sat up, this new information filtering through his brain, his emotions in flux. Running a hand through his hair, he muttered, “Damnation.”

“You aren’t happy?” Louisa stiffened, her beautiful face alarmed. “I was sure you’d be—”

“Of course I am.” He lifted her easily onto his lap, his fingers smoothing her hair. “How could you think otherwise? That said, this has been a rather eventful few days. I just wasn’t prepared.” He took a moment and laughed softly. “I still might have taken the news better than Lucien. You should have seen his face. He looked as if he had no idea it was even possible, when it is quite obvious he certainly is the guilty party, and if anyone is worldly, it is my brother. I have to admit it was comical to see his expression. Have you told my father?”

A child? He’d been delighted for his brother and Vivian, but this was different and to a certain extent it changed his entire life.

Actually, it changed every facet of his life.

“No.” Louisa rested her head against his shoulder. “Vivian said he would be happy over the news, but I find him rather unapproachable. It is, after all, a personal subject.”

He had to laugh. “Darling, we are married. He knows we make love.”

She lightly hit him on the shoulder. “We still don’t have to discuss it.”

In a deft move he caught her wrist and then laid her on the bed, his right hand tracing the contours of her supple body, admiring how the light caught her hair. “How did I possibly garner this sort of luck? Whatever my father feels when we tell him—and I suspect Vivian is right—
I
am happy.”

Before he’d met her, if asked, he would have said he was too young to be a husband, much less a father, but he was the first already and apparently going to be the other, and it seemed entirely natural.

To the devil with his freedom as a bachelor, he thought as he lowered his mouth to hers. This was much, much better . . .

***

Her father, the duke, and Lucien had been sequestered away for some time.

Vivian understood the protocol of port after dinner, but she was tired and as of yet, she hadn’t had one moment alone with Lucien. Their journey to Kent had been under the close supervision of her father, and while she understood, it seemed a bit late to make sure she was not compromised or seduced.

In truth, they needed a chance to talk more than anything.

So she waited. A bit sleepy already . . . but also determined. Since Lucien now knew about her condition, she needed to be able to at least discuss it with him.

As she was used to using his suite of rooms, it seemed only natural to wait there. Wearing the nightdress the duchess had chosen for her wedding night, some sort of frothy concoction of lace and emerald ribbons ostensibly to match her eyes, she first sat on the bed as she watched the hands on the clock move. Then because she was tired, the bed was soft, and her body implored her to embrace the need for some rest, she lay down and nestled her head on the pillow embroidered with the Caverleigh family crest.

And consequently, she had a beautiful dream.

Vivian
.

What? She rolled over and tucked a hand under her cheek
.

Sweetheart, what are you doing here? Not that I object, don’t mistake the question.

The amusement in his voice registered
.
When she opened her eyes she saw Lucien sitting down to take off his boots.

I’m sleeping. I’ve slept here since you went away . . .

I see. He tossed a boot away and there was a certain heat in his eyes. I like that. You in my bed. Thinking of me.

Long fingers went to his breeches, unfastening the buttons, his bronzed torso gleaming in the candlelight . . .

And she woke with a start. Vivian sat up, her hand sweeping back her hair. “Oh.”

It wasn’t a dream. He was half undressed already and finishing the process quickly.

His grin held a hint of familiar wicked amusement. “You didn’t wait here for me dressed in that fashion for any purpose other than the one I imagine, correct?”

“I wanted to talk. You promised me an explanation.”

He shoved down his breeches. “And you shall certainly have one. After.” His voice dropped in tone as he slid onto the bed next to her, his fingers gentle on her cheek. “Tell me you knew I would never leave you without a word. I need to hear that from you.”

“Oh.” His arousal was not in question, hot and hard through the material of her nightdress, and she felt a shiver of anticipation. He was right, of course. While this might not be a deliberate seduction, she had come to his bed with a certain purpose.

Why not? She was already pregnant with his child. She’d thought she might never see him again and to have him near her, alive and vibrant . . .

Never mind the fantasy, this was a dream come true.

“The first day,” she told him, her voice unsteady, “when I realized you were truly gone, I wondered if you had changed your mind . . . but I think that was because it was easier to accept that hypothesis than the alternative. I always knew the truth.”

Imposingly large, his rangy body emanating a vibrant heat next to her, he took her hand and kissed her fingers, one by one. “I lived for you. My love, I
lived
for you.”

“I don’t—”

He kissed her then, not softly, not like that seductive moment in the garden at the ball, or even in the same manner as those sunlit moments in the meadow, but urgently, with hunger and joy, his arms pulling her up against his hard body.

She kissed him back, not sure if she wanted to laugh, or to weep, uncaring she’d come to his bed in such a brazen manner, her only world the taste of his lips on hers and the wild beating of her heart.

When he lifted away, it took a moment for her to catch her breath.

“As delectable as this garment may be, I’m afraid I must remove it.” He began deftly unfastening the bows, smoothing the material back from her skin. “Surely this isn’t your normal night attire. I pictured you—and I have often, believe me—in something simple and white.”

“The modiste assured me that it would please you.” She trembled as he leaned in to kiss her throat and his mouth drifted lower, between the parted fabric—much lower—to her now bared breasts.

“
You
please me. It doesn’t matter to me what you wear. I even adore you when you have that inevitable smudge of dirt on your face when you emerge from the conservatory. I always have.”

She did have an absent-minded habit of rubbing her cheek when thinking hard about something, and the result was usually a very unladylike dark streak.

He
adored
her?
Always
 . . . what did that mean?

His hands cupped her breasts before she could ask for clarification, making her stifle a moan of pleasure. “You’re different already,” he said with wonder, gazing down at her mounded flesh “I can tell. Fuller, softer somehow.”

“Why do you think I went to London,” she whispered, disentangling herself from the rest of her negligee. “It will be obvious to everyone soon enough. My parents needed to hear it from me.”

“My father and Charles would always protect you. I kept telling myself that through the entire miserable duration of my absence. I felt helpless, and it was infuriating, though I admit it didn’t occur to me we might have conceived a child. This”—his hand moved to rest on the slight mound of her belly—“is proof it only takes one time, but usually that isn’t the case.”

She looked into his azure eyes. “I was filled with joy when I realized. If I couldn’t have you, then at least I could have your child.” She shyly brushed a fallen lock of hair off his brow. It was all still new to her, this intimacy, and he was so at ease with it.

I love you
. She didn’t say it, not yet.

“My father told me . . . he admires you, not just because you share a similar interest, but because he thinks you are remarkably brave and delightfully independent. Have I mentioned I admire you also?” He kissed her then, long, lingering and sweet, though she could feel the throb of his erection against her hip, at odds with the tenderness of the embrace.

He wanted her urgently, passionately, and she didn’t have to be an experienced seductress to recognize the heat in his eyes.

A curious coil of excitement built inside her. One sexual encounter hardly made her a vixen, but she remembered the pleasure of what had happened that fateful afternoon, and as if she had no real control over it, her body shifted under his, her hips lifting slightly.

“I want to go slow,” Lucien whispered against her lips. “As hungry as I am, you deserve everything I can give you.”

Bare skin to bare skin. His hands roving, touching her everywhere, finding the heat between her legs, his mouth suckling her nipples, bringing them to sensitized peaks, and gradually going lower . . . and lower, until he put his head between her parted thighs and she realized with the first brush of his tongue exactly what he was doing . . .

It was indecent. Wicked. Scandalous.

Glorious.

Ripples of pleasure racked her body. Vivian closed her eyes and ignored the prudish voice in her brain that told her this was outrageous and decadent, and instead she allowed herself to simply let the rising tide sweep her away until she arched, gasping, and then let out a small cry as the pleasure peaked in a tidal of wave of sensation.

He didn’t wait long. Even as she became aware of the world once more, he’d positioned himself between her open legs and began to enter her still-contracting female passage. A part of her, languid and satisfied, objected because she was limp in the aftermath, but another wayward facet yielded; while what he’d just done had been deliciously satisfying, she needed
him
.

All of him. The hard length impaling her, the clasp of his arms, his scent, the brush of his hair on her face, the warm exhale of his breath. When he began to move she found she undulated into the rhythm without thought, taking each thrust, her hands tightening on his shoulders, and even though she would have sworn she was replete, her body argued the point.

When he groaned softly and went rigid, she held him tightly, her breathless merriment heartfelt as they both tried to regain some semblance of normal breathing.

“You are laughing again. I am not sure I should be flattered by amusement in the aftermath of what is supposed to be a romantic experience.”

“I’m happy.” It was difficult to define how her emotions surfaced now at inconvenient times, which was unusual for her, but according to the physician, quite normal during pregnancy.

“Can you tell how much I missed you?” His fingers traced the curve of her shoulder. “Tell me I wasn’t too demanding.”

Since she was warm and comfortable in his embrace, she shook her head. “I’m quite fine, my lord.”

With a predictably cheeky grin, he murmured, “Yes, indeed you are.” Then he visibly sobered. “Shall we talk now?”

That was ostensibly why she’d come to his room in the first place, so she supposed they should, and truly, she did have questions that needed answering. “What happened? The sketchy outline you gave on our journey was not the complete story.”

He withdrew then, sliding free of her body and rolling to his back. His ribs were more prominent than she remembered from their tryst that afternoon, and he laced his hands behind his head without any regard for his nudity, his lean body rangy beside her. “I was kidnapped by mistake.”

She couldn’t say she’d expected exactly that explanation, but had surmised something similar since she knew he hadn’t left willingly. “How so?”

Lucien’s slight smile was ironic. “Damien Northfield is a man with a past. Apparently we resemble each other and if you send lackeys to commit the actual crime, the son of one duke is as good as the other.”

What
? “I asked him to look into your disappearance.” It was startling, but she suddenly realized that they did look alike to a certain extent. Height and weight and hair . . .

“He knows. Let’s leave it at that, shall we? I feel confident he can take care of himself.”

“How did you escape?”

“Jumped out a window, flung myself into the sea, then washed up on a beach somewhere and a kind
señora
cared for me.”

His flippant tone was belied by the scar on his face and his prolonged absence from England. Now that he was lounging there next her, superbly naked, she could see there were other injuries as well, healing, but still evident. “Lucien.”

“It’s over.” He kissed her fingers, one by one. “How like you to not ask how well my
señora
cared for me.”