To Desire a Wicked Duke (8 page)

“Thank you, Alice, but I will be fine in a moment. I think perhaps I will leave my packing until tomorrow, when Lady Claybourne will be here to help me choose what to take with me.”

Lily, bless her, had promised to bring her two sisters over first thing in the morning. Thank heaven, Tess thought morosely, since there was no possibility of her managing the feat just now. Not when her entire future was on the verge of being shattered.

After dismissing Alice, Tess pulled out her diary and opened it to the last entry, when she had been so hopeful about the outcome of the house party. She was at a loss now about what to write, though, given all her chaotic thoughts and feelings.

“Stop wallowing in self-pity,” Tess chided herself. “Throughout history, women have been forced to make unwanted marriages, and most of them survived.”

And I will too.…

I hope
.

Since she had failed to bolster her flagging spirits, Tess eagerly welcomed the crunch of carriage wheels in the drive barely an hour later. A glance out her window confirmed her hope that Fanny Irwin had come in response to her panicked note.

Hugely relieved, Tess hurried downstairs herself to admit Fanny.

As expected, the courtesan had traveled here incognito in a plain, closed carriage, and wore a hooded cloak so as to keep her visit unremarked. Although Fanny appeared quite well-bred, dressing demurely in
high-necked gowns of dark fabrics and wearing her raven hair pulled back in a severe knot, she couldn’t help looking like the exotic beauty she was.

After handing Fanny’s wet cloak to the housekeeper and asking for refreshments to be sent up, Tess led the courtesan back upstairs to the sitting room adjacent to her bedchamber.

“I came at once,” Fanny said, crossing to the hearth fire to warm her chilled hands. “Of course I will do whatever I can to help you, Tess. You have done so much for me and all of my friends, I can never repay you.”

The Cyprian was famous and expensive, Tess knew, but Fanny’s sharp wits and highly-tuned feminine instincts, even more than her sultry looks and lush figure, had brought her to the top of her overcrowded profession at the relatively young age of four-and-twenty.

She was trying to leave the demimonde, however. Her first Gothic novel had just been anonymously published, and she’d begun writing a second one, hoping to establish a new career that would allow her to marry for love as her close friends, the Loring sisters, had done.

Tess had actually fostered Fanny’s research for her current novel by introducing her to Patrick Hennessy, who had given them an intriguing tour of Drury Lane Theatre and shared delightful legends about the ghosts of long-dead thespians.

Once they were settled with a fresh pot of tea and biscuits to give them sustenance, Fanny got straight to the point. “From what I hear, Rotham will likely be a difficult husband to manage.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Tess murmured. “It is why I called upon you to advise me.”

Fanny had aided and abetted the Loring sisters significantly during their recent courtships, Tess knew. Her own cousin Damon’s wife, Lady Eleanor, had also benefited from Fanny’s expertise. And most recently, Madeline Ellis, the bride of Arabella’s close neighbor, the Earl of Haviland, had sought her help.

“Perhaps,” Fanny suggested, “we should begin with what we know about the duke. I understand he began sowing his wild oats at an early age.”

“Quite early.”

Most of Tess’s knowledge about her intended husband she had learned from society gossip and of course Richard, who had complained bitterly about his dictatorial elder cousin. But she gave Fanny an abbreviated version of Rotham’s past.

After his mother died giving Ian Sutherland birth, he was left to the tender mercies of his father, who was something of a wastrel as well as a libertine. Ian ran wild as a child, and after he was out of short-coats, persisted in breaking all the rules of gentlemanly behavior. Yet because he was heir to a dukedom, he was exempted from any serious consequences. Tess actually envied his freedom, even if she couldn’t always admire his rebel actions.

After inheriting the title, he’d continued regularly shocking the ton, even vying with professional gamesters in the worst hells. He had uncanny successes at the card tables—the luck of the devil, some said—and won huge sums. Then, through clever investments and ruthless business dealings, Rotham
had transformed his winnings into an immense fortune.

“I have seen his skill at the gaming tables for myself,” Fanny said at the conclusion of Tess’s summary. “He is also known for his mastery over the fair sex, but reputed to be cold and distant when it comes to emotions. You will not conquer his heart easily, Tess.”

“I have no desire for his heart, believe me,” she vowed. “I only want to know how I can defend myself against him.”

“What precisely do you mean? You likely needn’t worry about your wedding night. I’ll wager you will find the pleasures of the marriage bed exceedingly enjoyable.”

Tess took a large swallow of tea for courage. “In truth, that is what I fear, Fanny. I don’t wish to give Rotham such power over me.”

Briefly she related how she’d fallen victim to her senses this afternoon when the duke had merely kissed her. She was still a little shocked by the intense passion he had made her feel. She wasn’t eager to surrender her body to Rotham either, even in the sanctity of matrimony, for carnal intimacy would likely make her that much more vulnerable to him.

“Sexual attraction is normal and natural,” Fanny assured her. “Especially with a man like Rotham. So perhaps you shouldn’t try to fight your responses, merely control them.”

“I would be elated to learn how to control them,” Tess said fervently.

Fanny smiled at her impassioned tone. “You should
be glad he is a skilled lover, for it will likely make the consummation go more easily for you. But so the physical aspects of his lovemaking will not take you by surprise, I can tell you exactly what to expect from your deflowering and how to lessen the impact of his sensuality. Forewarned is forearmed.”

“Thank you, Fanny,” Tess replied in gratitude.

The courtesan eyed her thoughtfully. “Are you not the least bit excited about finally knowing the secrets of passion? I would be, were I in your shoes.”

She hesitated, looking down at her teacup. She had accepted Richard’s proposal of marriage with joy, yet if she were strictly truthful, she had never quite felt the kind of romantic ardor for him that she’d always dreamed of. Which had left her feeling a trifle guilty.

She felt a similar guilt now because she couldn’t help a delicious twinge of anticipation at the thought of becoming Rotham’s lover.

“I suppose I am, a little. But I dislike the thought of being at Rotham’s mercy. We may have to remain at Bellacourt for an indefinite period. Lady Wingate believes we should absent ourselves from town until the scandal fades—in fact, she suggested we consider going away on a wedding journey for a time. But I cannot contemplate being alone with Rotham for that long.”

When an idea struck her, Tess glanced back up at her friend. “I wish you could accompany me to Bellacourt after the wedding ceremony, Fanny. I could use your support and protection. I would ask Dorothy, but she is so meek and mild, Rotham would eat her for breakfast.”

Fanny shook her head at Tess’s impulsive proposal. “I understand your worry, but your patrons would not look kindly on you having so notorious a houseguest. It is one thing for me to quietly visit you here, where you can rely on your servants’ discretion. It would be quite another to brazenly batten myself on you so soon after your nuptials. For your sake, Tess, it is best to let the furor over your sudden marriage die down first.”

Tess sighed, knowing Fanny was right. Inviting a famous courtesan to stay with her at her new residence during the initial days of her marriage was not the way to avoid scandal, which was the prime reason for wedding Rotham in the first place. Once she was firmly established as his duchess, she should be able to get away with a good deal more.

“I suppose part of the reason for my anxiety,” Tess said, “is that I have so little experience. I never did more than kiss Richard.”

“I have never really kissed Basil either,” Fanny admitted. “Unless you count the time he helped save me from abduction, when he reacted from relief of the moment.”

Taken aback, Tess raised her eyebrows. “Is that so? You have never even kissed?”

The courtesan’s mouth twisted in dry humor. “I know—it is supremely ironic, considering my profession. And supremely frustrating as well. I had hoped to be betrothed to Basil by now, but he may never offer for my hand. His pride, you know. It is bad enough that I spent all these years sharing my body with other men, but even if Basil is able to overlook
my wicked past, I suspect he cannot dismiss that my wealth exceeds his.”

The target of Fanny’s affection was her former childhood neighbor in Hampshire, Basil Eddowes. Basil had been secretly in love with Fanny since their youth, before she set out for London to make her fortune, much to his bitter disappointment. Tess had met him this past summer at Fanny’s London boardinghouse, where he lodged. At the time, Fanny and Basil had sparred and squabbled regularly, until her abduction by a ruthless gamester had roused the hot fires of jealousy in him and spurred him to hint at his amorous feelings.

A scholar and law clerk by education and training, Basil was presently a junior secretary to a nobleman, but he didn’t earn enough to support Fanny in her accustomed lifestyle, a circumstance that the courtesan feared embarrassed him and made him feel unworthy of marrying her.

“My relationship with Basil is more like yours was with Richard,” Fanny said. “It began as a friendship, not a grand passion, and I am not certain it will ever progress any further. Honestly, I am almost afraid to press Basil by displaying a greater physical affection. What if he doesn’t enjoy kissing me, or worse, making love to me?”

“I cannot imagine that he wouldn’t,” Tess replied faithfully.

As she drank another swallow of tea, she found herself frowning thoughtfully. Listening to Fanny lament her own amorous problems had reminded Tess that as a wealthy duchess, she would be in a position to help her friend as well as her charities.

It was then that Tess remembered what she had learned about her future husband’s castle. “Mr. Hennessy told me about some interesting rumors today, Fanny. Supposedly there are ghosts inhabiting Rotham’s castle in Cornwall.”

“Ghosts?” Fanny straightened, her expression brightening with interest.

“So Hennessy says. If so, it might be an ideal place for you to write your new Gothic novel, since your story is set in a haunted mansion. Even if you won’t come with me to Bellacourt, I could perhaps arrange for you to visit Falwell Castle. Cornwall is a long distance away, at least two full days’ drive, so the ton is unlikely to take offense at your staying there.”

Fanny’s face fell again. “It sounds intriguing, but I don’t want to leave London just now. Basil might forget me entirely in my absence. Even if I remain, I may never be able to persuade him to propose.”

The courtesan suddenly waved her hand in dismissal. “Now enough about me and my romantic troubles, Tess. We need to discuss your marriage to Rotham. Tell me
exactly
what happened this afternoon when he kissed you.”

Despite the embarrassingly intimate nature of Fanny’s advice, Tess was grateful to have a practical knowledge of carnal relations, and more importantly, ways to fortify her defenses against Rotham’s sensual powers.

After they finished their discussions, Fanny stayed for supper. By the time the courtesan left to return to London, Dorothy had already retired to bed. Tess
eventually followed her companion’s lead, but she lay wide awake, feeling a great dread inside.

She didn’t want a cold marriage of convenience. She wanted true love. She wanted to
matter
to her husband.

Rotham didn’t even believe in love—he’d as much as admitted his cynical sentiments this afternoon. And he certainly cared nothing for her, other than a professed obligation to protect her from the dangers of London.

Then again, Rotham would likely give her the passion she longed for.

She had never known real passion, just a sweet and tender love. Remembering, Tess squeezed her eyes shut.

She secretly regretted never having experienced physical intimacy with Richard. He had wanted to consummate their love before he shipped out that last time, but she was saving herself for marriage and so wouldn’t allow it. She’d been so caught up in appearances, so determined to behave with propriety, that she had missed out on one of the momentous events of womanhood—giving herself to the man she loved. Now she was likely never to know that joy.

Tess rolled over and punched her pillow.

Losing Richard had taught her how trivial and petty society’s rules were compared to life-and-death issues, so it seemed particularly galling that once again she had to conform to the ton’s dictates for the sake of propriety—and even worse, wed a nobleman who was renowned for his very wickedness.

*   *   *

Tess spent the night tossing fitfully. The next morning, however, she had no time to dwell on her misfortunes since her friends descended upon her to help make her ready for her wedding. In a flurry of missives from Rotham and Lady Wingate, she learned that the ceremony was set for two o’clock at Danvers Hall. So before she knew it, Tess was entering Arabella’s drawing room, dressed in a simple but elegant gown of rose-colored silk, about to speak sacred vows to love, honor, and obey.

When she spied Rotham at the far end of the room, she reluctantly acknowledged the violent fluttering of her heart. He cut a commanding figure, his blue tailcoat molding his strong shoulders and deceptively lean frame, which she knew was all hard muscle. With his devilish elegance, the duke would never be mistaken for anything less than an aristocrat, but the intimidating aura of power about him made him unique.

He moved easily, gracefully, as he approached her. Tess, however, couldn’t help recalling her last sight of Richard dressed in his scarlet uniform the day he left with his regiment to fight Napoleon’s revived army. Nor could she fail to compare this moment with the wedding nuptials she had long expected.