To Marry The Duke (26 page)

Sophia reached up to stroke his cheek. “Well, now you do, so you can forget about it and think of something else. Something more immediate, like making love to your devoted wife.”

The melody in her voice—it reminded him of their honeymoon, when he had permitted himself simply to adore her, and she had reveled in that adoration.

She had been different since then. So had he.
Everything
had been different.

She inched down and wiggled her bottom while she pulled her nightdress off over her head. All at once, James was gazing down at his wife’s full breasts in the candlelight, her nipples already firm and waiting to be touched. She raised her arms and placed them behind her head. He was very thankful that she was indeed
devoted
.

With the thought of making love to her, his mouth lifted in a smile. “You realize I’ll be staying tonight.”

“Good, because I was going to tie you up if you tried to leave.”

He smiled again. The time for talking was over. The need to have her became powerful beyond belief. He could not have fought it if he’d wanted to, for he was overcome by a carnal, ferocious compulsion to possess her. In every imaginable way.

He pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, feeling his blood race through his veins as his tongue mingled with hers. His instantaneous erection pressed against her warm, fleshy thigh, and as he stroked her belly with his hands and teased her nipples with his tongue, he contended with emotions and susceptibilities he would have preferred did not exist— like the desire to make love to Sophia for the sheer purpose of proving that she was his, and that she would remain his forever.

Forever.

It was frightening.

All of it.

Because it was exactly the thing he had been carefully avoiding all his life. Uncontrollable, unmanageable passion.

He rolled on top of Sophia, and felt her arms and legs wrap around him and pull him as close as humanly possible. Then he entered her and felt a monstrous surge of heat and pleasure move through his body, rushing through his soul. He had never in his adult life felt so hellishly, inconceivably vulnerable.

For Sophia, the following few days were the happiest since she and James had arrived at Wentworth Castle. The guests had brought laughter and conversation to the dinner table; for once she was not embarrassed to wear her Worth gowns and her jewels. Above all, James had been remarkably attentive, coming to her room each night and staying until dawn. It was as if his cruel withdrawal was a thing of the past, and he had settled in to the idea of having her in his life, accepting the fact that he was a married man now, and he was willing to open himself up to at least an outward appearance of intimacy.

Even his lovemaking had changed. He smiled and laughed like he had on their honeymoon. He talked to her about Martin and Lily and changes he wanted to make in the running of the estate. She and James amused themselves in bed at night over all the little foibles during the party, how Lady Fenwick had gotten her heel stuck in a crack under the front portico, and how the dowager had tried to pull her free. The two ladies had grunted and groaned, each of them mortified beyond words, then immediately afterward, tried to pretend it didn’t happen. James and Sophia laughed so hard over it, he had fallen off the bed.

Of course, James had never told her he loved her, nor had she spoken the words to him since he’d returned from his trip to London, for somehow she sensed that he was not ready for that. But with all the changes in the past few days, she began to feel that there was hope for such sentiments in the future. That alone gave her the strength to push on with a smile.

She wondered if he realized how different he was. If he would ever mention it, or acknowledge it. Perhaps he would one day.

For James, the shooting party was fast becoming the best one on record, for there had been a certain relaxed feel to the celebrations. Thanks to Sophia, there was a conspicuous lack of high-browed, tight-laced expectations—the kind his mother had always so carefully communicated in the past—and James was enjoying himself tremendously.

Like a breeze of fresh air, Sophia, his duchess, had released the tensions of previous years. She’d hired an American accordion player whom she accompanied on the piano while the two of them played lively little ditties in the evenings (his mother had winced at every one of them). Sophia arranged games like Clap In, Clap Out and Blind Man’s Bluff, which—after a few glasses of wine—had everyone laughing uproariously by midnight. He could not remember a time in his life when he had laughed as often and as outrageously as he had this week.

One particular afternoon, he and the other gentlemen were out with the guns, and Whitby moved to stand beside James. James and Whitby had avoided each other for most of the party, speaking casually whenever necessary, both of them recognizing the fact that their friendship had been maimed. The last time any honest words were spoken between them, Whitby had expressed his outrage at James for proposing to Sophia, and James had simply walked away. Afterward, he had put it behind him, as he did with so many other unpleasant things in his life.

Whitby aimed his rifle and pulled the trigger. The shot rang out, and one of the lower birds in the flock fell from the sky.

“Good shot,” James said.

“Not as impressive as that last one of yours, but you always did aim high.”

James felt his shoulders tense. He reloaded his rifle.

“So how is married life?” Whitby asked. “Everything you thought it would be?”

“Everything and more. Sophia is a fine duchess.”

Whitby aimed and fired again. “I never doubted it.” He lowered his gun and looked at James. “She’s certainly made some drastic changes around here.”

James merely nodded.

“I can’t imagine your mother is taking it well.”

“Mother is taking it in stride.”
God, this is awkward
.

“Well, she couldn’t argue that Sophia has neglected any details in planning this shooting event. The sheer volume of food devoured this week has been matchless, James. The shrimp soup was fantastic. Your wife has a talent in that regard, to be sure. She’s an excellent hostess.”

Whitby reloaded while James waited for the beaters to send out another flock.

“Who is the Frenchman, by the way? He’s been here for all the dinners, but never stays for cigars. Is he a friend of Sophia’s?”

“No, he’s
Manderlin’s
guest,” James emphasized. “Billaud is renting a cottage from him.”

“I see.” Another flock flew across the sky. Both James and Whitby aimed and fired. “Kind of a strange fellow,” Whitby said. “Doesn’t talk much, only to the ladies. Not into shooting, I take it?”

“I presume not, or he’d be here, wouldn’t he?”

They were quiet for a few minutes, each concentrating on their shots, then Whitby lowered his gun. “Look, James, we’ve been friends a long time, and I feel I should apologize for making presumptions about certain things. Everything turned out the way it was meant to, and I would like to forget about it if you’re willing.”

James gazed down at the brown grass. He had not expected this today. Nor had he let himself admit how wretched he had felt over his estrangement from his oldest friend.

With a deep sigh, James faced Whitby. He held out his hand and they shook on it. “Of course I’m willing. And I’m sorry, too, my friend. I hope you weren’t… hurt by any of it.”

“Hurt? Me? God, no. The Marriage Mart is nothing but a cutthroat competition, especially when heiresses are involved. My pride was a little dented, that’s all.”

James smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Another flock went up, and they both aimed and fired.

As they reloaded, Whitby nudged James. “I haven’t given up, you know. There’s always next Season. No doubt, another steamshipful of American beauties will be making the crossing as soon as the weather turns.”

With a smile, James looked at his friend. “And you’ll be there to greet the ship of gold?”

Whitby raised a cunning eyebrow. “Naturally. True love awaits me, just over the blue horizon I believe. Or at least I can always hope.”

Two guests arrived late for the final two days of shooting, so Sophia stole a moment to return to her boudoir and consider the new seating arrangement for dinner. She sat down with her leather pad, which had slots cut into it for the insertion of name cards showing who would sit where, but when Sophia came to the new guests, she wasn’t absolutely certain where they should be. She suddenly had the worst fear that she would turn the whole table into a fiasco, and some pompous peer would scream bloody murder.

She needed
Debrett’s Peerage
, which assigned a number for each peer and his family members. Unfortunately, Marion preferred to keep it in her room, since like everything else, it had belonged to her first.

Sophia left her room and went to the dowager’s boudoir. She was about to knock on the door when she heard a gut-wrenching sob. She put her ear close to the door and listened. She heard it again, another sob from inside, and she knew that it was Marion who was crying.

Sophia harked for a moment, thinking she shouldn’t intrude, but when she heard another sob, a pang of sympathy for the woman tugged at her belly, even though she hated the fact that she felt it. Sophia couldn’t help but knock on the door.

There was a brief silence. “Yes? Who is it?”

Sophia didn’t bother to answer, because she knew Marion would only tell her to go away. Instead, she gently pushed open the door and peaked inside. “It’s me. Sophia. Are you all right, Marion?”

The dowager dabbed at her eyes and sat upright in her chair. “Of course I am. I did
not
say you could enter.”

Sophia stood in the doorway. “I heard you crying. Can I do anything for you?”

“No, all you can do is leave. I want to be alone.”

Swallowing over the desire to do the simple thing— to do as she was told and walk out—Sophia instead lingered. Then she remembered why she had come. She stepped more fully into the room. “I came to borrow
Debrett’s Peerage
again. I need to change the seating at dinner.”

“Why? Is someone leaving?” She sounded overly hopeful. Perhaps she was tired of the noise and wanted her house back.

“No, Lord Witfield arrived this afternoon with his wife.”

Marion cleared her throat, taking a moment to collect herself, then she slowly rose from her chair to go and retrieve the book from her desk. She handed it to Sophia, without any of her usual criticisms or carping. Her eyes were red and swollen.

“Marion,” Sophia said softly, “please tell me what’s wrong. Maybe I can help.”

The dowager’s lips pursed. “There is nothing wrong. Certainly nothing
you
would understand. So please leave.”

Sophia held firm. “I can’t. Not knowing that you are suffering.”

The dowager seemed to flinch at Sophia’s declaration, then turned away and walked to the window. “I don’t wish to talk about it.”

Why was she so cold to everyone, Sophia wondered, when a little warmth might open up a world of happiness for her? Sophia supposed Marion had never been taught how to convey warmth toward another human being, and had never in her life been on the receiving end of it. She would therefore, not know what she was missing.

Sophia moved closer. “You can trust me, you know. Whatever you tell me won’t go beyond these four walls.”

“I have nothing to tell.”

“Marion, I can see plainly that that’s not true.”

The dowager remained at the window. “Why must you be so bold, Sophia? It is not becoming of a duchess.”

“In my heart, I am your daughter-in-law first and foremost,” Sophia said. “I am a duchess second. As your daughter-in-law, I want to help you.”

Marion was quiet, then at last she turned. The hard lines of her face were completely contorted; she was on the verge of another sob.

Sophia took an anxious step forward. “What is it, Marion? What could possibly be so bad? Please tell me, and I promise I will keep it between us. It might do you good to let it out.”

The unthinkable happened. Marion dropped her face into her hands and wept, as she walked unsteadily into Sophia’s arms.

All the world seemed to shift under Sophia’s feet as she hugged her mother-in-law, felt the wracking sobs shake her. Sophia rubbed Marion’s back and whispered soothing things.

After a moment, Marion calmed and backed away. She kept her eyes downcast, as if she were ashamed of her emotions, and blew her nose into a handkerchief. “I do apologize. I don’t know what came over me.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Marion. Something has upset you. What is it?”

Eyes still downcast, she shook her head, refusing to say. Sophia took her hand, led her to the bed, and sat down beside her. “Obviously, there is no one here you can talk to. Please let me be the one. I can help. I know I can.”

“How can you possibly help?” she said weakly. “I have kept a secret, and I cannot reveal it. To anyone.”

“But you must, for your own peace of mind. You must have
someone
on your side. You must have at least one true friend in your life, someone you feel you can trust, even if all they ever do is provide a sympathetic ear.”

Marion again shook her head at Sophia, as if she couldn’t believe any of what she was saying.

“Is there no one you trust?”

Marion stood up and walked away again. Sophia supposed it was her habit to walk away, to avoid intimacy—a lifetime habit, hard to break.

Sophia sat on the bed, waiting patiently for Marion’s reply. The dowager paced the room for a moment or two, then finally returned to sit on the edge of the bed. “There is something that no one knows, not even James.”

Sophia swallowed nervously.

“He is not the true heir to this dukedom.”

Chapter 21

Sophia’s stomach coiled nauseatingly. She had expected something trivial, like an embarrassing error in protocol during the shooting party, or a minor scandal. Perhaps one of the guests had been carrying on an improper affair with another guest. But this…

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. There is a secret in our past, and I’ve spent all my life fighting to keep it from the world.”

“What is it?”

Marion bowed her head. “It was all because of my husband, Henry. It’s
his
fault this has happened.
His
fault we are all in dire straits.” She met Sophia’s gaze. “I was not his first wife.”

Sophia tried to contemplate what this meant. “You mean he had a child from his first marriage?”

“Yes. A son. But he didn’t know that when he divorced her. He’d gone to live in France when he was a younger man, and he married Genevieve, a woman no one would have approved of. She was an actress, and she performed in one of those vulgar penny gaffs. Knowing Henry, he probably married her just to spite his own father, for believe me, that man was no saint.”

Sophia squeezed Marion’s hand and rubbed the back of it.

“Anyway, Henry never told her that he was a duke, nor did he tell anyone from England that he had become a husband. He all but changed his identity and lived another life. He married Genevieve in Paris, where they lived in a horrid place in the worst part of the city, but when he found out he’d inherited his title, he divorced her and returned to London, and married me rather quickly. I don’t think Genevieve was sorry to see him go, for she never told him about the son. It was years later that she discovered who he was, but by that time she was running a brothel and he, of course, didn’t wish to bring that kind of scandal back home, where his respectable English son was being groomed to inherit. So he began an affair with her. That’s where all of our money went, to keep her quiet.”

Marion began to weep again. “After Henry died, I didn’t hear from her, but she wrote to me not long ago, insisting that I continue to support her financially, or she would reveal her son to the world. And I just received this telegram, asking for more by the end of the week.”

“But that’s blackmail,” Sophia said, taking the telegram from Marion and reading it for herself.

“Call it what you want, but paying her what she asks for is the only way I can keep James from losing everything. Oh, I wish she would just disappear! ”

Sophia squeezed Marion’s hand again. “Are you sure you shouldn’t tell James about this? He might be able to do something. Perhaps there’s a way. Maybe their marriage wasn’t legal. You say she didn’t know Henry was a duke. Did he use a false name? Because that could render the marriage contract void.”

“He used his family name. I’ve seen the marriage certificate. I looked into it years ago. They
were
legally married.”

“But why wouldn’t she just come and claim her son’s birthright? Why insist you pay her? It sounds suspicious to me.”

“She’s always known the estate was not profitable. She wouldn’t want this kind of life in the country. She only wants money or jewels, so she can have the kinds of luxuries she enjoys and continue to operate as a… a businesswoman.”

Sophia shook her head. “You really should tell James.”

“No. I’ve worked all my life to protect him from this filth, and I will not see him lose what belongs to him. He has a certain sense of justice, and I fear he might…” She didn’t finish.

“You fear he might give the dukedom to his half brother?”

“He might.”

Sophia stood up and began to pace the room. “But it would at least be his choice.”

Marion sucked in a breath. “You promised you would keep this between us, Sophia.”

Good God, she
had
promised. “Yes, I know, but—”

Marion rose and approached her. “You promised, Sophia. I would never have told you any of this if you hadn’t convinced me that I could trust you.”

What was she to do? Keep this secret from her husband in order to win the approval of her mother-in-law, who had never been anything but hateful toward her up until now? What if James found out?

But perhaps this was why Marion had been so hateful all her life—because she had no one to confide in, no one to trust. How could anyone be anything but hateful without ever knowing love in her life?

Sophia smoothed her hands over her skirts, not knowing what to do. With pleading, vulnerable eyes, Marion watched her and waited.

Debrett’s Peerage
sat on the desk. Sophia’s duties as hostess were waiting.

She went to Marion and held her hands. “I will keep your secret for now, but I will also try to help somehow.” Perhaps, once Sophia proved to Marion that it was better to trust people than to shut them out, Marion might decide to trust James, too. Sophia would work on that… getting Marion to tell James. “You were right to have told me.”

The rueful desperation in Marion’s eyes dimmed slightly. She leaned in to hug Sophia, who tried not to gasp at the surprising, unexpected gesture from this cold, unfeeling woman.

Marion stepped back. “There is one thing more.”

One thing more? What else could there possibly be after the last shocking deluge?

“The brother that James doesn’t know about… His name is Pierre. He’s Pierre Billaud.”

After tea, the guests took an evening stroll in the gardens, then retired to their chambers to dress for dinner. Sophia was a little late getting back to her rooms, as she had to converse with the cook about the turtle soup and remind him that four of the guests that evening were strongly averse to onions. All this, while her mind was still reeling over what Marion had told her. Pierre Billaud was James’s half brother?

She recalled all the times they had conversed over the past few days. He had done nothing to suggest he was visiting with some ulterior motive in mind. He appeared to be what he said he was—a visitor from France, nothing more. He had not even spoken to Marion about his identity. There had been no threats from him, no devious looks. There had only been the telegram from Madame La Roux, demanding another payment.

Why was Pierre here? Simply to put pressure on Marion? Or was he here to look over the estate he hoped to inherit?

Entering her room at last and closing the door behind her, she began to unbutton her bodice. How was she ever going to convince Marion to trust James and tell him about the blackmail?

She was about to summon Alberta to help her get dressed, when a voice caught her off guard and caused her to jump. She whirled around to look at the bed.

“Is there time?” James asked, a wicked grin lifting the corner of his mouth. Shirtless, he was lying on top of the coverlet, looking relaxed, with one long leg crossed over the other. He was still wearing his riding breeches and boots.

Absorbing the meaning of his enticing proposal, Sophia let out a breath and teasingly sauntered away from him to stand in front of the mirror, continuing to unbutton her bodice. “Time for what?” she asked, pretending to sound innocent. Pretending that there was nothing on her mind beyond what was happening in this room at this moment.

With an engaging smile, eyes alert, he swung his legs off the bed and stood. “Time to have dessert
before
we go down to dinner.”

She gazed at him in the mirror’s reflection while she removed an earring. Sounding completely serious, she said, “I didn’t realize you liked raspberry custard so much. I suppose I could have one of the maids bring up a couple of servings.”

James’s intense gaze became voracious. “Creamy custard in a cup wasn’t what I had in mind. I was thinking of quite another flavor.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “I’ve been thinking of you all day, Sophia. I was a lousy shot this morning because of it, and that dress you wore at luncheon—”

“The green one…”

“Yes, the green one. I wanted to pull you under one of the tables and find out what color stockings you were wearing beneath it.”

Sophia faced him as a flash of beautiful, warm light exploded inside her heart. It was the first time since their honeymoon he had admitted that he was the least bit out of control where she was concerned—where anything was concerned—and she felt suddenly buoyant. The worries in her mind began to recede as they were replaced with a fresh, honeyed lust. “I’ve been wanting you, too.”

They were both quiet, staring at one another in the dim evening light that poured in through the lace curtains. James smiled, and Sophia thought of the smooth way he had worked his hands over her the night before, how he had brought her so much pleasure, she had wanted to cry out loud with happiness. She felt a tingling in her nether regions… a fierce, womanly need.

He took a single step forward.

“My maid will be here soon,” she said.

He paused and considered that, then walked to the door and locked it.

“We’ll be late for dinner,” she added.

He slowly crossed the room toward her and touched her lips with the tip of his finger. “But we’ll work up a superb appetite.”

Sophia swallowed over the wildly hot thrill rising up within her.

Scooping her up into his arms, James carried her to the bed. Sophia didn’t even try to resist or argue. All she wanted was to feel his damp skin next to hers and look upon his beautiful nakedness in the fading daylight. She sat on the edge of the bed and shamelessly began to unbutton his trousers where his erection was bulging and waiting to be freed. Within seconds, he was out of his boots and the rest of his clothes, and she was gazing up at his magnificent nude physique with longing.

He gently pushed her back onto the bed, and she could never have fathomed the wicked pleasure of feeling a man’s naked body upon her own in the full light of day, while she herself was still completely clothed.

Not for long, however. James began to unbutton her bodice, then unhooked her corset in front. Soon he was stroking her breasts, kissing them, tasting them until she became obsessed with blazing desire. The rest of her clothing came off in a hurry, and her body began to throb with a deep, potent, powerful longing.

Within minutes, James was inside her with a swift, satisfying thrust that shook her.