How to Deceive a Duke (19 page)

Chapter 43

N
icholas wasn’t going to make it easy for her. She stood where she was, rooted to the floor, uncertain, despite the determined tilt of her chin.

It was harder than he’d imagined to resist getting up and taking her in his arms, carrying her to the bed. She looked like a flame in the shadows, her hair bright, her figure delicate. He remembered what she tasted like, felt like, the sounds she’d made on their wedding night.

It was an intriguing situation, having a woman kidnap him and demand sex, but this wasn’t a casual tumble in the hay, this was his wife, and somehow their marriage had become a contest of wills, and he did not intend to lose.

She just stood in the shadows watching him.

He crossed to stretch out on the bed, propped on one elbow. “Is this better?”

She lay down beside him, still wearing her clothes, right down to her shoes. Her toes pointed toward the canopy, and she clasped her hands at her waist like a corpse ready for burial.

He studied her profile. “Do let me know when you plan to begin.” He yawned and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. “It’s been a busy day, being drugged, kidnapped, and imprisoned. Wears a man out, even without the added burden of stud duty.”

She turned her head, her lips opening to deliver an angry rebuke. But her eyes fell to his naked chest, and her breath caught.

“If you aren’t in the mood, there are other things we could do to pass the time,” he suggested.

“Like what?” she snapped. “Card tricks? No thank you. You’ve proven quite convincingly that you can be charming to everyone else in the world except me.” She rolled her eyes. “Must be your penchant for blondes again.”

He chuckled. “John’s not blond.”

“Just thickheaded.”

He lay back. “Nice chap, actually. He reminds me of a sergeant I knew in Spain.”

“I’m sure you told him so.”

“I did, actually,” he said, and she shot him a hard look. He grinned at her.

“And you knew exactly what Amy and the girls wanted to hear too.”

He resisted the urge to turn, to take her in his arms. He traced his finger along her cheek instead. “And what do you want to hear, Maggie?” he asked. “I have something for everyone. I could tell you about the last ball I went to, what we had for supper, what every woman wore—”

“Tell me about Spain.”

His gut tightened. “Why?”

“Because that’s what I want to hear.”

“Blood and gore? That’s why you brought me here?” he quipped, but her eyes remained serious.

He lay back and stared at the faded damask canopy above them. He’d never spoken to anyone about Spain. None of the ladies he knew, or men like Sebastian, wanted to know.

But she did. He felt a surge of something akin to relief.

“I bought a captain’s commission in the Royal Dragoons when Stephen did, spur of the moment, because I was tired of drink and women and cards. I wanted an adventure.”

“Adventurers make poor heroes, I understand.”

He glanced at her, but there was no mockery in her eyes.

“Stephen told me a little about your time in the army.”

“Then why ask me?” he demanded, suddenly angry.

“Because I want to hear it from you,” she insisted. “He said you were captured.”

“Twice,” he said, and the damask faded, became the plains of Spain. “The second time I was an intelligence officer, and that was much more dangerous, since men on both sides hate intelligence officers. We’re sneak thieves and spies, but our information saves lives when it comes down to it.” He glanced at her. “Does that fit what you think of me, Maggie? A sneak thief and a rogue?”

She reached out and touched his chest, pulling his shirt back. Her touch was gentle, unintentionally sensual. He clenched his teeth. “The scars,” she said. “Where did you get them?”

He closed his hand on hers, removed it from his chest, but didn’t let go. “A dozen places. Shrapnel, sword cuts, musket balls. A French lancer nearly finished me once.”

“Still, you would have stayed, wouldn’t you?” she asked. “If you had the choice.”

He glanced at her, felt his heart skip a beat. Had any woman looked at him like that before? With interest in what he had to say? Curiosity in who he was, what he thought? He resisted the urge to touch her. She put her hand on his, bidding him to continue.

“There was no choice. My brother died. I inherited the title and had to resign my commission and come home.”

Her fingers curled, tightened. “What happened to him?”

It was a strange way to seduce a man, even for her. He got up off the bed, and looked around the room. “Whose room is this? Not yours, surely. There’s nothing feminine about it. If I open that closet, I doubt your clothes will be there.”

She sat up and curled her legs under her. “It was my father’s room. Mama insisted this wing of the house be locked when he died. It’s the first time I’ve been here in over a year.” She looked at the walls, the books, as if she expected the dead earl to appear.

He stood on the other side of the room and watched her. “Who took care of things when he died? Was it Hector?” he asked.

She shrugged. “He helped where he could.”

“But not enough. So you took your sister’s place.”

She looked at him fiercely. “Can you imagine what would have become of my mother, or Lily and Minnie, without money or connections?”

“You might have told me who you were, been honest.”

“What would you have done?”

He would have canceled the wedding. He could not say it aloud, but he knew she read the answer in his eyes. She looked away.

“You have not been honest either. Even if our vows are legal, you have no intention of honoring them, do you? You have other, more desirable women . . .”

She thought the worst of him. It stung his pride, though he’d done nothing to make her believe he was anything else but a worthless fool. “Do you honestly believe I spend my days whoring and gambling?” he asked.

“How can I not?” she asked. “I’ve seen you with other women!”

“And you think this is the way to get my attention?”

“I promised your grandmother I would provide an heir. There is too much at stake if I fail in that duty.”

“My grandmother?” He frowned. “Our children would belong to us, not her, Maggie.”

“Of course,” she said quickly. Too quickly.

He came around the bed and gripped her shoulders. “My grandmother raised my brother to be Duke of Temberlay. He did exactly what she wanted, didn’t dare stray. He was miserable, but he did his duty. Granddame never intended me to take his place. She ignored me as a boy, left me to do as I pleased. She would do anything to bring David back. But I won’t let her, is that clear?”

She looked at him fiercely, with pain in the golden depths of her eyes, determination to see this through. He let her go and moved away, his mouth twisting bitterly.

“I will not give her another child to warp and twist. You married me to protect your family, what of our child? Would he deserve anything less?” She didn’t answer, but her eyes dropped. He shut his eyes, rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger. “You might as well go, Meg. Your plan won’t work.”

Her face flared scarlet. “We’re locked in until morning,” she said. “I can’t leave.”

“How disappointing for both of us, then.”

Her fierce determination faded behind a blush of shame. She was an innocent indeed, confused by his refusal, unsure of how to proceed, what to do to seduce him. She could, he thought, just by looking at him. Instead she turned away. She knew he was right, or she believed even more strongly now that he didn’t want her. He wanted to take her in his arms, soothe her fears, prove just how desirable he found her, but they’d both lose if he gave in now. Only Granddame would win. He stayed where he was.

“I shall sleep in the chair,” she said at last, stiffly.

“As you wish.” He didn’t bother to argue. “I have no night attire,” he said, tossing his shirt aside, stripping off his breeches, not caring if his naked body enticed or offended her. She turned away, blushing.

“I sent word back with Rogers, asking Partridge to send clothing and necessaries for your stay here. They should arrive tomorrow.”

“Then I can hope for rescue?” he asked. She pursed her lips.

“Don’t tell me you’re determined to keep this up, Meg.”

Her shoulders sagged. “I’m afraid I must.”

She took off her dress, folded it neatly, and left on her shift and curled up in the wing chair by the fireplace. She looked like a child seeking shelter. He noted the dark circles under her eyes as she closed them and pretended to sleep.

He could go now, pick the lock and be gone before she woke, but he stayed where he was, watching her.

Kidnapping him was a desperate act. Like marrying him. He’d lived by his wits in Spain, learned to read the subtle signs of trouble. She was hiding something—a secret she couldn’t or wouldn’t share. He wondered what it was. He watched her fall into an uneasy sleep.

He covered her with a blanket.

Trust. It came down to that. No marriage could work without it. She was lovely, smart, loyal, and resourceful. If they could find a way to deal with each other, get to honesty, they might fit well together, even be happy.

But there were ghosts to lay to rest. Escaping in the night wouldn’t make her trust him. Proving that he could protect her from the demons she feared most just might.

Chapter 44

A
n eerie cry woke Nicholas. The last candle had met its end, and the room was cold and very dark.

“Oh no, Papa, breathe! Please breathe!” Meg whimpered.

He groped for the chair by the fireplace, and found it empty. “Maggie? Meg?”

He found her in the corner, scrabbling at the wall with her nails, crying. Her skin was icy under his hand. He lifted her into his arms, and she clung to him, shivering, still whimpering in the throes of her nightmare.

He carried her to the bed and lay down beside her and pulled her into his arms, warming her, soothing her until her cries subsided and she slept.

He’d had his own nightmares after his parents died, and after David’s death. He’d used whisky and women to chase them away. He wondered what comfort there’d been for Meg. He kissed her forehead and she nestled into his neck, and he fell asleep feeling safer than he had in years.

M
eg tugged at the covers. Her sister had more than her fair share of the bed again. Her arm was draped over Meg’s shoulder, and her leg was tucked between Meg’s feet, keeping them warm. She wiggled her toes. Rose’s legs were hairy.

Her eyes popped open as she remembered where she was.

With a gasp, she tried to move, to slide out from under Nicholas.

“Don’t move,” he muttered, his mouth against her ear. “You’re letting cold air under the covers. I’d forgotten how cold it gets in the country at night, even in the summer.”

“How did I get here?” she whispered, lying still. Her back was curled against his chest, and she focused on the only part of him she could see without moving, his arm. It was tanned, muscular, and sprinkled with dark hair and the now-familiar scar running up his thumb and wrist.

“You had a nightmare,” he said. “I carried you to bed.”

She stiffened, tried to move away, but his grip tightened.

“Did you, um, did we—?”

“No,” he growled. “If I’d made love to you, you wouldn’t have slept through it, I promise you.” She lay still.

“I’m sorry. I still have nightmares about my father from time to time. I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She plucked at the hair on his arm, traced the scar with her fingertip.

“I assume that’s why you threw me out of your bed on our wedding night?”

“Yes,” she admitted, embarrassed.

He kissed her hair.

She turned to face him. His hair was sleep-tousled, his eyes heavy lidded, his jaw stubbled. Her body tingled. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so difficult to seduce him after all.

“Thank you for keeping me warm,” she murmured, her eyes on his mouth, wondering if she dared to kiss him. She put her hand on his sleep-warm chest.

He grabbed her fingers, kept them still. “I wish I could say it had been my pleasure, but I haven’t actually had the pleasure, so to speak.”

She met his eyes. “You can,” she whispered. “Have the pleasure, I mean.”

His eyes narrowed, fixed on her mouth, and she parted her lips in anticipation of his kiss.

Instead he turned away and sat up, his feet dangling over the edge of the bed. He tugged the sheet around his naked hips, leaving her the blanket.

“Not here, not this way.”

“Then how? I couldn’t think of another way,” she murmured, feeling desperation war with shame. How was she to tempt him? How did other women do it?

She sat up, and her shift drooped from one shoulder as the blanket drifted to her waist. It was cold, and the nipple of her bare breast peaked.

“Then you should have—” He turned to face her, his breeches half buttoned. His jaw dropped. She resisted the urge to straighten her clothing. It wasn’t revulsion on his face. It was desire. It gave her courage.

“Come back to bed,” she pleaded.

He swallowed. “God, Maggie, what did my grandmother promise you?”

“I—” she began. She couldn’t admit the truth. Not here in this room, of all places. Her family was more riddled with scandal than he was.

The key rattled in the lock and John knocked loudly.

She dove under the blanket as Nicholas shouted “Come!”

John had a trunk balanced on his shoulder. “Good morning, Nick. Look ’ere, I have a Mr. Partridge who’s just arrived from London with some things for ye.”

Nicholas picked up Meg’s gown and tossed it to her. She put it on under the covers and got up.

Partridge entered, carrying a small leather case. “Good morning, Your Grace. I came as soon as I heard you were lost in the country without so much as a fresh cravat.” He winced at Nicholas’s disheveled appearance. “Good heavens, it looks like you slept in that shirt, sir! I had no idea how long you’d be rusticating here in the country, so I brought several trunks, with clothing for every possibility. Will you be hunting, sir? Rogers insisted you’d want Hannibal.”

“Several trunks?” Meg gasped. Partridge’s eyes widened in surprise as he noticed her.

“Your Grace!” His eyes flicked over her before he bowed. “Your pardon, I didn’t see you there, I thought you were—” He swallowed. “Anna insisted I bring a trunk for you as well.”

He thought she was what? A servant? One of Temberlay’s strumpets? She drew herself up. “Thank you for coming so promptly, Partridge. John will see you have a room in the servants’ quarters.”

He looked horrified, and Nicholas laughed. “Not to worry, Partridge. I will only be here for a day or two. I plan to return to London before the end of the week.”

Meg read the determination in his eyes.

Partridge sighed in relief. “Shall we see about making you ready for the day, Your Grace?” He looked at John. “Is there hot water?”

“Plenty in the kitchen,” John said.

“For a bath?” the valet asked.

“What’s wrong with a cold wash?” John nodded at the pitcher in the corner.

Partridge’s brows rose. “Primitive surroundings, I must say, Your Grace.”

Nicholas sat at the table. “I’m sure you’ll do your best, Partridge, as always.”

“Amy is laying out breakfast in the dining room, Meg. She doesn’t think Nick is going to be a threat to anyone. She says she won’t carry a hot meal all the way up here just to have it get cold. She wants Nick to have a proper breakfast.” He grinned at Nicholas. “She’s made sweet rolls.”

“Partridge, you must try one of Amy’s rolls. They are an unparalleled taste of heaven.”

“I’m sure Mrs. Parry would be most distressed to hear you say so, sir,” Partridge said mildly, laying out the tools and equipment necessary to prepare a gentleman for the day.

There was no point in remaining. He had dismissed her from his thoughts. Meg slipped away, her face burning, and went to her own room and made herself ready for the day. She chose an elegant day dress that made her look every inch a duchess.

Then she went downstairs to take control of the situation back into her own hands.