Taming the Duke (21 page)

She blushed, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “You must. Otherwise how will we fit inside the coach?” She was rewarded by his chuckle as he helped her up the tiny steps of the carriage.

When he had settled beside her, the vehicle lurched forward, the jingle of harness and the clamor of hooves hammering the muddy ground. She could feel his gaze on her, but she pretended not to notice as she felt along the floor of the carriage.

“What are you doing?” Dalton said, a look of amusement hovering on his lips.

“I’m looking for the bag of coins we are to throw when we come to the village,” she said.

“Your father has probably already beaten you to it.” He chuckled, then drew her close to him. She shivered in response and her reaction wasn’t lost to him.

“You have nothing to fear, Alicia. I won’t do anything to you that you don’t want me to do.”

She wished she could hide her nervousness, but she knew she could hide very little from this man. Instead she straightened the folds of her gown. “What should we do if we have no coins for the villagers? They will expect it.”

He leaned back, a trace of a smile on his face. “The footman hid the box of coins beneath the driver’s seat. They’ll slow down when we approach the outskirts of the village.” He looked at her as
though she were an overly excited child enjoying a birthday.

“What shall we do when we return to the manor?” she asked.

“Partake of the feasting, at least until the evening draws near.”

She heard his soft chuckle, and her cheeks flamed with the thought of their wedding night. She averted her gaze to look out the window. But when she felt his finger trace a line across her cheek, she turned back and their eyes met.

“Don’t be afraid of me, Alicia.” But the smouldering look he gave her only fueled her thoughts of their wedding night.

Chapter Thirteen

T
he leather-faced shepherd raised his tankard in toast to the duke and duchess of Wexton. “May the good Lord shine on ye and yer bride, yer grace.” A resounding cheer rose from the country folk feasting at the rows of white-linen-covered tables groaning with platters of mutton, ham, roast beef and game pies. Garlands of lilies and roses hung from the fluttering silk tents, the makeshift coverings Olivia had ordered in case of rain. Barefoot children and barking dogs scampered along the grass, cries of laughter and singing filled the sun-kissed afternoon.

The dowager duchess, leaning heavily on her cane, had complained that the rain had brought on her rheumatism, and had departed for London before the outdoor festivities had begun. Alicia wondered what the real reason was behind the dowager’s appearance today. Perhaps the proud woman didn’t want to snub her son’s wedding, thus upsetting Aunt Mary. But Alicia preferred to think that Dalton’s mother, although she would rather die than
admit it, wanted to be present for such an important occasion in her son’s life. She hoped so, for Dalton’s sake.

She glanced at her handsome husband, sitting with her at the head of the table. Dalton nodded in appreciation as the eldest villager at the far table stood to toast them, then the ritual repeated itself at the next table.

Earlier, Dalton hadn’t been able to take his eyes off his bride as she met each villager, complimenting the farmers on their strong sons, their wives on their neat, flowered cottages and their children on their handsome, well-behaved pets. She had captured them instantly with her generosity and grace. Although the short ride through the village was customary, she had been entranced with the throngs of curious villagers, and asked if they might stroll among them instead of riding in the open carriage back to the manor.

Walking hand in hand with her among the people, Dalton couldn’t help but be amused as each man, woman and child greeted him first, as was the custom, but it was Alicia who held their attention. Young and old reached to touch her, as though she were a lovely talisman, bringing fruitful crops and good health to their hamlet.

His gaze fixed upon her as she settled beside him, laughing with Olivia and Robert as they watched the three-legged men’s race. Perhaps Alicia was a Lady Fortune, bringing healing and good with her touch.

“…don’t you think so, Dalton?” Robert asked.

Dalton grinned. “I’m sorry, I must have been woolgathering.” Robert smiled a quick look with Olivia. “I said, the men are lighting the bonfires. It will be dark soon and the dancing has begun. This might be a good time for you and Alicia to make your leave.” He reached for Olivia’s hand. “Do you remember our wedding, dearest?”

Olivia’s only answer was a becoming blush to her cheeks. “Perhaps Robert is right. If you remain for any more toasts, you might not be leaving at all.”

Great-Aunt Mary barked a huff of laughter, narrowing her eyes. “Speak for yourself, child. I intend to toast some more and dance until dawn.” She motioned for a servant to refill her champagne glass.

“Perhaps we should leave,” Dalton said, taking Alicia’s hand. Her fingers were like ice, and he couldn’t help feel disappointed. She knew their arrangement included bearing him a child. Did she detest him and their wedding night this much?

A servant pulled back their chairs as they rose, and Dalton brushed back his frustration. Tonight, in the privacy of their bedchamber, man and woman would become one.

“Will there be anything else, your grace?” Ives’s bored monotone wavered slightly, the only indication that earlier, he had led the servants’ celebration of the occasion by drinking the most ale.

“Yes, one more thing,” Dalton said, reaching for the small gift in his desk drawer. “A token of the
day from my wife and me,” he said. “Your new mistress picked this out especially for you.”

Ives’s gray eyes brightened as he took the elegantly wrapped box. “Why, thank you, your grace.”

“Go ahead. Open it now.” Dalton grinned with pleasure as the old retainer, who had served him, his father and grandfather before him, ripped open the wrapping with childlike glee.

“A watch! A gold watch.” Ives’s face lit up as he recognized the value, and heartfelt gratitude spread across his face. “Thank you, your grace, and our new duchess. I hope you’ll both be very happy.”

“Thank you, Ives. Now run along and rejoin the others for the festivities.”

“Of course, your grace.” Ives bowed, then turned on his heel, eager to show off the gift to the other servants.

Dalton stole a glance at the clock. Heaven help him, but he had never dreamed his bride would be reluctant on their wedding night. A terrifying realization washed over him. He’d never bedded a woman before who wasn’t willing. And he wasn’t about to begin now.

Alicia. Beneath her feminine curves was a woman of passion, he knew. But what was it she wanted from him? He raked his fingers through his hair. Well, whatever it was, he’d find out soon enough. Women never remained silent for long if they wanted something from a man.

But that didn’t apply to Alicia. No, his bride wasn’t like other women he’d known. Although
she was the most desirable woman he had ever met, she appeared to have no desire to share his bed.

Good Lord! What was he going to do?

Alicia glanced around the oak paneled master suite as Hortense pulled back the heavy gold curtains surrounding the bed. “You may go now,” Alicia said, hoping Marie and Hortense would leave before they noticed she was trembling.

Hortense squealed with surprise as she turned back the gold satin comforter on the great four-poster canopied bed to reveal carmine rose petals scattered across the fragrant sheets. “Kimbra was in here earlier with Marie,” she said with a laugh. “Now I know what they were up to.”

“It was Kimbra’s idea,” Marie said as she brushed Alicia’s long, lustrous hair.

“Kimbra has always been the romantic of the family,” Alicia said, touched by her sister’s lovely gesture. If only she could be as lighthearted about the occasion as Kimbra, she thought, tension mounting by the minute. With trembling fingers, she untied the white ribbons at her throat so Marie could remove the silk negligee, revealing the virginal white lace nightgown.

“Should I put another log on the fire, my lady?” Hortense shuffled toward the bronze woodbox. “There’s a dampness to the evening, and you don’t want to catch cold.”

Marie laughed merrily. “His Grace will not allow that to happen, Hortense.” A pink blush darkened
Hortense’s cheeks and she clucked her disapproval at Marie’s brazen remark.

“Another log would be fine,” Alicia said, shivering.

Marie put down the hairbrush. “Perhaps her ladyship would like a glass of brandy?”

Alicia climbed upon the feather bed and almost sank out of sight. “No, thank you,” she said, attempting to contain her dignity. “Please close the door when you leave.”

Marie and Hortense exchanged knowing smiles, but bustled quickly from the room. When she was finally alone, Alicia pulled herself up from the thick feather bed and donned her silk robe. She refused to wait in bed for Dalton like a trussed-up Christmas goose. She stepped to the mantelpiece and blew out the only lamp the maids had left burning. Now, the only light came from the fire crackling in the grate.

Minutes passed as she stared into the fire, the sound of the ticking clock on the mantelpiece growing louder. She bit her lip and glanced at the gold numerals. Almost midnight. Where was Dalton? How long would he keep her waiting?

She glanced over her shoulder and peered at the massive canopied bed. Opulent, imposing and intimidating—just like the master.

She rubbed her temples, her head spinning with apprehension of what the next few hours might bring.

When Dalton stepped inside the shadow-filled bedchamber he wasn’t prepared for the sight awaiting
him. In the chair in front of the fireplace, Alicia curled in repose, eyelids closed in sleep.

He would have thought she was too tense to sleep, but then he realized how exhausted she must be after the past few days. Despite the flurry of wedding activities, Alicia had been up before sunrise, fitting in Bashshar’s training sessions between endless wedding details. If anything, she had spent more time with the stallion. Nor had her other duties prevented her from teaching Penn how to read after dinner, often late into the evenings. He smiled, savoring the new and unexpected feelings as pride filled his heart for this unusual woman who was now his bride.

In slumber, she looked like an innocent temptress, if there was such a thing. Firelight caressed the silken gleam of her skin and the red-gold of her chestnut hair. The delicate silk of her dressing gown did nothing to conceal the feminine curves beneath. Dalton swallowed, aware of the hard response of his body as he watched the soft rise and fall of her creamy breasts peek from the inviting opening of her dressing gown.

How he wanted to lift her and carry her to bed and drive himself into her. He wanted to see her rapturous face when he made passionate love to her. He wanted to teach her all the delights of lovemaking and watch her melt with desire for him.

She shifted slightly, her full mouth drawn in slumber. She moved her head, her hair slipping from her shoulder to reveal the exquisite curve of her neck and the delicate hollow of her throat.

He watched, fascinated, as the low-burning fire cast golden shadows across the perfect oval of her face. She was beautiful, yes, but he’d had beautiful women before. Women even more beautiful than she…but not with that soft, full mouth, or that unguarded innocence.

For some reason, the picture of her with the village children flickered into his mind. She’d picked up a little boy who’d been crying, afraid of the coaches’ horses. She’d held him on her shoulder with his dirty face and copious tears ruining her gown. She hadn’t given a thought to it. She’d made the little boy smile, too.

Dalton gazed at her mouth, the soft, full lips, the rich, delicate coloring of them against her fair skin. Would she smile at him with tenderness if he made love to her? Would she whisper his name? Would she murmur the sounds a man could lose himself in, lose his pain in?

He reached to touch the silky strands of firelight in her hair when he noticed that his hand was shaking. Surprised, he drew back.

A tumble of new emotions welled deep inside him, feelings for a woman he had never felt before. He wanted to protect her, comfort her, make the world safe and secure for her.

What the hell was the matter with him? He desired his bride, his body was responding with a violent surge, so what was stopping him?

What was stopping him, indeed? He sucked in a deep breath. He felt more than mere lust.
He was in love with her
. She was a woman, and any man
who thought himself in love was a fool. And Dalton hadn’t been a fool for many years.

Abruptly, he turned on his heel and strode quietly from the room. He needed a drink. He needed a dose of fresh air and a level head.

But glancing back at her before he closed the door, he had a bridled, puzzling image of that frightened little boy who had reached out to her as she smiled at him.

A log tumbled off the grate crackling into white embers, the noise startling Alicia. She lunged forward, her breath catching in her throat. Glancing around the shadowed chamber, she was, for the moment, disoriented; then she remembered.
Her wedding night
. She swallowed hard, running her hand through her unbound hair.

Three-thirty in the morning! She stared at the clock. It would be dawn soon. Where was Dalton? The question hammered at her.

For no reason that she could understand, she hurried across the room, pulled open the heavy door and peered down the empty corridor. What had she expected to see? Feeling foolish, she closed the door, leaning against the carved wood. As she watched the flickering shadows from the low-burning fire play across the walls and massive furniture of the bedchamber, her gaze fixed on the bridal bed, waiting untouched, just as she was.

Didn’t he want her? Surprised by her disappointment, she was also amazed at her growing feeling of rejection. The idea that he wouldn’t come to her
bed had never occurred to her. Did he find her so undesirable or lacking in appeal?