The Emerald Duchess (20 page)

Before the duke could reply, he felt her breathing become deeper, and so he only kissed her gently on the temple and in the little hollow of her throat before he closed his eyes himself.

It was a long time before he slept, however, for he could not help but recall how spoiled and arrogant he had been when he first met her. He remembered how he had only thought to make her his mistress until he discovered her real name, and he was ashamed of himself. How grateful and humble he was now for this precious gift of love she offered him so freely. His wife and his lover, and the child she carried made her even more dear to him. He had not really prayed in years, but now he thanked God for his great good fortune and vowed to be worthy of it before he fell asleep at last, holding her close in his arms.

When he awoke in the morning, he saw that she was still asleep, lying on her side close to him, with one slim arm thrown across his chest and her fingers entwined in the curly black hair on his chest as if she was afraid he might disappear. There had been no further nightmares, for although the duke had slept intermittently, sometimes coming awake to ease an arm aching from the weight of her body, or to make sure she was comfortable, his duchess had slept like one bewitched, her breathing deep and even and her face composed. He had meant to return to his own bed, sure she would rest better alone, but now he made himself comfortable and dozed beside her.

It was sometime later when he was startled to hear a quick knock on the door, which opened immediately to reveal the aproned figure of Reynolds, her maid. The duke had chosen this woman deliberately, for she was so unlike Emily he was sure she would not be reminded of her previous occupation. Now, the tall, gaunt, middle-aged maid flushed and began to back from the room. From the bed beside him, he heard his wife say, almost coldly, “From now on, you must not enter my room until you have been summoned, Reynolds. You may go.”

The maid curtsied and shut the door quietly behind her, and Charles turned, afraid from her tone that Emily was upset. He found her grinning up at him, her green eyes alight with mischief.

“Now, didn’t I sound very ducal, dearest Charles?” she whispered, and when he put his arms around her and drew her close, she added, “Of course it was very unfair to the poor woman when she has never had to worry about such things before.”

“Then her reprimand is long overdue, for I find your bed so much more pleasant than mine that I plan to spend every night here,” the duke told her, kissing her on the nose and both eyelids.

“No doubt it is because it is wider, or firmer, or softer,” his irrepressible wife agreed cordially. “Perhaps the pillows are more to your liking, or the coverings a more agreeable color than your own?”

“Lorelei,” he said, shaking her gently, “ ’tis only your I gorgeous self that makes the difference, and well you know it! Well, wife, are you pleased to rise?”

Emily put back her head and laughed. “Well, husband, are you?” she asked. Then she put her hands on his shoulders and stared at him with a proud, haughty expression, and in the same voice she had used to address her maid, she added, “Should her Grace be pleased to love his Grace? Hmmm. Her Grace will think about it.”

“But his Grace does not have to think,” he growled before he began to kiss her over and over again.

It was a long time before Reynolds was called to bring the duchess’s breakfast tray, and when she entered the room, there was no sign of the duke, although she could hear him whistling in the adjoining rooms.

“I’m sure I’m very sorry, your Grace,” Reynolds whispered in an anguished tone, and Emily looked up to see that her maid was distraught, for she was twisting her hands in her apron and had tears in her eyes. Again there came that little snake of memory, dark and somehow threatening, and Emily said quickly, “It was not your fault, my dear Reynolds. I should have told you my wishes before. Come, forget it! It is such a beautiful day and I would like a bath before I dress. And then I think I will wear the new sprigged muslin and the large straw hat with the matching roses on it. The duke is taking me for a drive this afternoon.” She smiled to show she was not at all displeased, and the maid plumped up her pillows and laid her breakfast tray before her with a grateful look for her kindness, before she went
a
way to get the bath ready. Emily found she was hungry and ate the shirred eggs and a slice of ham as well as a roll. As she sipped her coffee, she smiled to herself. What an appetite her Grace has this morning, she thought, and I don’t even have to wonder why!

In the late-summer days that followed, all through September and early October, the Saint Allyns continued to revel in their newfound happiness. Charles promised to teach Emily to ride next spring, after the baby’s birth, for both of them found the easy walks and sedate drives that were all they could indulge in, irksome. There was hardly any privacy during the day at Wrotherham Park, not with the army of servants going about their duties, all bowing and tugging their forelocks, or curtsying whenever they saw the duke and duchess. Sometimes Emily would look up and see Charles staring at her, and as she knew very well by this time what that sparkling, intent look implied, she would smile and blow him a kiss as soon as the butler turned his back or the footman bent to attend the fire. She knew that he longed to send them all scurrying so he might bolt the drawing-room door and make love to her then and there, and that he refrained from doing so only with a great deal of effort. It was true that in her early pregnancy, and with her love for the duke glowing on her face, Emily was more beautiful than ever, especially since there was no cloud of regret about “unequal stations” and “unworthy brides” to mar her happiness, and Charles could hardly believe his good fortune and the joy he experienced so continually.

He had summoned London’s most famous
accoucheur
to examine his wife, and although Emily laughed at his concern, smoothing her gown over her flat stomach, she acquiesced, for the child—Charles’ son—was only a little less dear to her already than his illustrious father.

The duke, over a glass of sherry with Doctor Randall while Emily dressed again, was relieved to hear that his wife was in excellent health and that the Doctor expected nothing to complicate her pregnancy and delivery. The duke questioned him about her loss of memory as well, but the learned doctor had no more insight into that condition than Doctor Spears had had.

“It may be, your Grace,” he said as he rose to take his leave, “that the duchess will remember in an instant. Even something as simple as a familiar aroma or sound could trigger her memory. But it is equally possible that she will never recall her past. You said it has been over two months since the accident? That is indeed a long time, but since she is not fretting about it and seems so happy and contented, I cannot see that her condition should be of any concern.”

The duke thanked him and, as the butler ushered him out, could not help offering up a silent plea that his wife would never remember her former life. He knew he could not keep her in this ivory tower forever, aloof from the world and its cruel gossip, for he had already received a horrified letter from his aunt, and only a few cold, formal notes of congratulation from other members of the
haut ton
that showed him only too clearly what his duchess would have to face in the future. He refused to think about it now. At least until the baby was
born
he could protect her here at Wrotherham Park. When they went to London next spring for the Season, he hoped that their love for each other and her attachment to him would be so strong that even when he gave her a carefully edited story of her background, it would make no difference to her, and with him at her side, she would continue to be the gracious and assured Duchess of Wrotherham that she was now.

He put all thoughts of this from his mind as Emily entered the drawing room, radiant in a gown of her favorite green. She came to him immediately with that familiar look of love in her eyes that always caught at his heart, and as she held up her face for his kiss, he vowed he would cherish her always, no matter what the future might bring.

1
1

By the end of October, Emily began to show her pregnancy a little. Charles admired the new fullness of her breasts, but she and Reynolds did not have to choose her gown with any more care as yet. Emily was glad that the current fashions, with their low round necklines and Empire waists would conceal her condition so well when the time came. She knew her pregnancy was well known among the servants, and a matter of gener
al
rejoicing and anticipation, but she was still a little shy about it, and when Mrs. Turner brought her an eggnog and some little cakes the chef had made especially, or Charles’ butler, Wilkins, beamed at her and was quick to send a footman to support her elbow when she came downstairs, she was embarrassed.

“I am treated like a china doll,” she complained to the duke as they sat one morning in the library. “I do not
want
to be coddled this way. Heavens, I will not break.”

Her husband smiled at her over the papers spread on his desk. “I am delighted to hear you say so, Emily, for while you were still sleeping, I went out for an early ride. It is going to be a beautiful day, as warm as summer. Should you like to have a small adventure with me?”

There was an air of almost devilish anticipation in his eyes, and Emily nodded her head.

“Good! Summon your maid, Duchess, and have her bring you your stole and bonnet. I shall say no more, for I intend this to be a surprise.”

When they went out, Emily saw two footmen putting a large hamper and some pillows and rugs in one of the landaus.

The top of the carriage had been folded back, and the duke’s team of chestnuts stood ready harnessed.

“Where are we going, Charles?” Emily asked after she had been seated in the carriage and the duke took his place beside her and picked up the reins. She noticed there were no attendant grooms, and smiled to herself.

“It is a secret, my dear,” he told her as they tooled away down the drive. “But I am kidnapping you and taking you away to a far country where I can have you all to myself, completely alone.”

“How nice,” Emily said, putting her hand on his thigh and feeling the muscles tense. “And there we can make love whenever we wish, and I will not have to watch you struggle to control yourself until what has become, my dear sir, a disgracefully early bedtime.”

The duke laughed out loud. “But the hour I choose to go up is perfectly understandable in a soon-to-be-father. Of course the servants know it is because of my concern for the heir, and not from any designs I might have on your beautiful self.”

“Then it is just as well they do not know of the amount of sleep I am really allowed,” Emily said demurely. “I hope you may be right, for I have been meaning to ask you to spare my blushes, your Grace. I can almost hear what the footmen are thinking when they bow us up the stairs, and I what your so very correct butler makes of it I do not care to
know.”

“I shall order him to leave our employ as soon as we return,” the duke vowed, turning the landau off the main drive into a smaller lane. “But, dearest, are you really concerned? I would not have you upset.”

Emily smiled up into his suddenly frowning face. “Of course not. I am teasing you. It is shameless of me perhaps, but I do not care what anyone thinks of us, I love you too much. And after all, surely what the Duke and Duchess of Wrotherham deem proper carries enough credit to overset any of the world’s opinions.”

She knew she had said the right thing, for Charles’ face brightened at once. “Well said, my love! If you would please me, always remember that,” he replied.

They traveled on through a section of the woods that Emily had never seen before, and at length the duke pulled up in a
small clearing. He gave her the reins to hold while he secured the horses, then he came back to the carriage and took out the hamper and rugs, and bidding her remain where she was until he came back, he disappeared down a narrow path. Emily closed her eyes and raised her face to the warm sunlight. The heat of the day was making her sleepy, and she was content to sit there on the perch, listening to the sounds of the birds and waiting for Charles to return to her.

“Come, love,” she heard his deep voice commanding her, and she opened her eyes to see him smiling and holding out his arms. When she stepped down from the carriage, she found herself swooped up in those same strong arms and carried down the path.

“Indeed I think I am kidnapped,” she said, one arm around his neck and the other hand holding on to her straw hat. “Horrors! Miles away in the forest, and no one to come if I call!”

“They had better not,” the duke said in mock grimness as he reached the end of the path and set her on her feet in a grassy glade bordered by a wide shallow brook and a small waterfall.

“Charles, what a perfect spot,” Emily exclaimed, running to admire the falling water.

Her husband spread out the rugs, and after she sat down and untied the streamers of her hat, he took the bottle of wine from the hamper and went to place it in a shaded spot under the waterfall to cool, before he came back to sit beside her. Soon Emily discarded her shawl, and the duke removed his coat and cravat and opened his shirt in the warm stillness.

“Who would take us for the duke and duchess now?” Emily asked idly, one arm shading her eyes as she lay sprawled full-length on the rug and smiled up into the handsome face that was bent over hers, smiling in return. “We look like a couple of servants on their day off.
”

She wondered why Charles’ face darkened for a moment, but then he kissed her sun-warmed lips and she forgot everything but the exciting familiar pressure of his mouth, and the strong yet gentle hands that moved up her bare arms to caress her breasts.

“You are a witch, my love,” he said when at last he raised his head. “Come, let us eat our luncheon. To return with a full hamper would only give rise to those speculations you
abhor. Why, my desires for early bedtimes would pale in comparison.”

Emily ate the pat
e
and crusty rolls, nibbled on a chicken leg, and let Charles peel her a peach. They drank their sparkling wine from crystal goblets, but when he offered her a piece of cake, she refused. “I am full, and besides, it will I make me fat.”

Charles lay back on the rug and laughed. “There is no way you can stop getting much fatter, my dear. And after all, what is one sweet more or less?”

“Shall you mind, Charles?” she asked, her face earnest. “I mean, I know I must get heavy and awkward and grotesque in the coming months, but I—”

The duke put one hand over her mouth and the other
,
protectively, on her abdomen. “You will be even more dear to me, my love, if that is possible. How can you be grotesque, you, the mother of our child and my dearest love?”

Emily felt a lump in her throat at his words, and she was glad when the duke pulled her down gently beside him and began to make love to her.

For some reason, there in the woods so far from Wrotherham
Park and completely alone, their lovemaking was more sensual than it had ever been before. It was the first time since
their marriage they had been together outdoors, and Emily gave herself up to it with abandon. The duke, as if sensing
her mood, took endless time to arouse her to heights she had never reached before. She cried out in delight when at last they reached that secret peak they had climbed together so many times before, and afterward, she could not restrain her tears of happiness when she lay clasped in his arms against his broad chest before she fell fast asleep
.
The duke looked down at her, his own heart full of loving content, and then he wiped all traces of tears from her cheeks and stretched out beside her to sleep as well.

When she woke up, Emily kept her eyes closed for a moment, listening to the cheerful sound of the brook and feeling the warm sun on her naked body. She turned her head idly and saw the duke beside her, his black hair crisp in the
_t
sunlight and his aristocratic features relaxed in sleep, before she sighed and stared up at the blue sky and the few puffy
clouds that floated above them.

It must be very late, she thought. We must make haste, for Lady Quentin will be angry if I do not return soon.

Suddenly she froze, and then she sat up, her green eyes wide and staring, and one trembling hand crept up to cover her mouth when she heard herself whimpering. Her eyes were dark with horror, and with an involuntary motion, she edged away from the sleeping figure of her husband. Her name was Emily Wyndham. She was the daughter of Althea Wyndham, and she was also Margaret Nelson, lady’s maid. A thousand memories flooded her mind. Lord and Lady Wyndham
...
Captain and Lady Quentin
...
Wantage, London, Belgium. Now she knew what she had been doing in Bristol, why she had masqueraded as Mrs. Wiggins. She had been trying to escape the duke again. Miss Rutherford is right to hate men, she thought bitterly.

For now, of course, she was Emily Saint Allyn, Duchess of Wrotherham, the one person she had fought against becoming for such a long time and with such high purpose.

Suddenly she was angry, as angry as she had ever been in her life. Charles had known! He had known how she felt, and he had married her anyway, taking advantage of her when she was unable to stop him in her illness. And he had seduced her with his lovemaking, all the while not telling her anything about her past, so that she might not be reminded of it and perhaps regain her memory. He had been so selfish, so determined to have his own way, that he even hoped she would remain in ignorance of her former life.

She felt a sharp pain deep inside her and leaned over, trying not to retch, and her hands flew to protect the new life there. Dear God, she thought, my baby! In a moment the pain left her, and she straightened, her movements those of an old woman. What was she to do? There was no going back and even if she could bear the squalor of a divorce, she knew Charles would never allow it, for she carried the possible heir to Wrotherham. Suddenly she wished she had never met the arrogant, superior duke, never fallen in love with him, never lain with him and conceived his child. Was her life always to be so horrible and complicated? Was she never to know any peace at all?

She heard the duke stirring beside her, and knowing she could not face him just yet, she lay down again and, turning her head away, closed her eyes. The sun that had seemed so
benevolent only moments before could not warm her now, and she hoped Charles would not notice her trembling. She sensed it when he turned and looked at her and then she heard him rise and move away. A moment later, her shawl was laid softly over her, and she could have wept as she felt his hands tuck it gently around her body so as not to disturb her slumber. Charles, Charles, she cried deep inside, why did you do it? Why?

In the little time that it took the duke to dress and repack the hamper, she had composed herself. She knew she was not able to tell him what had happened just yet, for she needed more time to get used to the sudden recovery of her memory and to make plans for how she would handle the future. When he knelt beside her and put his hand on her shoulder, she was ready. She opened her eyes and stared up at him. She had all she could do to summon a faint smile to her stiff lips.

“I shall call you Sleeping Beauty, love,” he teased, stooping to kiss her lightly. “I am sorry to disturb your rest, but it grows late and there is a cool breeze come up.” He handed her her shift as she sat up obediently, and added, “I will carry these things back to the landau while you dress. Our secret journey is over, but I will never forget it.”

“Nor I, your Grace,” she murmured as he strode away. “Perhaps it is to be the last really happy day of my life, I cannot tell.”

As she fastened the hooks of her gown and pulled on her stockings, Emily mourned the innocence that had been hers in her illness. If only she had not remembered! If only it were possible to go back!

She could not bring herself to talk very much on the return drive, and when the duke questioned her, she was quick to excuse herself by saying she was a little tired.

“I hope it has not been too much for you, my dear,” he said, his dark eyes worried as he whipped up the team. “But we will soon be home and then you may rest till dinnertime if you like. I should confer with my agent, in any case. The poor man has been trying to get my attention for some time, but we know, , do we not, love, why he has been so unsuccessful?”

He threw back his head and laughed, and Emily tried again to smile. As they drew up to the steps at the front of the house, he added, “And no one will remark on our early bedtime tonight, for you will go up alone to sleep. I will not disturb you, my love.”

He handed her down from the carriage and gave her his best bow, and then, oblivious to the many windows behind him, he kissed her hand. “My dearest,” he murmured, “you have made me so happy, I am sure the gods are jealous. I hope they are not even now preparing their revenge.”

He took her up to her rooms himself and summoned her maid, and just when Emily thought she must scream from the tension of trying to appear normal in front of him, he went away.

She sank into a wing chair before the fire, and when Reynolds came in and curtsied, she could barely summon a normal tone of voice to order tea. How many times had she herself stood just like that, eyes downcast and hands folded meekly before her, awaiting her mistress’s pleasure? And since her marriage, how many times had she ordered Reynolds to do this and that with no more concern for the woman than Lady Quentin and her other mistresses had had for her? She remembered the morning when she had spoken so coldly to her maid for coming in while Charles was still in her bed, and how she had laughed about it afterward—laughed, like some grand, cruel lady when in reality she and Reynolds were equals.

Emily was quick to dismiss her when her maid brought the tea, and when she was alone, she got up to pace up and down, her hands clenched and her face pale.

By the time the first dressing bell rang, she was as confused as ever. She had not been able to decide what she should do, for her mind had ranged instead over everything that had happened to her since her mother died. It had been like glancing through a book she had read years before, making the reacquaintance of characters she had once loved but since forgotten.

But always her thoughts came back to Charles and their brief liaison, and once again the anger flooded back as she reviewed every single minute of their time together and realized that he had not introduced her to a single member of his family or ever suggested he wanted her to meet his friends. Oh, no, she thought bitterly, he rushed me down here to the country where no one can see me, and he intends to keep me hidden here as long as he can. In spite of his loving words, he is ashamed of me, for, otherwise, why would he not brazen it out as he had always said he would do? She discounted the opinions of his army of servants; they would take their orders and their cue from him. It was clear to her now that he had married her because he had “ruined” her, a girl from a good family, and because she was pregnant, and for no other reason. Of course he was not averse to making love to her; after all, had he not paid a high price for the privilege?