The Third Duke's the Charm (10 page)

What he wanted was to get her alone for a few minutes. It wasn’t a complicated sentiment, just a product of his typical male reaction to the intense attraction he felt for her, the self-imposed celibacy until he could actually act upon it, and the delicious moonlit night.

Everyone would know they had left the ballroom.

Everyone would be watching for when they returned.

It wasn’t as if he had a leisurely seduction ahead. All he really wanted was a kiss.

Well, not true, he wanted much more than that, but not seduction in someone else’s garden—for he intended to do it properly when the time came, slowly, with infinite care and skill, so that she was quivering beneath him in pleasure and need.

In her innocence he knew she didn’t realize how he felt. With everything in his power, he would make her feel the same desire.

But for now, a kiss would be a nice beginning. He wasn’t a patient man by nature, but on the other side of the coin, anticipation was an aphrodisiac.

As long as the wait wasn’t prohibitively long.

Almost as soon as he got her to a corner of the darkened path, the crushed stone crunching under their measured progress, he randomly pointed to a bush with small white flowers. “Isn’t that one unusual?”

Vivian peered at it, and then decisively shook her head. “Quite common, I’m afraid. It is blooming a bit early due to the pleasant weather, but no one would believe that is what we came out here to see.”

“If they had the slightest idea what we are looking at. Think about the lofty lords and ladies back in that ballroom. They wouldn’t know this from a weed. I promise you no one in the household hosting this party planted or nurtured it.”

“This is hardly a weed,” she objected, looking aghast, her features cast in moonlight. “I never implied that, I simply meant that—”

“I know.” He stopped her midsentence by catching her by the waist and lowering his head to touch his mouth to hers, whispering against her lips, “Calling a cultivated flowering bush a weed . . . that is blasphemy. Forgive me.”

She stilled. Not stiffly, he was grateful to note as he gently molded his lips to hers, but with a yielding that he’d expected, because he wasn’t unaware of how she looked at him, or the blush that occasionally touched her smooth cheeks. However, her slender body was not exactly pliant in his arms either.

Nor did she seem to know quite what to do, which filled him with a definite sense of satisfaction, for it meant Charles had never as much as kissed her. Upon reflection he hadn’t thought it had ever happened, but it was a relief to know his instincts were still keen enough to sense it was true.

How long had it been since he’d had a taste of innocence? Maybe never. Even his first sexual encounter when he was fifteen had been with an older woman who had shown
him
what to do, not the other way around. His lovers since then had certainly never been virginal . . . he knew better.

“Like this.” He took her glass, set it aside with his on a small bench that sat by the path, and reached for her again, instructing, “In a kiss the closer the better, my sweet.”

She’d actually moved into the circle of his arms already in a most satisfactory way, though he doubted it was on purpose. They were thigh to thigh, his fingers traveling the contours of her graceful spine.

She quivered.

What a lovely sign that promised future delights.

“I’m sorry, I . . . don’t . . . I haven’t . . .”

He’d heard that breathless sound in a woman’s voice before. His tongue traced her lower lip and his body tightened. “Open.”

Her lips parted and at the first sigh, he stopped worrying he might shock her too much. Not because she was used to the gentle exploration of his tongue, but because her reaction was just as he might expect. Tentative, curious, and then a little more brazen. Her hand crept up to grasp his shoulder.

It was soft, sweet, and then suddenly it was heated—even molten—as she learned the nuances of tongue against tongue, body against body, and the drift of his palms as he cupped her hips and brought her more fully against him. Finally he was the one who lifted his head and broke the kiss.

She would have gone further.

He knew the signals, but regretfully, this was not the night for it. His aroused body disagreed, his erection almost painful, but there was some solace in knowing he hadn’t been mistaken about her potential sexuality.

The time until the wedding suddenly seemed entirely too long.

Her exotic eyes were wide as they stared up at him, her lips trembling just slightly as she took in a quick breath. “I always wondered what it would be like.”

“Wondered what would be like?”

“A true kiss.”

If he didn’t put some distance between them, he might tumble her right there in the garden, which for a botanist might be considered romantic, but hardly appropriate considering the curious crowd waiting for their return. Lucien loosened his hold with some effort, wondering if she had any idea how much she affected him.

So have I
.

She’d wondered about her first kiss. He’d wondered what it would be like to kiss
her
. Worlds apart, yet also the same.

If he said it out loud it would be entirely too much of a confession, so instead he affected a smile. “I hope I didn’t fall below expectations.”

“I think you are experienced enough to know you did not.”

And if
she
were just a bit more experienced, she might have known that she did not fall below expectations either because of his arousal. But, as usual, her candor was refreshing. “I think perhaps we should go back to the festivities. Even I am not used to such avid attention. Everyone is watching us.”

Because it was different,
she
was different, and she was going to be his wife.

Yet, while this might not be the venue for it, he found he was considering seduction. He’d told her mother he wouldn’t wait half a year. And that was perfectly true because he found he didn’t want to wait another day.

Fate had stepped in and gifted him this chance.

After all, he was going to marry her.

Chapter Ten

She
encountered her august father-in-law for the first time in hallway. Louisa was lost, wandering around, hoping to see a servant, but instead she ran squarely into a tall, dark-haired older man who so closely resembled Charles, she took a literal step backward. She’d seen him before, but never so close, and certainly not when it was just the two of them.

The duke
.

She
had
taken up quarters in his home. Running into him was inevitable, but yet she was unprepared.

“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” she stammered. “My...my lord, I mean Your Grace. I’m just rather lost.”

His measuring gaze did not make her feel much better as it swept over her. “This is the private wing of the house. Surely you were told your duties. See Mandrake if you don’t know what to do.”

Mandrake. The butler. How mortifying. He assumed she was a servant. Perhaps he could be forgiven for she was dressed in an unadorned gown that was hardly new and they had never met before.

The duke had been absent at dinner the night after their arrival, but Charles had claimed it was because his father had a previous social commitment. She hadn’t been sure it wasn’t more a gesture eschewing her company, but there wasn’t much escaping the reality at this moment with her father-in-law right in front of her. She blurted out, “I married Charles.”

What a stupid declaration
.

“I . . . see.” Something flickered in his eyes.

“I don’t know the house. It’s . . . large.”

As if the duke did not realize that. Her embarrassment deepened.

“I would think it would be more accurate to say my son married you.”

That might be true in his mind, but as far as she was concerned, she’d sacrificed just as much. It might be for different reasons, but her parents were not happy either about her choice. Louisa took in a calming breath. “No,” she said quietly. “We married each other.”

Contradicting the duke? That was not a good way to start off her married life.

But to her surprise, a slight smile curved his lips. “Fair enough. I stand corrected. Quite true.”

“I understand why you are upset, Your Grace.” She did her best to sound composed.

“I don’t know that I am.”

What does that mean
?

The hall was long and polished, with small ornate tables set with lamps, and beautiful patterned rugs. Louisa waited, wanting with all of her being to turn and run, but steeling herself to stand and face him.

He elaborated. “I do not know you yet, and perhaps the way my son went about this was not of my choosing, but it remains to be seen if I will disapprove of his choice or not. Now, if you turn and continue down the hallway in that direction, it will take you to the main stairs. I think you will find someone to guide you to the breakfast room.”

Not quite acceptance, but then again, not outright haughty rejection either. She nodded and whirled in the direction he had indicated, grateful to escape, but at that moment the duke began to cough rather violently and she turned back around, uncertain. Was it proper to inquire after his health?

“My love.”

She didn’t realize Charles had come looking for her, almost bumping into him as she turned around again. “Oh.”

His arm slid around her waist, and normally she would have been both delighted to see him and grateful, but the moment he pulled her close, she could feel how tense he was.

Not a good sign.

“Father,” he said formally.

The duke inclined his head, clearing his throat. “Charles. As you can see, I’ve met your bride.”

What Louisa wished, more than anything on the earth, was for a hole to open and swallow her whole.

“Beautiful, is she not?” Her husband’s arm tightened.

“Indeed. I never doubted you would choose someone who could turn your head.”

The tone was neutral enough, but it did hint at an insult. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“What is unclear?”

Truly, a giant abyss in the floor would be welcome. “Charles,” she murmured, her voice entreating, “can we please go down to breakfast?”

“Do you wish for us to leave?” He held her firmly against him, his expression resolute, his arm an iron band as he looked in open challenge at his father.

This was exactly what she didn’t wish: to come between him and his family. For a moment her husband’s gaze flickered downward, but then he straightened.

“Did I ever say that?” The duke, to her surprise, seemed actually quite mild mannered despite his imposing demeanor. “Right now I am going down to the conservatory, where my plants await me without any argument at all except how much water they are getting or the type of soil I have chosen for them. Please excuse me.”

He left, walking past them with suitable dignity, and she had to glance up at Charles and then jab him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Ouch.” He feigned a reaction, but she saw the concern in his eyes. “Do I deserve that?”

“Yes.” With some effort she freed herself from his embrace. “I’m not accustomed to every nuance of society, I do acknowledge that. But I am not a child either. You do not have to rescue me from your father.”

“That remains to be seen.” He stared at where his father had departed, his eyes shadowed. “You don’t know him well.”

“He was perfectly polite.”

“He
would
be.”

“Is that supposed to be in his disfavor?”

“He has never completely approved of me. For that matter, Lucien goes his own way, but my father overlooks it because he is mindful enough of the proprieties to keep his name out of the gossip sheets— for the most part. I am the one he considers to be without much worth.”

“Is that really what you think?”

“Yes. Before you I didn’t really even
try
to be respectable. What was the point?”

It was clear it cost him to say it, and she didn’t need to be told that his defiance in marrying her instead of his father’s choice for him was not made without sacrifice.

No one understood more.

Louisa took in a slow breath. “He was not insulting, nor did he say anything disparaging about our marriage, so I am willing to fly a flag of truce. I can’t promise you the same from my father, if you want the truth. Yours seems much more approachable.”

“That is another call I need to make. The vicarage.” Her husband’s smile was rueful—and utterly charming. “Should I wear armor?”

“We will go together.”

“I don’t need you to protect me.”

“I might need you to protect
me
.”

His gaze softened. “I’ve changed your life.”

It was a joy, after the tension of the morning, to smile at him and say truthfully, “Yes, you’ve
completed
my life. I love you. What else matters?”

After a moment, he laughed in his usual fashion and pulled her close again. His lips brushed hers. “Us. Just us. What shall we name our first child?”

“Charles!”

“It is possible, you do know that.”

She blushed. “I am not
that
naïve.”

“For a girl, I favor Penelope.”

She rather liked that name also. It had a nice musical sound to it. “And for a boy?”

“Arthur perhaps.” He kissed her, softly at first, but then with slightly more purpose. “Do you care to postpone breakfast and instead concentrate on creating our child?”

***

He was a knave for seducing his wife instead of discussing the issues with his family, but the former was certainly more pleasurable than the latter, and since he really didn’t know what to say yet, Charles felt he should assess his position further before he upset her unduly. His father was unhappy with him. Fine, he didn’t need approval to lead his own life, but Louisa was not so sanguine.

Putting a heel to his horse, he cantered down the meadow, took a low stone fence, and inhaled deeply of the clean, warm country air.

Whatever she said, he was going to see her father first. Alone. He didn’t know the vicar well, but he had a sense that the interview would be even less promising than the one with his father, so it was best if she wasn’t there to witness it. Later, he would go with her, but the initial anger should fall solely on his shoulders. They were broader, he was the one who fell in love with and pursued her, and when the ash settled, his level of responsibility was a lot greater.

The vicarage was a long, low stone building next to the village, the churchyard green and well tended, with lichen-covered headstones and a sexton’s shed at the back. Pulling his horse back, he trotted into the small enclosure near the yard and dismounted.

The woman who answered the door clearly knew exactly who he was, her face fixed in a disapproving expression. She was tall and thin, and he recognized Louisa’s description of the housekeeper. He bowed. “Mrs. Irvine? Lord Charles Caverleigh.”

“I know who ye are.” She didn’t precisely sniff, but she wasn’t cordial either. “I take it ye wish to see the vicar.”

“I think I should, don’t you?”

“It is said to be better late than never, milord,” she murmured, “but in your case I cannot swear it to be true. Come in, and I’ll tell him ye are here.”

It wasn’t perfect, but perhaps a better welcome than he expected. He was shown into a small sitting room, no Italian marble fireplaces or masterpiece paintings in sight, just a collection of well-worn furniture, faded draperies, and the warmth of the sun through the window. It smelled vaguely like lemon and oil polish, with a hint of baking bread. There was a miniature on one of the tables scattered about and he wandered over to pick it up, seeing a fair-haired little girl with ingenuous eyes stare back at him.

“Yes, it is her. I painted it myself.”

Charles turned and slowly set down the small easel. “Sir.”

The vicar was unsmiling, his face slightly lined, his demeanor as stern as Charles remembered. “Is my daughter with child?”

That was certainly blunt. He took a moment and answered coolly, “Before we wed, no.”

“Noble of you, I suppose.” Tall, his fair hair brushed back from a high forehead, the other man moved into the room, taking a pipe from his pocket and putting it, unlit, between his teeth. “As it seems you can talk her into whatever you wish. Did she decline to face me?”

“No. She doesn’t know I am here. We just returned from Scotland yesterday.”

“I would ask if there was some reason you didn’t come to me honestly and state your intentions, but I already know the answer is that you were affianced to another woman.”

Since he wasn’t sure what Vivian had told everyone, Charles could hardly refute any part of that statement, and it was in essence the truth. His smile was thin. “I believe my father pointed out that very fact to me just yesterday afternoon.”

“But yet you couldn’t keep your hands off my daughter.”

“I
married
your daughter.”

“Without my permission and while you were engaged to someone else.”

That was the crux of the matter. Taking in a deep breath, Charles glanced back at the miniature and then looked at his father-in-law again. “We love each other. Does that not count in your rigid world? Vivian and I were pledged by our parents, not our hearts. It isn’t at all the same. I find it enlightening that she understands more than you or my father. It seems to me the affront isn’t the marriage itself, but the defiance of an authority; as a grown man, I am not sure I wish to bow to it when it involves the rest of my life and the happiness of the woman I love. I respect you, and I respect my father, but I am not going to accept your word directing our future. Let us decide for ourselves. That is all I ask of you.”

It could have been his imagination, but there might have been a glimmer of respect in his eyes before his father-in-law replied. “It seems like you and my disobedient daughter have not given me a choice.”

“Louisa is hardly disobedient.”

“I certainly forbade her to see you when I first heard the rumors.” His father-in-law removed the unlit pipe from his clamped teeth.

Charles controlled his hot-blooded reaction to the insult. “May I ask why?”

“You have a reputation for gambling and chasing women. Not whom I would choose for Louisa, who was raised in a virtuous household and deserves an honest, hard-working husband, not an indolent, privileged, rakish young blade who began his marriage in deceit and dishonor.”

It was no secret the vicar disapproved of the aristocracy in general. Had Charles’s father not supported a great deal of not just the village but the surrounding countryside because of his holdings, Charles suspected there would be many more sermons delivered on the vices fostered by wealth and social prominence.

“Is it me you object to, sir, or my family?” He kept his tone as even as possible.

“Both. Do you deny the doxies you’ve bedded or the propensity for reckless games of chance?”

It was impossible to claim he’d never played cards or dice, or had lovers before his marriage for that matter, and he didn’t try to point out that put so simply it sounded much worse than it was. He’d never lost more than he could afford, and as for the women, the word “chase” didn’t apply. From the time he was sixteen, some of society’s loveliest ladies were inviting him into their beds and for the most part, he had tired of that game quickly. He was much more pursued than pursuer. Not that he had resisted much, but that was no one’s business but his own and all in the past. He said simply, “I’ve never loved a woman before Louisa.”

“Let us hope you have enough character to sustain the emotion. For my part, I have doubts, but she has chosen her path. If you make her miserable, she has herself to blame.”

He would give his life to make her happy, but he doubted that declaration would change the vicar’s position on the matter. “She wishes to come see you and her mother also, of course.”

“Are you asking my permission for her to visit? If so, I give it, if she comes alone. This is the last conversation you and I will have, Lord Charles. I can’t think of anything else we have to say to each other that has not been made clear between us.”

As a dismissal, it was effective. The infernal man was right. He couldn’t think of a single argument to that point, and truthfully, his desire to have another conversation in a similar vein was nonexistent.