To Desire a Wicked Duke (19 page)

“But you particularly delight in having opinions contrary to mine.”

Her eyebrow lifted. “Is that not an outrageous case of the pot calling the kettle black? Besides, I need an excuse to leave Fanny and Basil alone together. If I am occupied with you all morning, then their courtship can proceed that much faster.”

Ian shook his head in resignation. Tess was fiercely loyal to her friends and loved ones and wouldn’t be deterred from her plan except by sheer force.

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of your matchmaking,” he grumbled. “Very well, then. Where do you suggest we begin our search?”

“Where I first heard the ghostly sounds, naturally.”

Ian exhaled an exaggerated sigh, but there was a smile on Tess’s lips when she led the way from the breakfast room.

They searched the castle room by room, starting with her bedchamber where she had heard the clanking noises. The sounds, Tess said, had seemed to come from one side of the room, near the hearth, or possibly down the chimney.

However, they found nothing of interest in any of the castle’s upper floors, or in the towers or cellars either. Their failure seemed to gratify Tess, judging by her good-natured gibe once she had dismissed all the servants who had aided in their exploration.

“I am glad you had no more luck than we had the first time, Rotham. I would not have liked to be upstaged.”

The teasing note in her declaration captured Ian’s attention more than her actual words, and when he hazarded a glance at Tess, he found himself transfixed. They had finished their search up on the battlements, where she had paused to drink in the view.

When she lifted her face to the morning sun, letting the glow caress her ivory skin, Ian’s breath caught at the enchanting picture she made. She wore her hair down instead of piled atop her head as usual, and the
dark richness reflected the sunlight, making him want to bury his hands in the silken mass.

Her quiet smile held that same joyful touch of warmth, like the first rays of a sunrise.

Ian felt a hard tug of sheer lust in his gut. With fierce effort, he clamped down on his primal urges. He refused to act the fool, lusting after Tess when the desire was so one-sided.

Fortunately, she seemed not to notice his momentary paralysis, for she changed the subject entirely. “Now, if you will be so kind, I would like for you to accompany me on my morning calls.”

Ian winced at her suggestion. “You are asking a great deal of me, you realize?”

“Perhaps, but our absence from the castle will continue to allow Fanny and Basil to be alone together. And because of your exalted title, our neighbors are likely to receive me more cordially if you are with me. I confess I am eager to meet them, especially the vicar.”

“That is because you know little about him,” Ian replied sardonically. “I guarantee that spending even ten minutes with the good reverend will be torture.”

Her eyes danced with restrained amusement. “You can suffer for one afternoon, I imagine,” she replied sweetly, her smile full of magic and mischief. “It is time you owned up to your obligations, Rotham. You’ve led a life of dissipation for so long, you have no inkling how to aid your fellow human beings.”

Ian refrained from arguing with Tess again about his dissipation. Thus it was that while Fanny wrote on her manuscript and Eddowes began cataloging the Falwell library, he found himself paying duty calls on
his neighbors, beginning with the vicar for the parish, Gideon Potts.

Ian was far from happy, however. It was bad enough that he’d been embroiled in Tess’s matchmaking against his will. Traveling over a large part of Cornwall with her was even worse, since it gave him far too much time alone with his entrancing new wife. And before Ian realized it, he was being drawn into Tess’s newest cause.

At her first meeting with Vicar Potts, she explained her plan to organize a charitable fund for the poorest parishioners. During the next several days, they visited every single genteel family in a thirty-mile radius of Falwell, as near as the neighboring village of Fowey, and as far away as St. Austell to the south and Liskeard to the north.

Ian found it intriguing to watch their unsuspecting neighbors fall under Tess’s spell. Whatever she did, she poured her heart and soul into, and this instance was no different. She charmed and wooed them all, as tenacious in her campaign as Boney had been in conquering much of Europe.

When he labeled her “Saint Tess,” she took his ribbing with good grace.

“You may disparage me all you want, but I find it deeply satisfying to help people and make a difference in their lives. It wouldn’t hurt for you to engage in a bit of philanthropy yourself.… Beyond the wedding gift you recently gave me, I mean. Just think of all the good you could do if you put your vast wealth and power to a useful purpose.”

It was one of her greatest strengths, Ian knew; Tess inspired others to try their best to please her and live
up to her lofty standards. He was undeniably affected himself. Yet he was also drawn in by her physical allure … the sensual pitch of her voice, the creamy glow of her skin, her easy laughter.

His attraction was becoming harder and harder to resist, Ian admitted. Especially since on every visit, they pretended to be a happily married couple—although each night he continued to escort Tess to her bedchamber, where he left her alone.

On the fourth night, however, she hesitated with her hand on the doorknob and turned to gaze up at him.

“I want to thank you for all your help these past few days, Rotham. I know you would much rather be occupied elsewhere.…”

When her voice trailed off, Ian realized he had involuntarily lifted his fingers to touch her cheek.

He felt a sudden tension shimmering between them, a certain sexual awareness in the air. From the look in Tess’s dark eyes, he knew she was as acutely conscious of him as he was of her.

Ian dropped his hand as if scalded and stepped back. “You needn’t worry that I will force my way into your chamber and ravish you,” he said, resorting to a sardonic tone. “I told you there will be no consummation of our marriage vows. Not until you beg me.”

Tess swallowed and then seemed to regain her composure. “We will both be gray from old age before
that
happens,” she replied with a challenging smile before disappearing into her room and softly shutting the door in his face.

Ian stood there for a moment, undecided whether
to laugh or swear. He wasn’t certain he could wait so long for conjugal relations with Tess. Not when he was becoming obsessed with the notion of bedding her. Every night she invaded his dreams, making him burn for her.

He blamed Tess for being so damned captivating and leaving him in a constant state of aching arousal. Relieving the physical pain with his own hand wasn’t nearly as satisfying as assuaging his needs in her lovely body. If he wasn’t wed to her, he could turn to another woman, but he intended to remain loyal to his marriage vows.

Therefore, Ian vowed, he would continue to deny himself the right to hold her and touch her, to arouse her to passion and to sleep with her wrapped in his arms.

The thought of bringing Tess to passion made his loins grow heavy and hard—which did have the effect of making Ian curse.

Sexual obsession made bloody fools of its victims, and he refused to become Tess’s victim … although he had the sinking suspicion that it might already be too late.

If their relationship left Rotham moody and irritable, Tess felt a similar frustration. It was her own fault that she was trapped with her handsome husband in a carriage for the better part of each day as they traveled throughout the district soliciting funds for her latest charitable project. But Rotham pervaded her dreams by night and taunted her with remembered passion.

The pleasure she found in his company was another
enormous point of vexation for Tess. She would rather quarrel with him than engage in mere polite conversation with anyone else. How contrary was that?

Even more contrary was the dissatisfaction she felt because Rotham was keeping his word and not pressing her to consummate their union. Absurdly, she resented that he was leaving her strictly alone. She was a married woman now, but still a virgin in essence. And she was just as lonely as before her marriage—perhaps more so, since most of her friends were far away and Fanny was currently preoccupied with Basil.

Tess had vowed to banish the emptiness from her life, but here at Falwell, the same hollow ache continued to plague her, while a new restless energy thrummed through her entire body.

Her weakness for Rotham was to blame for her sexual frustration, of course. Merely being near him aroused stirrings of physical need inside her … particularly since she knew that if she wanted to share his bed, she had only to ask. It was growing harder by the moment to anchor herself against temptation.

Even her carefully planned distractions were proving less effective than she’d hoped, although their search for the Falwell ghost took an interesting turn.

To Tess’s surprise, Rotham hunted down the scholar who had supplied information on Cornish spirits to Patrick Hennessy when the actor had researched ghosts for his play.

“You spoke to Hennessy about the rumors of Falwell Castle being haunted?” she asked Rotham when he mentioned a change of plans for that afternoon.

“Yes, the day before I left London. I wanted to know how he had learned of it. Hennessy told me about his correspondence with a noted expert who lives in Polperro—a Mr. Norris. So I arranged an appointment with Norris today at two o’clock. We can consult him in between our other calls. I want to know what he can tell us about Falwell’s ghost.”

Mr. Norris was indeed an expert on local lore, they discovered when they sat down with him.

“Godolphin House near Falmouth is said to be haunted by the White Lady,” the elderly gentleman told them. “The wife of the first earl died in childbirth, and she reportedly appears on the anniversary of her funeral.”

When asked, however, Norris had little to add to what they’d already learned from the castle’s housekeeper and steward about Falwell’s phantom—that their ghost was supposedly a murdered ancestor of Rotham’s.

“But we have our own legendary spirits right here in Polperro,” Norris added. “Battling Billy was a smuggler who transported his contraband brandy inland in a coffin. When he was shot and killed by a Revenue officer, the tale goes, Billy’s dead body continued to drive the hearse for some distance, all the way through the town and into the harbor.”

Tess and Rotham left Norris’s cottage more knowledgeable, but disappointed.

“You don’t believe Falwell is haunted, do you?” Tess asked as he handed her into the carriage.

“No, not for one minute. It’s more likely that some person or persons are slipping around the corridors undetected. This area of Cornwall is known for supporting
and protecting smugglers, so residences along the coast—great houses in particular—often have secret passages and tunnels to provide hiding places to escape detection by the Revenue Service. I wouldn’t be surprised if Falwell has its own share of hideaways. To that effect, I tasked Eddowes with keeping an eye out for architectural renderings of the castle when it was modernized a century ago.”

Tess eyed Rotham with admiration. “That was clever of you. I would never have thought of examining how the castle was rebuilt.”

“I do have my uses sometimes,” he said dryly.

Tess conceded the point in silence. Strangely enough, she felt safer with Rotham there. She wanted his protection if there truly was an entity haunting the castle, either real or supernatural.

Unwilling to admit her concession, though, she changed the subject slightly. “I would say that your new secretary is proving useful already. I understand that he has unearthed several rare volumes to add to your library at Bellacourt.”

When Rotham confirmed as much, Tess couldn’t refrain from needling him. “So hiring Basil was worth all the trouble you went to?”

“I wouldn’t go so far,” he replied, albeit with a smile.

She knew Basil at least was grateful to be at Falwell. The next morning before she left to make her daily calls, he sought Tess out.

“I wish to thank you, your grace. I know you arranged this opportunity for me to woo Fanny.”

Tess’s smile was genuine. “I was glad to help. How is your courtship proceeding, if I may ask?”

“Well enough, I suppose. We are arguing far less now, and even when we sometimes squabble as we did in our youth, we make up our disagreements quickly.” Basil hesitated, then ran a hand through his fair hair in frustration. “But I hardly know how to act with Fanny. Do you have any notion what she expects of me?”

“I suspect she is only waiting for you to take the first step,” Tess confided.

“Do you really think so?”

“I do indeed. Fanny is trying very hard to change her ways for your sake.”

He apparently took her advice to heart. When Tess returned to the castle that afternoon and went upstairs to dress for dinner, Fanny burst into her bedchamber, clearly in alt.

“Basil kissed me, Tess!” the courtesan exclaimed, beaming with excitement.

“Oh?” Tess murmured, hiding her delight. “And did he respond with revulsion as you feared he would?”

“No. He seemed to enjoy it immensely.”

“And what about you? Was kissing Basil what you imagined?”

Fanny’s blissful sigh was answer enough. “It was so much better,” she said softly. “One of the sweetest kisses I have ever known. I never expected to feel that way, considering my past. But I realize now that my affection for Basil is what has changed between us. Love makes all the difference.”

Fanny gave another dreamy-eyed smile before wandering off to her own rooms.

Tess was also smiling as she shut her bedchamber door. Even though her happiness for her friends was tempered by caution, it was a good sign that they enjoyed kissing each other. And she had to agree; love did indeed make an enormous difference to felicity.

Her smile faded as she thought about her own unsettled situation with her husband. Fortunately, there was little chance of her falling in love with Rotham. She would never allow herself to risk it, since giving her heart to so wicked a man would only open her up to pain—and she had experienced more than enough pain in her one and only romantic relationship.