A Hint of Starlight

by Connolly, Lynne

  When Damaris gasped, his hand tightened around hers. “If we marry, then any rumors about us become irrelevant.”

  Before the astonished Gerald could answer, Annie answered. “I believe that will do. Since you are determined on your course, then we may go ahead. But we need to have the contracts sorted out.”

  The subsequent discussions went right over Damaris’ head. She needed the time to assimilate the shock Logan had given to her system. Marriages were usually private affairs, so they did not have to spend a lot of time preparing, but she could not believe that this time next week she would be a married woman. She should listen, but she could not. There would be a contract to sign, one that would define the rest of her life. But however hard she tried to listen, she could not.

  Next week!

  Chapter Fifteen

  The following Tuesday, Damaris stood in the music room of Logan’s London house, surrounded by her family and his. The clock tinkled the hour at ten o’clock. By eleven, she’d be a duchess.

  The ceremony took remarkably little time. Since Logan had obtained a special license from Doctor’s Commons, they could marry where they pleased. A table covered with a fine linen cloth formed the altar, and chairs were ranked before it for the participants.

  Damaris’ sisters had red-rimmed eyes. They had spent Monday evening together, reminiscing and crying. They had never spent significant time apart before this, and now they would be separated. Nothing would be the same again, ever. “I will look about with more purpose,” Delphi had declared. “Since we are changing our lives, I will pay more attention to potential suitors.”

  “Not as much as Lady Elizabeth is doing. She is frightening them off with her eagerness,” Dorcas remarked. That lightened their mood, and melancholy was dispelled.

  By eleven o’clock, Damaris was sitting next to her husband in the transformed drawing room, eating a wedding breakfast she did not really want in the company of thirty people she did not know very well, and six people she did. Her brother and sister-in-law showed nothing but smiles, but she thought she saw concern creasing her brother’s brows every so often, when he thought she wasn’t looking.

  Damaris had certainly eased their way into society. Her marriage to Logan would help her sisters gain entrance into places that were still closed to them. That warmed her, even if Logan did not. He was at his most ducal, in crimson brocade, even his buttonholes delineated in real gold thread. Damaris had done her best, but had selected green, not a color guaranteed to harmonize with crimson. He outshone her, but she did not care.

  A thought popped into her head, one she had not yet asked him. Why had he persisted in pursuing Lady Elizabeth, a woman totally unsuited to him? Even he had eventually admitted that was true. He did not need the prestige of being married to a duke’s daughter, and he disliked the woman, so why had he done it?

  Logan’s swift move had, as he’d said, stilled any rumors Sir Peter had tried to spread. He had, it appeared, gone straight to Lady Elizabeth, because the two had not spent much time apart since, or so society said. They had been conspicuously flirting at the Butlers’ after Damaris had rejected Sir Peter.

  She had heard, but she had not responded inside. Just as she’d stood and let a dressmaker pin fabric around her, because a duchess needed more clothes. At night, she repeated the word to herself, “Duchess, duchess.” But it didn’t get any more real. It was just Damaris who thought she was in a dream. Not necessarily a good one, either. Or a bad one, for that matter. She just felt as if she were floating. However hard she tried, she couldn’t make herself believe what was happening to her.

  But if she smiled, and said yes, she would manage until her emotions caught up with her.

  Logan had not claimed any quiet times with her again, but he had treated her with a fondness society could not miss. They had attended a ball together that Saturday night, and although announcements were considered vulgar and unnecessary, somehow everyone knew. He had not claimed kisses in their rare moments of solitude, and he’d shown none of the passion that she’d experienced before. That might have snapped her out of her odd stasis.

  The only time she’d felt real was when she was handling her new telescope. It connected her to what had always been real in her life. Continuity existed there, in the cold, vast beauty wheeling above her head every night. She had not done any real observations, merely gazed at her favorite constellations and made sure the planets were where they were supposed to be.

  So now she sat next to her husband, who courteously helped her to food and ensured she ate, while he chatted with the guests, and exchanged calm civilities on the affairs of the day. Damaris did her best, after all, she was a duchess now, but she could not be anything but relieved when the meal ended and the ladies retired to the drawing room.

  Except she didn’t. Her new mother-in-law, a small woman who nevertheless intimidated Damaris, stood. Before Damaris could accept the insult of the lady rising before she was ready, implied or otherwise, Logan drew Damaris up with him. “I’m afraid we must take our leave,” he said. “My wife and I have a long journey to undertake, so we must make a start or we will get nowhere by nightfall.”

  A shocked Damaris and Logan left the house to the goodwill and best wishes, intended or otherwise. She gave each of her sisters a particularly hard hug. “I’ll miss you,” she murmured to them.

  “You’re always with us,” Dorcas said in her ear. “You know that.”

  “We still have our plan,” Delphi added. “Failing everything else, we can still do that.”

  Their scheme, to leave Gerald and move into a small country house together, seemed so long ago. At the moment, it was more desirable than what was about to happen now. She didn’t even know where they were going.

  “Where are we going?” she asked Logan, when she was sitting opposite him in the coach. Though, to her puzzlement, it was not the large traveling coach she was expecting, not even a chaise, sleek and fast, a vehicle that would cover the miles swiftly.

  “Scotland,” he said. He kept his attention on her, his dark eyes inscrutable. The magnificence of his wedding suit enhanced the depth of his eyes and the dark hair he disdained to powder.

  “I see.” What else could she say? She had an arduous journey ahead of her. “Did you not think to tell me before?”

  “I wanted to give you a surprise. A pleasant one, I trust. Besides, until I made the arrangements and the final confirmation came late last night, I was not sure I could achieve it. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

  “I’m sure you would not.” Damaris did not care that her response was tart. Her nerves were tingling and her stomach rebelling, threatening to evict the food she’d consumed earlier. She turned her head to stare out of the window. They were passing up the Strand, towards the area she’d grown up in.

  “Damaris, I want to show you my home, the place where I grew up.”

  Startled, she met his eyes. “That’s a long journey. It will take weeks.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  He would say no more until they reached the turn they would have to take to get to the Great North Road. The carriage took the other direction. Damaris had to grab the hand strap, to stop herself tumbling, since she’d braced herself for the opposite turn. “Aren’t we going across the Heath?”

  His eyes gleamed as he shook his head. “Wait and see.”

  Logan refused to say anything more as they drove by the side of the Thames.

  They eventually came to a halt. As Logan helped her out, Damaris gazed at the masts bristling with furled sails and rigging. They were so thick here that they covered the broad expanse of water. “Are we taking a shallop?”

  Lifting her hand, he placed it on his arm. “Not this time.”

  He led her towards a small pier. Men bowed to him, sweeping their hats off, then they resumed their duties. He turned her to face a large vessel moored at the pier. “We’re taking my yacht.”

  “Oh!” Shocked, she stared at the vessel. “Yours?�
��

  “Yes, my sweet, mine. Ours,” he said softly. “I’ve loved the sea since I was a boy. The castle overlooks the sea, which can make it a cold and damp place if the wind’s in the wrong direction. But we will not winter there, not until I’ve made it suitable for my bride.”

  She hardly heard his words, as she was staring at the ship. This was not what she had imagined a yacht to be. She had seen them before, small, swift vessels made for play, not for ocean-going. But this was much larger. The king owned an ocean-going yacht. She couldn’t think that it was any less imposing than the one before her.

  A narrow planked walkway led to the top of the ship. Damaris knew the principle, had seen people climb aboard them, but she had a confession to make. “I’ve never been to sea on a boat before.”

  He leaned down to speak to her softly. “Then you will have two new experiences in store for you today. Come, we don’t want to miss the tide.”

  Gently, he guided her onto the walkway. Lifting her skirts as high as her knees, she took the first step onto the precarious planking. “Do you need a rope guide? Or we can haul you aboard on a chair,” he said. His hands went around her waist, but her skirts were not modestly narrow today, and he couldn’t keep hold of her while she walked on board. Below, the sea churned, white tufts of foam teasing her, inviting her to plunge into the black depths. Damaris shrugged, shouldering her courage.

  Oh, well, if she fell she would have to assume someone would help her out. She could do no more than to place one foot carefully before the other, and somehow reach the main deck of the ship.

  Men stood either side of the opening, dressed in practical versions of the Glenbreck livery. Their breeches were narrow, and tucked into worsted stockings, fastened firmly with plain buckles. They had short jackets without tails, and tight fitting waistcoats.

  As she climbed aboard, they swept off their hats and bowed low. Logan paused. “This is your new duchess. Thank you for your greeting.” Turning to a man finer dressed than the rest, he asked, “What time do you plan to set sail, Captain Rudd?”

  The captain drew a plain silver watch from his pocket. “In about an hour, your grace. We’ll catch the tide at four and be off well before nightfall.”

  “Very good.”

  “Will your grace be requiring anything to eat?”

  He had already begun to lead her away, but he glanced at her, then turned his head. “No. We will ring when we do.”

  The prospect of being so intimate with another human being tantalized her. When it was just out of reach, she could tease herself with it, imagine what it would be like. Now the reality had arrived, and fear tinged her anticipation.

  Logan took her downstairs, below decks she should call it, and into a magnificent stateroom. A window brightened the space, which contained a bed, a table, and several chairs, as well as sundry bits and pieces. Slowly, she turned around and took in the whole place. “What, no china?”

  He laughed and caught her hand. “There could be, if you want it.”

  “And you go to sea in this?”

  “We will be doing so. We’ll set sail and cruise up the coast. It’s by far the most comfortable and fastest way to get between the two places. I brought Grant and Adam here, but they will have to shift for themselves going back.”

  “We’re not coming back?”

  “That’s up to us. But I am anxious to take you home.” He smiled down at her. “I want to show you my kingdom.”

  She let her eyes widen. “You’re a king?”

  His laughter rang out. “No, I am not, you minx. Now, come here and kiss me.”

  That she could do that with impunity filled her with wonder. But there was something she wanted to know first. “Why have you been so distant?”

  His smile faded. “In what way?”

  She knew exactly which way, but she’d never had to explain it before, so she had difficulty with her words. “I mean—when you asked me, you kissed me and you were most fond, but after that, you kept your distance. You were formal at the ball, and the wedding breakfast. I was afraid we would have separate bedrooms.” She stopped, heat rising to her cheeks. She was not accustomed to talking about such intimate matters.

  A muscle tightened in his cheek, then relaxed. He nodded, as if agreeing to something, but she could not imagine what. “Because once I knew you were mine, I could not bear not having you. If I’d kissed and caressed you, I would have taken you. I could do no other than to behave as a gentleman. It was the only way I could control my desire for you.”

  His quiet words seared through her.

  “Now, come here. I don’t have to behave with propriety any more. Unless you want me to.”

  She stepped forward willingly, to be enclosed in his arms. He cupped her chin and gazed down at her. “I want you, Damaris. I’ve been burning to have you in my bed for weeks, but if you need time, you can have it. I’ll give you all the time you need, whether that be hours or days or weeks. Even if the effort kills me.”

  “I don’t like to think of your discomfort.” She smiled up at him, watching the dents in his cheeks deepen with his smile. “I couldn’t possibly allow that to happen. How would I nurse you, knowing I am the cause of your pain?”

  “I see I have married a positive virago,” but his tone was fond and took any sting out of the word.

  As if unable to bear the separation any longer, he bent his head and kissed her. This was a proper kiss, the one she’d been yearning for ever since the day she’d accepted his proposal, but had not known how to ask for. Opening his mouth over hers persuaded her to do the same and he thrust his tongue inside with a growl of triumph. His arms tightened around her, crushing her gown and squashing her hoops against her body.

  He tore at the delicate fichu at her neck, tugging it out of her bodice. The pull lifted her breasts, but she wore a sturdy pair of stays and it would take more than that to free her. She spread her palms over his waistcoat. His heart thumped under her hand, sending a wave of tenderness through her.

  He ran his fingers down the line of hooks that fastened her gown to her stomacher, a wry smile twisting his lips. “I daresay your maid could do this for you, but I don’t want that. I want you naked, sweetheart, and I want the privilege of stripping you.”

  She knew what he meant because she wanted the same. Modesty had melted away in the burn of desire.

  She started on the long line of gold and diamond buttons marching down the front of his waistcoat. By the time he had her stomacher unhooked, she’d managed to undo it. He stepped back, but only long enough to peel off his coat and waistcoat. Carelessly, he let the fine garments fall to the floor, and returned to her, never letting his gaze leave her for a second. His hands went to her gown and stomacher. When he pushed the gown off her shoulders, her instinct was to shrug it back up, but then she stopped, and gripped the shoulder of the garment, deliberately pushing it away.

  The gown fell to the floor in a whoosh of expensive material. Like him, she didn’t look away.

  “You are mine,” he said, his voice thick with possession. He urged her to turn, his hands on her waist, and he began to unlace her stays. Unlike her methodical maid, he did not carefully work the laces undone, but tugged them, cursing under his breath. Despite her feverish need, Damaris’ lips curved in a smile of pure delight. So her husband wanted her quite desperately. She liked that.

  The stays loosened, and she felt the familiar sense of release as she held up her arms for him to pull them off over her head. Her nipples grazed the fine lawn of her shift and made her wince. They had never been this sensitive before but, like the rest of her, they hungered for his touch.

  But he would not let her turn around. Instead, he set to work on the tapes of her pockets and petticoats, and then her hoop. He undid every tape at her waist, pulled out every pin until the garments fell to her feet in an avalanche of silk and linen, making an artistically colorful puddle worthy of any artist’s palette.

  With a growl of triumph, he scooped her
up, and reefed her shift over her head.

  Gasping, she forced herself to stay still. His gaze roamed over her naked body as if she were lit by a hundred candles. The afternoon sun streamed through the window behind him, turning his body to shadow and hers to a blaze of light. She clenched her fists in an effort to stop covering herself.

  “You are everything I imagined, and more.” He breathed the words reverently. His chest heaved, the shades of slabs of muscle easily visible under the fine material of his shirt.

  “What about you?” She had gone this far. She wanted the rest, whatever that was. Her body came to life under his hungry perusal, her sex dampening, ready to accept him. A virgin she might be; an innocent she was not.

  His skin pulled tautly over his face, his flushed cheekbones prominent, and his mouth a hard line. “Yes.” He crossed to the bed, his footsteps the only sound on the planked floor, and dragged down the bedcover. “Get into bed. Do not cover yourself. I want to look at you.”

  “Like a pirate’s prize?” Her voice shook from passion and nervousness. She wanted him, but she only had a vague idea of what that meant, what he would do.

  He bared his teeth. “Exactly like that. Or the savage Highlander’s captive. I will be whatever you want, as long as it means I can have you.” His accent had never been thicker, but she understood every word. No amount of rolled r’s and elongated vowels would make her miss his meaning.

  Going to the bed, Damaris lifted up to sit on the mattress. As she bent down, she was aware like never before of the way her breasts dipped forward when she unfastened her shoe buckles and kicked them off. She fumbled with the knots of her garters, but got them undone, and rolled her stockings down her legs. Now, she was completely naked. Swallowing, she lay back on the bed, careful to avoid his gaze until she was lying on her side.

  “Look at me, sweetheart.”

  The endearment gave her the courage to obey him. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, his mouth plump from their kisses, tight with tension.