The day looked fair, as so few did now, what with winter on its way. She decided to take a turn on the lane and road and enjoy the sun. She stopped in her chamber to don a bonnet and choose a pelisse, then walked down to the reception hall.
As she always did when she passed this way, she glanced at the tall drape that hid the damaged part of the house. She noticed its edge had moved so a gap showed. Although as thick as a carpet, she doubted that drape completely kept out the cold in January. This hall would be unpleasant then, even with its huge fireplace. Today, that gap allowed in a noticeable draft.
She went over to fix the edge. Curious, she peered through the gap first. To her surprise, she saw Brentworth standing within the ruins. He did not move. He did not seem to be looking at anything at all. He just stood there, arms folded, his gaze on the rubble at his feet.
* * *
He did not want to name the distasteful emotion filling him. It was not a sentiment that men acknowledged, and he was no better than the rest. Yet it pressed on him and demanded recognition.
Shame. After all the nightmares, after years of regret and self-recrimination, that was not what he had expected to feel if he stepped inside these walls.
I was young and blind. It was not an excuse. He was the heir to one of the highest titles in England and should not have been blind. God knew he had been trained to use more astuteness than he had shown, and to never betray his duty the way he planned.
Mostly, however, he should have suspected that a mercurial temperament might thrive because of something darker. The excitement of freedom and passion had obscured his vision. He had lost control, lost himself, and reveled in doing so. He ignored any suspicions that inched into his mind and any warnings given by others. It had been enthralling. Heady. He’d behaved like a man let out of prison after twenty years.
Fire. Screams. He could smell it now, the stink while the flames consumed cloth, wood and eventually all within the stone walls. The scent still lingered on the remnants of the building. Even ten years of rain and snow, of nature reclaiming the floor tiles and fallen roof beams, could not clean the place of that odor. The bishops would like that. They would approve of the whole story. First sin, then punishment, but never total forgiveness.
Only he had not been the one to pay, had he?
The stones at his feet came into focus. He became aware of his surroundings again. He knew why. He was not alone anymore.
He did not look toward her presence, but he felt her there. Go away, woman.
“I told you not to come in here, that it was dangerous,” he said.
“You are in here. It can’t be too dangerous; there aren’t even many stones or beams left to fall.”
He sighed at her relentless rationality.
“What happened?” She asked as would a tourist wondering how Pompeii was buried.
“It burned.” He looked at her in time to see her narrowing her eyes. They had trod this path before. “I was here.”
She gazed up at the sky. “In this wing?”
“It was night and I was in my chamber. The family apartments were in this wing then.”
“It is a wonder you survived.”
I almost didn’t. “Roberts gets the credit for that. He was heroic that night. The fire spread so damned fast. Up to the servants’ quarters, down to the dining room. He roused me, and we did what we could, but we knew it was hopeless. Then it was just about getting people out.” He was lying to her in a way. Leaving out the hard parts. It would be like her to know there were omissions.
“Did you get them all out?”
Ah, she did not miss anything. “All except one. I blame myself.”
“You cannot be blamed. Fires happen. They are unpredictable and can level a city.”
“It started in my apartment, Davina.”
“You can’t be sure of that. You said Roberts roused you, so you were sleeping.”
He let that stand, coward that he was.
“I am glad you survived unscathed,” she said softly.
“Mostly unscathed. I suffered some burns. The worst was on the back of my left leg. The scarring is unsightly, but I never see it. I should have warned you about that when I was proposing yesterday. I would have eventually, so you could change your mind if it mattered.”
That was not how he normally informed his women, but he did warn them, right after he came to an arrangement and gifted them with expensive jewelry. By the by, I must tell you that I have a disfiguring scar on the back of my leg. As with our affair, I expect unerring discretion about it. You are never to speak of it with anyone. You are never to ask me about it. If you do, I will ensure that you are never again received by anyone who matters. It was not that he wanted to keep that scar a secret. His best friends were aware of it. He just did not want anyone prying into how it had happened.
“It would have made no difference to me,” she said. “I have seen terrible scars. More damaging than anything you have, I am willing to wager, because you walk normally. I know what fire can do to human flesh. There are far worse scars to have than yours.”
He did not doubt she meant it when she said it would not have mattered. In that moment, he regretted deeply that she had refused his offer. Such a woman deserved to be a duchess.
“Why did you come in here after all these years?” she asked.
“I am thinking of pulling it down.” He looked around. “Either I do it now, or nature does it over the next half century.”
“I think you should. I really do. Not to improve the view of the house, or even to rebuild. I think you have blamed yourself all this time, and this has become a monument to that blame. Take it down, I say. Remove it and remove the guilt.”
“I will still have the scar.”
“You said you never see it. Only your lovers do. If one recoils because of it, you will know what you have in her.”
She turned to go back into the house. He fell into step with her. “You are being a little harsh, Davina. Not all women have medical experience and take scars in stride. I have been told it is very unsightly to females.”
“I am sure you have seen it, using a looking glass. Did you find it unsightly?”
“Fairly so.”
She pushed through the drape. “So, you are not perfect, Brentworth. Did you think being unflawed was part of your birthright?”
* * *
Davina took her walk alone. Brentworth occupied her thoughts the whole way.
He had looked so lost in himself out there. He had never appeared less ducal than in that ruin. She had wanted to gather him into her arms to comfort him, even without knowing what he pondered.
She had recognized his inclination to snarl at her when he saw her. Instead, he had told her about that fire.
Not everything, she was sure. She did not need everything, however. She did not even need to know what he had shared with her. He had honored her with that confidence. She did not think he told many people about that night.
No wonder he had not visited this house in all these years. She had been quick to think the worst, to assume he neglected his Scottish property because it did not signify much to him. Instead, he avoided it because it signified too much.
She had wanted to kiss him over and over and express how she understood. Her own words had kept her from doing so. You will not touch me. Spoken in anger and pride, they prevented her from releasing the emotion she had felt.
She wished he were not a gentleman. She wished she were not an innocent. What a stupid word to have branded on one’s body. Untouchable Innocent. Unruined Innocent. She supposed it wasn’t as bad as Virgin Spinster, but it was all of a piece in terms of how he treated her.
She did not regret refusing his marriage offer. That would be a mistake, she was sure. There had to be something binding two people besides signatures and pleasure. Nor did she think marriage would bring any recognition of her rights to this property. More likely no one would bother ever learning the truth if they wed.
; She thought about Mr. Hume, whom she had not considered in days. He would be horrified if she married Brentworth. The lands should have a Scottish laird, in his view. She rather thought so too, but of all the reasons to refuse the proposal, that one had not entered her mind at all.
Back in her chamber, she called for her dinner to be brought to her there. She did not want to dine with Brentworth. She was not sure why. No, that was a lie; she knew exactly why. Being with him would make her sad and wistful. She would behave normally and chat, but the whole time she would be aching for him to kiss and caress her even though she had warned him off in no uncertain terms.
She picked at her food. She thought some more. She pictured him in the ruins. She felt his touch.
She made a decision.
Chapter Twenty
He sent away the footman who tried to serve as valet as soon as he washed his upper body. He could not bear how the young man shook in his presence, but he would not have wanted him around even if the youth were a citadel of stability.
Once alone, he removed his trousers to finish washing. When he moved the cloth on his leg, his hand felt the puckered skin even if he could not see it. He barely thought about it anymore, but every day there was this reminder. His own valet had nursed him through it all, and presumably was accustomed to it too. When he traveled, however, the servants he might use almost always paused long and hard upon seeing it.
Finished, he threw on his banyan and called the young man in to take away the water and towels. Finally alone, he left the dressing room.
A figure rose up next to the fireplace, startling him.
Davina. How long had she been sitting in that chair, watching the embers?
Enough light found her to show her hair tucked behind her ears and the determination in her eyes. Also that she wore a nightdress and a simple shawl. Perhaps she intended another row.
She walked toward him. Her luminous skin and bright eyes entranced him.
His body knew why she had come before his mind did. The hunger he had barely conquered these last weeks grabbed his essence and shredded his control in a blink. There would be no row tonight unless he insulted her again.
She stopped a mere arm span away.
“You should—” he began.
“I should what?”
You should leave at once.
“Don’t tell me to leave. It took all my courage to come here.”
His idiotic decency made a last stand. “Are you sure you know what this means to you? To your future?”
She nodded.
“Then you should remove that wrap and dress so I can see all of you.”
She smiled shyly, but she let the shawl drop to the floor. She fussed with the buttons and ribbons on the nightdress.
He took the step to her. “I will help.” So many buttons. Impatience battled the charm he felt at how she let him work at them, as if she truly needed help.
The fabric parted down her front inch by inch. She watched, then looked up at him. With more bravery than he expected, she stepped back and allowed the dress to fall off her shoulders and down her arms. It pooled at her feet. She made no effort to cover herself with her hands or arms. She displayed no embarrassment.
“Now you,” she said with an impish smile. “Fair is fair.”
“You are supposed to be shy and nervous, not demand I disrobe.”
“You forget how many naked men I have seen.”
He hadn’t forgotten as such. He had never even thought about it. Of course, when she had accompanied her father, some of the sick had been men.
He cast off the banyan. She gave him a good look. Head to toe. He half-expected her to command he turn so she could examine him from the side.
Enough of this. He pulled her into his arms.
He held her there, with her body against his, skin to skin, while desire pounded through him like a hammer in his blood. He found one thread of sense remaining, and tied his mind to it. For all her courage, she was inexperienced. This could not be a ravishment. He would restrain his impulses.
Secure that he had found the control to hold true to that little vow, he turned up her head and kissed her. With the first touch of her lips, all hell let loose inside him.
* * *
A whirlwind. That was what he had dragged her into. Immediately and thoroughly. She could not have kept her balance even if she wanted to.
She had not known what to expect, but she had not anticipated this all-encompassing force surrounding her. Entering her. Urging her to find her own wind and fly on it. His kisses started carefully enough, but soon had a savage edge. His caresses did not touch so much as claim. His size dominated her, but so did his spirit and the madness he demanded she share.
She had no strength against it, so she accepted and submitted to her own ferocious impulses. She held and grabbed too. She bit and lunged and licked and tasted. When he held her close with both his hands squeezing her bottom and pressing her against his arousal, she did the same to his hard muscles.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bed and dropped her there. Then he was on her, kissing and caressing and arousing her with his hands and mouth, with the warmth and hardness of his body, with all of him, she was sure, all of what was left of him at this moment.
He did not forget her pleasure. Not at all. As he took his own he brought her with him, higher and higher until that torture started and grew and she cried from it. He responded by touching her mound. Then deeper. She felt his hand caress her there and whimpered from the need it created. He made it worse until she groaned. She clung to him, and it seemed as if they entered the eye of a storm, with him becalmed and her totally focused on what he did and how she felt, and on the pulses and demands in her body. Only within that relative peace her pleasure grew and grew until with one deliberate touch it split apart, leaving her screaming.
He shifted. Moved. His shoulders rose and his arm braced the headboard. This may hurt, darling. He pressed inside her.
She knew about the hurt, about the tear. She did not know about the rest, and in her state she had no defenses against it. The power. The giving and taking. The saturating closeness. She did not care about the pain when it came because it meant an essential joining and a completion that her body and soul craved.
The rest awed her. His strength hovered above her, his chest near her face and his weight still braced behind her while he moved. He showed her how to wrap her legs around his hips so she rose up to his thrusts. She could tell he held back so as not to hurt her more. She did not care when his restraint finally broke because it increased all the other sensations and the sweet ache of knowing him this way. She would have accepted anything if it meant she could exist in this small world that contained only the two of them, sharing this incredible intimacy.
* * *
He fell to her side, spent and mindless, deep in the echoes of release. He let them course through him while he drifted in a satisfaction far more than physical.
Her body beneath his arm did not move. She did not speak. Her deep breaths eventually slowed. He rose up on his arm and pulled up the bedclothes so that now, with the heat gone, she was not chilled.
Her hand smoothed up his arm. He turned to see her smiling in a dreamy way. Her eyes still had the glistening, sensual lights he had seen while he took her.
He did not ask if he had hurt her. He knew he had.
He lay on his back and pulled her close so she lined his side and her head found a spot on his shoulder.
“This is nice,” she murmured.
It was nice. Peaceful. Different. He could not ignore how different.
She turned into him and kissed his chest. While she did, her hand slid down his side and under his thigh. Her palm laid flat against the worst of the scar.
“Is this why you do for yourself when you travel? So strange servants won’t see it?”
“It is not the seeing. It is the questions.”
“Do servants question dukes? Bold of them.”<
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“It is in their eyes. And, once they leave, in the ears of friends and other servants.”
She nodded. “It would be annoying to have people wondering, talking. It is no one else’s right to know how it happened and why.”
It was the why, of course, that mattered. That he avoided speaking about. He noticed how she removed her hand, but not abruptly or out of revulsion. She had checked the scar and now was done.
She yawned. “I should go or I’ll be found here in the morning.”
“You can stay. I will bring you back before the household wakes.”
Already she drifted. “Don’t forget.”
He wouldn’t forget. He let her fall asleep. That was different too. He did not sleep with women. He visited, he shared pleasure, he left. He enjoyed her warmth beside him, however. Nice, as she said.
A few hours later, he put on his banyan, bundled her in the sheet and carried her back to her bedchamber. He would have let her stay till morning and the servants be damned, but he did not trust himself having her there. Already he ached to have her again, even knowing she was sore. He took her back, before he forgot he was a gentleman.
* * *
She woke slowly, accommodating in fits and starts to how differently she felt. Echoes of last night still affected her senses. Her body pulsed, as if it held him still. Even when she opened her eyes, she experienced the world as if through a thin gauze net. She saw that he had been good to his word and she was back in her own chamber.
Eventually, she realized she was not alone. She turned her head to see Brentworth sitting on a chair, watching her. He wore that long banyan and had not shaved yet. Seeing her alert, he came over and sat on the bed.
“Are we going to do that again?” she asked.
“Perhaps tonight, if you want. Right now, you need to rise and dress. Wear your best garments.”
“Are we visiting someone?”
“Only the minister, but it is customary to look our best when we marry.”
It took a moment for his meaning to penetrate. “I did not agree to marry you.”
Never Deny a Duke Page 20
