To Marry the Duke (American Heiress Trilogy Book 1)

by Julianne MacLean

  Fear had held him back.

  Fear of what? he asked himself with some irritation, urging his horse to gallop faster.

  He despised fear.

  He was not accustomed to it.

  Well, he had been once. A lifetime ago.

  His horse jumped a low stone wall and landed smoothly.

  Was it fear of his wife? No, that was not it. It was fear of the inevitable—that he would fall so deeply in love with her, he would lose his sense of reason. Perhaps he had already lost it. He’d certainly felt like it in Italy. He’d become obsessed with seeking pleasure with his new wife, whether they were making love or merely laughing and throwing pillows at each other in the nude.

  She had satisfied his every desire, entertained him, soothed him, and he’d let himself enjoy her, for it did not seem like his real life. He’d felt like a different person in a foreign country with a foreign bride.

  Now they were back on the foggy moors of Yorkshire. People’s accents were familiar again. His bed felt the same as it always had.

  The honeymoon was over, and this was reality. It was time to remember who he was and what his intentions had been when he had decided to marry Sophia—for they had been humane, responsible intentions, for the good of everyone involved, including his wife and his unborn children.

  When he’d proposed, he had been confident in his ability to resist his base nature and see that any child born of this marriage never witnessed or suffered what he had witnessed and suffered as a child. In order to create the kind of tame, peaceful environment that had been absent from Wentworth for centuries, he knew he would have to keep his distance. He could not act selfishly and risk falling back into the pattern his forebears had set, merely to fulfill his own personal avaricious lust for his duchess.

  He steered his mount across a sloping dale and decided that he would limit his visits to her room—at least for a while until he could curb the passion between them and establish a more practical arrangement. He would try to focus more on his duty and his dukedom, for those were his reasons for marrying Sophia in the first place.

  For the sake of his future children, he could not afford to forget that.

  James did not return home in time for dinner. Sophia was forced to sit through yet another agonizing meal in an ice-cold dining room where no one spoke a word, and even the clinking of silverware seemed to be a faux pas—for it echoed off the stone walls, high up into the ceiling.

  Now, Sophia was again climbing into her cold, empty bed, feeling unpleasantly skeptical about whether she would see her husband tonight either. And she really needed to see him.

  She waited a little while, and when there was no knock at her door, her hurt transformed to anger.

  Surely, James must know that this was a difficult time for her, that his mother was not the warmest of individuals. Surely, he must know that his new wife would need some support and guidance, and that she would be missing her own beloved family and might benefit from a simple word of affection.

  Her dander was flying now. Even if he didn’t realize those things, wasn’t he at least longing for her sexually as she longed for him? Was he not counting the minutes until they could make love again? Her body was positively burning for him. All day long she had not been certain she could survive another moment of it.

  Well, tonight, she would know the way to his rooms. Lily had given her a thorough tour, and Sophia had made sure she took note of everything.

  She climbed out of bed, pulled on her shawl and picked up her candles.

  A few minutes later, she was knocking at her husband’s door. “Enter,” she heard from inside.

  So, you’re here.

  She pushed the door open to find him sitting in front of a roaring fire, an oil lamp shining brightly onto a book on his lap. The sight of him there sent a painful surge of heartache through her. Did he prefer reading that book over a night of fun and games with his wife?

  “You’re here,” she said, with every intention of sounding surprised.

  “Yes, I’m here. Where else would I be?”

  She moved fully into the room, taking note of the fact that he had not invited her there, nor had he risen from his chair to greet her or even closed his book, for that matter.

  “I don’t know. You didn’t join us for dinner. I thought you must have had duties to attend to somewhere.”

  Finally, he did close the book. “Indeed, there are always duties.”

  He said no more than that, and it pained her that he was being so vague and dispassionate with her. She had expected—after their time apart in the last twenty-four hours—that there would be an ardent dash into each other’s arms. She had expected him to pick her up and twirl her around and kiss her deeply and tell her that he couldn’t bear another moment away from her.

  Sophia swallowed nervously and tried to communicate her discontent. “I thought you might come to my room last night.”

  He was quiet. “It was a busy day.”

  “I understand, but I would have liked to see you. I had so many questions.”

  “You wish to know something?” he asked. “Feel free.” He spread his hands wide. “Ask away.”

  For the life of her, she couldn’t remember any of the questions she’d had during the day. All she could think of now was her heartbreaking confusion over his conspicuous emotional retreat.

  When she said nothing, he set his book down and stood. “Perhaps you could ask Mildred if you need to know something. She is your maid, after all.”

  “Mildred is not the most talkative woman in the world.” Sophia did her best to keep her tone light.

  “That may be true, but it is her duty to meet all your personal needs. If you ask her for anything, she will provide it.”

  “I don’t want ‘things,’” she told him directly. “I want you to come to my room and make love to me.”

  He slowly blinked.

  Sophia suddenly remembered where she was, and what she was supposed to be—a stuffy English duchess. “Clearly I’ve shocked you. I suppose that’s not how a duchess should speak.”

  James’s eyes grew steely. “If you are referring to your marital duties…I thought we discussed this on the way back from Rome.”

  “Discussed what?”

  “You told me that your monthly had arrived, therefore you would not conceive now anyway. There is no point in my coming to see you for at least a week, and certainly no point in making love.”

  His shocking assertion hit her full force. She crossed the room to stand before him. “You can’t be serious.”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “What are you saying? That you don’t wish to spend time with me? That you only wish to be in my presence for the purpose of conceiving a child?”

  A muscle twitched at his jaw. “You’ve been perfectly dutiful, Sophia. I am more than pleased. You can have some time to yourself now. It might be a good thing, for both of us.”

  “I don’t need time to myself,” she argued. “I’m already alone enough as it is, even when I’m sitting in a room with Mildred or your mother or ten footmen!”

  “Lower your voice, if you please.”

  Sophia took a deep breath to calm herself, then continued. “James, you must know that I want to share a bed with you. Perhaps it is not very ladylike or very English of me, but I am not an English lady. I spent my childhood in a one-room shack in Wisconsin, where manners were a little more relaxed, to say the least, and we all slept together and woke up together and ate together. I have some deep-rooted values that are not so easy to abandon.”

  “But you are in England now,” he reminded her, “and you are a duchess. You cannot expect us to adapt to your ways and all share the same room.”

  “I don’t expect that.”

  “Then what do you expect? You must realize that we, too, have deep-rooted tr
aditions that are not so easy to abandon.”

  Feeling defeated, she dropped her forehead into her hand. “I don’t expect you to change everything for me.” She lifted her gaze and looked him in the eye again. “There are only a few things that I feel are important.”

  “Sharing a bed is one of them,” he surmised.

  “Yes. And....” She hesitated, hating the fact that she had to request this. “I need to know that you care about my welfare.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “Naturally, I care about your welfare. You are my duchess, mother of my future children. Do you not feel taken care of here? You are mistress of this house. You have over fifty servants at your disposal.”

  “I’m not talking about servants. I’m talking about you. I need to know that you care.”

  “I do care,” he said matter-of-factly. Dutifully.

  Where was the passionate man she had come to know on their honeymoon, Sophia wondered. Who was this person and why had he changed? Was he afraid of something? Did he not know how much she loved him?

  “I have enough money of my own,” she announced with subtle lift of her chin. “I could have married whomever I wished—rich or poor—but I chose you, James. I came here to live in your house because I loved you, and because I want to be with you.”

  He considered her words, then turned his back on her. “It was my understanding that you came to London in search of a title.”

  All the air fled her lungs. He might as well have hauled back and punched her in the stomach. Where was all this coming from? “Don’t you remember what I said to you that day when we went walking together?” she asked. “That I believe marriage must be based on love?”

  “You said what you had to say to—”

  “You thought I was lying?”

  “No, not lying....” He paced around the room. “Sophia, we are both rare individuals with duties and many different qualities to recommend us besides our...lovability, for lack of a better word. I am a duke, and you are an heiress.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” A sick feeling crept into her gut.

  “I’m trying to tell you that marriages between people like you and me are not like marriages between more common people. In my family, there are too many other factors to complicate matters and—”

  “What do you mean, in your family? Why? Because by mere accident of birth, you were born into a title? That doesn’t make you any different from me or the servants or the people who work their fingers to the bone on your land. You are still a man, and I am a woman, and it is in our nature to want to love and be loved in return.” She took a gallant step forward.

  His brow furrowed with anger, as if she had overstepped some invisible boundary. She halted where she was.

  “Why did you come here?” he asked. “What do you want, exactly?”

  Cold-hearted veracity blazed in his eyes. It was the same angry bitterness she had seen in the portrait of his ancestor.

  Alarmed, she gazed at James in the lamplight. No, she could not have made such a ghastly mistake, and been so wrong about what she had seen in his eyes in all the moments and hours leading up to this one. He was her prince....

  “What I want is for you to love me.” She hoped she would not live to regret saying it.

  For a long moment he stared at her, his chest heaving with deep, furious breaths, then he shook his head. “You do not know what you’re asking.”

  “I do. I want you in my bed, James.”

  “Your bed.” He contemplated that, then crossed the room toward her. She took an instinctive step back.

  “You want me to make love to you, like I made love to you in Rome?” His voice became a dark, menacing seduction. “Is that it?”

  “Yes,” she replied breathlessly.

  “Is that all? Because I have no reservations about making love to you for the sake of pleasure, Sophia.”

  For the life of her, she did not recognize the man before her. He was a complete stranger. “I don’t understand. Why are you acting like this?”

  “I’m not acting like anything. You came here for sex, and I’m willing.”

  “I didn’t come just for sex.”

  “Well, I can’t make any promises beyond that, because I never intended to love you.”

  Shock and disbelief forced the air out of her lungs. She felt as if he had slapped her. “I beg your pardon?” He said nothing more.

  Her voice broke as she stumbled over words. “Are you telling me that you only married me for my money?”

  “It wasn’t quite as mercenary as that,” he replied. “I wanted you when I proposed, Sophia, and I want you now.”

  With a choking cry, she moved away from him. “I can’t believe you’re saying this.”

  He followed her with his eyes. “You pushed.”

  “I didn’t push. I just want to be with you.” Her shock erupted into anger.

  “There’s nothing wrong with enjoying each other,” he said, “as long as it doesn’t give you unrealistic expectations.”

  “But you tricked me. I thought you loved me.”

  He straightened. “I never said I did. Besides, how could I love you? I barely knew you. And what did you expect, coming to London and offering a colossal marriage settlement? You must have known you’d be snatched up for your money.”

  “But not by you!” she shouted. “The way you spoke to me.... The way you looked at me....”

  “I was courting you for your dowry, just like all the rest.”

  She could not restrain the fury that was cutting her from the inside out. Her gaze clouded with tears. She had to fight for a breath.

  To her surprise, James moved closer, pulled her into his arms and held her. He raised her chin with a finger and kissed the tears from her cheeks, then laid his soft lips upon hers. She drank in the comfort he was offering, for it was all she had. He was all she had, and this seemed to be all he could give.

  Then something stopped her. She turned her face away. “No.”

  “We can still enjoy each other, Sophia, as long as you don’t expect too much from me.”

  Her anger swung around again. All she could do was pull away and wipe the taste of his kiss from her mouth.

  “I don’t want to enjoy you. Not like this. I would rather hate you.”

  He sighed heavily. “You don’t know me well enough to hate me. You married a fantasy. Now it’s time to settle down to real life.”

  “You think love is a fantasy?”

  “Most definitely.” He spoke with unwavering certainty.

  “But I’ve known real love,” she told him. “The love of my family. A family I am missing very much.”

  “Maybe you should have considered that before you steamed across the Atlantic in search of a husband.”

  She let out a breath of shock, anger and disbelief. “I gave everything up for you, James, because I loved you.”

  He stiffened at her candor, and his brows drew together in stupefaction—as if her belief in loving him was as ridiculous as a belief in leprechauns.

  “Maybe you should rethink how you feel about me.”

  Sophia’s body went numb at the realization that in falling in love with this man, she had made the worst mistake of her life. There was nothing more to say. She turned away from him and walked out.

  James stood in the center of his bedchamber, immobile, staring silently at the door. After a moment, he returned to his chair by the fire, sat down and drank the rest of his brandy in one single gulp.

  He waited for the alcohol to take effect, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have known that marrying Sophia would be a colossal mistake, and giving in to his desires on their honeymoon had been an even bigger one. He should have known he would not be capable of meeting her needs for intimacy and love. He could not love. There had been no seeds for i
t sown into his heart as a child, nor had he ever come to understand it through experience as a man.

  All he knew was cruelty, and he had been cruel tonight. Just as he had always suspected he would be one day. The irony was that he had been cruel in some deranged effort to be kind. His life made no sense.

  Kind was what he wanted to be. He had thought that by pushing Sophia away, by forcing her to give up the idea of a true bond between them, he would be protecting her. Protecting them all. If only it was not so complicated. If only she did not demand so much from him.

  He poured another glass of brandy and took a swig, then settled back in his chair, praying that its numbing effect would come quickly, for he could not bear to think of Sophia in her room. Alone, and no doubt crying. James shut his eyes, fighting to overcome the sudden ache in his chest, because he could not give in to the temptation to go to his wife and hold her and plead for her forgiveness.

  If he gave in to such feelings and opened himself up to her, hell would surely follow.

  Chapter 17

  Sophia climbed into her cold bed and wished she had imagined all the shocking, hurtful things James had just said to her. She had left her beloved family, given up her home and country for him. Had he not believed the sincerity of her feelings for him on their honeymoon? Surely, he must have felt it in his bones every time she cried out his name or told him that she loved him. Did he not want to be loved? Was that it? How could anyone not want that? It was the only thing in life that mattered.

  Why had he changed so drastically upon their arrival here? Was it this house? Was it a need to be what everyone expected him to be? A duke, not a man?

  The idea of such a thing made her squirm in her bed with fist-clenching fury. This world of titles and crests and coronets had such power, it crushed and smothered the passions out of the people who were born into it.