Duke of Renown

by Aston, Alexa

  Andrew tamped down his anger. Poor Mrs. Smith had been given a huge amount of responsibility at a young age, being placed in charge of her sister.

  “Did your father remarry?”

  She shook her head. “No. He wasn’t much interested in family. Especially since we were both girls.”

  “And what of Mr. Smith? Where did you meet him?”

  She huffed. “What are all of these questions?”

  “I’m merely curious about you and the home I’m staying in.”

  Mrs. Smith crossed her arms. “Don’t you think if anyone should be asking questions, it should be me? For example, why did you leave the army? Isn’t that hard for a soldier to do, especially during wartime? And why did you turn to smuggling? Is it really that profitable? Do you make frequent trips to France? And what of your family? Brothers? Sisters?”

  Andrew didn’t want to lie to her. “I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me. My brother was killed in an accident. When my father heard the news, he suffered a heart attack. He lingered for a bit but I knew his heart wasn’t interested in living anymore.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Andrew. I am so sorry. I did not mean to pry.”

  Fortunately, he didn’t think she would press him any further about his livelihood. He finished the scone.

  “No one truly knows what another person has endured. It seems we’ve both had our fill of sorrow. You, even more.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I have never been married but you have lost a husband.”

  The tears brimming in her azure eyes spilled onto her cheeks. It gutted him that she had loved her husband so. Selfishly, he wanted her all for himself.

  Rising, she moved toward him and lifted the tray. “Get a good night’s rest, Mr. Andrew.”

  Before he could speak, she had vacated the room.

  Damnation. He’d wanted to comfort her. He sat berating himself. His curiosity to learn all he could about her had caused him to push her too hard. Mrs. Smith was a very private woman. He had to remember that she still thought him on the run from the law. She might have kissed him—but she certainly didn’t trust him.

  She’d left the door open. He could hear noises from the other room and recalled that she hadn’t eaten. He waited, straining to hear what she might be doing. After an hour, he heard no more sounds. No sloshing of water or pans being scrubbed. He decided to call out to her.

  “Mrs. Smith?” Thank goodness his voice already grew stronger.

  Footsteps headed his way and she appeared at the doorway.

  “Yes, Mr. Andrew?”

  “It’s about the bed,” he began.

  She came closer and said, “Don’t worry. I will heat water for your bath tomorrow and also wash the sheets. I would have changed them before because I know they have been soaked with the sweat of your fever. Let’s get to tomorrow and I will take care of it.”

  “No. You misunderstand me.” He caught her hand and drew her closer to the bed. “I feel guilty because I have taken your bed since my arrival.”

  “You’ve been injured. Ill with fever. Where else would you sleep?” she asked, seemingly baffled by his question.

  His eyebrows rose. “I am a former soldier, Madam. I will sleep on the floor.”

  She jerked her hands from his. “I won’t allow it!” she proclaimed. “That is utterly ridiculous.”

  “Then where will you go tonight?” he asked softly.

  “You are much better. You won’t need me sleeping in the chair beside you. I shall move to the settee.”

  Andrew snorted. “That was barely large enough for the both of us to sit upon. No, you must reclaim your bed. I insist.”

  “You may insist all you like, Mr. Andrew, but this is my cottage.” She smiled. “Which means my rules. You are my guest.”

  “An uninvited one,” he quickly added.

  “True, but a guest all the same. You will keep the bed until you leave. Whenever that occurs.”

  Deciding to play on her sympathy, he pleaded, “But I will not get a good night’s rest, knowing you’re suffering. I have an idea. Why don’t you join me?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Phoebe sputtered. “Are you mad? That’s preposterous!” Her hands fisted on her waist. “Just because I kissed you, you think I will now willingly fall into your bed? You may be as handsome as the Devil Himself, Mr. Andrew, but I am not that kind of woman.”

  Andrew hid his grin. So, she though him handsome?

  “My dear Mrs. Smith, you have totally misunderstood me,” he said smoothly. He raised his hands, palms up, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible. “I am not suggesting anything untoward occur between us. Lord knows you are beautiful enough to tempt me but, as you can tell, I am weaker than a newborn babe. Even if I wished to couple with you, I would be too exhausted to attempt to do so.”

  Fire still sparked in her eyes and he added, “I merely thought we could each try to get a good night’s rest lying side-by-side in the only bed available. There are two pillows and plenty of room. I can sleep beneath the covers and you atop them. I just can’t stand the thought of you cramped on that small settee.”

  She lowered her hands and folded them in front of her, her temper cooling. “I am sorry I jumped to conclusions, Mr. Andrew. Still, though it is very thoughtful of you to suggest it, I cannot accept lying in the same bed with you.”

  “Because I am a man—or because you believe I’m a smuggler?” he asked.

  She gave him a rueful smile. “A little of both,” she admitted. “It is kind of you to think of my health but you are the one who needs to regain his. That means sleeping in a bed.”

  Andrew shook his head. “That’s not going to happen. I feel terrible that I’ve kicked you from your own bed. The remainder of my time at Falmouth Cottage, I shall sleep on the floor. I can make a pallet. I promise I’ll be quite comfortable.”

  “Did you hear what I said? I refuse to let a guest sleep on my floor.” She crossed her arms again, her mouth and posture definitely stubborn—and highly appealing.

  He shrugged. “And I refuse to keep a female from her own bed.” He crossed his arms over his chest, mimicking her. “It seems we have come to a standstill, Mrs. Smith.”

  She huffed. “Why are men so impossible?”

  Grinning, he said, “Perhaps we like the attention we receive from women when we are?”

  She bit back a smile but not before he saw it. Andrew hoped he had charmed her a bit.

  “All right. Much to my dismay, I will share the bed.” She raised a finger and shook it at him. “But there are to be no antics from you. You are to stick to your side of the bed and not even glance my way. Is that understood?”

  “Oh, yes, Mrs. Smith. Thank you for agreeing to the unusual arrangement.”

  Andrew might not touch her—but she would be close enough for him to see. He’d smell the lavender on her skin and hair. Feel the heat of her body nearby.

  It was a start.

  “I have a few things to do,” she said and abruptly left the room.

  He heard noises but didn’t care what she was doing. Soon, the appealing Mrs. Smith would be in his bed.

  “Caesar!” she called.

  The cat’s ears perked up and he jumped from the bed. Andrew supposed Caesar would mean there would be three of them sharing space tonight. Several minutes later, the cat returned and curled up at the foot of the bed. Mrs. Smith appeared shortly afterward, wrapped in a dark dressing gown. He wondered what she wore underneath it.

  She sat in the chair and began to remove the pins from her hair. Strands of it had already come loose. He doubted she’d attended to it the entire time he’d been there. He removed one pillow from behind him and placed it on her side of the bed. The other he lay flat behind him and then scooted down so he was prone, his head atop the pillow.

  Mrs. Smith had finished unpinning her hair now and was working the braids loose. Once it was free, it hung to her waist. She reached for a
brush which rested on the table and spent a good five minutes working the tangles from her hair. Then she plaited it into a single braid and stood. Making her way to the small wardrobe, she opened it and withdrew a blanket, then came to her side of the bed. She unfolded the blanket and as she lay down, still wearing her dressing gown, she shook it out. It fluttered in the air a moment and then fell to cover her.

  Now, they lay side-by-side. Andrew was afraid to breathe, lest he scare her off.

  “Could you please blow out the candle, Mr. Andrew?” she asked primly.

  “I’d be happy to, Mrs. Smith.”

  He leaned up and did so. The room now was dark except for the faint moonlight that streamed through the open window. His eyes adjusted to the darkness. He kept his breathing even. He knew this was a test of her trust in him. Much as he would like to roll over and kiss her, he knew it would be the kiss of death and end any future he might have with her.

  “Thank you for humoring me, Mrs. Smith,” Andrew said softly.

  “How so?” she asked, her voice low and still filled with a shade of doubt as to whether or not she had made the right decision by joining him.

  Longing to reassure her, he said, “For agreeing to sleep in your own bed. I still feel guilty I have kept you from it as long as I have.”

  “You have had a far greater need of it than I, Mr. Andrew. Rest is important in your recovery.”

  “And that recovery never would have occurred without you, Mrs. Smith. You saved my life. I will forever be in your debt.”

  “I would have helped anyone in your position.”

  He grinned in the dark. “Yes, even someone whose morals don’t quite align with your own.”

  He sensed that she stiffened. “If you are referring to your occupation, Sir, you know where I stand. On the side of the law. Still, it is not my place to judge you. Perhaps this experience will help you to turn over a new leaf.”

  “I do have my own code of morals, Mrs. Smith. I am grateful to you for rescuing me. Let me assure you again that I would never take advantage of any woman, much less the very woman who saved my life. I hope you get a good night’s rest, Mrs. Smith. Pleasant dreams.”

  For a moment, only silence filled the air. Then she said, “I hope you, too, will get a good deal of rest. Goodnight, Mr. Andrew.”

  Andrew closed his eyes and enjoyed the fact that she was next to him. The bed wasn’t as large as he’d made it out to be. He was two inches over six feet and broad through the shoulders. In fact, their shoulders almost touched. She must have been aware of that because she shifted, rolling onto her left side so that her back was to him. It didn’t matter. This was a tiny step of progress in what he thought would be a most unusual courtship.

  He listened to her breathing and knew the minute she fell asleep. Her breath softened. Her body relaxed. Though he longed to reach out and touch her, he forced his hands to remain by his sides. He’d made headway today with Mrs. Smith. He’d kissed her. Thoroughly. He’d learned that she had a sister in London. That his angel was from Somerset and would be joining her sister during her confinement. That she looked forward to becoming an aunt. It was a shame that she didn’t have children of her own. She certainly had a nurturing nature. Andrew would see to it that they had a child soon. Not that he was eager for an heir but he thought it would please her if they did.

  Finally, he slept.

  When he awoke, Mrs. Smith was curled up next to him, much as Caesar was on his far side. She must have rolled his way during the night. Her head was pillowed just below his bandages, her cheek resting against his heart. An arm was tossed across his bare waist and the bedclothes were perilously below that. One leg was bent, its knee resting atop his leg.

  It was the way Andrew hoped to wake up every day. With his duchess warming him and his bed.

  He lay perfectly still, hoping that his hammering heart wouldn’t rouse her. He wanted to enjoy the feel of her against him. The soft, even breath that tickled his chest. The curve of her leg pinning his. Everything about this delightful woman appealed to him. Andrew longed to kiss her awake but continued to lie unmoving. His arm must have been around her for a long time because it was numb. She must have gravitated to his body warmth because the room was chilled this early in the morning. How he wished he could rise and close the window and then come back to bed and make sweet love to her.

  She began to stir and he slowed his breathing, trying to make his racing heart behave. If she knew he was awake, she would be as mad as a wet hen at him—even though she was the one who clung to him in sleep. Andrew turned his head to the right, not wanting to be more aware of her movements than he already was.

  A soft sigh spilled from her lips. It was maddening having her so close. He must be made of truly stern stuff to exhibit this much control. His patience would be rewarded.

  When he made her his duchess.

  *

  Phoebe sighed and stretched. Immediately, she froze. Her eyes popped open.

  Oh, no. She was lying snug against Mr. Andrew. She listened and heard his breathing. Felt the rise of his chest. Heard his heartbeat against her ear.

  Her body had betrayed her in sleep. It had sought him, wanting him after that amazing kiss. She glanced down and saw her arm against his bare skin. He radiated an enormous amount of heat, which is why she must have turned to him. The bedchamber was chilly. She should have closed the window last night with the nights becoming cooler.

  She should also move. Now. Yet something compelled her to remain in place. When would she have a chance like this again to be so close to such a wickedly handsome man? Even when she returned to society and made known her wishes to wed again, she was certain her husband would be similar to Borwick. He would be a man of the ton, one who only cared for his own needs and never gave a thought to his wife. He would come to her bed for brief visits and be gone, no lingering such as this.

  Phoebe wondered what it would be like having Mr. Andrew make love to her. Instinct told her that he would take care of her in a way most men wouldn’t. She loved the feeling of being close to him. It made her realize she hadn’t felt safe since her mother had passed away over fifteen years ago. She used to love to climb into her lap and have her mother read to her. That spot felt like the safest, most wonderful spot in the world.

  Until now. Being next to Mr. Andrew made Phoebe believe nothing wrong could ever happen to her. That was utterly insane. She barely knew anything about him, other than he broke the law for his living and someone had wanted him dead.

  No, that wasn’t true. He was well-spoken. Polite. Intelligent. And he loved to tease her. Half the time, she thought he said something outrageous just to see her blush.

  He also was the most handsome man she’d ever come across, and that included all the many gentlemen she had encountered in London’s ballrooms. It would be a bit of a disappointment once she did return to Polite Society because her heart told her no one would live up to Mr. Andrew.

  Especially when it came to kissing.

  She couldn’t lie abed all day, though. They both needed to eat and she’d promised him a bath. She wanted one, as well, and that would take a long time to prepare. The sheets on the bed also needed changing. Only the one set had come with the cottage so she really needed to get them washed first and hung to dry so they could be put back on later today.

  Slowly, she removed her arm and leg, rolling away from the delicious warmth and onto the floor. The blanket she’d covered herself with lay on the ground and she picked it up and began to fold it—when her eyes returned to the bed.

  Good God in His Heaven . . .

  The bedclothes rode low on the smuggler’s hips, so low that if he moved an inch she would see more than she was intended to. Caesar stood and arched his back, moving the covers a tad. Phoebe forced herself to look away. She finished folding the blanket and set it on top of her trunk and then came around and lifted the covers by their edge, drawing them up over his perfect form. God had certainly done a wonderful job creati
ng this man. He was all hard planes and muscles and total perfection.

  She motioned to Caesar, who sprang from the bed and landed silently on the floor. Once he strolled from the room, she eased the door closed behind her and set about making them breakfast. She scrambled some eggs and fried bacon along with it, cutting a few slices of bread from one of the loaves she’d purchased and gathered a pot of jam.

  “That certainly looks good.”

  Phoebe glanced up and saw Mr. Andrew coming toward her. He wore his breeches again without his shirt. She made a mental note to make sure she repaired the hole in it today. She’d already washed out as much of the blood as she could. She couldn’t have him walking around half-dressed any longer. It made her insides do strange things.

  “Should you be up?” she asked.

  “The answer is a definite yes.” He sat at the table. “I’ve lain in bed long enough. It’s time I start using my limbs again. I’ll never regain my strength if I don’t.”

  “As long as you rest in-between those times, I think you are right.”

  She removed his plate from the tray and set it on the table in front of him. He began spreading jam across the bread. Returning to the skillet, she spooned the remainder of the eggs and the single piece of bacon onto another plate and joined him.

  “You need another cup and saucer,” he said. “For your tea.”

  Phoebe retrieved that and he poured out the tea for her.

  “Thank you. I don’t ever recall a man pouring tea for me.”

  He looked about. “I don’t see any honey.”

  “Oh, let me fetch some.” She got the pot and set it on the table. “Use a nice amount. It will do you good.”

  He spooned some into his cup and stirred it.

  They ate in companionable silence. She thought how easy it was between them. Though Borwick had been polite, he had always remained distant with her. After a handful of days, she felt more comfortable in Mr. Andrew’s company than she had with her husband of several years.