by Aston, Alexa
“The first thing I will say is that I never lied to you.”
She gave him a rueful smile. “I realized that. I thought back to our conversations. I presumed you were a smuggler. You never corrected me.”
“You’re right. It really was the only falsehood between us. Everything else I said. Everything we talked about. Every moment of our time together was true, Phoebe. What I feel for you is true.”
He brought their joined hands up and pressed a fervent kiss against her knuckles. “I love you. I was going to ask you to marry me that last day.”
Her eyes widened. Her lips trembled. “You were?”
Andrew nodded. “I had some foolish notion that if you loved Andrew the outlaw and agreed to wed him, you wouldn’t mind so much when you learned Andrew was really a duke. I’d only been a duke for a year. I was a second son, destined for the army. My brother was killed in an accident. My father passed away shortly after that, mostly from the shock of learning his heir was dead. There are days when I feel I might never get used to the idea of being the Duke of Windham.”
He brushed another kiss upon her fingers. “I still love you, Phoebe. Can you forgive me?”
Doubt flickered in her eyes. “I don’t know, Andrew.” She swallowed. “Why did you keep your true identity a secret from me?”
“First, let me give you the gift I brought,” he said, reluctantly releasing her hand and retrieving the basket. Placing it in her lap, he said, “Open it.”
Phoebe did and Caesar’s head popped up. Seeing his mistress, he meowed loudly and worked his way from the basket.
“Oh, Caesar!” she cried, burying her face in the tabby’s soft fur, her fingers running through his coat.
When she lifted her head, her eyes brimmed with tears. She said, “I have missed him so much. You took him with you?”
“I did. He was the only thing I had of you. And this.” He removed the stocking from his pocket. “I always carry it with me.” Andrew replaced it, more unsure about everything.
She settled back, holding the cat in her arms. He knew she wanted the truth. It was time she had it.
“At first, I didn’t tell you who I was because I was in shock. I realize that now. Then as I recovered, I wanted to grow stronger. Enough so that I could confront my half-brother.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It was Francis Graham, my half-brother, who shot me.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Your own blood tried to kill you? Whatever for?”
Andrew explained how Francis’ mounting debts had led to the confrontation between the two of them. His plan to make Francis stick to his quarterly allowance and learn how to manage his funds better had fallen flat. He spoke of how he’d even put Francis in charge of Monkford, hoping he would learn something about estate management and if he did, his idea to gift Francis with the property to guarantee him a steady income.
“It was all for naught. Francis didn’t want to work. He wanted to be the Duke of Windham and fritter away his life with his London cronies, gambling, drinking, and wenching. When I refused to budge, he shot me.”
This time, it was Phoebe who took his hand in both of hers. She raised it and tenderly kissed the center of his palm and then brought it to her cheek.
“I cannot imagine the betrayal you felt.” She frowned. “But how did you wind up in the water?”
Andrew told her how Francis had kicked him in the chest and driven him over the cliff. That he’d clung to some branch until his half-brother kicked him again, causing him to drop into the sea.
“I was not only physically depleted when you found me, Phoebe. I was emotionally drained. It took days not only for my body to begin to heal but my spirit, as well. You helped in that. I don’t know if I would ever have trusted anyone again. You changed that. You changed me.”
He cradled her face in his hands. “I knew I needed to confront Francis and see justice served. I didn’t want to drag you into the sordid mess, however. I wanted to know we were committed to one another and then I was going to seek him out and hand him over to the magistrate.”
“And I left before you could ask me to marry you,” she said sadly.
“You did what you had to do. I knew how much your sister meant to you. I’m only sorry we’ve been separated for so long.” He searched her face. “I looked for you, Phoebe. I hired a Bow Street Runner. Both he and I combed London, looking for Letty and hoping it would lead us to you.”
Tears cascaded down her cheeks. “I wasn’t even in London. I went to Letty in Oxfordshire.” Her face crumpled.
“Don’t cry, my love.” He kissed her tears away. “We are here now. That is all that matters. That is, if you’ll have me.”
Phoebe’s response was to kiss him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Phoebe acted without thinking. All she knew was that every part of her cried out for this man. Their lips collided and the sparks that had always been between them roared to life.
His thumbs stroked her cheeks, wiping away the tears that fell as they kissed. He kissed her tenderly at first but urgency sprang between them. Soon, his kisses were hard and demanding, branding her as his for always. She opened to him and their tongues tangled as they playfully fought for control.
Andrew’s hands glided down her neck, his thumbs massaging it, and then moved to her shoulders. Through her gown, his hands scorched her. Her fingers pushed into his hair, running through it again and again, the familiar thickness and silky texture taking her back to Cornwall and the bed they had shared.
Suddenly, he captured her waist and lifted her to his lap. Now, her breasts pressed against the hard wall of muscle as her hands clutched his hair, anchoring him to her. His hands skimmed her ribcage and the pads of his thumbs brushed against her nipples, which sprang to life at his touch. He gently kneaded her breasts as he hungrily kissed her.
This was her Andrew. The man she had missed. The one she had ached for.
The one she loved.
Realizing she had never said the words, she broke the kiss, her fingers still tangled in his hair. They both panted, breathless, gazing into one another’s eyes.
“I love you,” she said. “I love you so very, very much.”
He kissed her soundly. “I love you, my darling. It’s always been you—even before we ever met.”
Phoebe smiled. “I know exactly what you mean.” She kissed him gently. “Somehow, fate brought us together. Even if neither of us truly knew who the other one was.”
Andrew kissed her soundly. “I’ve always known who you were. I believe Mrs. Smith is merely a part of my Phoebe.” He paused. “Though I would be interested in hearing why you chose to be her. To work so hard.”
She stopped playing with his hair. “I do owe you an explanation.”
He lowered her head to his shoulder. “You may tell me only if you wish, my love. It doesn’t matter a whit to me what came before. We have now. We have our future. If turning back to the past is too painful, I don’t need to hear about it.”
She toyed with a button on his waistcoat as she said, “I was married before. To Lord Borwick. His surname was Smythe.”
“Like your book,” he said.
She lifted her head in surprise. “You’ve seen it?”
Andrew smiled. “Late yesterday. I had almost given up hope of finding you when I passed a bookshop and saw Freddie the Flounder in the window. I’d planned to track you down through your publisher. My goodness, Phoebe, you are a published author!” He kissed her. “I’m so very proud of you. That’s a tremendous accomplishment.”
Then he went quiet. She gave him a moment and asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I read your dedication. To your husband.”
“What do you mean? I dedicated my book to my son. Not Borwick.”
He looked astonished. “Your son?”
She stroked Andrew’s cheek. “Yes. Borwick and I had a boy. They were killed in a carriage accident.” She didn’t want to ment
ion losing her unborn child now. The moment was already so raw. “I wasn’t close to my husband but Nathan was my entire world. I used to tell him my stories. I decided writing them down and illustrating them was a way to keep him alive in my heart.”
He kissed her tenderly. “I am so sorry for your loss. How old was Nathan?”
“Five.” She sighed. “He was all little boy. So full of life and curiosity. He is the one I mourn. Not Borwick.”
Andrew took her hand and kissed it. “You went to Falmouth Cottage to grieve.”
“I did. More than a year had passed and I wasn’t able to put it aside. Then Letty found herself with child and she and Burton were ecstatic. I decided to give them time alone since I’d been living with them. Time to celebrate the life growing within her. I had Burton rent the cottage for me and decided I didn’t want anyone to know about Nathan. I wanted to keep him close and, at the same time, reinvent myself. Thus, I became Mrs. Smith, the widowed cousin of a viscount.”
She lay her head back on his shoulder. “I needed that time to myself in order to heal. The menial chores were mindless and somehow part of that process. So were the long walks along the beach. And then getting down my stories on paper finally and the pen and ink drawings. They all helped me to grow stronger.”
“Then a dashing smuggler came along,” he teased, kissing her hair.
“Yes, he did. That outlaw brought me to life again. I had already decided before you came that I would return to London and seek another husband. Being a mother was too great a pull. I longed for another child.”
“Which is what you were doing last night. Looking for a new husband,” he said, an edge in his voice.
“You can’t have a baby without a husband,” she said lightly, sensing he was upset with her.
“What if you had found yourself with child after we were together?” he asked.
“I didn’t think I would. Women talk, you know. I’d heard many of them say how it was almost impossible to conceive a child immediately after your monthly courses. Mine had just finished. I sensed you would soon move on. I wanted to keep a piece of you for myself.”
Phoebe raised her head again, gazing deeply into his eyes, the flecks of amber like dancing sparks.
“Coming together with you. Making love with you. It was the most divine thing that ever happened to me, Andrew. I thought I could give myself to you and take it right back, bringing part of you with me. Instead, I left my heart behind in Cornwall. In your hands.”
“Yet you were eager to look for a husband last night,” he accused.
“I thought I’d never see my sinfully handsome smuggler again,” she admitted. “For all I knew—and feared—the same man who’d tried to kill you would succeed in a second encounter. I knew whomever I wed would never have my heart because it belonged to you, Andrew. I did yearn for another child, though, and wasn’t above using a man I wed to get one. I even hoped I would have a boy so that I could call him Andrew.”
“Oh, Phoebe.” He kissed her deeply. “I want to give you babies. I want you in my bed, now and always. More than anything, I need you as my duchess. You are my very life.”
His kiss was spellbinding, taking her away from the past and present, going on for a very long time. Finally, he broke it.
“So, what do you say? Will you marry me?”
“Eventually.”
“What?”
“I believe you need to woo me, Your Grace,” she said playfully.
“Woo you?”
“Yes. We haven’t even danced yet. We haven’t been properly introduced. In society’s eyes, this would be a terrible faux pas. I want everything about our courtship to be proper. No one should know about our time in Cornwall together. Think of the scandal! You living with me with no acceptable chaperone.”
“You sound like my aunt,” he groaned.
“You have an aunt?”
“Aunt Helen. I told her all about us.” He grinned. “At first, she thought you were some moneygrubbing woman, after my money and title. That was before I scandalized her by telling her you thought me a common criminal.”
Phoebe laughed. “Well, I hope Aunt Helen can keep quiet about our time together.”
He gave her a rueful smile. “I may have told my closest friends about it, too.”
She gasped. “You told Charm and Disrepute? The Bad Dukes? Oh, Andrew, this is terrible. They will tell everyone.”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “They—and Blackmore, my other friend—will tell no one. Despite their wicked reputations, they are very good, honorable men. Even if the two Bad Dukes wish to bed you.” His eyes gleamed.
“Bed me? Bed me? I told those fools to stay away from me!”
Andrew laughed. “They took your refusal of them as the ultimate challenge. A beautiful widow who claimed not to have any interest in either one of them. I doubt any female has ever said no to them.” He kissed her. “In fact, I had asked them to point out the stunning widow who had done so because I wanted to go congratulate her.” He sobered. “That is when I saw it was you.”
She wrapped her arms about his neck and kissed him. “No one—especially the Bad Dukes—is going to bed me. The only duke I plan on being with is the Duke of Renown.”
“The what?”
Phoebe giggled. “It’s your nickname. I heard it last night at the ball. People were talking about how you’d come back from the dead. You are famous, Andrew. I suppose it’s what you’ll be known as the rest of your life.”
He growled and tightened his arms about her. “The Duke of Renown is going to be known for his extreme devotion to his duchess.”
“He is?”
“He is. Now, how long does this wooing have to go on before I make you mine, Phoebe Smythe?”
She cocked her head. “I think for the entire Season. Then we can set the wedding for autumn.”
“Are you joking? I cannot wait that long to make love to you.”
“Half the Season? Is that a compromise?”
“Only if you’ll let me into your bed.”
“No. You’re going to have to wait until we are wed,” she declared. “But I’m sure we can enjoy our time together until then.”
Andrew shook his head. “You drive a hard bargain, Woman.”
As he spoke, his fingers slipped under her gown and stroked her calf. They continued traveling to her knee and up her thigh. When they reached her core, they caressed it. Soon, Phoebe was writhing beneath his touch.
“Who knows?” her new fiancé asked. “I might be able to change your mind.”
His fingers caressing her, Phoebe got out, “July. We can . . . announce the engagement in . . . May.”
“June,” he insisted, pushing a finger inside of her and stroking the tender nub.
Her face flushed with heat. Her orgasm shook her to her core. When she stilled, breathing hard, she shook her head.
“June. If you wipe that triumphant grin off your face.”
Andrew did his best to look sober. “June first would be lovely.”
“Will you always be so stubborn, Your Grace?”
“When it comes to you, Phoebe?” He smiled. “Always.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Andrew found Whitby and asked the butler, “Is the dining room ready yet? I’d like to look it over.”
The butler glanced away, trying to hide his smile. “Yes, Your Grace. The dining room is set to perfection. Both Mrs. Bates and I supervised every piece that went on the table.”
“I just want everything right for tonight.”
“It will live up to your high standards, Your Grace,” Whitby assured him. “Why don’t you have Bagwell ready you now?”
“A good idea. Thank you.”
He went quickly up the stairs and found his valet pacing.
“There you are, Your Grace. We should get you ready for your dinner party.”
The valet fussed over him, first shaving Andrew and trimming his hair slightly. He liked it a bit longer i
n back because he enjoyed Phoebe twisting her fingers through it but he didn’t mention this fact. Bagwell had Andrew’s evening wear laid out across the bed and helped him into each piece.
“I’ll tie the cravat myself,” he said, lifting it from the servant’s hand and going to stand before the mirror. He fumbled twice and then said, “Bother. Come do it, Bagwell.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The valet tied it to perfection.
“You shouldn’t be anxious, Your Grace. Lady Borwick has already agreed to marry you. She will make for a fine duchess.”
“She will.” He sighed. “It’s just announcing our engagement tonight makes everything so real.”
Bagwell said, “You love her, don’t you?”
“Of course, I do. I wouldn’t bother wedding her otherwise.”
“And she loves you?”
His face softened. “Indeed, she does.”
“Then as long as the two of you are pleased, who gives a fig what anyone else says?”
Andrew grinned. “You are wise beyond your years, Bagwell.”
“I’d like to think you and Mr. Whitby have rubbed off on me, Your Grace.”
He leaned over to stroke Caesar and then remembered the cat was with Phoebe. He’d gotten used to the furball sleeping on his bed. With Phoebe’s return, both she and Caesar would once again become his bedmates. He couldn’t wait for that day.
She hadn’t budged regarding their wedding date. She had made him keep to their bargain. For the past month, Andrew had seemingly competed with other gentlemen of the ton, vying for her hand. She would only allow him to dance with her twice in one evening. He had to put up with keeping company with her at times along with her various admirers. Gradually, though, she had allowed him to take her driving in the park. They rode together in Rotten Row. He’d escorted her to garden parties and routs. Musicales. The theatre. Slowly, he’d seen his competition melt away.
They’d agreed that tonight they would announce their engagement to Polite Society. Jon was hosting a ball for Elizabeth’s come-out and had graciously said Andrew could share his good news there. Jon was the only one of his friends who knew this, except for Sebastian. He’d written at length to the Marquess of Marbury, who still served alongside Wellington. They had recently fought in the Battle of Toulouse. Not knowing when Sebastian might come home, Andrew had posted a letter to his friend just this morning, informing him of his upcoming vows with the Dowager Countess of Borwick and sharing with his close friend some of their backstory.
