The Perfect Duchess

by Jen YatesNZ

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  Dom looked down at her, one eyebrow slightly raised.

  ‘Too autocratic for you? You desire to be asked?’

  ‘I do.’

  She stared challengingly back up at him.

  A smile birthed in his eyes, slow and hot and Sheri would’ve followed him anywhere. She lowered her lashes in an effort to hide her response, but knew it was hopeless for her cheeks were flooded with heat.

  ‘I must remember not to tease you in public, Sher-ma-chère. Your response is gratifying.’ He turned them to begin promenading about the edge of the room. ‘I’ve wanted, in the worst way, to kiss you ever since I first saw you in that dress. Trouble is, I know every other man in the room is thinking the same.’

  A change of mood was called for. Dom was so much more experienced at lover’s games than she. She’d not give him the advantage of toying with her in public, where she was too aware they had an avid audience.

  ‘Have you made any progress in your search for Uncle Astonbury’s grand-daughter?’

  He stopped to look down at her, his expression almost stern.

  ‘I didn’t bring you to a ball to discuss business.’

  She would not lower her eyes or be cowed by him.

  ‘I didn’t come to a ball to be put to the blush before the whole of society and as I’ve already indicated, I’m not about to become a tame pet you can shut away when you’re not in the mood to play with me!’

  Dom’s brows shot high on his forehead and a sharp bark of laughter escaped his chiseled lips.

  ‘A tame pet? You’ve no idea how that gown tempts me to—‘play with you,’ he growled.

  Suddenly his eyes were smoldering and with a tight grip on her elbow he guided her towards the archway into the Gothic Conservatory. Nodding and smiling at acquaintances as they strolled, none had approached them to speak and Sheri could only surmise Dom was signaling them away—or maybe it was just they were so focused on each other no one cared to interrupt.

  Whatever the cause, Sheri had all Dom’s attention and felt as giddy as an ingénue. She’d never needed her icy armor more and never found it so difficult to retain.

  The Conservatory, built for Prinny’s Regency Bi-Centennial Banquet in 1811, was as opulent and stunning as the rest of Carlton House, and still crowded.

  ‘The gardens, I think,’ Dom said, leading her towards doors standing open to the night.

  A lantern-lit fairyland glittered and sparkled beyond tall gothic windows, perfect for a romantic tryst.

  ‘Good evening, Your Grace. I’ve not seen you around town since your engagement. Have you been at Windermere making your—er—visiting your godson?’

  If she needed icy armor, Sheri could borrow some of Dom’s. It was a wonder she didn’t freeze where she stood in the frigid aura suddenly emanating from him. The scar down his cheek shone a livid white and his jaw had set in hard uncompromising lines. She tried to retrieve her hand from his arm but he clamped his more firmly over it.

  If there was one woman who startled her every nerve-ending upright, it was the Dowager Duchess of Wolverton. Svelte, elegant, with plump white breasts generously displayed in a low-cut gown of deep rose satin, and heavily bedecked with diamonds at her throat, ears and threaded through her high-dressed strawberry blonde curls, she was a stunningly attractive woman. The deep, throaty voice and pale feline eyes, no doubt had men on their knees before her.

  Not her brother-in-law, apparently—a challenge she seemed unable to resist.

  ‘My whereabouts at any given time is known to those who matter,’ he clipped coldly. ‘Are you in town for the rest of the season?’

  Sheri wondered why he needed to know, but realized from the Duchess’s answer what he’d wanted to know.

  ‘How could you think so, Dominic? Most certainly I’ll be at Wolverton for your wedding. As the Dowager Duchess it’d look odd if I were not! It’ll be wonderful to have an event at Wolverton again.’

  Sheri couldn’t help but admire the woman’s sangfroid, or was she totally lacking in any sense of self-preservation? She’d ignored Dom’s chilly set-down and responded as if he’d merely been making polite conversation.

  ‘I intend returning there in a couple of days,’ she continued, ‘to be on hand should Broughton or Mrs. McNulty need my advice. I know the running of the Castle better than anyone.’

  ‘Those two were running Wolverton Castle when you were still a chit in the schoolroom!’

  ‘Mrs. McNulty and I understand each other well. She values my guidance.’

  ‘Mrs. McNulty takes her guidance from me—and once I’m married, from my wife.’

  What was the woman made of? How did she not understand a put-down as blatant as that? Then to Sheri’s astonishment, the duchess stepped closer to Dom, practically brushing a naked breast against his arm.

  ‘Don’t be such a boor, Dominic. Lady Sheri hardly has the experience to run a Castle and since I’m not far away in the Dower House, I’ll be available to show her how to go on!’

  It was patently obvious to Sheri if she didn’t take control now the woman was going to insinuate herself into their lives and do her best to undermine their marriage before it even got started.

  ‘I’d also be happy to give her some guidance on how to dress as the wife of the—Mast—as a duchess. She’s far too demure to hold your attention for long, Dominic. You need a real woman—one who’s not afraid to dress to the full advantage of her assets—’

  It wasn’t ice flowing off Dom now, it was white hot anger. Oddly enough it had the effect of filling her own veins with freezing fury so much more potent than her usual frosty facade.

  They were of a similar height but in that moment Sheri had the sense of towering over the Duchess, so intense was her indignation for herself—and for Dom. Heated words rose to her tongue, but before she uttered one, she realized action may be more evocative.

  Presenting her back to the Duchess would instantly banish any misconceptions with regard to her demureness as well as saying quite eloquently without words what needed to be said. Turning to take both Dom’s hands in hers, she recklessly allowed him to see the fire in her eyes.

  Eminently satisfied with the faint gasp of astonishment the Duchess wasn’t quite able to suppress, Sheri said throatily, ‘Shall we continue to our tryst in the gardens?’

  He leant towards her and for a second she thought he meant to kiss her. Then a smile softened the darkness in his eyes and curled the corners of his mouth, and she longed for that kiss, hoped perhaps he might deliver it once they reached a secluded spot in the Regent’s beautiful grounds.

  …

  He’d have to deal with Veronica one day soon—with finality. The Dower House was too close in proximity to the Castle. He’d also have to deal with the fact from that, no doubt intentional slip of the tongue, it appeared the Duchess knew more than was safe about the dark side of his life, the man he’d become when he’d still been in denial and inclined to rebel against the title and responsibilities he’d neither expected nor wanted to inherit. Until now he’d seen no reason to change anything. Though he’d become a Duke he was also still the man he’d always been.

  But taking a wife changed things.

  Sheri changed things. More things than he cared to admit and one of those things was his perception of himself as a master of control. She tested that control at every turn and was totally unaware. It was a long time since he’d had to fight the urge to take a woman down to the floor where they stood and enter her with one driving thrust; just as long since he’d allowed his cock to drive him in that way.

  Yet all he could focus on as they walked deeper into the shadows of the Regent’s garden was the silky skin of Sheri’s naked back and that by the very construction of the gown it was obvious she wasn’t tightly wrapped in chemise or corset. He’d only have to slip his hands beneath the neckline at her shoulders and tug and she’d be naked to the waist.

  Sheri stopped and sank onto a se
at beneath a lantern hung high in a tree.

  ‘Here is far enough,’ she said.

  ‘Not nearly. We’re still visible from the house.’

  ‘Exactly. Perfect for a chaste kiss or two then you can tell me about the search for Sylvaine.’

  ‘A chaste kiss or two is a long way from what I have in mind for you, Sherida Dearing,’ he growled. ‘No chemise. No stays. All I have to do is—’

  ‘We came out here to—to talk—and maybe to—’

  ‘Sher, if a few chaste kisses are all you’re offering you should not have worn that dress,’ he murmured starting to peel off his gloves.

  Immediately Sheri was on her feet, glancing anxiously about the gardens. Before he could ascertain what she was looking for, she started away from him to where the shadows of the night were deeper, denser.

  To where no light penetrated.

  ‘You cannot possibly see where you’re going,’ he growled, recalling himself and striding after her.

  Her hurrying steps had slowed to uncertainty and his hands closed over her shoulders. Turning her to face him, he warned himself not to follow instinct and strip the gown from her as she stood. Instead he’d savor the satin of her skin beneath his fingers—and the fire of her mouth.

  Her breathing was shallow and her body was trembling beneath his touch.

  ‘Sher? You’re not afraid of me, are you, or the wedding night?’

  He’d never initiated a fearful virgin at the Matrix Club. Nervous, excited, defiant and determined. But he’d never had to contend with outright fear; would have refused the assignment.

  But Sheri had agreed to be his wife, the mother of his children. Fear wasn’t what he expected from her either and he didn’t have the option of turning down this assignment.

  ‘Sher?’ he prompted gently.

  Breath shuddered softly in her throat, as if her breathing had stalled with his question.

  ‘Not afraid but—perhaps apprehensive—a little.’

  ‘What worries you?’ he murmured, gliding his fingers up her shoulders to cup the naked elegance of her neck, and pressing his lips to her brow. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You—know so much,’ she whispered, ‘and I—don’t.’

  Relieved to feel her hands sliding under his arms and up the planes of his back, he said, ‘That’s a good thing, Sher. I’ll teach you all you want to know.’

  He kissed the silken lids of her eyes and a little hiccup of laughter shimmered through her.

  ‘I don’t even know what I want to know!’ she protested.

  Relief flowed through him. She could find amusement in the moment. Definitely not afraid then.

  ‘I promise I’ll make it good for you—always, my love.—Now, about that chaste kiss—I should probably warn you, I don’t deal in chaste kisses.’

  …

  Sheri was drowning. It was patently obvious His Grace of Wolverton didn’t deal in chaste anything. His lips were warm, firm, mobile, hungry. His beautiful chiseled mouth had tempted her for years but the reality of it should not be indulged while standing up. He drained all the strength from her bones, her body melting against the hard masculine power of his.

  He held her safe, his long, strong legs braced to hold them both upright. As her mouth answered every demanding foray of his, she trusted Dom to know what she needed, as he’d promised; that he’d always hold her safe even while he stole her strength with kisses so far from chaste they should be labelled ‘Inflammable’.

  And she was deeply grateful she’d had the wit to seek the darkness beneath the trees for he’d spoken true when he’d declared her gown a temptation to play. Slipping the delicate puffed sleeves from her shoulders was a simple matter to such an experienced man and it was fortunate his arms held her tightly as he lowered his head and began the lessons he’d promised. If he’d left her any ability to think, she’d have made note to check this as the first item on the list of those things she hadn’t known she wanted to know.

  She’d never realized what sinful ecstasy a man’s mouth could offer, had long admired Dom’s mouth, but had never really understood the awful temptation it could be.

  ‘Dom!’ she whispered urgently, clutching at his head. ‘Please—’

  ‘Mmm, my love? God, you’re perfect. The fit of you in my hand, the weight, the taste. I can scarce believe I’ve allowed you to hide in clear sight all my life. I want you—fiercely. But, Prinny’s garden is not the place nor is this the time. Our first time together deserves more than a furtive scramble mere yards away from a crowded ballroom.’

  Sheri wanted to protest when he began setting her gown to rights again, but knew what he said was sensible, even though every fiber of her being denied it. Her body was trembling, urgent, in anticipation of the ecstatic delights he’d shown her on their carriage ride after Princess Esterhazy’s soiree. Every quiet moment since that night had been filled with the heated memories, the hunger to visit them again.

  ‘All right?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes’, she murmured regretfully and slipped her arm in his. That her legs would sustain her was still in doubt—and that he’d been the one to retain his sanity and draw back was disquieting also.

  Hoping he wouldn’t know how deeply he’d affected her, Sheri returned to the only topic of conversation that came to mind.

  ‘Have you had any success in your search for the missing Walsingham? She’d be a sort of cousin to me, wouldn’t she?’

  There was a slight breathiness in her voice, but all in all she was satisfied she sounded to be in control of her emotions.

  ‘Yes. Since Aunt Gussy would be her great-aunt. She’s proving extremely elusive. I cannot find anyone who’s heard of her. She seems to have disappeared in America soon after she was born. I have agents there searching, but I may still have to go myself. Do you fancy travelling after we’re married?’

  ‘To America?’

  ‘The Philadelphia area. I believe there are one or two excellent studs there that might interest you.’

  Excitement rippled through her senses followed swiftly by the chilling realization travelling to America would mean weeks aboard ship in close proximity with Dom. How long could she hope to keep her naked self concealed from him in those circumstances?

  ‘I—would have to think about it,’ she managed to stammer as they re-entered the conservatory and were once again surrounded by Prinny’s noisy guests.

  A set was just finishing in the main ballroom and, head and shoulders above the rest, rakish black curls a devil’s halo about his head, Lord Baxendene was leading a flushed and smiling Miss Serena Pountney back towards the chaperone’s corner. With similar coal black tresses, the picture they made was garnering attention from all around the room and Sheri was reasonably certain both were aware and relishing the fact. Their paths crossed just as Bax and his partner reached their destination. With a lazy elegance nevertheless perfect in its execution, Bax drew the young woman forward and introduced her to his cousin.

  ‘Your Grace, might I present my niece, Miss Selena Carstairs, my sister Celia’s daughter. Selena, this is our cousin, Dominic Beresford, Duke of Wolverton and his—fiancée, Lady Sherida Dearing—whom you’ve already met of course.’

  Dom’s long stride halted and his hooded gaze rested on the young woman who immediately dipped in a very proper curtsey.

  ‘I was thinking those black tresses were distinctively Beresford,’ Dom said. ‘And you have the look of your mother. Is she here with you? Surely she hasn’t left you to the dubious care of your uncle?’

  The young girl’s laughter was low and husky and her eyes danced between the two men with green sparkles of amusement and obvious confidence unusual in a young woman fresh from the schoolroom. A Beresford to the tip of each glossy curl and the assurance with which she conducted herself.

  ‘Good evening, Your Grace. Lady Dearing. Unfortunately my mother is indisposed and Aunt Holly, who is in similar case, managed to persuade her friend, Lady Rotherby to bring me to London. This is she,’
she said stepping back a little to reveal Lady Jane Rotherby rising from one of the chairs lining the wall. Her strikingly rich auburn hair was dressed high on top of her head and her wide hazel eyes were dancing with mischief.

  Before she and Sheri could do more than smile at each other, Bax leaned a little closer to Dom, and murmured loud enough for them all to hear, ‘Angular Jane.’

  Dom’s slightly aloof smile widened, then he bent over her hand and for a moment his manner towards Bax even seemed to thaw.

  ‘Holly’s friend? Vicar Bracewell’s daughter?’

  Lady Jane smiled serenely and nodded as she calmly withdrew her hand.

  ‘And no longer angular,’ Bax noted in a loud whisper, leaning even closer to Dom. It seemed for the moment the two men had forgotten their animosity, were even in accord with one another.

  ‘She’s discovered how to tame all that wild red hair too,’ Dom murmured back. ‘She used to look like one of those barbaric Highlanders from north of Inverness.’

  Sheri felt her eyes widen, as did Miss Carstairs’, while Bax’s danced like sun-sparkles on a grey ocean. Obviously Dom had known Lady Rotherby as well as Lord Baxendene had, to be this frank with her.

  ‘And you two were the most arrogant pair of Sassenachs a girl should have to endure. Good evening, Your Grace. And Sheri. I was pleased to make your fiancée’s acquaintance a few days ago, Your Grace, and we have enjoyed riding together each morning since. But Sheri, you should know this man to whom you’ve pledged your hand is not averse to handling toads and mice!’

  To Sheri’s surprise both Dom and Bax threw back their heads and laughed unrestrainedly. When he turned his laughing countenance to her, Dom’s eyes were shining like sunlit dewdrops on grass. Indeed, for the first time Sheri could imagine him as the mischievous lad he’d undoubtedly been as a youngster. It was a side of the Duke she’d never seen. It was much easier to imagine the Great Bax in that role, however.

  ‘She and Holly had the last laugh though, I seem to recall,’ Dom told Sheri. ‘Snails in our riding boots.’

  Even Bax grimaced at the memory.