Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  One of the most frustrating aspects of his amnesia was not knowing why he hadn’t tried harder to build up his wife’s self-confidence in the past. Why he’d let walls stand between them. Since Gabby seemed to idealize who he was before, not even recognizing that he’d failed her, these were questions that no one but his forgotten self could answer.

  I knew that you were the husband I always dreamed of. That you would be my everything.

  Her words had tapped into a vein of consciousness deeper than memory. In it flowed his soul’s secret yearning: to own a woman’s complete surrender. To have her entrust her body, her loyalty, and her love to him. To have her yield control to him, to trust him, to know that he would do everything in his power to protect and cherish her.

  He didn’t want this with just any woman—he wanted this from Gabriella.

  His wife.

  Just thinking those words roused a swell of possessiveness. And a physical swell too, which wouldn’t do since Thompson and the guards that had accompanied them stood nearby. A line of servants was also waiting on the steps of the Tudor-style manor house.

  Adam bridled his desire; he had the next five days to convince his bride that her price was beyond rubies and that she belonged to him. Unwilling to relinquish the pleasure of her touch, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her over to the entrance of the lodge.

  “Do we have an army of servants at all our properties?” he murmured.

  “You haven’t seen the country house in Berkshire.” Her smile had a hint of mischief. “When it comes to hiring help, your motto is, The more the merrier.”

  Shaking his head at his extravagance, he went to meet the legion for whom he was apparently providing gainful employment. The well-trained staff didn’t blink an eye when he had to ask for their names. Beside him, Gabby greeted everyone with her natural warmth, eliciting genuine smiles in return.

  After the introductions were done, Gabby gave him a tour of the place. The manor was medium-sized and renovated to serve its purpose of masculine enjoyment. The public rooms included a billiards room, library, and a sparring room to practice boxing. A theme of rich oak paneling, buttoned-leather furnishings, and trophies of the hunt lent the rooms a rustic yet elegant ambiance.

  In her bubbly, enchanting way, Gabby told him the history of the house.

  “The manor was owned by an aristocratic family for centuries. By the time the last owner inherited it, the place was in such disrepair that he decided to put it up for sale. He wanted an exorbitant sum, claiming that a king had stayed here because the hunting was so fine. But you were ever so clever and told him that it would take the ransoms of several kings to pay for the repairs,” Gabby said with such wifely pride that he had to grin. “You negotiated ten thousand pounds off the asking price.”

  “And spent it on the restoration, no doubt.” He cast an admiring glance around the present room, a richly outfitted study. Whatever he’d spent, it had been worth it. The space was luxurious and inviting…just like the house in London. And he remembered what she’d said earlier in the carriage. “You oversaw the decoration of the manor?”

  “In consultation with the architect, of course,” she said diffidently. “You had business matters to attend to, and I was happy to pitch in where I could.”

  “You did a splendid job.”

  She gave a modest shrug. “I relied on the architect’s judgement.”

  “And the London house? Did you have a hand in that too?” He knew the answer: their home’s comfortable, warm style was quintessential Gabriella. But he wanted to hear it from her.

  “Well, yes, but I asked for your opinion quite a bit. You have a refined sensibility when it comes to such matters, and I wanted to—”

  “Gabriella.”

  He used the firm tone that had gotten her attention earlier in the carriage. She blinked, comprehension flaring in her eyes. Along with chagrin.

  She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

  If the matter hadn’t been so vital to her well-being, he might have smiled at how endearingly flustered she looked. Instead, he nodded.

  “Truly, I hadn’t noticed how I discounted compliments before.” She sounded befuddled. “What an ungracious habit. I’m ever so sorry.”

  “I’m not the one who is owed an apology.”

  Her brow furrowed. “You mean to say...”

  “You do not give yourself credit where credit is due. Who does that hurt, if not you?”

  “I’ve never thought of it that way.” Biting her lip, she said, “I don’t know how I got into the habit of it, but I shall do my best to stop.”

  “I have a suggestion.”

  “Yes?”

  “When I next pay you a compliment,” he said gently, “simply say, Thank you.”

  “That seems like a simple enough solution,” she agreed.

  “Gabby?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve made our home and this property the envy of any man,” he said gravely.

  After an awkward pause, she said with obvious effort, “Thank you.”

  “Was that so difficult?”

  “No.”

  “Then try this one. Thank you also for making me the envy of men with your beauty, strength, and sweetness.”

  Her bosom surged; he could see her fighting her instincts to deny the praise.

  “Thank you,” she said with such reluctance that his lips quirked.

  Firming them, he said, “Last, but not least, thank you for the kisses in the carriage. You make me so hard that I ache, my sweet, passionate wife, and more eager than a newlywed bridegroom for his wedding night.”

  “Adam.”

  He lifted his brows. “What do you say, pet?”

  She looked equal parts scandalized and stirred. She moistened her plump lips. He had a sudden image of her kneeling before him, employing that soft, wet swipe over the tip of his cock, and he had to bite back a groan.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” He curled his finger beneath her chin and felt her tremble. “Now I want you to go upstairs and refresh yourself so you’ll have energy for this evening. We’ll have supper in our chamber, if that suits?”

  “That sounds lovely,” she breathed.

  “Good.” He allowed himself a brief kiss on her brow. “Go on, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon.”

  Two hours later, Gabby paused at the door of the shared sitting room between her and Adam’s chambers. She felt more like a breathless virgin than a married lady of eight years, butterflies swarming in her belly. After a long bath in the luxuriously updated bathing room, she’d taken a refreshing nap. As befitting an intimate evening with her husband, she’d had the maid dress her in her favorite wrapper, which was made of white silk and embroidered with a motif of pagodas and birds. She’d left her hair down, the maid brushing the long strands until they shone.

  After the steamy interlude in the carriage, Gabby knew what would transpire tonight. Truth be told, she ached for it, for the passion that Adam had always brought forth in her…and for the newfound intimacy that heightened all her desires. In the past, she’d always felt safe in her husband’s virile thrall. Now she sensed he wanted more from her, a deeper connection that was both exciting and terrifying. It would alter their marriage, but hadn’t their marriage already changed?

  Yet she was still standing, still breathing, still desperately in love with her husband.

  Thank you also for making me the envy of men with your beauty, strength, and sweetness.

  She heard Adam’s praise, but more than that, she truly felt it for the first time. It challenged her long-held assumptions about herself. His words made her feel beautiful and strong and fed her burgeoning confidence.

  Inhaling, she opened the door and crossed the threshold.

  Adam was waiting for her. He, too, had forgone formal attire, wearing a deep sapphire smoking jacket over his shirt and grey trousers. He’d left off
his cravat, the strong column of his throat rising from the open collar. The vee also gave a tantalizing glimpse of the coarse hair that lightly furred his chest. He surveyed her like a sultan viewing his prized treasure, and every part of her quivered in response.

  “How ravishing you are, my dear,” he said.

  “You look rather fine yourself,” she managed.

  He came to her, lifting his hand to her hair. He captured a strand between finger and thumb, rubbing gently.

  “Like firelit silk,” he murmured. “I’m torn between my desire as a man to see you thus always and my desire as a husband to keep this beauty all to myself. For my viewing pleasure alone.”

  Even without the constriction of her undergarments, she couldn’t breathe. The proprietary heat in his gaze summoned her arousal, blood swelling the tips of her breasts. Need gnawed at her belly, and she wetted her lips.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  Not only for food. The thought popped into her head, but even her newfound confidence couldn’t compel her to say it. The knowing gleam in Adam’s eyes made her intimate muscles clench. She felt herself sway toward him, physically drawn to his charismatic force…

  A growl broke the reverie…and it came from her belly. Her cheeks pulsed with embarrassment.

  Lines crinkled around Adam’s eyes. His lips curved into that new and irresistible grin. “There’s my answer. I’d best feed my beautiful wife before indulging in other appetites.”

  His wink teased a chuckle from her. Then his hand engulfed hers, leading her to the table by the roaring hearth. It had been set for two, the firelight twinkling in the ruby depths of the wineglasses. A tiered cart beside the table held several covered dishes.

  “I requested a simple repast, one that we could serve ourselves,” Adam said as he seated her. “I hope you do not mind.”

  “I like this very much. It’s ever so cozy.” She smiled at him. “And that smells delicious…is it hotchpotch?”

  He lifted the lid of an earthenware pot, releasing a confirming puff of savory steam. Her mouth watered as he served them each a plate of the rich stew made from local game and vegetables. A rustic oval loaf sat on the table, along with a pot of butter.

  He raised his wineglass to hers. “Bon appetit, pet.”

  With sudden hunger, Gabby dug in. She savored the chunks of tender meat braised with onions, carrots, and parsnips, the homey mélange specked with parsley and sage. She slathered her crusty slice of bread with creamy butter, her eyes closing briefly at the pleasure of that humble yet timeless pairing.

  She realized that Adam was watching her, wineglass in hand, his plate mostly untouched.

  Feeling like a glutton, she swallowed her mouthful. “I must be hungrier than I realized.”

  “I like watching you eat. Seeing you enjoy a sensual, natural pleasure.” His husky tone made her hunger for other sensual pleasures as well. “Tell me about another time we shared an intimate supper like this, sweetheart.”

  Remembering their game from the carriage, she took a sip of wine before answering. “This one is rather difficult. We didn’t dine alone often. And due to the demands of your business, you were frequently away from home.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t take my meals with you and the children?”

  “We usually breakfasted together.” Heat rose in her cheeks as she thought of other aspects of their regular schedule. “And you were always home on, um, Wednesday nights. We usually supped as a family then.”

  Afterward, you came and made love to me. I looked forward to each and every Wednesday.

  “Out of seven days, I only supped with you on one of the nights?” he said, brows drawn.

  “You’re a busy man, as I said.” She found herself defending him. “And most fashionable couples do not live in each other’s pockets. We each had our own social functions to attend, although some of them overlapped.” Beneath his inscrutable gaze, she felt compelled to add, “It is common for husbands and wives to maintain separate schedules.”

  “On the topic of schedules, I’ve gleaned from various people that I’m a man of routine.”

  Not knowing what to make of the swift turn in the conversation or the edge in his voice, she nodded warily. “You’re an organized, disciplined sort of person. You told me once that you hated surprises.”

  “I’m so organized and disciplined that I only made love to you on Wednesdays?”

  Her pulse spiked. “How…did you remember…?”

  “You told me, Gabriella. The night you drank too much champagne you said that I wouldn’t make love to you because it wasn’t Wednesday,” he said grimly. “Is that true?”

  “Well, yes. That was the routine,” she admitted.

  “Why the bloody hell did I only make love to you once a week?”

  “I don’t know. It was just the way it was,” she said helplessly. “Ever since we were married.”

  “Did you want it that way?”

  Her heart thumped as his gaze probed hers. The flickering firelight deepened his predatory intensity. She felt like a cornered rabbit, the instinct for self-preservation coupled with a paradoxical thrill. That of being…seen.

  “It is what you wanted,” she ventured.

  “Is it what you wanted? For your husband to make love to you once a week, per the schedule?”

  “I wanted to be a good wife.” She moistened her lips as the truth seeped from the cracks in her heart. “To please you.”

  His smoldering gaze caused her pulse to race with alarm and longing.

  “What would please me most is to hear what you want, Gabriella,” he said. “Are you satisfied with supper once a week, each of us going our own merry way? A once-a-week bedding on a specified schedule?” A pause. “A husband who tells you he doesn’t believe in love?”

  Her breath caught on a jagged edge. “How did you…?”

  “You told me. When you were drunk.”

  Her temples tightened. “I shouldn’t have said—”

  “I wanted the truth from you then, and I want it now.” He didn’t blink. “Are you happy with the way things were?”

  Confronted, panicked, with nowhere to run, she stilled—and the answer flashed in her head. She saw fully, for the first time, the price she’d paid for security. For eight years, the limits and routines of her marriage had kept her safe, but those walls she’d hidden behind had also been a cage.

  “I want more.” In her admission, she heard the click of a key, felt the tremble of something shifting, opening within herself. “I always have.”

  “How much more?”

  Is he really going to make me confess my deepest desires?

  He would, for she recognized his focused calm. She’d witnessed him in this state throughout their marriage. When he was about to close a difficult business deal or when the children got too rambunctious. Or the time when she’d been overtaken by despair after Max’s birth.

  This was the way Adam got before he stepped in and conquered the chaos. Before he made everything all right. Because he’d always done that for her, even when he’d been clear that romantic love wouldn’t be part of the equation for him.

  Yet Adam now wasn’t the same as Adam then. He seemed less god-like and more human. He’d pushed for intimacy between them, had even helped her to realize a truth about herself. He made her feel beautiful and wanted, not just because of her wifely aptitudes, but simply for being…herself.

  “I want all of you.” The words welled up, unstoppable as her tears. “I want a marriage of hearts and minds and bodies, too. I want nothing between us. Nothing.”

  “Then we are in accord, my sweet wife.” In a lightning-fast move, he was by her side, thumbing away her tears. Then he scooped her up in his arms. Her hands landing on his rock-hard chest, she was captivated by the ferocity of his expression. “Because when it comes to our marriage, I won’t settle for less than everything.”

  22

  Adam carried his wife to her bedchamber, his heart pounding with wonder a
nd pride. She was a fantasy come true, and she was his. Whatever the reasons behind their prior stupid arrangement—not for the first time, he wanted to knock some sense into his old self—he planned to erase it from her mind, replace it with what he wanted from her now.

  What she’d so bravely admitted she wanted too.

  Everything.

  He set her on her feet by the bed, tipping her chin up.

  “Tonight, we start over,” he told her. “I don’t give a damn that it’s not Wednesday. From now on, I won’t limit my desire for you in any way.”

  “I don’t want you to. I want to please you, Adam. It’s…it’s all I’ve ever really wanted.”

  Her sweet submission swelled his cock with lust, his chest with tenderness.

  “Your trust is a gift, sweetheart,” he said, his voice hoarse with reverence. “But if I ever do something you don’t like, you will tell me, hmm? I want honesty between us at all times.”

  She nodded, then sighed with pleasure as he ran a possessive hand through her hair. The lamplight turned her tresses into molten copper, and he reveled in the satiny slide between his fingers. When he got tangled, the slight tug on her scalp made her neck arch, her eyelids growing heavy. He made note of her reaction, the way he made note of everything where she was concerned.

  Because she was his. His to pleasure and enjoy in any way he wished.

  His to honor, protect, and cherish.

  Curling his hand in her hair, he pulled gently. Her head tilted back with the loveliest gasp, and he swallowed it, thrust his tongue deep inside her mouth. She was delicious.

  Sweet and savory. Womanly, wet, and warm. His Gabby.

  He took his leisurely fill of his wife’s mouth before being lured away by her other charms. Lucky bastard that he was, he had plenty to choose from. Plump earlobes just begging to be suckled, the soft, soft curve of her neck. He rested his lips against the flutter of her throat, absorbing her fragility, his desire fed by the savage thought that if anyone tried to take her away from him, he would tear them from limb to limb.

  Impatient with the barriers between them, he untied her wrapper, pushing it off her shoulders. The nightgown beneath was thin, teasing him with the hint of her bountiful curves. Unfortunately, the line of tiny mother-of-pearl buttons stretching from her throat to her toes was as long as the bloody Great Wall of China.