Regarding the Duke

by Grace Callaway

  He gave a terse nod, knowing that she was trying to reassure him. To lessen his responsibility when it was as clear as day that he’d had his head stuck up his arse. To his further frustration, he had no idea why.

  “You were a good husband to me and father to our children. I was content. And even if I knew my love wasn’t returned, you were never cruel about it. Never made me feel stupid or awkward. On the contrary, you were ever so nice when I blurted out my feelings.”

  “Nice?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Christ, Gabby, you deserve so much more.”

  “You gave me more than I’ve ever had in my whole life.” Her fervor hit him deep in his gut. “When I was a girl, I was…awkward. My mama died giving birth to me, Papa was busy with the bank, and I don’t think I ever really learned how to, well, get on with other people. My experiences at finishing school confirmed what I knew about myself: that I hadn’t much in the way of looks, charm, or accomplishments. That the only hope I had of making friends was to be as pleasing as I could, hide any unpleasant feelings, and always keep a cheerful demeanor.”

  He knew it cost her to reveal these things to him. Her fingers were tightly clasped around her knees, the delicate knuckles white. A primitive part of him wanted to avenge her: to give whoever had hurt her what they deserved. But that reaction was selfish, for his own satisfaction. Knowing what his wife needed, he bridled his anger.

  “You do not need to hide your feelings from me,” he said. “You don’t need to be cheerful if that isn’t how you’re feeling.”

  “I know.” Her smile, bright and genuine, peeped out suddenly, like the sun from behind clouds. “Even though I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to hide my feelings from you. You’ve always seen through me…and what is more, you’ve accepted me. My tendency to worry and talk too much, all my different moods.”

  He stroked her hair, feeling her tremble of pleasure. “You are perfect the way you are, love.”

  “After Max was born, I fell into a period of doldrums. I was overwhelmed, bursting into tears over the slightest thing. Many men would have run from their wives at that point, but you didn’t.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “Do you know what you did?”

  He lifted his brows.

  “You made me a schedule.”

  “That’s bloody romantic, isn’t it?” he muttered.

  “It was. That schedule showed me that you were thinking of me, taking care of me. You were attentive to my needs even when I, myself, was not.” The adoration in her eyes halted his breath. “You made sure I ate, slept, took time for leisure. You hired more staff to relieve me of household duties. You even scheduled a time every night when you came into my chamber and we discussed the goings-on of the day and the agenda for the morrow. Even with the demands of running an empire, you have always made time for me.”

  His chest tight, he didn’t know what to say.

  “And about our Wednesday rendezvous,” she said in a soft yet fierce tone. “While it’s true that I didn’t awaken in your arms, after you made love to me, you always held me until I fell asleep. And I always slept well those nights, feeling your affection and care.”

  He wished he’d given her more. Wished he knew why he hadn’t.

  But wishes were a waste of time, and a man in love had better things to do.

  “From now on, you’ll wake up in my arms every morning,” he said. “And you’ll wake up knowing that you hold my heart. Do you hear me, Gabby?”

  “I hear you.” Her shining eyes clogged his throat. “And I love you.”

  She tilted her head back, and he took her invitation, sealing their new vows with a kiss.

  24

  The last day of their vacation, Gabby went through the manor in search of her husband. Happiness hummed through her as memories of the past four days flitted through her mind. Days and nights of such discovery and intimacy that she’d come to think of this trip as their second honeymoon. Indeed, since they’d never taken a wedding trip—Adam’s business had been too demanding for him to leave London for long—perhaps this counted as their first.

  No matter how one counted it, this time with her husband was magical.

  Adam had taken her into the village, where they visited the shops looking for presents for Fiona and Max. He’d bought her countless gifts too, including the soft-as-a-cloud blue cashmere shawl she was wearing. When he’d seen her examining the expensive accoutrement at the milliner’s, he’d insisted on buying it for her…in every available color. She’d teased him for overindulging her; he’d murmured in her ear that she deserved to be spoiled, and he planned on pampering her further…in bed.

  He’d made good on that promise too.

  With each walk through woods, shared meal and, yes, session in bed, she felt the closeness between them growing. She’d shared more with Adam than she’d shared with anyone. Encouraged by his genuine interest, she told him more about her childhood, the feelings of loneliness and isolation she’d experienced. She told him about her father, how much she loved him and tried to be the child he wanted. She’d even told him about her management system for her worries, which he’d seemed to find highly amusing.

  He also seemed to enjoy hearing her stories about how she’d met the Kent family and the adventures she’d shared with the intrepid family. When she candidly revealed that he’d been the suspected villain in some of these adventures, his brows rose…and for an instant, she feared she’d offended him. There was such a thing as being too honest.

  Then he’d pretended to twirl an imaginary mustache, as if he were some villain from a very bad play, reducing her to giggles. He’d hauled her off as if he were kidnapping an innocent maiden and proceeded to debauch her thoroughly. Of course, she loved it.

  Surrounded by the warmth of Adam’s attention, she felt herself unfurling like a flower in the sun. It wasn’t easy to open up, to break old habits, but she was determined to try. The time for hiding had come to an end. Even though Adam insisted that he bore the brunt of responsibility for the previous state of their relationship, she knew she was equally at fault.

  Two people lived in a marriage. She saw now that her own lack of confidence and self-worth had contributed to the walls between them. Together, they were tearing down those barriers and rebuilding their union, with love and intimacy as their brick and mortar.

  If anything, she wished she could provide the sort of insight to Adam that he’d given to her.

  With his amnesia unchanging, she saw him struggle with frustration, with not knowing why he’d done the things he had or what had motivated him to set emotional boundaries in their marriage. To distance himself with schedules and routines. Since she knew so little about his past, she couldn’t tell him either. Not for the first time, she wished she’d been brave enough to dig deeper, to get to the heart of the man she loved.

  But as her father had been wont to say, If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

  Wishing wasn’t going to change anything, but actions would. From here on in, she would try to have more confidence in herself. She would ask for what she wanted, work for the relationship she wanted—fight for it, if need be.

  A frisson shivered through her as a ghost of the past flitted through her consciousness. It hovered like a moth drawn to the glow of her newfound happiness.

  Jessabelle.

  Gabby told herself it should no longer matter. She had her husband’s love now, the thing she’d always wanted but had been afraid to ask for. She couldn’t change the past…and Adam couldn’t even remember it. What was the point in bringing up a problem to him that couldn’t be resolved and would only mar the joy of the present?

  She told herself she wasn’t hiding; she was just being sensible.

  Besides, Tessa was already looking into Jessabelle’s identity. Dread quivered in the pit of Gabby’s stomach, and she took a calming breath. Whatever Tessa discovered would determine her own next steps. If Jessabelle wasn’t amongst those killed in the brothel fire, then Gabby would let go of
her suspicions about Adam’s infidelity once and for all. But if Jessabelle had worked at The Gilded Pearl…

  I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

  Such was her faith in her marriage, in who she and Adam were becoming, that she could put all those worries aside for now. She continued her search for him and found him in the sparring room. The sight of him set her pulse aflutter.

  Goodness, she’d married a potent man.

  He was working on his pugilistic skills, a delight she’d never seen first-hand since he practiced at a boxing saloon when they were in London. He was in the padded rectangular ring, the perimeter marked off by four posts connected by rope. His fists jabbed the air in a hard, rapid sequence.

  His outfit was designed for ease of movement: he wore a linen shirt open at the collar and loose white trousers that hung low on his narrow hips, kept up by a colorful striped belt, the kind worn by prizefighters. The wide ends of the belt flapped as he moved lightly on his feet, shifting balance, feigning left and right as he threw punches.

  She wetted her lips, arousal spilling through her.

  In his present attire, he looked exactly like the sultan of her fantasies.

  He caught sight of her, the alertness of his gaze sending tingles over her skin. When he exited the roped ring and came toward her, she saw the expanse of hair-dusted muscle revealed by his unbuttoned shirt, the sweat-dampened fabric clinging to his ridged torso. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing his sinewy, veined forearms. An ebony wave fell across his brow, completing the image of an exotic prince.

  When he bent to kiss her cheek, the smell of his clean, male sweat made her pussy quiver.

  “Did you have a nice nap?” he murmured.

  “Yes,” she managed. “It was quite refreshing.”

  “I’m glad. I would have stayed with you, but after all those weeks as an invalid, I couldn’t stomach being in bed any more than necessary.”

  Given the disproportionate amount of time the two of them had spent in bed in the last few days, she had to lift her brows.

  His smile was lazy and all male. “Making love to my wife is necessary.”

  Since she wasn’t about to argue with that, she asked, “How did your practice session go?”

  “I know the basics.” He looked pleased with himself. “My form’s not bad, actually.”

  She glanced at his taut, muscular form. It’s not bad at all.

  As if he caught wind of her thoughts, he gave her that slow, toe-curling smile again.

  “What are you thinking about, my dear wife?”

  “Nothing.” The reply was habitual, the way she always responded when she was afraid, embarrassed, or uncertain about sharing what was really going on in her head. And, truly, she couldn’t be expected to say her wicked fantasy aloud.

  The reproving heat in his eyes made her heart thump faster.

  “Did you just file something away in the Bin of Blissful Ignorance?” he asked softly.

  Dash it, maybe she oughtn’t have divulged quite so much of her inner life. “It’s nothing, truly.”

  “You have a tell-tale sign when you’re lying. A pretty blush that rises from here,”—he brushed his index finger on the bare skin just above the neckline of her gown, causing her nipples to tighten—“all the way up here.”

  She shivered as his fingertip feathered up her throat, over her lips, to her eyebrows.

  “What aren’t you telling me, hmm?”

  Not fooled by his mild tone, she mumbled, “I’m just, um, happy to see you.”

  Hedging wasn’t the same as lying, was it?

  After a pause, he said, “I suppose there is another explanation for your blush other than lying.”

  Thank heavens. Thinking quickly, she cast a look at the roaring hearth.

  “It is rather warm in here,” she said brightly.

  “I don’t think that is the kind of heat you’re responding to.”

  Uh oh. In that instant, she knew she’d been snared. Her breath came faster as he cupped her jaw, his eyes holding her fast.

  “I know this blush because I see it spread like a sunrise over your beautiful skin when I make love to you. When you’re aroused and hot and all you can think about is how empty your pussy feels. How much you want my cock to fill you, to take you, to make you come.”

  Held captive by his words, by her own clamoring desire, she couldn’t speak. Need spiked, her pussy clenching on emptiness just like he said. Wanting him…just like he said.

  “Let’s try this again,” he said silkily. “What are you thinking about, Gabriella?”

  “I was thinking that you remind me of a sultan,” she blurted.

  His eyes flickered, his expression unreadable. When he said nothing more, she realized that he was waiting for her to explain what she meant. Now that the horses had bolted, there was no use closing the barn door, was there?

  She swallowed. “You’re going to think I’m silly.”

  “Let me be the judge. Go on.”

  Since it wasn’t really a request, she sighed and gave him what he wanted.

  “When I first met you, I happened to be reading Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. Not the, um, modified version the children are reading. The original translation which has the sultan marrying a new virgin bride every day and killing them after one night so that they couldn’t betray him as his first queen had done.” Squirming under his scrutiny, she said, “You reminded me of him. Of how I pictured him in my mind, that is.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “I reminded you of a wife-murdering lunatic?”

  “No, not that part. See? I knew this would be difficult to explain.”

  “Try anyway, pet.”

  Her hands twisting the ends of her shawl, she said, “It was your power, your absolute command of yourself and the world around you that made me draw the comparison. You have a confidence, an animal magnetism that is ever so compelling. Whenever you looked at me, I felt…special. As if I were being seen for the first time.” She lowered her gaze to his chest; it was too difficult to say the rest to his face. “I wanted to be granted an audience with you. Wanted to do anything to please you. To win your love and be your cherished queen.”

  His finger curled under her chin, tipping her gaze up to meet his.

  “A fitting fantasy,” he said softly, “since you remind me of Scheherazade.”

  “Because I talk so much?”

  His lips twitched. “I like the way you talk. It’s charming and unique, just like you. But that is not the only way you resemble Scheherazade. Like her, you have strength and courage that might be easily overlooked, that have helped you survive hurt and pain without ever losing your smile. Like the queen who married a tyrant to prevent the murder of more innocents, you are kind and caring…too often putting the needs of others before your own. Not to mention, you’re as beautiful, loyal, and intelligent as the heroine of legend.”

  Her heart felt full to bursting. “Oh, Adam, that’s so—”

  “If you say kind, I may throttle you.”

  “I was going to say beautiful. Wonderful,” she said ardently. “The most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.”

  “I should hope no other man has spoken to you in that way.”

  His stern tone gave her a pleasant shiver. “Of course not.”

  “And no other man ever will because you’re mine, Gabby. My wife, the mother of my children, the woman I love. Which means you can trust me.”

  “I do trust you—”

  “Then why did you lie? Why didn’t you tell me what you were thinking?”

  “Because, well, it was…embarrassing.”

  “What was?”

  “How fanciful I was being.” Cheeks flaming, she met his gaze nonetheless. “When I saw you there all…sweaty and manly, in that outfit with that sultan-ish belt…I started having thoughts of a rather, um, indecorous nature. Not the sort of thoughts a virtuous wife should have.”

  His brows arched. “What makes you think I wa
nt a virtuous wife?”

  “You told me you did. When you proposed.”

  “I think we already established that the old me was an idiot.” He reached out, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip. When he did that, she experienced the strange and wanton urge to open her mouth…to lick him. “And surely my lovemaking during this trip has shown you that I have no interest in carrying out polite conjugal duties.”

  He was right. He’d been many things—passionate, tender, demanding—but not polite.

  Thank heavens.

  “I want you, Gabby. A marriage of body, heart, and mind, remember? In order to have that, you’ll have to trust me, to trust that I won’t belittle or discount your thoughts or feelings, that I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

  “You’re right, and I’m ever so sorry,” she said with true contrition. “I should have trusted you not to make fun of my flight of fancy.”

  “I’m glad we got that out of the way. Now pertaining to your little fantasy, I wouldn’t make fun of it because it also happens to be mine. ”

  She blinked. “You fancy…being a sultan?”

  “Not precisely.” The gleam in his eyes made her pulse leap. “But I fancy the idea of being your lord and master. Of you serving me, pleasing me in any way I wish. In fact, I think we ought to have a sampling of that now.”

  25

  Hearing her deepest sexual fantasy uttered in Adam’s sensual baritone set off tremors of desire in Gabby. Her knees wobbled, but he swept her up in an easy movement. To her surprise, he didn’t take her toward their bedchamber but into the boxing ring.

  “Here?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Here.”

  He set her down on the soft mats that padded the ring and began to undress her with a cool efficiency that further stimulated her senses. In a matter of heartbeats, she was naked, her unpinned hair cascading down her back. She trembled beneath his appraising gaze and instinctively moved to cover her breasts. He stopped her with a calm command.