The Duke's Divorce (The Reluctant Grooms Series Volume IV)

by Anne Gallagher

  *****

  Oh, what was wrong with her that her own husband would not even take a turn with her? After her dance with Gredlow, she excused herself from her circle of friends and headed for the retiring room. Finished, she found a glass of lemonade, and Fiona stepped onto the terrace from the dining room. The night air was cold, but refreshing after the press of bodies all night long. She sipped from her glass and walked to the edge of the low stonewall. People strolled among the gardens; a few well-placed lanterns illuminated the paths. She wondered what it would be like if she and Robert were one of those couples.

  Yes, Robert had done his part in the ballroom, but barely that. Alas, most husbands did not remain by their wives throughout the night and went to play cards or seek their friends counsel. However, as she was newly married it was expected that he would. Penny had related the three cousins were thick as thieves and always banded together at these functions. So if Robert had always been in the company of his cousins, then why should tonight be any different? Why had he left her alone, to fend for herself?

  She had looked forward to this evening for weeks as she and Robert struggled to find an amiable accord at home. Fiona wanted to find that same accord elsewhere. She realized she was only fooling herself. It was obvious Robert was keeping to his side of their bargain.

  “Here you are,” said a voice from behind her. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”

  Fiona turned and found Lord Stockton. She hoped the shadowy light from the ballroom hid the grimace behind her smile.

  “Pray, have I forgotten our dance?” Fiona asked. “Forgive me, Lord Stockton. In retrieving my lemonade I found the allure of the night air quite seductive.”

  Stockton moved closer. “Is that so?” He loomed over her in the semi-darkness.

  Fiona took a step back.

  “Do not be shy, Lady Cantin. I promise I will not bite. Yet.” He took up her hand and placed a kiss on the back of her glove.

  “Forgive me, Lord Stockton. I fear I should return to the ballroom now. Robert must be wondering where I am.” She tried to disengage her hand from his grasp, but he would not let go.

  “Have no fear. Your husband is also nowhere to be found. Does he leave you alone like this frequently?”

  What could she say? He left her alone all the time. But she did not want to be alone with Stockton. Robert’s warning about unscrupulous cads all those weeks ago burned in her ears. Stockton was definitely one of those men she should avoid.

  “My husband….Forgive me, Lord Stockton, I must insist I return to the ballroom now.” Fiona stepped back and tried to remove her hand from his again. He held tight.

  “Perhaps, I think, we should become better acquainted.” Stockton took her lemonade, threw the cup over the wall, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to his chest. Before she could blink, his lips mashed down on hers.

  Locked in his embrace, with his mouth covering hers, Fiona couldn’t scream. She struggled to break free, but the man was too strong. Her very first kiss and it was from this man. The horror of it made her sick to her stomach. She would not be assaulted in such a manner. She twisted in his grasp and unloosed one hand. She pulled it back to slap his face, swung, and connected with…nothing. Where had he gone?

  The shock and elation of seeing Robert championing her, quickly turned to panic as Robert punched him repeatedly. Stockton tried to retaliate in kind, but gave up when his left eye closed and he put up both arms to ward off any more of Robert’s attack. Blood ran down Stockton’s face, and the sound of Robert’s fist striking him was repugnant. Could Robert be breaking bones? He appeared enraged enough to pummel the man to death. Oh dear God, she had to stop him.

  Fiona ran toward her husband and pulled on his arm. “Robert! Stop! You must stop!”

  He glowered at her, his closed fist ready to take another swing. “Is this whom you would choose over me?”

  She snorted. “Do not be daft, you silly sod. If you do not stop hitting him, he will die and you shall be hanged for killing a Peer. Tell me, is he worth it?” Fiona pushed against Robert’s chest, forcing him to take a step back.

  Robert let go of Stockton who sagged against the wall covering his face with his hands. He moaned, but did not rise.

  Fiona stood in front of Robert, one hand still on his chest. He remained rigid, his breathing forced and labored, and his eyes did not seem to focus. Without thinking, she began to wipe the blood from his shirt. She only managed to make more of a mess. Her gloves were stained and Robert’s shirt had dark smears. She wondered how they would return to the ballroom in such a state. “Ach! Now look at what you’ve made me do.”

  Robert grabbed her by her elbows. “What the hell were you doing out here with him?” he growled.

  “I was not doing anything except sipping my lemonade.” Fiona’s voice rose. “He was the one who accosted me.”

  “I told you about this sort of thing, Fiona. I told you what would happen.” Robert turned away from her and flexed the hand with which he had punched Stockton.

  Fiona walked to him and gently took his hand.

  “Ow! What are you doing?” He snatched his hand away.

  “I should like to inspect it to make sure none of this blood is yours. Now be still.” She peeled off her gloves and lightly ran her bare fingertips over his bloody knuckles.

  Robert settled against her ministrations. His breathing slowed and his posture relaxed.

  “It seems you did not break the skin, but you shall have a mighty bruise in the morning,” she said and looked up into his face. His eyes were black discs as they bore into hers.

  “Fiona, I….” Robert brought his other hand to rest on her cheek.

  Fiona’s stomach did a flip-flop. She pressed her cheek into her husband’s palm and closed her eyes. She felt his breath fan her lips and waited.

  “What the bloody hell is going on out here? Robert, Fiona, are you all right?”

  Fiona’s eyes snapped open and Robert dropped his hand.

  William stood two feet away. Behind him, half the guests from the ballroom.

  Chapter Eleven

  A woman screamed as Stockton rose unsteadily from his position on the wall. Covered in blood, Gredlow and Ferring helped him away. Penny and Amanda rushed to Fiona’s side. Lord Berringbourne pushed his way through the crowd, took in the incident, and declared this was the best ball his wife had ever given. People streamed from the terrace doors to take in the aftermath of the confrontation and be the first to break the scandal to those who had not attended.

  William stepped next to Robert. “I told you, you would not be able to help yourself when a beautiful woman is involved.”

  Robert wanted to slap the smirk off his cousin’s face. “Well, now what am I to do? I’ve literally made a bloody mess of the whole night.”

  “Take your wife and your mother home. Send flowers to Lady Berringbourne on the morrow with a note of sincere apology. There is nothing more you can do.”

  “What about the scandal?” It was pointless to think he wouldn’t read about it in the paper the next day.

  “Let the tale settle and go about your business. I’m sure something else will happen to surpass this in the rumor mill.” William placed his hand on Robert’s shoulder. “Why should you be any different than the rest of us? Come now cousin, you said yourself this was bound to happen.”

  “Yes, but I never thought it would happen on Fiona’s very first night in Society.” He glanced at his wife. Penny’s arm lay about Fiona’s waist, holding her up. Fiona shook, her face deathly pale. She looked ready to faint.

  Robert pushed through the collecting crowd around his wife. He took her arm and she turned into his chest, sobbing.

  “I’m so sorry, my lord. I never meant to cause any of this to happen.”

  How could she yell at him one second, and fall apart in the next? He gathered his wife into his arms and drew her with him to the dining room. He found a chair and deposited her gently into it. Grabbing a glass of
lemonade from the refreshment table, he placed it in her hands.

  “Drink this.”

  Fiona clasped the cup, took a few sips, but spilled most of it on her gown.

  “Come, we must away now,” Robert said softly. “I should like to get you home. You’ve had a very bad fright.” He stood.

  Fiona remained in the chair. A tear ran down her cheek.

  He knelt beside her. “What is it, Fiona?”

  “I was so looking forward to waltzing with you again.”

  Robert smiled and kissed her on the forehead. “We have plenty more balls to attend, and we shall waltz at all of them.

  “No, we cannot. I shall never attend another ball. I could not bear the thought of something happening to you because of me.”

  Robert closed his eyes. The little fool worried about him. “Come Fiona, let us go home.”

  He scooped her up like a sleepy child and she laid her head against his shoulder. They walked into the hall, where he found his mother waited.

  “How is she?”

  “Shaken badly, but she will be fine,” Robert said.

  “Well, then, let us get her home.”

  They walked through the Berringbourne mansion without stopping to speak to anyone, although friends and onlookers gawked at the small procession.

  Outside, William waited by the carriage. “I took the liberty,” he said.

  “Thank you,” Robert said as William helped his mother ascend the steps.

  Robert climbed into the carriage and held Fiona on his lap. For all her fiery ways and spirited temperament, she was still just a young woman who had no idea of the ways of the world. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

  “I did not encourage him, my lord,” Fiona whispered. “I swear by all that is Holy. I only went out to find some fresh air and sip my lemonade.”

  “I know, Fiona, I know. Do not worry. Hush now. Try to relax.”

  They reached Cantin House and Robert carried her through the door Edwards held open.

  “Brandy, Edwards, upstairs in Fiona’s chamber.” Robert held her close and walked up the stairs.

  In her bedchamber, Robert dismissed Merry who slept in the chair by the fire. He laid Fiona gently on the bed and she looked at him questioningly. Robert removed his coat and cravat as Edwards tiptoed into the room with the brandy, and left without a sound.

  “First we must get you out of this gown,” Robert said. “And then you need to drink the brandy. Can you sit up for me?”

  Fiona slid off the bed and stood. Robert undid the buttons at her back and slipped the gown off her shoulders to the floor. He drew in a sharp breath as he caught sight of her breasts through the filmy chemise. His hand reached to touch one and he snatched it back. Grinding his teeth, he undid the laces from her underskirts and pushed them down, where they landed on top of the wretched gown that started this travesty of an evening.

  “Sit and I will take off your slippers,” he said hoarsely.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and Robert took off her shoes. When his hands reached up for her stockings, Fiona trembled. Slowly, his hands eased up her legs until they reached her thighs. His fingers slipped inside her stockings and Fiona caught her breath. As he slid the stockings to her ankles, he looked up. Her eyes were wide as his hands caressed her legs.

  “Climb into bed.” He held the covers and she slid under them.

  “Here.” Robert handed her the brandy. “Drink this.” She took a long sip. “Move just a little and I will undo your hair.” Robert sat behind her on the bed and took the pins from her hair. Slowly, the black mass fell and lay about her shoulders. Drawing his fingers through her tresses, he sniffed. He couldn’t distinguish the exact scent, but the Heavenly aroma reminded him of the gardens at Wakefield. Robert massaged her temples, and then worked his way down to her shoulders.

  Fiona shuddered down the last of the brandy, the empty glass lolling in her fingers. Robert took it from her and set it on the night table. He slipped out from behind her and pressed her gently to lie against the pillows. She looked at him with half-closed lids.

  “Robert, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Tonight, with Stockton, was the first time I have ever been kissed. I do not wish to have to have that memory for the rest of my life. Would you kiss me to replace it?”

  Did she even know what she asked of him? Robert clenched his hands and drew in a sharp breath.

  Fiona turned her head and closed her eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek.

  Robert walked to the other side of the bed and lay down beside her. Fiona startled and opened her eyes wide. He rested one elbow on the pillow, his free hand pushing the hair back from her face

  “I’m sorry Stockton was your first.” He struggled to keep his voice even, control the anger he still felt, not only at Stockton, but also at his own stupidity leaving Fiona alone all night. If he had remained by her side, as a new husband ought, they wouldn’t be in the midst of a scandal, nor would he be wrestling with such a simple request.

  He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. They tasted sweet and soft, like an overripe peach. His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek and he deepened the kiss. Her hands found their way to his neck, her fingers pulling him closer. Oh, yes, he would erase Stockton from every part of Fiona’s memory.

  Robert’s hand roamed down her arm, and found her hip where he tightened his hold. Oh, to have his hands on her whole body thus. Surprisingly, Fiona responded to his every move. He rather enjoyed the art of kissing and several women had said that he satisfied them in ways that sexual congress never had. His lips found their way to her neck, and her earlobe seemed quite delectable for nibbling. Fiona’s breathing faltered. When his lips found hers again and pressed them open, she responded willingly. A small fire built in his belly. Fiona had managed to undo his shirt, her fingers playing in his chest hair. He burned where she touched him.

  Robert shifted his weight, brought his other hand under her back, and lifted her closer to him. Her heat consumed him and fanned the fire into a slow, methodical flame. His hand at her hip encircled her back, and drew her closer still. She clung to him, gripped his shoulder, as if she might fall. His hand snaked down her back until it reached her backside and he cupped her with strong fingers. Fiona moaned as his lips tickled her neck.

  “Oh, Fiona, what have you done?” he mumbled.

  His lips raked her throat and down her chest seeking what he wanted to taste, just once. His tongue circled her nipple and Fiona cried out.

  “Oh, please.”

  His lips sought her other breast. She was so delicious, so ripe for the picking. He couldn’t get enough. Her hips arched upward as his hand took the place of his mouth and his lips sought hers once again.

  “Robert, please,” she moaned.

  He broke away from the kiss and Fiona opened her eyes.

  Robert gazed down at his wife. His wife. They had been married one month today and he hadn’t really found the urge to bed her. He’d kept her at arm’s length, where she belonged. Until tonight. Seeing her in that gown, watching her laugh and dance, conversing easily with his friends, had him completely undone. And she belonged to him. But he’d never thought seriously he would take her. It was really just a small fantasy – like which horse to pick that would bring him the prize. What would sex be like with Fiona?

  In his whimsical flights of fancy, he never imagined Fiona would respond to him with such passion. He could feel her rising with every kiss, every caress, and when he kissed her breasts, he thought she would leap off the bed. Who knew such fire burned in her soul? Or could ignite one in him?

  He looked down at his wife, her mouth open, her eyes glazed with lust. No, taking her would only complicate matters. He did not love her. He may want her, but he would not, could not have her. She would ruin all his plans for the future.

  He slid off the bed and stood. “Fiona, I think it is for the best that we stop now. You’ve had a terrible frigh
t this evening and you must rest. I hope my kiss will have eradicated Stockton’s from your mind. I will see you in the morning.”

  He strode to the connecting door, placed his fingers on the handle, and opened it. He fought the urge to turn and look at her one last time. He knew if he did, he wouldn’t leave. He slipped through the doorway and walked to his own room on shaking legs.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fiona lay in her bed, bereft of Robert’s warmth. What had happened? How could he have kissed her with such passion one minute, and then walk away as if she were nothing more than a distasteful meal the next? No wonder he did not want to consummate the marriage. If that were only the beginning of intimacy, then whatever came after would bind them together inseparably. ‘Twas a frightening thought, to have that kind of hold over another person, though she admitted that now, Robert had it over her. She would never be able to look at another man without comparing him to Robert.

  Fiona slept restlessly, her dreams pitting Robert and Stockton against each other. The last time she had looked at the clock it read half-four. She lay in the darkness and listened to the birds wake outside her window. At seven Fiona rose. She did not want to miss the opportunity to see Robert before he disappeared for the day. Not bothering to wait for Merry and her hot chocolate, she bounded out of bed, washed, dressed, and went downstairs to the breakfast room.

  Robert looked up from his newspaper as she entered the room. What Fiona thought was a good idea five minutes ago, didn’t seem such now.

  “Good morning, Fiona,” Robert said. His voice seemed as dry as the toast.

  “Good morning, my lord.” She presumed he meant for her to use his given name only in company.

  He snapped the newspaper and arched a brow in her direction.

  She went to the sideboard and prepared a small plate. Sitting down at the table, she noticed Robert’s swollen hand. She reached out her fingers, gently placed them under his palm, and lifted it so she could take a better look.