He’d taken a few lovers but discarded all of them so very easily. None had filled the void of dissatisfaction in his soul. Only meeting Ophelia had brought light to his life. And even then, she’d been married to his troublesome cousin, a complication that had made him endlessly ashamed.
He’d never doubted avoiding Ophelia was the right course of action. But did she ever crave his companionship at the end of the day?
He rang for a servant to clear the plates away once he’d eaten. “There’s nothing more I’ll need tonight.”
“Very good, your grace,” a footman said as he worked. “Mrs. Shaw has returned.”
He stilled. “I wasn’t aware she had gone out?”
“To visit Mrs. Nash, to discuss Miss Johnson, I believe.”
So, there had been a letter sent to her. He couldn’t help but be curious what Ophelia’s help with the Johnson girl was going to cost him. He should have gone with her, too.
He turned back to his desk and his papers. The work went on forever, but he wanted to see Ophelia again tonight and discuss her visit to the Nashes. He’d have to write down what had been decided, and what his involvement might amount to.
Harry collected his papers, folio, pen, and inkpot, and carried everything he might need toward Ophelia’s side of the manor. She had a table in her sitting room, and although it would seem unusual, he might make his notes and then finish his work there tonight. Perhaps he could voice his concerns for her safety, if she intended to make a habit of visiting their neighbors after the sun had set.
He passed no servant on the way and tapped on her door, and upon her call to enter, he stepped inside.
Ophelia was standing at her window, gazing on the moonlit garden. She wore a worried expression when she turned. “Montrose. I was just thinking of you.”
“I heard you’ve been to visit Mr. and Mrs. Nash. I assume about the Johnson girl.”
“That’s correct.” Ophelia smiled quickly. “She’s a little upset that her brothers have abandoned her. But she’s in good hands with Mrs. Nash.”
Maggie Nash would mother the Johnson girl until she likely couldn’t stand the fussing. “So, she’ll stay there?”
“Until after Christmas, I expect. She has an aunt, a woman of considerable means, who might take her in. Mr. Nash wrote a letter to her tonight, but it might take some time to hear back.”
“Well, that’s good news then.”
“Indeed. A girl is much better off with an aunt than going into service as a companion.”
“Nash mentioned that possibility to me, too.”
“When?”
“In his letter.”
She squinted at him. “How funny that Mr. Nash never mentioned writing to you.”
“Well, it seems you beat me to taking any action, so it’s all turned out for the best.”
“Indeed. There’s now only the matter of repair to the Johnson cottage and the leasing to a new tenant.”
“Well, I cannot do anything about it tonight.”
“No, indeed.”
Harry lingered, unwilling to leave, now that he’d come.
“Was there something else, your grace?”
“For me, nothing but the desire for a little company.” He moved quickly to the oval table before he saw her reaction. “Did you rest enough after your busy day?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
He really was terrible at small talk. “I just wanted to know that you were taking good care of yourself. It’s not necessary to rush all over the country in the dead of night.”
“It’s only a little after nine, and I am well, your grace. I would not be standing up if my leg was giving me any trouble. I was just admiring the moonlit gardens.”
Was she thinking them romantic? He hoped so. “Do you ever find the manor too quiet at night?”
“At first I did, but I’m used to the solitude now. It’s very peaceful here. I’m happy to have company, though. Please do make yourself at home.”
He sat down, spread out his work, and bent his head over the papers. He was aware of Ophelia moving around behind his back and lifted his head. “You had a more exciting life before you came to live at Sherringford.”
“We traveled a great deal, but I wouldn’t say it was all that exciting.”
“What would you call it then?” Immediately, he realized he shouldn’t have asked that question. “Forgive me. I spoke without thought for your grief.”
“You can ask me anything, of course,” she promised. “It wasn’t a perfect life, I suppose, but I was happy then.”
Did that mean she was unhappy now? He had to know.
“What did I do or say during our picnic that was so wrong? I thought you were enjoying yourself, and then you were not. I didn’t mean to upset you with talk of my childhood.”
“Nothing you did or said was wrong.”
“You are not being honest with me,” he said, shaking his head. “I wish Paul had been with us today, instead of me alone. Did you hate to learn that he wasn’t always the perfect hero of your memory?”
He worked while he awaited her answer.
“No one is perfect,” she whispered.
“It is all right. I know we are nothing much alike. He meant a lot to you, and of course you would rather I’d been him.”
A shaky breath left her lips. “I haven’t thought of Paul very much in a long time. I don’t miss him the way that I used to.”
“Then what is it?” He drummed his fingers on the desk as she paced behind him. “You said I hardly needed lessons in wooing a lady, but the next moment you became cold toward me.”
“You will do well when you go back to London to look for a wife.”
“And if I don’t go back to London?”
“But you must if you are to meet a suitable lady to marry.”
He couldn’t hold in the truth any longer. He had to know if she might ever look upon him with any favor.
“Must I, Ophelia? You know my limitations when it comes to courting and polite conversation. People don’t like me, or if they say they do, they’re only pretending until my back is turned. Tell me what I must do better?”
“Nothing.” There was a sigh and a step behind him. “I never lied to you. Any woman would be happy to be courted by you.”
“But you don’t want me to court you?”
“Montrose,” she chided. There were a few minutes of silence before she spoke again. “You cannot be serious.”
“I have never been more so. There is no one better suited to run this household than you. I thought for a while that the things other women dislike about me did not offend you as much,” he told her. He signed a letter and set it aside. “I went to London not looking for love, but to marry a woman I could tolerate in my bed. Most nights, I imagine you there.”
“What!”
Harry cringed at her outcry. “It is not something I’m proud of.”
“I cannot imagine…”
He sighed. So, he was alone in his admiration. The disappointment was crushing. He’d never met a woman who appealed to him as much as Ophelia always had.
“I’m sure Paul whispered in your ear about me, told you things about my past behavior that you find unpalatable. Before my father died, I was an angry young man. When I first became duke, I grew worse. I was determined to earn my reputation in the world. I wanted to be considered formidable beyond the borders of the Sherringford estate. A man no one could refuse or cross, no matter whom it hurt. Those enemies to this day still get under my skin. My time in London was not well spent. I wish I had stayed here with you.”
“Everyone has something in their life they regret. Even Paul had flaws,” she answered.
“He had the good fortune to marry you.” Harry shook his head. “He had everything.”
“He was not faithful to me,” she said in a whisper.
Harry whipped around to stare at her, completely stunned. “That’s not possible.”
She shrugged, her face flaming. �
�I saw them myself.”
Harry could not fathom why Paul had strayed from this beautiful woman’s side for even a moment. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”
“It wasn’t your doing.” She raised her chin, defiant and determined not to let the humiliation get the better of her. “He didn’t even realize that I knew about them.”
“Fool.” There was still more he wanted to say, but he’d always had trouble speaking of things that really mattered to him. He loved her but he was afraid. Perhaps if he didn’t look at her directly, he might be able to get the words that filled his heart out at last. Harry quickly turned back around and wet his lips before speaking. “You are my cousin’s widow. And…I should not imagine making love to you. But I cannot stop.”
Ophelia made no replay, and after several minutes of strained silence he realized he’d said far too much.
He started to gather up his papers. “Of course, I can understand you might be distressed by my confession, how could you not be. I will understand if you wish me to leave you be. The last thing I have ever wanted was to upset you. So, if you would prefer to live elsewhere now, I can offer you a choice of several homes. Near one of my cousins, if that will please you. You will have everything you could ever need for your comfort; I promise. Servants, money. Anything.”
He heard her move to stand behind him. “Do you really imagine me in your bed?” she asked quietly.
“Quite often.” He saw no point now in denying his base impulses anymore. He had nothing left to lose. “I think if I had met you before Paul did, I would have made you my duchess. You would have never lost your foot and endured such agony then, and challenges now. I care about you, Ophelia. I thought we could be good together. And I would do anything to make you happy…even lose you.”
He began to write out a refusal to attend a house party in Wales this winter when Ophelia softly settled her hands on his shoulders. He instantly leaned back into her touch, his heart beating hard against his ribs. It was so rare that anyone touched him, and that she had reached for him now gave him some small sense of peace.
She squeezed his shoulders. “You do know how to say all the right things, Harry.”
Her lips suddenly pressed against the stubble of his night beard. A soft kiss that made him gasp out loud.
“I dream of you, too,” she whispered.
That admission was all he needed to hear.
Harry spun around, pulled Ophelia onto his lap, and stared at her pink cheeks, parted lips, and bright eyes.
She reached for his face, and he flinched away, expecting a slap.
But all she did was cup his cheeks and hold him steady. “I won’t ever hurt you,” she promised. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Just humor me for a moment. Go on. Close them.”
Although he felt somewhat foolish, he closed his eyes to the vision sitting on his lap. Ophelia traced the contours of his face with her fingertips…and then softly brushed his eyelashes. When she sighed, he opened his eyes and found her still studying him from inches away. God, her eyes were worth drowning in.
She moved closer, lips parting, and then stretched the rest of the way to claim his own.
Finally.
Harry framed her face with his hands and parted her lips with his tongue. Hers darted out to tangle with his almost immediately, and he was utterly lost.
She tasted of wine and sweetness. All the things Harry was not, and never would be. She was still too good for him, but she’d chosen him. He’d never endanger a heart so precious.
Her fingers threaded through his hair at the nape, and he became aroused by the feminine warmth pressing against his body. He would be hers in every way. He’d never betray her the way her first husband had. He’d love her until the end of time.
Harry kept his eyes open as he kissed her again and again, unwilling to miss a single moment of such exquisite happiness.
Chapter 7
Ophelia had thought it a cruel twist of fate that she was attracted to the duke. But the Duke of Montrose was kissing her as if he couldn’t get enough. For a moment, she forgot where she ended and the usually stern duke began.
Harry, the object of her erotic dreams, desired her. His expectation of rejection had cut her to the quick and almost had her in tears. It seemed unbelievable that he harbored such doubts about himself, and yet she could feel the desperation in his kiss.
Only time would reassure him—and she would start tonight. She had no power to resist the man, now that she knew he truly felt the same about her. His hands traveled over her body restlessly, lightly, making her feel so wonderful and cherished. Being in his arms like this was better than she had ever dreamed it might be.
She wrapped her arms about his shoulders and gave herself over to passion completely. She kissed him back, tangling her tongue with his and devouring his mouth with a hundred searing kisses. She could not get close enough to the man she would openly admit she unabashedly adored.
She wasn’t going to let Harry escape her tonight, either. Ophelia was not ashamed she enjoyed pleasure and making love. She wanted the duke in her bed.
Tonight.
Her husband had once complained that her insatiable hunger for intimacy taxed his strength. The lack of pleasure in their marriage bed after the first few years had been a source of friction between them until the day Paul had died. Even before he’d been unfaithful, she’d known loneliness in the marriage bed.
She suspected now that there had been other women in his life all along. But his last woman had been special to him. She’d lived on the opposite side of their small town. Because of her influence, Paul had finally turned away from sharing any intimacies with Ophelia at all.
Ophelia hadn’t been touched by any man but her husband. She desperately hoped that Harry was different when it came to passion.
If Harry had wanted her all these years, and believed her indifferent to him, she could understand why he always seemed irritated. But he had no reason to be that way anymore. She was quite ready to have him take his frustrations out on her in the bedchamber.
Ophelia cupped his face again, teasing her tongue into his mouth until he moaned.
Harry broke the kiss. “I want to fuck you.”
“Yes,” she whispered, though her cheeks warmed at his bold language. Being his lover was what she wanted. She was already halfway gone in desire, and all he’d done was kiss her, touch her. She’d likely come the moment he entered her, she was that aroused. His roving hands and kisses made her pussy quiver.
She tackled his cravat, pulling the fine material away from his throat. Harry began to tug at her bodice, drawing the material down off her shoulders so he could pepper them with kisses, too.
She wanted more than that, and since her gown seemed loose enough, she wriggled her shoulders to bare her breasts. When a nipple was revealed, Harry quickly kissed it and then took the peak into his mouth. She sighed with pleasure as he suckled her expertly. He was rougher than Paul, hungrier, and that suited her needs tonight.
Ophelia tangled her fingers into his hair and held him firmly pressed to her breast. She was not afraid to direct a duke’s lovemaking. She knew what she liked and what wasn’t enough to satisfy her.
When Harry lifted his head at last, she pressed her lips to his throat and nipped at him. She kissed and nibbled the strong column and then caught the lobe of his ear between her teeth. She bit lightly as he gasped out loud again.
Harry’s hot hands slid around her back, playing with the laces of her stays, loosening her garments further, and then he captured both her breasts in his big hands. She sat back as he played with her nipples until they became hard points, and ached. She squirmed on his lap as her sex quivered again. “I want you to touch me everywhere.”
“You’ll feel me inside you soon enough,” Harry threatened.
He stood, and then they were moving toward her bedchamber, Ophelia held firm in his arms. She so hoped for an energetic tumble and a great deal of
satisfaction for both of them.
Harry lay her on her back, gently lifted her skirts to her knees, and then arranged her body how he wanted her. He caught her legs at the knees and slid her gown higher up to her thighs.
The look on his face suggested he was enjoying himself, though he didn’t smile. He brought his lips to her knee, and she looked down upon his dark head as he kissed her sensitive skin. But then he surprised her completely by removing her slipper, her wooden foot and then her stockings…to kiss the very end of her shortened leg over and over.
She blinked away tears as he continued, astonished and grateful that he was not repulsed by the ugly scars.
Eventually, he moved on to kiss the rest of her in that exact same fashion, worshiping both her legs with soft kisses, rising slowly toward her aching sex.
He lifted her gown higher still and placed one soft kiss directly on her curls. He widened her legs and inhaled, and then his fingers teased into her folds. “You’re wet.”
Ophelia squirmed, eager to feel him inside her soon. “You’re an exciting man.”
“I haven’t been this hard in a long time,” he admitted.
She glanced down his body to see the proof of it straining at his groin. When he suddenly slid his fingers inside her, Ophelia squeezed her eyes shut and barely held off her orgasm.
Harry brought his head close to hers, but his fingers continued to slide deeper into her. “Do you like the way I touch you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, then met his gaze. She’d never seen his expression more severe than it was tonight. His focus on her body drew her to him, increased her pleasure. Ophelia widened her legs a touch more and tilted her hips. “I can take more.”
He grunted, and then he obliged her by sliding more of his fingers inside. She was stretched wide and close to coming apart, but she loved the feel of him. The ache only intensified when he took her nipple back into his mouth again while he fingered her. She didn’t want it to be over too soon, but she ground down on his hand, courting the fine line of pleasure and pain.
His Perfect Bride Page 7
