Duke of Her Own, A

by Lorraine Heath

“Hawkhurst—”

  He held up a hand to silence her. “First of all, it is Hawk, not Hawkhurst. You are my wife, and a bit of informality is now appropriate.”

  “Do not seek to change the subject.”

  He knew a hundred women who were easier to deal with than she. Why was it that he’d managed always to resist all except her?

  He sighed. “All right. You wish me to unlock and open the box.” He swallowed hard. “You have met her. You see how innocent she is. She recently turned seventeen. She was born five years after my father’s passing. I don’t know who fathered her. My mother refuses to speak of him, no doubt because she knows if I knew his identity I would kill him for not standing by her, for abandoning her, for playing her falsely. Over the years I have come to despise and loathe a man who is no more than a shadow. For all I know he is dead, and if so, I hope it was a painful end.”

  Straightening, she folded her hands in front of her and studied him. He wondered what she was thinking, what she was contemplating.

  “Is your mother’s experience the reason you insisted on marrying me?”

  “Seventeen years, Louisa, and she has not returned to London. For seventeen years I have made payments on an empty opera box in hopes she would return and take delight in finding it available to her. She has withdrawn into a world that is nothing more than her garden, her daughter, and on occasion her son. You think you could have withstood Society’s censure? That you could go it alone? I know you have no respect for me or the life I have led, but I assure you that while I may leave women, I do not abandon them.”

  “Your mother is the reason you married me,” she said quietly. “But your sister is the reason you desperately wanted to marry Jenny Rose.”

  “Money is a great equalizer.”

  He walked to the window and stared out on the garden. “When we return to London, you’ll discover we have very few possessions remaining there. I have sold off what I could. In a way, Mother’s not coming to the city is a blessing. She is as innocent as Caroline regarding some matters. I do not care about objects. I do not care that my estates are in need of repair. I do not care that in winter I am chilled to the bone or that my clothing is not of the latest fashion.”

  He faced her. “I did not want Caroline to be whispered about. I did not want her to experience a cut direct. I wanted men to court her in the hopes of marrying her. Compare your experience against that of the Rose sisters and tell me that money does not make a difference.”

  “I cannot.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Louisa. My statement was rhetorical.”

  She shook her head. “You shouldn’t have married me.”

  “That choice was taken out of my hands the moment you walked into Pemburton’s library.”

  He thought she was going to say something else, but before she could speak, he heard his mother calling him.

  “Hawk!”

  Turning to the doorway, he smiled. “Hello, Mother.”

  Her expression animated, Caroline stood beside her. He could tell she was bursting, wanting to announce his news.

  “What happened to your face?” his mother asked.

  “He ran into a door. Can you believe he would be so clumsy?” Caroline asked.

  “No, I cannot,” his mother said, reaching up to caress his face with feathery touches. “Caroline tells me you’ve brought us a surprise.”

  It was then that her gaze fell on Louisa, and she furrowed her brow even more deeply.

  “I didn’t tell her what it was so you’d best handle the introductions a bit better this time,” Caroline said, “because I did tell her the other thing, and you don’t want her to make the same mistake I did.”

  “What mistake was that?” his mother asked, and he could see the worry in her eyes.

  “It was nothing, Your Grace,” Louisa said before he had a chance to explain. She curtsied. “I’m Lady Louisa Wentworth, or at least I was before your son did me the honor of marrying me this afternoon.”

  His mother jerked her head around to look at him, and he could see the questions in her eyes, questions she wouldn’t voice in front of his wife. She gave Louisa a tremulous smile. “Well, this is a surprise. Allow me the honor of welcoming you to the family.”

  She placed her hands on Louisa’s shoulders and pressed her cheek against Louisa’s. “Welcome, my dear.”

  But over Louisa’s shoulder his mother held his gaze, and the message of her pointed look was clear: What the hell have you done?

  Chapter 16

  Sometime later he found his mother in the garden, her customary wicker basket over her arm as Denby cut flowers beside her. She dismissed the gardener as Hawk neared, but the man hesitated.

  “I understand congratulations are in order, Your Grace,” he said.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “If your wife takes pleasure in any particular flower, please let me know, and I shall add it to the garden.”

  “Thank you. I’ll inform her of your kindness. I have no doubt she will greatly appreciate your gesture.”

  Denby bowed slightly, and, with clippers in hand, he took his leave.

  Hawk’s mother rubbed a delicate petal between her fingers. “I thought to make a nice arrangement of flowers to place in the bedchamber beside yours. I assume that’s where your duchess will sleep.”

  “Yes, she’s there now, putting away her things.”

  His mother nodded, then held his gaze. “This marriage came about of a sudden, didn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. She deserved the truth. “Louisa and I were discovered in a rather compromising situation.”

  “Am I to assume the door you ran into belonged to her brother?”

  “I ran into two doors actually. The other belonged to young Jeremy Rose, and his was a much sturdier wood.”

  She furrowed her brow. “Is he a relation to this Jenny Rose you told me about?”

  He nodded. “Her brother.”

  “May I ask how all this came about?”

  “Suffice it to say I was foolish, and Louisa is now paying the price for that foolishness.”

  She reached out and stroked his cheek. “You silly boy. I raised you better than that.”

  He sighed. “Yes, you did.”

  “Do you have feelings for her? For Louisa?”

  “I cannot deny I’m drawn to her. I don’t know if that is the same as having feelings. I’m determined to be a good husband, but I fear I have not been a good brother. Where Caroline is concerned, things will be more difficult.”

  “That is my worry.”

  “We are a family. It is my worry as well.” He gave her a wry smile. “And I suspect Louisa will make it hers, too. She is…” He hardly knew how to put his thoughts into words that would do his wife justice.

  “Yes?” his mother prodded.

  “I admire her greatly. She is not one to avoid the more difficult path, nor does she avoid facing difficult choices. It is ironic that it was my weakness that placed me in the library and her strength that brought her there—where we were discovered.”

  “Do not underestimate your own worth, Hawk.”

  “What do I offer her, Mother? A title? It will not keep her from going hungry. It will not keep her warm in winter.”

  She gave him a mischievous smile unlike any she’d ever given him. “It is your place to keep her warm in winter.”

  If at all possible, he planned at least to keep her warm tonight.

  Sitting at the dining table, Louisa found herself watching her husband with interest. She’d thought she knew Hawkhurst. She’d deemed him entirely unsuitable for Jenny or Kate Rose—for any woman for that matter. Unworthy as a husband, yet there she was married to him. And mesmerized by him, mesmerized by the kindness he showed his mother and sister.

  He was far more complex than she’d realized. When he’d confessed to keeping the opera box for his mother in hopes of bringing her joy should she ever return to London, something within Louisa had snapped
—some resentment for his past misbehaviors fell away like so much discarded rubbish.

  He had been worthy of Jenny Rose, so very worthy. She knew firsthand that he could deliver the passion the young lady so desired. Now she was coming to realize he quite possibly could have delivered love as well. The potential was there in his eyes when he looked at his mother, in his lips when he smiled at his sister.

  She’d done him a horrible disservice, the hint of which had first appeared when he’d insisted on marrying her, the confirmation of which was now slamming into her with resounding verification. It was her wedding day, her wedding night, and she didn’t know if she’d ever been more miserable.

  She wanted to take back the vows they’d exchanged that afternoon, tear up the document they’d signed. She wanted to return to London and inform Jenny she’d found the duke she should wed.

  “Since you married much sooner than you anticipated, does that mean I’ll get to go to London this Season?” Caroline asked, effectively slicing into Louisa’s thoughts.

  Hawkhurst’s gaze shot to Louisa, and she thought she saw trepidation and disappointment in his eyes. He lifted his wineglass, swirled its contents as though the answer rested in the red liquid. “No, not this Season.”

  “But you promised when you married I would have my coming out.”

  “I know, Moppet, but so many things need to be arranged that it would be best to wait another Season.”

  “Oh.” Caroline skewed her mouth. “What else needs to be arranged?”

  “Caroline, darling,” the dowager duchess said, “let’s not press matters tonight. This is a wedding dinner to celebrate Hawk’s marriage to Louisa.” She lifted her wineglass toward Louisa. “May you always be as happy here as we have been.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Sipping her wine, Louisa watched as Hawk did the same. She couldn’t help but wonder if he would be happy married to her, or would he look at her and always wonder how much easier life would be if she’d not opened the door to Pemburton’s library? She couldn’t help but think it had been equal to opening Pandora’s box.

  “How did you meet?” Caroline asked, shifting her attention from Hawkhurst to Louisa.

  “Your brother used to visit mine at our country estate,” Louisa explained.

  “Did you fall in love with him immediately upon meeting him?” Caroline asked.

  “No, she did not,” Hawk answered before Louisa could say anything. “She thought rather badly of me, and I can hardly blame her. She caught me smoking her father’s pipe and drinking his liquor. I was young, and the behavior quite inappropriate.”

  “You seem to have forgotten about trying to kill my nanny,” she said.

  “I didn’t forget,” he ground out, and sounded as though he might be strangling.

  “Why would you try to kill her nanny?” Caroline asked.

  “I didn’t. It was all a misunderstanding. I was walking through the stables, and I tripped and fell on top of her. I had not yet gotten up when Louisa walked by.”

  Louisa gasped, pressed a hand to her mouth, and met his amused gaze. With maturity, she saw that encounter in a new light. “Oh.”

  “Yes. Oh,” he said.

  “All these years I”—she felt the heat suffuse her face as she realized exactly what she’d interrupted—“it is little wonder you avoided me.”

  “I’m terribly confused,” Caroline said. “Why did you avoid her?”

  He held Louisa’s gaze. “I avoided all ladies of quality.”

  “Is that the sign of a gentleman, then?” Caroline asked.

  “No, it is the sign of a rake. It is not a time in my life of which I am proud, but”—he held up his wineglass—“I shall drink to being reformed by marriage.”

  Following dinner, they sat in the parlor and listened as Caroline skillfully played the piano. The music had a haunting quality to it, was a tune with which Louisa was not familiar, but it stirred images of loneliness. She couldn’t help but remember the girl’s earlier comment that afternoon that her brother had been lonely, and Louisa wondered if the same could be true of Caroline. What friends did she have? Hidden away at various estates, whom could she have met or confided in? A girl needed more than her mother and her brother.

  Selwyn Manor was much larger than the home in which Louisa had grown up. She tried to envision living here for the remainder of her days, but it was not a vision she could easily imagine. She tried to imagine her children growing up here. That, too, was unimaginable. Perhaps her guilt simply wouldn’t allow her to find her happiness here.

  A part of Louisa wished that she’d never walked into Pemburton’s library, had never deterred Hawkhurst from his purpose. A part of her wondered if it was really Jenny she’d been trying to protect…or did Mrs. Rose truly have the right of it? Had a part of her secretly wished to marry Hawkhurst?

  If that were so, she could see now that she’d been terribly unfair to him and his family. She’d deprived them of the funds needed to protect Caroline.

  She also realized, as she watched him enjoying his sister’s performance, that she might have done a disservice to Jenny, because she was beginning to suspect that he was a man not only capable of delivering a good deal of passion but an exceptional amount of love as well.

  Hawk paced in his bedchamber, his hair still damp from his bath. On the other side of the door lay heaven and hell. The same was mirrored on this side of the door.

  To know she was within reach and to deny himself the pleasure of touching her…

  They were married, and while the circumstances were not ideal, they gave him the right to have his fill of her. She was his, body and soul. Her heart, he might never possess but by God, he could have her body.

  After dinner, he’d promised her that he would come to her bedchamber to say good night. It was time he carried through on that promise.

  He wore nothing except his silk dressing gown, and while he intended to have a more leisurely joining this time, he saw no need to provide himself with encumbrances. He would have her tonight and douse the fire for her that rampaged through his blood. Tonight he would truly bring the quest to a satisfactory end.

  She was no different from any other woman, and once he truly had her, he could move on.

  The three women of the household had one lady’s maid among them. She helped Louisa with her bath, but when Louisa was finished and completely dry, with nothing except the towel wrapped around her, she’d asked the servant to leave so she could prepare herself for bed.

  For her wedding night.

  For her husband.

  It was a strange thing suddenly to find herself too shy to take joy in someone helping her. It seemed such an intimate thing to prepare oneself for her husband’s nightly arrival.

  With trembling hands, Louisa put on the scandalous white gossamer gown Jenny and Kate had given her as a wedding present.

  As Hawkhurst and she had come up the stairs after Caroline’s recital, he’d informed Louisa he would be in after a while to say good night. They had avoided discussing the particulars of their marriage, but she was rather certain he planned to do a good deal more than speak two words. Otherwise, why not say good night at the door?

  Sitting at the vanity, she dabbed a few drops of perfume behind her ears, between her breasts, and at her wrists. It was silly to go to so much trouble when lovemaking took place in such a short span of time, but she couldn’t help herself. For those few minutes, while he was with her, she wanted him to want to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. She wanted to appear desirable. She wanted him to forget the beautiful Jenny Rose, the woman he’d told Caroline about. Louisa wanted him to see only her, to smell only her.

  Dear God in heaven help her, but she wanted him to want only her.

  She was his wife by default because she’d been too weak to turn away from his touch. She knew in all likelihood the touch he gave her tonight would be cold. The touch of duty, not desire.

  Yet she desperately wanted him to desi
re her.

  She was not the one he’d pursued, but she was the one he’d captured. For the few moments he was with her this night, she wanted him to be glad it was her in his bed.

  She began brushing her hair again, anything to occupy her hands, her mind. She kept her gaze on her reflection in the mirror to keep it from traveling to the door separating their bedchambers. What if he didn’t come? What if he’d changed his mind about saying good night?

  How long should she give him before she insisted he carry through with his husbandly duties? Should she insist?

  She heard the door separating his bedchamber from hers click. She felt immense relief even as her nerves caused her to tremble. She knew what to expect, had no reason to be nervous. And hadn’t he promised she would experience no discomfort this time?

  She started to rise—

  “No, stay as you are,” he commanded.

  She sat back down, wondering if she dared to look at him.

  “I simply want to look at you for a moment,” he said.

  “Is it all right if I look at you?”

  “If you like.”

  He stepped behind her so she could see him in the mirror. He wore a dark blue silk dressing gown. Before he was completely behind her, she’d glimpsed the sash, merely tied at his waist, not knotted. It would take little to loosen it.

  Reaching down, he uncurled her fingers from around the brush she hadn’t realized she was still clutching. Very slowly he dragged it through her hair.

  “The night I asked you to marry me, in the Roses’ garden, you said you weren’t like Jenny, requiring only passion.”

  She nodded, wondering where he was going with this. Should they be talking? Shouldn’t he already have her on her back? Did the talking mean he did not want her? That he would not take her to bed?

  “Does that mean you find me capable of delivering passion?”

  She nodded.

  “So our time in Pemburton’s library—”

  “Was passionate indeed,” she said hastily.

  He smiled, the proud smile of a man satisfied with the answer given.

  “Tonight will be nothing at all like that night,” he said quietly.