Duke of Sin

by Adele Ashworth

  Her expression softening, she whispered, “I’m sorry, Will. I’m sorry.”

  Without warning, he yanked her against him, enveloping her with his body, his warmth and strength, his arms wrapped around her, one hand holding the back of her head as he lightly stroked her hair with his thumb. Vivian squeezed her eyes shut, resting her cheek on his chest.

  “Well find a way, do something,” he insisted, his tone comforting even as it pulsed with intense feeling. “I won’t give up on you now.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve tried to consider every possibility? There’s nothing we can do,” she whispered.

  After a moment, he asked, “But you would marry me if I asked you and it were legally possible.”

  He’d said it as a statement, with profound conviction. Her heart ached from resolve—and the loneliness to come. “Don’t think about that, Will. What could or might have been no longer matters.”

  He said nothing to that, and with frustration, she couldn’t decide if she was glad or not. Silently, they stood together for a long time, embraced by sorrow, comforted by each other, afraid to let go. Vivian closed her eyes, drawing in his scent with each breath, listening to his heart beating steadily against her temple. He gently massaged her neck, laid small kisses on top of her head, ran his thumb along her cheek.

  At last she pulled away. Grasping one of his hands in hers, she lifted it to her lips. “I have to leave.”

  He squeezed her fingers. “Stay for breakfast.”

  Closing her eyes briefly, she shook her head and replied, “I can’t.”

  He exhaled loudly. “What else do you have to do that’s so pressing?”

  With a forlorn smile gracing her lips, she glanced back up into his beautiful eyes. “I have to see to my house, your grace, water my plants that I haven’t tended to in a week, answer correspondence that is surely piling up on my desk—”

  He cut her off with a tender, unexpected kiss. She responded in kind, allowing his mouth to linger on hers for minutes, it seemed, expressing all the passion, frustration, and longing in his touch that he couldn’t otherwise convey but that he so desperately needed to show her. Finally she pulled back, begging an end to the torment.

  Resting his forehead on hers, he murmured, “I won’t let you go.”

  Shakily, she replied, “You have no choice.”

  Vivian couldn’t look at him as she stepped aside. Then in one last press of her lips to his fingers, she breathed against them, “I will always cherish our time together. And I will never love anyone more than you, Will.”

  “This isn’t over,” he said, his admonition almost convincing.

  Afraid to peer once more into the depths of his eyes for fear of acknowledging his hope as fact, she released him without comment. Then lifting her skirts, holding her chin high, she walked with dignity back toward the conservatory, leaving him to stand alone in the windswept quiet of his magnificent garden.

  Chapter 26

  The day so far had been irritating. After waking with a nagging headache, Vivian met with the obnoxious and difficult Ida Bledsoe regarding flower arrangements for her daughter’s wedding. Of course to Mrs. Bledsoe nothing she suggested would be quite appropriate for her daughter. Vivian should have expected such opposition from someone well known in the community as enormously difficult to please.

  At noon she spilled tea down the front of her best silk day gown, which annoyed her because she’d intended to change after her meeting with Mrs. Bledsoe and had been too piqued to bother. As her head began to ache again, she’d decided to do some work in her nursery and had changed into a brown work gown that subsequently ripped at the hemline. With all the frustrations this day, it was any wonder that she felt like potting. At least she could take out her aggressions on the soil.

  Now she stood with her back to the warm, mid-afternoon sun, working with controlled thoughts as she planted tulip bulbs. Spring had finally arrived in Penzance, the winter being unnaturally cold and dreary. Of course it had been unbearably long for her, being alone again and back to her daily routine after the excitement of the previous late summer.

  She hadn’t seen Will in almost five months, and every day her heart longed tremendously for him, for the comfort he gave, for his wisdom and superb good humor. She missed his smile, his lovemaking, his care for her, body and soul. Her only consolation, she supposed, was knowing very well that he had to be hurting as much as she over the loss of their relationship, however they each might have classified or described it. One thing she did realize, though, was that their love had been built on mutual respect. Vivian had never admired anyone more than William Raleigh, Duke of Trent, and it frustrated and infuriated her when others spoke of him as the reclusive , continued to discuss him as some vague mystery, and left her no opportunity to correct such coarse and frankly wrong assumptions.

  But there had been more talk of late. Steven Chester’s death had created quite a bit of scandal. But there had been no proof of motive or intent by anyone. Elinor Chester didn’t dare put herself at any fault by telling the police that she had been aware of attempted blackmail and kidnapping, and nobody save Will’s friends had seen him near the cottage at the Lizard Peninsula or had known of her rescue. To Elinor’s credit she had played the ignorant bystander, admitting no clue whatever into the strange and unexplained death of her brother. In the end the death of Steven Chester had been ruled hopelessly unsolved, and Vivian’s name never mentioned at all. To everybody in Penzance, she still remained the Widow Rael-Lamont, free of scandal, and Will, because of his relation by marriage to the man, the one enigmatic individual on whom everyone focused the latest rumors. Even after the ordeal in which she came out relatively unscathed, nothing in her community had changed—except for the matter of her heart, and she couldn’t discuss that with anybody.

  Vivian’s head hurt again when she thought about it. She dug deeper into the soil at her fingertips, turning it, then placing one of the delicate bulbs at the center and covering it. The direct sunlight, though not exactly hot, nevertheless made her perspire uncomfortably and she rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand before returning to her flowers. Finally, as she finished the last pot of six, she picked it up to begin moving them all to the wooden shelf near the back fence where they would get the best sun and could be easily watered in the coming days. After this chore, she would take a long, tepid bath, eat a small supper, and go to bed early. This day couldn’t end fast enough.

  Then suddenly she saw him. The flowerpot fell from her hands and shattered into a thousand bits of clay and a pile of dirt that spilled down her skirts and covered her expensive bulb. She stared, open-mouthed, at the vision of him.

  He stood near the side gate, dressed down in casual clothing, his hair wind-tossed as if he’d ridden in alone. He watched her with one hand at his mouth and his eyes lit with humor.

  She blinked, stunned, and then as her eyes filled with tears of joy at simply seeing him again, she began to giggle.

  Puzzled, his brows rose with his curiosity. “You’re laughing, madam?”

  She covered her mouth with her palm for a moment, then said, “I dropped this flowerpot as I caught sight of you and the first thought that came to my mind was that it’s been such a bad day.”

  “You are a mess,” he returned wryly.

  Slowly she lowered her hand as her laughter faded. “And you’re really here.”

  “I really am, yes.”

  Her pulse began to race as he started to stride toward her. “Why?” she asked softly.

  He clasped his hands behind his back, his gaze on the ground. “An issue of some importance has arisen and I wanted you to be the first to know about it.”

  She swallowed as an enormous lump of panic and sorrow lodged in her throat. “You—you’re leaving Penzance?”

  Cocking his head a bit to the side, he repeated, “Leaving Penzance? No, I have no intention of leaving Cornwall, Vivian.”

  Just her name on his lips, spoken so formally y
et sounding so intimate, made her legs feel weak. She still hadn’t moved but as he neared, she reached behind her, grabbing on to the workbench to steady herself.

  He rubbed his chin with his fingers and thumb, brows furrowed in thought as he came to stand a foot or two in front of her. She caught a trace of his cologne, urging her to reach out and touch him, and it took all that was in her not to let herself go and melt into his arms.

  “Actually, I came here with a… consideration for you,” he revealed quietly, watching her intently for reaction. “But before I get to that, I have to ask. Have you missed me?”

  Her head tilted to one side as her shoulders fell. “Will…”

  “Answer the question.”

  She’d never lied to him about her feelings before, and refused to do it now, even if it meant allowing those feelings so well hidden to bubble to the surface again. “I miss you every day,” she breathed.

  His gaze softened in understanding. He stood very close to her now, taking in all of her as he scrutinized her face, her hair, her filthy, torn gown. She looked positively frightful and it made her uncomfortable, sensing that he assessed her with a critical eye.

  He noticed her discomfiture. Smiling again, he reached out and ran his thumb slowly down her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  His low husky voice and that small touch of his flesh to hers made her tingle, made her—just for that moment in time—forget what they’d lost.

  If only…

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, then stopped breathing altogether when he traced the outline of her lips. She couldn’t help herself. Tenderly, she kissed him on the pad of his thumb.

  “You have been in my dreams, my thoughts, my life in everything I’ve done these last few months, Vivian,” he murmured. “I didn’t realize not having you by my side would be so hard.”

  She nodded minutely, then lifted her lashes once more, her gaze finding his. “1 didn’t either. I just wish…”

  “Wish what?” he urged.

  She glanced down for a second or two, rubbing her toe into the dirt at her feet. “I wish things could have been different. I wish I could have met you fifteen years ago. I wish I could have married you, come to your bed first and carried your children.” Looking back into his eyes, she added, “But we can’t change our pasts, and thinking about what could have been just isn’t worth the heartache. I’m trying so hard not to dream of a future with you when we are both very aware that it can never happen.”

  She’d said that boldly, in some vain attempt at stifling any conversation about hope for them as a couple in love before he delved into it with vigor. Assuming that he was here to do just that.

  He grasped her chin gently and forced her to look into his eyes.

  “Do you still love me?” he asked huskily.

  Sighing inwardly, she shook her head. “Why ate you doing this?”

  “Answer the question,” he insisted, his tone a trifle rougher.

  She could no longer hold back her feelings. Tearfully, she whispered, “Of course I do.”

  The faintest smile crossed his lips, and for seconds, she thought he might kiss her, and that terrified her because she knew if he did, she’d lose herself in him all over again. She simply couldn’t take the pain.

  But he didn’t kiss her. He studied her for a long moment, as if waiting for something, some reaction or a deeper response on her part, or perhaps simply to consider his decision to come here today. Then surprising her, he backed up a little and turned, his hands behind his back again as he dropped his focus to her potted plants on the workbench.

  To say she felt disappointed would be a lavish understatement.

  “Have you been working diligently?” he asked.

  His change in topic confused her a little. “Yes. I prefer to keep busy.”

  He nodded. “I suppose you heard the results of the inquiry into Steven Chester’s death.”

  His statement warmed her, and replacing the subject with one less intimate made it easier for her to talk to him.

  “Yes, I did,” she replied, finally feeling relaxed enough to let go of the workbench behind her. “I wanted to thank you for being so discreet where I was concerned.”

  He looked back into her eyes. “I hope you would have expected no less from me where you are concerned, madam.”

  She so badly wanted to touch his face. “I don’t think there’s anyone on earth I trust more, your grace,” she returned, clasping her hands in front of her.

  An awkward moment passed between them, and Vivian could positively feel the tension, the desire, the need they shared to be together physically at that moment.

  “I’m so glad you were never mentioned in relation to the man’s death,” she said. “Please know how truly sorry I am that I put you in such a position—”

  “Shhh,” he breathed, placing all the fingers of one hand on her mouth to silence her. “It’s over. That family will never bother either one of us again, and your secret will remain undisclosed. That’s all that matters now.” Reaching down, he took both of her clasped hands in his, so strong and caring. “I want to talk about something else.”

  She marveled at the feel of his skin against hers. It would be so lovely never to let go. “Something else?” she repeated faintly.

  With gentle urging, he pulled her away from the plants and led her toward the bench where they’d first made love. Another memory he was certain to be considering at that moment. At least she wanted so much to think so.

  “There’s been a major undertaking this year at Parliament,” he began, his tone reversed to dry formality as he sat beside her.

  She had no idea how to respond to that, so startled was she by his abrupt turn to practical matters on the nature of politics. “I see,” was all she could think of to say.

  “Later this year,” he continued very slowly, as if every word were held by a captive audience, “there will be a reformation to the divorce laws now in effect.”

  Vivian felt a jolt of something unusual slice through her, something marvelous though as yet undefined. Her mouth went dry and her pulse began to race.

  “A reformation?” she repeated sluggishly. “I don’t understand.”

  “I have good word that this new reformation will pass as law,” he expounded after tossing her a sideways glance, “allowing a London court to grant civil divorces without bringing them before the public, before Parliament, and with little scandal aside from a bit of town gossip and perhaps a mention in local newspapers.”

  Vivian began to shake inside and she tightly held onto his powerful hands for support. Her mind started swimming with a mix of uncertain relief, paralyzing fear, and an overflow of joyous possibilities.

  He turned his body on the bench a little so he could face her directly, sitting tall and rather stately regardless of his casual dress, his eyes narrowed now as he peered down at her stunned face.

  “How do you feel about that?” he asked in a low whisper.

  She blinked quickly, shaking her head negligibly as she teetered in the midst of stupefaction. In a choked voice, she replied, “I—I don’t know. I’m not sure I understand all of what you’re telling me, of what—of what this means.”

  He nodded gravely, his lips thinning as he considered her words. After a few long moments of thoughtful silence, he got to the point of clarification.

  “I am positive, in my soul, that at one time you wanted to marry me.” He paused, watching her intently for reaction, then asked, “Do you still feel that way?”

  “Will…”

  “Do you?” he asked forcefully, squeezing her hands once.

  Through a shaky exhale, she maintained, “Such thought is but a dream, not reality.”

  He reflected on that for a moment, tilting his head to one side. Then he offered her a crooked grin. “I like to think dreams can become real if we desire them badly enough.”

  His smooth articulation and words of affirmation caught her completely off guard—and heated her in-sid
es like butter at a flame.

  “This move by Parliament, my darling Vivian,” he continued in a low voice as he began to caress her fingers with his thumb, “will be called The Divorce and Matrimonial Causes Act, and it will, in effect, free you to marry with only the slightest bit of local scandal that will surely be nothing like you or I have already experienced. And I think, in your case, nobody in Penzance will need to know because everybody already assumes you’re a widow and free to marry at any time.” He pulled her hands up to his lips and kissed them once. “Quite a benefit, I should think.”

  She said nothing, truly unable to speak a coherent word, noting how the sunlight reflected beautifully off his clean dark hair, how his skin looked so vitally fresh, how the trace of afternoon stubble on his chin and jaw made her want to rub her cheek against him and feel the roughness. And from such odd thoughts at a time like this, she felt like giggling.

  Suddenly he let go of her hands and stood abruptly. “I thought you’d like to learn of it, my sweet Lady Vivian.”

  After a moment, she whispered, “I cannot ask for a divorce. Think about it. Of all that it would mean.”

  He grinned fully. “I must leave. If I’m caught here it could be a bit unseemly.”

  Her brows furrowed in frown. “Unseemly?” Raising her body gracefully to stand beside him, she admitted boldly, “I’m positively dying for you to kiss me.”

  His smile faded and he sighed. Then he raked his fingers through his hair as he dropped his voice to a deep whisper. “And I am dying to make love to you again, right here on this bench. But even a kiss unchecked right now could be noticed by someone, bringing even more gossip upon us.” He reached out and caressed her cheek with his palm. “We must be careful, and have patience. And above all you must trust me.”