by Stacy Reid
She laughed. “With my too-dark hair and pale skin, I know I am only passably pretty, but I welcome the words ravishing and beautiful from your lips always.”
His mood turned serious, and his eyes blazed with possessiveness and something more heated than she was unable to identify.
“You are very dashing yourself, Your Grace.”
He was sinful. The cut of his evening clothes was impeccable. Edmond was dressed in stark black and white, with a very elegant and intricately tied cravat. His dark hair was tamed almost severely, the cut highlighting the savage beauty of his face and his nose, which was chiseled sharply, aquiline and proud.
He helped her with her cloak and in short order, they were whisked away in their town carriage.
“I must prepare you. Though you’ve had three seasons and have endured some gossip, tonight will be nothing like you have experienced before.”
Her heart jolted. “It won’t?”
“You are only second to royalty. You will be fawned over and hated in equal measure. The eyes of the world will be upon you, waiting eagerly to declare in the scandal sheets tomorrow, if you are a fraud or an original.” He tugged her close. “Let me assure you, Adeline, you are an original, a swan among crows and I want you to only be yourself, nothing less.”
She stared at him, transfixed. “Thank you.”
He pressed a hard urgent kiss to her lips, and she moaned.
“I am in favor of not attending the marchioness’s ball, and returning to our chambers to explore at once.”
“That was a kiss meant to inspire confidence, not desire.”
She grinned. “I am feeling a decided lack of confidence; I may need a few more kisses for it to reach an acceptable level.”
He tugged her even closer.
“Don’t you dare muss my hair,” she warned on a soft gasp, before he claimed her lips.
The carriage ride passed in the most delightful way, and when they arrived, Adel’s lips stung from being kissed so thoroughly, and she ached. From the tension holding Edmond rigid, he suffered a similar fate.
Their carriage joined a queue of conveyances, which were delivering guests to the ball. When they finally reached the door, they descended and they made their way into the marchioness’s mansion. “It will be interesting seeing the ton through the mirror of power,” she said softly as they were announced.
There was a ripple through the crowd as they entered. When they reached the receiving line, the marchioness was eager to greet them.
“Your Graces,” she said with a pleased smile.
The silence in their immediate vicinity began to spread until they had the regard of everyone in the receiving line. Adeline thought it all ridiculous.
You are second only to royalty.
The marchioness was clearly thrilled to be the first host in years to have the elusive duke at a social setting where he would hopefully mingle with her guests.
Greetings were exchanged under the watchful eyes of the ton. Adel and Edmond mingled with the guests in the entrance hall, before heading to the more densely populated ballroom.
“It’s Wolverton…and his duchess.”
The whispers started immediately and echoed through the ballroom.
“They are such a beautiful match.”
Several ladies and their lords surged forward, and the trepidation Adel had felt melted. She nodded, responded to polite enquiry, and even had a few occasions to laugh. The entire time, her duke stood beside her, a dark protective force. Then she spied Evie on the periphery of the room observing her. Adel turned to Edmond. “I must speak with Evie.”
He glanced down. “Remember to thank her for arranging our downfall.”
Adel laughed.
“I will take some air on the balcony.”
She nodded, and he strolled unhurriedly through the fringe of the crowd to the terrace windows. She turned with the intention of moving to her friend, but Evie was suddenly there.
Adel embraced her, uncaring of the throng’s rabid notice. “Oh, Evie, forgive me for not writing you.”
“Not at all,” she gasped, with a watery smile. “I am very pleased you are even speaking with me now.”
“I…I do not resent you for your actions, Evie. In fact I would like to thank you.”
Her friend’s eyes widened quite comically.
“While Edmond does not love me yet, I find our marriage has a comfortable feel…and we have passion, a thing many marriages lack. I am certain I would not have felt such rousing emotions being Mrs. Atwood.” Adel ignored the pinch in her heart that hinted she wanted much more from her duke. She wanted his love, his child…his unconditional acceptance.
“Oh!” Evie smiled. “I am so relieved. I have been tormented, fearing for your unhappiness.”
Adel chuckled. “I am very content, actually.”
Evie glanced through the terrace door at where Wolverton leaned casually on the balcony railing, a cold imperious duke who held himself aloof from the glittering whirl of society, the facile chattering, and the frivolity of the entire ball. It was very apparent he was there only for his duchess. Pleasure warmed Adel.
“So he improves on closer acquaintance,” Evie said, a soft smile playing on her lips.
“Indeed he does, my opinion of him has improved.”
I fear I am falling in love…
“So under that severe austerity lies a man of sensitive sensibilities?”
Now Evie’s tone rang with such incredulity that Adel laughed.
“I fear he is as reserved as he ever was…but there is a keen consideration for others, and I find I much prefer his passion to poetic sensibilities.” Such passions…
“I must say I cannot imagine Wolverton as passionate. But his eyes have not left you since you started the rounds. He is besotted.”
Adel blushed, and Evie eyes widened even more. Then they both laughed. Adel noted her friend’s laughter lacked true merriment. “Are you truly well, Evie?”
For a brief moment despair clouded her gaze, before she looked away. Then she spoke. “Rumors mention Westfall as having an attachment.”
“Westfall!”
Evie swallowed. “Yes, with Lady Honoria, Viscount Tehran’s daughter.”
“Certainly there is a mistake; the ton knows he has sworn never to marry.”
Evie faced her and the misery on her friend’s face was a blow.
“I asked him, and he confirmed he will be offering for her.”
“Oh, Evie, I am so sorry. What are you to do?”
An elegant shoulder shrugged. “I will dance the night away as always and not give another thought to a certain marquess.” Then she flitted away.
“I have it on good authority the waltz is about to be announced. I shall have this dance, duchess,” a low voice said behind her.
Adel grinned. “How unfashionable, are you intending to only dance with your wife?”
As if on cue, the musicians started the rousing strains, and she walked into Edmond’s arms.
“And who else would you have me indulge in such frivolities with, if not my duchess?”
“There are many young ladies that society deems to have little distinction, and the gentlemen are not courteous enough to dance with those without obvious partners. I know, for I endured several balls with only Evie’s brother, Viscount Ravenswood, asking me to the dance floor.”
“I will ensure I offer my feet to all the slighted young ladies for the duration of the night.”
They spun in elegant twirls, soaring around the ballroom. She had never felt more contented.
“It’s the mad duke.”
Nothing in Edmond’s face indicated he heard the whisper as a couple floated past.
“They said he’s fought several duels!”
“You must tell me,” she teased.
Her duke arched an imperious brow. “Are you asking me why society calls me mad?”
“Hmmm…”
He dipped his head so close, their lips brushed
.
There were several shocked gasps.
“They are outrageous.”
“Because I did not fit their mould, Duchess. I never took a mistress, I loved my wife…and when I lost her, I traveled to London. For months I took to the rings at Gentleman Jackson and pounded out my rage and pain on any willing participant. I became undefeated and no one save Westfall after a period would enter the ring with me. They would leave with too many bruises, both to their body and pride. I insisted all my matches be bare knuckles, so I could feel every lick of pain, for it would distract me from my inner torment. It was not long before everyone started whispering of my obvious guilt and my supposed madness.”
“Oh, Edmond, I am so very sorry.”
“It’s the past.”
“Is it?”
His eyes darkened, and he grounded them to a halt in the middle of the ballroom. He cupped her cheeks, his eyes glowing with intensity. “I am trying, Duchess, I find I hunger to let it all go…”
“What are they doing?”
“Upon my word, I do believe he is about to kiss her.”
“Here?”
Laughter bubbled inside Adel at the voices rising in the room. “I fear we will be in the scandal sheets tomorrow.”
Amusement glittered in his eyes. “I agree.”
Then he kissed her.
Chapter Twenty
A nightmare he had not had in months released its insidious clasp slowly as Edmond woke. The memories were as intolerable as ever, and with icy talons meant to rip and sunder, they seethed within like a devouring monster, stealing his peace.
In a week’s time it will be the anniversary of Maryann’s death…
Edmond, please save me…save us.
This is entirely your fault… The pained accusation had gutted him.
I wanted to give you an heir…not my life!
Maryann had been ravaged with pain and fear and had hurled the harsh words like a scythe, cleaving him in two. She’d had the presence of mind to even try to soothe him, apologizing, and saying she had not meant it. But he knew the truth, honesty was always more bald and forthright in moments of desperation.
They had both been desperate—and she had been right with every skin flaying accusation. He had failed her by not realizing something had been wrong. Sarah’s birth had been difficult and it had taken Maryann weeks to recover. Why had he not been more careful, more assessing, more concerned whenever she paled when he mentioned an heir. There were days he had touched her and she had been stiff, more unresponsive than sensual. She had pleaded melancholy, and he had kept himself from going to her bed for more than a year. It mattered not that Maryann had not gotten pregnant again, until two years after Sarah’s birth, he should have noticed the change in her spirits whenever he or his mother discussed an heir.
The blood on the mattress.
The bitter scent as they burned it and all the soaked linens and washrags.
If Maryann had told him the doctor’s concern he would never have pressed for an heir.
There was a soft sigh behind him, and he shifted to look at his new duchess. He had taken her several times last night, careful to never release inside of her.
Adel stirred, her lashes lifted, and as simple as that, he wanted to drown himself inside of her kisses, her laughter, her body. It disturbed Edmond that he had never felt such an intensity of feeling with Maryann. He had loved her, he had been certain, but the emotions had always been tempered with gentleness and an awareness of her demure nature. Even how he had made love with her had been different.
Last night he had turned Adel onto her stomach, and had crawled over her, stuffed a cushion underneath her and rode her for what seemed like hours. They had frolicked in the massive bathtub, and he had even taken her there, then against the wall. Hell. Adel made him feel raw, desperate, and he made no effort to hold back his passion, or be mindful of her sensibilities. With Maryann, they had always been under the covers, and the one time he had thought to seduce her in the library, she had been beyond mortified. Yet their union had always been sweet and wonderful.
“What has you frowning so?” Adel asked her voice husky with sleep…and desire.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, certain she would push him from the bed if he admitted he was comparing her with his deceased wife, and worse, coming to the more alarming conclusion that Adel made him feel with more intensity. Which placed him on dangerous grounds because if he lost her… The thought wasn’t even to be contemplated. Had he been certain he had expelled each time outside of her body? His heart lurched. They had reached for each other so many times during the long night.
He tugged the coverlets from her body.
“Edmond, what are you doing? It is cold!”
He clasped her hips and drew her across the silken sheets to him. She gasped when he nudged her legs apart with one of his feet and placed his fingers against her core.
Her entire body blushed. “Edmond!”
“I am amazed you are still capable of blushing, Duchess.”
She scowled up at him.
He stroked a finger deep inside of her…and only felt her heat and wetness. No, he had not released his seed in her.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, narrowing her eyes, slapping his arm away.
“I am ensuring I did not release inside of you.”
Awareness dawned in her eyes and she lowered her lids, but he saw the spark of anger.
“Look at me.”
Her lips flattened mutinously.
“Duchess.”
Anger brought beguiling color to her cheeks. She shoved him, and tried to scuttle away, and he tugged her back with more force than he’d intended.
“Oomph” slipped from her as she collided into the wall of his chest.
Immediately his fingers were bathed in liquid heat.
They both froze. She was aroused by his roughness, and the very idea had his cock twitching.
“Remove your hands,” she growled. “This is unseemly!” Her cheeks were so red, it was as if they wore rouge.
He removed his fingers from her core, placed another digit under her chin and lifted her head to meet his eyes. He could see the anger, the frustration, the arousal, and the embarrassment in the depth of her gaze. “Never be embarrassed for your passions.”
She arched an imperious brow, and hauteur descended on her lovely features. “I was certainly not embarrassed.”
“Good.” Then he pressed a kiss to her brow.
“But I am angry you thought to check if you had released in me. Would it truly be so bad to have a child?”
He buried his face in her hair.
“Edmond?”
“Maryann died in childbirth.”
“I know.”
“Then you know I will not risk you.”
“This is not your choice to make. We need to have a reasonable discussion.”
He withdrew from her, drawing up so he sat on the bed, his back flushing against the headboard. “A logical discussion has been had.”
“I am perfectly healthy. You should not believe I will suffer complications.”
“My proof is bones beneath the ground; my proof is in the tightness of your passage…”
She gasped and glowered at him.
“My proof is in the narrowness of your hips.”
She gathered the coverlet to her, and sat in the center of the four-poster bed, staring at him with a defiant tilt of her head. “Tell me what happened with Maryann, please.”
Her glare intensified at his silence. “I know I was not to ask about her, but surely you can see that is no longer an option. I have kept my silence, but in good conscience I can do so no longer. To be docile will ruin our chance for happiness.”
“And if I decline your request?”
“I shall make your life wretched.”
He arched a brow. “I fail to see the power you have to do this, madam.”
An elegant shoulder lifted. “I will not allow you to bed
me.”
For a stunned moment he was speechless, and when the import of her words were fully assessed and understood his entire body hardened, tensed. “Are you by chance attempting to manipulate me, Duchess?” he said with dangerous softness, a tone in which many heeded and retracted their offenses with alacrity.
Instead his duchess nodded firmly. “More like encouraging you to communicate with me. I realized last night after you drew me to you for the fifth time, that your reluctance to commence your martial duty had been well…bluster, and you are quite unable to resist me.”
Grudging appreciation flared inside him.
Then she gave him a sweetly sensual smile. “Upon my word, your mien is once again proud and unyielding. If it is any consolation, I find you magnificent and it will be painful for me to withhold from your touch…and kisses,” she said huskily, her eyes glowing with honest need and determination.
“Sarah’s birth had been difficult, and Maryann had labored for over twenty hours,” he said abruptly.
Adeline’s eyes widened with hope and something far tenderer that he was not yet ready to acknowledge. It occurred to him then that his duchess had been bluffing. She had not really thought he would open himself to her. Had he truly been so cold and reserved? He suddenly realized how much he wanted to actually converse with her, so that she could understand his stance even if she did not accept it. He was startled to realize he did not want her contempt or her resentment. When had her good opinion become important?
“Weeks after Sarah was born, Maryann resided in a deep melancholy. I consulted with several doctors, and I was told it was normal for many women who had just gone through the rigors of childbirth. I did everything possible to lift her spirits, and she did rally. The first night I…the first night I tried to take her to bed was eight months after Sarah’s birth. Maryann was as stiff as a board and hardly responded to my touch. I did not press an advantage, and I left her be for another several months. But in that time I mentioned on numerous occasions my wish for an heir, after all, what man, especially a duke, was not in need of a blasted successor and a spare.”
Warm and concerned eyes held his steady.
“Without me having to seduce her, she came to me, and we resumed intimacy. Shortly after, she became with child.” He cleared his throat several times before he continued. “I am not sure what moved her to confide in me, but she finally told me the doctors had advised her to not have any more children.”
