Of a sudden, the weeks of turbulent, stressful changes seemed to crash down upon her weary shoulders. Her eyes welled with tears and her lips began to tremble with unspoken pain, sadness, and fear. She hunched her shoulders against the hurt and turned from him to face the fireplace.
“Tell me what is amiss, Bella,” the duke said behind her.
She could tell by his voice that he had moved nearer to her, but she could not look at him. Nor could she answer him, for her throat felt clogged with tears trying to force their way out all at once.
The duke did not move, but waited patiently for her to speak. After a few moments he took another step nearer and began to speak to her, as if he were trying to gain the trust of a frightened, wild animal. “Before that morning, when we discovered that we had unknowingly spent the night together unchaperoned, I was under the impression that a friendship was developing between us. Was I mistaken?”
Bella was very still for a moment while she thought over the duke’s words. With her back still to him and the tears slipping down her cheeks, she hesitantly nodded her agreement.
“In the light of that developing friendship, do you think you could speak to me as if we are friends now?”
His unexpected, gentle words caused a dam to burst within Bella. Turning, she looked up at him, no longer hiding her tears. “I do not understand how everything could suddenly go so terribly wrong. I have always been so careful to do the right thing. I have always tried to be wise about the decisions I have made. But, forgive me, ever since you came into my life, everything has been chaos.” She sniffed, giving him a tearful smile to soften her words.
As the duke looked down at her, she saw the concern, mixed with amusement, in his eyes.
“And now,” she continued, “that loathsome popinjay, Robert Fortiscue, comes to town and threatens to tell everyone why we had to marry. It is too horrible! We have done nothing wrong, and now there will be even more gossip about us,” she said, ending with a tearful sniff.
A moment later she found herself wrapped in the duke’s warm arms, her cheek on his chest. Stunned, she stood against him, very stiff and still, until she heard his deep voice rumble above her head.
“It matters not. After all, what is a London Season without a hint of scandal?”
At the gentle humor in his tone, Bella allowed herself to relax fully against his broad chest. The tears started to flow down her cheeks, unchecked.
They stood this way for some moments, in front of the fireplace, the duke gently rocking her back and forth as she cried.
Deep inside, as the jumble of her emotions finally found release, Bella realized that she had never before felt anything like this. To be held securely by strong arms while she wept her heart out was oddly comforting. It was such a rare occurrence for Bella to cry. She tried to avoid it, for when she did cry, Papa and Tommy acted as if she were dying. She had always been the strong one, but for once crying did not make her feel weak.
After a little while her crying abated, and she was able to look at the events of the evening with a clearer head. Wiping her tears away with her fingers, Bella raised her head slightly and looked at the duke with a tearful, mystified smile.
“I do not understand you either,” she said to him. “Robert Fortiscue comes to town and spreads this gossip about us, and you do not seem bothered at all.”
The duke still held her in his arms, their heads close enough for her to see the green flecks in the gray of his eyes. His gaze held hers, and Bella decided that she liked the feel of her body relaxing against the strong length of his.
“You mistake the situation, Arabella. I am bothered,” he replied.
“You are?” she questioned, sensing that it was not Robert Fortiscue who was bothering him.
“Very much so,” he said, as he lowered his head toward hers.
He stopped, his lips hovering just above hers.
Bella’s heart seemed to catch in her throat and then began beating again in a wholly new way.
The duke did not lower his head any further; nor did he close his eyes. Somehow, instinctively, she knew that he would not be the one to bridge the slight gap that separated them.
Suddenly feeling safe after the cathartic intimacy of crying on his chest, Bella stood quietly within the warm shelter of his arms. Feeling as if it were the most natural thing in the world, she relaxed against him even more. She felt his warm breath on her lips, and something in the intensity of his gaze made her lift her head slightly and close the space between them.
Closing her eyes, she felt his firm, warm lips against hers, and became aware of a sensation of heat dissolving through her limbs and into her heart. She pressed herself a little deeper into his embrace and felt the taut muscles in his arms as he pulled her body closer to his. How different he felt, she hazily marveled.
While growing up, she had imagined that her first kiss would elicit a soft, happy feeling. This intense, almost frightening escalation of new sensations was completely unexpected.
His hand slowly, firmly moved up the side of her body, coming to stroke the hollow of her neck with tantalizing, gentle fingers. The woodsy scent of him assailed her senses, somehow enhancing her feelings.
His lips moved over hers, growing more insistent as she allowed her hands to steal up his broad chest. So caught up was she in the response his kiss was stirring within her, Bella’s normal feelings of self-consciousness where he was concerned completely vanished. Dizzily, she did not think she could get any closer to him, until his hand moved to her waist and began to caress the small of her back, pressing her body even more intimately against his.
Swirling deeper into the melting sensuousness of his kiss, Bella did not, at first, hear the knock at her door. It was only when she felt his body stiffen and pull away from her slightly that she became aware of her surroundings.
“Bella, it is me. Are you all right? Please open the door. I wish to speak to you.”
Bella almost groaned aloud at hearing Triss’s muffled voice coming from behind the closed bedchamber door.
Her gaze flew to the duke’s. She looked in dawning mortification at her hands splayed upon his chest.
“Yes, Arabella, I am most definitely bothered.” The quiet intensity of his voice belied his slight smile as he released her.
Chapter Twenty-one
Bella squinted at the late-morning sun beaming into her sumptuous bedchamber. Her lady’s maid had just flung open the curtains, and Bella rolled over, burying her face into her down pillow.
Last night she had slept fitfully after feigning a headache to get Triss to leave. Even though she rarely slept so late, she was in no mood to rise. After the maid left the room, Bella burrowed deeper under the covers. The memory of being in the duke’s arms, and the feel of his lips on hers, kept repeating itself over and over.
Groaning, she turned over onto her back and pulled the pillow over her head. A moment later she tossed the pillow aside. Staring up at the rich, brocaded fabric that draped the canopy of her bed, Bella tried to sort out the chaotic emotions crowding her thoughts.
Too many changes had happened too quickly over the last few months. She had not enough time to adjust to one change before another one came along and bowled her over.
Pushing herself up onto her pillows, she brushed her long dark hair off her shoulders. The duke’s words of last night came back to her. The words he had spoken before the kiss.
She admitted that he had been correct about her feeling the beginnings of a friendship developing between them during his recovery at the cottage. But that was before that horrible morning her father and uncle had confronted them. That was before they had been forced to marry. How would the friendship have grown if it had been allowed to blossom of its own accord? She would never know, she realized with sadness.
Across the room, on the little table by the chaise that overlooked the formal garden, Bella saw that the maid had left a tray with toast and chocolate. Rising and stretching, she moved to sit on the c
haise. After pouring the chocolate into a delicate porcelain cup, she pensively contemplated the view from the high arching window.
Trying to push away the memory of how the duke’s lips felt upon hers, Bella reflected on the scathing words the duke’s sister had said to her last night. With a bit of a wrench in her heart, Bella knew the Lady Edgeton was right: The circumstance of her marriage to the duke was beneath the Westlake name.
During her brief stay at Autley she had toured the gallery, which was in actuality more of a museum of English history. There had been a direct succession of Westlakes unbroken since the year 1224. She had been astonished and impressed to learn the first Alexander Westlake had been created a duke in 1485. The family was aligned, in one way or another, with most of the other noble families of Great Britain.
She recalled the paintings and other artifacts depicting the glorious accomplishments of past Westlakes. Great soldiers and scholars and respected political minds were scattered throughout the Westlake family tree.
Putting the cup down, Bella began to pluck distractedly at the fine lawn of her negligee. In truth, as painful as it was to face, the duke had certainly gotten the bad end of the bargain when he married her.
To his credit, he had been willing to make the best of this bad bargain. A frown creased her brow when she recalled the argument they had had in his library at Autley. He had said then, and in no uncertain terms, that there would be no annulment. But upon his arrival in London, he had agreed to discuss it after Louisa’s wedding. She wondered what had changed his mind on the subject. Probably after thinking over the idea of an annulment, he had concluded that it was the only way out of this misalliance.
And now, this kiss.
Her fingers stole up to her lips. She felt so different. Could it be possible that one kiss could change her whole view of her situation?
She felt she did not know herself any longer. Before the duke had landed at her doorstep, she had had supreme confidence in the decisions she had made regarding her future. She had been planning for three years to marry Robert Fortiscue. Planning to have children with him, she remembered with astonishment at her own blindness.
Never once had she thought of kissing him; never once had she contemplated the intimacy that would be required to create those children.
How completely different it was with the duke, she owned, with the beginnings of a blush coming to her ivory cheeks. It was now very clear to her that ever since he had come out of his fever, she had been fighting to suppress her overwhelming awareness of him as a man.
She realized it was not just his physical attributes, though considerable, that attracted her to him. It was his intelligence and sense of humor as well. She also liked the way he treated her family. She admired his military experience and thought him the most gentlemanly man of her acquaintance.
It was so lowering to know that the sense of duty and honor that she admired so much was the very reason she cringed with mortification every time she thought of their wedding.
So what to do now? she wondered dejectedly, just as she heard a knock at her door. Looking over, she saw the door open, and a moment later her cousin’s blond head poked in.
“Oh, good, you are up,” Triss said, crossing the room to flop down at the foot of the chaise.
Bella thought she looked charming, and deceptively innocent in her blue morning gown.
“I know you told me last night that we are to do nothing about Robert, but I wondered if you told the duke what happened. And if so, what did he say?”
“Yes, we were discussing what had occurred at Almack’s when you came in,” she said vaguely, picking up her teacup again.
“And?” Triss asked.
“The duke thinks it does not signify,” Bella replied with a little shrug.
“How like him. So lofty and dismissive of lesser mortals.” Triss sighed and picked up a piece of toast from the tray.
Bella frowned at her cousin’s words. “Is that how you see Westlake?” she asked over her teacup.
Triss glanced up from her toast with a look of mild surprise. “Of course. How can he help it? He has been all the kick since coming home from the war. Everyone gossips about him and tries to duplicate how he ties his neckcloth. And with every eligible miss, and a good many of their mamas, chasing after him, how could he not be arrogant? In a most attractive way, of course.”
Bella contemplated her cousin’s words. Triss’s opinion of the duke did not quite agree with her own. Oh, he was definitely imposing and supremely confident. She had even seen his arrogance on occasion. But she recalled the time he had told her of his brother’s death. He had revealed a depth of feeling that she somehow sensed was not often shared with others.
She also had to admit that his treatment of her had been above kind, under the circumstances. Who would have blamed him if he had shown resentment toward her because of this unwanted marriage? But he had been nothing but amenable, to the point of indulgence, toward her from the moment they had married.
No, she did not completely agree with Triss’s assessment of the duke.
“We are quite dull,” Triss opined while stretching her arms over her head and yawning. “Let us have a walk in the park and plan our revenge on that weasel-face, Robert Fortiscue.” Bella could not help but laugh at her incorrigible cousin. “All right, let me have a bath and I will be with you in less than an hour,” she said. Rising from the chaise, Bella moved to the bellpull to summon her maid.
Still lounging on the chaise, Triss looked at Bella with curious eyes. “Bella, lately you seem to be different somehow,” she said.
“Well, goose, my life has undergone a few changes in the last couple of months,” Bella said in dry understatement.
“I know that,” Triss replied. “I mean, you are prettier, and until last night I think you were beginning to enjoy the Season. I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but you are different.”
Bella said nothing. She was thankful when the maid entered, for the memory of being in the duke’s arms was causing a blush to rise again to her cheeks.
It was a fine warm day, and Bella was glad to be out-of-doors—and appreciative of her cousin’s chatter, for it diverted her from troubling thoughts of the duke.
They strolled along with their sunshades shielding them from the sun, while Bella admired the beds overflowing with beautiful fragrant flowers. She was pleased that they had come out before the fashionable hour, for they had the park almost to themselves. Glancing to a tree at the sound of a baby bird’s call to its mother, Bella decided she liked this side of London after all.
“I believe I shall make a list,” Triss stated, swinging her sunshade to and fro.
“A list of what?” Bella asked as they strolled along.
“Of eligible gentlemen, silly,” Triss replied.
“Oh, of course. What other kind of list is there?” Bella responded with mock seriousness.
“I have very high hopes for Lady Louisa’s wedding,” Triss continued, ignoring Bella’s levity. “Everyone of any importance shall be there. And as weddings are so romantic, mayhap my own romance shall be spurred on by the atmosphere.”
“You really are a nudgeon,” Bella said with a shake of her head and a little laugh.
They ambled on, and Bella felt better for the exercise. A few more people had entered the park, and Bella enjoyed watching the growing parade of fashionables taking the air.
“Is that not Margaret Westlake over there, by the very large tree?” Triss asked a few moments later.
Bella looked in the direction Triss indicated.
“Why, yes, and there is Henry, too.”
“Do you recognize the gentleman with them?” Triss asked, still looking in the distance to where Margaret stood under the tree.
“I do not believe so. Let us go and greet them. I have not seen Henry since coming to London.”
The two ladies changed their direction and walked across the grass. As Margaret looked over toward them, Bella saw her s
tart with surprise.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Westlake. Good day, Henry. I believe you have previously met my cousin, Lady Beatrice Tichley?” Bella smiled at the little group, closing her sunshade.
Margaret stared at Bella with a slightly open mouth.
Bella tried not to stare at the lady’s attire. Margaret wore a very bright yellow walking gown with a spencer of yellowish green. The whole ensemble had a profusion of braids, gathers, and bows.
“Er… why, yes, I have had the pleasure. Ah… may I present Mr. Fitzdowning? The Duchess of Westlake,” she said in a breathless voice.
Bella could not help noticing that Margaret was casting nervous glances at the gentleman. Henry, after making a hasty bow, wandered off, kicking divots into the grass.
Turning to the gentleman, Bella saw he was of a medium build, thickening around the middle. His features were blunt, though not unattractive. Bella thought his beaver hat had seen better days. Something about him seemed familiar. As he bowed to her, she wondered where they could have met. She had not been very much in Society since coming to London, so there were few choices for an encounter.
Introducing Triss to the man, Bella wondered at the significant glance she caught flashing between Mr. Fitzdowning and Margaret.
“Your servant, your grace, Lady Beatrice,” he intoned stiffly as he bowed to Bella and Triss.
“Henry and I were taking some exercise when we saw our dear friend, Mr. Fitzdowning. He knew my poor late husband very well. We were just catching up on the news from Tilbourne,” Margaret spoke, ending her little speech on a note of tittering laughter.
“You are from Tilbourne then, sir?” Bella questioned politely.
Mr. Fitzdowning cast another quick glance to Margaret, and Bella would have sworn that she saw anger in his expression.
“Yes, your grace, in town on some business matters. What a surprise to come across Mrs. Westlake and Master Henry,” he offered.
“Has not the weather been very kind of late?” Margaret said, smiling broadly at them all.
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