Duchess by Day, Mistress by Night (Rebellious Desires)

by Reid, Stacy

  There was a piercing watchfulness to his regard, and it made her decidedly uncomfortable.

  “I sent you three invitations,” he murmured.

  She sent him a reproachful glance. Georgiana had ignored them all, not wanting any possible reoccurrence of the drawing in the scandal sheet until she had figured out how best to continue their affair. Being his lover by night and then strangers whenever they met at balls and picnics as she introduced his sister to the polite world was not an existence she was happy with. “I thought it better to place some distance between us.”

  Rhys moved over to the fireplace and sank to his haunches encouraging the fire to flare with efficient expertise. He stood and faced her. “Is that all?”

  “Yes.”

  Unable to help herself she crossed over to him. She could have done so many things—kissed his infuriatingly sensual mouth, slapped him for sneaking onto the estate and into her chambers, or even ordered him to leave. Instead, she slipped her arms around his waist, rested her cheek against his chest, and hugged him tightly. His arms banded around her, dragging her closer to his muscled frame.

  “I missed you,” she murmured.

  He eased her from him, shrugged from his jacket, and tossed it over a chair by the fireplace. With impatient fingers, he tore at his cravat, and before he was finished, pulled her into his arms and settled his mouth over hers. He didn’t ravish. He was gentle yet passionate. She responded helplessly, parting her lips for his questing tongue. He made a low noise of pleasure, as if he’d tasted something delightful.

  Without releasing her from his drugging kisses, he swept her into his arms, and a few steps later he bore her down onto the four-poster bed, parting her thighs with his knees and cradling his large frame there.

  One of his hands coasted over her skin, dragging her nightgown up to bunch at her waist. Georgiana’s entire body seemed to burn, and she shifted restlessly beneath him. Rhys released her mouth to trail his lips down, over her collarbone and to her aching nipples. His tongue stroked her hardened nipple, and a breathless, inarticulate cry echoed in the room.

  He rolled the hardened tip between his teeth. A soft moan of distress slipped from her, and he lifted his head to peer into her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She encircled his neck even tighter and wrapped her legs high around his back. “My breasts have been terribly sensitive. I believe you should direct your attention elsewhere,” she murmured huskily, pressing soft kisses along his jawline.

  It took her a few seconds to realize he was frozen. “Rhys?”

  “We have been lovers for about eight weeks.”

  Georgiana frowned. “Why is that important now?” she asked, flummoxed at the sudden tension thrumming through him.

  “Forgive the indelicate question, but I must ask, when was the last time you saw your courses?”

  Georgiana was bereft of words. For a long moment, she couldn’t answer. She released his neck, and he pushed from between her legs and off the bed. Tugging her nightgown over her thighs, she slipped her feet off the bed, swiftly thinking. Dear God. “I… You need to leave, Rhys.” Georgiana could scarcely breathe, she shoved a shaky hand through her hair.

  “Answer me. When was the last time, duchess?”

  The flat command in his tone had her lifting her eyes to his shuttered mien.

  “Before we became lovers,” she confessed softly.

  “You’re with child.”

  She wanted to shout at him. She wasn’t ready to think about the implications of her missed courses, overly sensitive breasts, and dear God, the slight queasiness of the past few days. It wasn’t possible. The doctors had informed the duke the spare he had been hoping for would never arrive.

  Taking an even breath, she stood and faced Rhys. His stare made her feel as if she belonged to him, as if he had a right to her soul, not just her body. Her heart started to pound as the awareness this was not a simple affair for him scythed through her. “I may be,” she breathed.

  “My lady?”

  Oh, the sensual possessiveness of his tone whenever he referred to her as “my lady” indicated it wasn’t an honorific as she’d thought. Marshalling her wits, she replied, “Yes?”

  The silence felt anticipatory.

  “Marry me.”

  A delicious shock ran through her. The words were like a honeyed blade, painfully cutting, but wonderfully sweet. These were sentiments she hadn’t realized she longed to hear…but never thought they would be voiced because they were simply impossible desires. “I…” The words stuck in her throat, threating to choke her. Her entire being was consumed with the need to say yes. Oh God, it was impossible, their worlds and expectations were simply too different. “Rhys…”

  “Yes?” There was a trace of amusement in the warmth of his voice.

  “I’m…I’m a duchess,” she said inanely.

  “I am aware of that, Georgiana.”

  She started to pace, hating the confused emotions rioting inside. I am with child. She wanted to say the words, but couldn’t voice them. “I cannot marry you.”

  He flinched. It was so subtle, but she caught it, and her heart broke even more.

  “Why not?”

  She wanted to weep from the confusion twisting through her. “We had an affair. I was your lover, your mistress even, and I enjoyed each scandalous thrill. But nothing more can be between us, Rhys. I…I am a duchess…and you’re…you’re…” Her words tapered off, and she stared at him helplessly. The ton would savage him, he would be the butt of gossip for years to come, nor would he be allowed in any drawing room. “Marriage to me will not see your family elevated. Instead, you…would be pariahs.” The scandal would roar like an unquenchable fire, linger for months, years, eroding the Hardcastles’ legacy and her family’s reputation.

  “Is that what you believe, that I would ask you to marry me because I seek social elevation?” He was very good at controlling his expressions.

  No, her heart shouted, but her lips remained sealed.

  “Well?” His voice was soft, utterly devoid of emotion.

  “No,” she gasped. “I’ve been groomed my entire life to be a duchess.”

  “So, you are not a woman with desires of your own, but a mere puppet of the ton. I am impressed you lowered yourself to indulge in an affair.”

  “You do not understand.”

  He prowled over to her, resting the flat of his palm against her stomach. The deliberateness of his touch made her pulse flutter. “You forget the most salient fact, my lady. You are with child. My child. This is the only thing I am currently concerned with.”

  She would not cry. Tears would do no good. “That is not how this works. We do not marry, and I bear our child, and then we ride off in our carriage into the sunset, and all is well,” she whispered fiercely, hating the fact her voice trembled. “Our union will not be accepted. My reputation and honor will come under the severest of scrutiny, and even your sisters will be affected most egregiously, for our alliance will not be welcomed by polite society. My family, your sisters, we will endure social ostracism.”

  His hands fell away, and he stepped back. “I need more clarity, duchess. You are with child, and that cannot be undone. Will society not be as unkind to an unwed mother? Even amongst my common kind, an unwed mother is shamed,” he said with chilling softness, his expression betraying not the slightest flicker of reaction.

  She swallowed. “Perhaps I am not even with child but ate something that did not agree with me and…” Her words trailed away, and panic muddled her thoughts. These were the same symptoms she had shown when she had been enceinte with Nicolas. Georgiana had accepted the assessment of all three doctors Hardcastle had summoned and never dreamed that there could have been an error in their pronouncement. “I would not be an unwed mother,” she said, knowing she would never allow her child to be labeled a bastard. That was possibly an even greater scandal. A duchess bearing a child with the father unknown to the world.

 
; Something dark and dangerous flashed in his gaze, and she stumbled back.

  “I believe I misunderstood you, duchess. Are you by chance implying you would allow another man, no doubt a lord, to raise my child and deny me the right?” His voice was icy with lethal scorn. “You will answer me, duchess.”

  Georgiana hadn’t thought so far ahead; her response had simply been visceral at the idea of her child suffering at the cruelty she knew existed in the ton. “I have no answer to give you,” she said hoarsely.

  At this moment, nothing of her sensual and charming lover stared back at her, only a piercing ruthlessness that had alarm burning through her veins.

  She took a deep, restorative breath. Everything she knew about this man indicated his family was important to him, and though the idea of a child was new and unexpected, she could see the curl of hunger in his gaze for it. “Rhys, I need time. This is so unexpected…I never believed I could have another child. I never imagined this was a possible outcome of our affair, or I wouldn’t have been so weak in my desires.”

  A silence fell between them thick and heavy. The cruel lines around his lips softened as he regarded her. “Do you love me?”

  An inarticulate cry spilled from her. She wasn’t reared to fall in love, but for duty and honor to her family. “Rhys, please, I…”

  “I love you, Georgiana.”

  Her world shattered at her feet at his unadorned declaration. The joy, trepidation, and the vulnerability clutching at her heart felt terrible.

  “I’ve loved my family for years. I bend the laws of society to help them find their place in this world, and I will continue to do so, even if the ton tries to cut them. I am not a man of romantic words and such, but I confess what I feel for anyone else is a mere shadow of the feelings you inspire in me. A simple smile from you makes me tremble to lay the world at your feet. Marry me, and let me deal with society’s rage and derision. I assure you, my lady, I will not allow it to harm you and our child.”

  The latent ruthlessness in his promise shook her, and she understood he would use his ties as The Broker to see her position secure. Her throat went tight with fear. Did he not understand how easy it was for the more powerful lords of society to vanquish him if they thought him a threat? The lords of England were the law. While Rhys could bend the law and operate within its murky, shadowy world, they were the makers. The ton would find nothing within Rhys to esteem, even if they enjoyed his unrivaled wealth. They would find his cunning intellect, his ruthlessness terribly uncomfortable, a definite threat, for he could not disguise it.

  “I cannot,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I only wanted a discreet affair, that is all. The fact I am with child changes nothing. I cannot…I will not marry you.”

  Silence throbbed in the room like a wound.

  His expression shuttered, all desire for more leaching from his expression. “It seems I made a mistake, Your Grace. Forgive me,” he said with chilling civility. “I shall never approach you again with my unwanted sentiments.” His voice was dangerously low and tinged with scorn. In his eyes, she saw the absolute truth. He would keep his word. They would never kiss or dance or laugh and love again.

  He grabbed his jacket from off the chair, slipped it on, and moved toward her windows. Her heart cracked, and she shivered as a cold gust blew into the room. A sob hiccupped from her at the loss that tore through her.

  Do you love me? He’d demanded an answer, as if love was enough, and that was all that a person needed to flourish in this world. She had tried to stay reserved, to draw on the cold decorum which had saved her so many times. Instead, a wild, unimaginable pain clutched her heart in a fierce grip. She felt breathless, terrified as she stared at his retreating back. I hurt.

  She tried to bury the swell of emotions, the pain, doubt, and confusion. A raw sound spilled from her throat when he disappeared through the windows, a specter fading with the breaking dawn.

  Pain and sorrow invaded every inch of her body. She would survive without him in her life, but she would never be whole.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A week had passed since Georgiana had ended all correspondence with Rhys. Instead of traveling back to town, she had stayed in the country, needing to be away from the watchful eyes of the ton while she figured out what to do. Earlier, she had read with Nicolas and had taken a walk in the park with him. Though it was quite early, she was exhausted and had retired to her chamber for a nap after a light luncheon. Sharp assaults of heartache prevented her slumber.

  She tossed aside the covers and donned her peach day dress, which had been casually discarded on the chaise. She exited her room and went to Nicolas’s room. He, too, had been encouraged to nap after his exuberance earlier. He was sleeping peacefully. After brushing a light kiss on his forehead, careful not to disturb him, she slipped quietly down the stairs to the bright and airy music room. She often took refuge in music when she was at the mercy of her emotions, and the room had been her sanctuary of sorts the past few days. Georgiana sat on the well-padded bench, lifted the lid of the pianoforte, and closed her eyes.

  Tears burned beneath her lids, and pushing down the riotous uncertainty, she played until her fingers trembled with exhaustion.

  “You should treat us to something less mournful,” her mother said from behind her.

  Georgiana stiffened and glanced at the clock. She had been playing for over two hours. Her fingers ached, and the empty well inside had not been filled in the slightest. “I cannot, Mamma.”

  A peal of laughter echoed close by, and she smiled. Her son had awoken and was once again being boisterous.

  The countess drifted closer. “Simon and I are preparing to depart for town, but I wanted to speak with you before we took our leave.”

  Her mother and Simon had not left Meadowbrook Park since their arrival before Rhys’s last visit, and her mother had been hovering and casting her curious glances. Georgiana lightly skimmed her fingers over the keys, creating several discordant notes.

  “What is it, Mother?”

  “Dr. Monroe called upon you yesterday. Are you well?”

  Georgiana was not ready to reveal her delicate condition. She doubted she would ever be ready. Dr. Monroe had indeed confirmed she was with child. Though there had been speculation in his gaze, he’d only recommended daily walks and for her to intake more milk, with a promise to visit her often. Georgiana slightly turned to her mother. “I’m quite fine. Just a slight stomach upset.”

  Her mother’s mouth flattened into a thin line, and she squared her shoulders. “Georgiana, dear, your skin is paler than normal, you cast up your accounts yesterday at breakfast, and you drank no wine at last night’s dinner.”

  A dreadful silence descended. Slowly closing the lid on the pianoforte, she turned around on the bench and faced her mother. “I fail to understand this line of discourse.” Though she knew, God, she knew.

  Her mother gave her a sharp, reproving glance. “You are with child,” she said softly. Instead of appearing cold and distant, her mother’s eyes glowed with worry and love.

  Georgiana’s throat tightened. “I am.”

  Her mother visibly struggled to swallow. “Is it too much to hope the father is the Marquess of Locksley? I am aware you’ve had a few outings with him.”

  “He is not the father,” she admitted quietly.

  Her mother’s expression grew troubled. “I must then presume you were in liaison with Mr. Tremayne? And that baseless speculation by the newspapers had some merit?”

  Georgiana’s blush was enough confirmation for the countess.

  She sauntered gracefully to sit in the chaise closest to the windows. “There will be an awful scandal if you marry a man such as Rhys Tremayne. I do hope you are not contemplating such a solution.”

  Georgiana stood and made her way to the windows that overlooked the large and beautifully tended gardens. Several birds played amid the artfully scattered flowers and small shrubs, merrily chirping their sweet melodies. A burning
need bloomed inside her to lift her dress scandalously above her knees, climb through the open windows, away from this conversation, and join the birds who hardly seemed like they had any cares in the world. She would lie upon the grass, uncaring about the stains that would damage her dress, lift her face to the warm rays of the sun, and pray for guidance.

  “My dear, you are well loved by society. You are a great patron of the arts, and where you lead, many ladies and gentlemen follow. Would you throw that away to only be known as the duchess who married a common man? You would tarnish your reputation and the respect and admiration of your acquaintances?”

  A mirthless smile crossed Georgiana’s lips. “You were always the anvil to Father’s hammer, Mother. Nothing has ever been more important than our position in society, certainly not my happiness.”

  A sound rustled, and she whirled around to see Simon hovering in the doorway, a white-knuckled grip on the knob. He gently closed the door and moved farther into the room. From his pained expression, she surmised he’d heard. “Is it true?”

  “Yes.”

  He flinched. “I warned you the man was a lion, and you were too naive to listen!”

  She heard the ragged edge of guilt. Simon would blame himself for not protecting her. “I assure you, I walked into Mr. Tremyane’s arms with my eyes wide open.”

  A shocked gasp came from her mother.

  Her brother stared at her as if he did not know her. “There is only one solution to this mess, surely you see that.”

  “No, I don’t.” And that was the crux of her pain. She felt lost, uncertain, and she despised the state. She missed Rhys dreadfully. She hurt for him and to be with him. How beautiful the world had been when they had been ensconced within it together.

  “Go away, discreetly, perhaps to Paris. Bear your child in secret and give it to a good family. Then return home to Nicolas.”